I am not a sports fan

Anyone who knows me knows that I am not a sports fan. I painfully sit with the in-laws on Thanksgiving day when the NFL games come on. Because I like to get along with people, I feign interest. I know a few names of football players in Texas, simply because I hear their names on the radio or before I switch channels during the local news.

I freely admit that I am a snob about my distaste for most professional and big college sports. I think it is entertainment for the masses and I don't consider myself one of them. Of course I do not limit my prejudices to sports. I feel the same way about reality television, most competition game shows and sitcoms that play to the mose basic, vulgar traits of Americans. If it is popular with the majority of Americans, I probably don't like it.

My main problem with professional sports is that it has lost its identity as, well, sports. To me, sport is a healthy, competition between equally-matched contenders,
each using only mental and physical ability and training to win. Wining means victory over the other solely for the triumph of the spirit.

The exception I have to this is the Spurs and the rest of the NBA. If I did not live where I do, I probably would not have become a fan of the Spurs. But if there is an
exception to the all for me world of professional teams and their supposed athelets, it is the San Antonio Spurs.

This was exemplified recently by comments from another NBA coach about the coach of the Spurs, Gregg Popovich. Last night, the Spurs played the Golden State Warriors.
Their coach is Don Nelson. Popovich was an assistant under him years ago. Now they're both head coaches and have been for many years. Reporters asked Nelson
something about Popovich. Nelson remarked that Popovich had not called him like he expected when he got to town. Nelson remarked that they are friends and he was planning to meet Pop for dinner. Popovich responded to this from the reporters by agreeing that he should have called his old friend and shared an evening dinner and a bottle of wine.

To me, this is a perfect example of what sports is supposed to be. Friends competing. Each knows the other's strength and weaknesses. Hell, they learned from
each other and know the other's tricks as well. But they are still friends. There is a mutual respect there. Elsewhere in professional sports, there are players who
specialize more in trash talking than in sharpening their skills. They spend more time negotiating the next contract, either with the agent, the team or with the
media, than they do staying in shape. The competition is now between them and the ones writing the check or between them and the insane fans who still buy their
jerseys at $75 each. They do not try hard because they only want to win. If they compete on the field at all, it's to ensure a better paycheck. I many times wonder if losing means anything to the person with the multi-million dollar mansion and throngs of adoring fans.

This is evident in professional baseball too. Huge contracts are not even enough for some. Some players, playing for teams that have little chance of a national title, use whatever means are necessary, not even to win, but to get their name into the all-time record books. Steroid use, corked bats are just some examples of
players who do not play for the love of the game, but rather, for the love of themselves.

Does San Antonio pay high salaries? Sure they do, They could not exist in the NBA without this. But time after time, the Spurs players exemplify sportsmanlike conduct. Manu comes off the bench gladly when any other player of
his talent would demand to be a starter. And what is a starter other than the first players who begin a game? But it has glory with it.

Of course the sports history books are full of great humans who did play for the love of the game. But those individuals are becoming a rare bunch.

Except in San Antonio.

The Christmas Tree

We put up the tree. It is our usual day after Thanksgiving ritual. We put up the indoor Christmas decorations on that Friday and usually try to put up the outdoor ones on Saturday.

Our daughter is 12. Every year since she was born, we have bought a new ornament for her. When she was a baby we bought the Baby's First Christmas and Baby's Second Christmas ornaments. Those are the ones with her baby pictures in them. After that she has picked out her own each year. While finishing the shopping Friday afternoon, she remembered the ornament and we went into one final store to get it.

While putting the ornaments on the tree, she remarked how her interests had changed over the years. The ornaments started with the Disney Princess ones, moved to Powerpuff Girls, then to Bratz. Her ornament this year is the word "Dreams" in big, glitzy, blue block letters. At first glance, it does not even look like an ornament. She chose this one because she is really involved in music, drama and the theatre. We have been encouraging her to dream and work to make the dreams come true.

I noticed that the tree is not only a reflection of her, but it's a unique portrait of our entire family.

There are ornaments from places we've visited. There are a few ornaments from my or my wife's childhood. Some others were made in school art classes by our daughter. There are a few stragglers from a gift set given by a former employer. We each bought a few of the over-priced Hallmark ones for a year or two. As the ornaments sit in the box over the long year in the hot attic, some don't survive much longer than a few years. I picked up one mess and asked what it had been before getting squished.

While there is nothing at all wrong with a tree full of color-coordinated, shiny new ornaments, our tree is a representation of our years as a family. I call it an unplanned Christmas tradition, one that we'll keep adding to. Hopefully our daughter will remember this as a nice part of her Christmases as she grew.

Of Mine Fields and Ghosts

If I had to describe the days at work recently, though I'd prefer not to, they would be a roller-coaster of emotions. One moment I'm on top of the game, the next struggling to make sense of what mine field I just walked through. In a mine field, you are almost certain to trip a wire or step directly on a mine. Then things blow up. That's what mines do. But you know that as you walk into the field. No my days are more surprises when I step on a mine because I thought I was safe on the solid road. The phone rings, I answer it, and I look around. I am not safe on the road anymore. Now I am in the mine field. One blew up in front of me. I see two more ahead. But I can't avoid them. Those will blow up unless I perform some impossible, herculean task. What do I do? I try to get that impossible task done. In many instances, I do that. The mine is avoided. But I am left spent. Back out on the safe road. I pick up my gear and wander to the next town. The invisible force that lifts me up and places me into the mine field is always around. Somedays, he leaves me alone. Most days recently though, he covertly puts me right back in there.

What to Write

Well, I am being challenged more and more to sit down and do some writing. so at least I am writing in the blog that no one reads. Well, if anyone is reading this, no one is making any comments.

But the ideas flood my brain for good things to write about. Creativity flows. But the fear of not being good enough stops me so many times. It is really hard to just start writing and not worry at all if it is good. I know the truth is that I should stick out my neck, allow myself to be vulnerable, and just get it done. And it's really sad that I can't even be vulnerable with myself.

Of course there is always the opportunity of money just waiting for me in the form of magazine writing. Every time I have tried that, I get frustrated because it is not moving forward.

But I'm typing now so we'll see what happens.

Reclaiming the Past

A news clip reminded me of a time when I was growing up. I was raised in the 70's. I lived in a fairly small Midwestern town. Americana. There was a downtown and there were factories and there were the neighborhoods where people lived. Subdivisions were new and there were not many in my town.

The most complicated device we had in our house was either the electronic calculator (a huge device by today's standards) or the microwave oven. We did not get the latter until I was in high school. But oh, that was cool! Put a hot dog on a paper plate, push a few buttons, and in about 2 minutes, it was cooked! Amazing!

We have so much more stuff now. Technology and science has made our lives so much easier. And more complicated too.

Why do I yearn for those days? Is it because in my memory, they were carefree? That could be true. I was in school. My parents paid the bills. I didn't have a whole lot of worries.

I should have. That was definitely the beginning of my various neurosis. But that's another story.

Was it that I was blind to the various cares of the world? Did my parents do all the worrying for me then, just as I take that burden from my child now? Did my mother and father long for their childhood days of the 30's?

Maybe.

Or is it the simpler time that I want? Do I want a time when we had 3 channels instead of 300?

No, I enjoy the technology now. But think we have a completely different way of thinking now. There is a new middle class. There are so many more opportunities for a young person now than existed then. But along with those opportunities has come a false sense of entitlement. We have a different perception of what we should and should not get out of this life. Conveniences have been necessities. The cell phone is my perfect example. We'll be 15 minutes away from our house and my wife will use her cell phone to call the house to see if there are any messages. This is a pet peeve of mine because I talk on the phone everyday on my job. My time away from a phone is precious quiet time for me. But that's just me.

My daughter complains that one of her backpacks is too big for her school locker. Another won't hold all of her books. She just rolls her eyes when I say that I did not own a backpack until I went to college. "How did you carry your books," she asks? "With my hands," I answer.

So will this generation gap continue? Probably. She'll tell her kids that once she had to type on a keyboard to do her school research on the computer. Her kids will roll their eyes too.

Then, they'll look at the computer display (inside the backpack) think about a question, and the answer will appear.

She'll long for the good ol' days too.

No Longer Angry

As a writer, you learn to take inspiration whenever it comes. Inspiration does not knock every day. Usually you have to dig it up when it is needed. So I watch for nuggets of wisdom. Disney Channel (insert necessary copyright, legal stuff here) was my source last night. A line from the movie was, "I'm tired of being angry all the time. " The gist was the charactor was simply not going to be angry anymore.

I can relate to that. For weeks now, one thing or another has made me stressed and usually angry. Mostly it has originated through work, but a few physical problems have added to this almost daily frustration.

But what a simple way to look at it. "I'm tired of being angry all the time."

What has the anger gotten me? I think I have lost weight. I was not really heavy to begin with, but now most of my pants do not fit. No one that I was angry at has changed their habits which made me angry. I have not persuaded even one person to do things 'my way.' So I have taken all the consequences of the anger myself. Is that fair? I'm not angry with myself so why am I the one who is suffering?

Any psychiatrists that are reading this--chew on that. I know easy stuff.

She's Not So Little Anymore

Today did not start well. On most mornings, my daughter and I have a routine. A part of that routine is feeding the pets that are outside. I grab some grass for the rabbit and put it in her pen and check her water. The rabbit is never lying down in the pen. She is always sitting or hopping around. Today she was lying in the corner.

I thought, did she leave us in the night? I went to her and touched her. She was gone. She must have died sometime in the night.

So I had a decision to make. Do I tell my 11 year old that one of her pets was gone? Since the rabbit was spending every other night outside, it was not unusual for our daughter to not see her in the morning. I really did not want to ruin her school day by telling her what I found.

So she went to school and my wife picked her up at the usual time. We agreed we would tell her when we were both there to comfort her.

She was sad. But there were no tears. She wanted her dog to hold and the dog gave her numerous licks. Again, still no tears.

We decided we would take the rabbit to some nearby woods and give her back to nature. Our girl even pointed out that some animal would probably eat her.

No tears still. And now she is watching TV and talking about the summer.

She's not so little anymore.