I have a friend that abandoned northern Ohio some seven years ago for the “greener” pastures of Los Angeles, California. I’ve fought with him over the past three calendar changes about the merits of living there when most of his closest friends and all of his family are back East. Eight months out of the year he feeds me some line about LA being where his preferred industry makes its home and how he somewhat enjoys his time there. All I hear is, “Blah, blah, blah.”
The other four months he chooses not to speak at all, instead torturing me with pictures of sunny skies and palm trees, ‘nuff said. And it IS torture.
To say I dislike snow is putting it about as mildly as possible. I mean, we’re talking de-veined jalapeno mild. I loathe the stuff (snow, not jalapenos). What it does to my car; what it does to my back; what it does to my mood; all of it. You can have it; store it wherever you keep the Winter Olympics.
But that brings me back to the palm tree pictures. Those pictures are supposed to insinuate (and often times accompany a not so subtle message that), “Why, again, would I want to live there?” Well, “there” is northern Ohio, and that question is 100% valid. As you probably figured, I’m going to take a stab at an answer.
It’s pretty simple, really, and Tupac said it best, “For every dark night, there’s a bright day after that.” Well for every dark, dreary and freezing winter, there’s a beautiful spring after that. In 2010, its start happened to coincide with March 1st. The first 11 days of the 3rd month have been beyond gorgeous, and I’m sorry, but people who live in more temperate climates just don’t understand that feeling; that desperately thankful feeling.
That’s why I love living here. There are very few feelings that match the greatness of the first time you step outside and smell that warmth in the air. Or rolling down the driver’s side window and just inhaling a crisp, but warm breeze. For that matter, it’s unbelievable the first time you have to keep your car open a few minutes before climbing in because the sun has just baked the interior. Warm weather people take these feelings for granted, even complain about them occasionally! Gasp!
There are all different variations of the phrase “you can’t appreciate the sun without the rain.” I know tons of people would argue that point, but I really think they just don’t get it. Sure, I’d love to wake up 365 days a year knowing I could go for a run through neighborhood streets or play basketball oceanside, but I’m perfectly content where I am, and I know the struggle to push through the winter months will all be (more than) validated on that one perfect spring day.
I’m sure I’m jinxing the weather and the next few weeks will blast the area with rain, wind and probably a couple more dustings of snow, but at this point, I think we can take it.
You haven’t lived until you’ve seen the bright golden sun against a cloudless blue sky after a long Ohio winter; and then again after three weeks of spring rain, sleet and snow. That’s why I want to live here. For all the cold, dark nights, I love the bright warm days after that. And the irony is Tupac was a So Cal boy.
To live and die in LA, indeed.
Be well.
PS - Thanks to Myrch for the inspiration to write this. See his take here.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
I'm Not... Watching
...and neither are you, apparently.
That's alright, though, the Connecticut Huskies women's basketball team doesn't seem to care, they just keep rattling off win after win after win after... You get the picture.
You should also be aware that they aren't just winning these games by the skin of their teeth. Every single win has come by double digits! Their AVERAGE margin of victory is 32.5 points per game! The last time they lost, George W. Bush was in office and the economy was in shambles. Well, at least part of that has changed.
There simply aren't enough exclamation points available to do this streak proper justice. It is one of the most significant sporting achievements in the history of sport. And it definitely belongs in this blog because 90% of the people in this country are ambivalent to it's excellence. And at least half the population who IS aware could not name three players off that team (myself included).
This team is the epitome of "Not Famous," and their lack of notoriety hasn't seemed to bother them. If anything, it may serve to keep them more focused. It makes you wonder what our professional athletes could do if we'd just stop paying attention to them. They'd have to be more focused and dedicated than ever before. They'd actually have to worry about doing something for the betterment of themselves, rather than for the fame and fortune.
What a thought, huh?
I hereby am officially declaring the Uconn women's basketball win streak "Exhibit A" in my quest to get through to someone that it does not matter who's watching, it only matters what you make of your own opportunities. And I thank these ladies for providing me some evidence.
And now, I'm changing the channel, because I don't care to watch women's basketball.
Be well.
That's alright, though, the Connecticut Huskies women's basketball team doesn't seem to care, they just keep rattling off win after win after win after... You get the picture.
You should also be aware that they aren't just winning these games by the skin of their teeth. Every single win has come by double digits! Their AVERAGE margin of victory is 32.5 points per game! The last time they lost, George W. Bush was in office and the economy was in shambles. Well, at least part of that has changed.
There simply aren't enough exclamation points available to do this streak proper justice. It is one of the most significant sporting achievements in the history of sport. And it definitely belongs in this blog because 90% of the people in this country are ambivalent to it's excellence. And at least half the population who IS aware could not name three players off that team (myself included).
This team is the epitome of "Not Famous," and their lack of notoriety hasn't seemed to bother them. If anything, it may serve to keep them more focused. It makes you wonder what our professional athletes could do if we'd just stop paying attention to them. They'd have to be more focused and dedicated than ever before. They'd actually have to worry about doing something for the betterment of themselves, rather than for the fame and fortune.
What a thought, huh?
I hereby am officially declaring the Uconn women's basketball win streak "Exhibit A" in my quest to get through to someone that it does not matter who's watching, it only matters what you make of your own opportunities. And I thank these ladies for providing me some evidence.
And now, I'm changing the channel, because I don't care to watch women's basketball.
Be well.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
I'm Not... Busy
... for roughly the next 8 months...
Well that's not entirely true, but in any circumstance, I'm substantially less pressed for time than I was 24 hours ago, which was right about the time my team's basketball season was ending on a last gasp attempt at a runner in the paint.
So here I sit, only instead of sitting on a hard bench, I'm sitting on a lovely, soft, mocha microfiber couch. Instead of scouting a game or watching film, I'm waiting on a pudgy version of Jay Mohr to take up the television screen. Instead of barking orders at players, I'm getting growled at by Mya, my Siberian Husky who apparently needs more attention than a Kardashian girl on shooting hiatus.
Isn't this the life?
Let me tell you one of the most challenging moments of being not famous, J-Socks style. It came last night about 10:30PM in an enormous green football locker room at Westlake High School. It came after 32 minutes of hard fought competition on the adjacent basketball court. It came when all but 6 young athletes had gone home, moving on to other things; baseball, maybe.
For me, it came in the form of a flashback to the last four years of my coaching life; when the remaining 6 young men were Freshmen in high school. When, on the bus headed to their last game of the season, I told them that the next four years would be gone in the blink of an eye, and how I pleaded with them through anything to just keep pushing forward and never take any moment for granted. I quoted one of my coaching heroes, Jimmy V, in imploring them, "Don't Ever Give Up." I remembered their Sophomore year when they struggled to find themselves as they moved up the program and their Junior year seeing such progress and finding the will to become leaders. And I thought back vividly on this past season, their Senior year, as they persevered through injuries, quitting teammates, no luck, no support from the school community and a tough schedule to steadily improve and give a team all they could handle in the tournament.
And just like that, reality snapped me back to the present moment. A moment filled with red eyes, faces buried in hands to keep the whole world out, sopping jerseys pulled over weary faces and two blank stares wondering aloud how it could be done. Mercifully, gravity took over, my head fell and my vision became focused on the floor. I didn't want them to see as my head throbbed and I fought hard to keep tears at bay.
Four years I was the faceless rock sitting with these young men, the guy at the end of the bench telling them it would be ok, don't give up, things will get better. But now, there is nothing to say. And so I didn't, I just sat with them. Choked up and silent, quite the opposite of all our previous time together.
And I listened as finally they started to talk and pick each other's spirits up. And as a group they all began the process of gaining closure on the situation. And I got some closure, too, because I realized they didn't need me anymore; they'd all become the rock for each other.
As the Assistant Coach, you just kind of sit there and help out as needed. You are invisible to spectators, officials and, most of the time, the players. But as I sat there and they slowly filed out, one by one, they all said, "thank you," and I realized what being not famous meant for me. It meant that painful moment of empathy, as these young men dealt with losing one of the things they cherished most. But seeing that they were more a team now than they'd ever been. I guess you don't have to have a face to make an impression.
I'm incredibly proud of those 6 and I can't believe that my experience with them has come to a close. I'm unbelievably blessed to have gotten an opportunity to coach that group, and I am certain that I'm a better coach because of it, even if I'm still just sitting there, faceless, on the bench. And I hope they have no regrets, because I sure don't.
Well, maybe just one, from that damn Freshman year... I wish I would have told them not to blink.
Be well.
Well that's not entirely true, but in any circumstance, I'm substantially less pressed for time than I was 24 hours ago, which was right about the time my team's basketball season was ending on a last gasp attempt at a runner in the paint.
So here I sit, only instead of sitting on a hard bench, I'm sitting on a lovely, soft, mocha microfiber couch. Instead of scouting a game or watching film, I'm waiting on a pudgy version of Jay Mohr to take up the television screen. Instead of barking orders at players, I'm getting growled at by Mya, my Siberian Husky who apparently needs more attention than a Kardashian girl on shooting hiatus.
Isn't this the life?
Let me tell you one of the most challenging moments of being not famous, J-Socks style. It came last night about 10:30PM in an enormous green football locker room at Westlake High School. It came after 32 minutes of hard fought competition on the adjacent basketball court. It came when all but 6 young athletes had gone home, moving on to other things; baseball, maybe.
For me, it came in the form of a flashback to the last four years of my coaching life; when the remaining 6 young men were Freshmen in high school. When, on the bus headed to their last game of the season, I told them that the next four years would be gone in the blink of an eye, and how I pleaded with them through anything to just keep pushing forward and never take any moment for granted. I quoted one of my coaching heroes, Jimmy V, in imploring them, "Don't Ever Give Up." I remembered their Sophomore year when they struggled to find themselves as they moved up the program and their Junior year seeing such progress and finding the will to become leaders. And I thought back vividly on this past season, their Senior year, as they persevered through injuries, quitting teammates, no luck, no support from the school community and a tough schedule to steadily improve and give a team all they could handle in the tournament.
And just like that, reality snapped me back to the present moment. A moment filled with red eyes, faces buried in hands to keep the whole world out, sopping jerseys pulled over weary faces and two blank stares wondering aloud how it could be done. Mercifully, gravity took over, my head fell and my vision became focused on the floor. I didn't want them to see as my head throbbed and I fought hard to keep tears at bay.
Four years I was the faceless rock sitting with these young men, the guy at the end of the bench telling them it would be ok, don't give up, things will get better. But now, there is nothing to say. And so I didn't, I just sat with them. Choked up and silent, quite the opposite of all our previous time together.
And I listened as finally they started to talk and pick each other's spirits up. And as a group they all began the process of gaining closure on the situation. And I got some closure, too, because I realized they didn't need me anymore; they'd all become the rock for each other.
As the Assistant Coach, you just kind of sit there and help out as needed. You are invisible to spectators, officials and, most of the time, the players. But as I sat there and they slowly filed out, one by one, they all said, "thank you," and I realized what being not famous meant for me. It meant that painful moment of empathy, as these young men dealt with losing one of the things they cherished most. But seeing that they were more a team now than they'd ever been. I guess you don't have to have a face to make an impression.
I'm incredibly proud of those 6 and I can't believe that my experience with them has come to a close. I'm unbelievably blessed to have gotten an opportunity to coach that group, and I am certain that I'm a better coach because of it, even if I'm still just sitting there, faceless, on the bench. And I hope they have no regrets, because I sure don't.
Well, maybe just one, from that damn Freshman year... I wish I would have told them not to blink.
Be well.
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