Two Wrongs, One Right

I went for a haircut on Friday at my favorite ear-lowering establishment and feel, finally, completely ready for my return to the classroom on Tuesday. There are about seven to eight chairs with two giant mirrors on either side. The waiting side has a standard definition television about 27" wide, continually rolling either Headline News or CNN Newsroom or something of that nature. I must say that John (Davidson Head Coach) has really opened my eyes to the world's news more that I had ever been accustomed to before and watching this in the barber shop did not seem so unbearable as it may have a year ago.

Yet, on Friday, instead of hearing about the economy, the president or the Middle East, I was watching the incident of Oregon running back LeGarrette Blount (neat, sports on the mainstream media.) The talented senior cowardly and ruthlessly socked Boise State's Byron Hout in the kisser when the teams should have been exchanging pleasantries after a hard-fought (albeit rather boring) game against two top-25 teams. Blount is a brash and arrogant star for the Ducks - and probably not well-known except for intense college football circles or Pac-10 enthusiasts. He is a great runner and has all of the tools to be a good NFL player.

Blount has a number of things going against him not counting his right cross to Hout's jaw. First, he did this on the road, after a loss, when he bragged of doing severe damage to the Broncos defense prior to the match-up. Second, this was the ONLY game worth reporting in the country at the time - meaning there was no other game to speak of, magnifying his transgression even more. Third, he went ballistic before heading into the tunnel, and getting the police to restrain you is not the best way to keep your composure even after a punch in the face. Finally, sportsmanship, like steroids, are two key issues that are scrutinized by not only sports fans, but the general public. All of the major negatives in athletics are magnified for the public to see, either to set an example for the children or just because we are compelled, as a society, to ask why the glass is half empty instead of appreciating how it's starting to be filled.

Blount's done for the year - as he should be. He'll continue to stay on the team. He'll probably get into counseling. He'll have to live with this mistake for the rest of his life. However, if you want to set a real example, punishment and consequence should be given to Hout, too.

By now you've seen the punch proceeded by Hout not only taunting Blount, but physically and mockingly patting him on the shoulder pads for a poor performance. As a coach, I'm going to go out on a limb and say that my players and athletes are much more like to taunt a player than sock him in the mouth.

Disciplinary actions should be taken with regards to Hout. If I am running a character-laden program, taunting of any fashion is not tolerated. I am in no way saying that I think Blount's actions are tolerable. But I'm playing the role of Chris Petersen, head football coach at Boise State. Chip Kelly, the head coach of Oregon, has a ton of decisions to make and even more scrutiny on the way for his swift actions and black eye on the Oregon program and university.

If I'm Petersen, I'm not concerned what happens to Blount. He does nothing for our program. He's not my responsibility. I'm responsible for Hout and his unnecessary verbal stunt, as seen across the nation, make Boise State look foolish and weak. Taunting would not be tolerated and Hout would suffer consequences, including missing game action and spending some time apologizing to the Boise community. It's a shame neither will happen.

After all, how many athletes have you coached or been teammates with that clocked a guy in the mouth after a game. Set an example for the more common problem, not just the extreme one.

Quick Hitters

Again, I apologize for not writing in a while. Patty and I will be happily married in about 65 hours and I'm really excited about seeing all 250 people coming to watch and celebrate with us(probably 80% on my list.) Should I survive Saturday's bonanza and Sunday's festivities, the two of us will be flying to Vancouver for a 5-day adventure in the Great Northwest. Upon returning, Patty will be feverishly working at her school and I'll be preparing for my sixth grade escapades, new head coaching obligations and possible pool managing duties.

I will be sure to check in more frequently this month once I get back into a routine. It's been pretty hectic with grad classes, moving, fighting the cable company and taking direct orders from my future bride. Please don't think the sports mobile above my head is not turning at 65 mph in the 45 mph zone. I leave you with these Quick Hitters that might just be in the way of me worrying about any rehearsal dinner or if I'm able to retrieve anyone from the airport:

1) My poor Buccos make me hurt with every loss. I'm on-board with the whole major rebuilding and I know that, should they ever win, it will be so much sweeter for me and my buddies because we never gave up on them (not only am I probably delusional about them winning, but I wouldn't be surprised if I'm the last fan remaining.)

2) This whole Roethlisberger mess saddens me. I really have yet to hear anyone in the media or the community preach what a great guy he is. Yes, I want my quarterback to do his job and make the team better and, yes, I think he's just as responsible for bringing us two Lombardi trophies as anyone. However, I don't want this type of person/character to be the face of the franchise. If he is found guilty, I won't feel sorry for him.

3) For those of you following this FINA swimsuit ruling, I think you'll find that most coaches are thrilled by this. Not that my opinion matters, but leveling the playing field is a good thing for the sport if it's going to grow based on performances and not who has the best sponsors or who's family has the most money. This season will be mighty challenging, though, for those coaches (psychologists) who have to explain to swimmers why they are 4 seconds off their best times when, as the coach once told them, their performances had nothing to do with the suit.

4) MLB-TV is the greatest channel in the world. Watch between 7PM and Midnight - you won't change the channel. AND, I have watched PTI three times since Friday - I can't tell you how much I miss watching Mr. Tony and Michael.

If I think of more stuff that's worth writing about, you will hear. Have a great week!

Timing is Everything

Andy Roddick played the best tennis match of his life today. He stared down the greatest player in the sport's history and fought toe-to-toe for almost five hours of brilliant stroke work, rallying and service as the spectators hovering over him cheered and pulled for his opponent.

Not often to you play the greatest game of your life and lose. But that's just what happened to Roddick today. No one gave the 26-year old American even a puncher's chance to compete with the great Roger Federer. Hell, no one gave him to a chance to even beat Andy Murray in the semifinals. Murray, Britain's transformed darling who was looking to be the first Englishman to win Wimbledon since World War II, was the favorite to shove Roddick aside to set-up a classic showdown between the country's favorite player and history's finest player. Roddick was exceptional against Murray in winning a 4-set slugfest and was even better against Federer. But Federer proved today why he's the ultimate champion, matching the feisty American with ever shot with a historic 5-set classic.

I can't help but sympathize for Roddick. He's definitely been the most talented American male tennis player of this decade and has been ranked as a top 10 player in the world since 2003. When you break down all of Roddick's statistics, research his injuries and coaching changes, studied his match-ups and draws, it really boils down to one hard core fact: Roddick is just the product of extremely poor timing.

Roddick was born on August 30, 1982 while Federer was born on August 8, 1981 (anniversary to be...WOO HOO!!!) Roddick won his first Grand Slam title in 2003 when he was crowned the US Open champion after defeating Juan Carlos Ferrero (that year's French Open champ.) Subsequently, he was awarded the world's number one ranking and looking like, not only the future of tennis in the country, but on the planet.

Then this Federer guy came along.

Federer started his siege of 15 Grand Slam titles in 2004 and has not looked back since. Roddick continues to plug along, consistently spotlighted in any tournament's field and usually defeating his opponents on his way through the bracket. Unfortunately, he's never being able to grasp another Grand Slam. Roddick has reached the finals of Grand Slams on four other occasions:

2004 - Wimbledon - lost to Federer

2005 - Wimbledon - lost to Federer

2006 - US Open - lost to Federer

2009 - Wimbledon - lost to Federer

There have been 23 Grand Slam tournaments played since Roddick's US Open title. Do you know how many of those tournaments have NOT been won Federer and Rafael Nadal?

Three.

That means, no matter how good you are, how hard you work to be the best, you've run into the greatest tennis duo EVER.

In contrast, Tiger Woods, the greastest golfer and who most people claim is the greatest athlete on Earth, has won 6 Major tournaments in the same span that Federer has won 15! Do you know how many times the same golfer has finished second to Woods or has been paired with Woods in the final grouping?

Zero.

Now, imagine if Roddick were 29 or 23 years old instead of 26. If he were 29, his best years might have been between 2001-2003, when guys like Goran Ivanisevic, Tomas Johannson and Albert Costa were winning Grand Slams. If Roddick were 23, he'd be the same age as Nadal - who currently has fragile knee problems - and the two just might be fighting for who would be the next great replacement to Federer.

No matter how you slice it, we probably will never remember Andy Roddick as one of the greatest tennis players of our time. Federer has been at the forefront of the tennis landscape for over five years and has wisked away everyone in his path on his trek into the history books. I hope Roddick wins at least one more Grand Slam title before his retires. If he doesn't, maybe he should join the PGA Tour; he probably would have better luck.

So, What's New With You

I would like to apologize to anyone that reads this entry and my lack of correspondence over, really, the month of June. I won't make excuses - I need to do a better job. I promise you that everyday, I think about a topic to filibuster about. Sometimes I am the only one that might think it's interesting. Sometimes I fall asleep. Sometimes I'm taking orders from my bride to be. In any case, I am not in a coma and will do my best to get back on track.

With that said, here's are some of the highlights in my world since last Friday:

Friday, June 26th - Before beginning my first of 4 400-mile pilgrimages in seven days, I had a Come to Jesus meeting with the current assistant coaches at the Harbour. The team has continued to grow on me since day one, but I felt it might be best to let the young staff know just how I felt they were performing. I had gotten them pizza and breadsticks, opened the air-conditioned clubhouse so they could sit on the leather couches, chilled the bottled water and made sure they were comfortable for our 15-minute get-together that commenced after the noon practice ended.

"If none of you come to practice and it's just me out there, we'll be fine," I remember sternly saying. "Do your job!"

If they weren't focused after that, there's no hope.

I want these kids to want to be good coaches and not just go through the motions. It's funny how some of them claimed they would work for free in their interview but are eager to always ask when they'll be paid next. They're great at giving the kids something to do, but should anyone have a question, answers are few and far between. No one really talked in the meeting except for me. Hopefully they weren't day-dreaming.

And once it was over, I was off to Arlington.

Saturday, June 27th - Patty was moving out of her house and the truck made a large, dangerous run going 40 mph with a queen-size mattress, box spring and a set of kitchen shelving. Everything made it to her folks' house safely, but there really isn't any room for a lawnmower let alone a 50" television.

Sunday, June 28th - Church, scrubbed Patty's house, watched the second half of the USA/Brazil game (I'm bad luck, I suppose,) drove back to Davidson - made 20 phone calls.

Monday, June 29th - Seals had a bye week, caught-up on Davidson labor, no television + lots of driving = early bedtime.

Tuesday, June 30th - Very noteworthy four-day stretch begins today. I wake up for practice and find my left eye very red and swollen, almost as if someone hit me with a gavel and then colored the Sclera with a red Sharpie. I still went to practice, but some of the smaller Seals made some quizzical faces at me. I really didn't think too much of it; it was only in one eye and the swelling of the eye socket led me to believe I had been bitten, hopefully by the same bug that got Spiderman.

At night, I went to a summer league meet to watch two of my winter swimmers compete. Both Katie and Nicole have slightly physical and cognitive disabilities and to see the two of them compete with their teams was really remarkable.

Wednesday, July 1st - Nothing says Happy Canada Day like early morning practice. My eye had not improved since yesterday and I decided that Vitamin Water and switching my goggles would do the trick. We did not celebrate Canada Day like we did at Chapel Gate, Queens Lake or Villa - selfishly, I wanted to keep it that way.

Tomorrow, I was scheduled to have an interview for a coaching position and stop by George Mason to double-check on classes. Here's what ended up happening after a bevy of phone calls:

Coaching interview: postponed
Teaching interview I: 9AM
Teaching interview II: Show-up

I finished some Davidson work and, at 5:45PM, I was off to Fairfax. On the drive, I placed a list of phone numbers next to my seat of rising seniors that I was going to call on the Wildcats' behalf. July 1st is the first day coaches are permitted to recruit over the phone and I wanted to take advantage of the opportunity. I left a few messages and have a couple of very nice conversations. I could spend all day on the phone and in transit recruiting. It really was one of the most enjoyable aspects of my job at Davidson.

Thursday, July 2nd - Eye now looks like I was in Fight Club and is watering at a sprinkler's rate. I drive to Interview I at 9AM only to find the principal will not be in until 12:30PM. Interview rescheduled for 3:30PM.

After postponement number two, I drive to interview II. "I'm sorry, that position has already been filled," muttered the receptionist. (Isn't it funny how, around noon, I received an email stating how the position had been filled almost two hours after visiting the school.)

So how do you kill time waiting for your 3:30 appointment.

YOU BUY WEDDING RINGS!

Patty and I drove to the same jeweler where I purchased her engagement ring, got fitted, and chose gleaming symbols of love (cough cough cough, sniffle.) To mark this special occasion, we bee-lined to Arlington to capture our wedding license. The best part was some lady coming from behind a cubicle, looking down at our information and, in one sentence, saying, "Raise your right and hand do you solemnly swear that all of the information that you have provided is the truth in accordance with the county of Arlington?" We didn't say anything and she already signed the papers. Now that's an official document.

The 3:30 interview went well despite the principal being mesmerized by my Quasimodo appearance. I hope I get to teach there. Should know in about 10 days.

I try to take a nap but I don't think drinking hot tea helped. I headed back to Davidson around 7PM.

Friday, July 3rd - Early morning practice to start. I considered not getting in the water because now, my eye does not open. Fortunately, there are plenty of assistant coaches not getting in the water so I hop in with the kids. The three of the five practices play a game I call "Braveheart:"

* Make two teams.
* Throw a bunch of toys in the middle.
* Give each toy a value (1 point, 3 points, 5 point Magic Penny, etc.)
* Yell, "GO!"
* Everyone swims ask fast as they can to the middle.
* You must swim your toy back to your side.
* No throwing onto the deck, but passing to teammates in allowed.
* No more than one toy in your possession at a time.

The best part comes when you throw three kickboards in the middle and say they are worth minus-3 point. So the kids have to place the boards on the opposite side against the defense of, sometimes, half the squad. We had 10-person pile-ups everywhere. Note: swimmers were ejected for grabbing the neck or head.

After leaving practice, I had a massive headache, one working eyeball, chills, and on and on. I visit the Davidson clinic only to find they are closed. I call a few other unoperable offices that like taking the day before national holidays off before heading to the CVS Minute Clinic. The doctor (I think) turns to me and says, "Whoa, did you get in a fight?"

The medical professional in this secret phone booth concluded after 7 minutes that I had a strong eye infection and fever. With medicine in hand, I departed the pharmacy with my ball cap three sizes larger than it should be. The rest of the day I was pretty ill and useless. However, I did manage to strike a deal with a nice lady for my dresser; she'd be here at 9AM.

Happy Independence Day - My eye looks a little better and I'm getting my appetite back. I help the lady cram the dresser in here Dodge Caravan and begin looking for more things to sell; this Craigslist thing is the greatest. I visit the Davidson office to get a little work done before heading back to the apartment, where I'll be making a pizza and root beer float to celebrate my freedom.

These next two weeks will be pretty adventurous, as well. By then, I hope to land a job or two, land a place to live, start well in my principal class, get more wedding stuff done (or supervise it getting done,) and get a nice gift for my folks' 33rd anniversary.

I hope everyone has a nice start to their July. I'll be checking in with much shorter entries throughout the month with more useless information.

Not Functioning Properly

Well, I've done it.

In an effort to make myself a more well-rounded individual, today, at approximately 5:55AM, I unplugged my high-definition cable receiver and, at around 1PM, returned it to the cable company.

Therefore, if you plan to visit the apartment, bring a DVD and your A-game conversation.

I hope this is not some horrible omen that I missed the USA win the biggest soccer game of the 233-year history of the country (future entry.) Or that I will be bypassing the drafting of Stephen Curry going as high as #3 in the NBA draft and I will just have to settle for hitting the refresh button over and over again just to spot where he lands. Currently I find myself asking, "If it's this bad now, what the hell am I supposed to do Independence Day weekend - read and watch fireworks? That's just ridiculous."

Fortunately, my summer does not have me under house arrest, babysitting a small infant or puppy or without plenty to do. For one thing, the summer team that I am coaching near Davidson extracts all of the life out of me. For another, I have plenty of work to accomplish for the Wildcats over these next four weeks.

(Did you buy those excuses? I have to keep reminding myself those are valid ones.)

So, on this my first evening without a working high-definition, cable television I have
a) gone to a concert performed by members of the summer team
b) made rice
c) checked some baseball scores
d) written this captivating entry

So far, so good. I'm not shore what to do now as I have now begun to wash some dirty clothes and move towards washing the clean ones when that load is finished. Once I've finished the neighbors' laundry. I guess I could resort to reading a book, but I think that's like the members of Survivor resorting to cannibalism on Day 33 of starvation. So if one night is Day 33...

I know I can handle this ultimate sacrifice. I will become that more well-rounded person I've set myself up to be. Starting today, I am going to be more proactive in writing emails, staying on top of my work and sleep schedule and look for a high-paying house-sitting job that has Discovery Channel in sparkling high def.

Good Friday

Bachelor Party USA was to commence on Friday, June 12th and last through the early morning of Sunday, June 14th. Most of my friends came from out of town:

Mark and Evan - DC
Crispino - Williamsburg
Watts and Tsai - Chicago
Joe - Atlanta
Jeff - Boulder
Reid and Robby - New York City
Gaetan, a true Philadelphian, currently resides in Pittsburgh as he begins his residency (awesome.)

We had planned this weekend for about two months, but didn't really set too much in stone except for Saturday golf and Pirate game. Friday became booked when the Penguins defeated the Red Wings on Tuesday night to force a Game 7 in the Stanley Cup Finals. As soon as it ended, Joe is on the phone with me, plotting when we would meet at my house, what we would bring, and what we would eat.

I have not watched a game with my buddies since high school and now I'm watching, arguably, the biggest game of my fandom career, with all of them in my basement. My dad cooked enough meet to feed Portugal with no salads to be found in sight. Mom had gotten me 36 bottles of IBC Root Beer per my request. We set up another television in the living room so there were three screens going in the house.

At 8:15PM, it was game on. I can remember so much about the game but so little about what everyone else was doing. Maybe it was because of our collective laser-like focus to the high-def NBC feed. It was the greatest.

As the third period was winding down and the Pens were clinging to a 2-1 lead, I kept thinking - there's no way all of these things can be happening at once. If they pull this out, I don't know what I'm going to do with myself.

Sure enough...

Usually after "biggest wins in my lifetime" type games, I'm calling everyone that is important in my world to talk about how the team did or how amazing a key play was. Check that off; everyone's in the TV room.

Like I said back in February, Pittsburgh sports mean so much to the city and community. This is who we grew up with, loyal to each through tough seasons, playoff lapses and the occasional championship. I've been more than fortunate to witness the Steelers raise the Lombardi trophy with no one in sight and the Penguins hoist the Cup with my friends all around me.

Both are so sweet...but I'll take the second one more any day of the week...

Looking Back - Chaper III - Turning Points

Obstacles are those frightening things that become visible when we take our eyes off our goals. – Henry Ford

So much of the program’s success is predicated on the conference championship. As is the case for about 90% of NCAA institutions that have a swimming program, the season’s culmination arrives when all teams in the league gather to decide the winner. You want to be your best, saving nothing to chance or fate, as schools duke it out for the crown.

The journey leading to the Davidson CCSA Championship, as we mentioned, begins before the first day of classes. The new crop of freshmen would arrive with a new hunger for success. The returning team could have forged stronger bonds through their training and friendship or severed their ties with spite, jealousy or even malice. Either way, the road is long.

If you polled the team and asked each of them, in one word, to describe the first four months of the season, no one would utter “smooth” or “easy” or “uneventful.” There were days that felt 48 hours long and others that flew by. The boatload of work that accompanies the students at Davidson seems excessive, but the rewards of nailing a mid-term or paper resonated with the staff and those Cats willing to feel good about their teammate’s achievement. And it’s not like Davidson is VMI. The kids aren’t immune to the luxuries that come with being in college. You may have the occasional homesickness bug, flu bug, bed bug or crazy hall mates bugging you about keeping the noise down or the lights on.

And through all of this, your swimming telescope is aimed at both personal and team accomplishment at the conference championship. You may get distracted with the college lifestyle and the burdens that come with being 18-22 years old, but you’ll refocus and keep your eyes on the prize. With all of this action crammed into the first semester, it’s pretty clear to me the turning points of the season for the Cats came in those ten eventful days in Deerfield Beach, Florida. No school work, no parents, no parties. Just your teammates, the coaches, cooperative weather and challenge of putting up with each other and grinding through fatigue, early mornings and hunger Survivor-style.

And it was pretty clear who survived and who fell by the waste side, both as a competitor and a teammate.
For me, while swimming at William and Mary, Florida was both torturous and exhilarating. For one, I knew some of my teammates cringed at the fact they had to work harder during this trip than any other of the season. The Wildcats were quite similar. You could look at this as a chance to improve yourself or pamper yourself. I was never one to travel so I was pretty pumped at the prospect of getting out of Virginia or Pennsylvania for longer than 24 hours.

Now you should note that I was not the friendliest person in the pool or in training. I really didn’t have time for slackers, even as a freshman. I viewed myself as one of the least talented swimmers on the team, if not at the very bottom, and if I was executing more efficiently in practice than you, you were going to hear about it. I distinctly remember a couple of occasions during my senior season chewing out some of the prima donna freshmen for the lackluster, arrogant approach to practice (this happened about 20+ times over the course of the season, but I digress.) I really appreciated my teammates that put in a maximum effort, understanding that was the point of the trip and not to ice their shoulders, sit out practice and work on their tan.
Your tolerance for others had to be at its peak, too. Florida training, like it or not, pits the same people around you for 10 days, sharing the same space, food, television, etc. It’s all sunshine and ice cream sundaes when you’re getting along. It’s terrifying when you’re not. Again, survivor-style.

I can’t speak for every member of the team about the fun he/she may have had or just how much it stung the muscles and joints to put oneself through a great deal of physical labor. Yet, the exact moment when the season turned came as a conglomeration of the above three factors, coming together in one small meeting at the end of one of our morning sessions.

Early that day, an upperclassman was dismissed from the trip for an egregious team violation. The coaches, set to address the incident with the squad at the end of morning training, gathered the team to address the situation. It was brief and, in my opinion, did not seem to rattle the team too much.

Once our head coach had made his point, another upperclassman decided to take it upon himself to speak on behalf of the dismissed crony. His tone was not convincing and his announcement to side with his friend, again, did not shock anyone. But this particular Wildcat, maybe without knowing it, had drawn a line in the sand. With all of the commotion and distraction the team had gone through from the commencement of the season leading up to that very meeting, here’s a guy that had the audacity to basically proclaim, “I’m out – who’s coming with me.” He may not have said it in so many words, but he had no qualms about his actions.

And right there, the team got stronger.

It no longer became about Florida or winning a conference championship. It became about having a bad situation self-exalted and deciding, as a stronger unit, to be better than that. Personally, even as a freshman in high school, I was entrenched in seniors (and even juniors) feeling entitlement, demonstrating poor leadership or pettily demanding something from their teammates or both. I was convinced that I would never act that way if I were fortunate enough to get in that leadership role. The Wildcats had some of these very upperclassmen and the group, after that announcement, rallied behind that very premise: “WE will not act this way. Thank you for making it very clear.”

Florida came and went and the weeks that followed seemed just a little different than the ones in 2008. The team understood who had kept their eyes on the goals. Yes, there continued to be distractions, but it most of it was in vain of the guilty parties. And once attention was not found by the culprits, there no longer seemed to be a need to continue. I commend those Cats that did not waver from team objectives.

It was crystallized who was on board. And this foundation laid groundwork for a terrific conclusion to the season.

Next Entry – Championship Mettle

Can't Handle It

Bill Buckner was one of the greatest baseball players of the late 1970s and 1980s. He was as reliable of a corner outfielder as you were going to find in the American League and the Boston Red Sox were lucky to have such stability at one of their key infield positions. I never knew who Bill Buckner was other than the player who had the ball slip through his legs in Game Six of the 1986 World Series.

After retiring from baseball three seasons later, Buckner moved to Idaho, which isn't exactly near Boston or the painful memories that he was reminded of every day since the Game 6 debacle. Depending on who you reference, blame for Buckner's mishap could be overblown by overzealous fans, over-eccentric media or over-hyped citizens from the largest city in America, who happened to be the recipients of the World Series trophy that season.

Since the fall of 1986, Buckner's life was threatened. His children were bullied and tormented. His wife would hear her husband and family name as the punchline of countless jokes and references to failure. Certainly it was not fair. It was down-right cynical and torturous.

But do you know what Bill Buckner did after Game 6 and Game 7 of that World Series?

Bill Buckner stood at his locker, looked at the local, national and world media directly in the camera, and answered every single question they could ask him.

Do you know what Bill Buckner did the Monday after the World Series?

He did an interview with NBC to try and explain exactly how he felt, how the play unfolded and what he would do from here.

Buckner understood his responsibility to the team and the fans of the Red Sox. It was striking to me to read the above link about how he was cheered along Boston even after the Red Sox came up just short. The majority of people in New England forgave Buckner, even though it probably wasn't his fault at all.

And now look at LeBron James.

People may know that I am not a LeBron James fan. His weekend removal from the NBA playoffs comes as a shock to everyone, even if they say otherwise. The Cavaliers were pushed around by the Magic - who probably should have won 5 of the 6 games played in the series.

After Orlando destroyed the Cavs in the final game by 13, James - true to his classlessness, stormed off the court in a huff, not acknowledging the Magic for a hard fought series. He did even look at OSCAR ROBERTSON - one of the NBA's all-time greats in the face to give him a handshake at the conclusion of the game (look closely at the :11 sec. mark of the video - the gentleman in the white hair.)

The worst of it came the next day. James was gracious enough to dawn the media with his presence and proclaimed that he is "a winner" and "a competitor" and "doesn't see the point of congratulating someone who just beat him up. I just don't see the point in that." Listen to how many times he says "I." Hardly ever "we" or "the Cavs."

James may be the best player in the NBA. He may love to smile and take stupid, fake photos of his teammates and throw chalk in the air as they win 66 regular season games and he may love his Vitamin Water when they take-out the Pistons and Hawks. And in the heat of frustration, it's marginally excusable if The King wants to pout his way of the floor so he doesn't get too much confetti in his delicate eyes. But he's embarrassed his teammates, the organization and anyone else that competes and loses with grace. Just because you've gotten whatever you want whenever you've wanted it doesn't mean you can't acknowledge a victor.

I know that I will never be pointing my athletes or people that I influence to emulate James. He may win 10 NBA titles by the time he's done playing ball and he may make trillions of dollars as a "global icon." But I'm glad he's not playing anymore this season. The people playing, I guess you could say, are the winners.

A Look Back - Chapter II - The Schedule

"There are only two options regarding commitment; you're either in or you're out. There's no such thing as life in-between." -- Pat Riley

I’m a schedule-kinda-guy. I love knowing opponents and sites and what I’m going to do to prepare for each contest. I want to know the Steelers schedule immediately when it comes out. I’ll rush to the web and hope we are on Thursday, Sunday and Monday nights 13 times so I can get all of games without leaving my home. But I also feel the same way about the Pirates (I hope they are home a lot in August,) the Penguins (I hope they are home a lot in April,) and Pitt (I hope they play somebody strong out-of-conference.) I feel as though I personally invest myself in these teams and that schedule-showing ceremony gets my blood flowing.

This doesn’t solely apply to fandom. Rather, it has been intensified as a participant since my first organized team function. From Little League and St. Scholastica basketball to soccer with the Foxes and swimming with the Tribe, the schedule made you feel like a competitor, jolted a shot of life into your system. I know that I must of hounded John more than I should have when it came to the 2008-2009. I never really saw it from his perspective – he’s the schedule maker. When he sent that PDF to me in early August, it was probably a bigger thrill for me than anyone.

I didn’t know too much about how strong the program was, but I knew these schools were no slouch. Nevertheless, this looked like a ton of fun. I never would have imagined Davidson swimming so many high profile institutions – not because it couldn’t, but merely because I didn’t think the BCS teams would not want to swim a squad with an enrollment of less than 2000. Rather than lather you with details regarding each of the races, here’s a quick rundown of how I perceive the contest:

At Clemson - Saturday, October 4th. There were so many Tigers on deck in their bright orange warm-ups. Davidson’s militia was short-handed due to injury or ignorance. The team swam as well as one could against a stronger ACC foe with only 3 full weeks of training under their belt.

In the dungeon at East Carolina – Friday, October 17th. Tough day at the office: Class in the morning… bus to Greenville around lunchtime, swim a few events with your occasional signature race. ECU vs. Clemson would be a great comparison in so many ways.

Welcome NC A&T Lady Aggies – Friday, October 24th – John told the women how excited A&T was to swim the defending conference champs. Racing 50s and 100s instead of 200s and 500s was a treat for the gals.

Hosting Charleston for parents’ weekend – Saturday, October 25th – Bad blood resulted in guys’ team swimming tough and the girls’ team walking all over the Cougars. (Key members of the victory would not have much bigger swims.)

Hosting Emory – Saturday, November 1st – Third week in a row took its toll. Emory was better, but we made them look unstoppable.

Overnight at William & Mary – Saturday, November 8th – a true Homecoming for me, the kids seemed ramped to swim in a charged environment where everyone is on-top of the action. Despite the defeat, it could have been our strongest dual meet showing of the fall season.

Death March to Duke/South Carolina – Saturday, January 10th – Hopefully within the next three years, the Devils and the Gamecocks will view this as a tri-meet instead of a dual meet that Davidson’s allowed to participate in.

Day Trip to Georgia Southern Women – Saturday, January 17th – Unfortunately I did not make this trip, but John recalls three young ladies “carrying” the team to a very close victory. The gals got to watch the men’s basketball team play in Statesboro shortly after the meet, the highlight of the day for 95% of them.

Senior Day against Gardner-Webb – Saturday, January 24th – Two victories, lots of photos, maybe a couple of tears…it was a glorified circus complete with recruits, parents, friends, mascots, and agendas.

When the swimmers relive these dual meet moments, some will bring great memories of swift arms and legs or nightmares of feeling immovable. More often than not, the swimmers and divers are tired and wore down from being a Davidson student-athlete, and the results are not always as they would anticipate or envision. A lot of credit should be given to those competitors that put their heart into each practice and race for the love of racing and calling themselves a winner. Sometimes is difficult to find challenges and obstacles to overcome with each competition, but that attitude sets you up for success for the races and moments that should hold the most value to you and the team. Read what Pat Riley says - you’re either in or you’re out. I know I would want a teammate who’s all in and, regardless if they are fast, if they want out, there’s the door.

Next Entry – Turning Points

A Look Back – Chapter I – The Road Is Long

Things may come to those who wait, but only the things left by those who hustle. ~Abraham Lincoln

If you’re playing football and your opponent runs the opening kickoff back for a touchdown, do you end the game right there?

If you get a new car for your birthday and reverse it into a telephone poll, do you just buy a new car?

If you get fired from your job, do you stay content on the unemployment circuit?

This 2008-2009 swim season for the Davidson Wildcats, packed with many great stories and sensational results, was not always filled with sunshine, cupcakes and walk-off home runs. The sport is unique for in multitude of ways, not the least of which combines individual with team goals, young men with women on the same but separate units, and having an off-season as long as your average weekend sleep-in. The pitfalls that accompanied the Cats did not define who the group was. The journey through the struggle did.

Those struggles came in many forms – physically, mentally, and psychologically. Hell, one of the kids on the team earned the moniker “struggle” for his propensity to lose track of time and priority. The physical hurdles speak for themselves – tougher practice regiments, lifting routines that left each athlete dripping with sweat, new training techniques (i.e. spinning, ninja room) that strengthened the swimmers more than they had bargained. Combine the 6AM start time, doubling three times/week and managing the strains, pulls and tears that injury can wear on an athlete, and you have a recipe fit for The Biggest Loser, the Junior Navy Seals or your average collegiate swim program.

Mentally, it’s no walk in the park. The aforementioned tasks should never be viewed as tasks if you want to continue up-keeping your varsity pastime as a pastime and not a job. Yes, the majority of the American public is not lining the streets to put themselves through this type of rigidity. The team, though, firmly plants itself in this fire and that inferno blazed out-of-control as soon as we set foot on campus for the start of the season. The pitfalls that ensued could not be scripted by anyone outside of the science-fiction movie business. Davidson College unfurls plenty of challenges and while it is/was unwise and unnecessary to self-inflect more pain, it is/was inevitable. This, indeed, was biggest mountain to climb – could we handle it mentally – not just the workload, but ourselves, each other and the price of defined success?

“There are two key areas of interest in sports psychology: understanding how psychology can be applied to improve motivation and performance and understanding how sports and athletics can improve mental health and overall well-being.” Great definition – I see the word “improve” twice or, in my mind, “taking bad situations and using them as fuel, not toxins.” This is perpetually the case with swimming, not just with Davidson but with any team that looks to accomplish something – to go in a direction that points towards promise and not just because that’s where the compass leads you.

And so it began, the final week in August straight through the middle of May encompassing what amounted to the entire academic calendar. The Cats were never far from the pool, even if the only time apart from each other came during holiday breaks, never lasting more than 10 days or so. Captains’ practices lead to coaches’ practices, increasing in intensity with every week, straight through the middle of November. Along the way, we had swimmers thrown out of practice for language, suspensions ranging from tyranny to inadequacies with “finding themselves,” injury bugs and rehabilitations, and countless hours of fatigue. Tears were shed, wiped away, and then shed again when no one was looking or under reflective goggles. Lines were drawn in the sand with regard to viewpoints and hard work never seemed to be as newsworthy to the squad as it should have. December bore a need for stringent discipline in the classroom and in competition, which gave way to January’s grind, February’s showcase and the spring’s chance for choices.

But that’s the beauty of swimming. It’s a lot like playing ball for Bob Knight or working for Donald Trump. You learn from your shortcomings and, with the right sense of purpose and determination, you come out a stronger, tougher individual. I’m sure Knight didn’t stop practice every time one of his players took a charge or made an unselfish pass, but in the back of his mind, he probably made a mental notation – “I like what I see there.” Personally, I love practice and that will never change as long as I coach. There was always a remarkable underlining every time we met as a group. Those brightest moments came to those that sought opportunity in every set and setback – taking a situation, using it as fuel.

I can write with confidence that the 2008-2009 Wildcats are better swimmers, people, and ambassadors of the sport and school because of what they went through and put themselves through this season. It was not always pretty. It was not always fun. But those moments that can be dubbed “remarkable” can be encapsulated by each individual. Listening to them recount the season, from their vantage point, is a true treat, a ride that, at its toughest, probably didn’t seem worth taking. In retrospective, it was worth every yard.

Next entry: The Schedule

Don't Let It Pass You

This weekend was a pretty big one for the world of swimming. The sport's most recognizable icon, for both extraordinary and forgivable feats, was back in the spotlight, again dragging the globe's attention by his coattails. It is difficult to find someone that has been talked about more over these last nine months than Mr. Michael Phelps. Transcending a once-in-four-year event into, at least on this weekend, a festival and celebration of swimming.

Never mind the DUI charges and marijuana obsessions and possible allegations with his interests in the opposite sex. Whether you are a novice or expert in the field of aquatic competition, you know Phelps as the most dominant figure in any Olympic-caliber sport. This weekend marked his return to the sport at the Charlotte UltraSwim.

What you may not know is UltraSwim is a meet that, although requires strong qualifying times, is open to any swimmer with such high marks. To put it in comparison, the cuts are not as swift as those on the NCAA qualifying level (i.e. slower) and many college swim team bring their entire squads to this competition to put a bow on their fine seasons (see Auburn and Florida.)

Last year, two of Davidson's swimmers trained for UltraSwim, stayed past the campus' graduation, and participated with some these very elite competitors. Their racing foes may not have had names ending in Phelps, but there were some on the Olympic level, for sure. The pageantry of being at the meet in 2008 might not have been as attractive as it was this May, but it was still a checkpoint and a privilege to represent the school.

In late February, Phelps announced he would be coming to Charlotte and many Olympic-caliber talent followed. UltraSwim was plenty creditable, but now it had the world's attention, as well as the casual fans that don't suffer from short-term memory loss who can piece together the equations, "Phelps - that fast guy those one all of those medals who hits the bong."

If you're still reading this far, you might think the purpose of the entry is to talk about Phelps or swimming or Charlotte or how there was a NASCAR race here this weekend. Actually, this entry is to commend Bryan Droll and Patrick Whitman.

Who are Bryan Droll and Patrick Whitman?

Droll and Whitman are two rising juniors on the Wildcat swim team that had breakthrough sophomore seasons. Both arrived two seasons ago as walk-ons, one four years removed from the sport and the other as raw as a walking tenderloin. By the time both were finished with this past season, they could gaze up at the Davidson record board and spot their names on multiple occasions. Both gentlemen hold stock in the exuberance the men's team has been energized with over the course of this season. Their hunger for racing and desire to be students of the sport is both respectable and respected.

Davidson's swim schedule culminated as a team on February 21st and the spring season, while guided by the coaches, was at the mercy of the student-athletes desires. Individual's goals were to serve as a compass for performance in March, April and May. Many of the swimmers have been training quite diligently with intentions of fulfilling time standards, improving on last season's missteps or just avoiding the 20 pound weight game that comes from simply avoiding intense exercise for three months. Many chose to take a more casual approach to their training and preparation (you may now draw your own conclusions...)

Droll and Whitman took it to another level mentally - something that might just have been missing from a majority of our swimmers. They did not necessarily work harder than everyone or put in more time in the pool. These two dared themselves to use their speed and challenge themselves against some of the best competition in the world.

Now imagine in ten years you looking back on your swimming career and you get to boast "I swam against Michael Phelps less than one year after he won eight gold medals." People would DIE to be IN THE SAME BUILDING AS A HOT DOG VENDOR if he knew Michael Phelps were in their presence. Think about it - would you ever pass the chance to volley with Roger Federer or learn a floor routine with Shawn Johnson or play best ball with Tiger Woods? The only catch to those opportunities would be:

1) a disregard of your ego

2) a slightly more disciplined approach to your training when others may not join you

3) onions

Droll's weekend was especially compelling and boastful. You MUST watch the clip of his 50 free finals race from May 15th. Of all of the swimmers in the heat, listen to who they focus on (the race is pretty good, too.) The fact that this young man made it to a finals race in the biggest swimming event on the planet at this given moment is both life-changing and program-changing.

You probably won't hear about Droll on the evening news or even the Davidson news - you might not be able to tell that our Sports Information Department does not put swimming on its list of sports to follow, understand or communicate with unless authorized to. Droll won't wither you with his arrogance or prefer special treatment from those around him. But he and Whitman did swim next to the greatest swimmer EVER in the 50 and 100 freestyles - check out the results of just how close he was.

UltraSwim will return to Charlotte in exactly one year. I'm sure it wishes it could commit to those top-end Olympians now to attract the sensational buzz it created for the last three months. Kudos to Droll and Whitman for understanding the magnitude of the opportunity and taking full advantage of it. I boldly predict that you'll see more Wildcats in this meet - thanks to Droll, they would not want to let an opportunity like this pass them by.

A Sidebar to Priority

Do you know who Rich Behm is?

Certainly you know who the Dallas Cowboys are? No, he's not Tony Romo's back-up or the heir to the throne once owner Jerry Jones steps down. He's not the longest standing season ticket holder in Dallas or an oil tycoon with field passes.

On May 2, Rich Behm was simply doing his job, one that he loved, one that has little prestige, pay, or forgiving hours. The Cowboys were practicing in their “indoor” practice faculty and Behm, a scouting assistant, was on-hand to watch many of the rookies and free agent signees. He may or may not have checked the weather for that Texas Saturday afternoon to find a storm headed his way. Surely that would not be of much consequence to the scouting department. It's not like the region had never experienced a storm in its history.

That powerful storm, though, struck the Dallas region with incredible force and, in the process, changed Behm's life forever. The unfortunate and painful aftermath of the gale destroyed the faculty and ripped apart Behm’s spinal cord, leaving the 33-year old paralyzed, never to walk again. Take a look at the facts in the link above - the story and the video tell the story.

Anyone can feel badly for Behm and everyone should be sending their prayers and care his and his family's way. Personally, I struggle with how this is a mere blurb on our sports ticker. I'm not suggesting this is a national or global tragedy and I completely understand there existing more dire stories. It’s a shame, though, that our headlines of sports discussion center around Brett Favre’s waffling or Roger Clemens’ fabrications or Mark Cuban yelling at Kenyon Martin’s mother. Those stories are mere fodder for the National Inquirer, in my opinion. Nobody will be drastically affected by any of those soap operas, no matter how positively or negatively they unfold. It’s a shame, too, that one of the leading stories in the wake of May 2nd real-life nightmare is “how are the Cowboys ever going to replace their indoor facility?”

I can’t imagine what Behm and his family are going through. I can’t fathom going to the pool and having the roof collapse above me while trying to evacuate all of the kids from the water. That’s not something your boss prepares you for in the interview, nor should he. I hope to continue to follow Behm’s progress and he attempts to pick the pieces of his life back together. I doubt the sports world will gain much perspective from Behm, but here’s hoping they realize just how lucky each of them is.

No Occasion Needed

Normally I will not delve too much into my personal athletic adventures. For one, I really don't have that many. Two, there's nothing really interesting about jogging for a long time or getting eliminated in the semifinals of intramural hoops or shooting a 109 for 18 holes of golf, regular or miniature. Third, the entry would probably on last four sentences.

This past weekend, though, was very special - one that I will never forget and one that I never imagine would unfold like it did:

In my mind, it makes sense to create multiple occasions to see family and friends. I could never just go for a visit and spend some time relaxing with people I know. It's much more efficient to do two or more things on a visit. This weekend was the Pittsburgh Marathon - back from a six year hiatus due to budget cuts and a lack of a major sponsor. I had been tracking this for about two years, whether or not the race would actually come to fruition and once it opened, I was on top of the registration.

The problem, if there was one, was racing two marathons so close together. The Boston Marathon was run on April 20th and that would more than likely take a toll on my feet. After about five minutes of thinking, I knew that I would not want to let this opportunity pass me by, especially since I didn't know if this was a one-and-done for the race. And NOW, I have a great reason to see the family. Again, this is all logical thinking to me.

The Dick's Sporting Goods Pittsburgh Marathon was on Sunday, May 3rd - start time 7:30AM. I woke-up around 6AM, had a glass of water and hopped in the car with Dad to the start. This is not early for my dad, even for a Sunday, because his tee time on the links is normally around 7:30AM.

I started the jog and a moderate pace and began hoping my legs wouldn't collapse at the end of the first mile from neglect, fatigue, wind, or a stray dog. As I passed the checkpoint for Mile 2, I turned the corner and spotted Dad, standing with a casual smile, waving. I yell out, "Did Mammaw make it?" He points to his left and there, with my mom, Christa, and Patty all cheering, is Mammaw - the greatest grandmother anyone in the world could have. I did not know if Mammaw would even make the race, even though it was a strong request of hers. We didn't know how much she'd be able to walk with the marathon crowds or parking dilemmas. But leave it to Dad, who found a spot for her to only have to travel about five yards.

When I passed my family, I turned back around after a block to give Mammaw one last wave. She still had her eyes fixed on me, waving back with her right hand accompanied the biggest smile anyone could spot. It was easily one of the proudest moments of my life and for the rest of the race, she would be in the back of my mind, the image of her basking in being able to say she watched her grandson run in her hometown marathon.

The cheering pockets didn't stop there. Around mile 5 - Watts' parents - who have been a big part of my life since my teens, were at a corner snapping photos of me jogging along the roads. After mile six, my cousin Lorenzo - all 5.5 years of him, galloped onto the course to give me a high-five with Kimmy (Zo's mom and my first cousin) laughing.

It might have been a coincidence, but the toughest parts of the course came between miles 8-15. We had to cross two of the three bridges on the course and the uphill climb to the University of Pittsburgh was pretty tough even if you were in shape. But then at Mile 15, the Majericks - or Uncle Steve and Aunt Phyllis as we call them, were there. Camped out since 7AM, the two of them looked so relieved that I had made it this far. Up to Mile 18, there were the Watts again, clapping and taking shots in the rain to help push me forward. Up the road I spotted Dad standing next to my pal Billy Stewart and across the street was Patty, Mom and Christa - on the road urging me to trudge on - thrilled they did not miss me amidst their own travels. As I looped around the bend, the Watts yelled one final time after the 19th mile checkpoint. A few blocks further was Mr. Ron Frank - one of my greatest bosses, coaches, teachers, and mentors I had growing up. Close to Mile 23 was Mrs. Hastings and Maria, friends that I grew up with since fourth grade, yelling my name and encouraging me to finish strong.

When I got the 24th mile, I was in quite a world of hurt and running low on steam. The 24th to the 25 mile was straight downhill and I think the sharp slope hurt more than the uphill churn as I was forced to move my muscles a little quicker. There were not a lot of runners around me and at the 25th mile mark, Dad was standing without much company. He yelled, "You all right?"

I calmly said, "Yeah - I'll be OK - thanks - you going to the finish?"

"Yea - I'll see you there." I didn't know how he was going to drive around the crowds and street closures, but if anyone could pull it off, it's him. From there, I trudged through the 26th mile and towards the finish to the largest gathering of people the city offered. As I reached the tape, I spotted Mom, with camera in hand, perched on top of something that allowed her to tower over the crowds. I crossed the finish, walked a few paces looked for the nearest cup of water - I sure was thirsty.

Now if you have never run a marathon or done some type of exhausting exercise, once you stop, it's difficult for your body to flick the ON switch again, especially if your effort exceeds your preparation. Patty knows this drill better than anyone and when she found me at the finish, she made sure I had mostly coherent thoughts, got me something to eat, and helped me get my sweats on. She knew I was in a ton of agony but that it would subside and that looking weak and pathetic was not an option. Christa retrieved my bag, Dad got the car, and Mom took my medal and drinks, all while Patty made sure I didn't roll into the gutter. Everyone had a role to play - almost like and EMT crisis drill.

The day continued with all of us going to brunch and seeing Robby and Liz. Mr. Watts had already developed the photos he shot and dropped them off at our house. Uncle Steve came over to see how I was doing and we talked about the race and how he was holding up. Dinner that night was at Mammaw's and we ate like kings. Lorenzo wanted to play soccer after dessert and who could say NO to him.

And once night came, I could reflect on all of it. I FEEL like the luckiest person in the world. Dad gave up his day of golf to round-up the family and maneuver through the Pittsburgh traffic. Mom made me special noodles and sauce and made special grocery round. Christa came with me to expo to get my packet and vowed that she would do the race next year with me. Patty sacrificed her weekend, traveling from Arlington to make sure I didn't injure myself and that I ate enough. My cousins, my family members, my friends, my grandmother were all part of what would have been just another Sunday in the clouds.

I realize, too, that I don't need an occasion to come to see the people that made me who I am today. Family is more than a Thanksgiving visit or card in the mail or the people that lived in your house growing up. I might not have gotten my best time, but none of that mattered. The pride each person cheering for me felt while I was on the roads was powerful and palpable. Understanding the happiness that comes with representing the people you love and love you in return is invaluable and I am very grateful to have the family that I do.

Lil' Sis Turns 23

My little sister, Christa, turned 23 yesterday and possibly got the best birthday present her or me could ask for - a come-from-behind series clinching victory by the Penguins followed by a 10-1 Pirate triumph in San Diego. OK, maybe this is my idea of a perfect birthday present, but I know that it made her day just a little more memorable.

For the 23 years that Christa has been tugging at my side, we've had our fare share of spats and injustices wrongfully writhed upon each of us by the other. Then we both turned double-digits in years, and that was over with. But most of these conflicts centered around two main pet peeves of mine: when she would sing in the car and when she would do something wrong in athletics.

Growing up, Christa had a tremendous athletic up-side and it's something that I truly envied, if not was jealous of. I remember helping teach her things like dribbling a basketball, learning breaststroke, shooting with your left foot - all things that never came naturally to me. Christa picked them up like learning to use the correct side of a pencil. By the time she was seven or so, she was playing baseball on a boys' team, setting records on our swim teams, and scoring goals on travel soccer teams. I had a very difficult time embracing the idea my parents fed into me that she was just trying to be like her big brother. If that were the case, she would stop winning so much. Christa had always rolled to the beat of an up-tempo drum. Everything that she participated in was at a swift pace. She has not slowed down since winning the belly-flop contest at Chapel Gate for 13 straight season. If people got in her way, she would quickly put them in their place. Just ask the gentlemen that she beat-up from grades 2-8 (conversely to girls beating me up at the same level.)

Christa and I lived very active lifestyles and were constantly on the go, rarely overlapping schedules directly but always on each other’s radar. I believe the turning point or season in the brother- sister bond came during my first ever head coaching position with the Chapel Gate Gators. I had just graduated high school and Christa had just turned 13 the previous April, which meant she moved-up in age groups on every level. Christa was a celebrity at our summer pool for her quick wit and quicker strokes and on frequent occasions, was called upon to snatch a victory for the Gators in any of the events. She would always swim breaststroke in the medley relays or IMs and would put on a show for the spectators. I was never one to whistle or whoop and holler at/for Christa when she swam, and I was approached about this by more than a few members of the team and parents. "Why don't you cheer for your sister?" that would ask.

"Because when I cheer for her, she goes slower," I would respond. That usually ended the conversation.

You have to understand that being a Gator coach meant being the clerk of course AND the card distributor AND the sheep rancher all in one. In our team area, the first 20 events or so looked like Macy's on the day after Thanksgiving. Cara, Juliann and I would take turns actually watching the meet, so many times, when the fireworks were ignited between the lanes, we were pulling an 8-year old boy from under a picnic table. On those occasions when I did get to watch Christa, I would just notice how strong she was or how she caught up to a 16-year old in a relay I put her in because no one else would swim it. She truly was a treat to watch.

From that summer, Christa and I have carried this mutual respect and admiration for what the other accomplishes and pursues. She got on my back during my graduation from William and Mary just as I gave her a surprise visit at the University of Indiana She was there for me during the frigid cold of the Detroit Marathon just as I was there for her during her senior season at Toledo for the conference championships. And now, even as athletics remain paramount in each of our lifestyles, we continue to understand each other’s priorities – Steelers, Pirates, Penguins, Panthers – in no particular order. Just this season, I would get home late from practice turn on the Pitt game, and…wait a minute…who’s that behind the visitors’ bench on national television? Oh that Christa; she makes me proud…hasn’t slowed down one bit.

So here’s to Christa, the best sister a brother with diminishing athletic talents, teetering on the brink of unintelligence could have. I’m sure I’ll write again when she turns 24 – still moving at 100mph.

Respecting the Captaincy

Two days ago, John gathered the team together before their 4PM practice and had them each vote for captains for the upcoming 2009-2010 swimming and diving season. I'm sure many teams across the globe vote for captains and the democratic method of voting gives each swimmer and diver on our team a voice.

There’s something eternally special about the title of captain. I can’t say that I have the ultimate formula for the ultimate captain. I know that I’ve been around some tremendous ones in my days in the pool, on the pitch, on the diamond, wherever. One that particularly comes to mind was Chuck Hickenboth. Chuck was a senior when I was a junior at Fox Chapel. Chuck played center field – which is the position I coveted when he graduated. Chuck was not the flashiest player, or had the gaudiest numbers. But he was the most electrifying, the catalyst, the reliable rock that our baseball team needed when we went on a three-game slide and needed a spark. Fox Chapel had never been known as a baseball school, but it was Chuck’s leadership that allowed the team to make the playoffs for the first time in a long time. Chuck’s captaincy worked for me and our team flourished.

Additionally, when Chuck was very quiet and kept his opinions to himself. But when he did talk to us, especially the non-seniors, you better believe we listened. A captain’s voice holds value, not just a common courtesy. I would want my words to trigger thinking and action, not just the rolling of eyes or a nonchalant demeanor. If team matters should be frayed or the inmates too rambunctious, it’s the captains that step-in and find a solution to the problem before it escalates. Chuck was very good at this. Through experience as an athlete and coach, I’ve come to value the captaincy more. The responsibility and vast representation to the team, school, family, network, you name it – is quite powerful. But on all of teams I’ve associated myself with, and all of those squads that have boasted a captain, I’m beginning to conclude that captains have a lot in coming with the first selections in the NFL Draft – they are a hit or a miss.

You can’t be a “middle-of-the-road” first selection in the draft. You either live-up to the expectations, or you’re a bust. Same with holding a captaincy. You can be elected, appointed or have inherited the title, but if you don’t produce results, you have done your title an injustice. You can have “all of the tools” to be a great player, a super student, an artistic poster-drawing sensation. Ultimately, you have to have a pulse of the team, understanding which buttons to push at the right time. The team is your focus more than yourself and your goals. Representing the Tampa Bay Rays or Manchester United or Fairfax High School is paramount and you, Captain Captain, either live-up to the expectations, or are a bust.

In the here and now, it really kills me to have captains of teams prodded for their shortcomings or pitfalls. We have not elected Babe Ruth or Jesse Owens or Gandhi to lead us. We’ve elected one of our own – the one that we can lean on for leadership and counsel. Being the Captain is a point of arrival; when one is chosen, THAT IS OUR CAPTAIN. Our LEADER! That teammate is the rock that keeps the players together; and when situations get worse he/she is there for comfort, encouragement and sustainability. Show me a team in chaos and I’ll show you a team with little to no leadership for within.And just why are fewer captains the most talented? When considering the most talented players, very often those are the ones that are neediest – either from the coaches or parents or support system. They may arrive late to practice, sometime misses practice, tends to compete for themselves, or not follow the instructions of the coach because it is not in their best interest. Talent does not equal leadership. But the superstar’s feelings could ease be pierced when not HANDED the captaincy. After all, the talent is accustomed to winning and the highest achievements. Why wouldn’t this be the case, as well?

I don’t know if I’ll ever be a captain again (cross-off being captain of my house – that’s taken.) But I do hope to influence and admire the captains on the teams I guide. I know they won’t all be Peyton Mannings, but I’ll be doing my best not to have Tim Couches.

Forks in the Road

"Some of the best joys are decisions -- like refusing to carry a certain pain, worry or doubt any longer."

Coaching high school seniors, whether for their summer club, year-round squad, or their respective high school brought some of the biggest thrills of my life. I was very fortunate during my first campaign as head coach of Fairfax High School and the wise age of 22. The group of seniors that I inherited was top of the line; they had ambition, intelligence, chemistry, and a knack how to influence their teammates. Seeing them accepted to places like Texas, Kentucky, and William and Mary meant a lot to me as their coach. Truthfully, though, the five-month relationship I formed with each of them probably was not the missing ingredient to their admission into these fine institutions. They did the work - I merely saw them off.

Four more seasons would breed new and special crops of high school seniors, each class and individual bringing a unique flavor and character to instruct and behold. I continued to watch them off to some of the nation's premier universities and continue to keep an eye on their progress, achievement, and ambition for what the future holds. Each season was a little more special due to the compiled time you spent molding them as young women and men. Additionally, as their high school coach, it was always amusing to listen to what they saw in a college and the process of narrowing schools from a cluster, to a select few, down to the ultimate selection.

Beginning this past August, the prism that I viewed high school seniors came from a much different angle. Before, it was assisting them with recommendations, offering input from schools that I, to my knowledge, fit the seniors' criterion, and bidding them farewell. This year, I'm the savvy persuader, the gentleman who shoots the pleasantries of one specific institution in hopes that each candidate will return with a hunger for more information. I must say that it's a responsibility that I love, but never really absorbed the premise for it until three days ago.

Three days ago, the Davidson Financial Aid department began distributing very important documentation to some of our prized recruits, as well as thousands of other accepted applicants to the College. These contents inform each rising collegiate freshman of the aid he/she will receive from Davidson. Think about that - one envelope can casually have what amounts to a $30,000 prize in it. It might have $3,000 or $300 of assistance. Right now, $300 is a lot of money to me. Any way you slice it, it's big news. With the arrival of their financial aid package, the bulk of these talented teenagers, looking at the Davidson Wildcats as a team they might be a part of in the fall, have journeyed to the proverbial fork in the road.

Choices foster stress and, yes, there are many components to choosing the right college. For 99% of these kids, money is a large portion of the final decision. With the current economic plight of the land, paying for Davidson without assistance is rarer than ever. We find that many of these kids that are attracted to the grounds, the academic reputation, the honor code, and close-knit community are just as detracted from Davidson by its cost, its size, its cost, and how much it costs.

Wednesday is a day I will not forget anytime soon because those same attractions overtook the detractors, or in this case, the detractor. Someone that is near and dear to my heart had all of her hard work and commitments to excellence come to a fruitful happy ending. I'm not sure exactly what that financial aid letter contained, but I know that young lady called John and I and politely proclaimed, "I'm coming to Davidson!" Being so close with this young lady gave engrained me in this decision more than I could imagine. I had the privilege of coaching her to her senior season and now played a role in sparking her curiosity to Davidson all the way to her fantastic concluding resolution. Her decision to come to Davidson, though, is more than just a merit badge for me. Not only did she no longer have to weigh the pros and cons of various institutions, but she confidently met her fork and boldly chose a direction, a path that will undoubtedly mold her for many years to come. For any future recruits that choose Davidson, I will be overtaken with joy. For this particular star, I'm overtaken with pride.

My future sister-in-law, Michelle, is faced with some of the very same forks. Any school will benefit with Michelle on their campus. They continue to woo her with financial offers, trips on their dollar, and opportunities that she's earned with her dedication and focus. She, too, is staring at her fork right between the prongs and shortly will commence blazing a trail of challenges and memories. I can't say that I completely understand what each of these young ladies is going through. But I can say that I respect their decision-making process a helluva lot more now that I'm engrossed in the recruiting process.

Should 1 or 5 or even 10 more possible recruits choose Davidson, it may selfishly symbolize a pat on the back or a glossy feather in the cap. Now I acknowlegable these tough verdicts for the importance they each serve. They are life-altering, provital, and adventurous. That's what draws these kids to their forks and once they made their choice, they can begin experiencing one of the finest joys of their life.

This is Our Year - Take 17

One of the biggest honors bestowed upon me came in October 2007 . On the last Sunday of that month, my buddy Watts asked me to serve in his wedding as the best man. Watts is the first of my Pittsburgh pals to tie the knot (clearly giving me the courage to do the same) and he would have his family and friends travel to St. Paul, Minnesota for his and Maria's big day. In pondering best man responsibilities, most of which I did a fairly poor job with, Watts requested that I speak at the rehearsal dinner on his behalf. In other words, it was showtime!

Patty can tell you that I thought long and hard about what to say on that Memorial Day Saturday; you would have thought that I was being inducted in Canton. After several drafts and practices, I shared with the company my experiences and life lessons that I was lucky enough to learn from in his presence. I told everyone that when I think of Watts, three attributes come to mind: strength, intelligence, and loyalty.

No, this wasn't a pitch to join the Navy Seals. I gave some tear-jerking examples of Watts' mastery of strength and intelligence. When it came to loyalty, though, I could not help but render back to the common thread that makes Watts' and my friendship so strong. "I'm pretty sure Michael and I are two of final 15 or so Pirate fans left on the planet," I uttered with a peculiar seriousness. "If we can love the Pirates for this long, we can love anyone. "

And with that backdrop, I present to you one of my top five favorite days of the calendar year: Opening Day! The adrenaline still rushes through my arteries with the prospect of the ball hitting the mitt, the fresh grass, the pearly white chalk running down the base lines...and a clean slate in the standings. Tied with everyone in the division and the league, even if it is just for one day, the Pittsburgh Pirates are staring at their 17th straight summer in the red. However poorly the chips are stacked against us, I'm still eternally optimistic and faithful to their craft every April. Watts can speak on my behalf - in our ritualistic preseason predictions, I routinely say THIS is going to be the year.

To win the World Series...no.

To go the World Series...no.

To win the division...not quite.

To make the playoffs...getting warmer.

To finish AT .500...you guessed it!

The Pirates and I are currently beginning Volume IV of the Five-Year Plan. About every five years, we (I really should start typing I) am led to believe that a winner is either in the works or here. And every year, instead of getting excited for a September stretch run, the second biggest baseball day becomes July 31st, the day when we find what players the Pirates are trading for future prospects.

I owe much of this infatuation to my dad, who brought me into baseball, to the love of the game, to the appreciation for its history, and to its techniques and mechanics that make it so special. In my youth we would go to Opening Night almost every year until I was 10 and that solely bred the thrill, win or lose. Now, Opening Day is so important and exciting to me because, if we win, that tells me we are capable of being at or above average for at least two days!

There are memorable Opening Days for me over these last 17 years:

1993 - We beat the Padres at home by 5 or so with guys that were supposed to replace our superstars (Al Martin, Carlos Garcia, and Kevin Young.)
1994 - We played in San Francisco and lost by about 10. I knew it would be a rough year on the mound. At least no one made the playoffs that season.
1998 - We shut out Montreal with Francisco Cordova on the mound. I really thought he might win the Cy Young that year.
2003 - We destroy the Reds in Cincinnati - I think it was 10-2. I was working at Ruby Tuesday's as the afternoon affair was being played on TV. I distinctly remember sacrificing timely service just to make sure our 5-run cushion was not being threatened.
2004 - MY FAVORITE - a 2-1 victory at home against the Phillies. It was the beginning of my spring break as a rookie teacher and I asked my dad if he would get us tickets. I drove back home and he and I battled the 30 degree temperatures and watched Craig Wilson belt a solo shot in the sixth before the vaunted Jose Mesa slammed the door for the save. Awesome!
2007 - We beat Houston in Houston - that never happens! Xavier Nady hits a homer in the top of the ninth with two outs of Brad Lidge to tie the game. We win it in the tenth and I proceed to call everyone I can think and ask, "Did you see that?"
2008 - We give up five runs in the bottom of the ninth to the Braves, but win 12-11 in 12 innings. Mark could hear my yelling in the basement with every out; I felt ill.

That brings us to this season. Every year since sixth grade, I have heard much of the same - if any team needs to start well, it's the Pirates. I think our problem is that we think "start" means the first four games. We need to think of "start" as the first four months. In the past 16 years, we've won 70 or more game just 7 times and 80 never. A record of 80-82 is painfully close to .500 and we've sniffed that twice (in '97 and '99.)

The Steelers and Penguins have brought me enough happiness for the next eight years; I'm covered in the "not complaining" department. I'm not depressed, I'm not starving, I'm not cripplied. But it would be so so nice if, just for one year, we were a winner just as much as a loser. I shake my head at Cubs fans that moan they haven't won a World Series since there were mammoths and Red Sox fans who felt cursed. They publicly advocate for losing AND they've had plenty of chances to win AND they wear their losing like a badge of honor. Imagine going from kindergarten through college and never knowing what it's like to see the sun. That sounds cruel - that's what 16 straight losing seasons feels like. Anyone can get on the Red Sox and Cubs bandwagon just like any one can cheer for the Steelers. You have to really know how to love if you're a Pirates fans. But when they do win, I'll be one of the few that did not hop on the bandwagon - I'll be steering the coach.

So tomorrow in St. Louis, Missouri, we get our 17th mulligan. I'm just as hopeful as ever - I like the players we have and, even when grossly outmatched, feel we can put up a winning performance 81 times out of 162. The Twins can do it. The As can do it. The Rays can do it. The Marlins can do it. I know we can, too.

And if we don't, those 15 loyal fans might dwindle to two with no horses to carry us.

Appreciation of a Heartbreak - Cpt. III

I should have known that Pitt was against the ropes on Saturday for a number of reasons.

First - Pitt had not really played well since their defeat of UConn on March 7th. A loss to West Virginia paired with three nail-biters against inferior opponents saw the Panthers playing with fire leading to a clash against a familiar opponent. I'm not claiming Pitt to be equivalent to the 1985 Georgetown squad, but I know that Pitt can't seem to beat the Wildcats in Philadelphia nor were they as intimidating as the Hoyas of the 80s.

Second - I had taken the liberty of recording "The Perfect Upset," the HBO documentary on the 1985 National Championship game between Villanova and Georgetown. HBO completed this show around four years ago and I had always wanted to catch it. It took me four years before the epiphany to record it entered my brain; I've gotten so much smarter in my later 20s. With the weather as poor as it was on Saturday, I finally got around to watching it. If you ever get the chance to watch an HBO sports documentary...do it. They are so thorough and enchanting that you once you finish watching, you want to learn more. Consider the things that I learned in that hour:

a) The NCAA tournament had expanded just that year from 53 teams to 64.
b) Villanova was ripped to shreds by Pitt in its final regular season game, a game where their head coach sat all of the starters instead of trying to mount a comeback in the second half. They were the poster children for being "on the bubble."
c) After hearing they had made the tournament as an 8-seed, the Wildcats had to travel to Dayton to play the Dayton Flyers (talk about a home-court advantage...)

And a ton more - come by my place, we'll watch it together. How-ev-fah, after watching the program, I just didn't have the best feeling about the game forthcoming in 5 hours. Villanova had history and destiny on its side. Their famous head coach, Rollie Massimino was attending their games. There were a lot of similarities to the '85 team - like playing with nothing to lose, like being told they would lose their last two games, like having great shooters and superior guard play. And what am I doing watching this documentary TODAY? Foolishness and folly.

AND FINALLY, with all of the statistics, match-ups, bad karma, history, and conference battles from the past, there was Patty. Proud alum from the class of 2004, Patty is Wildcat. And when pitted against Patty, 10 times out of 9, I will lose.

As long as I've been blessed to know Patty, even since our first date, I've badgered her about her sports loyalties. Since that first date, I would routinely remind her when Villanova was on television, updated with how they were doing in the Big East standings, ask if she wanted specific Villanova gear for Valentine's Day...you know, normal stuff that anyone would do for their fiancee. I can't say that she was always tuned in to me, but she normally smiles and nods and ponders the mess she's gotten herself into. Patty also has a lot of stability, of which I have none. Patty's world does not revolve around home-field advantage, Davids vs. Goliaths, or strikeouts-to-walks ratios like it does for me. If she misses the Super Bowl...ehh, no big deal. If the Celtics win the NBA title...that's nice. Johnny Damon gets traded to Yankees...life goes on.

Patty knew the game on Saturday was monumental not just for me and my well-being, but for my family. As only she knows how, Patty phones my dad in Pittsburgh and leaves a tauntingly derisive message: "I hope you wearing your Villanova sweatshirt that I bought you. I know that I'll have mine on." Bully!

At 7PM, I take my place on the couch pretty much a trainwreck with every possession - not as bad as the Super Bowl or Stanley Cup, but easily the most fragile I've been for a college basketball game. With 16 minutes to go in the first half, Patty calls. I think to myself, "if I don't take this call, Pitt is going to lose. I need to pick up the phone for Pitt's sake." I do and, in her most cheerful tone, Patty calls to see how I'm doing and figured it would be early enough in the game to call. With a towel on my leg to wipe the nervousness from my palms, I smoothly state that I'm fine and boldly predict the game is going to be great. "I hope you can watch some of it," I suggested. "I think you will enjoy it."

"I think I will," she says.

Kiss of death. Game over. Thanks for playing.

After the loss was completed, I phoned Casey to let her know that I was OK and Gaetan to congratulate Philadelphia. We spoke at length about the key points in the contest and when we finished, I had missed a call from Patty. The first thing Patty says when she picks up, "WOW, Matthew, that was so exciting. I'm so glad I watched THE LAST 20 MINUTES." As she goes into further detail about her viewing experience, I was duct-taping my heart back together as it lay all over my living room. I didn't know whether to cry softly or bawl uncontrollably. Usually after catastrophes like this one, I'm incorrigible. But truthfully, a part of me was happy for Villanova. It's like I told Casey, I think the worst part is going to be watching the shot over and over again wishing it didn't go through the net. Villanova is very good and it would be great to see them take down mighty North Carolina. But it sure would be nice to have Pitt with that opportunity.

Now Patty is preparing herself for the Tar Heels by working on grants, planning for a wedding, and supporting teachers to that need lesson plan assistance. It's worked for her so far, there's no reason why it won't now. And it's like my dad said in his counter-message to her: "One of these days, you and I will be rooting for the same team during the same game."

One of these days...Maybe I should take a page from her book of preparation. I might actually live longer and end-up with more duct tape.