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.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
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.
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.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)