While doing some essential web surfing during business hours, I ran across a copy of a memo David Mamet sent out in October 2005 to the writers on the CBS drama The Unit, setting out his philosophy on what makes good television drama. I think it's an interesting mediation on writing and I want to put it somewhere that I won't lose it. I do think it's interesting, however, that a guy known for a talky, action-static writing style would proselytize about keeping things moving:
“TO THE WRITERS OF THE UNIT
GREETINGS.
AS WE LEARN HOW TO WRITE THIS SHOW, A RECURRING PROBLEM BECOMES CLEAR.
THE PROBLEM IS THIS: TO DIFFERENTIATE BETWEEN *DRAMA* AND NON-DRAMA. LET ME BREAK-IT-DOWN-NOW.
EVERYONE IN CREATION IS SCREAMING AT US TO MAKE THE SHOW CLEAR. WE ARE TASKED WITH, IT SEEMS, CRAMMING A SHITLOAD OF *INFORMATION* INTO A LITTLE BIT OF TIME.
OUR FRIENDS. THE PENGUINS, THINK THAT WE, THEREFORE, ARE EMPLOYED TO COMMUNICATE *INFORMATION* — AND, SO, AT TIMES, IT SEEMS TO US.
BUT NOTE:THE AUDIENCE WILL NOT TUNE IN TO WATCH INFORMATION. YOU WOULDN’T, I WOULDN’T. NO ONE WOULD OR WILL. THE AUDIENCE WILL ONLY TUNE IN AND STAY TUNED TO WATCH DRAMA.
QUESTION:WHAT IS DRAMA? DRAMA, AGAIN, IS THE QUEST OF THE HERO TO OVERCOME THOSE THINGS WHICH PREVENT HIM FROM ACHIEVING A SPECIFIC, *ACUTE* GOAL.
SO: WE, THE WRITERS, MUST ASK OURSELVES *OF EVERY SCENE* THESE THREE QUESTIONS.
1) WHO WANTS WHAT?
2) WHAT HAPPENS IF HER DON’T GET IT?
3) WHY NOW?
THE ANSWERS TO THESE QUESTIONS ARE LITMUS PAPER. APPLY THEM, AND THEIR ANSWER WILL TELL YOU IF THE SCENE IS DRAMATIC OR NOT.
IF THE SCENE IS NOT DRAMATICALLY WRITTEN, IT WILL NOT BE DRAMATICALLY ACTED.
THERE IS NO MAGIC FAIRY DUST WHICH WILL MAKE A BORING, USELESS, REDUNDANT, OR MERELY INFORMATIVE SCENE AFTER IT LEAVES YOUR TYPEWRITER. *YOU* THE WRITERS, ARE IN CHARGE OF MAKING SURE *EVERY* SCENE IS DRAMATIC.
THIS MEANS ALL THE “LITTLE” EXPOSITIONAL SCENES OF TWO PEOPLE TALKING ABOUT A THIRD. THIS BUSHWAH (AND WE ALL TEND TO WRITE IT ON THE FIRST DRAFT) IS LESS THAN USELESS, SHOULD IT FINALLY, GOD FORBID, GET FILMED.
IF THE SCENE BORES YOU WHEN YOU READ IT, REST ASSURED IT *WILL* BORE THE ACTORS, AND WILL, THEN, BORE THE AUDIENCE, AND WE’RE ALL GOING TO BE BACK IN THE BREADLINE.
SOMEONE HAS TO MAKE THE SCENE DRAMATIC. IT IS NOT THE ACTORS JOB (THE ACTORS JOB IS TO BE TRUTHFUL). IT IS NOT THE DIRECTORS JOB. HIS OR HER JOB IS TO FILM IT STRAIGHTFORWARDLY AND REMIND THE ACTORS TO TALK FAST. IT IS *YOUR* JOB.
EVERY SCENE MUST BE DRAMATIC. THAT MEANS: THE MAIN CHARACTER MUST HAVE A SIMPLE, STRAIGHTFORWARD, PRESSING NEED WHICH IMPELS HIM OR HER TO SHOW UP IN THE SCENE.
THIS NEED IS WHY THEY *CAME*. IT IS WHAT THE SCENE IS ABOUT. THEIR ATTEMPT TO GET THIS NEED MET *WILL* LEAD, AT THE END OF THE SCENE,TO *FAILURE* – THIS IS HOW THE SCENE IS *OVER*. IT, THIS FAILURE, WILL, THEN, OF NECESSITY, PROPEL US INTO THE *NEXT* SCENE.
ALL THESE ATTEMPTS, TAKEN TOGETHER, WILL, OVER THE COURSE OF THE EPISODE, CONSTITUTE THE *PLOT*.
ANY SCENE, THUS, WHICH DOES NOT BOTH ADVANCE THE PLOT, AND STANDALONE (THAT IS, DRAMATICALLY, BY ITSELF, ON ITS OWN MERITS) IS EITHER SUPERFLUOUS, OR INCORRECTLY WRITTEN.
YES BUT YES BUT YES BUT, YOU SAY: WHAT ABOUT THE NECESSITY OF WRITING IN ALL THAT “INFORMATION?”
AND I RESPOND “*FIGURE IT OUT*” ANY DICKHEAD WITH A BLUESUIT CAN BE (AND IS) TAUGHT TO SAY “MAKE IT CLEARER”, AND “I WANT TO KNOW MORE *ABOUT* HIM”.
WHEN YOU’VE MADE IT SO CLEAR THAT EVEN THIS BLUESUITED PENGUIN IS HAPPY, BOTH YOU AND HE OR SHE *WILL* BE OUT OF A JOB.
THE JOB OF THE DRAMATIST IS TO MAKE THE AUDIENCE WONDER WHAT HAPPENS NEXT. *NOT* TO EXPLAIN TO THEM WHAT JUST HAPPENED, OR TO*SUGGEST* TO THEM WHAT HAPPENS NEXT.
ANY DICKHEAD, AS ABOVE, CAN WRITE, “BUT, JIM, IF WE DON’T ASSASSINATE THE PRIME MINISTER IN THE NEXT SCENE, ALL EUROPE WILL BE ENGULFED IN FLAME”
WE ARE NOT GETTING PAID TO *REALIZE* THAT THE AUDIENCE NEEDS THIS INFORMATION TO UNDERSTAND THE NEXT SCENE, BUT TO FIGURE OUT HOW TO WRITE THE SCENE BEFORE US SUCH THAT THE AUDIENCE WILL BE INTERESTED IN WHAT HAPPENS NEXT.
YES BUT, YES BUT YES *BUT* YOU REITERATE.
AND I RESPOND *FIGURE IT OUT*.
*HOW* DOES ONE STRIKE THE BALANCE BETWEEN WITHHOLDING AND VOUCHSAFING INFORMATION? *THAT* IS THE ESSENTIAL TASK OF THE DRAMATIST. AND THE ABILITY TO *DO* THAT IS WHAT SEPARATES YOU FROM THE LESSER SPECIES IN THEIR BLUE SUITS.
FIGURE IT OUT.
START, EVERY TIME, WITH THIS INVIOLABLE RULE: THE *SCENE MUST BE DRAMATIC*. it must start because the hero HAS A PROBLEM, AND IT MUST CULMINATE WITH THE HERO FINDING HIM OR HERSELF EITHER THWARTED OR EDUCATED THAT ANOTHER WAY EXISTS.
LOOK AT YOUR LOG LINES. ANY LOGLINE READING “BOB AND SUE DISCUSS…” IS NOT DESCRIBING A DRAMATIC SCENE.
PLEASE NOTE THAT OUR OUTLINES ARE, GENERALLY, SPECTACULAR. THE DRAMA FLOWS OUT BETWEEN THE OUTLINE AND THE FIRST DRAFT.
THINK LIKE A FILMMAKER RATHER THAN A FUNCTIONARY, BECAUSE, IN TRUTH, *YOU* ARE MAKING THE FILM. WHAT YOU WRITE, THEY WILL SHOOT.
HERE ARE THE DANGER SIGNALS. ANY TIME TWO CHARACTERS ARE TALKING ABOUT A THIRD, THE SCENE IS A CROCK OF SHIT.
ANY TIME ANY CHARACTER IS SAYING TO ANOTHER “AS YOU KNOW”, THAT IS, TELLING ANOTHER CHARACTER WHAT YOU, THE WRITER, NEED THE AUDIENCE TO KNOW, THE SCENE IS A CROCK OF SHIT.
DO *NOT* WRITE A CROCK OF SHIT. WRITE A RIPPING THREE, FOUR, SEVEN MINUTE SCENE WHICH MOVES THE STORY ALONG, AND YOU CAN, VERY SOON, BUY A HOUSE IN BEL AIR *AND* HIRE SOMEONE TO LIVE THERE FOR YOU.
REMEMBER YOU ARE WRITING FOR A VISUAL MEDIUM. *MOST* TELEVISION WRITING, OURS INCLUDED, SOUNDS LIKE *RADIO*. THE *CAMERA* CAN DO THE EXPLAINING FOR YOU. *LET* IT. WHAT ARE THE CHARACTERS *DOING* -*LITERALLY*. WHAT ARE THEY HANDLING, WHAT ARE THEY READING. WHAT ARE THEY WATCHING ON TELEVISION, WHAT ARE THEY *SEEING*.
IF YOU PRETEND THE CHARACTERS CANT SPEAK, AND WRITE A SILENT MOVIE, YOU WILL BE WRITING GREAT DRAMA.
IF YOU DEPRIVE YOURSELF OF THE CRUTCH OF NARRATION, EXPOSITION,INDEED, OF *SPEECH*. YOU WILL BE FORGED TO WORK IN A NEW MEDIUM - TELLING THE STORY IN PICTURES (ALSO KNOWN AS SCREENWRITING)
THIS IS A NEW SKILL. NO ONE DOES IT NATURALLY. YOU CAN TRAIN YOURSELVES TO DO IT, BUT YOU NEED TO *START*.
I CLOSE WITH THE ONE THOUGHT: LOOK AT THE *SCENE* AND ASK YOURSELF “IS IT DRAMATIC? IS IT *ESSENTIAL*? DOES IT ADVANCE THE PLOT?
ANSWER TRUTHFULLY.
IF THE ANSWER IS “NO” WRITE IT AGAIN OR THROW IT OUT. IF YOU’VE GOT ANY QUESTIONS, CALL ME UP.
LOVE, DAVE MAMET
SANTA MONICA 19 OCTO 05
(IT IS *NOT* YOUR RESPONSIBILITY TO KNOW THE ANSWERS, BUT IT IS YOUR, AND MY, RESPONSIBILITY TO KNOW AND TO *ASK THE RIGHT Questions* OVER AND OVER. UNTIL IT BECOMES SECOND NATURE. I BELIEVE THEY ARE LISTED ABOVE.)”
March 25, 2010
March 19, 2010
King of Rock?
Reading Peter King's weekly pro football column on the Sports Illustrated website is a guilty pleasure. For one thing, for a guy who writes the most popular football column around King doesn't show a whole lot of football acumen. Whether he is picking games, analyzing the draft, or choosing his all-pro team, King leaves many of his readers scratching their heads. Even worse, he is not a very good writer, prone to cliches, self -righteousness, and an artificial folksiness that you just have to ignore. A typical King entry: "The folks at Webster's might want to consider using a photo of Kurt Warner next to the definition of "courage." Heckuva a football player, and an even better human being." Yuck.
Still, King always provides an incredible amount of information, rumors and quotes from all 32 teams. He has the best Rolodex in the business and football people give him the dirt. There would be no way to have a feel for what goes on around the league without reading King's column. The guys at ESPN know more about football but they can't touch King for the sheer breadth of his weekly reportage.
So Peter King remains an enduring guilty pleasure. Even in the offseason I try to catch his column. There are times, however, when King apparently has run out of things to write about football and lapses into other areas of expertise, and this past Monday's column was enough to curdle the milk in one of King's cherished Starbuck's hazelnut lattes:
But does Peter King even know who The Dells are? They have been together for over 50 years. They sang "Oh, What a Night." They backed up Ray Charles and Dionne Warwick. They consulted on the movie The Five Heartbeats. They had hit albums spanning from 1955 to 1981. In R&B circles their harmonies and vocals are revered. King cites their eight top-40 hits as if it were a demerit. Do we even need to review the musical greats who had only one top-40 hit, much less eight? Maybe Peter thinks that Jimi Hendrix, The Velvet Underground, Randy Newman and the Grateful Dead should all get out of the way for KISS as well? That's just the "one hit wonders" much less other great acts with less Top 40 hits than The Dells. Okay you get the point: number of Top 40 hits is no way to judge a band's greatness. Just because the preteen Peter King didn't have a Dells poster next to his Farrah Fawcett poster over his bed doesn't mean KISS has gotten the snub from the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
But King also throws around a couple of other names: The Stooges. Bobby Womack. People that King thinks need to take a back seat to the legend of Def Leppard. Let's take Womack first.
Q: What do Sam Cooke, Ray Charles, James Brown, the Rolling Stones, Patti LaBelle, Stevie Wonder, Aretha Franklin, Wilson Pickett, Janis Joplin, J. Geils Band, Sly and the Family Stone and Quentin Tarantino have in common? A: They all worked with Bobby Womack, used his songs, had him play in their backup bands. Now, nobody is even suggesting that this roster of collaborators can hold a candle to the band with a) the greatest one-armed drummer in the world and b) the greatest strip club song of all time, but I will point out that The Dells and Bobby Womack are both R&B legends. I'm guessing Peter King doesn't have a lot of Frankie Beverly and Maze CD's in his collection.
As for The Stooges, all I can say is if you want to know how we ever got to grunge and alt-punk, not to mention how we got to KISS for god sakes, start with The Stooges. Their influence on American rock is massive. They didn't make a ton of music but what they made carries a raw energy that sounded like nothing else coming out of the music scene 1969-73, something primitive and dangerous, an energy I'm not sure has ever really been surpassed. KISS wrote some nice power pop tunes, but nobody ever cites KISS as a musical influence. The Stooges were influential and don't deserve King's dismissal.
I'm not going to get into as much detail with Spooner Oldham but here are some of the people this great organist has played for and written songs for: Aretha Franklin, Percy Sledge on "When a Man Loves a Woman," Janis Joplin, Wilson Pickett, Neil Young, Bob Dylan, Jackson Browne, Everly Brothers. A legendary musician and songwriter, but unfortunately an R&B legend and, therefore, does not pass muster in the eyes of musicologist Peter King.
In sports, an athlete earns hall of fame consideration based on the numbers: home runs, touchdowns, goals. While there is always room for debate every time an Andre Dawson or Bruce Sutter is voted into the Hall of Fame, the debate rages over relatively narrow discrepancies in opinion. Sports fans look at the player's career statistics. Some athletes are clearly qualified, most are not, and a few have resumes that straddle the fence. But everyone agrees, more or less, on the criteria. They are readily and easily identified.
Music operates on a different frequency. The achievements, the influences, not easily quantified. In football we might argue that one running back was truly great while another back with similar statistics benefited from a great offensive line, but the two players are both trying to gain yards, score touchdowns. Musicians make music for all kinds of reasons, for all kinds of audiences. Yes, there are numbers available - album sales, Top 40 hits, Grammy Awards. That tells us who won the popularity contest, perhaps, or who got marketed the best. But music doesn't happen on a court or between the hash marks. There is no shot clock, no three strikes and you're out. Every song is painted on a blank canvas. While there may be rules to making music, those rules are meant to be broken. Trying to distill the creative process and its impact on each and every listener down to sales figures is like ranking orchids. That's why a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame can never be taken as seriously as its sports-related counterparts, and why citing the number of Top-40 hits a band has is irrelevant at best.
I get the feeling Peter King judges bands on how often he saw their cassette tapes offered for sale in the Columbia House music catalogs. "11 albums for $1. What a great country we live in."
Still, King always provides an incredible amount of information, rumors and quotes from all 32 teams. He has the best Rolodex in the business and football people give him the dirt. There would be no way to have a feel for what goes on around the league without reading King's column. The guys at ESPN know more about football but they can't touch King for the sheer breadth of his weekly reportage.
So Peter King remains an enduring guilty pleasure. Even in the offseason I try to catch his column. There are times, however, when King apparently has run out of things to write about football and lapses into other areas of expertise, and this past Monday's column was enough to curdle the milk in one of King's cherished Starbuck's hazelnut lattes:
Cool story in the Boston Herald Sunday about the great omissions to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Not in: KISS, Chicago, Neil Diamond, Yes, Tom Waits, Def Leppard, Dire Straits, The Commodores. I wasn't sure of the great injustices there (except for Neil Diamond, with his incredible 37 top-40 hits), but then I looked at the roster of inductees and found: The Stooges, Spooner Oldham, Bobby Womack, The Ventures, The Dells (eight top-40 hits), Gene Pitney, and let's not forget Frankie Lymon and the Teenagers. Sometime, when you think me and my fellow Pro Football Hall of Fame Committee members are off our rockers, please refer to a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame that excludes KISS and includes The Dells.I actually like KISS, or at least like them enough to have the KISS My Ass tribute covers album. KISS was a mega-sensation from 1975-77. They had some huge songs and were one of rock's most successful bands at a time when people were wondering if rock was dead. Their makeup and theatrics are enduringly famous and have made the pantheon of Halloween costumes. They probably deserve a place in the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, eventually, though it would be more for their fame and fortune than for their musical chops. But still, a noteworthy band that made its mark.
But does Peter King even know who The Dells are? They have been together for over 50 years. They sang "Oh, What a Night." They backed up Ray Charles and Dionne Warwick. They consulted on the movie The Five Heartbeats. They had hit albums spanning from 1955 to 1981. In R&B circles their harmonies and vocals are revered. King cites their eight top-40 hits as if it were a demerit. Do we even need to review the musical greats who had only one top-40 hit, much less eight? Maybe Peter thinks that Jimi Hendrix, The Velvet Underground, Randy Newman and the Grateful Dead should all get out of the way for KISS as well? That's just the "one hit wonders" much less other great acts with less Top 40 hits than The Dells. Okay you get the point: number of Top 40 hits is no way to judge a band's greatness. Just because the preteen Peter King didn't have a Dells poster next to his Farrah Fawcett poster over his bed doesn't mean KISS has gotten the snub from the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.
But King also throws around a couple of other names: The Stooges. Bobby Womack. People that King thinks need to take a back seat to the legend of Def Leppard. Let's take Womack first.
Q: What do Sam Cooke, Ray Charles, James Brown, the Rolling Stones, Patti LaBelle, Stevie Wonder, Aretha Franklin, Wilson Pickett, Janis Joplin, J. Geils Band, Sly and the Family Stone and Quentin Tarantino have in common? A: They all worked with Bobby Womack, used his songs, had him play in their backup bands. Now, nobody is even suggesting that this roster of collaborators can hold a candle to the band with a) the greatest one-armed drummer in the world and b) the greatest strip club song of all time, but I will point out that The Dells and Bobby Womack are both R&B legends. I'm guessing Peter King doesn't have a lot of Frankie Beverly and Maze CD's in his collection.
As for The Stooges, all I can say is if you want to know how we ever got to grunge and alt-punk, not to mention how we got to KISS for god sakes, start with The Stooges. Their influence on American rock is massive. They didn't make a ton of music but what they made carries a raw energy that sounded like nothing else coming out of the music scene 1969-73, something primitive and dangerous, an energy I'm not sure has ever really been surpassed. KISS wrote some nice power pop tunes, but nobody ever cites KISS as a musical influence. The Stooges were influential and don't deserve King's dismissal.
I'm not going to get into as much detail with Spooner Oldham but here are some of the people this great organist has played for and written songs for: Aretha Franklin, Percy Sledge on "When a Man Loves a Woman," Janis Joplin, Wilson Pickett, Neil Young, Bob Dylan, Jackson Browne, Everly Brothers. A legendary musician and songwriter, but unfortunately an R&B legend and, therefore, does not pass muster in the eyes of musicologist Peter King.
In sports, an athlete earns hall of fame consideration based on the numbers: home runs, touchdowns, goals. While there is always room for debate every time an Andre Dawson or Bruce Sutter is voted into the Hall of Fame, the debate rages over relatively narrow discrepancies in opinion. Sports fans look at the player's career statistics. Some athletes are clearly qualified, most are not, and a few have resumes that straddle the fence. But everyone agrees, more or less, on the criteria. They are readily and easily identified.
Music operates on a different frequency. The achievements, the influences, not easily quantified. In football we might argue that one running back was truly great while another back with similar statistics benefited from a great offensive line, but the two players are both trying to gain yards, score touchdowns. Musicians make music for all kinds of reasons, for all kinds of audiences. Yes, there are numbers available - album sales, Top 40 hits, Grammy Awards. That tells us who won the popularity contest, perhaps, or who got marketed the best. But music doesn't happen on a court or between the hash marks. There is no shot clock, no three strikes and you're out. Every song is painted on a blank canvas. While there may be rules to making music, those rules are meant to be broken. Trying to distill the creative process and its impact on each and every listener down to sales figures is like ranking orchids. That's why a Rock and Roll Hall of Fame can never be taken as seriously as its sports-related counterparts, and why citing the number of Top-40 hits a band has is irrelevant at best.
I get the feeling Peter King judges bands on how often he saw their cassette tapes offered for sale in the Columbia House music catalogs. "11 albums for $1. What a great country we live in."
March 08, 2010
How to Remove Plaque
Like many adults, when I go home to stay with my parents I return to a bedroom left mostly preserved from my teen years. It's not exactly a shrine, more like seeing the set of Leave it to Beaver or Fonzie's jacket at the Museum of Natural History. Resting on bookshelves are the various sports trophies, ribbons and medals I won as a kid and high schooler, mostly in basketball and soccer.
Among the prizes on display are two plaques, one for being the Most Improved Player on my high school basketball team, the other a wood and metal representation of a basketball going into a basket. I think I won that plaque for winning the one-on-one basketball competition at sports camp. I was 12-13 years old at the time and I remember facing a guy named Goldstein in the finals, with the entire camp watching. Goldstein was quick, crafty, and a good shooter. It was a real dogfight and I think I prevailed 10-9. For this they gave me a plaque.
Back in September we visited my parents in Maryland for Rosh Hashana. Archie, now 5, asked me about the trophies and awards on display, what I got them for and how old I was at the time. At the end of the visit he gave the two plaques to Ora to pack up and bring back to Brooklyn. When we got home he placed them on the window sill near his bed. At bedtime that night he showed me the plaques. In the dark I whispered "someday you're going to win your own trophies and then you won't need mine."
This winter Archie played on his first real soccer team and in his first basketball clinic. He was playing with older kids in both sports; many of the basketball kids were 7 years old. Archie handled himself admirably. He never looked to me for help and he never stopped trying. He also played damn well, his skill level leapfrogging over many of the older players. He was lucky to have excellent coaches in both sports: The soccer coach is the coach at Poly Prep and his basketball coach just won his 300th game at Friends Seminary. Plus both coaches are great guys.
Pathetically, predictably, I silently lived and breathed every goal and made basket of every game and practice. I felt less like a rabid zealot when the soccer coach, whose daughter was on the team, confessed to a similar level of excitement. Basically, I loved every minute of these first opportunities to watch Archie play - and enjoy - sports. He couldn't get enough. In the spring he will play on his first Little League baseball team with two of his friends (I am a co-coach) and I hope for more of the same.
This past weekend the soccer and basketball seasons came to a close. After the soccer game Archie got a nice trophy, 12 inches tall with a spinning soccer ball on top. His basketball group got to perform a dribbling exhibition at halftime of a game between older kids in the same youth league, after which he and his co-players each received a nice medal, not to mention pizza and juice. A great way to wrap things up.
Later in the evening I went out to play tennis. When I got back Archie was asleep. I went into my room and saw that he had moved my two plaques to the night table next to my bed. I tiptoed over to his room and peeked in. The soccer trophy and basketball medal rested on his window sill. I don't know whether Archie took my whispered message literally or if he found the same poignancy I felt in his achievements. I am not going to ask.
Among the prizes on display are two plaques, one for being the Most Improved Player on my high school basketball team, the other a wood and metal representation of a basketball going into a basket. I think I won that plaque for winning the one-on-one basketball competition at sports camp. I was 12-13 years old at the time and I remember facing a guy named Goldstein in the finals, with the entire camp watching. Goldstein was quick, crafty, and a good shooter. It was a real dogfight and I think I prevailed 10-9. For this they gave me a plaque.
Back in September we visited my parents in Maryland for Rosh Hashana. Archie, now 5, asked me about the trophies and awards on display, what I got them for and how old I was at the time. At the end of the visit he gave the two plaques to Ora to pack up and bring back to Brooklyn. When we got home he placed them on the window sill near his bed. At bedtime that night he showed me the plaques. In the dark I whispered "someday you're going to win your own trophies and then you won't need mine."
This winter Archie played on his first real soccer team and in his first basketball clinic. He was playing with older kids in both sports; many of the basketball kids were 7 years old. Archie handled himself admirably. He never looked to me for help and he never stopped trying. He also played damn well, his skill level leapfrogging over many of the older players. He was lucky to have excellent coaches in both sports: The soccer coach is the coach at Poly Prep and his basketball coach just won his 300th game at Friends Seminary. Plus both coaches are great guys.
Pathetically, predictably, I silently lived and breathed every goal and made basket of every game and practice. I felt less like a rabid zealot when the soccer coach, whose daughter was on the team, confessed to a similar level of excitement. Basically, I loved every minute of these first opportunities to watch Archie play - and enjoy - sports. He couldn't get enough. In the spring he will play on his first Little League baseball team with two of his friends (I am a co-coach) and I hope for more of the same.
This past weekend the soccer and basketball seasons came to a close. After the soccer game Archie got a nice trophy, 12 inches tall with a spinning soccer ball on top. His basketball group got to perform a dribbling exhibition at halftime of a game between older kids in the same youth league, after which he and his co-players each received a nice medal, not to mention pizza and juice. A great way to wrap things up.
Later in the evening I went out to play tennis. When I got back Archie was asleep. I went into my room and saw that he had moved my two plaques to the night table next to my bed. I tiptoed over to his room and peeked in. The soccer trophy and basketball medal rested on his window sill. I don't know whether Archie took my whispered message literally or if he found the same poignancy I felt in his achievements. I am not going to ask.
Don't Call It a Comeback
I haven't used the blog in a long time. I would like to find a focus for it but for now, using it as a journal for random thoughts is better than not using it at all. Sometimes I will ramble and sometimes I will post 50 words and sign out. Either way, something rather than nothing.
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