Little Stars, Bears, Rainbows and Me

[Written Friday, August 5, 2011]

When I started this blog, it was about self-expression  Writing was what I really wanted to do with my time, my next career.  But increasingly I ask myself: who am I writing for?  I have come to realize that I am writing this blog for my kids, so that one day they'll know a side of me I can't express to them directly. 

Today I want to document the place and the people that took care of Archie and Layla the past five years, the families we've met, and where Daddy has been so many nights the past three years.  You see, today is Layla's Graduation Day from the Park Slope Child Care Collective, and it marks the end of a five year relationship with PSCCC.  It hasn't always been pretty, but it has been beautiful.

In Park Slope we love collectives and coops the way Memphis loves barbecue.  PSCCC was formed almost 40 years ago as yet another post-hippie institution in what we now call Brownstone Brooklyn, the yuppies glomming on to what the yippies built, urban bohmeia replaced by Brooklyn Industries.  PSCCC defied gentrification and remained true to core values: Diversity. Socialization. Expressing feelings. Working families.  Volunteering families. Teacher loyalty.  Love.

Platitudes, made real.  Parents who sent their kids to PSCCC raved about it, were a family, looked out for each other, had only fond memories. 

For a very long time the school's impresario, its director, was a woman named Renee.  She was a true throwback: no teeth, no bra, no inhibitions.  She was Woodstock and Hair and Free to Be You and Me embodied in one person, a guide to children and parents alike.  When you visited PSCCC she would talk about the love, the feelings, personal growth, emotional development over ABC's and 1-2-3's. 

And the school delivered as promised, classrooms that were diverse in many senses of the word, with high teacher ratios, teachers who had been there for ten years or more, many of them a product of minority educational initiatives that gave Brooklyn women who had fallen through the cracks a second chance at having a career.  PSCCC was a tireless advocate for these women, and in turn they were "going to love your children all up," the first thing any PSCCC teacher ever said to me, a moment that will stay with me. 

To be a parent of a not-yet 2 year-old, nervous about letting go, trusting a new place, new faces - us, not Archie; at his first school visit, just 16 months old, he offered Renee his bagel and ate a green marker instead, thus guaranteeing his admission.  To walk into a place you instantly knew you could trust was not just a godsend, it was unique.

Archie started school in the fall 2006, then a few weeks later Layla was born, and a few weeks after that, as we sat in our apartment at 5 AM, everyone having been awake for quite some time (as was the norm back then; Archie has the early bird gene), we heard sirens, then more sirens, coming closer to our apartment building and then thankfully, or so we thought, trail away.  Soon enough, we learned those fire engines were headed for the church where PSCCC was located.  A hot water heater had somehow started a fire and the venerable, largely wooden building was quickly aflame, a four-alarm fire that drew the attention of the local news, a fire that could have begun to rage in the middle of the day, during nap time, or yoga, or free play.  But it didn't. Nobody was hurt. 

Still, many families were traumatized and the school was displaced for the rest of the school year.  We used parents' living rooms, then the Old First Church, then a space at Power Play, and finally an abandoned Catholic School in Carroll Gardens that overlooked the BQE.  Through it all, PSCCC didn't miss a day.  Renee, teachers and parents worked tirelessly to keep things together.

A year later, the school was back at the original church space but things were still chaotic.  The parents met and eventually decided to re-form the school board which, as a non-profit entity, the school was required to have.  My “big break”: I was chosen to be board president, a position I ended up holding for three and a half years until stepping down last month.

During that time PSCCC has faced countless challenges.  In 2009 we discovered that Renee and her husband had embezzled a lot of money, had put us in tremendous financial peril, that we faced legal liability with the IRS, the State of New York, and others.  As a result, PSCCC has had to dig itself out of a hole a mile deep.  The first step was convincing the parents not to abandon ship.  A few weeks after the 2009-10 school year began I stood in front of the parents and told them what we knew.  I told them not to lose faith, that we needed their loyalty.  That the teachers needed their loyalty.  In the end, not a single family left PSCCC that year. (At graduation I will wear the same shirt I wore when I faced the parents two years ago)

There were many obstacles to regaining stability the past two years, but the dark clouds have passed.  PSCCC has largely resolved its tax problems and legal obligations.  We are at full enrollment.  Over 100 families visited the school for 15 open spots during our winter open house.  A few teachers have come and gone but most have stuck it out, and no paychecks were missed.  Parent volunteerism is at an all-time high.  The school has a computer, a website, and a new director.  PSCCC has persevered.

A pre-school's existence is tenuous, however.  There are regulations, narrow profit margins, staffing issues, parent demands, lease problems.  PSCCC will have to be vigilant in order to thrive, but no more or less than any other Brooklyn pre-school.

And after five years, PSCCC will go on without us.  Layla has made such good friends there - Clara and Oviya and Julius and Julian and Soha and Sophia, from Aalioune to Zoe - and she has grown into a smart, fun, funny and caring person, just like her brother.  Not for a minute did I ever have to worry that she wasn't being taken care of and looked out for.  That is a gift for any family.  I trust there will be more great schools and great teachers in Archie and Layla's future. But never again will we, as a family, feel the intimacy that PSCCC gave us.

It is also possible that someday Archie and Layla will be betrayed by someone they cared about, much like Renee betrayed all of us.  Hopefully I won't be the culprit.  Even better, maybe I can be there to give this advice: What doesn't kill you makes you stronger.

And to all parents, a reminder: You will never love your children as much as they love you.  PSCCC showed us love and support that was truly humbling.

Last month twelve PSCCC families went camping together.  When it rained torrentially the first night, we went to a diner and made the best of it (“you get what you get and you don’t get upset”).  When we barbecued for dinner, every family made food for everyone else (“sharing is caring”).  Plans were made for next year’s retreat.  A neighborhood is great; a community, even better.

A few weeks ago the teacher surprised me with a thank you party.  Cupcakes, gifts, sparkling cider (it was during school hours) and cards.  It was an overwhelming gesture, thoughtful and generous as one would expect from this group of women.  Parents often talk about the love these teachers show our kids, but sometimes it borders on patronizing.  These women are also smart, thoughtful, intelligent, insightful.  The teachers made toasts.  I bit my lip, hard. 

Near the end one teacher, a woman whose self-esteem is far lower than her talents and compassion deserve, spoke up.  She is now the first-ever teacher representative on the school board.  She thanked me for giving the teachers a voice they never had.    In that moment, I was reminded that I had gotten something I never had as well.

I Get It

Georgia, Ira and James.  

Not exactly Mick and Keith or JohnPaulGeorgeRingo.  

But they are the trio who play in my favorite band, Yo La Tengo.  And having just seen them again last week at the Bell House, right here in Da Slope (is there anything better than being able to hear great music in your own neighborhood?), I am reminded this week not just of why I love them so much, but the importance of going with what you feel.  I want to pay tribute to my favorite band in the world, and will try to do it without sounding like either a Bieber Head or Robert Christgau.

But knowing what we like is more important than ever.  Consider what the internet has done to personal taste.  Now we have five star systems for our literature and music.  We have an Artist of the Day competition.  We have Dancing With the Stars.  Opinions are aggregated so that marketing dollars can be put to their best use.  The Yelping of the arts.  

In the face of all that, well we all need someone we can lean on.  I lean on Yo La Tengo.

         whatever you want from me

whatever you want I'll do

try to squeeze a drop of blood

from a sugarcube

Even now, fourteen years after I first heard I Can Hear the Heart Beating As One in my West Village apartment, my head exploding to Sugarcube, (ever seen the video with the Mr. Show folks?), blown away by Deeper Into Movies, the whole album like nothing I had even heard before, I am still in awe of what Yo La Tengo does. 

The way their songs seem to speed up and slow down all at once.  Hopeful whispers floating over dissonant guitars. A suburban Sonic Youth, smart but not knowing.  Melodic, angry; tender, raw.  Ethereal vocals, shredding guitar solos, thumping rhythms.  

Acid lullabies.  

try to be more assured

try to be more right there

try to be less uptight

try to be more aware

whatever you want from me

is what I want to do for you

sweeter than a drop of blood

from a sugarcube

Yo La Tengo got their name from the Spanish version of a baseball player saying “I got it” when catching a fly ball.  The name fits because, as they say about baseball, every time you see Yo La Tengo you see something you have never seen before.  They are always trying something new, always giving you a new version of your favorite song, tirelessly mining the material. 

You always know they care deeply about what they do, and despite their years of success approach the music with freshness, energy and curiosity.  At Bell House the band was winding down on The Race Is on Again, Ira playing that irresistible melody, and you could just feel it was taking all his self control not to leap into another riff, a new idea, set the place on fire yet again.   Small songs about love, what we think about lying in bed late at night, minds raging while the world sleeps.

         And that's why

If you're looking at me

I'll try

To be what you want to see

And if I

If I'm ever that lucky

You won't have to be so

You won't have to be so sad

Last night

I was trying to read in bed

I got to watching you sleep instead

Even when I got tired I couldn't stop

Because I love you so

And I pray you know

But I'm not one for praying

You knew I couldn't say that without making a joke

I love that Georgia and Ira have been living and working together for more than 25 years.  There have been other married couples in bands but I can’t think of one that works as well musically as Georgia and Ira.  Maybe Richard and Linda Thompson but that was more short-lived. 

         when I heard the knock on the door

I couldn't catch my breath

is it too late to call this off?

we could slip away

wouldn't that be better?

me with nothing to say

and you in your autumn sweater

Georgia’s talents are absolutely crucial to the band.  She is a fantastic drummer, powerful and precise.  Her lilting vocals give the band its Velvet Underground ambiance.  She carries herself with dignity and humility.  Yo La Tengo called one of their albums Genius + Love = Yo La Tengo, and though Ira is one of my favorite guitar players ever, there’s no question Georgia completes that equation all by herself.

I love the way the band members exchange places during the show, James on drums, Ira on keyboard, Georgia on theremin, whatever the song calls for.  When I hear Ira play keyboard I wonder why he doesn’t do it more. I wonder why Georgia doesn’t sing lead vocals all the time.

I love that the band played its own version of Wheel of Fortune at the Bell House.  The wheel was spun to determine the set list for the first half of the show.  The winner: Songs with a Proper Name. (great set)

I love that Yo La Tengo is true to its Hoboken roots, that the band that opened for them (Antietam) is a New Jersey band that opened for them on their very first tour in 1985.  Yo La Tengo loves to collaborate, and you can tell that when an outside musician steps on stage to play with these guys, it is an honor.  And to this day Yo La Tengo sponsors a fundraiser for independent local radio WFMU 91.1; they take requests all night long in exchange for pledges.  True to their roots.

I love that Yo La Tengo plays all eight nights of Hanukkah at Maxwellís every year.  Eight straight nights of great comedians (Eugene Mirman, David Cross, the woman from Flight of the Conchords, Todd Barry), great opening acts (The National, Magnetic Fields, Alex Chilton), and then a huge, awe-inspiring set they perform for 150 of their closest friends.  It is always an incredible night at Maxwell’s, though as Ira likes to say “the best night is always the night you weren’t there.”

         Driving in the south, the motor's on fire

Let's put it out, before the flames go higher

Monday matinee, in pull we are life's throb

So hard to choose between conceit and rock

Some college in the spring, the sound is all wrong

Reset the mate to our Flamin Groovies song

Driving, night again, they're late, car crash

We'll turn to look unless we're going too fast

I love that Yo La Tengo is something I can just feel.  I don’t know all their lyrics by heart, or even the order of songs on their albums.  It doesn’t seem to matter.  I just get it.  

They ended the Bell House show with Neil Young's For the Turnstiles.  NY used to be my guy, and I still love his music.  Yo La Tengo loves performing covers, but this one was extraordinary.  The anxiety of the original version was replaced with a sense of affection and appreciation.

         All the bush league batters

Are left to die

on the diamond.

In the stands

the home crowd scatters

For the turnstiles.

And here's a can't miss offer: I will make a Yo La Tengo mix CD for anyone who asks.  Shipping and handling included.  Order now... 

What Have We Learned

Today is the last day of my stint between jobs.  Specifically, Day 9 of the nine work days I had off, a relatively paltry figure but a welcome respite all the same.  It's the longest vacation of any kind that I have had since Ora and I went to South America in 2002.  I would say parenting is more taxing than the Inca Trail and relaxation is more remote than the Galapagos, but I am not complaining.

Some observations on my time off:

I have two full-time jobs.  It was nice not to be in an office all day, but parenting obligations kept me busy.  The time went by very quickly and most of my days got carved up by shopping, pickup, car issues, etc.  Thanksgiving and Hanukkah are always a very busy time of year, and there were a lot of errands to be run.  Plus we had people over for dinner three straight nights, which was very fun but also a lot of work.  So I was jobless but not carefree.  That meant I didn't go away for an extended trip, didn't stay out late at night, didn't take cooking classes or spend all day on an Arrested Development marathon.  This break was neither unpleasant nor decadent.  It was...not bad.  And I am grateful to have a new job to look forward to.  But the dilemma of trying to be a responsible parent and indulging oneself at the same time proved beyond my capacity.  I think it will get easier in about twelve years, fifteen tops.

Blogs are better when they have a consistent theme.  Sometimes I like to write about sports and sometimes I don't, AND THAT'S OKAY.  However, I have come to the conclusion that a blog that sticks to one field just makes more sense, unless having a polymath's scope of topics and information is the selling point of one's blog.  And not that I am trying to sell anything, but some people tell me "oh I saw you posted on your blog but then the first line was about basketball so I tuned out."  The best solution I have concocted is to start a second, all-sports blog with a different name, since General Rodetsky was not known for his athletic exploits.  I need a good blog name.  Anyone who submits a suggestion will win an autographed copy of my food coop receipt from Sunday morning.  If I use your suggestion as the new blog title, you will win $1 million.  Guaranteed.

I can't wait to win the lottery.  The things I like most: writing, sports, cooking, wine/foodie stuff, reading, movies.  I would never lack for things to keep my attention if I didn't have to work.

I still suck at the piano.  Turns out it takes more than a few weeks to become a good pianist, or even a barely competent one.  I have had offers of free lessons from two masters of the (ebony and) ivory, and hope to take them up on it one day soon.

Our apartment is still a partial mess.  DO NOT LOOK IN THE BEDROOM!  THERE IS NOTHING TO SEE IN THE BEDROOM!  We would need ten Martha Stewarts working round the clock for two weeks just to make a dent.  I decided it would be easier to go through sensory deprivation training so I no longer notice the clutter.

People have much bigger problems than I do.  Unemployment and depression are the two biggies.  Life is hard.  The end of the year holiday cheer can be a huge bummer for a lot of people.  On a personal level, I hope all my friends find what they need in 2011.

On a national level, I hope President Obama finds what he needs: backbone.  If Frank Rich is to be trusted, and I believe that Frank Rich should always be trusted, Obama is about to extend the Bush tax cuts, which means Obama saved $5 billion taking away the annual raise for federal workers but gave away $80 billion annually in the tax cuts.  In fact, today's headline on Yahoo indicates that "Obama prefers a two-year extension of the Bush tax cuts because one year would mean a similar debate in six months, and a three-year extension would lose support from liberals."  The extension is being framed as the only way the Republicans can be convinced to extend unemployment benefits for another year.

Here's one option that isn't mentioned in the article: the zero-year extension.

I am starting to think that President Obama and the Senate Democrats really are part of the problem.  I am trying with all my might to support Obama with the same conviction I had two years ago.  But he seems totally unable or unwilling to fight the bad guys, to stand up for what he said he believes in.  It's pretty damn depressing.  Extending tax cuts to the rich while unemployment hovers near 10 percent.  Our United States Government: Brought to you by: Con-Agra Foods!  Halliburton!  Merck!  And by, the Chinese Government, co-sponsors of the National Deficit.  For all your deficit needs, order Chinese!

I like Brooklyn.  I really do.  I like walking places.  I like not having to maintain a house, avoiding traffic, avoiding Republicans, avoiding the Olive Garden, avoiding two cars and raking leaves.  I like the people we know here, the stimulation of urban life for my kids, for me.  I like that Brooklyn is not as crowded or expensive as Manhattan.  And with global warming and the aforementioned spineless dithering of our supposed progressive leader, in 10-15 years we'll probably have 70 degrees year round.  Take that, current tropical zones!

I don't like shaving.  But I never keep the beard, and this time is no exception.  Always fun while it lasts.

And now it's time to get back to the daily grind.  It's almost like I never left.

Cardinal Sin?

Earlier this week Derek Anderson ripped into a reporter for questioning why he was "laughing" on the sidelines, as the reporter put it, while Arizona was down by 18 points to the San Francisco 49ers in a Monday Night Football game.  Not surprisingly, everyone who follows sports has a strong opinion about what transpired, including Magic Johnson.  It seemed like only Dwight Howard was able to find some humor in the situation.

Following along with the latest sports media "controversy" is like eating at McDonald's or watching "The Kardashians".  You know it's wrong, you know it's bad for you, but sometimes you just can't help it.  I'm going to take the bait this time around because I don't think anybody has expressed what is really wrong about the "controversy."  Let's first address what happened.

The video clip in question shows Anderson smiling in response to something his teammate, Deuce Lutui, said to him on the sideline.  Smiling is not laughing.  If smiling were laughing then Dane Cook would be a funny as Louis C.K.

We later learned that Lutui said something to cheer up Anderson, who was in the midst of an embarrassing performance in front of a national audience.  I watched some of the game and it is safe to say that Derek Anderson will not be in Hawaii in January.  He was inaccurate, made poor reads, just didn't seem capable of running the offense of a winning football team.  One need look no further than the drop off in Larry Fitzgerald's stats this year to discern that Anderson is a mediocre quarterback.

Lutui was acting like a good teammate should, bolstering Anderson's spirits when he was probably just about ready to hang up his helmet for the night.  Anderson smiled back.  What should he have done, told Lutui to piss off?

Apparently, a lot of people started tweeting and commenting about how awful it was that Anderson was laughing while the Cardinals were losing.  Again, he was Dane Cookin' it, not laughing.  But the "public outcry" was enough pretense for the reporter to question Anderson about the exchange.  In interviews since the incident, the reporter has said he never intended to upset Anderson.  But the reporter referred to SmileGate as "a big problem with this team."  It was an inflammatory take on the situation where he could have just as easily asked "Hey Derek, the cameras caught you laughing, I mean smiling on the sidelines, what was it you were laughing about, I mean smiling about?"

So yeah, Anderson should have just answered the question, shouldn't have lost his temper.  However, the reporter should have asked his question in a more professional way.  He made Anderson look even worse than he already had looked on the field, and that's saying something.  If I were Anderson I would have walked out too. The fact that media jackals like Colin Cowherd have come to the reporter's defense only emboldens my take on the CONTROVERSY, I mean "controversy."

And now we come to the issue that I think has been overlooked.  Let's say Derek Anderson was laughing, and let's say Deuce Lutui had just told him the one about the priest, the rabbi and Michael Jackson in the airplane, or even said "man, we SUCK.  I mean the Niners are killing us, and THEY suck!  Who at ESPN decided it would be a good idea to show two 4-7 teams on national television?  Kurt Warner isn't playing anymore!  Neither is Joe Montana!  The NFC West has become the Screech of football divisions.  What did they expect?  We S-T-I-N-K, am I right Derek my man?"  At which point Derek started guffawing and slapping his leg like he was Arsenio Hall.

Let's just say that's what had happened.

All that would tell me is that Derek Anderson and Deuce Lutui have that certain something, that special one in a million quality that is all too uncommon in our modern age, what's it called again?  Oh yes:

Perspective.

I remember when I was a kid back in the 70's, my Scholastic Books order always included book titles like "The Wild and Wacky Side of Football," "Crazy Bastards from the NBA," or "Funny Sports Quotes from Old White Men Who Were Probably Half in the Bag at the Time."  The precise titles escape me.  But I used to love those books, and this was back when the only sports information you received about teams and athletes outside of your metropolitan area was in Sports Illustrated, so these books were priceless tales about the world of professional sports and all the funny, zany and memorable things that transpire when a bunch of grown men band together and spend inordinate amounts of time with each other working toward a common goal.

It brought sports to life for me.  Crazy nuts like Kenny Stabler, Ted Hendricks (really the entire 1970's Oakland Raiders team); Rollie Fingers and Dan Quisenberry in baseball, e.g.; Daryl Dawkins, World B. Free and Charles Barkley in basketball; They had personality, humor, individuality, emotions.  Fine by me, as long as they played their asses off when it mattered.

I want the athletes who play for my favorite teams to play their hearts out.  I want them to care if they win or lose.  I don't need them to be stone-faced robots, or even worse, phonies.  Life is funny sometimes.  Humor helps in good times and bad.  A mildly humorous exchange is not the Cardinals' "big problem."  Their big problem is a lack of talent.  The fact that Ken Whisenhunt, the Cardinals coach and most definitely an old-school guy, found nothing wrong with the Anderson-Lutui exchange ought to tell people all they need to know.

The people who have been calling for the Cardinals to waive Derek Anderson because he smiled on the sidelines during a loss are the ones who need to rethink their mental game, or lack thereof.

This Post is about Basketball. If you don't know who Paul Mokeski is you can stop reading right here.

Football has become America's Pastime.  The NFL dominates the professional sports landscape in the United States.  No other sport can approach the NFL's TV ratings.  Baseball is still licking its wounds from having been surpassed by football.  It continues to lean on its history, tarnished records and all, which works for the already converted but doesn't bring in new fans the same way football attracts pretty much everyone. Hockey is...hockey.  I love hockey.  But it is the fourth sport; we can all agree on this.

That leaves basketball, probably the most star-driven pro league.  In recent years TV commentators have taken to promoting "Kobe versus the Magic!" or "LeBron takes on the Bulls!" instead of focusing on the team unit.  This pattern has served the NBA well during the David Stern era.  Magic and Bird drafted the blueprint.  Michael Jordan took it to the next level, and his legacy is still the grandest of any basketball player, not just in terms of championships and greatness (Magic and Bill Russell might have a thing or two to say about that) but for his magnetism, his marketability, for making the NBA a billion dollar enterprise.

Since Jordan's retirement there have been pretenders to the throne: Shaq, Kobe and LeBron are probably the most notable "celebrities" of the bunch, but none of them has impacted the NBA and pop culture the way Michael Jordan did.  And the NBA's peak popularity has not been seen since.

Still, the NBA is popular and has a large, devoted fan base.  More than ever, it feels like you either are or are not an NBA fan.  You don't dabble in it like so many football fans, or baseball fans who just like to go to a game once in a while or whose interest is now limited to their rotisserie squad.  In many ways the NBA fandom now feels like a bigger version of the NHL.  That might not be a good thing for the NBA owners, who see many franchises struggling to maintain decent attendance.  But devoted NBA fans enjoy seeing the casual observers fade away. [Archie Kranz is the newest hardcore fan; we watch highlights on nba.com on a regular basis.  He loves the Orlando Magic, a result of Dwight Howard's Superman dunk routine]

Another consequence of the post-Jordan void is that from 2002 to 2009 we had a different champion every year.  In order: Los Angeles, San Antonio, Detroit, San Antonio, Miami, San Antonio, Boston, Los Angeles. The Lakers, having won titles from 2000-2002 and the past two seasons, have supplanted the Spurs as the team of the decade.  Kobe has elevated his legacy in the process, as has Phil Jackson.  And the Lakers have looked very good in the early going this season.  Still, nobody would be entirely shocked if another team hoisted the Larry O'Brien Trophy in June, whereas that trophy was the property of Michael Jordan 1991-93 and 1996-98.

It is a great time to be an NBA fan.  There are so many stars whose careers are in peak form, so many teams with talent and intensity to burn.  [and if you haven't seen Blake Griffin's best dunks this year, you really need to drop what you are doing.  BG is primed to become a top 10 all-time dunker)  In the end, however, there can only be no more than 4-5 teams who have an honest to goodness chance to win the NBA title.  Even though I have been impressed with the early play of so many teams - Chicago, Indiana, Utah, Oklahoma City and New Orleans come to mind - I think the NBA champion will be one of the following five teams, so in this post I will only talk about the contenders and not the pretenders:

Los Angeles Lakers  At times the Lakers have looked like they are clearly the best team in basketball.  The passing and scoring game has clicked in large spurts of play at a level of efficiency we don't get to enjoy very often.  Matt Barnes and Steve Blake were savvy additions to the rotation.  Shannon Brown has elevated his game.  And LA is still waiting for Andrew Bynum to get healthy.  If Bynum shows up and stays healthy through the rest of the season, I think the Lakers can win their third ring in a row.  I don't think anybody can play basketball at top gear quite as well as LA can do it.  But the Lakers are relatively old and could wear down, especially with their currently short rotation in the front court.  Still, they are my favorites with 20 percent of the regular season completed.

Boston Celtics   A few weeks ago a TV commentator pointed out that this year for the first time, Rajon Rondo always brings up the ball for the Celtics.  It's about time.  In the two Celtics-Heat games played this year, Rondo was the best player on the court, anticipating steals, dropping dimes and dunking on people's heads like he was Miami 6 rather than Boston 9.  RR is averaging 14.2 assists a game.  That his an historic pace.  Rondo's athleticism and smarts are the difference maker for the C's.  Ray Allen, Paul Pierce and Kevin Garnett have been solid, and Shaquille O'Neal has been remarkable.  Shaq leads the team in PER while averaging 12.3 ppg and 7 rpg in just 22 minutes a game.  Glen Davis has played like a sixth starter, and Nate Robinson has made a big contribution, especially when Rondo sat for three games.  Boston is clearly the most dangerous defensive team in the league as well, an honor previously held by the Pistons and Spurs this decade - two teams that won a title or three by shutting down its opponent.  The Celtics are capable of doing the same this year.  They are old and it's still not clear whether a returning Kendrick Perkins and developing Delonte West will eventually give them needed depth.  But right now it's pretty hard to bet against them in the East.  I don't think Orlando can summon up another upset like what they pulled off in 2009, and I don't think Carlos Boozer will put the Bulls over the top (I could be wrong on that one).  Boston is a threat.

Dallas Mavericks    I don't think this team is deep enough to get it done in June, but right now the Mavericks are playing great basketball thanks to its two superstars.  Jason Kidd continues to dish and score and steal the ball like the all-time great point guard that he is.  Perhaps my favorite statistic of the season has been that Kidd now ranks 5th all time in 3 pointers made.  Not bad for a guy who can't shoot. [Can you name the other five active players who rank in the all time top 10?  No peeking. It's pretty tough.]   Once again, Kidd sits among the league leaders in assists and steals.  But Dirk Nowitzki drives this team.  He is scoring 26 points a game on 54% from the field, 40% from 3 and 85% from the free throw line.  His PER ranks him seventh in the league.  And Dirk is always ready to take the big shot down the stretch.  I love what he is doing this season and hope he continues to play at this level.  However, unless Caron Butler and Shawn Marion return to their All-Star caliber levels, this team just doesn't have the guns to win the title.

San Antonio Spurs   As it turns out, one of the biggest storylines of 2009 turned out to be one of the biggest storylines of 2010 instead: Can Richard Jefferson help the Spurs return to the NBA Finals?  Yes he can.  Jefferson is scoring 15 ppg.  The Spurs are third in the league in scoring.  Last year they finished 15th.  Big Jeff, big diff.  Factor in the addition of Tiago Splitter, Gary Neal and James Anderson, and the continued growth of George Hill, and the Spurs can beat you in a lot of different ways.  But not if Manu Ginobili isn't on the floor, and his health is always an issue.  Bill Simmons recently said that Ginobili's ankles are in much worse shape than most people know and that Manu will not last the entire season.  If that is true, the Spurs will not beat the Lakers in the playoffs.  With Manu healthy?  I think they have a great shot, and at 14-2 it's hard not to love what the Spurs are doing.  [btw, here is another great stat: Matt Bonner, 212 minutes and 0 turnovers.  It helps that he can't dribble in the first place.]

Miami Heat   
[ducks to avoid thrown objects]

Miami Heat   I know they are barely over .500, can only beat bad teams, lack depth, lack rebounding, lack intensity and mojo and seem totally ill-equipped to win the NBA title this season.  I know that LeBron just threw Eric Spoelstra under the bus today, further cementing his reputation as a selfish, immensely talented baby.  I know that Chris Bosh's double digit rebounding totals in Toronto look like they must have been calculated as Canadian rebounds, which have to be adjusted for American rebounds, and expectations for Bosh similarly have to be adjusted. I read the papers too you know.  And LeBron's stats are down, no question.  His assists are close to what they have always been but his points and rebounds are down.  And at times his shoulders sag and he seems to be tuning out.  And Wade and LeBron both need the ball to be effective.  And Haslem is out for the season.  And a team that relies heavily on Eddie House CANNOT win the title, can it?  I know, I get it.

But the Heat still have two of the five best players in the world.  They are still trying to figure out how to play with each other.  When I have watched the Heat play I have seen a lot of discussion and instruction between players, like they don't even know exactly where to be.  Which tells me that the unspoken communication, the intuition that can be formed only after you have played together for a while, just isn't there.  However, we have only played 15-20 games.  What if the Heat eventually develop a rapport, understand each other's games?  And now I am really talking to the "Big Three," who I am no longer even sure would win a theoretical NBA 3 on 3 tournament.  I think eventually LeBron and Wade will get familiar with each other, that Bosh's offensive game will be an asset and he will start to assert himself more on the boards.  Then the Heat will recruit another big body before the trading line, and suddenly I don't think a Boston-Miami playoff series looks all that one-sided.

People are loving to hate the Heat.  I don't get it, especially if you weren't a Cavaliers fan, which most people mercifully are not. LeBron chose to play where he wanted.  NOT a crime.  Miami's early season swoon could prove to be cathartic for the Heat, who no longer have to be concerned with claims that they have stacked the deck in their favor.  10-8 is not stacking the deck, not even a little.  The Heat are thin, brittle, and perhaps ill-conceived.  If they turn things around and get to the Finals, they will have earned their stripes.

The LeBron-Wade-Bosh pairing was good for basketball either way.  If the Miami Thrice succeed, it shows that a team has to enjoy playing with each other and must play hard on both ends of the court to have a chance.  If the team fails, people can point to the Heat and say "three superstars will never beat five good players who play well together."  Lesson learned.  Or not.  And that's the NBA in 2010: It's easy to predict exactly how the season will play out.  Not.

Out of Jersey City, Into the Wild

So here I am, back at the keys, fresh off the boat; the ferry, that is, running from the World Financial Center to the Jersey City Harbor.  Though on my last day as an employee of Arch Insurance Group, Inc., I used my car to get to the office at Harborside Plaza.  I stayed just long enough to say a few goodbyes and throw four boxes of my things into the back of the car - having spent six years on the job that comes out to 18 months per box - and I was off, and OFF, for 2.5 weeks, something I haven't experienced in many years.


I luxuriated in the non-congested midday Holland Tunnel.  The chilly November sun of lower Manhattan washed over me, flooded my Honda with light, flooded my head.  The moment screamed for a  Harry Nilsson CD.  I spent the afternoon at home, "decompressing."  On the walk to pick up Junior from after-school I felt energy coursing through my fingers, my shoulders settling down, down, down.  Two weeks of notifying people, wrapping up files, transferring emails and personal documents, boxing up crap, saying goodbye to people by phone, in person, via email; the exit interview, turning in the laptop, ID cards, corporate credit card, Blackberry.  All of that build-up until finally it was time to really FEEL the ending, to live the ending, to turn off the lights and lock the door behind me.


Almost immediately I felt the loss of the Blackberry.  I mean it in a good way; I realized how much of a yoke on my concentration it had become, how infrequently I really needed to read that new email right away.  A tool of convenience?  Absolutely, in the best and worst sense.  It organized my life in a way that just can't be done toting around a Date Planner or scribbling Post-its to yourself twenty times a day.  But quickly, my first resolution: when I get my new work Blackberry, not to carry it around with me all the time.  To leave it home as much as possible, especially weekends.  To keep it turned off on my commute to work.  Etcetera.  (Freshly formed resolutions are about as stable as a souffle, so let's review this one in three months.)


That same day I watched the movie Into the Wild.  I had promised my friend and world-famous philosopher, Ira Saiger, that I would watch the movie before his birthday, which was the next day.  It is the story of Christopher McCandless who, upon graduating from Emory University in 1990, embarks on a two-year odyssey through America, in the process removing all encumbrances from his life: passport, money, family, car, lodging and, eventually, companionship.  His journey ends in the Alaskan wilderness, alone in the wild, dead at age 24.  


The movie brilliantly brings alive Chris's story.  Emile Hirsch leads a remarkably gifted cast.  Sean Penn beautifully picks and chooses from Chris's life story to show us who he was and what he lived through.  And the cinematography is inspired, elevating but not overshadowing the material.  It is a mystery to me why movies like this don't get more attention, more adulation, though A.O. Scott did praise it back in 2007 for being "alive to the mysteries and difficulties of experience in a way that very few recent American movies have been."  Well said.


Chris McCandless was a genuine idealist who lived his ideals all the way to their ultimate logic.  In Into the Wild he quotes Henry David Thoreau and channels him too, at one point declaring that true happiness lies in nature, not companionship.  He explains that he set all of his remaining money on fire because "money makes people cautious."  Chris lives monastically, ruthlessly shedding as many skins as he can discern, trying to get to an essential truth.  As I watched this movie, having left a job that same day, I felt that Chris McCandless's life was a reminder that we are defined just as much by what we are not as by what we are.  


So what am I?  What am I not?  Chris McCandless thought he knew, thought he had found his place in the world when he stumbled upon an abandoned school bus in the Alaskan territories, and there he lived his final days.  But even in his most extreme days of existence, Chris maintained a connection to others: he wrote.  He kept a detailed written account of everything that happened to him out in the wild.  His journals are the only record of what happened to him in Alaska.  In fact, he kept a journal throughout his two-year adventure.  Chris might have believed happiness existed in nature and not in companionship, yet even he felt an irreducible desire to share his experience.  


When people have asked me what I plan on doing with my time off, I have named various errands and to-do lists.  But most of all, I want to write.  Sports, politics, family, movies, food, and one big project.  Can't wait.  And I have so many friends whose commitment to their writing is an inspiration for me.  Let's see if I can build a habit in 2.5 weeks.


I shed a skin on Friday.  Snakes shed skin when they become too big for the old skin.  By the time it is shed the old skin is almost transparent, colorless.  


Sounds about right.

Cleveland Rocked

Cleveland seems to always be taking a hit. They say things happen in cycles. When it comes to Cleveland, it seems the cycle is “trauma-recover from trauma-more trauma,” and somehow the triumph and vindication part of the cycle gets bypassed. The economy there is tanking.  And let’s not forget the newly thin, hosting someone else’s game show version of Drew Carey.

But July 2010 was especially unkind to the Forest City. It wouldn’t be wrong to say that last month Cleveland suffered the loss of two of its own, though it wouldn’t exactly be right either.

It’s true that the Cavaliers lost LeBron James but, as this month’s Esquire profile makes abundantly clear, LeBron never considered himself a Clevelander.  Even so, Miami’s gain was Cleveland’s loss.

Just five days after LeBron’s Decision, George Steinbrenner died. Steinbrenner was a Buckeye to the bone. He was born and raised in Ohio, his first major business venture was a Great Lakes shipping business, and the first sports franchise he ever owned was the Cleveland Pipers of the ABL. But George will be forever remembered as a New Yorker, the American Dream as sung by Frank Sinatra.

I’ll discuss Georgie Boy in more detail in a separate post. That’s my Decision and I’m sticking to it. Let’s start with LeBron, who has taken a lot of Heat, I mean heat since announcing he is headed to Miami. Only some of it is deserved.

The argument that LeBron owed it to Cleveland to stay put and win a title rings hollow. The Cavaliers had seven years to put together a title-worthy squad and failed to do it. Cleveland’s appearance in the 2007 NBA Finals was a testament to LeBron’s individual brilliance against an unfocused Pistons team. Over the past three seasons Dan Gilbert and Danny Ferry have made moves that smacked of desperation or misjudgment. High on the list was keeping Mike Brown as coach well past the point when Cleveland’s half-court was exposed as nothing more than LeBron and four guys standing around. Maybe the lack of spacing and movement was a function of LeBron’s selfishness or uncooperativeness. Even so, seven years is long enough for LBJ to know that the brain trust in Cleveland wasn’t to be trusted. And Dan Gilbert’s histrionic response to LBJ’s decision didn’t engender a whole lot of sympathy for the Cleveland owner.

A pro athlete can choose where he wants to play when he becomes a free agent. That includes playing with your friends or mutually agreeing to join forces to try to win an NBA title. LeBron exercised his rights, period.

And the Heat still have to prove they can live up to the hype. Is there steak behind the sizzle? I wasn’t disappointed when I found out Wade, Bosh and LeBron were going to play together, but when I saw the three of them appear together a few days later, preening and vamping while the smoke machines and disco lights worked overtime, I yearned for the day back in 1983 when Moses Malone predicted “Four, four and four” (some people say the exact quote was “fo, fo fo”) before the NBA playoffs began, and came within one game of delivering on his promise.  Give me Derek Jeter, who doesn’t celebrate until the final out of the World Series, and who only stands under the disco lights in a disco. 

Dwyane Wade has won a title, but Chris Bosh has never won a playoff series. Are these guys tough enough to get through Boston and Orlando and the Lakers? Time will tell. I am hoping that a team with two of the three best two-way players in basketball will play some beautiful basketball. Since you can’t really double team two guys at the same time, there are sure to be lots of mismatches for the Heat to dissect. Will they do it was well as MJ and Scottie did? Will the team defense be Bulls-worthy? I look forward to finding out.

Here’s what LeBron did that he shouldn’t have done:

1. He didn’t tell the Cavaliers his decision before the Decision telecast. That showed a lack of courtesy and made a tacky production even more graceless.

2. He ceded alpha dog status to D Wade, and thus lowered the ceiling on his legacy. It’s almost as if LeBron didn’t care about winning an NBA title as much as he cared about how never winning an NBA title would affect his brand name. So he was going to stack the deck any way he could to get over the hump, even if it meant being Scottie to someone else’ MJ. Given that LeBron just strung together three of the greatest statistical seasons of the past 40 years, that’s a damn shame.

So now LeBron’s career is a no-win proposition. If he wins a title in Miami, he shares top billing with Wade. It’s never going to be LeBron’s team, not the way Kobe pushed Shaq out the door and took over the Lakers in 2006. LeBron will never be vindicated for as long as he is in South Beach. And I think this is where the LeBron decision becomes ironic and sad because LBJ’s brain trust, by trying so hard to elevate LeBron James’s marketability, only succeeded in hurting his reputation indefinitely.

Here’s hoping that in three years LeBron comes to Brooklyn, regains alpha dog status and finds redemption by bringing an NBA title to Kings County.

Faster Times (at Ridgemont High)

Last week I had an article published on the Faster Times, the on-line newspaper that is an alternative to The Examiner.  Very grateful for the opportunity.  My piece was posted last Thursday July 15, and for the past week it has been in the site's Top 10 most popular articles.  I was beating Sarah Silverman for a few days there!  It dropped off the Most Popular list today but is still linked on their front page. 

Hopefully it is a first step of many.

Here is the link:

http://thefastertimes.com/blog/2010/07/15/help-im-terrified-of-dropping-the-torah-in-a-room-full-of-jews/

The Beautiful Game - World Cup 2010 review

There is life during the World Cup and life the rest of the time.

The 2010 World Cup disappointed no one.  South Africa proved up to the task of putting on the most important sporting event in the world.  Perhaps some of the pitches could have been in better condition, but that is small potatoes.  And I for one loved the vuvuzelas, loved the literal buzz that added to the buzzing going on in my own brain as the clock ticked upward to 90.  This Cup was a grand success and produced a worthy champion. 

The biggest surprise of the first round was Italy's departure.  The Azzurri relied on the same crew that won the Cup in 2006.  Four years later, hampered by an injury to the great Buffon, they were outworked and outplayed in what looked to be an easy group for passage.  But Slovakia's tenacious victory in the third game spoiled the champions' return party, and those of us who wish the Italians left the theatrics at the opera were just fine with a Paraguay-Slovakia top two.

France also showed their 2006 success was past its expiration date.  There is no replacing a Zidane but France's problems ran much deeper, culminating in Nicholas Anelka's mouthing off and refusal to apologize, his dismissal, and the resulting mutiny by the rest of the team.  The end result of all that petulance: lost sponsorship, lost matches, and probably a lot of new money in Nicolas Mahut's pocket.  Au revoir France.  You were not missed.

Italy and France missed out on the European domination that ended up being the overriding theme of this Cup.  Europe advanced six teams into the second round, and none of those teams lost to a non-European foe.  South America looked to be the toast of the world when it fielded five, contiguous countries in the second round, but the top three teams of Europe - Spain, Netherlands and Germany - made short work of Paraguay, Brazil, Argentina and Uruguay, with the rest of the world on the outside looking in.  It will be interesting to see if Europe can replicate their success when they visit Brazil 2014.

Though it would be wrong to accuse Asia and Oceania of failure.  Japan and South Korea advanced with strong midfield play and, in Japan's case, the ability to fire long-range guided missiles at any moment.  Keisuke Honda was a breakout star, and not just for his blonde hair.  North Korea played a proud match against Brazil before falling apart against Portugal.  Australia played in the true Group of Death, Group D, knocking a highly regarded Serbian squad out of contention and tying Ghana but failing to overcome its initial 4-0 drubbing at the hands of Germany.  They did themselves proud.  And New Zealand will polish off many a glass of sauvignon blanc over the next four years, celebrating their status as the only team at this World Cup not to lose a single game.  Well done Kiwis!

Africa had a disappointing showing, with the host country failing to take advantage of France's collapse in Group A, and only one of its six qualifiers making it through to the second round.  But what a performance that was from Ghana, which took out the US of A and failed by inches to make the semifinals, in the process becoming the loser of the most dramatic endgame of the tournament.  Ghana played with style and distinction, but Asamoah Gyan's genius failed him on the penalty kick in the 120th minute that would have sent Ghana through, and from there the result of the penalty kick shootout was all but guaranteed.

Some people accused Uruguay's Luis Suarez of cheating when he intentionally hand balled away a sure goal for Ghana at the end of overtime, leading to his red card and Gyan's miss.  I think Suarez reacted to the moment and did what he could to preserve his team's chances of victory.  I'd rather see ten Suarezes than one Arjen Robben, falling and diving all over the field like he was just hobbled by Kathy Bates.  To me, repeated attempts to feign injury and draw a penalty do far more harm to the spirit of the game than Suarez's overt, readily penalized act of desperation.

Uruguay did itself proud.  Suarez and Diego Forlan were constant dangers up front, and the defense was rock-solid.  I would have loved to see Suarez against the Netherlands.  Without him, Forlan was on his own and could not find enough openings against the Orange.  Forlan became the first player to ever strike three goals from outside of 20 meters in one Cup, proof that the Jabulani ball could be conquered.

Germany once again disproved its detractors, finding itself in the semifinals yet again.  They played a swarming midfield defense and drove hard to the goal every chance they got.  They were technically proficient and creative with the ball.  I was very impressed with this young, talented German squad.  They have everything going for them looking to 2014. 

Germany did us all a favor by dispatching of the perenially underachieving Brits.  Wayne Rooney (not to mention his former teammate, Cristiano "C-Ro" Ronaldo) was a ghost in this tournament.  The lack of chemistry is to blame; as great as Rooney, Lampard and Gerrard are in their own rights, something is missing when they link up for the Three Lions.  Perhaps the EPL is overrated, fragmented and propped up by foreign talent while Bayern Munich and Barcelona field half of their nations' teams on one club.  Perhaps.  Note as well the Curse of Nike: in 2006 they focused their campaign on Brazil, which flamed out early.  In 2010 their big ad featured Rooney, Ronaldo, Ribery, and who else - Messi? Buffon?  Not to mention Ronaldhino, who didn't even make the Brazilian team.  Not pictured: Forlan, Mueller, Villa.  Nike, leave them kids alone.

Argentina-Germany was a true marquee matchup, and until then Argentina looked like the class of the tournament, scoring in bunches and talented all over.  But Germany's pressure wilted the Argentine attack but good.  South America needs to regroup, fast.  Only Brazil has broken through into the finals since Argentina lost to Germany in 1990.  And this year Brazil looked content to ride on its reputation rather than elevate its game.  After a thorough thrashing of Chile and an opening 15 minutes of greatness against the Netherlands they relaxed, and when Felipe Melo and Julio Cesar misplayed a free kick into a giveaway goal they panicked, unable to match the Netherlands' intensity.  The game was over even before Melo's red card.  Brazil will need to do better, much better when the going gets tough.

A few words about the United States: Getting to the Round of 16 is now officially a disappointment.  That, in many ways, is a good sign that we are a serious soccer team with real aspirations.  The USA played with panache and courage.  It came back in all three matches (why all the early goals allowed?).  It showed more attack and creativity than ever before.  And in Michael Bradley we finally have a central midfielder who can do it all.  However, we need better play from our wings, and we have to hope that Jozy Altidore develops more touch over the next four years.  His physicality paved the way for Donovan, Bradley and Dempsey's good deeds, but if he doesn't figure out how to put the biscuit in the basket the USA is going to have a hard time reaching its manifest destiny. 

That takes us to the finalists, and for me the matchup was a morality play.  Spain plays a beautiful, fluid game.  Iniesta et al. are certainly capable of a dive or two, but on the other side you have the Dutch and their own Greg Louganis of soccer.  Robben is a truly gifted wing.  The ball is attached to his foot.  He can turn around the greatest defenders in the world.  He is also a flopper and a cheater, willing to wager that the referee might resist blowing his whistle once, twice, even three times but not forever.  Robben's dives were especially egregious against Brazil, with both goals and the Melo red card all deriving from instances of Robben writhing on the ground and inevitably bouncing back up.  In a sport that sometimes suffers from players' desperate pitches to draw a whistle, Robben is a whore.

In general the Dutch took physical play to new levels, daring the referee to card them.  Van Bommel, Heittiinga et al. tackled with impunity.  De Jong's cleat to the chest of Xabi Alonso in the final is a red card in any league in the world.  The referee called a fairly tight game but shied away from his responsibility in that moment. 

Still, it would be unfair to dismiss the quality of the Dutch attack.  Robben created opportunities almost at will, and Snejder was an assassin time after time.  The Dutch attacked in numbers and linked up well from back to front.  They played Total Football, even if sometimes it looked more like Total Recall.  They earned their spot in the finals.

In the end though, only Spain combined skill and tenacity into something sublime.    Fielding a Barcelona back seven, they were disciplined and organized on defense (though Robben and Snejder found some holes).  Up front, the team spun circles around opponents thanks to the passing genius of Xavi, Alonso, Iniesta and others.  David Villa was tireless and opportunistic up front.  And Vicente Del Bosque deserves credit for pulling Torres, David Silva and Fabregas and finding good moments from Busquets, Navas and Pedro, and ultimately returning to Fabregas in time for Cesc to miss a sure goal opportunity and then atone for it all with his deft pass to Iniesta on the right side of the box, and Iniesta blasted it to the opposite side of the net and we had history.  Iker Casillas, crying on the field while the final minutes counted down.  One team shediding its past, the other bitterly disappointed. 

La Furia Roja, championes.  A happy day for Spain and for people who love soccer. 

Three years, 11 monthts.  Let the countdown begin.

Why I enjoy the (Rest of the) World Cup

In 1990 my parents were in West Germany when the Germans played Argentina in the World Cup final.  My dad was born and raised in Germany during much more tragic times.  It was a profound moment for him to be there, raising a glass with his former countrymen to celebrate the ultimate soccer triumph.

In 1994 I lived in Washington D.C. and planned to spend most of the summer studying for the New York state bar exam.  Instead, I signed up for a bar review course and proceeded to watch 61 of the 64 World Cup matches played that year.  The United States was the host and upset Colombia before losing to Brazil.  June 1994 was also when the O.J. chase happened, not to mention Knicks and Rangers both making the finals (I attended Game 4) and a host of other memorable events.  But it was the World Cup that capitvated me, that siphoned off my study time. 

Thankfully, the Cup ended approximately ten days before the bar exam, plenty of time for me to cram a lot of useless information into my head and pass the bar.  But I could more likely tell you the starting eleven for Brazil that year than I could remember anything from my New York State Criminal Procedure study guide.

In 1998 The United States regressed badly, fielding a poorly conceived squad and bowing out in the first round.  France went on to win this tournament.  Once again I watched most of the games, though not quite as avidly as 1994.  Work got in the way, for one thing, as did a social life.  I vividly remember sitting in a beach cottage in Montauk with my friends Rob and Harry, squinting at a tiny black and white television as I watched Zinedine Zidane score on two headers to lead France's upset of Brazil.  Zidane was a god, capable of taking on the Brazilian legend and emerging victorious.  I didn't like France but I was in awe of Zidane.

Even then I wondered why most of my friends couldn't care less about a tournament that captivated the rest of the world.  The Olympics on crack.  Patriotism in 32 different flavors, the intensity and delayed gratification one feels during those 90 minutes of running time.  Why the rest of the world got it but Americans did not: A microcosm of our culture and how it influences and yet stands apart from the rest of the world. 

To love soccer is to love the passage of time, to not be in a rush, to celebrate the moment, even when it's a tie and even when the score is 0-0.  I don't want to imply the rest of the world is a sort of languid paradise of living in the now, but it often feels like they're dialed to another channel.  It's reflected in their social welfare - government provided health care and education in place of personal wealth; shorter work hours; longer summer vacations.  And I can't help but feel that soccer - the love of soccer - is a manifestation of that bonhomie. 

In 2002 I was at Jim Brady's Pub at 5 AM every morning of the first two weeks of the tournament, downing an "Irish breakfast" while watching the live feed from Korea.  I set the alarm for 2:30 AM to watch USA-Portugal live, and was rewarded for my dedication.  I watched South Korea upset Italy with hundreds of new friends in an Argentine bistro in Soho. 

Halfway through the tournament Ora and I flew to Ecudaor (and Peru) for a month-long trek.  Ecuador made the second round of the World Cup that year.  We watched with Ecuadorans and cheered on the red, yellow and blue in Quito and Cuenca.  I watched the USA-Germany quarterfinal in a hostel in Baños.  This was watching soccer at its finest, the game smoothing over the language gap as I hoisted cervezas with the locals.  Germany committed a hand ball that never got called, Oliver Kahn made a Matrix-like save on Landon Donovan, and the soccer world order remained undisturbed. 

By the time we reached the final we were on a sailboat cruising around Galapagos for a week.  Two of our shipmates were Germans from Stuttgart.  They invited us to stay with them for the 2006 Cup.  Nobody knew how we were going to watch the final while sailing around the most remote of locales.  Fear not; another boat delivered us a videotape of the Brazil-Germany match.  I watched with the crew and the one other soccerhead among the 15 passengers.  Once we had watched every last second of Brazil's victory we broke out the box wine and guitars and kept the sea lions up until sunrise.

In 2006 I was a father with the second kid on the way.  I snuck out of work as often as possible to watch the games.  I watched at night.  My family rented a beach house for the first time.  We saved on suntan lotion by staying home to watch the games, once again on a tiny rabbit eared television.  What is it with beach houses and tv's?  I roared when Clint Dempsey equalized against Ghana, a short lived euphoria to be sure. 

We returned to Brooklyn, and Archie got stitches on his forehead while running in Prospect Park on the same day that Germany and Portugal played for third place.  We got in and out of the emergency room in time to watch the game, only to have our cable box crash just before opening kickoff.  I sped to the Cablevision outpost in the bowels of Brooklyn - and I have the ticket for running a red light to prove it - and stood in line for the entire first half while waiting to get a new cable box.  Thankfully the outpost had the game on, on a much nicer TV than our 1995 Sony Trinitron (still in use today). 

The final was an ugly affair - valiant play from both teams marred by a very different kind of Zidane header, France losing on penalty kicks, Italy whining and complaining as always but also the better team that day, probably the two soccer powers I least enjoy watching battling it out for the Cup.  I loved every minute.

Now it is 2010 and I enjoy the World Cup just as much as when I first totally committed, back in 1994.  How often do we Americans get a tangible reminder that we are citizens of the world?  How often does a 2 million person country like Slovenia get to line up on an even pitch against the US of A?  I'll be rooting hard for our guys tomorrow, but I'll raise a glass to our opponents as well. 

Maybe Americans aren't accustomed to struggling on equal footing with lesser nations.  Maybe they prefer having the deck stacked in their favor.  Maybe soccer is too subtle or slow for our Get It Now culture.  The feeling persists, though, that in soccer and in life the rest of the world gets something that we're missing.  To borrow from Franklin Foer, soccer might not explain the world as much as it reflects it.

Shooting Down Some Myths

I strongly support gun control regulation.  Arguments that guns don't kill people (people kill people) ring hollow to me.  Countries like Japan, England, Switzerland et al., where not even the police carry firearms, have much lower homicide rates.  The United States is a violent country and guns play a big role in raising the danger level for everyone. 

I was especially dismayed last year when Obama attended a town hall meeting in New Hampshire and some idiot stood outside, fully armed; his idea of a political statement.  Political protest shrouded in a selfish, irresponsible, violent fetish, which is what gun ownership is really all about. 

I couldn't believe that I had friends who came to the defense of the gun-toting yahoo.  Why would anybody devote their energies to making sure more guns stay out on the street and in people's homes, free of those nasty laws and silly concerns over its impact on society?

I'm sure there are many responsible gun owners out there.  There are also very ethical investment bankers too.  No seriously, there are...somewhere...it doesn't mean we let the damage guns do go unregulated. 

I wonder if Charlton Heston really was holding a gun in his hands when he died?



On Sunday the Washington Post ran a great column debunking some myths about gun regulation.  It's worth digesting for the next time you hear someone defend their Second Amendment rights.

Bang!

Purple and Gold and Green and White and Black and Blue

Quick post in anticipation of the NBA Finals:

Boston-LA used to be a magical concept for every hoophead.  East versus West, Bird versus Magic, Old School versus Showtime.  Every time the Celtics and Lakers played in the 1980's it was an instant classic.  Then Magic and Bird left the stage, the Celtics suffered through some lean years, and then Shaq and Kobe started their own dynasty but their foils were the Trail Blazers, Kings, Pacers and Nets.  The Celtics were mismanaged and struck by multiple tragedies.  It was no contest, until starting in 2007 when Danny Ainge pinched Kevin Garnett and Ray Allen, made some shrewd draft-day moves to get Rajon Rondo and Glenn Davis, kept faith in Kendrick Perkins and Doc Rivers, and eventually put together a TEAM that won the 2008 title, beating the Lakers in six games.

That Lakers team was built to win in its own right, having fleeced Pau Gasol from Memphis in mid-season.  But without Andrew Bynum in the finals, the Lakers were unable to withstand the Celtics' rebounding and defense, squandering a huge lead in Game 3 (or was it Game 2?) that sunk their mojo past the point of no return.  But the Lakers came right back last year and took the crown, and though they didn't exactly mow down the league like the 1983 Sixers (fo, fi and fo, to quote Moses Malone),  their supremacy was never truly in doubt.

And now we are treated to a true grudge match.  These teams are laying claim not just to the 2010 NBA Championship, but to a heightened legacy as multiple title winners.  Kobe Bryant is going after his fifth ring and second without Shaq.  Already one of the 20 greatest players of all time, he's trying to get even higher up the list.

The Celtics know they have less than a quarter tank of gas left.  They thought they were going to be one and done in 2008.  Six weeks ago they looked like a guaranteed second round exit against either Cleveland or Orlando; now they have knocked out both those teams and are in position to make history.

I'd say that this Celtics team is the closest thing to a Cinderella championship playoff team that we have in the NBA in a very long time.  In almost every season a number one or two seed wins the title.  When you think about recent playoff upsets, you think about the 2004 Pistons beating the Lakers, the 2006 Miami Heat knocking out the Pistons, or maybe the 2007 Cavaliers beating the Pistons to get to the Finals.  You could go back to the 1986 Rockets beating the Lakers or the 1994 Denver Nuggets beating the #1 seeded Seattle Supersonics, and then the Golden State Warriors pulling off an 8 over 1 upset in 2007.  But except for the Heat, none of those teams went on to win the title.  And that Heat team had Dwyane Wade and Shaq, both top 5 MVP candidates that year, and they played a Dallas Mavericks team that nobody will ever confuse with greatness.

Despite Boston's vast championship history, despite its 2008 title and deep, balanced talent level, if they win this year's finals I think they will go down as the biggest Cinderella in our NBA lifetime, at least since Magic and Bird entered the picture.  They will have beaten arguably the three best regular season teams in the league in order to do it.  They will win when nobody - not even their number one fan, Bill Simmons - expected them to make a run.  I think even most of the guys on the Celtics are pleasantly surprised.

All this depends on the team's health.  The Celtics can win because Andrew Bynum is limited, which gives the Celtics an advantage inside IF Perkins, Davis and Wallace are all healthy and available.  If Rondo is close to 100 percent, he will abuse Derek Fisher eventually.  Garnett can battle Gasol to a draw or even better.  Pierce and Artest will surely make headlines at some point but won't win or lose the series.  Kobe will be the best player on the floor, period.  But if the Celtics are healthy I think they will wear down the Lakers over the course of the series.  I think the Lakers bench has taken a step back during the playoffs and cannot match the Celtics bench for defensive intensity and focus.

Back in the day I was a rabid Lakers fan whenever these franchises met.  Now the Celtics and Lakers are probably the two teams I am least likely to root for.  This matchup is weighty and intense and awesome, but it's not Magical and it doesn't have me flying high like a Bird.  I'll appreciate the spectacle but my heart will go to the World Cup.  Celtics in 5, pending the health issues on both rosters.

Specter of Influence

For years now I have held a special contempt for Senator Arlen Specter, despite his support for Israel.  I felt that here was a guy who was smart enough to know what was right and wrong, yet he always set the bar lower.  At least the average Republican would stake out a position, deplorable though it may be, and stick to it.  Specter insisted on straddling the fence, giving hints that he was grappling deeply with the issue at hand and could very well break ranks as a matter of principle.  And yet, always the same party line when it came time to vote.  His switch to Democrat, further pandering, based only on a desire to get invited to the Obama-jama party.  The man just couldn't help himself.  He wanted everyone to like him, or at least 51% in every demographic.

Linda Greenhouse posted something today on NY Times online that would be funny if it weren't so sad.



Specter's recent loss in the Pennsylvania Democratic primary is just desserts.  I'm sure he'll spend his Sundays wearing an Eagles jersey and a Steelers helmet.

Tres de Mayo

Tuesday got off to a rough start this week. Archie woke up ornery and stressed out. Something was bothering him and we couldn’t figure out how to get him on track. He stomped off at one point, crying.  I followed him to our bed, laid down next to him and tried to reason, reassure, sympathize. He calmed down, but he also muttered “this is the worst day of my life.”

Such a comment is ironic from any five year old, especially because it was barely 7 AM, but in this case also because the worst day of my life was on the same date, May 4, fifteen years earlier. It was a Thursday, and it was the day I found out my childhood friend, Aron Sobel, had been killed in a bus crash in Turkey the day before. I first heard it from a friend, but accepted the news only when my father called to confirm it. I remember the phone conversations, where I was, how I reacted. But I also remember the day before, May 3, 1995.  I remember feeling God that day.

I was working at the Law Offices of Gerard Dunne, a generally miserable experience. That afternoon the only other person in the office was Sue, a 40-something divorcee with a penchant for talking about her spirituality, wearing fire-red lipstick and drinking Chardonnay. Of the other employees at the LOGD, she was the most pleasant.

My office had a window to the outside, but I was sitting in a chair near Sue’s desk in the central, interior area of the office. I don’t remember what we were talking about, though a typical conversation was usually a hodgepodge of anecdotes relating to our boss’s latest temper tantrum, excerpted wisdom from Sue’s latest self-help novel, and complaints about my needy girlfriend. Though it was the middle of the afternoon on a warm spring day in Manhattan, a cloud cover created a darkness that abruptly overtook the room. I could barely make out Sue’s face. The room was hazy. Objects became pixilated.

As this was happening I told Sue that I suddenly felt very tired. It was more than that. I felt a rushing out from my body, I felt my limbs turn to rubber, I couldn’t move, I couldn’t think, my brain was numbed, I had no thoughts other than I am feeling energy, I am feeling it move out of this room. The sensation lasted only a minute or two. The numbness left. The shadows exited the room, sunlight returned.

Sue asked if I was okay. I was fine. Aron wasn’t. At that very same moment his bus was plunging off a cliff somewhere in Turkey, he was taking his last breath, and 5,000 miles away I felt him exit this world. I have never again had the physical sensation I felt that day, that moment. 

Aron and I entered the world on the same day – July 18, 1969. I was always proud of that, proud of the association. It has now been 15 years without him. I don’t even think we were best friends exactly, but we were like brothers to each other and we shared moments that are some of the clearest and happiest memories of my childhood. And in his final moments on Earth, Aron gave me something nothing else ever has: A tangible connection to the life-force that binds all of us together. I called it God here, but I don’t know anything about God. I only know what I felt.

The sun came up the day after the worst day of Archie’s life, and in the evening he suggested we order Mexican food in honor of Cinco de Mayo. The holiday is not widely celebrated in Mexico outside of Puebla, but what the hell. We’re all connected.

For more information about Aron Sobel and ASIRT, the foundation established by his mother to lobby for safer international road travel, please visit www.asirt.org.

A Tiger to Admire

Ernie Harwell died at 92 yesterday.  He was the radio broadcaster for the Detroit Tigers for 42 years, and is a member of the Baseball Hall of Fame.  By all accounts he was a great guy, unflailingly polite and upbeat, a true inspiration.  He was married to the same woman for 68 years.  I didn't grow up in Detroit and don't have a personal connection to Harwell, but I would like to post his famous "My Definition of Baseball" speech, which he first delivered in 1955.  It is a reminder of the days when baseball was America's Pastime.  And even though Harwell was lauding baseball, I think he was also reminding us why we love sports, any sport.

One criticism of Harwell's speech though, and I know he was a devout Tiger, but if you are going to trumpet the color-blindness of baseball you might not want to reference the racist, vicious, hate-mongering Ty Cobb in your valedictory.

Baseball is the President tossing out the first ball of the season and a scrubby schoolboy playing catch with his dad on a Mississippi farm. A tall, thin old man waving a scorecard from the corner of his dugout. That's baseball. And so is the big, fat guy with a bulbous nose running home one of his (Babe Ruth's) 714 home runs.



There's a man in Mobile who remembers that Honus Wagner hit a triple in Pittsburgh forty-six years ago. That's baseball. So is the scout reporting that a sixteen year old pitcher in Cheyenne is a coming Walter Johnson. Baseball is a spirited race of man against man, reflex against reflex. A game of inches. Every skill is measured. Every heroic, every failing is seen and cheered, or booed. And then becomes a statistic.


In baseball democracy shines its clearest. The only race that matters is the race to the bag. The creed is the rulebook. Color merely something to distinguish one team's uniform from another.


Baseball is a rookie. His experience no bigger than the lump in his throat as he begins fulfillment of his dream. It's a veteran too, a tired old man of thirty-five hoping that those aching muscles can pull him through another sweltering August and September. Nicknames are baseball, names like Zeke and Pie and Kiki and Home Run and Cracker and Dizzy and Dazzy.


Baseball is the cool, clear eyes of Rogers Hornsby. The flashing spikes of Ty Cobb, an over aged pixie named Rabbit Maranville.


Baseball just a came as simple as a ball and bat. Yet, as complex as the American spirit it symbolizes. A sport, a business and sometimes almost even a religion.


Why the fairy tale of Willie Mays making a brilliant World's Series catch. And then dashing off to play stick ball in the street with his teenage pals. That's baseball. So is the husky voice of a doomed Lou Gehrig saying., "I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of this earth.”


Baseball is cigar smoke, hot roasted peanuts, The Sporting News, ladies day, "Down in Front", Take Me Out to the Ball Game, and the Star Spangled Banner.


Baseball is a tongue tied kid from Georgia growing up to be an announcer and praising the Lord for showing him the way to Cooperstown. This is a game for America. Still a game for America, this baseball! Thank you.

Gonzo But Not Forgotzo

I have been a big fan of Hunter S. Thompson ever since Gary Trudeau channeled him in Doonsebury, and then through his Fear and Loathing novels, and later when he became a contributor to ESPN's fledgling Page 2.  His writing was always engrossing even when it was sloppy. His stories were about presidents and athletes and rock stars but really, they were about him.  You never lost track of the fact that you were reading the words of Hunter S. Thompson.  His personality was a watermark on every page he wrote.  And until he died, Hunter S. Thompson and I shared a birthday, which is funny because his life was filled with a level of recklessness, defiance and paranoia that I feared and loved but mostly envied.  I'm still not a fan of guns and weapons, or plastic cigarette holders for that matter.  But Thompson was gonzo to the bone.

Here is a great link to ten memorable Hunter Thompson quotes.  It's really worth reading the entire list.  I think #1 is devastating.



What prompted this post was an entry on Gawker this morning that showed a contract Hunter Thompson "signed" from a TV production company.  It's hilarious and in its own way, inspiring.



When you read the top 10 quotes, and if you snoop around the web for any of his other writing, it is clear that Thompson was tapped into what makes our social networking, blogging, web-surfing, reality tv, Sims 2, talking heads, consumerist society so pitiable, tragic, alarming.  The world shrinks into the palm of our hand, and our imaginations with it.  We check our Blackberries every five minutes at our own peril.  Virtual life is no life at all.  Hunter, I promise to unplug more often, but I don't promise to get high on ether and blow up shit.  Do we have a deal?

Lancelot Linkage!

My friend Scott Lukas is a marketing/advertising guru.  Two weeks ago he sent a post raving about the Tiger Woods Nike ad that has since been ripped to shreds by most folks.  I responded to his rave review, as did some of his other contacts.  He posted my response on his blog.  My comment is the one in blue font. 

I also would like to give a shout out to Muggsy Mutombo who writes a great blog, Mojo Hoops, and not too long ago posted my analysis of the Wizards' personnel decisions since Ernie Grunfeld came on board, a hiring that I was really excited about at the time but now wish they'd hired Bernard King instead.

This blog synergy is just running hog wild!

Howe About That!

Another reason to love hockey: Check out this excerpt from a NY Times article today about William Clay Ford - yes, that Ford family - and his lifelong love of hockey.  Ford spearheaded the effort to bring the NCAA Hockey Final Four to Detroit this year.  At age 52 he still plays defense on a top-notch adult amateur team.  Here is his story about meeting Gordie Howe when he was a kid:

Ford said one of his happiest childhood memories was attending a summer camp led by the hockey great Gordie Howe in suburban Detroit. Ford, then 8, wanted to show Howe — his hockey idol — his work ethic and toughness.

He spotted Howe and put his head down to skate hard.

“My heart just jumped,” Ford said of first seeing Howe. “The next thing I know, I was slammed. I’ve never been hit so hard in my life. I’m lying in this heap, and it’s Gordie looking down at me.

“He says, ‘Son, always skate with your head up.’ I was so honored to have been checked by Gordie Howe. That was the coolest thing that ever happened to me.”

Gotta love hockey (and Gordie Howe).