The House of Sports … On A Saturday Night

We enjoy the roar of the crowd, the high-fives, the energy of the stadium, the players on the field, court, and ice.

We are a House of Sports.

We watch it. We play it. We groove to it.

We even enjoy it when we’re watching in HD or our old school TV. I enjoy the Madness of March, the Run in October, the Bowls in December and January, The Australian Open. The playoffs. All these are special. All the sweat and hard work. You can hear the Eminem 8 Mile Soundtrack as you cheer on your favorites. And when it comes to events that happen every so often, they’re supposed to be even more special.

The Olympics.

You see old school grainy video of the athletes as kids, playing their sport with tiny shoes and a smile. Growing up to reach the highest level of competition, they get choked up, with tears in their eyes and say Hi mom, on camera. You cheer for them and hope they empty the tank.

Now of course I prefer the Summer Games, but we enjoy the Winter Games. Hockey is our jam. Snowboarding. Speedskating. The Luge. We dig it.

BUT …

We’d love it even more if they had just postponed a bit, you know … when we still weren’t in the middle of a stupid pandemic. Common sense and safety would have said, yeah let’s wait, just like we did in the Summer Olympics. Instead, you got people who showed up with clean records that ended up not being able to compete because they got Covid while they were at the Olympics. So, they’re one shot, they’re one opportunity gone. Years of training. Gone.

Should they have waited? Yeah, why not?

But no. They went on … to make money … and to have it … in China.

China.

IOC? What happened? I’m sure Sweeden or Norway or Alaska would have loved to host. They don’t have shady human rights abuses. At least not that I’m aware of … I mean they probably even have real snow and don’t have to make 100% of the snow at the games. How are you going to have the winter games when you can’t provide snow?

Then you have the drugs.

With athletes that were supposed to be banned for their intense secret drug doping scandals in the past, to just show up again. And again. And again. Under no flag but being from the same country.

Russia.

What’s up with that?

You know they did it. We know they did it. They know we know they did it. But IOC is going to pretend that these are new athletes under no one’s influence. You know, even though they’re training in Russia, living in Russia, and probably getting their travel paid by Russia. But they’re not participating under the Russian flag because they’re independent.

Which comes to the most recent drama …

Is it the Russian skater who doped it up and now everyone is pretending to be innocent? No that’s not the drama I’m talking about, but let’s explore it for a minute. Threatening reporters that break stories on it and playing innocent because she’s a teenager. How could she possibly know what was going on?

Cut it out.

Have you met a sixteen-year-old? They know what they want to know. Did she think they were Flintstone Vitamins? And even if she didn’t know, and let’s say she didn’t, the other people around her knew. They knew it was banned and that’s it. Period.

Should be no exceptions. Especially … especially being from Russia.

Just like that American Sprinter in the Summer Olympics knew marijuana was a banned substance (not that it would have helped her performance in anyway in fact it probably would have hurt her), but she smoked anyway because she was self-medicating after the death of her grandmother. She was banned.

The skater tested positive. That’s it. Period. I

The IOC is still discussing whether or not this ice skater can compete?

Dude. They’re worse than the NFL.

It’s ugly. And the House of Sports is sad about the whole situation. Sports. We loved watching them, but people are dirty. Letting things slide to appease some powers that be … that be selfish and greedy.

But my main drama was Leslie Jones. The highlight … the one x-factor that made watching some of these Olympics enjoyable was Leslie Jones commentating on The Games.

I thoroughly enjoyed her commentary, play by play, natural reactions, and epic enthusiasm. That’s the kind of friends you want with you at any game. Her vibrant energy and support for the athletes. I watched through her posts and reactions. Good commentators work their magic to make the games even more enjoyable. But now … that’s over.

NBC did something behind closed doors and all of a sudden, she wasn’t posting any highlights, and there was no more spice in the air.

The Olympics from all angles proved to let down The House of Sports. We cheer and support the athletes though, we always do, not the cheaters, or their enablers. Just the athletes. We hope they find their way to gold. We hope they Pump Up Their Jam.

Jock Jams — Various Artists

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Words on Wednesday …

Been waiting since 1988 when the RTD costs $1 and half of the school decided to leave after homeroom and make their way downtown to see Fernando Valenzuela, feel the mania in person, and catch a glimpse of “El Toro,” on a parade float.

It was amazing to see someone who resembled friends, neighbors, family lead the home team to an amazing victory. My dad got a new hat that year, don’t know where that one would be, as it’s not in my stash, but since he was busy working and didn’t have the luxury of leaving, parades were not in his future. So the hat helped celebrate the spirit of the neighborhood, and city.

I remember our neighbors being huge fans and celebrating the victory for days. Budweiser was the king of beers at the time and there was plenty of toasting going on.  There was an extra spring in everyone’s step.

And now I’ve got my bounce back.

Finally.

After so much heartbreak of coming up short, then getting robbed one year, and failing to reach the bar the next, it felt like the stumbling would continue.  But then it finally happened and I was able to watch and celebrate this rollercoaster ride with the kids. Making our own scrapbook  of memories. 

But to be honest, watching as a kid was a lot less stressful than watching it now.  My intensity levels keep strengthening and the faith of childhood  dreams with big comebacks don’t always show up nowadays … But I was hopeful and believed in Blue for decades because as you get older the stronger your allegiance to your team. 

I feel the stress and anxiety of these games a bit more as an adult, when you realize that second, third, or even fifth chances don’t come often.  You realize how deep it runs, the love of the game. The intensity of my fan being  puts me a little over the edge … especially when questionable pitching decisions snowballed into a disaster of an avalanche and I was left in my Costanza-Burgundy moments.

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I was more passionate about the game, and all the emotions that came with that comeback. I was grateful for the win last night. So grateful this happened to be a moment for the Jar of Awesome, sharing it with the kids … that created a memory all on it’s own. I’m hoping they’ll look back on it, just as I did. Hanging with my pops, baseball cap, and jumping up and down and screaming yesssssssssssssssssssssssss as they rushed the field.

And so I celebrate with my kids, along with the rest of the city, and enjoy the feel-good vibes that come with finally winning a World Series, of tipping my hat to players who’ve been on the roster for a long time and happy they’ve finally earned the ring they so deserve.

1988 was a long time ago.

And I was getting tired of waiting.

Hopeful … and with fingers crossed. It happened.

Picture by Wally Skalij

Buen Camino

Feel Good 5 Friday … On a Saturday

Everybody needs a walk-up song, the one that drops its beat and you feeeeeeel it, The heart. The pit of the stomach. The I-got-this feeling.

We’ve been missing our songs lately. We’ve had morning songs sometimes, our feel good songs, but not our walk-up songs. Personally the Bee Gees and funk from the 70s gives me that vibe. Confidence, be walking like I got purpose.

We’ve been missing that without sports and teammates. Our songs. We came to the realization that my son would have had three games and a tournament by now, and my daughter a scrimmage.

Saw a few people at the park today and it reminded me of how important teammates, comradery, and the game became in our family. Not so much for winning, but for the sake of playing. Being part of a team gives a sense of community, of purpose, of belonging to something bigger than yourself. People counting on you, a sense of responsibility to them. Been playing for years. Been part of our routine.

Now we’re out of sorts. Everyone is really and so we look for communities where we can.

This realization tripped me out today. Even if we’re not on the ice or the field, kids still need to feel that sense. They need to hear their walk-up song. Regardless. They need that feeling, and I need to make it happen. Need to make it better than it was yesterday. That’s the goal. And you can’t get to the goal if you don’t have a good beginning. A good setup. A good walk-up. Just as everyone needs at least one standing ovation in their lifetime, everyone also needs a good walk-up in order to have a good set-up. Even if the fields and rinks are closed, you need to hit that play button.

And so until you find your walk-ups I share with you my kids’ songs. Every time we headed to a game these were part of the playlist … sending you sunshine and waves. Buen Camino!

Rebel Rebel — David Bowie

Dream on — Aerosmith

Levels — Avicii

I’m Still Standing — Elton John

Walk of Life — Dire Straights

No Shame in Their Game… Apparently

What’s done is done. Now we need to move on.

That’s a load.

You can’t clean up if there is no culpability and just blatant lies on top of lies.

Everybody cheats. Steroids. Sign stealing. Everybody does it. That’s the excuse. Steroids are just wrong. Period. And sign-stealing? Everyone tries to get the upper hand and figure out the pattern. Everyone tries to see what the catcher is trying to communicate to his pitcher. Absolutely.

Not everybody sets up a live feed at their home stadium to decipher the catcher’s signs, then relay them via text message or monitor to the dugout, who then signals batters by Morse code on trash cans while they’re up to bat.

You’ve heard about it by now … Houston Astros. The most hated team in baseball right now, and it’s well-deserved. Boston is a close second until we decipher how much Cora stank is on them. I’d bet a lot seeing how Alex Cora, the main engineer of this lying, cheating, was a coach on both teams.

A little asterisk by the Astros name for their 2017 World Series appearance and they could care less. It’s what happens when you only give them an asterisk. And that’s not even official, I think fans did that. It’s meaningless. The consequences are small or non-existent. One guy got thrown under the bus. One and he deserved it. Alex Cora. But he wasn’t the only one involved in this cheating scandal. Sure a couple others were fired, but they’ll get rehired and how is that gonna teach them anything? Where’s the accountability?

Many people question whether the MLB will do the right thing and ban Cora for life, and hand out player suspensions. Or better yet vacate the title. They do it for steroids, but the MLB are spineless, greedy pimps who think it might hurt the game.

Ironic.

But the fact is this slap on the wrist weak punishment for disgracing the game and then bragging about what a quality team they were all along is disgusting.

The problem is Houston has got no shame. They had Fan Day at their stadium, but I don’t think there was a seminar on “How we cheated our way to the top, and so can you boys and girls.”

They cheated. We know they cheated. They know we know they cheated. And the MLB is just sweeping it under with no formal public apology or acknowledgement. They continue using the word allegedly, like there wasn’t proof.

You can hear the trash cans.

But the MLB doesn’t care. They penalized the Astros two draft picks and a $5 million dollar fine. That’s how much one of the owner’s suits cost. So now the public, mostly a Los Angeles and New York public, is left to deal out justice, because the lack of repercussions have left Astro players over confident and even more shameless if that’s possible . But they should be scared to walk into stadiums this year because if they’re not, they’re stupider than I thought.

Fans have long memories, especially if you cheat them. Ask Pete Rose.

Maybe if cheaters like Altuve actually admitted to wrongdoing people wouldn’t be so infuriated. I think it’s the level of hypocrisy that riles people up. Absolutely no shame. The whole scandal and lack of accountability makes you lose faith in the game and the process.

But I’d say it could still be the cheating. Either way it’s the worst after-school special season finale ever.

 

 

The Bench Is Not A Fun Place …

You hope at the very least that they have a moment when they hear the cheer. The clapping. The loudness. You hear the woo-hoo charged with such energy and enthusiasm that it reverberates in the air.

You’ve heard it before for your kid and hoped the start of a new year on a new team, that you’d hear the roar again, at the very least from you.

But instead it was silence, frustration, and disbelief. I rubbed my forehead and face in anguish. It was painful to watch.

It was one of those times you tried to find something positive to say or remember about the performance and nothing … absolutely nothing came to mind.

I had one of those parent moments where I couldn’t believe what was happening but it was happening because my eyes were watching it, so I just sat there stunned.

I was watching everything fall apart, just completely sink. From the top of his game to being third string. As a parent and sports enthusiast it was tough to face.

He had the worst … and I mean the worst game of his life, where everything that could go wrong did. He forgot how to pass, how to shoot, how to move fast, how to defend. It’s like he had amnesia and forgot how to play the game. It hurt to watch him self-destruct.

It hurt to come to terms with the terrible plays and effort, it was disappointing to know that he was just a body out there, not making an impact at all … well … he was, but a negative one.

That’s one thing I tell both my kids … did you make an impact? Did you do better than last time?

Both answers were no.

I mean just yesterday my daughter continued making strides in her first year of soccer. The way she continues to improve as a player every game only makes me believe that we’re just scratching at the surface of her potential. I’m excited at what she can do and what’s to come for her.

My son, however, has started his journey this year at an all-time low, and I’m troubled by it. I’m having a lowly parent moment where I feel there’s nothing I can do for my kid. No matter how many pointers or words of encouragement I shout out nothing was getting through and the slump snowballed into a disastrous state of play.

It’s the first time I couldn’t see a positive. It was an epic failure and it sat there for all to watch and the oohs and ohhhs could be heard.

The performance will hang over him like a Scarlett Letter and he’ll have to dig and fight his way out. He’ll have to work twice as hard now to even earn half the time he had before. It’s slipping away.

I’m thinking maybe it’s time to rewatch Rudy, or Hoosiers, or read the sports biographies of comeback underdogs. Perhaps rewatch Nadal’s Championship match in the U.S. Open, because the bench is not a fun place if you’re an athlete. It’s not great if you’re a parent either.

This uphill battle is going to be tough. I’m wondering what Coach Taylor would say …

Buen Camino my friends…

Channeling My Inner-Coach Taylor

I saw myself doing it at one point in my life, don’t remember when I thought I could pull it off but I totally saw myself with the whistle and Coach Taylor attitude.

But I hadn’t committed myself … not until my daughter saw Megan Rapinoe and Crystal Dunn on the screen during the World Cup and asked who are they?

Oh I’m playing soccer this year, she says. That will be my sport this semester.

Soccer.

The one sport in my entire athletic repertoire that I did not play. I watch it every four years and catch Vela whenever we can go to the stadium. I reported on it during my newspaper days. I know the ins-and-outs, but hadn’t played on a team before.

But there she was … inspired by World Cup fever and so I was left with a decision. I had my run-in with this AYSO bunch before … you know the disaster that happened with my son a few years back, so I wasn’t sure I could handle another logistical nightmare.

I had to think about this one.

You see, I had signed her up to play but she was waitlisted. You know the lies about the Wait List. I was like here we go again. And then I got the message … you know the one … ‘calling all volunteers’ but with an extra twist. If you’re player has been waitlisted we give priority to people who volunteer.

Priority.

And there it was … the trap. The offer I couldn’t refuse …

Coaching. Coaching your kid’s team, along with other kids you don’t know, who may not always listen, and whose parents might be THOSE parents, the ones that come out on the news brawling in a full on cage match because of a bad call on the field.

That gave me some pause.

But there could be positives …

Time for Jim Carrey’s YES Man to make his appearance. And he did. My perspective shifted and it no longer seemed like a trap but an opportunity. An opportunity to try something new with my daughter, a double journey.

Now I was a little hesitant because I come from the old school philosophy that you shouldn’t be a coach if you’ve never played the sport. But I already knew the sport, I was athletic enough to pick up some skills and vision was something I already possessed.

So I asked her would you be all right if I helped coach the team, and her response was you coach me all the time at home.

So there it was … I’d officially get a clipboard and whistle and help lead this girls 10-U team.

Let me tell you, some girls at this age aren’t as enthusiastic about playing soccer or should I say doing drills to help you get better at playing soccer. It was funny to watch the different personalities on the field. I wasn’t sure how things would pan out at our first game.

But I helped prepare them the best way I could … The Coach Taylor way. After all they’re still learning dynamics, skills, and team cohesiveness. So positive attitude and the ball movement we learned in practice is what I focused on. As the head coach led the offensive strategy and lineups, I focused on defense and mental state. Fun was an important part of the formula if the players were to last in the heat of mid morning.

And in the end … they did a great job. They hustled and ran hard. We won 5-1 and I was happy to see the butterflies go away and the confidence build up in my daughter and the other players. Step by step they found their way on field of dreams.

In the end, I was glad I wasn’t one of the parents sitting in beach chairs on the sidelines. I was the one running the sidelines helping athletes become better players, helping them gain their confidence.

I was a coach … for the first time … officially. Although I still need whistle.

Buen Camino my friends!

Learning From Mistakes …

One of the best parts of sports I enjoy, aside from awesome shows like Friday Night Lights and movies like Hoosiers and Miracle, are the teachable moments that happen often throughout the season and in the playoffs.

We pay attention to the hardworking players who let their game speak for itself and point out that being flashy might not be the best avenue. This whole dabbing thing drives me up the wall.  I enjoy celebrating goals, 3-pointers, home runs, and awesome defensive plays, but dabbing … ugh … it’s in poor form. It’s really for the other person, not so much for yourself. I know there’s going to be all kinds of trash-talkers and show-boaters on teams, giving kids bad examples to follow. They’re always there. Most of the time, though,  jumping and fists up in the air are instinctual forms of celebrating. That big YEAAHHHHH yell is genuine exuberance. You can’t contain your happiness so you just soar.

I’m trying to teach my kids to soar. Not be flashy just soar. But I found out they don’t need lessons in soaring, just in learning from their mistakes so they can soar again.

As I’ve mentioned before … this is a House of Sports and all games involving our favorite teams are on our television. Watching the NLCS playoffs and cheering for our Boys in Blue during the postseason is something we do every chance we get. I remember cheering for them back in the day with my Dad hoping for El Toro, Fernando Valenzuela, to earn the win.  You see we had Fernandomania and continued to bleed Blue ever since. It happens with everyone in their own city with their own team, I imagine.

And as with any playoff series mistakes happen, over, and over, and over again. The only point I can make after my frustration subsides is  … What do you think they learned from that there? What would you have learned?

Don’t beat yourself … let others try to beat you … let them earn their win.

Los Angeles Dodgers

 

 

This was the common theme for the most recent series. It’s something I often put out there to my kids … the whole “you better empty out your tank when you’re out there, give it everything you got and don’t let anybody out-try you.”

That’s my thing … don’t let anyone out-try you. They may be faster, they may be able to throw the ball farther, they may score more goals, but they better not out-try you. You need to Ninja-Warrior Up! No matter what mistakes you’ve made, learn from them and get back out there. And that’s something my kids pointed out during the series. Mistakes and getting out-tried. It happens. But if you learn from it, you can make a comeback and so our team did.

I’m all out about comebacks and the underdog. I’m all about Cinderella stories and defense winning championships. I’m all about earning the win. I’m glad my kids got to see the ugly parts of losing and winning, as well as the good parts of trying. I’m glad they got to see what can happen if you get it together, even if it took seven games.

You can make it to the next round … and see what happens next.

Buen Camino, my friends.

 

 

 

A New Discovery

All or Nothing.

It sat there on my list for a while and then in the middle of a Thursday night I decided to hit the play button.

Remarkable.

The amount of intensity, drive, and humility surprised me. I heard of it, but had never watched it before. The All Blacks changed everything.

The Haka alone is a mesmerizing part of their tradition. A moment of connecting to their past, to their culture, and to their present The Haka is a hallmark of New Zealand rugby.

The All Blacks performing The Haka

And the thing is they don’t do it for the cameras, or for the show, they do it for themselves, as a way to connect and prepare for the battle that is about to take place. I appreciated the connection and tradition.

I had no idea what rugby was about, but this series schooled me.

As far as sports documentaries go, this one changed my perspective. Rugby is a brutal sport, asking athletes to be warriors on the field, yet demanding that teamwork , heart, and unity be at the top of the list. What’s best for the team is a mentality that drives them all. Talented and humble. These are values I try to instill in my son and values I found among the All Blacks Rugby team from New Zealand.

Now I know there are rugby teams all over the world and they may share these values as well, but it was something about the All Blacks that drew me in. Just as the championship eras of the Boston Celtics, Los Angeles Lakers, and New York Yankees, the All Blacks seem to have  fierce following across New Zealand and the globe.

And I’ve just discovered them.

Now it wasn’t so much their domination of the sport, but the added down to Earth characteristic of these players and their heart that stood out. They’re there to win, no doubt about that, but what drives them is not letting their teammates down, not letting their families down. The unselfish play is necessary.

I wish they had more of that value present in other sports. I mean I know there are a lot of unselfish players out there in every sport, but the light rarely shines on them. It’s given to the players with flash. The click-bait.

I appreciated that talent, hard work, perseverance and team unity were central to this series. That even though it is an extremely intense, physically and mentally demanding sport, that character and team matter most. It’s give it your all. Leave it out there on the field. With The All Blacks it really is All or Nothing. There’s no in-between because you only got one shot to wear the jersey on game day.

I’ve only just scratched the surface and can’t wait what else I discover.

Buen Camino, my friends!

 

 

 

 

Inspired and Ready For a Comeback Win

It was an inspirational story that unfolded in three periods, the kind of story that pulls at the heart because you’re not really hoping for yourself to succeed, you’re hoping for someone else.

It’s the kind that every parent has when they’re cheering for their kids. I don’t think I ever had that shoot-for-the-win-as-the-clock-winds-down fantasy when I was playing sports. I wanted to win, of course, but I was never the buzzer-beater dreamer. I was more of the playmaker and defensive beast. And I had hope back then, just as I do now. But now with kids it’s different.

My hope sits with them. I hope for them, I want them to experience the win, feel what it’s like to get a victory hug from your teammates, feel what it’s like to have a redemption win, feel what that’s like.

So when my son’s team lost their hockey tournament in a shoot-out, after the score remained the same in sudden death overtime, my heart broke a little because I wanted that so much for him. But I was still proud of his effort, of his heart, and defenseman skills. I wanted to show him that regardless of the score he should be proud of himself too. And the thing is … he was.

He smiled as he got his second place medal for his weekend tournament and I was too … but I still wanted that for him. Just like parents everywhere, you want them to feel that sunshine glow. Just like fans everywhere, you place your hopes on your team and wish them to victory, not because you want something for yourself, but more so because you want that feel-good-feeling for them, the kind of feeling I got from watching the US Women’s Hockey team win the gold.

It was an intensely stressful and dramatic moment of exuberance. I jumped off the couch, pumped my fist in the air, and said what every hockey fan that had seen Miracle had said … YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!

Late Wednesday night, I witnessed the come-from-behind redemption win that had been in the sights of the women’s hockey team since the Sochi Olympics.

It was the kind of game that had this House of Sports residents fully engaged and putting all her hope on a young goalie, the kind of hope that makes players faster, stronger, and more skilled. You hope that the best version of your player is out there and that you did what you could to support them. And it is this kind of inspirational play that you hope catches the spirit of your kids.

And I’m happy to report that watching the women’s hockey team play Canada for the gold was an inspirational testament that resonated with thousands of people and found a spot in the heart of my kids.

Congrats to the women’s hockey team on a job well done. Earning some medals and inspiring future generations of athletes to give it everything they got. My son is ready for this weekend’s game and he’s ready for his Miracle making a comeback kind of win.

Buen Camino, my friends!

 

 

It’s Pretty Awesome To Be 99

He can’t wake up at the crack of dawn with you to lift weights, he can’t run the hundreds of drills with you at the stadium, and he can’t be there for the physical therapy when you’re down and out. But you best know that he is definitely in your corner and roots for you with everything he’s got, because he’s got your heart.

Being a player and pouring everything you got out there on the field is one thing … but being the person who roots for you, who’s in your corner, and wants you to have it … that’s something powerful, that’s the X factor. Being in a House of Sports my whole life, I can say I know a little bit about this.

While everyone in Philly was basking in the SuperBowl after glow of taking the crown away from the Big Bad Wolf, I happened to get lost in the story of the 99-year-old fan who witnessed the awesomeness of his team mark an important first time.

This Philly fan that went by the name of Phil Basser and it just made me smile to know that he got to experience the exuberance of such a moment live and in person. When you watch someone witness a bucket list adventure the emotion gets to you. Some people never get to see it happen and you feel bad that they’ve missed out some how. I mean they lived their life and did the best with what they had, but as we all know we can’t control the future of others. We can only control ourselves. So it’s hard when one of your dream of all dreams is in the hands of someone else.

I could imagine Phil as a five-year old with his Eagles t-shirt clapping for that touchdown, or probably watching all the close calls. But this past Sunday was probably the best way to imagine the little sports fan. I didn’t even know Phil, but I was happy to see the camera pan over to him and witness his reaction to one of the best underdog wins I’ve seen this year. To know that he got to live one of his dreams of all dreams made me heart feel good, because as an athlete and fan myself, I’ve felt those feelings. So I know … I know.

This year’s SuperBowl filled with Brady-haters, Fly-Eagle-Fly supporters, and awesome Eli Manning, Vikings, Doritos, and Sprite Commercials will definitely be remembered for one more thing … Phil witnessing the triumph of his team.

For underdogs everywhere … Buen Camino!