All of us should count our blessings everyday, but this time of year, we all put a little more thought into what we’re thankful for. Family, friends, and turkey are the obvious choices. Even though there are few things I like more than a plump, juicy bird on my table, I don’t know what I would do without sports.
So, to get you ready for the week ahead, I present to you 101 things that bring me happiness in the wonderful world of sports.
I am thankful for…
Football on Thanksgiving
Being able to watch Sportscenter on a loop every morning
Whoever invented fantasy football
Every time I see a game live
The NHL playoffs
An entire channel devoted to nothing but tennis
The voice of Mike Shannon on the Cardinals’ radio network
Rivalries in any sport
March madness
Winning the March madness office pool
A summer evening at the ballpark with a hotdog in one hand and a cold beer in the other
Here’s Mick in his “other-centered” mode, helping me clean out my summer garden.
The scene: Our little home on Harding Place, eleven years ago. My muscles were so sore from moving scenery for our Spring musical dress rehearsal I could hardly get out of the car. I had just pulled into the driveway, bringing the girls home from school. So intense were my body aches that I asked the girls to manage dinner. They were 8 and 12 years old; this was an unprecedented request of them and they looked at me like I had suddenly turned into an alien being.
“Uh, okay…” Rachel said, and she turned to Rylee. “Let’s have macaroni and cheese!”
“I love macaroni and cheese!” Rylee responded. And they headed toward the kitchen while I walked into my bedroom. I sighed, took off my shoes, laid down on the bed and waited for Mick to get home. I had tunnel vision from exhaustion and was concentrating very hard on our bedroom window. “Get home. Please…hurry and get here.” I needed an intense rub-down with Icy Hot, some ibuprofen and a nap. I looked at my watch while I listened to the girls in the kitchen. I prayed that there wouldn’t be some sort of accident with the boiling water, and closed my eyes.
A few minutes later I heard the truck pull into our driveway. I was completely immersed in self-centered thought as I counted the seconds until he opened the front door. I heard him come in, say something to the girls and hear their report of, “Mom needs to talk to you.” I saw Mick’s shadow on the wall as he walked into the bedroom, but I didn’t turn around to face him. Instead I said, “Can you please go get the Icy Hot and work on my back and shoulders? They’re killing me; I need some help.”
When he returned to begin his task I closed my eyes and winced. It takes a while until muscles are worked enough to where they can relax and respond to the treatment. Somewhere in-between “excruciating” and “sore,” I noticed Mick’s hands and arms were shaking. Surprised, I asked him about it. He said, “Well, we had to move three aisles of inventory in the warehouse today, all by hand. I worked almost three hours overtime in order to finish the job, and I’m really tired.”
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I began to cry. I asked him to stop, and to lay down beside me. I said, “Let’s rest a while together. By the time we’ve got a little energy back, the girls will have dinner ready.” I had been so focused on my own needs I hadn’t even assessed where my husband was. Our universes had intersected with mutually difficult and physically taxing days that had put both of us over our ability-to-manage threshold. Yet he was willing to help ease my pain without even disclosing what he had just experienced.
A few years later I was reading a book called, “Constructing the Sexual Crucible: An Integration of Sexual and Marital Therapy,” by David M. Schnarch. As I turned through the pages, I thought back to that time when Mick’s arms were shaking from fatigue. Although written about providing therapy for clients with sexual problems, the premise of the book was that a couple is initially immature and “unspiritual” in their relationship, but at some point grows mature and “spiritual;” they pass into a vulnerable and ‘other centered’ relationship that becomes so deep a mystery is revealed – the mystery of what it means to be intimate with one another, cognitively, emotionally and spiritually.
He quotes Sebastian Moore (1985) frequently when talking about this shift into a deeper intimacy. I love the passage so much that I’m going to end this post with Moore’s words. All the best to you as you find those moments of self-exposure, interdependence, hope and spirituality with those you love…~ Red Dirt Kelly
***
…Desire reveals its true nature when it comes into the moment of decision, either for the new initiate of self-exposure that makes possible interdependence, or for the cowardice that overshadows our society. Love is ‘desire, decided for.’ (emphasis added)
…Desire is most nearly itself when, asserting my own goodness which is its source, I pass from dependence to interdependence whose soul is hope. Then is desire most itself, so then am I most drawn – no longer by the obvious charm of another, but by the mystery that brings us together enlarging that desire into hope. (Moore, 1985, p. 30)
Moore, S. (1985). Let this mind be in you: The quest for identity through Oedipus to Christ. New York: Harper & Row.
He fights… for what’s right, for the people he cares about, for the power of love, against adversity, to make a difference. He fights… for the cause, for answers, for truth, for honor, for justice. He fights fires. He fights apathy. He fights for his life.
He fights in France and he fights on the oceans and the seas. He fights with growing confidence and growing strength. He fights on the beaches and the landing grounds, in the fields, in the streets, and in the hills.
He never surrenders.
The strength of his hands may be required from time to time, but his fight is not physical. He does not fight for bragging rights or to prove someone else wrong. He does not fight for the sake of fighting itself. He does not fight in a fit of rage.
He fights for principles and values. For people, not things. He fights the good fight and though he may be fueled by passion, he’s bridled by experience and tempered with wisdom. He knows that the most powerful weapons in any fight are the ones that no one actually sees him use.
Real men are fighters.
P.S. Fighting in France has nothing to do with being a real man. I just thought this was a good opportunity to paraphrase Winston Churchill.
My Juniors and I just finished reading and discussing Arthur Miller’s The Crucible. You may remember reading the play when you were in high school. As a refresher, The Crucible is about the Salem witch trials, and the tragic account of how all hell breaks loose in a community when theocratic leaders abuse their powers, drugging the masses with the opiate of absolutist rhetoric, and scapegoating and killing everyone on the margins that represents a threat to the status quo. The play was written in the midst of the Red Scare era, and was meant to critique Joseph McCarthy’s “witch hunts” for communists in academia, Hollywood, even the White House.
What struck me this time while reading the play was how those who were in power – Parris, Judge Hawthorn, Judge Danforth – were able to take bad theology and convert it into a kind of mythological drug for the masses. Specifically, they were able to create stories with the capacity to reshape reality to serve their agendas – most importantly to keep themselves in power. Thus they told their story of the “Devil’s work” in the Salem community until the people in the community were telling the stories to each other. After awhile, the leaders were able to sit back and watch the myth work like a wild-fire, devouring anything amendable to reasonableness.
The play descends into hell as these God-ordained leaders substitute theology for ideology, and come to actually believe in the stories they have created. The point Miller makes as hundreds hang from the gallows is this: it’s not reality that we believe in; it’s the stories about reality that we believe in. And these stories are powerful enough to make us believe we have the right to torture, persecute, and ultimately kill (aka bomb, bomb, bomb) in God’s name.
What’s tragic then, as personified in John Proctor’s character, is that when a minority of people refuse to fall under the spells of such silver-tongued wizards, they become the perfect antagonist for the stories that the myth-makers are telling. Thus the John Proctor’s of the world get cast as the “enemy of God”. And so for those like John Proctor, who represent grounded-reality folk, who represent the prophetic voice, who represent the voice from the margins, who represent the Church as the Conscience to the State (as opposed to the Masters of the State or the Servants of the State) – they get what tends to happen to minorities, prophets, those who live on the fringes – they get shunned, branded, vilified, demonized and ultimately silenced. It happened to Isaiah. To Amos. To John the Baptist. To Jesus. To Peter. To Paul. To Martin Luther King Jr. To Oscar Romero. To Dietrich Bonhoeffer. And so many more. And it still happens today.
Sometimes I wonder if there are enclaves of evangelicals who are like the Salem denizens – drugged victims of a mythology, ignorant cogs in a industrial-military-machinery, who believe in a reality that is a gross parody of the way things really are. Just ask most evangelicals what their eschatology is, for example, and you’ll probably sense what I’m getting at. What you’ll get an ear full of is not theology but mythology, a boilerplate version of The Left Behind series, where the “us” (those who think and believe like us) get raptured up to heaven and the “them” (anyone who doesn’t think like or believe the things we do) get left to suffer the wrath of God. Ultimately this version of the biblical story tends to leverage our fear of losing power, which then fuels our desire to preserve the status quo, which then involves ultimately keeping the powerful in power to take away that fear, which ultimately then gives those in power the ability to pass policies that involves raping the earth, feeding our addiction to oil, making the rich richer, borrowing billions from China, torturing our enemies (thus making us like them), bombing and killing the innocent, and doing nothing to truly end extreme poverty in third world countries. I mean really, what’s the point of re-arranging the lawn chairs on the Titanic if it’s all going to sink anyway, right? If the story ends with the total annihilation of all things created, as opposed to the total restoration of all things, then what’s the point?Religion then, as Karl Marx famously points out, becomes the opiate of the en masse. We are drugged into living passively for the afterlife and not actively for this life. Rather than engaging the problems and seeking to put the world back to rights, we instead seek to escape the problems and demand our rights to keep the world just the way it is – titled to our advantage.
By writing this, I know that I may be putting my neck in the noose like John Proctor. But is it worth sticking my neck out? That’s what I asked my Juniors at the end of class today. Was John Proctor’s sacrifice worth it? Was his death heroic? Or pathetic?
I leave that question for you to explore. As for me I’m wanting to learn how to be brave. Ironically I find it is easier to be brave with those who aren’t Christians than it is with those who are. Why is that? I’m not sure. But it’s because I love my evangelical brothers and sisters, and it’s because I want to honor my evangelical roots, that I ask them to humble themselves before God with me and seek His face and His truth with all their being. My critique comes from within as an evangelical. It’s a lovers quarrel, really.
So I say, Absolutely! It’s worth the risk. Because I am trying to live deliberately by another story. Not the story of domination. Not the story of revolution. Not the story of purification. Not the story of victimization. Not the story of isolation. Not the story of accumulation. But the story of restoration – the story of heaven crashing into earth and making all things new. This is the story I seek first and foremost. This is the story I have been summoned up into, which is the story of Jesus launching a project to put the world back to rights, to reconcile heaven and earth, to usher in a never-ceasing age of shalom (Isa. 11).
Here we are, nine games into this college football season and Mike Gundy has a better record than Bob Stoops. Raise your hand if you predicted this before the season. Anyone? If you do have your hand up, I’m calling you a liar or a massive OSU homer.
I guess I still find it funny that a coach with one loss can be considered brilliant and “having a great year,” but a coach with two losses has suddenly lost his way. Fans are fickle creatures, and the media only seems to add fuel to the fire.
Maybe we’re all in need of a little perspective, and as they say in politics, a move to the middle. A move away from the fringes of the fan bases who either view their coach as the second coming of Vince Lombardi or a no good bum who is slowly ruining their beloved football program all because a national title is out of reach.
What some fans simply cannot grasp is the impact of players on coaches. When a team loses or plays poorly, the coach takes the brunt of the criticism. Does he deserve blame? Absolutely. But a coach’s job is to put his players in a position to succeed. Then, it’s up to those players to execute as they’ve been taught.
Stoops' championships are quickly forgotten when the Sooners are struggling. (courtesy dixiefriedsports.com)
Take the Sooners for example. Is it Bob Stoops’ fault when Landry Jones can’t catch a snap that hits him in the hands? Is Stoops on the hook for Jones’ overthrow of Kenny Stills on what could have been an easy six for Oklahoma? Didn’t Stoops dial up the perfect fake field goal call? Should James Hanna’s inability to catch a perfectly thrown football come back to Stoops? Of the course the answer is no on all accounts. I think sometimes we shy away from criticizing college athletes because they aren’t paid and these coaches are making millions. I know these kids are playing their hearts out and I would never question their will to win. But let’s remember, most of the coach’s job takes place Sunday through Friday, and when Saturday rolls around, it’s time for the players to do their job.
Two years ago Oklahoma offensive coordinator Kevin Wilson was the man behind one of the greatest offensive juggernauts in school history. The Sooners put up 50 or more points in nine games and led the country in scoring offense. Sam Bradford was number one in the nation in passing efficiency and OU scored touchdowns on 85-percent of its trips to the red zone.
Has Kevin Wilson lost the ability to coach offense, or are his players simply not getting the job done? (courtesy neilcornrich.com)
Was Kevin Wilson a genius two years ago who suddenly forgot how to coach? It sounds that way if you listen to the Sooner Nation. To some clad in crimson, Wilson is predictable, unimaginative, and washed up. Yes, I agree Wilson could have shown some creativity down near the goal line in OU’s loss to Texas A&M. But is it a bad play call to hand the ball to Demarco Murray inside the one yard line? How many times has that play resulted in a touchdown for the Sooners? It just so happens that this time around, the offensive line got no push and got blown off the ball by the Aggies defensive front. Is that Wilson’s fault?
I’m pleading for some perspective here, please. When are fans going to wake up and realize, “You know what, maybe this team just isn’t as talented as we thought before the season started.” DING! DING! DING! Congratulations on entering the world of sanity!
Gundy is enjoying one of his best seasons in Stillwater, his Cowboys are 8-1 and take on Texas this Saturday. (courtesy espn.com)
Now that we’re all feeling liberated, maybe we can also admit that Oklahoma State has far more talent than anyone realized. Mike Gundy is a very good football coach and he’s doing a fantastic job in Stillwater, but guess what? His players are making plays at crucial moments of every ballgame. Gundy and his staff have recruited well, and they’ve put their players in a position to win. Right now, the Cowboys are executing better than the Sooners. Brandon Weeden is already mature because he’s 83 years old (actually 27), but with every game, he’s growing up as a quarterback. No Dez Bryant? No big deal. Justin Blackmon is filling his shoes rather nicely. Kendall Hunter is the back he’s always been, and the unsung heroes of this OSU season are the big boys on the offensive line. They’re creating space for Hunter and time for Weeden. So is Gundy all of a sudden some kind of genius? No, but his players are making him look like one.
Justin Gent forced a fumble in the last minute against Troy to preserve a 41-38 OSU victory. With Texas A&M driving for the winning score, Shaun Lewis intercepted a pass to set up Dan Bailey’s game winning field goal. Johnny Thomas returned a pick for a touchdown in the fourth quarter at K-State, a play that blew the game wide open and allowed the Pokes to earn another road win. The right plays at the right time. OSU is getting them, OU isn’t.
For a heavier dose of perspective, consider the fact that the Sooners and Cowboys can still play for a conference championship. Both teams have the chance to end up in a BCS bowl. No, it’s not a national title, but it’s still better than 95-percent of the programs in the country.
Stoops and Gundy will accept the criticism and they will also deflect blame away from the players because that’s just the kind of men they are. Both will admit they don’t do everything right. Stoops desperately needs to find someone who can kick a 30-yard field goal, and he needs to find a way to inspire passion in his team when it leaves the confines of Memorial Stadium. Gundy must find a way to keep his team improving on the defensive side of the ball, and turn this recent success into lasting success. Both men are outstanding football coaches even if their stock seems to be heading in different directions. So before we go thinking that a loss makes a coach an idiot and win makes a coach infallible, let’s realize that the truth is probably somewhere in the middle.
Not long ago my wife, Amy, posted a picture of my night stand on her blog.
It was a picture of the books propped up on my stand.
From left to right.
Tim Keller’s The Reason for God.
Abraham Heschel’s God in Search of Man.
C.S. Lewis’s Quotables.
Eugene Petersons translation of the Bible, The Message.
And, N.T. Wright’s Matthew for Everyone.
An anonymous blogger saw this picture and posed this question directly to me (and indirectly to all Christians):
Why do so many Christians just read Christian books?
My first mental response was of course immature, arrogant, condescending, and reactionary:
How dare you try and pigeonhole! I peruse the Fiction and Literature section at Barnes and Noble more frequently than I do the Spiritual Devotion section.
I have a undergraduate and graduate degree in English literature.
You name a classic or contemporary author, and I’ll bet I have studied him or her. Shakespeare. Check. O’ Connor. Check. Camus. Check. Kerouac. Check.
But later, after I had calmed down, I sat down to think a bit about that anonymous person’s question. It’s an appropriate question, really. And it was probably not meant to stir up conflict. But conversation.
So after some reflection, this is how I responded to this blogger.
Simply put: I’m interested in reading any story that is written in blood.
Take East of Eden by John Steinbeck, for example. Now that’s a book written in blood. Who of us hasn’t felt an acute sense of displacement? It’s not that we are living in the wrong place; just the wrong way. Or Cormac McCarthy’s The Road. I’ve got a son now and the thought of dying for Silas – not a iota of fear. But the thought of Silas having to live beyond my dying love – nothing but fear.
Any story then that struggles with what it means to be human, what it means to walk upright in a bent world, what it means to live within tensions and questions and doubts – that’s a story I want to read and participate in because it is written in the author’s blood. Whether it is written by a Christian. Or agnostic. Or atheist. Or Buddhist. Or Muslim. Because all truth is God’s truth. And part of the theology of common grace includes the animating belief that when we tell the truth about our experience of being human, regardless of our “worldview” or religious belief system, somehow, in some mysterious way, a “gleam of the evengelium”, as J.R.R. Tolkien argued, shines through.
J.R.R. Tolkein, smoking his famous pipe.
So I pose this contagion of questions for you to ponder – Christian or not:
What books have you read that are written in blood?
What stories have spoken and resonated with your deepest humanity?
What narratives have shaped the way you understand the narrative we live in?
No doubt, I’m always looking for a good read. And by good, I mean a story where the author simply has the courage as Fredrick Buechner puts it, to “open a vein.”
Men eating dinner while aboard the Atlantic Clipper. (Photo by Bernard Hoffman//Time Life Pictures/Getty Images)
When dining out at a restaurant with another person or group of people, a real man is just as likely to pick up the tab for the people he’s with as he is to graciously accept someone else’s offer to pay. A real man doesn’t argue over who’s going to pay. He either pays for his own meal, pays for both his and the other party’s, or if the other party attempts to pay for his meal, accepts their offer without making a fuss.
There’s no middle ground here.
There’s nothing masculine about arguing with another person over who gets to pick up the check after dining out. It’s like dancing. When it comes time to settle the check, the first person to speak is the one who gets to lead. If you’re the first to speak, then you get to lead. If not, just go where the other party takes you without stepping on their toes.
This really is a finer (and in many ways lost) art of manhood, I think. To continue with the dancing metaphor, it’s the difference between looking like a couple of junior high kids at the 8th grade sweetheart dance and Gene Kelly. The latter pulls it off with grace and style while the former just fumble around the floor trying not to let their hands fall below the predetermined, chaperone-approved line on their partner’s back.
The next time you’re out to dinner with another person, either pick up the tab, pay for your own meal, or graciously let them pay if they offer before you speak. Don’t try to appear chivalrous by going back and forth with them only to fold a few seconds letter with the same end result.
I learned this from my dad who likes to pick up the tab for other people. I’ve seen him pick up the tab over and over again throughout my life and I’ve rarely seen another man accept it without resorting to the obligatory give and take, back and forth debate before letting him actually pay. I’m not sure, but these types of scenarios may even offend my dad. At the very least, whether it offends him or not, the men who dicker back and forth with him about it just end up looking silly… at least in my humble opinion. And yet, on those occasions where I’ve seen other people offer to pay for my dad’s meal, I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed him argue with them. He just rolls with it… usually.
I mean, think about it, what’s at stake here? At most (if you’re at a fancy place like Taco Cabana or some other swanky joint like Sizzler or Jack in the Box) we’re talking $50 to $100 maximum. In the grand scheme of life, being able to pick up a $50 or $100 tab, while generous, is not necessarily some great feat of manhood. In fact, just about any dude with a credit card has the ability to do this at will.
Just as picking up the tab for others doesn’t make a man more masculine, the converse is also true. Letting another man pick up your tab when he asks to does not make you any less of man. It’s not like the man who offers to pay your tab thinks you can’t afford the $50. If he thought you couldn’t afford to pick up your own tab, he wouldn’t have invited you to the Taco Cabana. He would have invited you to Taco Mayo, where even the poorest man can eat like a king.
The man who offers to pick up your tab is doing so out of a spirit of generosity. And if there’s anything I’ve learned in my brief stint as a professional raiser of funds, it’s to let people who want to be generous, BE GENEROUS.
Well… now that I’ve beat this issue to a pulp, I only have one other thing to say in relation to picking up the tab. No matter who pays, NEVER EVER skimp on the tip. There’s nothing that screams, “I am not a real man!” any louder than leaving a lame tip.
15% is the standard so unless your waiter or waitress is just a complete jerk, never leave less than that. In fact, in keeping with the generosity theme, if your service is half-way decent and the person serving you is even half-way friendly, why not leave a 20% tip and make their day?
The next time you dine with someone else and they offer to pay for your meal, all you need to do is respond with a simple and authentic THANK YOU. Instead of putting up the obligatory and, in most cases, contrived fight, just make a mental note of the occasion, enjoy the rest of the meal, and the next time you dine with that person, remember to take the lead and offer to pay for their tab before they have a chance to speak.
That was my thought as I stared at the boxes piled high in my garage. Clearing out my house in preparation for a move, made me come face to face with the harsh reality of just how many things I actually own.
There were several items that flat out needed to be trashed, while many others made for great garage sale material. However, there were a couple enormous boxes I didn’t even think about tossing, donating, or selling. These were the special boxes, the “don’t you even think about throwing that stuff away” boxes. Those squares of cardboard contained all of my sports tokens, souvenirs, apparel, memorabilia, and mementos.
A shoebox full of media credentials from my days in TV, everything from bass tournaments to college basketball to arena football.
I wouldn’t call it a collection. It’s more of a random gathering with absolutely no rhyme or reason. There are the obvious items like the jerseys and the posters. There are the things which take me back to my childhood like the football cards, the action figures of my favorite players, and the stickers I used to put on my closet door. And then…well, then there’s the other stuff. I don’t know why I have this stuff, but I don’t want to get rid of it either. I have a souvenir baseball from the Class A Clearwater (Florida) Threshers. Long story, don’t ask. There is a single golf ball commemorating the 10th anniversary of Texas Motor Speedway. I’ve never been to Texas Motor Speedway, never teed it up, don’t need it, but kind of like it. And speaking of worthless, look no further than the 2007 Indiana Football Media Guide. I picked that up at the Insight Bowl a few years back when the Hoosiers faced Oklahoma State. Haven’t looked at it once, not quite ready to chuck it.
I acknowledge that I have a problem, but I also feel like these things tell my own personal sports history. They are the fabric of what makes me a fan. I don’t know if you can put a price on that. All my stuff is worth a couple hundred bucks, tops. In other words, its junk. But there’s a difference between junk and stuff I have a connection with.
A $3 racket turned into a little piece of family history.
Take for example, the old wooden racket I picked up at a thrift store. When I showed it to my dad, he told me it was the exact frame he played with when he was in high school. Now I’ll never look at that racket the same way. For three bucks I got myself a reminder of my father, the man who got me started playing the game I love so much.
Unpacking the boxes, I stumbled across a dozen different Dallas Cowboys’ hats. They were dirty, sweat stained, and beautiful. As a young Cowboys fan, I would watch every game with several hats at my disposal. If my ‘Boys weren’t performing well, obviously the hat wasn’t performing well, and so a change needed to be made. This hat rotation went on for years and I’m so glad I still have every single one. Maybe I can pass them on to my son one day, and tell him about the tradition as we suffer through Cowboys games together.
Hats from the 2007 PGA Championship at Southern Hills in Tulsa. Do I need three almost identical hats? Probably not. Will I get rid of one? Definitely not.
My girlfriend doesn’t understand this obsession. My mom really wishes I’d stop using my old closet as a long distance storage space. They don’t get it, but they don’t have to get it. I need these things to feel at home, to feel like myself. I like to walk into my apartment and be surrounded by my stuff. Maybe it’s wrong, shallow, superficial, and psychologically weird, but my stuff is me. The pennants, the pucks, the sweatshirts that don’t fit anymore, it’s all me. The golf club head covers, the stained coasters, and those stadium cups you get with your nine dollar soda (I’ve got six), all me as well.
A reminder of a trip to Wrigley, one of the coldest nights of my life watching Kerry Wood throw a 4-hit shutout of my Redbirds.
I’ve got the ticket stub from every sporting event I’ve ever attended. I’ve saved countless issues of Sports Illustrated, and cut out newspaper headlines from some of my most memorable sports moments. The one that stands out is from the front page of the Calgary Sun on June 6th, 2004. It’s a picture from game 6 of the Stanley Cup Finals with my beloved Calgary Flames and the Tampa Bay Lightning. The photo shows the puck resting on the goal line as two Flames’ players crash the net. I was in Calgary that day, ready to erupt with the rest of the city. My brother and I promised each other we’d find a way to make it to Calgary if the Flames had a chance to win the Cup on home ice. Tickets were too expensive, but we settled into a sports bar, just two anonymous fans in the “C” of red. The puck didn’t go in. Tampa Bay won the game in double overtime, and won the Cup in game 7 two days later. I’ll never forget walking the streets of Calgary with my brother, consoling complete strangers, and reliving every moment of that game. The headline reads, “THAT CLOSE.” Funny how a piece of paper can connect me to one of the best and worst sports memories of my life.
Looking at this is a form of self-torture, but also a reminder of my brother and the greatest spur-of-the-moment sports trip ever taken.
I don’t have the space right now, but maybe one day I’ll realize the dream of displaying all my stuff in one big room of my house. It will be like my own personal sports bar, the man cave of all man caves. Until then, I will continue to search, clip, buy, and yes, save this stuff.
I want to know I’m not alone. Please tell me about your weird sports collection, or that one item that means the world to you, but very little to anyone else. Leave a comment, tell me your stories, or just tell me about something cool you stumbled across at an estate sale. Make me feel better about myself, don’t let me think I’m the only sports hoarder out there.
Good morning Mr. Bryant. You don’t know me, you’ve never even met me. I’m just a guy from Oklahoma who wants to see you succeed. This will only take a few minutes of your time.
Dez Bryant scores one of his three touchdowns vs. the Giants (courtesy espndallas.com)
First of all, let me say I’m in awe of your talent and potential. The performance you put on against the Giants on Monday night was nothing short of spectacular. There are maybe, maybe a handful of guys in the league that could field a punt over their shoulder, retreat inside the ten yard line, then turn up field and go untouched for 93 yards. As if that wasn’t jaw dropping enough, you caught four passes for 54 yards and two touchdowns. You were a one man show and the entire country took notice. You are the only bright spot on a Cowboys team in complete disarray. You’re making Jerry Jones look like a genius for drafting you, and let’s face it, that’s not easy. After all, he’s the guy who thought Wade Phillips was the answer.
I hope you become known as one of the best receivers in the game. And I hope that’s all you become known for. I guess I’m a little nervous because, honestly Dez, you’re kind of a knucklehead. Your track record of decision making isn’t exactly sparkling.
Last season at Oklahoma State, you lied to NCAA officials about your relationship with Deion Sanders. Yes, you admitted your mistake and you came clean, but the NCAA saw fit to suspend you for the remainder of the season. It shows you thought of yourself before thinking of your teammates. I know, the penalty was way too harsh for telling a little fib, but like it or not, it’s still a blemish on your record.
Dez Bryant works out for NFL scouts at his pro day in Lufkin, Texas on March 30th, 2010 (courtesy Associated Press)
You couldn’t workout at the annual NFL combine, so you scheduled a pro day in your hometown of Lufkin, Texas. Scouts and coaches gathered to see you; a huge opportunity to improve your draft stock and maybe even silence some critics. You showed up with a 10-man entourage. Having friends is a good thing, but you could have saved the entourage for after you got drafted. Pro day was an opportunity for humility and performance. You should have kept your head down, mouth shut, and gone to work. NFL teams didn’t appreciate the attitude and the ego. On top of that, you forgot your shoes. Possibly the biggest day of your life, a day that could earn or cost you millions of dollars. You put such little thought into it, you couldn’t even show up with the right footwear? What the scouts saw was an impressive specimen on the field, but they also left with questions about your character.
In February, you signed a contract with Under Armour. The company paid you good money to wear its shoes and clothing. But in May, you showed up at a workout decked out in Nike apparel. Needless to say, this didn’t go over too well with the Under Armour execs and they dropped you faster than a football off the hands of Roy Williams. What part of “under contract” didn’t you understand? See Dez, it’s another incident that shows lack of intelligence, thought, and maturity.
When training camp started, the aforementioned Mr. Williams wanted you to carry his pads off the field. It’s a rookie ritual, it’s been going on in the NFL for decades. You refused and made it clear that you weren’t at camp to be carrying anyone’s pads. That refusal turned into a full-blown media circus. Yet another chance to be humble and accept your role. Instead you made it all about you Dez. It didn’t matter whether you agreed with the ritual or not, because it was an opportunity for you to earn the respect of your teammates. An innocent rite of passage, turned into a divided locker room and brought unnecessary attention to you and your team.
Dez Bryant is already known for catching the football, will he be know for anything else? (courtesy espndallas.com)
Your effort to make it up to Williams and other teammates also drew the wrong kind of attention. In September, you paid $54,896 for dinner for you and your boys at a Dallas steakhouse. No question, you can afford the filet. One dinner is just a small chunk of your 8.3 million dollar signing bonus. Affordability wasn’t the issue here Dez. There are millions of Americans who would love to make 55K in a year and who struggle to feed their families. How about donating a chunk of change to a local charity? Or, if you’re going to have a dinner with teammates, why not do it discreetly and privately? It’s no secret that athletes spend exorbitant amounts of money on things they don’t need, but those purchases aren’t always rubbed in the face of the public. This didn’t have to make headlines Dez. Again, attention for the wrong reasons.
I know these sound like little things. I know you didn’t hurt anyone, and you weren’t convicted of any crime. But Dez, you strike me as a guy who loves the limelight, a guy who wants the headlines, no matter what they might be. I know you had a rough upbringing and unstable family life. I give you all the credit in the world for making it out of that situation and achieving your dream. Now that you’re in the NFL, I’m pleading with you Dez, surround yourself with the right people. Think before you speak and before you act. Don’t go down the same roads as Terrell Owens and Chad Ochocinco. Their careers have turned into sideshows. They’re barely taken seriously as football players. Don’t let it happen to you, Dez.
If you want to have a long, successful career in the NFL, it’s going to happen because of talent, not because of foolish antics. As an Oklahoman, I want to see more of what I saw on Monday night. I’m rooting for you, and I believe in you. I know I’m not the only one.
In 1986, Robin Williams starred in a movie of great acclaim, Club Paradise. The title of this post, a line from that movie, is my homage to the film and to the fact that real men need other men.
This line has stuck with me through my life mainly because of its humor. There’s a scene in the movie where one of the characters tells Robin Williams (whose name is Jack) that, “No man is an island, Jack.” Another one of the characters hears this line, doesn’t realize there’s a comma in there or that it’s a famous quote, and immediately makes a song out of it. “No man is an island, Jack.” becomes “No man is an Island Jack” and Island Jack is born.
While the Club Paradise movie may or may not be the best inspiration for a blog post on what constitutes a real man, that famous line from it certainly is.
While times of solitude are certainly important for real men, a real man knows that he is not an island and that he needs friendships with other men if he’s going to make it in this life.
The problem with our culture in the U.S. is that too many of us are caught up in the false notion of independence as a virtue. If you don’t believe me, just take a few minutes and think about the title of the document that kicked off the revolutionary war that started our country. (The funny thing about the Declaration of INDEPENDENCE was that it actually required a great solidarity among men to make it happen and carry it out to fruition… but we forget that today sometimes.)
In today’s world, and for the last couple hundred years, men have been taught to pick themselves up by the bootstraps and to make their own way. It’s the whole, “Go west young man, go west!” idea played out to its worst extremes.
And yet the reality remains that men need other men. The earliest people to inhabit this earth knew this instinctively. As a matter of fact, for most of human history, with the last few hundred years being the exception, people lived together in tribes. In the grand scheme of things, the idea of the independent and self-made man is a relatively new (and largely unproven) idea.
Life is going to be difficult at times and the people who depend on us need us to be strong men who go to bat for them and get us through those times. When life goes to crap, we only have so much inherent strength within us that we can draw from to make it through. When that strength is depleted, where will you go to replenish yours? Don’t put that on the woman in your life. It’s not her burden to bear. No, when life requires more strength than we as individual men can muster, we need to draw from the fellowship of other men who have been through whatever it is that’s depleting our strength.
When life get’s tough, we need other men who know us to the core. We all have friends who know us to some degree, but when life requires great strength, we need men who know our strengths as well as our weaknesses. Men who will call us out when they see us on the verge of making a colossal mistake. Men who will lift us up when we fail and stand beside us in adversity.
Do you have men like that in your life? Does your life look more tribal or more nomadic? If you answered nomadic, I encourage you to find other men who also realize that life is a journey and that journeys are not meant to be taken alone.
I think this idea is part of what made the men of the Greatest Generation so great. The men of that generation went to war together. They fought the enemy and the elements together. At times they slept back to back in foxholes at night supporting each other. They never left another man behind. And despite how the horrors of war impacted many of them in negative ways, they developed a great appreciation for the value of fellowship with other men.
I want to be the kind of man who has deep bonds of friendship with other men. I want men in my life who know my struggles, who know my strengths, and who aren’t afraid to run out onto the battlefield and pull me back to safety when they see me wounded. And I want to do the same for them.
No man is an Island Jack but a group of islands is an archipelago… think about it.
It’s a good thing I don’t gamble on sports. I’d have better luck picking Powerball numbers than predicting the outcome of college football games much less how the season is going to play out. This year on the gridiron is like a science experiment gone wrong. There is no hypothesis to be made, because there are no trends, no consistent data, no rhyme, no reason, only random chaos.
Baylor QB Robert Griffin has the Bears bowl eligible and in first place in the Big 12 South.
How else can you describe what’s happening in the Big 12? Baylor, yes Baylor is in first place in the Big 12 South. This is the same Baylor that’s been a doormat of the conference for more than a decade. Eight games into the season and the Bears are bowl eligible for the first time since 1994. Right now, Baylor looks every bit as good as Oklahoma, Texas, and Oklahoma State. Maybe better. I can’t believe I just typed that sentence.
Try to wrap your brain around this: Oklahoma blasts Iowa State 52-0; the Cyclones then dominate Texas in Austin, the same Texas team that just came off a convincing road win at previously unbeaten Nebraska. Those same Huskers that were locked up by the ‘Horns, go to Stillwater and hang 51 on the undefeated Cowboys.
But the wackiness isn’t limited to the Big 12. The number one team has now fallen in three straight weeks. That hasn’t happened since 1960. Maybe the most bizarre part of it all is the fact that a computer gets to decide how an eventual champion will be determined. Ever try arguing with a computer? I’ve yelled at, sworn at, and pleaded with my computer, but it can’t be reasoned with. The folks at the BCS obviously think computers are smarter than humans. I won’t win that debate, so let me just make some general comments and predictions that will surely go wrong because they come from my feeble human brain.
WHAT HAPPENED TO OU AND OSU?
Sooner fans, let me be clear. Your team was badly exposed and outplayed the other night in Columbia. OU was not, is not, and won’t be the best team in college football this year. To think otherwise is simply delusional. The Sooners were not worthy of the number one BCS ranking, and there is a laundry list of reasons.
Landry Jones and the Sooners got sacked by Mizzou.
First, the best team in the country doesn’t turn the ball over twice inside the opponent’s 20 yard line. Second, a team that can win a national title is a team that can rush the quarterback effectively and tackle in the secondary. The Sooners can do neither. Third, the quarterback for the best team in the country doesn’t continually pull this Jekyll and Hyde act. Landry Jones is one player at home, and a complete mess on the road. Staring down your intended receiver is not a trait of the leader of the best team in the land. Fourth, the last time I checked you are the University of freaking Oklahoma. With your history and tradition, you are one of the powers in college football. Why in the name of Bud Wilkinson can’t you find someone who can kick a 30 yard field goal? Please tell me why the coaching staff isn’t bringing in one of the country’s best high school kickers year after year? A big time football program like the one in Norman has no excuse for this. None. Fifth, and maybe most importantly, the best team in the country doesn’t quit. How else do you describe what Bob Stoops did when he elected to punt with two minutes left? No, you’re probably not going to win the game, but what kind of message does punting send to your players and to your fans? It says we’ve lost, we’re done, let’s get this over with please.
Nebraska ran away from OSU, piling up 540 yards in a 51-41 victory.
The message to Oklahoma State fans is much simpler. If your team is ever going to contend for a South title or a conference title, you must have a defense. The last decade in Stillwater has seen a carousel of coordinators with very limited results. Right now OSU ranks 97th in the country in total defense, but 3rd in total offense. Sadly, it’s the same song, different verse for the Cowboys. Oklahoma State hasn’t had a defensive player drafted in the first round since Kevin Williams in 2003. There just isn’t enough top-notch talent on that side of the ball coming through Stillwater. Put a halfway decent defense with the Pokes’ offensive talent, and there’s a team I will believe in.
WHO WINS THE BIG 12 CHAMPIONSHIP?
Maybe it’s too soon after the weekend, but I have very little confidence in OU being able to run the table. The Sooners are abysmal on the road and tough tests remain in Waco, College Station, and Stillwater. On the other hand, I can’t pick OSU because the meat of the Cowboys’ schedule is still ahead, and did I mention their defense? Texas is done, and Baylor might just be the best team in the South. I’m going to repeat this sentence three times: “Baylor wins the Big 12 South.” Every time I say it, it sounds more absurd. I’m not ready for it. Sorry Bears, I’ll go with OU by default.
Is Bo Pelini the man to lead the Huskers back to prominence?
My gut tells me Nebraska is the best team in the conference, and I see a massive let down for Mizzou when the Tigers invade Lincoln this week. I love Bo Pelini’s coaching style and his intensity, no way the Huskers are dropping two straight at home. Nebraska takes its first step back to being the program it was in the 90’s by winning the Big 12 championship.
WHICH TEAM IS REALLY THE BEST TEAM IN THE COUNTRY?
Not an easy answer, but I believe Alabama is the most complete team I’ve seen. Sure, the Tide lost to South Carolina, but the loss was early enough in the season for Nick Saban’s team to recover. Alabama has two of the criteria I’m looking for in a title contender. Mark Ingram and Trent Richardson makeup the best backfield in the country, and if Saban will just stick with the ground game for four quarters, the Tide can roll all the way to a championship. ‘Bama also plays great defense, a defense that will be meet it’s toughest test when Auburn comes to Tuscaloosa on November 26th.
Auburn won’t get past Alabama, and I don’t see Oregon going unscathed either. The Ducks go to USC, have to get by Arizona at home, then survive the Civil War against Oregon State in Corvalis. Chip Kelly has done a phenomenal job with that team, but a one loss Oregon team isn’t going to pass a one loss Alabama team.
I can’t convince myself that Michigan State is for real (maybe if the Spartans win at Iowa this week), and even though Boise State and TCU deserve to be highly ranked, I can’t label them as the best because of the competition they face.
‘Bama plays Boise for the national championship and the Crimson Tide, improbable as it may sound, finds a way to win back to back titles.
(I can’t wait to come back to this column after the season and see just how far off I was!)
WHO WINS THE HEISMAN TROPHY?
Sadly this award has become a trophy for the best player on a front running team. The number in the loss column matters more than all the other stats combined. That said, right now it’s Cam Newton’s to lose. If the Auburn quarterback leads his team to victory in Tuscaloosa, there’s no way he’s not hoisting that bronze statue.
WHICH TEAM IS MOST OVERRATED?
Missouri. Major props for beating a mistake prone and highly overrated Oklahoma team on your home field, but I’m not ready to buy in to the Tigers just yet. Mizzou’s non-conference schedule featured a long list of puff pastries, and again the toughest game to date was at home. I’ll maintain that OU lost that game more than Mizzou won it. I’d also like to see Blaine Gabbert complete a pass over 15 yards. The Tigers have a chance to prove me wrong this weekend at Nebraska. Win in Lincoln and you’ll get rid of the overrated tag in a hurry. But for now, I’m not a believer.
WHICH TEAM IS MOST UNDERRATED?
Utah. Nobody is talking about the Utes even though they’re undefeated. Kyle Whittingham’s team is 14th in the country in total offense and 5th in total defense. In other words, the Utes are getting it done on both sides of the ball. You want style points? Utah is beating up the opposition by an average of 35 points per game. This team shouldn’t be under the radar because of what its accomplished over the last few years. The Utes haven’t lost a bowl game under Whittingham and have two BCS bowl victories to their credit. If the Utes get through this current gauntlet of games (at Air Force, vs. TCU, at Notre Dame), there’s no way they should be ignored.
America was once thought of as a tough, gritty nation. A country of sweat and hard work. Our men were men, and nowhere was that better reflected than on the football field. Names like Butkus, Kramer, Nitschke, Bednarik, and Ditka were known for their blue-collar mentality. Guys like that would clothesline their own grandmother if it meant getting a stop on fourth down. Mess with them, and you got messed up. They relished every hit because contact is at the very core of football.
Hall of Fame linebacker Dick Butkus, not the man you want to meet in the open field.
Now I’m afraid the NFL is trying to change the nature of its great game. This week, the league issued a statement saying players will be suspended for “head shots” and “devastating” hits. The announcement came on the heels of a particularly hard-hitting weekend. Steelers’ linebacker James Harrison sent two Browns players to the sidelines with head injuries. Falcons’ defensive back Dunta Robinson leveled Eagles’ receiver DeSean Jackson and both men sustained concussions. Patriots’ safety Brandon Merriweather went helmet to helmet with Ravens’ tight end Todd Heap, snapping Heap’s head back and leaving him prone on the turf for several minutes.
Yes, these hits were vicious and violent. Yes, there is a chance one of these collisions could have life-altering consequences. But the NFL overreacted and failed to even define what constitutes a “devastating” hit. Robinson’s hit was certainly devastating, but it was clean. The league disagreed however, and fined Robinson $50,000. Merriweather will also have to pay fifty grand for his hit, and Harrison will be docked $75,000.
Steelers' linebacker James Harrions levels Browns' receiver Mohamed Massaquoi in the second quarter of last Sunday's game. Massaquoi did not return after the hit. (courtesy bleacherreport.com)
Nobody wants to see serious injuries or concussions that could lead to brain damage. But in case the NFL wasn’t aware of this, nobody is playing football against their will. Every player on every NFL roster is fully aware of the risks and potential for bodily harm when they step onto the field. Contact is at the very heart of football, and if players didn’t expect it or want it, they’d take up golf or tennis or bowling.
Dolphins’ linebacker Channing Crowder summed it up perfectly when he said, “A garbage man is going to stink after he gets out of work, because he deals with garbage all day, right? If you play football, you have a chance to get hit in the head. You’re going to get a concussion because you have on a helmet and people are going to hit you with their helmet. So if you don’t want to get hit in the head, don’t play football.”
Brian Urlacher is known as one of the sports true tough guys, and the Bears’ linebacker echoed the sentiments of Crowder. “It’s freaking football. There are going to be big hits. I don’t understand how they can do this after one weekend of hitting. And I can’t understand how they can suspend us for it. I think it’s a bunch of bull (crap).
“You know what we should do? We should just put flags on everybody. Let’s make it the NFFL — the National Flag Football League. It’s unbelievable.”
This new policy is much easier said than done for the NFL. How do you change a defensive player’s mentality? A player is taught to do whatever it takes to separate an offensive player from the football or prevent him from making a catch. Does the safety need to run full speed at a receiver then pull up at the last second? In a league where split second decisions make the difference between stops and touchdowns, can you really expect these guys to forget their training, forget their instincts, and contemplate the consequences of a hit. It’s ridiculous.
Oklahoma City sports radio host Jim Traber likes to rant on what he calls, “the sissification of America.” Well, here’s exhibit A for you, Jim.
The people who want to make football less violent are the same people who want to take fighting out of hockey. Sorry, no can do hippie. Fighting is part of the game, always has been. Hockey players are men who stand up for their teammates by dropping the gloves. It’s the way scores are settled and there’s nothing dirty about it. Every team has players known as “enforcers” who know their roles and know how much that role means to the energy, enthusiasm and overall attitude of their team. You can tinker with other rules all you want, but you can’t take fighting out of hockey because you would be changing the sport at its core.
Scraps like this one have always been part of hockey. Let's hope it stays that way.
I don’t see boxing changing its rules. I don’t see the UFC doing anything drastic to protect its fighters. Why? Because these are violent sports. It’s what the fans expect and want to see, and again, the participants know exactly what they’re getting themselves into.
Why doesn’t the NFL look into changing the overtime rules, or the absurd rule that allows coaches to call time-out right before a kicker attempts a field goal? Why doesn’t the league re-examine pass interference or how a receiver has to possess a ball all the way to the ground? Better yet, how about rethinking health insurance and benefits for players after they retire. Right now the NFL only provides medical coverage for five years after retirement. Why not invest some of those billion dollar profits into better insurance or toward improving helmet technology?
Cheap shots and deliberate head to head hits should continue to be fined. Go ahead and suspend players if you want to send a stronger message. But please NFL, don’t ask these players to dial it down a notch. Don’t change the fundamental thing that makes football great. America is a tough country, let’s play our football the same way.
Editor’s Note: For two months now, we’ve featured “Finding Manhood” on our Man Cave page as one of our partnership blogs we recommend. We’re pleased to announce that beginning each Wednesday, we’ll now have a feature from their “Best Of” archives to share with our community. Finally…regular Man Cave stuff AND Sports stuff! I loved this post, and am glad it was chosen to kick off this weekly segment – Red Dirt Kelly
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It could be said that I am a big college football fan. It could also be said that I’m an even bigger University of Oklahoma (OU) college football fan.
My dad started taking me to games in Norman when I was a little kid and that tradition has continued into adulthood. In those rare occasions when I’ve been unable to make it to Norman for a game that is not televised, I’ve had the pleasure of getting to be a part of Bob Barry’s play-by-play color commentary on the radio for the better part of my life.
While there’s a lot I could say about Bob Barry and his style of radio announcing, the one thing that has stood out to me over the years is the way he introduces the players at both the beginning of the game and as they check into the huddle. After saying a player’s name and usually his hometown, Bob most always follows it with three numbers. For years I had no idea what the numbers were until one day a good friend cleared it up for me.
Each time a new player comes on the field, Bob says their height, age, and weight after announcing their name and the town they are from. Because I didn’t realize what that was until later in life, I always find it really amusing anytime I hear it now. For example, if I were walking out to the huddle for my debut as the starting left tackle for the University of Oklahoma, those listening to 107.7 KRXO FM in the greater Oklahoma City area would hear: “Michael Mitchell subbing in for the Sooners from Oklahoma City. 6’4″, 29, 220.”
Amusing though I find it, those 3 numbers really do matter in the game of college football… sometimes (see story about Darren Sproles below). If you tell me a guy’s age, his height, and his weight, you’ve told me a lot about him as a football player. I can generally gauge by his age the level of maturity and in-game instinct he’s going to have on the field. Obviously, his height and weight tell me a lot about his physical development and strength… how much power he’s going to pack. I like Bob Barry’s system because I like making snap judgments and it gives me a very quick, very simple shortcut to size a guy up.
As men, many of us are a lot like Bob Barry in that respect. We carry around numbers in our heads that are important to us and that we compare to the numbers of other men we know.
As we get older, the numbers we carry around in our heads are no longer our height, age, and weight…though for some men all three of Bob Barry’s numbers remain a big part of their identity.
And while it’s likely that you probably don’t care too much about your own height, age, and weight (unless you’re extreme in any of them to the point of medical danger), you probably carry around other numbers that you think ARE important.
For some men, it’s our salary. The more zeros at the end, the better, right? For other men, the number that matters is the number of letters we have after our names. For some of us, it’s the square footage of our homes or the number of toys our kids get on their birthdays. For others, it’s our golf handicap. And for some of us, it’s the dollar amount of our retirement account. (I do enjoy a good rhyme.)
No matter what numbers you carry around in your head, the fact remains that as men a lot of us have a hard time being comfortable in our own skin without comparing ourselves to others. We place way too much value on numbers that really don’t matter.
The problem with the numbers we carry around is at least two-fold.
First, much like the game of football, no matter what number we use from which to base our evaluations of ourselves and comparisons to other men, there’s always going to be someone with a better number than us. In football, it’s usually the left tackle. But even the biggest left tackle always has someone coming up behind him that is: A) younger; B) probably taller; and, 3) heavier.
Maybe my income has 6 zeroes in it. (It doesn’t), but if it did, there’d be someone else out there who has 7. The same goes for my golf score (I don’t play), the number of fish I caught the last time I fished (less than my limit), the size of my home, the value of my investments, the horsepower of my car, my kid’s IQ, etc. etc. etc. The list could go on forever. And just like in the game of college football, there will always be someone with a better number.
The second way our numbers as men are similar to Bob Barry’s college football numbers is that often times they are both misleading and flat-out DON’T MATTER. While age, height, and weight are a quick way of sizing up a college football player, often times they are actually not the most important factors. We’ve all seen those guys who dominated the game of college football despite seemingly meager numbers. As an OU football fan, the name Darren Sproles comes to my mind. Sproles, who now plays on Sundays for the San Diego Chargers, is listed at 5′ 6″ and 185 pounds. He’s beefed up since his college days.
In 2003, despite his tiny stature, Sproles (who played for Kansas State) shredded the undefeated and highly touted OU defense in the Big Twelve Championship game leading to a 35-7 upset. Since then, he’s gone on to have a pretty good career in the National Football League. And yet, if you look at the guy on paper, his numbers betray him. And while I’ve never met the guy, I get the feeling that the one thing that REALLY sets him apart is a number that is impossible (at least for us non-medical professionals) to judge… that is, the size of his heart.
As men it’s really tempting to get caught up in the game of evaluating and comparing ourselves to other men based on whatever numbers we, or they, have deemed important. However I’ve recently started to meet and read about men that don’t fit the mold in this area. Men who may or may not have impressive numbers, but who just flat-out don’t give a damn.
These are men who evaluate themselves on intrinsic things that can’t easily be sized up with a quick number. Things like the amount of passion with which they face life, the way they treat other people, their own level of self-discipline, etc. These men have a sort of strength that draws other people to them. Call it resiliency, call it the mountain man persona, call it whatever you want to call it – but men like this don’t need numbers.
Despite the fact that these men probably have impressive numbers to boast, they find their value in simply being what they were created to be. Living life with gusto. Holding doors for little old ladies. Trying risky things even if it means failing more than they succeed. Taking care of their physical, mental, and emotional health. Taking care of their families. Making the decision to live a life of discipline. Getting up at 5 a.m. every day just because it’s difficult.
That’s the kind of man I want to be. Until then, I’m 6’4″ 29 220.
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Michael Mitchell is a new daddy and the husband of a friend. I’ll let him introduce more of himself as he sees fit. Afterall, I don’t want to be puttin’ up some wrong “numbers,” yo! – RDK
As a sports fan, I am no longer shocked or surprised by anything. I’m guessing I’m not alone here. Athletes get arrested at an alarming rate. Rarely does a day go by without hearing of some sort of cheating, whether its performance enhancing drugs or marital infidelity. Suspensions, violations, and probations are now expected during the course of any professional or college sports season.
Manny Ramirez got busted for taking a female fertility drug. Yawn. Brett Favre allegedly sent pictures of his privates to a woman while playing with the Jets. Whatever. Ben Roethlisberger had an “encounter” with a college student in the bathroom of a bar. Double yawn. Tiger Woods led a secret life, and slept with who knows how many women in who knows how many states. I give it a shoulder shrug and a raised eyebrow. Even if Lance Armstrong, the last hope for integrity and truth in sports, is proven guilty of doping, will we really be blown away? I might bat an eyelash, but I’m not going to be floored. In fact, my initial thought will probably be something along the lines of, “that took longer than I expected.” Sad but true.
Scandal has become synonymous with sports. It’s like acne on a teenager, it’s assumed. We’re not nearly as appalled at the sports landscape as we used to be. When was the last time you really gasped at a scandal? It’s been a while hasn’t it? There’s no more surprise, no more shock, no more asking “how can this be!?” American sports fans are desensitized and apathetic toward all of it.
Former NFL agent Josh Luchs confessed to paying players (photo courtesy of SI.com)
The latest example came this week when Josh Luchs, a former NFL agent, admitted to Sports Illustrated that he broke NCAA rules and regularly paid college football players. In his first person article, Luchs says he gave hand outs to players in hopes they would sign with him. I appreciate Luchs’ candor and the glimpse behind the scenes of what really goes on between agents and college players, but am I stunned by any of his revelations? No.
This is simply another kind of behavior that has come to be expected in the world of college athletics. At this point, if you’re like me, you’re almost completely numb to any kind of NCAA violation. Big schools cheat. Small schools cheat. Coaches have impermissible contact with recruits. Players take money. And the world turns.
Sure, there have always been schools out there breaking the rules, but today these violations are so pervasive it’s hard to find a university that doesn’t have a blemish on its record. Our alma mater may cheat, but as long as we’re winning, it’s pretty easy to look the other way.
I think I’m ready to come out of my scandal induced coma, and propose some real changes. Not because I’m angry or disappointed or betrayed, but because I’m just so sick and tired of hearing about it.
There is plenty of blame to go around here, but a good chunk of it lands right in the lap of the NCAA. It’s an archaic, poorly run bureaucracy that needs to be fixed. When I think of the leaders of the NCAA, I think of a group of old men sitting around a table in a dimly lit room. They are wearing glasses, suspenders, and bow ties, and they’re churning out new rules so quickly that their typewriters are smoking. They are so far removed from what life is actually like on a college campus. They know nothing of what a coach has to deal with or what it’s really like to be a “student-athlete.” And they don’t care.
Listen up NCAA…there are TOO MANY rules. How much time, effort, and money do you spend as an organization just investigating infractions? I’m willing to bet it’s a bunch. Why? Because you’re creating rules faster than you can enforce them.
Why not lighten up on the recruiting rules? There are hundreds of rules coaches are expected to follow, and I can’t blame them for slipping up from time to time. There is a limit to the number of phone calls and number of texts a coach can send. There are only certain times of the year when recruiting is “open.” It’s kind of like deer season. There are certain periods when the recruit can sign a letter of intent. There are rules for how a coach can recruit a high school junior and different rules for a high school senior. There are rules for when and how a recruit can take a visit to a campus, and there are rules for what can and cannot happen during that visit. Try reading the NCAA recruiting guidelines for division one football. Go ahead try it. It will make your head spin.
A simple logo for a complex organization (courtesy ncaa.org)
The NCAA could do away with most of these rules. The NCAA will tell you there must be a level playing field, and the kids have to be protected. Remember the NCAA really cares about the kids. Since when is a high school kid incapable of turning off his phone or throwing away his mail? Let coaches pursue the kids, and let the kids decide when and how they want to. Less red tape would mean fewer violations, fewer probations, and maybe coaches could get back to coaching.
Not only do these silly rules cost the NCAA money to enact and enforce, they cost the universities millions of dollars every year. Every school now has to hire a compliance staff to keep up with the ever-changing NCAA legislation. These compliance officers are paid to make sure players are eligible, see that no violations are occurring, and educate the coaching staffs to the new rules. Have these compliance staffs solved the problems? Are there fewer violations now than there used to be? No and not even close.
This isn’t to say that some rules are needed. I don’t think players should be allowed to take money from agents or have contact with agents. But it’s the agents who deserve the brunt of the punishment, not the players, and certainly not the entire program. Should the current players on the USC football team really suffer because Reggie Bush accepted benefits from an agent? It’s absurd.
Why should current Trojans be punished for Reggie Bush's transgressions? (courtesy renovomedia.com)
The NCAA seems to think more regulations will equal cleaner programs. It’s a nice concept, but it’s wrong. There are more regulations than ever, and there’s more cheating than ever before. Everyday brings a new headline.
UConn Men’s Basketball Team Admits Major Violations, Florida Football Misuses Facebook Commits Four Minor NCAA Violations, NCAA Accuses Michigan Coach of Violations, Memphis Forced to Vacate Wins from Final Four Season, NCAA places Alabama football on Probation, Trojans Hammered for Lack of Institutional Control…
And on, and on, and on we go.
I’m not naive enough to think that cheating can be eradicated from college sports or any sport for that matter. Coaches and players will continue to come up with ways to cut corners and gain a competitive edge. Those that do should be punished. However, I’m exasperated by the callous nature of the NCAA and the complete refusal of this institution to look inward and recognize that widespread changes need to be made. I don’t think we have to be so far away from cleaning up the landscape of college athletics. I’m frustrated by the stubborn refusal of an organization to change.
I think I will remain mostly numb but I don’t want to feel this way anymore. So please NCAA, please help me change. Help me to see violations as the exception, not the norm. Help me to care, help me get rid of the cynical sports fan inside of me. That way if I am shocked, it will mean that scandal is rare instead of prevalent. I want to feel again, I want to care, I want to be the sports fan of my youth. Please NCAA, look deep into the blackness that is your soul, and try to change so I can change.
More than a road sign, a sign of home and being back where I belong.
A few days ago I came back to Oklahoma for the first time in a couple of months. I felt at home before my truck tires even touched the driveway of my parents’ house. A comfortable feeling washed over me as soon as I crossed over the state line and saw that big “Welcome to Oklahoma” sign. It was a sense of familiarity, belonging, and identity. My license plate no longer says “Native America” but my head and my heart say I’ll always be an Okie.
Sports is part of that identity. It was so good to stop at a Loves’ station outside Sallisaw and see the t-shirts for sale. Two choices, orange or crimson. Back on the highway, the car in front of me showcased an upside down Longhorn sticker in its rear window. A few miles more and another driver had his OSU car flags furiously flapping on both sides of the car. Then the best of both worlds, when a car on the exit ramp displayed a “House Divided” license plate frame. After shuffling through radio stations for hundreds of miles, the scanning stopped when I heard the familiar voices of my favorite sports talk hosts. These are the little things I took for granted when I lived here for so many years. People ask, “what do you miss about Oklahoma?” The usual answers always come out first, family and friends, my house, my church, blah, blah, blah. Crossing the state line the other day made me realize, it’s so much more than that, it’s the sports culture in this state I miss. (I miss you too Mom, no need to get offended here.)
If you’re from this state, you likely have a fierce allegiance to OU or OSU. Pick a side and don’t turn back. So many states are watered down with loyalty divided between several major universities and multiple professional franchises. In Oklahoma, its simpler. Our way of life is simple, our sports landscape is simple.
Even though we may be divided along college lines, we can be united behind the Thunder. I used to think pro sports wasn’t a good idea for Oklahoma. We’ve got the great college atmosphere, we don’t need the NBA to enhance our status. Let’s just say I’ve digested large quantities of crow. This whole state has Thunder fever. Even though I’ve never been a huge NBA fan, I miss the sense of pride that comes from proving the rest of the country wrong. There’s room here for more than just college football. Not only is Oklahoma worthy of the a team, it is quickly becoming one of the most respected franchises in the NBA. The fan base is energized and unified by a team with players and coaches that represent our values and want to be part of this community. Maybe this is silly or over the top, but in my mind, Thunder fans see the success of their team as a big slap in the face to the East Coast, West Coast, big cities, and so-called elites. That’s the mentality of Oklahoma sports fans. I love that mentality. I miss that mentality.
The teams here are the major parts of Oklahoma sports culture, but again, it’s the little things I miss the most. I miss reading the fishing report in the paper, seeing that largemouth are good on crankbaits at McGee Creek, then thinking about which one of my lures I’d use. I miss Thursday night high school football. Every week, a handful of games played before the rest where the schools get showcased and the kids feel that much more special. I miss the public golf courses here. You’re never far from a teebox in Oklahoma, and you can usually get in a round all the way into November.
I miss the subtle jabs exchanged by Sooners and Cowboys over the airwaves. I miss living and experiencing Bedlam every single day. It’s not limited to the football field or the basketball court, Bedlam is alive and well at Wal-mart, at the bank, at the grocery store, and yes, even in the church sanctuaries.
A rivalry that splits the state and even splits families, one of the best parts of our sports culture.
I miss the sports personalities here. Like them or not, guys like Bob Barry Jr., Jim Traber, Al Eshbach, John Holcomb, and Al Jerkens are practically institutions in this state. We come to expect those voices and those faces delivering our sports news, telling our sports stories, and asking questions on our behalf. Why are guys like that popular? Because they’re loyal to this state and can’t possibly see themselves living or working anywhere else.
I miss hearing Bob Stoops say “in a good way” in every other sentence. I miss Pistol Pete’s freakishly large head. I miss hearing Bob Barry say “Touchdown Oklahoma!” and a high-pitched “pistols firing!” coming from the pipes of Dave Hunziker.
One day maybe I’ll once again be a full-time resident of this great state. I hope so. No matter where I might lay my head, I will love Oklahoma and consider it home. I will always know that there’s a bass to be caught in a farm pond, a Bedlam debate to be had, and a simple sports culture that suits me just fine. The little things will stick with me.
Thursday night football? You betcha. I’m on board.
You get to watch an absolute thriller between Oklahoma State and Texas A&M, take a day to catch your breath, and then its time for OU/Texas. What’s a meal without an appetizer? Thursday games may drive coaches nuts because their weekly routine gets messed up, but its a treat for the fans and the schools can’t argue with the national TV exposure. All eyes were on Stillwater last night.
Those that watched saw something of a schizophrenic OSU squad. Stumbling out of the gates, the Pokes look rattled early. Maybe they were trying to hard to prove something after taking criticism for beating three puffballs. Maybe they were too busy admiring themselves in those black uniforms. Those are solid by the way. Maybe the Aggies were just the looser, more prepared team.
No it wasn’t the prettiest game, but the Cowboys deserve credit. Anytime you win, the glass has to be half-full. Brandon Weeden proved he can face adversity, brush it aside, and play inspired football. Being 26 years old probably helps, but this was a game Weeden needed. When you start the game 6 of 13 with two interceptions, and finish by completing 22 of your last 29 with two touchdowns, you’ve earned the respect of your teammates and hopefully the respect of everyone in orange.
The OSU defense gave up 535 yards of total offense. Improvement is needed, no doubt. But Bill Young’s unit also came up with four interceptions, none bigger than Shaun Lewis’ pick with under a minute to play. As long as the Pokes can keep forcing turnovers, they can hang with the best.
Cardiac Cowboys has become a popular phrase in Stillwater. No question OSU has a flair for the dramatic. But Thursday night, Clutch Cowboys sounds a bit better. How else can you describe coming back from a 14 point halftime deficit, making a game changing play in the closing seconds, and connecting for a game winning 41 yard field goal? Clutch fits…for now.
Dan Bailey's 41 yard field goal lifted OSU to a 38-35 victory over Texas A&M (courtesy Tulsaworld.com)
We’ve seen this before from OSU. Last season the Cowboys started 6-1, then cooled off and dropped three of their last six games. In 2008, the Pokes jumped out to a 7-0 record, only to lose four of their final six contests. The 2006 Cowboys showed promise after starting 3-0, but faltered in three of the next four games. Only time will tell if the optimism generated last night can last for an entire season. The schedule gets much more difficult as OSU will play three of its next four away from Boone Pickens Stadium. But let’s face facts here, the Big 12 South looks ripe for the taking. Oklahoma hasn’t exactly looked dominant, Texas has some serious chinks in its armor, and the Texas Tech offense doesn’t seem nearly as intimidating under Tommy Tuberville as it did under Mike Leach.
Way to early to crown any team, or make any bold prediction, but don’t sleep on these Cowboys just yet.
Tradition matters to me. Maybe it’s because I don’t like change, or maybe I just like knowing what to expect. Christmas Eve is a big one. I want the same routine every year. Get dressed for church and sit in the living room by the tree eating cookies we decorated. Listen to music while sipping sparkling cider. Pile into the Suburban, drive around looking at Christmas lights then off to candlelight service at 11. Open presents Christmas morning. From this there must be no deviation or it simply isn’t Christmas.
I’m not sure when it started or how it happened, but yelling “SOONERS” instead of the word “brave” at the end of the national anthem, has become a tradition in Norman. Most OU fans probably didn’t pay much attention to the lyric change until last weekend. With the Air Force Academy coming to Owen Field, Bob Stoops asked the Sooner faithful to not only cheer for the Falcons when they entered the stadium but to break tradition and sing the word “brave” out of respect to the young men serving our country. The previous Saturday, the ninth anniversary of 9/11, the school made the same request to fans, only to hear “SOONERS” drown out any bold enough to say “brave.”
I’ve been in that stadium and trust me, there’s something powerful about hearing “SOONERS” spring from the throats of 85,000 people. I never thought much of it; just a small part of the OU gameday experience. There is way too much political correctness in this country. But there is a time for reflection and sensitivity and I think that time is now Sooner fans.
Is it time to change tradition? (courtesy myxer.com)
No matter where you’re from or what football team you support, I believe you are an American first and a citizen of your state second. College football isn’t just an Oklahoma thing, or a Texas thing, or an Arkansas thing. It’s an American thing. It’s part of our sports identity as Americans.
Now ask yourself, “What allows me to be here on this gorgeous fall Saturday? What allows me to tailgate, wear what I want, scream like an idiot when it goes our way and mope when it doesn’t? What allows me to bring my son or my daughter to this place for the very first time and share with them the magic of a football Saturday? Simply stated, what allows me to be a fan?”
The answer is blood. The same answer for why we enjoy so many spectacular freedoms in this country. Blood shed around the world and here at home, by men and women who sacrificed to make America the great country it is today. “Brave” isn’t just a word that closes out a catchy tune. It means someone left home, left their family, voluntarily went into harms way and paid the ultimate price for you. I’m guilty of going through the motions with the national anthem. Let’s get the game going already. But a little reflection on its words goes a long way toward changing my attitude.
The fans who choose to say “SOONERS” aren’t being intentionally disrespectful. They’re not going out of their way to diminish the anthem or try to make some kind of statement. They’re red-blooded, patriotic Americans, embracing a tradition. However, sometimes tradition needs to be put aside. Can’t you still get chills from tens of thousands yelling “brave” instead of “SOONERS?” I’d hope so. Cutting out the “SOONERS” doesn’t make you less of an OU fan. Come on, nobody is mistaking you for a neutral party when you’re decked in crimson from head to toe and you’re wearing a schooner hat.
There are plenty of traditions already in place in Norman (courtesy replayphotos.com)
Plus, there are plenty of perfectly good traditions already in place. The drum major strutting his way across the field. The giant Oklahoma flag and the way the P.A. announcer says, “It’s footbaaallll tiiime in Okkk-la-homaaaaaa!” There’s the singing of the alma mater, and the video that declares, “There’s only one Oklahoma.” One side of the stadium chanting “Boomer” and the other side screaming “Sooner.” You’ve got Ruf-nex firing shotguns, a pretty girl in a covered wagon, and that moment when you’re team finally takes the field. How much more fired up do you need to get? If you still insist on yelling “SOONERS” why not do it at the end of the Oklahoma state song?
We’re only sayin’, you’re doin’ fine Oklahoma! Oklahoma, O-K-L-A-H-O-M-A, Oklahoma!…SOONERS!.
Sing it in your head. It works – believe me.
Old habits die hard, Sooner fans. This is the right thing to do. After all, new traditions have to start somewhere.
You know that Kobe Bryant jersey you got for Christmas? Try selling it a garage sale. The Carmelo Anthony bobblehead on your nightstand? Let’s find a shoebox for ‘Melo. Lebron James may be taking his talents to South Beach, but why don’t you take that poster of his to the trash can.
I’ve got a new role model for you and his name is Kevin Durant. He is the man you should be imitating. He is worthy of your admiration. He won’t disappoint you on or off the court. Let me tell you why you should be plastering your walls with images of Durant. We’ll start with Kevin Durant the basketball player.
You may not have heard this since its football season and your dad has a death grip on the remote, but just last week Durant led Team USA to its first World Championship in 16 years. Kobe wasn’t there. Neither was Dwyane Wade. At 21 years old, Durant was the clear-cut leader of the American squad. In the semifinals Durant dropped 33 points on the Lithuanians. Against Turkey in the championship, Durant drained seven 3-pointers on his way to 28 points and tournament MVP honors. Durant didn’t have to be there in Turkey, half a world away representing his country. He could have stayed home, rested, or taken a long vacation away from the game of basketball. After all, NBA training camps start in just two weeks. Most guys might want more of an offseason. Durant just wants to play ball.
Durant leads Team USA to gold at World Championships (photo from kevindurant35.com) Click photo to travel to KD's website.
If there’s a way to defend Durant, NBA coaches haven’t figured it out. Last season, Durant became the youngest player to ever lead the league in scoring with 30.1 points per game. Consistency? Durant has it. He recorded a streak of 29 straight games with 25 points or more, the second longest streak of its kind in NBA history. Durant never missed a game, and rarely missed a free throw. He shot a blistering 47% from the field and finished his third season as a pro with 25 double doubles. Each year, Durant’s numbers have gone up for points, rebounds, and assists. All this while facing the best defender on every team he faces. Most impressively, Durant propelled a young Thunder team to the playoffs and pushed the Lakers to six games in the first round. Watch closely kids and you won’t see Durant whining to referees or demanding more shots. He keeps his head down and his mouth shut. You see kids, it’s a style we simply don’t see out of our idols too often. It’s a style that may not earn you maximum fame. What it will get you is maximum respect.
Lebron James may have had a TV special dedicated to “the decision.” James may have had millions of people hanging on his every word, but his shameless self-promotion turned him into a laughing-stock. Trust me kids, trying to boost your own ego only makes you look petty, immature, and incredibly lame. Durant signed a contract extension with Oklahoma City right around the same time as the Lebron spectacle. Why didn’t you hear more about Durant’s signing you ask? Because Durant is the anti-Lebron. He announced his extension on Twitter. No press conference, no media, no gimmicks, just 140 characters. Truth is, Durant could have asked to opt out of his current deal in the fifth season. You might have a hard time believing someone with Durant’s skills and star power would want to stay in Oklahoma for years to come. It’s the truth. Durant wanted a deal done quickly and easily because as he puts it, “This is where I’m committed, this is where I want to be. I’m a loyal person.” Remember that word kids…loyalty. It’s becoming a thing of the past.
More than any accolade or accomplishment on the court, Durant understands the responsibility that comes with being a professional athlete. In January, Durant wasted no time in donating $100,000 to aid the victims of the earthquake in Haiti. Thanks to Durant, a run down rec center in his home state of Maryland got a renovation and the kids in the neighborhood now have a safe place to play. Durant recently partnered with a record label to build a new music studio for high school students in the Washington D.C. area. Here in Oklahoma, Durant took a needy family on a grocery shopping spree to help a woman responsible for caring for her six nieces and nephews. He is heavily involved with the March of Dimes organization and is becoming known for giving out free pairs of shoes to his fans on Facebook and Twitter.
Durant lends a helping hand in OKC (photo from kevindurant35.com). Click photo to visit his website.
In other words, Durant doesn’t just play for Oklahoma City, he has a presence in Oklahoma City. A kid from Maryland, who went to school at Texas, now makes his home in Oklahoma. One of the brightest stars in the league plays in one of the smallest markets. But you see kids, it’s not about the size of the city. It’s not about the money, the recognition, or even about what anyone else might think. It’s about playing a game with passion, and being the same person on the court and off. What you see is what you get with Kevin Durant. I hope you see what I see. I see a whole lot of heart, I see a man worthy of your admiration, a man who deserves that space on your wall.
Down through the centuries, theologians and mystics have spoken of divine experiences in human time as kairos moments. By definition, a kairos moment is an event used by God to impact one’s life. It involves an intersection of sorts between the horizontal and vertical, the humdrum and holy, where, for a fleeting moment, one experiences God’s nearness in his life and God’s hereness in his world.
Kairos moments have happened infrequently in my life. But none was more pivotal and life changing than the karios moment on an obscure battlefield at Gettysburg.
The months leading up to this event had been colored by deep darkness. It had been almost two years since my wife and I first visited the fertility clinic. Now the “I” word was not some distant and remote diagnosis. It was a sobering reality. By this time, my prayer life had been reduced to a whimper of faith. The silence of despair grew firm within my chest. On the brink of a spiritual breakdown, I prayed as a desperate man for a break through. Little did I know how God would answer my prayer.
Culp's Hill
While attending a leadership conference at Gettysburg, one night I was approached by Marty, a conference leader. He asked me if I wanted a personal tour of Culp’s Hill, a famous battle during the Gettysburg campaign. I grabbed my Mountain Gear fleece; I was definitely up for it.
After snaking our way up through hills exploding with green April foliage, we stopped at a tiny knot of cedars surrounded by large boulders and scattered tree logs. “This was the Union army’s extreme right position,” Marty exclaimed as he pointed to a breastwork of cobbled stone covered in moss and dirt. “It was here that the fate of the Union army largely hung in the balance.”
As Marty began to lead me around the markers that jutted up around the hill, the whole scene suddenly transformed before my eyes into a dramatic amphitheatre of war.
The main battle commenced at dusk on July 2, 1864.
As darkness moved in amongst the thick trees at Culp’s Hill, the NY 137th disbanded in a thin line from the saddle down to the lower hill. Below the hill, gathering in a swale, and quickly filling up many trenches was a Confederate brigade led by General Steuart.
About that time, General Meade of the Union Army sent orders to Colonel David Ireland, the twenty-five-year-old commander of the NY 137th. General Meade’s orders were short and exacting.
“Colonel Ireland, hold the line at all costs.”
Soon Steuart’s men moved into position behind the low stonewall in rear of the 137th.
They quickly unleashed a staccato of gunfire. Before they knew it, the 137th was taking heat from front, right flank, and rear. Their position, as Marty described it, was “like a finger, surrounded on three sides.”
At about that time the 71st Pennsylvania regiment showed up. They were backups sent by General Hancock to assist the 137th. But seeing Ireland’s men taking heavy musket fire from all directions, the 71st fired off a volley or two at Steuart’s men and quickly withdrew from the line. Their position was untenable.
Union fortifications built to ward off the Confederates.
With half his infantry dead, resources depleted, and reinforcements in retreat, Ireland decided to order one final defensive tactic: commanding his regiment to stack up granite rocks to form a stone wall. There, entrenched on the saddle back between the hills, Ireland waited with his men.
As Marty showed me where Ireland had burrowed in with his men, I tried to put myself in the young colonel’s shoes. I got down on my knees behind the stonewall and peered out into the thick darkness with only the silhouette of the overhanging limbs visible. I wondered how Ireland held his men together as trees splintered from canon fire, bullets pinged off granite rocks, and hot metal tore through sinewy flesh. I suddenly felt like I could hear the shrieks of young men as they breathed their last breath and their souls slid out of their bodies.
Effects of Union shot and shell on Culp's Hill - photo by William H. Tipton.
Somehow through the long and unrelenting night, Ireland and his men found the strength and fortitude to stymie every Confederate charge up the hill.
At around three a.m., Steuart’s men suspended their attack due to complete lack of visibility and thus an inability to determine who was who. They feared they were shooting and killing their own men. As their attack subsided, the 137th found renewed strength and hope as the 14th Brooklyn and the 6th Wisconsin showed up with reinforcements.
Had the Confederates known the 137th was the end of the line, they could have advanced toward the Baltimore Pike and overrun the Union army, changing the outcome of the battle at Gettysburg, probably turning the tide of the whole Civil War.
But the line never broke.
After Marty finished telling the story, I stood in complete silence, as I suddenly felt like Culp’s Hill was becoming holy ground. I didn’t see a burning bush or hear an audible voice. But as the wind rustled through the Pennsylvania birch trees and I stood against the cobbled traverse, I sensed somehow that God was near.
A scripture came to mind, one that I had memorized early in my life.
Let him who walks in the dark,
who has no light,
trust in the name of the Lord
and rely on his God.
~Isaiah 50:10a
For two years I had endured what St. John of the Cross called the oscura noche, the dark night of the soul. During that time, I felt like Job—confused, doubtful, and befuddled by God’s seeming absence and deafening silence. My prayers were punctuated by sighs and groans. I came closest to God in my questions. I wondered not whether God existed but if God knew I existed. Did he know my pain? Did he see my suffering? Would he respond to my cry?
As I walked the hallowed grounds at Culp’s Hill, I began to pray. Specifically, I echoed Peter’s prayer: ‘I do believe, Jesus, help me overcome my unbelief!’ (Mark 9:24). I confessed to him that I felt like I was living within a precarious space between two parenthetical opposites: one being faith, the other being doubt. The bitterest pill I felt I had been forced to swallow involved watching Amy suffer and hurt and not knowing how to palliate her pain in any way.
In that moment, though, as the moon rose high into the starless sky and the leaves turned silver, I felt that God was near. For so long, God had seemed distant and remote, like a satellite. Sensing God’s closeness now, I cupped my ear and leaned into the silence. What I heard filled me with a renewed trust that the night would give way to the day. And somehow, in some way, against all odds, pressed in on all sides, he would hold the line. Like Col. Ireland and the NY 137th, Amy and I would see the first gleam of dawn burst through the darkness. We would feel the sun on our faces again. We would hear a new word heralded through the clouds: a new day had arrived!
~~Note: Josh and his wife Amy documented their journey, struggles and resolution to travel to Africa and adopt a child in their book, “From Ashes to Africa.” This post is a revised piece from that book. For more information visit http://fromashestoafrica.com/
Here is my Habanero Pepper plant. As you can see, I need to make a couple of recipes - one for the weekend, and one for the freezer!
I do not like habaneros peppers. I don’t like to pick them. I don’t like to can them for habanero pepper jam to spread over cream cheese later in the fall. I always forget I’ve been handling them and then scratch my nose or rub my eyes; horrific running around in circles ensues: “Argh – my nose! My eyes! Ahhh!” When I’m out picking them I make a mental note, “Use gloves, or go wash your hands immediately.”
I always forget.
So, are we clear? I don’t like habanero peppers. What I DO love, though, is a jerk chicken marinade recipe that is so good it even makes me tolerate growing the peppers…really, just for this one recipe. I give the rest away. There are people out there who eat them, even raw. My eyes are watering while I’m typing this entry!
So, this Saturday morning post is to remind you that Jamaican Jerk Chicken can be a hearty AND lower fat item for your outdoor grilling. And in case you’re trying to use up any extra habaneros left in your garden, even better.
Remember, tomorrow is “Silent Sunday.” We hope you enjoy our Photographs of the week and our new masthead featuring the Oklahoma State Fair while we take the day off from writing. We’ll see you back with new essays on Monday.
From the Red Dirt Chronicles Contribution Group to You and Yours…Have a safe, happy and enjoyable Labor Day weekend.
Sincerely,
Kelly, Julie, Rob, Mark, Rachel, and our soon to be coming on board or one time contributors
(Click photo to go to “AllRecipes.com” for my favorite Jamaican Jerk Chicken Recipe)
Jamaican Jerk Chicken for Labor Day Grilling ~~YUM!
Showcasing Red Dirt culture ~ authored and managed by contributors with connections to the great state of Oklahoma.
All of us should count our blessings everyday, but this time of year, we all put a little more thought into what we’re thankful for. Family, friends, and turkey are the obvious choices. Even though there are few things I like more than a plump, juicy bird on my table, I don’t know what I would do without sports.
