Like a Dog

Just took my three-and-a-half year old Lab Remy for her daily romp. It's an amazing day here at the Jersey Shore. Probably 60 degrees, brilliant sunshine, pockets of shimmering orange and yellow leaves still in the trees, but also sprinkled along the wet ground.

You'd have never felt this way as a kid, the way I felt, watching Remy chase the ball over and over again. No, as a kid you'd have been wondering how many more times she would chase the ball before you could call it quits and get back to whatever it is you were doing. You'd have mixed in a few yawns and maybe a "come on, Dog" under your breath.

But today, I could've chucked that tennis ball forever, because I was just captivated by my dog's pure joy. With her ears pinned back against the wind, she'd bolt full-speed ahead, somehow sensing -- as if she has eyes behind those ears -- the direction the ball was headed. When the ball would take the perfect bounce, she'd spring into the air and try to make the sensational catch. Why? Not for the applause. It was just me and her. No, I can only guess that Remy thinks going airborne to make the grab is...fun.

Her gait coming back is always so proud, with her tail wagging and drool spilling off the ball, spritzing in all directions. Whether she makes the catch or bungles it, she always comes back proud and loves to veer in for a quick pat on her belly.

For some reason, I feel like an Old Sage today. Maybe it's the glorious weather, or maybe just some inner happiness that my two sons are no longer sick and are getting back to being themselves. Today's run with Remy just made me reflective.

Remember as a kid, how it felt to sprint? I'm not saying I was ever fast, but I think every kid "feels" fast at one moment or another. Maybe it's playing flashlight tag (don't you always feel like you're fast in the dark?), or maybe it's running downhill, your feet slapping the pavement as you push the limits of your balance.

That's what I thought of when I was watching Remy run. And it made me feel good.

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You Big Dummy

Man, I'm feeling inferior lately. So confused. Let me try to explain...

I do not care for Sarah Palin, but I do like a lot of what she supposedly stands for. I'm a conservative-values type of person because, well, that's what works for me. That said, I don't want anyone discriminated against. So, I'm not really all the way there.

I mean, for example, I sit in church on Sundays and my heart is comforted and warmed by the words of my pastor, his message and the way he delivers it. Yet when someone starts screaming to me (at me) about JESUS, it makes me feel kinda icky.

I'm a registered Independent because I can't make up my mind.

I hate name-droppers, but at times I drop names like a banshee. I also cut people off when they're talking, even though I know that's about as annoying as it gets.

I hate the way fast food makes me feel, yet now and again I crave it. I mean really crave it, especially Chik Fil A sandwiches.

I can watch Keith Olbermann and nod my head a lot at points he's making. Yet, other times I listen to Glen Beck and feel like shouting, "Amen, Brother!" Needless to say the whole healthcare debate has me wondering if Cliff Notes will come up with a version this idiot will be able to understand. Am I alone?

I want to be cool, but I cringe when I see people my age trying to act cool.

I like the strategy of the National League, but think the American League is better baseball. I also hate that the Yankees buy all their players yet want the Red Sox to get get Roy Halladay, Adrian Gonzalez this winter and possibly bring back Johnny Damon to be a role player.

I work with really intelligent people...and I consider myself pretty-well-below smart.

I yell at my kids for eating too much candy, but sometimes throw back Sour Patch Kids by the handful. Along the same lines, I like to drink beer with my buddies from time to time but I absolutely live in fear of the day my kids decide to take their first sip.

I don't want my kids to make the mistakes I made (because there are times I feel pretty lucky to have survived them), but I want them to have every bit as much fun as I had. Is that possible?

Bruce Springsteen is my all-time favorite rock and roll performer and a guy I really admire, but when he starts going political on-stage I run for the bathroom. Yet with that said, I'm a sucker for political music."A time to be born, a time to die...A time to plant, a time to reap...A time to kill, a time to heal...A time to laugh, a time to weep." Song gives me goosebumps. Is there something wrong with me?

Lately, I've been thinking...I believe in Good Guys, but I also believe in Bad Guys. I cannot hear enough stories about the Good Guys on this planet. Yet, I believe really, really Bad Guys should pay the ultimate price.

I feel like such a Big Dummy...

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Parenting in 2009: Home Sick

Both of my sons are home sick today. They are both suffering from the flu, but resting comfortably in the family room, spread out on couches, covered in blankets, eating toast and drinking tea with honey off TV trays.

Got my wheels spinning.

We all know that as parents in 2009 we are confronted with challenges our parents did not have to face. From having to monitor all the stuff on the internet to wondering (as you watch the World Series!) if they're getting some of those Fox TV ads, not to mention the incessant Cialis and Viagra ads (my sons get those and laugh at the "if you have a...exceeding four hours" line).

Now, have you ever thought of this challenge...the "home sick" day ain't what it used to be.

Hear me out.

Remember when we were kids, the "home sick" day began with a few cartoons. Probably Rocky and Bullwinkle. Maybe a little Bugs Bunny. Cartoons, however, ended around 8 because, well, kids were off to school and with limited channels, there was no way a network was going to keep showing cartoons into mid-morning.

What was next? Morning game shows. The Price is Right was one, for sure. I think you could also catch the $10,000 Pyramid. Maybe Match Game. Whatever they were, those shows were barely enough to keep you going until noon.

Come lunch time, when you returned to your couch for your second Ginger Ale (the only time we ever had soda in my house, by the way), you were pretty much forced to go to Channel 13. If you were too old for Sesame Street, you could perhaps handle Zoom or the Electric Company. The noon to 3 interval was tough. Channel surf all you want, but it was pretty much guaranteed you'd find nothing but soap operas and bad movies on channels 2-11.

Once you made it to "after school" hours, you were back to some decent programming. Maybe the Little Rascals, the Munsters, the Addams Family. Maybe a few more cartoons.

Point is, one or two days "home sick" was about all you could handle, right? I can remember missing a week of school in 7th grade with, of all things, a bad case of poison ivy. Seriously, that was the longest week of my life.

As I watch my boys now, they've gone from SportsCenter to NCAA Tip-Off Marathon (saw a bit of Monmouth-St. Peter's!). They've got some programs DVR'ed. There's talk of an afternoon movie. Yesterday was "Glory Road." I haven't even mentioned there are probably four 24/7 cartoon channels. And they've got a 46-inch HD screen...

Will they ever be well enough to go back to school? I have a feeling they're not going back without putting up a fight. My only hope is that the amount homework that's picked up at school today is huge.

Parenting in 2009...yet another challenge.

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What I Do

Do I write this? Or do I keep it to myself? Do I tell the whole story in graphic detail? Or do I keep it vague, to protect myself? These are the questions I ask myself this morning as I sit on a plane, flying from Phoenix to Newark, wrapping up a three-day business trip.

Gonna be vague.

I’m scared. That much I can tell you. Having just caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror in the airplane lavatory (nothing brings the nose hairs out like the lighting in those tiny bathrooms) it’s safe to say I’m also scaring others this morning. A 4:45 a.m. wakeup call probably didn’t help my appearance, but I can’t blame it all on the hours I keep. Fact is I’ve been stressing for the last few weeks and doing my best to keep a brave face. The mirror did not show a brave face this morning. Just a creased, tired and unshaven one.

I’ll just think out loud for a bit. I’m two weeks away from my 46th birthday. I’ve held a full-time job in the profession of my choosing (utilizing my chosen educational background) every day since October of 1986. I have a loving, caring wife of 15 years and two incredible sons (13 and 11) that I adore more than anything in this world.

I’ve never been a chart-it-out guy but if I were, I’d have probably tagged the next 10 years as the most important of my life. Pretty obvious, right? I know a few people who set themselves and their families up pretty well in their 30s and early 40s, but not many. Most people’s peak years occur right about where I am now…late 40s. This is the time we build up the money to educate our children, pay off our debts and, yeah, retire. My dad retired at 59 and I always thought Pop got it right. Seriously, now…who’s laughing?

I’m not retiring at 59. No chance. But that’s not what’s got me scared. I’m not afraid to work into my 60s, not if I could keep doing what I’ve been doing for so long.

But there’s the problem. What I do…

I’ve never considered myself very good at what I do. Passionate about it? Oh yeah. Doing what I do is all I’ve really cared to do since about the age of 16, when I realized I wasn’t going to be a Major League Baseball player like my brother. Lucky to do it? So lucky. I’ve always credited my good luck to my passion. Like, if you love something enough, hey, you deserve some luck, right? How else to explain my position in life? It’s luck.

There are a number of people who do what I do who are really good at it and know they are really good at it. I wish right now I were one of those guys. Fact is, I am not.

There are others who do what I do who may not think they are good, but have this incredible drive to be “that good.” Most of them are 10-20 years younger than I am. They are willing to work incredible hours and argue on behalf of themselves as they climb. I know I need to be more like them, but it’s not a good fit for my personality.

I don’t like to argue. I’m a terrible self-promoter. When I was a kid, growing up in North Jersey, my two most hated athletes were local heroes Walt “Clyde” Frazier and Reggie Jackson. Why? Because they were “braggers.” I became a fan of Jerry West and George Brett. You may say that was pretty white of me, but I was simply attracted to modesty. West did not name himself “Mr. Clutch” and Brett, well, he was all about the dirty uniform. As I got a little older, I loved NFL running backs Earl Campbell and Walter Payton, mostly because they refused to spike the ball when they scored a touchdown.

Back on point, I’ve probably allowed myself to get too comfortable doing what I do. And I see that could come back to haunt me. All around me, I could see that people who do what I do were also doing other things. My flawed logic was that if I did those “other things” they’d distract me from what it is I do. Even as others told me that doing some of those other things would help me make more money, my thought process was, simply, “Don’t screw up a good thing.” A few extra bucks were not going to make me happier.

Driving in my rental car yesterday I heard a radio talk show guy saying, basically, that people who do what I do – at the level I do it, which I explained above – are soon going to be history. He was a bit smarmy when he said it (saying that what he did for a living was blazing ahead even in a bad economy), but he had a bit of sympathy. He even said that it was the work of people who do what I do that fueled his work on a daily basis.

Still, I believe my future is bleak. I’m now in “Re-invent Myself” mode, and not brimming with confidence in my ability to pull that one off. When I get home, I’ll begin with a shower and a shave. I’ll trim my nose hairs.

The mirror is harsh, but it don’t lie.

I guess I should wrap this up by saying I know there are a lot of people out there who are in the same place as me. Some do what I do while others do whatever it is they do. There is some comfort in the mere fact that I’m not alone in being scared. And I can even laugh a bit knowing that I’ll always do what I do. Even if it’s not my job.

Because it’s what I do.

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A Tradition Unlike Any Other...Well, Not Really

It all started 20 years ago. We were two and three years out of college, trying to find our way in the Real World. Some had serious girlfriends, others had no commitments whatsoever. I was working in New York for Sports Illustrated. The rest were scattered around the Southeast, mostly in North Carolina. "Let's go some place and play golf," I said to my friend Steve one day over the phone. A few days later, he told me he had uncovered a $99 "Sizzler" package in a place called Ocean Isle, NC. Four days of golf, three nights accommodations and free Continental breakfast. It was set.

The first annual "college friends golf trip" was created.

In the beginning, the golf was really bad. None of us had played much growing up. We'd all taken the game up a little bit in college, but entry-level jobs with long hours and little pay had rendered most of us "beginners"...at best. I can remember buying used golf balls (knowing I'd lose them by the dozen) and wondering to myself if I really needed golf shoes. I tried to practice before the trip, but it didn't matter much. Quickly I learned that the golf trip was not going to be the place for stellar play. What it was, however, was the place for Drop and Draw and Credit Card Roullette. It was mostly where you went for belly-aching laughs.

Over time, we all became better golfers. For some that meant consistently breaking 100. For others, the guys who succeeded most in the Real World (or the guys who never married or got divorced), it meant some rounds in the 70s. Guys started showing up with better equipment and nicer clothes.

Still, it was always about the laughs.

In its best years, the trip attracted 20 or more players. In its leanest years, maybe eight. We divided in Year 10 as some guys got the go-ahead from their wives to go to the Bahamas (I was not one of those guys), even though everyone knows you do not go to the Bahamas to play golf. You go to gamble. Half of us ended up in Myrtle Beach and had a good time. Of course, we were rewarded for our loyalty to the game of golf by learning that everyone on the Bahamas trip made a killing playing craps and got the whole trip comped. Of course, as predicted, they didn't tee up a single ball.

We did Pinehurst. We did Myrtle. We did the North Carolina Outer Banks. Two years ago, we got eight guys to go to Kohler, Wisc., to play The Irish and Whistling Straits and Blackwolf Run. Last year, we did nothing...and I figured it was gone forever.

But the trip wouldn't die without a fight. The email went out a couple of months ago. Outer Banks, weekend of November 6th. Anyone interested? We've got a foursome.

And talk has begun about what we're doing next year. Gotta keep the tradition alive.

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Growin' Up

I had no plans to attend another Bruce Springsteen concert. I've been to approximately 93 shows since 1980 and several years ago decided that unless someone (like my friend Denis) offered me the chance to see something unique (Bruce solo acoustic at the Paramount in Asbury Park in a benefit show for victims of Hurricane Katrina, thanks Denis), I'd call it a career.

And then last year I thought to myself...Bruce is about to turn 60 and cannot possibly be touring many more times, so I really owe it to my sons (then 12 and 9) to get them to a show. So, I forked over $100-plus for tickets and took them to Giants Stadium last July and got to see Bruce and Patti Scialfa bring their kids on stage for Twist and Shout and, well, it was pretty nostalgic. Me and my kids watching Bruce and his kids...all of us belting out the words and shaking our asses.

Glad I did it. But I figured that was probably it.
Until last week, when the lure of hearing all the songs from my favorite Springsteen album, Darkness on the Edge of Town, drew me back to Giants Stadium. I forked over $170 for a pair of tickets with a face value of $100 (below face value, a sign of the times) then started emailing some of my oldest, hardcore Bruce fans to see if they'd join me for an evening of Darkness.

The regrets were legit for the most part. Business meetings, youth sports practices, tickets to later shows, whatever. Still, I started to feel very 45 as one polite "no thanks" turned into 20. Finally, an old friend got back to me with a positive response. I had a running mate for the show.

There was, of course, a tailgate party. A tame one, to say the least, with another friend and his wife and their two kids, both under the age of six. I had as many burgers (two) as beers. Even with only two brews in me, it seemed like I had to make about a half-dozen trips to the port-o-potty. Another sign of the times. And around 8 p.m., it was time to head in for the show.

And as I stood on the floor of Giants Stadium, giving myself enough elbow room so I wouldn't have to worry about bumping into anyone, I just watched. I sang a bit, not like the old days when I'd leave a Bruce concert drenched in sweat, with no voice remaining. The early part of the concert was perfectly fine, but it didn't take long before I was glancing at my watch, wondering when he'd start the Darkness part of the show. Looking around at the crowd, looking pretty much as young, if not a bit younger, than most of the crowd, I wasn't sure if I should laugh or cry. There was a dude with a hairpiece in front of me dancing like it was 1984. I laughed.

The whole experience made me think about my first Bruce show, which I attended with my brother Bob back in 1980 at Madison Square Garden. I remember that show as an "out-of-body" experience. I was simply mesmerized by Springsteen for, I swear, over four hours. I was quietly thinking to myself that two hours, on this night in 2009, would be plenty. The experience was very much "in-body." Bruce's energy, while impressive for a dude who's 60, is really nothing like it was when he was in his early 30s (hard to fault him there). When I watch old youtube clips, particularly those from 1978-81 shows, I am still blown away by his raw passion. The passion is still there, for sure, but it's different. I'm different, too, so I am understanding.

But then, for nine minutes, I was transformed. At the risk of sounding like an old fool, when piano player Roy Bittan broke into Racing in the Street, I was once again 16 and standing in the Garden. It's never been Racing's lyrics that get to me, but rather Bittan's piano-playing. As Bruce finished the songs lyrics, "For all the shutdown strangers and hot-rod angels rumbling through this Promised Land, tonight my baby and me, we're gonna ride to the sea and wash these sins off our hands...Tonight, tonight..." I felt the lump in my throat growing. I closed my eyes and listened to Bittan play, extending the song some four minutes. It was just so...great to be there.

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Kids and Sports...Sports and Kids

I need to begin by saying, "I'm no saint" when it comes to kids sports. I've yelled at my sons during practices and games, including one time when I yelled so loud at my son Tyler that a few dads asked me to take a seat in the dugout to relax. Talk about embarrassing.

This past year, in a Memorial Day baseball tournament, I went semi-ballistic over what I thought was a missed balk call. The umpire, basically, told me to shut up or he'd run me. I shut up.

But later in the spring when I complained to my dad about a Little League coach who intimidated an umpire, my father (as always) was quick to point out, "Was it worse than when you argued the balk call?" My answer was, "Uh, no." Thanks, Pop.

So I make mistakes and, if there's a silver lining to my confession it's that I am usually overcome with guilt immediately. The point is, I know better.

It's so basic, isn't it? The games are for the kids. The games are supposed to be fun. There's really no reason to yell at a kid unless he's really misbehaving or possibly going to injure someone. I honestly believe this to be true, and try really hard to live up to it...even though I fail sometimes.

I do have my good qualities (in my own humble opinion) as a coach. I'm steadfast in my belief that baseball is a game that kids can only play well when they're relaxed. So I am pretty good at keeping kids loose (maybe not as good with my own sons) and staying positive.

I'm also pretty good at letting the kids decide the game. I've never been big on the "hands-on" youth baseball coaches. The guys who, in my opinion, turn the game into Kid vs. Adult rather than Kid vs. Kid. In all my years of coaching town-level Little League I've never told a kid not to swing the bat. In other words, there's no "take" sign. We do try to teach a kid that if he's going to swing at, say, a 3-and-0 pitch, he should be taking a good swing, not a defensive swing.

It's my personal philosophy (it's okay if you disagree) that it's my job as a youth coach to try and help the kids improve their baseball skills. Honestly, I do not think I need to teach a kid how to draw a walk. I've had a lot of my less-talented kids through the years make their best contact on 3-0 pitches, when the pitcher is trying to put the ball right over the plate. Pretty elementary.

I've got other philosophies, but I won't bore you with them.

But the point of today's blog is simply that, more and more it seems to me that the only people capable of ruining kids sports are adults. In recent weeks I've seen:

* A U-11 soccer game called at halftime due to rain, with the score 0-0. OK, fine that the game was called (even though there was no lightning), but then the league officials declared that the game was "official." Now, shouldn't these officials have asked the coaches of the two teams how they felt about that ruling? Don't you think, maybe, the kids wanted to play a full-game? If the coaches were able to get their kids to the field, either for a replay or a resumption, shouldn't the league have given that the ok? Nope. Of course, there was something in writing, in the bylaws or whatever they're called, to back the league's stance. Blech. Let the kids play.

* A U-14 soccer game where a team, depleted by injuries, down to 10 men, was forced to play, even when one coach asked the other ahead of time if they could re-schedule. "No," the coach responded. "Show up and play with 10, or forfeit." Think that coach asked his players, A. How they would feel about a forfeit, or even, B. How they felt about playing a depleted team? My guess is that the kids would've voted for playing against a full-team. Maybe I'm wrong. Doubt it.

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