I just like this. Fires me up.
Showing posts with label sports. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sports. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Sport or Sporty
There are, as Mr. Stevens sees it, three iron clad requirements for an activity to be considered a sport.
- people compete at it
- computers can't do it
- aesthetics don't count.
My hat is off to you sir. Well done.
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
My Olympics
Three winter games I want to see added to the winter Olympics:
- Snowball Conquest (Capture the Flag with Snowballs)
- Snow Shoveling
- Ice Fishing
Just sayin'
Monday, January 11, 2010
No Joy in Mudville
The Patriots go down in flames.
The Packers...well...what can you say about the Packers.
It's a good thing I'm not much of a sports fan.
The Packers...well...what can you say about the Packers.
It's a good thing I'm not much of a sports fan.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
If I ran the IOC
I once had a conversation with a friend of mine, a PhD Chemist, who felt strongly that only the hard sciences required any kind of rigor in study. Arts, history, and all humanities were soft and squishy and basically for the mentally lazy. There is some truth there. There is no hiding your lack of skill when balancing the equation. It either balances, or it does not. The number of those who have hidden their lack of talent, and dearth of work ethic behind the mantle of some art or other is legion.
I have known many who have approached their writing, or painting, or reading, or theater with intense discipline. Yet, what they do cannot be quantified in the same way. For this reason, it would be foolish to include a literature class in with the sciences. It’s simply a different deal.
I have had similar thoughts regarding Olympic sports. While I admire gymnasts, and would actually very much like to train to be one, I find any sport that must be judged is suspect. If it can’t be objectively measured – how high, how fast, how strong, how close to the target, how many points – its just lacks in a certain element of rigor.
Don’t get me wrong. I watch a gymnast work the rings, or the high bar and it is an awesome thing to behold. The only part of it I could manage to do myself right now would be the landing on the back part.
Then there is diving. You do realize that gravity is doing most of the work there.
But the competitive aspect of it is just too subjective. It occurs to me that with modern technology, the subjective aspect could be removed. Place a sensor on each joint. Video captures the movements. The software performs an analysis of the movements based on certain criteria resident in the program. Then a score could be developed that would be consistent and rigorous, not subject to human failure.
Now that would be Olympic.
Two more things. Who chooses what gets on TV? Beach volleyball I can understand. There’s an eye candy factor there. In fact, much of the fun of watching the Olympics on TV is about seeing all the different bodies of high performance athletes, beautifully displayed, so I get that they want to show sports that are nice to look at. But they aren't consistant about it. Men's beach volleyball is just a couple of tall guys in tshirts diving in the sand. Kind of fun to watch...for a little while maybe, but it seems to me that it lacks the same sort of appeal as women's beach volleyball even for people of persuasions other than mine.
Even so, I would really like to see some of the other competitions. How about weight lifting, or Judo? The other day, they showed a lot of the women’s marathon. A marathon? Really. It’s a great race, but is it really that much fun to watch on TV. Is there any chance I could see wrestling or boxing – sports that actually have an ancient Olympic lineage? Apparently not.
What’s on tonight? Water polo........Water effing Polo.
For cryin’ out loud people!
And second, can somebody explain to me why, in Heaven’s name, they are cutting softball from the Olympics but keeping synchronized swimming? What kind of nutbag thinks that makes any sense at all?
I have known many who have approached their writing, or painting, or reading, or theater with intense discipline. Yet, what they do cannot be quantified in the same way. For this reason, it would be foolish to include a literature class in with the sciences. It’s simply a different deal.
I have had similar thoughts regarding Olympic sports. While I admire gymnasts, and would actually very much like to train to be one, I find any sport that must be judged is suspect. If it can’t be objectively measured – how high, how fast, how strong, how close to the target, how many points – its just lacks in a certain element of rigor.
Don’t get me wrong. I watch a gymnast work the rings, or the high bar and it is an awesome thing to behold. The only part of it I could manage to do myself right now would be the landing on the back part.
Then there is diving. You do realize that gravity is doing most of the work there.
But the competitive aspect of it is just too subjective. It occurs to me that with modern technology, the subjective aspect could be removed. Place a sensor on each joint. Video captures the movements. The software performs an analysis of the movements based on certain criteria resident in the program. Then a score could be developed that would be consistent and rigorous, not subject to human failure.
Now that would be Olympic.
Two more things. Who chooses what gets on TV? Beach volleyball I can understand. There’s an eye candy factor there. In fact, much of the fun of watching the Olympics on TV is about seeing all the different bodies of high performance athletes, beautifully displayed, so I get that they want to show sports that are nice to look at. But they aren't consistant about it. Men's beach volleyball is just a couple of tall guys in tshirts diving in the sand. Kind of fun to watch...for a little while maybe, but it seems to me that it lacks the same sort of appeal as women's beach volleyball even for people of persuasions other than mine.
Even so, I would really like to see some of the other competitions. How about weight lifting, or Judo? The other day, they showed a lot of the women’s marathon. A marathon? Really. It’s a great race, but is it really that much fun to watch on TV. Is there any chance I could see wrestling or boxing – sports that actually have an ancient Olympic lineage? Apparently not.
What’s on tonight? Water polo........Water effing Polo.
For cryin’ out loud people!
And second, can somebody explain to me why, in Heaven’s name, they are cutting softball from the Olympics but keeping synchronized swimming? What kind of nutbag thinks that makes any sense at all?
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Friday, May 16, 2008
There is no Crying in Baseball (or Softball)
I have recently been honored to assist in coaching my girls’ softball teams. I’m ok with the little ones. Six year olds don’t require much in the way of coaching – in fact almost anything you can tell them is useful to them. It ends up being a lot of encouragement, and just getting them to pay attention. I’ve been told that the attention part is even harder with boys. I believe that.
The older one actually requires some real coaching. I tried coaching third base for part of a game. It wasn’t pretty. I played some ball as a kid and let’s just say my career was relatively undistinguished. I enjoyed it, but baseball (like team sports in general) just never really captured my imagination the way it does with many boys. So there are a lot of things about the game that I never really paid much attention to. For instance, in a force play the fielder must tag the base, not the runner. Not knowing this leads to some poor coaching, unfortunate outs, and crying girls.
Since, as we all know, there is no crying in baseball, and since there are two other dads who are much better at coaching in the field than I am, I opted out of coaching on the field, and have adopted a new position. I am now the official scorekeeper.
If, like me, you have never kept score in baseball before, you should know that there is much more to it than counting runners crossing home plate. You must account for balls and strikes, walks, batters hit by the pitch, singles, doubles and triples and home runs. You must also track bases stolen, and RBI’s. And don’t forget to record the play that got the batter out, whether it was a grounder to 3rd thrown to first for the out, a pop fly to the outfield, a 2nd base to 1st base double play or any other possible combination. It all must be recorded.
Thankfully, there is a system for this. It is a complex, but very logical, ménage of lines and marks and numbers drawn on a mini diagram of a ball field. When done properly, you should be able to literally reconstruct a game by reviewing the score sheet. I am extra grateful that at the level of game at which I am working, much of the aforementioned complications are not common. For my girls, a walk is the most common way to get on base, runners can only steal one base at a time on an error by the catcher, and the likelihood of making an out with an actual play is relatively low. Therefore, I am getting good practice in the method of baseball notation in a relatively stress free situation.
I have to say though, that proper scorekeeping requires a very high level of focused attention over a number of hours. When the game is done, I’m pretty tired out, even though I’ve spent a few hours only making little pencil marks in a book. It’s not the physical effort – it’s the mental effort. I am surprised at what it takes.
I understand that many true believer baseball fans keep score at games as a matter of course. I can actually see the value in this. If you do it long enough patterns of the game will certainly begin to reveal themselves almost intuitively. I actually find it kind of fun. It relieves the head coach of a chore that he considers a bit of a headache, and allows him to focus on what he does best which is instructing, directing, teaching and encouraging the girls. It keeps me out of trouble, and helps to insure that I don’t make anybody cry. That’s a good thing.
The older one actually requires some real coaching. I tried coaching third base for part of a game. It wasn’t pretty. I played some ball as a kid and let’s just say my career was relatively undistinguished. I enjoyed it, but baseball (like team sports in general) just never really captured my imagination the way it does with many boys. So there are a lot of things about the game that I never really paid much attention to. For instance, in a force play the fielder must tag the base, not the runner. Not knowing this leads to some poor coaching, unfortunate outs, and crying girls.
Since, as we all know, there is no crying in baseball, and since there are two other dads who are much better at coaching in the field than I am, I opted out of coaching on the field, and have adopted a new position. I am now the official scorekeeper.
If, like me, you have never kept score in baseball before, you should know that there is much more to it than counting runners crossing home plate. You must account for balls and strikes, walks, batters hit by the pitch, singles, doubles and triples and home runs. You must also track bases stolen, and RBI’s. And don’t forget to record the play that got the batter out, whether it was a grounder to 3rd thrown to first for the out, a pop fly to the outfield, a 2nd base to 1st base double play or any other possible combination. It all must be recorded.
Thankfully, there is a system for this. It is a complex, but very logical, ménage of lines and marks and numbers drawn on a mini diagram of a ball field. When done properly, you should be able to literally reconstruct a game by reviewing the score sheet. I am extra grateful that at the level of game at which I am working, much of the aforementioned complications are not common. For my girls, a walk is the most common way to get on base, runners can only steal one base at a time on an error by the catcher, and the likelihood of making an out with an actual play is relatively low. Therefore, I am getting good practice in the method of baseball notation in a relatively stress free situation.
I have to say though, that proper scorekeeping requires a very high level of focused attention over a number of hours. When the game is done, I’m pretty tired out, even though I’ve spent a few hours only making little pencil marks in a book. It’s not the physical effort – it’s the mental effort. I am surprised at what it takes.
I understand that many true believer baseball fans keep score at games as a matter of course. I can actually see the value in this. If you do it long enough patterns of the game will certainly begin to reveal themselves almost intuitively. I actually find it kind of fun. It relieves the head coach of a chore that he considers a bit of a headache, and allows him to focus on what he does best which is instructing, directing, teaching and encouraging the girls. It keeps me out of trouble, and helps to insure that I don’t make anybody cry. That’s a good thing.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
I'm Going to Stop Before I Hurt Myself
It's a good thing I'm not a real football fan. I feel mildly bummed out, and I am not really that into it. If it mattered a lot to me, I would be really upset. I know some people who will be. That's a hard way to live.
Congrats to the Giants, eh? They earned it.
And...because nobody really cares what I think about football, I'll stop now.
Congrats to the Giants, eh? They earned it.
And...because nobody really cares what I think about football, I'll stop now.
Saturday, February 2, 2008
XLII Haiku
What can better capture the truest essence of world’s most bombastic professional sporting event like poetry? The distillation of the purest spirit is surely the domain of the bards, and this is no less true if the subject involves the fierce clashing of will, and the violent collision of bodies on the turf. And so, in honor of our glorious Patriots and the bid for pigskin history, I bring you Superbowl Haiku.
Belicheck is grim.
The hoodie hides his head while
His lips stay clamped down.
Fourth down or field goal,
Rushing, blocking, blitzing. Sack!
The QB eats turf.
Arizona heat.
It don’t snow nor never rains.
Is it real football?
The beer. The hot wings.
The chips in salsa verde.
Eating and yelling.
A win by touchdown,
Field goal or the extra point.
Which one is sweeter?
Brady’s targeting
Computer is now locked on.
One fire is one kill.
There will be a shot
That will win the game. The hit
Heard around the world.
When Welker, Moss and
Stallworth are hot, Brady fires
Heat seeking missiles.
No pass game? No prob.
We hit the ground running it.
Right down their throats. Boom.
This misbegotten foray into "poetry" was inspired by the NPR program It's Only a Game, where they had a special feature on Superbowl Haiku. You can hear it HERE. Start listening at 40:35 into the program.
Belicheck is grim.
The hoodie hides his head while
His lips stay clamped down.
Fourth down or field goal,
Rushing, blocking, blitzing. Sack!
The QB eats turf.
Arizona heat.
It don’t snow nor never rains.
Is it real football?
The beer. The hot wings.
The chips in salsa verde.
Eating and yelling.
A win by touchdown,
Field goal or the extra point.
Which one is sweeter?
Brady’s targeting
Computer is now locked on.
One fire is one kill.
There will be a shot
That will win the game. The hit
Heard around the world.
When Welker, Moss and
Stallworth are hot, Brady fires
Heat seeking missiles.
No pass game? No prob.
We hit the ground running it.
Right down their throats. Boom.
This misbegotten foray into "poetry" was inspired by the NPR program It's Only a Game, where they had a special feature on Superbowl Haiku. You can hear it HERE. Start listening at 40:35 into the program.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Pickled Pigskin
My wife and I watched the game last Sunday. It is a clear sign of how much living in Green Bay affected us that we both watched the game. As I have said before, I cannot be legitimately classified as a sports fan – never mind a football fan. And I must say that one of the things that my wife found attractive about me (besides my devastating good looks, my scintillating intellect, and irresistible charm) is that I do not typically spend hours watching various professional and collegiate sporting events on TV. Needless to say, she seldom spends more than a few seconds a month even thinking much about sports herself.
So when Sunday night found us tuned in and attentive to the Green Bay game, it really was quite an unusual event. Even more so since I had just finished watching three hours of football as the Patriots managed to put down the upstart Chargers. In fact, at one point, my girls started grousing about watching the game. “Dad?” said the little one, “can we watch something else?” After I said no, the complaining continued and began to take on a bit of a whine. At this point I simply pulled rank. It sounded something like this. “I almost never watch sports. I have not watched a single game this year. If, on this day, I wish to watch a football game, then I am allowed to do so.” I resisted the temptation to add, “Your Father the Emperor has spoken. Now be silent.” But it was clearly implied in my tone.
I did actually miss the first part of the GB game, as we stopped watching to eat dinner, and then put the kids to bed. We picked up sometime late in the second quarter. I kept waiting for the Packers to drive downfield and score so as to put the game to bed, but it just seemed that the were unable to put together a sustained drive. Even to my untrained eye they seemed to lack the power to make the plays. As the game progressed and it stayed close, my wife and I were actually getting really excited. It’s not too unusual for me to talk to the TV. My wife usually refrains from addressing electronic devices directly. In this case, we were both calling out, encouraging Brett to move, egging on the defense to blitz, moaning when the pass was incomplete or the runner stopped short of the first down. At one point, I turned to my wife and observed that we sounded like we are from Green Bay. And of course, for those few minutes, we actually were from Green Bay once again. It felt good.
Of course, that did not last. It was a real let down, a bit of a shock really. How could this happen. No, the Pack is supposed to WIN. Favre is supposed to pull something out of the hat. But no, it was not to be. Both of us felt sad and sorry for the outcome.
You may recall from post The Joy of the Pack, my Jedi powers were at work. As the Pack went down, I knew exactly what was going on in GB. The weeping. The gnashing of teeth. And those are not figures of speech. I know many football fans. I know some who are very…enthusiastic. In the small city of Green Bay, tucked into the northeast corner of Wisconsin, it is a qualitatively different experience. It is as if the town itself breathes in and out to the rhythm of the gridiron. It is the universal topic of conversation, even supplanting the weather in priority. To live in Green Bay is to be culturally immersed in football in a way that I think no other place offers. I suspect it is a function of threethings: deeply rooted thought habits, a high level of saturation, and fierce group identification.
The Packers have been around since 1919. They were not among the very first franchises of the NFL when it was formed in 1921, but they are among the oldest still existing, along with the Chicago Bears. I remember once, while getting my hair cut in 1996, hearing a 90 year old man telling the tale of watching the Packer’s play against Marinette when he was 10 years old. This kind of history as allowed the Packers to settle deep into the cultural consciousness of the town.
Then there is the size of Green Bay relative to…well…an NFL Franchise. GB is about the same size as Manchester NH. That is to say, it’s not that big. The city itself carries just under 100,000 people, with the surrounding environs accounting for another 100,000 or so. That allows the Packers to effect an inordinately strong cultural impact. Imagine two 5 gallon buckets filled with water. In one, you will drop a tablespoon of salt. In the other you will place a 20 lb salt lick. Allow both to dissolve. Let’s just say that the cultural water in Green Bay is much more savory with the taste of pigskin than that of…Boston.
As a result of the intensity of the brine and the long fermentation period, I think that the identification with the Packers by the people of Green Bay is much stronger than is typical. While every NFL city boasts its true believers, I suspect few of them draw their TB’s from such a broad cross section, and from such a deep well as the Packer’s do in Green Bay. The psyche of the city is bound up with the Packers to such a degree that if by some natural or man made disaster the Packers ceased to exist, I suspect that the entire city would melt away, like so much smoke in the wind in the span of a few years – perhaps sooner with global warming and all.
How else could I explain how Green Bay, somehow, someway actually got me to pay attention to football, at all? It must be something in the water. So my heart goes out to my friends in GB. Sincerely. That part of me that still lives there wept with you.
Of course, I was drinking granite laced NH water long before I moved to GB. So when the Patriots take the field, I will very much enjoy watching them grind the Giants down to size. Yes. I plan to watch the game. I’ll be watching the Patriots, but I can thank the Packers for that.
So when Sunday night found us tuned in and attentive to the Green Bay game, it really was quite an unusual event. Even more so since I had just finished watching three hours of football as the Patriots managed to put down the upstart Chargers. In fact, at one point, my girls started grousing about watching the game. “Dad?” said the little one, “can we watch something else?” After I said no, the complaining continued and began to take on a bit of a whine. At this point I simply pulled rank. It sounded something like this. “I almost never watch sports. I have not watched a single game this year. If, on this day, I wish to watch a football game, then I am allowed to do so.” I resisted the temptation to add, “Your Father the Emperor has spoken. Now be silent.” But it was clearly implied in my tone.
I did actually miss the first part of the GB game, as we stopped watching to eat dinner, and then put the kids to bed. We picked up sometime late in the second quarter. I kept waiting for the Packers to drive downfield and score so as to put the game to bed, but it just seemed that the were unable to put together a sustained drive. Even to my untrained eye they seemed to lack the power to make the plays. As the game progressed and it stayed close, my wife and I were actually getting really excited. It’s not too unusual for me to talk to the TV. My wife usually refrains from addressing electronic devices directly. In this case, we were both calling out, encouraging Brett to move, egging on the defense to blitz, moaning when the pass was incomplete or the runner stopped short of the first down. At one point, I turned to my wife and observed that we sounded like we are from Green Bay. And of course, for those few minutes, we actually were from Green Bay once again. It felt good.
Of course, that did not last. It was a real let down, a bit of a shock really. How could this happen. No, the Pack is supposed to WIN. Favre is supposed to pull something out of the hat. But no, it was not to be. Both of us felt sad and sorry for the outcome.
You may recall from post The Joy of the Pack, my Jedi powers were at work. As the Pack went down, I knew exactly what was going on in GB. The weeping. The gnashing of teeth. And those are not figures of speech. I know many football fans. I know some who are very…enthusiastic. In the small city of Green Bay, tucked into the northeast corner of Wisconsin, it is a qualitatively different experience. It is as if the town itself breathes in and out to the rhythm of the gridiron. It is the universal topic of conversation, even supplanting the weather in priority. To live in Green Bay is to be culturally immersed in football in a way that I think no other place offers. I suspect it is a function of threethings: deeply rooted thought habits, a high level of saturation, and fierce group identification.
The Packers have been around since 1919. They were not among the very first franchises of the NFL when it was formed in 1921, but they are among the oldest still existing, along with the Chicago Bears. I remember once, while getting my hair cut in 1996, hearing a 90 year old man telling the tale of watching the Packer’s play against Marinette when he was 10 years old. This kind of history as allowed the Packers to settle deep into the cultural consciousness of the town.
Then there is the size of Green Bay relative to…well…an NFL Franchise. GB is about the same size as Manchester NH. That is to say, it’s not that big. The city itself carries just under 100,000 people, with the surrounding environs accounting for another 100,000 or so. That allows the Packers to effect an inordinately strong cultural impact. Imagine two 5 gallon buckets filled with water. In one, you will drop a tablespoon of salt. In the other you will place a 20 lb salt lick. Allow both to dissolve. Let’s just say that the cultural water in Green Bay is much more savory with the taste of pigskin than that of…Boston.
As a result of the intensity of the brine and the long fermentation period, I think that the identification with the Packers by the people of Green Bay is much stronger than is typical. While every NFL city boasts its true believers, I suspect few of them draw their TB’s from such a broad cross section, and from such a deep well as the Packer’s do in Green Bay. The psyche of the city is bound up with the Packers to such a degree that if by some natural or man made disaster the Packers ceased to exist, I suspect that the entire city would melt away, like so much smoke in the wind in the span of a few years – perhaps sooner with global warming and all.
How else could I explain how Green Bay, somehow, someway actually got me to pay attention to football, at all? It must be something in the water. So my heart goes out to my friends in GB. Sincerely. That part of me that still lives there wept with you.
Of course, I was drinking granite laced NH water long before I moved to GB. So when the Patriots take the field, I will very much enjoy watching them grind the Giants down to size. Yes. I plan to watch the game. I’ll be watching the Patriots, but I can thank the Packers for that.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
The Joy of the Pack
Living for seven years in Wisconsin most definitely left it’s mark on me. For instance, I have a keen and strong sense of the emotional climate in Green Bay right now. It mirrors the climate when I first arrived in Green Bay in late 1996, just as the Packers were finishing their season and starting their playoff march to the Superbowl. Hoo boy…those were heady times indeed. Now with back to back playoff game AT Lambeau…I can smell it like it was yesterday. It’s rather like having high tension power lines that go right over your house. The entire city is just crackling, buzzing, spitting sparks and occasionally a raw flow of electrons will arc out from Lambeau to various locations around the city. Remember those times when Scotty (or was it Spock) would have to climb up the access tubes to manage the balance of matter/antimatter around the dilithium crystals? Yeah, walking down Main Street, or crossing over the Walnut Street bridge, you have this sense of power flowing all around you, almost raging out of control. You want to scream at Captain Kirk that it’s going to blow at any minute, that you she can’t handle any more power, but your Razr isn’t really a Federation Starfleet Communicator, and your Honda really isn’t the Shuttle Galileo.
Then there was the time when Obi Wan felt woozy when Alderan was destroyed by the Imperial Death Star. The psychic blow of millions of people dying in an instant I’m sure is similar to the spiritual energy of Green Bay when experiencing a football victory (or defeat). Even the anticipation of the event causes instability and excessive fluctuation in the numinal energy field. Maybe I really am a Jedi, and that’s why I’ve had a slight headache all day. And I thought it was because I didn’t have any coffee for the first time in a month.
Anyhow, I love Green Bay. I miss being there. As much fun as it is to be a New England sports fan right now, there is nothing – NOTHING – like being in GB while the Pack is heading the the Big Show. How do I know this? Because I am NOT a sports fan, but I still loved being there because it was such a total immersion experience. It’s so cool to be in the middle of something where everyone – EVERYONE – is totally caught up in the one big thing. The fact that that thing is football was really neither here nor there to me. It was more about the energy, the total immersion and the sheer giddy joy of it all.
I remember my friends in GB at this time, and my best wishes go out to you. Of course, when the Pack meets the Pats…the good news is that either way, my favorite team will win.
Then there was the time when Obi Wan felt woozy when Alderan was destroyed by the Imperial Death Star. The psychic blow of millions of people dying in an instant I’m sure is similar to the spiritual energy of Green Bay when experiencing a football victory (or defeat). Even the anticipation of the event causes instability and excessive fluctuation in the numinal energy field. Maybe I really am a Jedi, and that’s why I’ve had a slight headache all day. And I thought it was because I didn’t have any coffee for the first time in a month.
Anyhow, I love Green Bay. I miss being there. As much fun as it is to be a New England sports fan right now, there is nothing – NOTHING – like being in GB while the Pack is heading the the Big Show. How do I know this? Because I am NOT a sports fan, but I still loved being there because it was such a total immersion experience. It’s so cool to be in the middle of something where everyone – EVERYONE – is totally caught up in the one big thing. The fact that that thing is football was really neither here nor there to me. It was more about the energy, the total immersion and the sheer giddy joy of it all.
I remember my friends in GB at this time, and my best wishes go out to you. Of course, when the Pack meets the Pats…the good news is that either way, my favorite team will win.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Hooh Rah! Red Sox!
Everybody loves a winner. I have no compunction about piling on. I am an admitted fair weather fan, one of those roaches that come out to cheer on the team during the championship game, but otherwise pretty much ignore them the rest of the season. At least I'm consistent. I'm the same way for all professional sports, without regard to...well, much of anything.
I have to say though, I KNEW the BoSox were going to win The Series the minute I tuned into game one. How could you possibly take seriously any team that would go out to play a Major League Baseball World Series game dressed like they had jumped straight out of a Jetson's cartoon. Really!
I also should note that the whole thing is just a little weird. I did grow up in New England. I do remember what it was like to wait just to see how the Red Sox would screw it up this time. It was a grand tradition. Now that we can say that 2004 was not a fluke, and now that the Patriots are truly dominating their sport, and now that even the Celtics are apparently showing signs of possible intelligent life, it seems to be a glorious time (leaving the Bruins out of it for the time being) to be a New England sports fan. Not that I'm paying any attention to any of this.
I have to say though, I KNEW the BoSox were going to win The Series the minute I tuned into game one. How could you possibly take seriously any team that would go out to play a Major League Baseball World Series game dressed like they had jumped straight out of a Jetson's cartoon. Really!I also should note that the whole thing is just a little weird. I did grow up in New England. I do remember what it was like to wait just to see how the Red Sox would screw it up this time. It was a grand tradition. Now that we can say that 2004 was not a fluke, and now that the Patriots are truly dominating their sport, and now that even the Celtics are apparently showing signs of possible intelligent life, it seems to be a glorious time (leaving the Bruins out of it for the time being) to be a New England sports fan. Not that I'm paying any attention to any of this.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Reading Now
Comments on books lately finished.
Moving the Chains: Tom Brady and the Pursuit of Everything by Charles P. Pierce
I am not a sports fan. Watching team sports bores me. This is certainly due to a simple lack of appreciation of the finer points of the game, whether football, basketball, baseball or hockey. My grasp of the game is of a gross and general nature, with little comprehension of the strategy and tactical skill exhibited by the players and teams on the field. On the other hand, I love watching karate tournaments, mixed martial arts, some boxing, triathlons and adventure racing. I have participated in similar events, and have a more firsthand grasp of what it take to succeed, so they mean more to me.
So why would I read a book about a football QB? Simply because Tom Brady is one of the best ever. I figure that maybe I can learn a little about excellence from reading this book. Was I right? Somewhat. The writing is blovious, often hyper-extending the turn of phrase beyond its natural range of motion. It is heavy on play by play recountings of various games. It tends toward hagiography. Nevertheless, some key points of TB's character stand out.
He is a leader who makes others want to follow him by winning their trust on and off the field. He takes his lumps, both those dished out by the defensive line, and those he give himself for not performing at his expectations. He studies and trains for excellence with true diligence. He has mastered the art of reading the defense such that he feels it more than thinks about it. He knows his poop. Good reminders all.
____________
All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy
This is simply one of the most beautiful books I have ever read. The prose is so spare, so open, it is very much like the west Texas and Mexico landscape it portrays. It is evocative is a way that made me almost breathless at times in wonder at the beauty and power of language skillfully rendered. The dialogue in particular is sharpened to a point, and even while dealing with serious matters manages to make on chuckle. These boys are cowboy poets.
I won’t recount the plot here beyond saying that it is the story John Grady Cole, a 16 year old Texan who leaves home on horseback to journey across the border into Mexico sometime immediately after WWII. He finds danger, love, beauty, and death and makes it back again.
This is the first of three books, called the Border Trilogy. I first ran across them in an abridged recording read by Brad Pitt and I was completely entranced. I finally read the full text and fell under the spell all over again. Although I must say, that I occasionally stopped to read sections aloud, just because they sound so good when read aloud.
It almost makes me wish I was from Texas…but not quite.
______________________________
The Mother Tongue by Bill Bryson
Bryson must have spent years researching this book. It is a survey of not only the history, but the current state and future trajectory of the English language. Bryson praises the language but also is quite upfront about it’s shortcomings, much in the same way that one can praise a amazingly engineered safari vehicle, while admitting that one might not want to drive it to the Academy Awards. Occassionally he does go on just a little to much about specific examples to illustrate a particular linguistic foible, but all in all it is spot on.
Two chapters particularly stand out. First, on grammar. He makes the fascinating point that much of what passes of English grammar is actually based on Latin grammar. The problem is that English is not Latin. For instance, in Latin, it is not even possible to split an infinitive. And so, the early scholars decided that in English, the infinitive must never be split. But, Bryson asks, why ever not? A point worth pondering, but which I will likely withhold from my 9 year old daughter for now.
My second favorite chapter was the one on swearing. I didn’t learn any new words, much to my disappointment, but I now can swear with much firmer historical grasp of my chosen oaths. If one must curse, I have always felt that one should do so with a literary touch.
_______________________________
Chicken Soup for the Soul by Jack Canfield & Mark Victor Hansen
This book consists of short inspirational stories gathered for that exact purpose: to uplift and inspire. I mostly read it to start the day, or end the day, although I did not limit it to that. Some were a bit sentimental, but many are simply powerful reminders of what people can accomplish with enough love, faith, persistence, courage, or
________________________
Books I am currently working on working on:
Histories by Herodotus
Still going. Taking it in small bits. It’s fascinating, but not something I really care to take in huge chunks.
Success Principles by Jack Canfield
This is perhaps the best overall compendium of success principles available between two covers. It is written in clear prose that manages to avoid some of the clunkiness of some of the stories in the Chicken Soup series. The short chapters are excellent reminders of the kind of habits that enable people to craft a good life.
Botany of Desire: A Plant's Eye View of the World by Michael Pollan
Just started this one. Examines that complex relationship between humans and certain plants from an evolutionary viewpoint. Did bees evolve to take advantage of flowers, or did plants develop flowers to make use of the bee? The same question can be asked of humans and many “domesticated” plants. It is interesting how easy it its for the author to drift into using language that attributes intelligence and intention to a supposedly blind chance driven process.
The Crossing by Cormac McCarthy
Sequel to All the Pretty Horses.
Moving the Chains: Tom Brady and the Pursuit of Everything by Charles P. Pierce
I am not a sports fan. Watching team sports bores me. This is certainly due to a simple lack of appreciation of the finer points of the game, whether football, basketball, baseball or hockey. My grasp of the game is of a gross and general nature, with little comprehension of the strategy and tactical skill exhibited by the players and teams on the field. On the other hand, I love watching karate tournaments, mixed martial arts, some boxing, triathlons and adventure racing. I have participated in similar events, and have a more firsthand grasp of what it take to succeed, so they mean more to me.
So why would I read a book about a football QB? Simply because Tom Brady is one of the best ever. I figure that maybe I can learn a little about excellence from reading this book. Was I right? Somewhat. The writing is blovious, often hyper-extending the turn of phrase beyond its natural range of motion. It is heavy on play by play recountings of various games. It tends toward hagiography. Nevertheless, some key points of TB's character stand out.
He is a leader who makes others want to follow him by winning their trust on and off the field. He takes his lumps, both those dished out by the defensive line, and those he give himself for not performing at his expectations. He studies and trains for excellence with true diligence. He has mastered the art of reading the defense such that he feels it more than thinks about it. He knows his poop. Good reminders all.
____________
All the Pretty Horses by Cormac McCarthy
This is simply one of the most beautiful books I have ever read. The prose is so spare, so open, it is very much like the west Texas and Mexico landscape it portrays. It is evocative is a way that made me almost breathless at times in wonder at the beauty and power of language skillfully rendered. The dialogue in particular is sharpened to a point, and even while dealing with serious matters manages to make on chuckle. These boys are cowboy poets.
I won’t recount the plot here beyond saying that it is the story John Grady Cole, a 16 year old Texan who leaves home on horseback to journey across the border into Mexico sometime immediately after WWII. He finds danger, love, beauty, and death and makes it back again.
This is the first of three books, called the Border Trilogy. I first ran across them in an abridged recording read by Brad Pitt and I was completely entranced. I finally read the full text and fell under the spell all over again. Although I must say, that I occasionally stopped to read sections aloud, just because they sound so good when read aloud.
It almost makes me wish I was from Texas…but not quite.
______________________________
The Mother Tongue by Bill Bryson
Bryson must have spent years researching this book. It is a survey of not only the history, but the current state and future trajectory of the English language. Bryson praises the language but also is quite upfront about it’s shortcomings, much in the same way that one can praise a amazingly engineered safari vehicle, while admitting that one might not want to drive it to the Academy Awards. Occassionally he does go on just a little to much about specific examples to illustrate a particular linguistic foible, but all in all it is spot on.
Two chapters particularly stand out. First, on grammar. He makes the fascinating point that much of what passes of English grammar is actually based on Latin grammar. The problem is that English is not Latin. For instance, in Latin, it is not even possible to split an infinitive. And so, the early scholars decided that in English, the infinitive must never be split. But, Bryson asks, why ever not? A point worth pondering, but which I will likely withhold from my 9 year old daughter for now.
My second favorite chapter was the one on swearing. I didn’t learn any new words, much to my disappointment, but I now can swear with much firmer historical grasp of my chosen oaths. If one must curse, I have always felt that one should do so with a literary touch.
_______________________________
Chicken Soup for the Soul by Jack Canfield & Mark Victor Hansen
This book consists of short inspirational stories gathered for that exact purpose: to uplift and inspire. I mostly read it to start the day, or end the day, although I did not limit it to that. Some were a bit sentimental, but many are simply powerful reminders of what people can accomplish with enough love, faith, persistence, courage, or
________________________
Books I am currently working on working on:
Histories by Herodotus
Still going. Taking it in small bits. It’s fascinating, but not something I really care to take in huge chunks.
Success Principles by Jack Canfield
This is perhaps the best overall compendium of success principles available between two covers. It is written in clear prose that manages to avoid some of the clunkiness of some of the stories in the Chicken Soup series. The short chapters are excellent reminders of the kind of habits that enable people to craft a good life.
Botany of Desire: A Plant's Eye View of the World by Michael Pollan
Just started this one. Examines that complex relationship between humans and certain plants from an evolutionary viewpoint. Did bees evolve to take advantage of flowers, or did plants develop flowers to make use of the bee? The same question can be asked of humans and many “domesticated” plants. It is interesting how easy it its for the author to drift into using language that attributes intelligence and intention to a supposedly blind chance driven process.
The Crossing by Cormac McCarthy
Sequel to All the Pretty Horses.
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
The Team Sport Conspiracy
I’m getting fairly suspicious of this contemporary trend toward organized sports for children. In fact, I have always been fairly suspicious of it, even as a child. One could accuse me of sour grapes, since after all, I did not make the cut for most organized sports teams, and the few that I did allowed me to see little, if any, playing time. OK then, just to clear the air let me say right now that those coaches were clearly blind to the talent that lay before them, as an amateur rockhound might miss the rough diamond sitting at his feet amongst the pebbles. I also take consolation in the fact that I’m pretty confident that today I could kick the collective asses of 98% of those kids who were just “great athletes” in school.
Without going too deeply into our specific family situation here are my basic objections in outline:
- The benefits of highly organized and supervised sports for young children are limited. Free play is much more valuable. Nothing wrong with playing ball, but let the kids get together and have a game. If there aren’t enough to field a full team, let them figure out how to adapt.
- Over-emphasis on competition as opposed to the joy of play and movement will stunt their growth as surely as smoking cigarettes.
- By my observation, adult organized sports for kids younger than 10 do not teach social skills. They learn social skills through interaction. I see limited interaction in these settings. Free play seems much more effective.
- Team sports have a limited lifespan for all but the gifted and disciplined few. Better to teach a sport that one can take into adulthood: tennis, golf, skiing, running, paddling, hiking, climbing, walking, yoga, pilates, weight training, calisthenics, etc.
- Team sports do not teach physical fitness. They train children to think that the only reason to get up and run around is to win the game. When the game is removed, then they sit and watch others play games.
- Team schedules take too much time away from home and family. In short order, I can see that if my daughter wants to pursue softball that will mean 4-5 nights a week we are out of the house of several hours.
So, just who is pushing this crap? It's just expected. And I'm in a situation where the pressure is minimal compared to some high-powered suburban sub-cultures. I reject their pathetic notions of healthy well-rounded physical education. I reject the notion the team sports are necessary to success in life. I reject the assumption that team sports must become progressively more competitive and time consuming as children become older.
I gotta go. My kids wanna play tag. Wanna play?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
