Sports Teams? Ehh...Not a fan.

Take Me Out To The Ballgame

Sonny: Mickey Mantle? That's what you're upset about? Mantle makes $100,000 a year. How much does your father make? If your dad ever can't pay the rent and needs money, go ask Mickey Mantle. See what happens. Mickey Mantle don't care about you. Why care about him? 

Calogero: [narrating] After that, I never felt the same way about the Yankees.

Much like Calogero in A Bronx Tale, there was a point in time when I was passionate about my sports teams. I used to be a Mets fan. I can admit that publicly now. They were the first sports team I ever liked; they were the cause of my earliest, greatest sports memory (even though I was asleep during the infamous grounder); they had some of my favorite players in any sport ever; and they were the cause of many a' heartbreaks.You may wonder if these heartbreaks are the real cause for the abandonment of my once beloved team, and I would have to admit that the Mets' collapse in the 2006, 2007, and 2008 seasons certainly didn't help (watching each collapse live at Shea stadium DEFINITELY didn't help) but those miserable failures are not the major reason for my decision to no longer root for sports teams.

I'm not mad at the players, mind you. I agree with Sonny that we shouldn't idolize these guys (or girls) and that in general they make way too much money, but that's our fault as consumers. We keep buying the tickets and merchandise (and cable tv packages) at the outlandish prices, so they are simply making what they are worth. If we put more value on education and health care and things like that, people in those fields would get paid more. Pay is associated with the value we put on whatever service is provided, so we can't blame the players for making stupid amounts of money. If we want to make a change, we can't keep investing our time, money, and energy on loyally rooting for them. They don't care about us, why do we care so much about them?

That being said, I still root for individual athletes. I don't idolize them by any means, and I haven't bought any merchandise in a long time, but I like specific players and I enjoy when they succeed.

And I still love watching sports. In fact, I'd say I enjoy sports more now than ever before. I'm not mindlessly attached to some franchise that doesn't even have the best interest of their team in mind. I'm no Red Sox fan, but hearing former manager Terry Francona talk about the owners ordering him to sign "sexy" players would be stomach turning IF I actually cared about the team. If you're a Mets fan, you know how maddening it can be to follow the moves of a losing organization. In fact, science says rooting for a losing team is bad for your health (note that the first picture in that article is a Mets fan). I'm sure you know people (or maybe you are this person) who lose their minds when their teams lose. Their entire day is ruined because some guys they never met played better than some other guys they never met.

Sports are businesses. Some teams are run well, some are not. I'm a...wait, excuse me...I used to be a Dolphins fan. I suffered through watching Dan Marino try to win games with no running back or defense, then I watched one of the league's best defenses try to win games with Jay Fiedler/Chad Pennington/Chad Henne/Insert Horribly Mediocre QB's Name Here. It's not worth the heartache rooting for these teams when the guys running the franchise either don't care or simply don't know what they're doing.

Pictured: Morons

Everybody hates on Lebron James because he left Cleveland for Miami. First off, just looking at it big picture-wise, you wouldn't choose living in Miami, Florida over Cleveland, Ohio?! Stop it. But let's look at it in basketball terms. You play for the Cavs, a notoriously awful team with no championship history. They've had 7 years to build around you and the best they could do was bring in Shaq-Fu the Ancient; when that doesn't work, they bring in Antique Jamison as your one-two combo. Every team in the league wants you. Miami is a relatively new team that has one championship already. They have one of the best coaches in NBA history as an executive. The guy who single-handedly won their first championship is still on the team and is one of your best friends in the league and life in general. They are trying to bring in a third All-Star and continue to build the team around you. Cleveland has Anderson Varejao.

We would all leave.

He didn't do it for the money; he took less money than he would have made elsewhere. People say he should have tried to turn the team around. He did. Look at the Cavs before and after Lebron James to see what he did for that team. He can't sign teammates himself, although they might have been better off if they let him.

So he did what any one of us would have done: throw a very tacky tv special announcing his departure. Okay, that was ill-advised, but it raised a million dollars for Boys and Girls clubs, and if Lance Armstrong has taught us anything, it's that if we raise money for a good cause, people will forgive us for any negative acts we may have committed.

People slander him for joining a team with a proven superstar in Dwayne Wade. Every NBA champion had at least one other great player on his team, from Jordan/Pippen to Bird/McHale/Parish to Magic/Abdul-Jabbar/Worthy to Bill Russell and all those short white guys to Olajuwon/Smith/Big Shot Bob Horry. Even Dwayne Wade had a still-somewhat-agile Shaq. Those guys were just lucky enough to start their careers on a team with other good players.

I don't blame Lebron for going to a decent franchise. Should we blame a lawyer for choosing a firm with a proven track record over a shady firm with no clients? Wouldn't you choose to work at a successful company over a failure? That's all sports teams are: companies. Corporations. They are looking for the best dollar value; sometimes that means getting players and coaches that will win a championship, sometimes that means getting the cheapest talent available. There is no loyalty from players towards their teams because there is no loyalty from owners towards their players. Therefore, why should fans have loyalty towards any team?

I learned early on that owners will do whatever makes them the most money, despite what the fans want. I was never a huge hockey fan, but I did enjoy going to Whalers games in downtown Hartford. That didn't last too long, as the owner decided he could make more money in North Carolina. I know people who are still heartbroken about it.

Then there's the name and uniform changes. One of my favorite NBA teams just changed their team colors and name to the historically awful New Orleans Pelicans. Very intimidating. Honestly, though, if I spent money on merchandise for the New Orleans Hornets recently, I might be a little upset. Keeping up with teams is too difficult. The Hornets actually started in Charlotte before moving to New Orleans in 2002. Then, after Hurricane Katrina, they played their home games in Oklahoma City and were known as the New Orleans/Oklahoma City Hornets for 2 years. They came back to New Orleans, and soon after, the Seattle SuperSonics became the Oklahoma City Thunder. Now the Hornets will be the Pelicans, and the Charlotte Bobcats, who started as an expansion team a few years after the Hornets left North Carolina, will become the Charlotte Hornets, but they will keep the history of the Bobcats while the Pelicans maintain the history of the original Hornets.

Why should I (and how can I?!) become emotionally involved in all this?

I'm simply going to enjoy watching the best players compete against each other. I'm not going to hate some player just because he always beats my favorite team (unless it's Tom Brady or anyone else on the Patriots...they are cheaters and they screwed Hartford over, so I can still spend some time and energy hating them). Instead of hating on players just because they always win, I'm going to enjoy watching them pull off plays like this. The things these players can do is nothing short of miraculous, and as a sports fan in this day and age, you should simply enjoy watching instead of flipping out when your team can't stop them. Some people legitimately wish harm on athletes because they play on a rival team. What sense does that make? I can understand hating a player or coach for being a genuine asshole (see: Patriots) but just for being talented?

Another thing that really caused a downhill spiral in my fandom is the prevalent use of performance enhancing drugs in sports. More specifically, each leagues' hypocrisy towards drug use in their sports. Drug use can't be as rampant as it is without some complicity from the people running the leagues. Even if they are not complicit in the drug use, they mostly look the other way, except for a few highly publicized cases. But those who get caught, even Mr. CheatStrong himself, are just scapegoats. There are obviously much bigger problems than one or two individuals in each sport (cycling is the worst offender of all sports) yet in each league, we see a few suspensions and maybe some harsh words from the commissioner. There have never been drastic changes.

Baseball, for example, has yet to remove the taint of the so-called steroid era. As much as Dark Lord Bud Selig and the Holier-than-thou Baseball Writers of America try to disparage the players of that era, they had no problem building careers off the popularity that era brought the MLB. Watching the McQwire-Sosa home run race is still one of my best memories in sports, along with watching Barry Bonds tie and then break the home run record. I am by no means exonerating the players, they should face serious ramifications, but they were only effects of the problem, not the cause.

I still love watching sports, but I'm not emotionally invested in any teams. I am more emotionally invested in the New Britain High School baseball and football teams because I know the coaches and work with some of the kids. It's a cliche, but sports at that level are more pure, especially with the guys I know. However, I still enjoy watching pro sports more than any other level. Pro sports teams are the most fun to watch because they are the most talented, I just don't care about them anymore.

Especially the goddamn Mets.

I Love You All...Class Dismissed.

My Totally Real, In-No-Way-Fake-Or-Made-Up, Absolutely True Story

Prodigy - You Can Never Feel My Pain

Today marks 20 days since I sprained my ankle and I think I've finally reached a turning point in my rehabilitation. I started physical therapy this morning, something I would do every day for the rest of my life if I could afford it, and it really helped, physically and mentally. I realized I have a decent range of motion and that the pain has significantly subsided. It can still be very painful at times, and the boot they gave me has made my calf extremely sore, but plain and simply, I need to suck it up and get back to livin'.

The worst part about this whole ordeal is the mental struggle. Ok, the pain really sucks, but that's obvious. I didn't anticipate how frustrating it would be to still be liming 3 weeks later. There are times when I feel normal, and then I walk and realize I'm still not there yet. I actually had a dream the other night where I woke up (within my dream) and discovered that the whole incident and the following weeks were just a dream. Then I woke up (in reality) and realized it all did happen, and the mental anguish was much worse than the physical pain. 

But as I said, I'm on the road to recovery, and eventually I'll be stronger than ever. What else can you believe, right? 

My biggest gripe with the whole situation is the monotony and repetition of my story. It's bad enough that I can't walk on a slightly iced over parking lot without seriously hurting myself, and that my decrepit ankles can no longer support my old, fat ass, but repeating that story day after day, week after week, is just unbearable. So, in the spirit of the honesty-deprived nation that we have become, and kind of always were,  I've decided to come up with a much more interesting story to gain fame, money, and of course, the sympathy of the fairer sex. Here are just a few stories I'm going with from now on that are much more intriguing than slipping on ice in the parking lot at work:

-Landed on a polar bear while helicopter skiing in Alaska and had to kick my way free.

-Tried to save the world from a maniacal, egotistical supervillain and couldn't nail the three point landing.

-Sprained it putting a boot up your ass...it's the American way!!

-That son of a bitch Paris mistook me for Achilles.

-Tried a darkside grind into a kickflip backwards boneless. Totally had it until I started to chickenfoot and ended up shifting.

-TRAMPOLINE!!! OH MY GOD WHY WOULD ANYONE GO ON A TRAMPOLINE?!?!?!

-Jumping from a bridge to a hovercraft chasing gangsters whose diamond heist I stumbled across during my visit to New York for my uncle's wedding.

-Literally anything other than what actually happened.

Anyhoo, I am feeling better. Thanks to everyone who sent their well wishes or has helped me out in any way during the last few weeks. I truly appreciate it.

I Love You All...Class Dismissed.

Toy Soldiers and Real Life Heroes

Elzhi - Life's a Bitch

Some time starting in middle school, I unknowingly practiced lucid dreaming (I say unknowingly because I didn't know there was a name for it). Most nights, as I lay in bed trying to fall asleep, I would envision the following scenario: a group of bad guys with machine guns had taken over Kennelly School and it was up to me--and some of my friends--to stop them (obviously this scenario was inspired by the 1991 classic Sean Astin film, Toy Soldiers). By repeatedly envisioning this scenario on a nightly basis, after I fell asleep, the scenario would often play out in my dream. I can clearly remember the masked men taking over the auditorium and several classrooms. I remember using my knowledge of the building's layout to come up with a plan to save everybody. I remember almost wanting it to happen in real life just so I could save everyone. It never occurred to me that some of my friends and classmates, or even myself, wouldn't make it out alive. With lucid dreaming, you have some control over the events in your dream, so I would always be able to save every last person inside the building.

No matter how often I dreamed it, however, I never actually thought there was a possibility it could happen. That all changed on April 20, 1999. The events at Columbine High School brought the nightmare of school shootings to life. There were monsters in the real world, and sometimes those monsters attack the most helpless among us. Several school shootings and various other mass shootings have followed in the years since, assuring us that Columbine was no fluke.

On December 14, 2012, we were reminded once again that true evil does exist, and it can strike at any time. But this time, the location of the shooting, the age of most of the victims, and the lack of any real connection between the victims and the shooter made it that much more nerve-wracking and earth-shattering.

In the thirteen years since Columbine, mass shootings have almost lost their shock value. We aren't surprised to hear about another one every 6 months. This year alone we saw shootings outside of the Empire State Building, at a movie theater in Aurora, Colorado, at a Sikh temple in Oak Creek, Wisconsin, and at a mall in Portland, Oregon. Portland happened just three days before Newtown.

But something is different about the events at Sandy Hook Elementary School in quiet Newtown, Connecticut. The age of the victims makes a difference. These were little kids and their teachers; lives cut short by a mentally disturbed young man with a high powered assault rifle.

Despite all of this, we need to remember that there is more good in this world than we often acknowledge. There are true heroes out there, and they are ordinary people who act extraordinarily when the situation calls for it. At this point we've probably all heard the stories of the heroes of Newtown. It took me a long time to read up on everything because it was simply too much too handle. Also, there was a lot of misinformation and exaggeration immediately afterwards, which was a disservice to all of the victims and their families. There's no need to embellish the stories of the heroes involved in saving numerous lives. Heroes like Victoria Soto, the 27 year old teacher who died shielding her students from the bullets of an assault rifle. Heroes like principal Dawn Hochsprung and school psychologist Mary Sherlach, who both died rushing at the gunman in an attempt to take him down. Heroes like Ann Marie Murphy, whose body was found laying on top of several children who she died trying to protect. Heroes like Mary Ann Jacob, who luckily survived after hiding 18 children in a storage room and barricading the door, so intent on protecting them that she would barely open the door for the police once they eventually cleared the scene. Or like all of the other heroes and innocent souls who lost their lives that day.

I never died saving my school in my dreams. Nobody died. In real life, heroes often give their own lives. At Sandy Hook Elementary, six adults made that ultimate sacrifice. It takes very special people to do such a thing. But we already knew these people were special...they were teachers.

And if Hollywood has taught us anything...

it's that teachers...

are absolutely...

AWESOME!

In interviews with family members of the adult victims, almost every story stated that the victims, "died doing what they loved." That's a powerful sentiment and one that I hope someday (in the very distant future) describes my final moments. The statement says a lot about teachers; it indicates that teachers have an implicit understanding that they may have to one day sacrifice their lives for their students (anybody who has corrected 40 research papers in a week will tell you that teachers are ALWAYS sacrificing their lives for their students). It may not be something that teachers think about very much, but I bet that most would agree that an accepted responsibility of any teacher is to protect their students at all costs.

I don't know how this tragedy will affect our schools, our children, our country, but I'm hoping that seeing the worst can bring out the best, and not just for a few days or weeks. Unfortunately, it took less than two weeks for another atrocity to occur, as a gunman in new York set his house ablaze and preyed upon the firefighters trying to save his life on Christmas Eve, so maybe we haven't reached rock bottom yet. I don't know how we will improve as a country, or as individuals, but I'm hopeful that we can. Let's remember the actions of the heroes. These were not actors in a movie, these were real people who gave their lives. Let's remember the outpouring of support that the grieving families, and the entire town, received after the tragedy. People mourned for the innocent victims in places as far away as Pakistan (which, considering the US drone attacks that kill scores of young Pakistani children, brings up an interesting debate about America's penchant for selective mourning, but that's a topic for another article...I'll also leave Chicago's 500 homicides in 2012 for another discussion). There is good in this world, but we need to show it and acknowledge it more often. I feel that people truly want to be good, and they want to see the good in others, but we too often wait for tragedies to show our love and support for our fellow human beings. Let's show love constantly. People come up with these ideas like "26 acts of kindness", and that's great, but kindness should just be the norm. We shouldn't have to be reminded to be kind or have to put some kind of quantitative measure on the amount of kindness we express. 

But I'm all for baby steps. Let's start small. Take the challenge. Make the effort. Maybe that will encourage kindness to take root and spread to the point where bad guys with machine guns in schools only exist in the highly imaginative mind of an adolescent boy who watches too many movies. We need to remember that heroes like Lauren Rousseau and Rachel D'Avino are real, but we should strive for a country in which they don't need to sacrifice their lives for us to recognize their heroism.

I Love You All...Class Dismissed.

A Letter to My Condo Association; Or: Sometimes The Best Defense Is Absurdity

Public Enemy - "Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos"

I got a letter from the government the other day. I opened and read it and said they were SUCKAS!

Okay, it wasn't the government. It was my condo association. And it wasn't the other day, it was three years ago. And I didn't just call them suckas, I wrote them a letter.

You see, until recently, I lived in a condo complex in Newington called Woodsedge. I loved the place. I lived there for almost 7 years. I never had a problem the entire time I lived there, except for a small stretch around '09. 

While I was living with my good friend (ML aka MLiggy aka Hedo Turkoglu) our landlord (my other good friend, Rizz aka The Rzarektah aka Randy Rizzo) received a letter from the condo association. The head of the association stated that they had received several complaints about our condo unit. I took exception to some of the complaints, and the fact that he did not state who made them, so I responded back. 

Here is that response:

Dear Mr. Schaefer,*

My landlord recently brought to my attention a letter he received from you concerning the unit I live in , 35-6C. I would like to address several of the comments you made, many of which I find absurd and even offensive. 

I'll start off by saying that I have lived here for 4 years now and I have never received any complaints until the neighbors directly below my unit moved in. It is true that they have asked us to turn down our music several times, and we have immediately obliged. One time, I accidentally dropped cassette tapes on the ground and she came up to complain, saying that some people had to work in the morning, as if I meant to drop and break my tapes, and as if to condescendingly imply that I didn't have to work. Also, I feel it is a tad hypocritical to ask someone to turn down their music, and then 20 minutes later, blast your own music, as they have done on several occasions. On top of all that, they take the next step to contact the condo association. Well, we have also had to ask them to turn down their music on several occasions and I don't find it necessary to go any further than that if they do turn it down. 

As far as "loud sexual sounds" coming from our unit, I didn't realize we were living in Puritannical times. I am a grown man in a monogamous relationship. My girlfriend and I happen to enjoy each other's company, and as consenting adults, sometimes that involves sexual intercourse; and yes, sometimes we can be vocal about it. My roommate and his partner feel the same way. If I wanted to read into these complaints about "sexual sounds", I might declare discrimination against my roommate and his partner. Maybe that's the problem; maybe some of the other tenants don't want "their kind" in the building. Well, I'm proud to say that we live in one of the few states that recognizes gay marriage, and maybe one day, all of the citizens of this state will be as open-minded as our state's legislation, which bans ALL kinds of discrimination. But like I said, maybe I'm just reading into this too much.

Now to address the problem of littering: last year, my roommate at the time did smoke and threw cigarette butts off the deck. When a sign was posted notifying tenants, he took a look at the ground beneath, realized his mistake, and changed his behavior. It hasn't been an issue since, and of course, he doesn't even live here anymore. And as far as beer cans being thrown off the deck, that is absurd. Show me a beer can on the ground. To accuse myself and my roommate of treating our place like a college dormitory is not only offensive but pretty ironic as I actually teach at Tunxis Community College. I haven't lived on a college campus in 8 years and if anyone thinks my place is a dorm, they are quickly shown the door. 

Mr. Schaefer, I understand that you are the person responsible for complaints and that it is not an easy job dealing with everybody's different personalities. As an educator, I realize this, trust me. However, you have to take into consideration who is doing the complaining. Our neighbors directly below us have made it almost impossible to enjoy ourselves. We have gone to extraordinary lengths to appease them and nothing seems to work. She told my roommate to turn down the music one Friday night at 7pm. He was listening to an ipod player at a very appropriate level (the ipod player does not even reach a high level) but he was still kind enough to oblige and listen to his music through headphones. Now if there have been other complaints from other tenants, maybe I'm wrong and maybe our idea of appropriate audio levels differ, but in my entire time at the condo, I have had no complaints from anyone else. I could complain about her dog that woke me up for a month straight at 7am. I could complain about the 10 minutes of hammering or pounding on food or whatever the noise is they make down there almost every day, but I don't, because I realize that some things in life are noisy. There are a lot of people in this building, with a lot of different work schedules, and there are bound to be some loud noises, possibly even some sexual sounds. We understand that, we respect all of our neighbors and the entire community, and we hope that respect is shown to us. 

Thank you.

*his real name!

They sent a letter saying the issue would be addressed at their upcoming meeting. I never heard from them again. 

I Love You All (Even You, Mr. Schaefer)...Class Dismissed.

A Note from the Ashes

Talib Kweli "The Proud"

Today marks the 11th anniversary of the September 11 attacks. More than any other world event, this atrocity has shaped the way I view myself and the world around me.

This event so thoroughly captivated the world because we have become a global society that communicates mostly through images (tv, internet) and the images from this day were so profound. The phrase "it felt like a movie" was heard constantly because the only way we could process this surreal event was through pop culture. We searched our mental index of disaster movies to envision the proper response. How do people respond to the sky falling?

Soon after, we heard the real stories of how people responded. There are countless stories of ordinary people doing extraordinary things, for their loved ones and for absolute strangers. Heartbreaking tales of courage and sacrifice.

It's cliche to point out the fact that tragedies, especially this one, bring people together, but this anniversary always reminds me of how united we can be as a country. We are now at a point where the mere mention of a political party can incite rage. Even I have resorted to over-generalizations at times that do no good for a real discussion (and I'm supposed to be independent). We all do it.

Just recently, This letter, written from a man trapped on the 84th floor of the World Trade Center on that fateful day, made its way home to his wife after passing through several hands over the past ten years. He wrote this to notify someone, anyone, about the people trapped on his floor. All those people, despite all odds, trying desperately to help each other survive.

Afterwards, we mourned together as a country. For a short time, we felt united. I won't get into what happened afterwards (the lies and deceit by our own government that led us into two unsustainable, unjustified wars, one of which has lasted more than a decade) but for that small moment, we saw what the people of this country were capable of. It was inspiring. If we can adopt that mindset to deal with our everyday problems, like the economy, and education, and FUCKING AFGHANISTAN, we will have a much brighter future than if we maintain our current attitude of contempt and ridicule for people with slightly differing opinions on healthcare or immigration reform.

9/11 will always be remembered, especially in this age of the image. It changed the world in more ways than we think. People not born yet will still feel the effects of this tragedy; not just learn about it, but actually feel it. It has sent a ripple through time, a shock-wave that will resonate for generations to come. I hope we remember the moments right after the attacks. The empathy for our fellow citizens, regardless of who they were. The solidarity, the willingness to never give up fighting for each other's lives. Even the anger; remember how we felt about our attackers, and remember what that anger led us to. Remember the lives lost. Imagine the pain that wife must have felt when that letter finally reached her; after believing that he died quickly and painlessly for ten years, she discovered that her husband was still alive when the buildings fell. This small letter had miraculously survived and literally risen up from the ashes to make a journey all the way back to her. It was painful, but she deserved to know the truth, and hopefully it has brought her some peace. I think the few words on the charred piece of paper show that her husband was a hero. Even in those final bleak moments, he still fought to survive, to help his fellow men and women. Against all odds, he made one final effort to save himself and those around him. That is the spirit we need to remember.

Even if we wanted to, we could never forget. There will always be those random moments or words or images that remind us. I welcome them. 9/11 was a day when I felt every emotion possible: sadness, confusion, fear, anger, hope, despair, courage, and on and on. It represented the extremes of each end of the human spectrum, from absolute good to absolute evil. It was a surreal moment that brought reality into focus for my young mind.

As we remember the emotions brought on by the attacks, I also hope we remember what it was like before 9/11. There was a lot less paranoia. A lot less fear. I won't say there was much more camaraderie or partisanship in politics, but we seemed a little more civilized about our contempt for each other, and we seemed able to get things done. More than a decade later, we still haven't finished the 9/11 monument. In honor of the thousands of lives lost that day, and the many more lost in the wake of the attacks, let's try to remember that we are all on the same side here. Some of us have different ideas on how to achieve our goals, but we are all working for the same things.

Let's work together so we don't finish the job the attackers started.

RIP to the victims of the attacks and all those who have died in the response to those attacks.

I Love You All...Class Dismissed.

Team, Spirit

We are the Champions...again.

Here's a little secret: the last blog post was about me. Crazy, right? I know, but it's true. For the past three years, my friends and I have formed a kickball team for the New Britain Parks and Rec Adult Kickball League. The first year, as The MotorboatingPongingBloggers, we dominated the regular season and were the heavy favorites to win the championship. Unfortunately, we faltered in the first round of the playoffs.

The next season we came back as Captain Littlejohn and The BigFoots with a renewed focus on friendship and fun. We lost several games in the regular season, but we were enjoying ourselves more than any other team in the league, and more than we had during the first season. We entered the playoffs with no hopes or expectations and we left with a championship trophy.

This year, as the defending champs and newly titled C.H.A.M.P.S. (Can't Hate a Motherf*ckin' Pimp Squad) we remained focused on friendship and fun. We realized that was the only route to success. It's not about the trophy or the town-wide respect; those things are simply byproducts of friendship and teamwork.

The legendary game from my previous blog was our last regular season game. Victory in that game assured us a bye in the first round of the playoffs. 

On Tuesday evening, we handily beat both of our opponents, only allowing one run in two games. Our defense remained impeccable and our offense was showing signs of greatness.

The championship series (best of 3) was held on Wednesday. It was a rematch of the instant classic from last week. Both teams were anxious to face each other again. Parks and Rec broke the bank and brought a PA system to introduce the teams and play the national anthem. In a typical act of camaraderie, the C.H.A.M.P.S. declined the individual introductions and came out as a team. One unit. One family. One goal.

There was something about this day from the start. We had celebrated our victories in the playoffs the night before, so the morning was a little rough. After I turned my phone's alarm off, I wasn't ready to get out of bed, so I checked facebook. The first quote I saw was from a rapper I follow: "I know today will be great because I will make it that way." It was a powerful sentiment to begin the day. 

Once I finally got out of bed and arrived at work, I got some good news from my boss. I was trying not to view every thing that happened as some kind of sign of things to come, but when the signs are all positive, it's hard not to find a connection. 

For lunch I had fried rice and chicken from the Thai place in New Britain. I felt like I had already won the championship. I had definitely won lunchtime.

After lunch I checked facebook again. I'm not just friends with famous rappers, I also allow my family to become friends with me on facebook (I'm just generous like that). I saw two posts, one from my aunt and one from my cousin, that stopped me in my tracks. This day was the 6 year anniversary of my grandmother's (my father's mother) passing. Six years to the day. 

In my mind, I was transported back in time. I was at UConn Health Center in a hospital room with my family, surrounding my grandmother, lovingly nicknamed E-Mommy (Two-Mama to some). She was lying in bed with tubes down her nose and throat. For the first time in my life, I saw my very independent grandmother unable to speak or do anything on her own. It was heart-wrenching. She was 95 (96?) and I had come to grips with the fact that she would die soon, but I could never have prepared myself to see her suffer. More than any physical pain, I knew it had to eat her up to be unable to care for herself, and especially to be unable to talk. She may have had horrible hearing for the last decade of her life, but she had no problem talking. The tube in her mouth must have been torture. 

After saying hello to E-Mommy, my family and I made small talk (something I've never been good at). Something about death and discomfort causes people to talk passionately about their favorite tv shows or some other inane, irrelevant topic. 

I didn't do much talking. I mostly looked at my grandmother, lying in bed. This was where we would all eventually end up. No matter how we lived our lives, no matter how many achievements and accomplishments, no matter how many or how few friends we've made, no matter how much money we make, no matter what our political views are, all of our stories end the same way. As my family talked, I kept looking into her eyes. I didn't know what to say. Anything I could have said would have been trite. I never know what to say to people at funerals, never mind what to say to a dying person. But as I looked into her eyes and she looked back, I felt like we were communicating more powerfully than ever before. She wasn't talking to me in my mind like Professor X, there was just a feeling, a connection that felt very powerful. I could tell she wanted to talk (as usual) and I felt like I knew exactly what she was saying. It was crazy, but I almost felt like her life flashed before my eyes.  

There was no fear in her eyes, except for maybe the fear that I wouldn't understand what she was trying to say. I felt her strong desire to speak, to at least say goodbye, and I wanted to rip the tube out to hear her voice one last time.

Instead I took her hand and kept looking in her eyes. I felt her wisdom, her empathy, her passion for life flowing through me.  Powerful thoughts floated around my mind: "Take time to appreciate your life. Love your friends and family. Live for the moment, with an eye on the future."

Maybe it was just standard, even cliche, life advice flashing through my brain, but in that moment, those cliches became truth in my mind. Looking in her eyes, I felt the urgency of life. I felt her desire to live just a little bit longer, even though she had don so much in her life. I felt her pleading with her eyes, "Don't wait for life to happen, live it." Enjoy the moments with your friends and family because you never know how long you, or they, have in this world.

I left the room and joined my family for lunch. My grandmother died soon after, having lived a long, glorious life. Along with my mother's mother (who also lived into her 90's) she left an indelible impression on me. I can only hope to live up to the example she set.

Since her passing, I have tried to live by the lessons she imparted to me (or the lessons I felt like she was trying to tell me). Most importantly, I have learned to have a greater appreciation for my friends and family, and I have tried my best to live in the moment. Luckily, I have friends who live by the same premises. The C.H.A.M.P.S. in particular, play by the creed "have more fun than our competitor's and we will win." Maybe we won't come out on top, but we will still win. We wanted to win each game, but that was always secondary to the joy we took in playing together and the love we showed each other.

Some may say that Adult Kickball is a silly concept, that adults can and should find better ways to spend their time. Although I agree that a kickball championship should not be your only aspiration in life, I would venture to say that more people need to spend some time running around in the dirt and kicking rubber balls with their friends. Science tells us that "play" is one of the best means for learning in a child, and I would add that the same goes for adults. Team sports in particular offer all participants numerous opportunities to learn and grow as a person. At the very least, playing a sport is great stress relief. 

So with our team pride and overall joy on full display, and with the thought of my grandmother at the forefront of my mind, C.H.A.M.P.S. took the field on Wednesday night. 

The first game was a nail-biter. The 7th inning came and went, and we headed to extra innings tied 0-0. In no time, it was the bottom of the 9th, and neither team looked like they would be able to break the tie. Our mid-2nd baseman Abby strode to the plate. She kicked a hard grounder to third base. The somewhat over-confident third baseman rushed the throw and the ball sailed past the first baseman. Abby ran to second base.

The imposing Chief Peterson stepped up to the plate. There were less than 2 outs, so we knew that a couple well-placed kicks could seal a victory. 

All it took was one kick. Chief sailed it over the second baseman's head and Abby took off. She rounded third, didn't even fall on her face, and scored the winning run.

We congratulated each other, but kept the celebration to a minimum. 

One win down, one to go. 

In truth, whether or not we won the next game was truly irrelevant; we had created something with our team that was truly special. Our exuberance and our friendship had transcended the game and had even infected the crowd gathered to watch the game. It's hard not to root for a team that cheers everyone on constantly and forms an (almost) never-ending loop of high-fives on the sideline after every inning. We had created something long-lasting, something that would live beyond the plastic trophies and the plaques hanging up in Town Hall; we had created an unbreakable bond with each other.

We were the visiting team for the second game. It started off slow once again. Early in the game, we took the lead after our star short-stop Dizzle sped his way from first base to home on a fly ball.

Our defense remained perfect and we scored a few more times soon after the first run. With Captain Littlejohn on the mound, we knew the other team had no chance. He hadn't given up a run in two games and when all was said and done, he only gave up one run in 30 playoff innings.

As the final out was made, the team ran towards the pitcher's mound, high-fives flying everywhere. After a quick celebration, we made our way to home plate to shake the other team's hands. They played hard and we had a lot of respect for them.

After the hand shakes, the celebration resumed. We had defended our championship, using our friendship as an unstoppable force. We may not have had the most talent in the league, but we had the most love.

It was a joyous night, one that will not soon be forgotten. As we gathered together and raised our kickball trophies in the air, my thoughts returned to my grandmother. I couldn't help but imagine E-Mommy smiling down on me, knowing that I was living by the lessons she passed on to me.

I love you E-Mommy.

I love you C.H.A.M.P.S.

WOOOOOOOOO!

I Love You All...Class Dismissed.

One Shining Moment

 Friendship Wins with a Walk-Off

He stepped towards the plate and considered his options. It was the last inning and his team was down 1-0. This was the last game of the regular season and both teams were playing for a bye in the first round of the playoffs. The game was a defensive battle with great plays made by both sides.

For some reason, he never worried about losing the game, and he knew every one of his teammates felt the same way. They had played too hard and their friendship was too strong; losing was simply not an option.

By some stroke of luck, or karma, or weedle, the top of the line-up came up to start the last inning. Everything that happened in the previous innings had led to this opportunity. They had stressed friendship and teamwork all season, and the few times they were behind on the scoreboard, their joyous camaraderie never ceased for one moment.

Their lead off man is the fastest person in New Britain, and in the game's biggest moment, he turned a routine blooper into a double to lead off the inning. The already excited team became especially ecstatic knowing the tying run was in scoring position with no outs.

Next up, the star center-fielder executed a perfect sacrifice fly, sending the speedy tying run to third. All it would take was another sac fly to tie the game.

It was his turn, and it didn't take him long to know the only real option: get the ball high up in the air and bring the runner home.

He took the first pitch, an outside fastball.

The second pitch started out directly towards his preferred zone but began bouncing halfway to the plate.

The team cheered from the bench.

"Come on Thuggy!"

"Let's go Thug!"

"Here we go friendship!"

All he had to do was kick the shit out of the ball and get the runner home.

The ball came in quickly but straightforward, low to the ground, and directly over the plate. He took a few steps and kicked the shit out of the ball.

It shot out towards left center field, arching high into the night sky, illuminated by the field's bright lights.

The left fielder, seemingly in a last second, independent decision, decided to play volleyball and sent the ball right back up into the sky. It was an effort to delay the runner from tagging up; unfortunately for the defense, the rules state that the runner can tag as soon as contact is made. What the move did succeed in doing was confusing the hell out of everybody.

The tying run stayed on third, waiting to see what would happen. The second baseman stood waiting for the ball to come back down, hoping to turn and throw out the runner at home plate. Maybe it was his anxiousness to throw the ball, or his confusion at what just happened, but something caused him to let the ball slip right through his fingers and roll towards center field.

The runner on third finally took off and made it easily to home plate while the third base coach shouted "Run!" and "Get home!" to the confused runner just rounding first base.

He was halfway to second base when he saw the ball rolling on the ground in the outfield. He wasn't sure what happened. He looked to make sure the tying run scored. He saw a sea of yellow shirts on the third base line waving him on and screaming at him to run. He put his head down and did just that.

He rounded second base and looked towards the coach who was still shouting at the top of his lungs. There was no question: he was running, and he was scoring.

He rounded third and looked towards home. He knew the ball had to be getting close. He didn't have a lot of speed, but his feet managed to switch to fifth gear; unfortunately, the rest of his body stayed in fourth gear. He felt himself losing balance. His body started to tip forward as his feet furiously scampered beneath it. He was now parallel to the ground.

Images of Ryan Braun flashed through his mind. Except this was worse; this would cost his team the game.

He put his hands out and managed to balance himself enough to stumble a few more paces towards home plate. He thought he might be able to right himself, but after 3 or 4 more sloppy steps, he fell forward on his face.

He looked at the plate, about ten steps away, and began to crawl. At any moment, the ball would hit him directly in the back.

He made an attempt to get up but couldn't get past his knees. He silently wished for someone to pick him up.

His wish was granted. He felt a tug at the back of his shirt and his body was lifted enough to get his feet underneath him . He was up and running but he knew it was too late. The ball had to be coming for him.

He looked back as he ran. The ball was rolling around near third base. The defense made no effort to pick it up.

He walked the last few steps and fell backwards on top of home plate, waiting for the ensuing celebration as his teammates rushed towards him.

The game was over. Friendship had persevered once again.

I Love You All (Especially you, C.H.A.M.P.S.)...Class Dismissed.