Is your name your destiny? Not for all of us. I've been through many serenades of "Rowe, Rowe, Rowe, your boat," but not once did I feel the desire to join the Navy, go out for crew, or train to become a Pirate.
However, there are several notables whose careers and actions have literally been shaped by inheriting their parents' last names. The most recent phenomenon is Amy Winehouse.
I've never found humor in the demise of an addict, but this one defies gravity. Amy "Winehouse" had an alcohol problem. Let's call it a big problem. To add salt to the wound or to the margarita, her first hit single was entitled, "Rehab." The lyrics even said:
"They tried to make me go to rehab, I said, no, no no."
I wish she would have gone. But seemingly, she was doomed from the start. She was a Winehouse.
Politicians are just as prone to the curse of the surname. Next up is a guy who takes lewd pictures of himself in his boxer shorts, and not much else. Then, he posts them on the internet specifically for young girls to see. Is it possible for a guy like this to be named anything else other than "Weiner?" If he thought ahead, he would have removed himself from the ballot earlier in his career and refocused his energies on getting a job at Nathan's or Hebrew National.
Wall Street is not immune either. Let's face it. How could a money manager take your funds and purport to return exactly 10% for over twenty consecutive years? Recessions, inflation, 9/11, oil crisis....it doesn't matter. You get 10%. Nobody asked any questions. At least not until the emergence of a virtual unknown named Madoff who admitted that he built his grandiose lifestyle by illegally "making off" with his clients' money.
Overweight comedic actors have last names like "Candy." (John) Baseball players have first names like "Homer" (Bush) and powerful members of Congress have last names like "Armey". (Dick) Hockey players have actually been named, "Playfair" (Larry)
Think about your own last names and see if you've missed your calling. Based on a just a small sample of my own Facebook contacts which include a "Schaefer", a "Mehr", and a "Berger", there should be a brewer, a politician, and a fast food franchise owner just ready to rear their heads.
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Game Off
Tomorrow will mark one of the strangest days of the year. All (4) major professional sports will go completely dark. Flip on the tube at just about any other time and you're bound to see someone throwing a ball either to or at someone else. There's football on Thanksgiving, basketball on Christmas, baseball on Easter, and an outdoor hockey game on New Year's Day.
But on July 13th, ESPN may as well be broadcasting the yule log.
So now that the rest of us will have some extra time on our hands, let me suggest a few novel ideas to pass the time.
MEET SOMEONE FACE TO FACE
I know this is a foreign concept for most, but it may be refreshing to actually speak to someone in person. This will require that you put away your LOLs so you can spend some quality time with your BFFs. You'll have to unplug Skype and disconnect from Facetime. Close Facebook and Link yourself out. Disconnect the Twitter feed, and feed your face in the presence of someone else.
WATCH A SHOW ABOUT VAMPIRES
This shouldn't be very hard to find. Between "True Blood", an airing of any of the Twilight films, a copycat rip-off of either of these on the WB, or perhaps a documentary on Bela Lugosi, you're bound to find a pair of fangs somewhere. I'm not sure when vampires became sexy, but someone has clearly decided that going on a date with someone that could puncture your neck with their teeth makes for very good television.
READ A BOOK
I'm not suggesting that you don't currently read. Due to electronic readers, we're probably getting through more books than ever. I just think it would be nice to actually bust out an old hardcover the size of an SUV and get through a few chapters in bed with dim light. For some real fun, shut off the lights completely, and use candles. Your kids will probably ask that you call the power company, but you'll explain that "you're going old school, because that's how you roll."
WORK ON A JIGSAW PUZZLE
Most of us haven't touched one of these babys for years. But do you remember how much fun and relaxing they were? Somewhere along the way, we buried these with our baseball cards and our dolls. Others may have tried to resurrect an interest with our kids' oversized Sponge Bob puzzle, but it ended quickly when you reconfigured all (6) pieces in :30 seconds. Buy a puzzle of the map of the United States, and see how many states you get wrong.
TALK TO YOUR FAMILY
The "how was your day?" perfunctory question does not qualify. Initiate some meaningful dialogue. Ask your husband how much money he lost last week on gambling. Question the kids on what they did at camp today, and when they reply, "nothing," ask to be reimbursed. Finally, ask your wife about why she's sending status updates to her old boyfriend on Facebook.
TAKE A DRIVE
Do you remember when your parents used to do this? They'd say, "let's go for a drive." You didn't know where you were going, but it got you out of the house and probably created some good memories along the way. Your best chance of convincing anyone to do this again is targeting your spouse who can actually draw on past experience. Because if you take the kids for a drive, it will be to drop them off for a playdate, the mall, or anywhere you aren't.
All these are good options. Of course, you could always copy what I do.
Watch classic sports on TV.
But on July 13th, ESPN may as well be broadcasting the yule log.
So now that the rest of us will have some extra time on our hands, let me suggest a few novel ideas to pass the time.
MEET SOMEONE FACE TO FACE
I know this is a foreign concept for most, but it may be refreshing to actually speak to someone in person. This will require that you put away your LOLs so you can spend some quality time with your BFFs. You'll have to unplug Skype and disconnect from Facetime. Close Facebook and Link yourself out. Disconnect the Twitter feed, and feed your face in the presence of someone else.
WATCH A SHOW ABOUT VAMPIRES
This shouldn't be very hard to find. Between "True Blood", an airing of any of the Twilight films, a copycat rip-off of either of these on the WB, or perhaps a documentary on Bela Lugosi, you're bound to find a pair of fangs somewhere. I'm not sure when vampires became sexy, but someone has clearly decided that going on a date with someone that could puncture your neck with their teeth makes for very good television.
READ A BOOK
I'm not suggesting that you don't currently read. Due to electronic readers, we're probably getting through more books than ever. I just think it would be nice to actually bust out an old hardcover the size of an SUV and get through a few chapters in bed with dim light. For some real fun, shut off the lights completely, and use candles. Your kids will probably ask that you call the power company, but you'll explain that "you're going old school, because that's how you roll."
WORK ON A JIGSAW PUZZLE
Most of us haven't touched one of these babys for years. But do you remember how much fun and relaxing they were? Somewhere along the way, we buried these with our baseball cards and our dolls. Others may have tried to resurrect an interest with our kids' oversized Sponge Bob puzzle, but it ended quickly when you reconfigured all (6) pieces in :30 seconds. Buy a puzzle of the map of the United States, and see how many states you get wrong.
TALK TO YOUR FAMILY
The "how was your day?" perfunctory question does not qualify. Initiate some meaningful dialogue. Ask your husband how much money he lost last week on gambling. Question the kids on what they did at camp today, and when they reply, "nothing," ask to be reimbursed. Finally, ask your wife about why she's sending status updates to her old boyfriend on Facebook.
TAKE A DRIVE
Do you remember when your parents used to do this? They'd say, "let's go for a drive." You didn't know where you were going, but it got you out of the house and probably created some good memories along the way. Your best chance of convincing anyone to do this again is targeting your spouse who can actually draw on past experience. Because if you take the kids for a drive, it will be to drop them off for a playdate, the mall, or anywhere you aren't.
All these are good options. Of course, you could always copy what I do.
Watch classic sports on TV.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Divorce.....The Musical
Another Tony Awards kudoscast has been put to bed and this year's big winner went to a musical with a satirical view of God and Mormonism. I'm sure that no one was happier than Mitt Romney.
But don't worry. This year's roster of Broadway Shows had something for all shapes and sizes. We had The Normal Heart (Aids), Catch Me if You Can (white collar crime)and Sister Act (identity theft.), to name a few. And this doesn't even count all the foul language that had to be removed during several acceptance speeches. So after a year like this, it would seem that Broadway has now officially covered every possible tragedy or vice known to man. All except one.
Divorce.
Divorce: The Musical. I already smell Tony. After all, what fun is divorce if you can't sing about it? There have already been successful shows about dating, marriage, and raising a family. So how is it possible that the Great White Way has avoided divorce for all these years?
Act I
The opening number would be a bouncy tune called, "I Do." Think a big wedding with lots of singing and dancing; a Broadway natural. After this, the show picks up some steam with the very steamy number, "Honeymoon Sex." which contains the famous line:
Don't read your iPad, not a single blurb
Just shut off the lights and post Do Not Disturb
The show's tone takes an ominous turn when the orchestra plays fan favorite, "Diaper Rash" which helps introduce a baby into the storyline. There's an uproarious ending where the lead holds on to the final note for over 20 seconds, ending suddenly when his baby son pees in his father's eye.
The end of Act I has a pivotal moment when cyber infidelity is "exposed" and relayed to the audience in a hard rock tune called, "My Twitter Girlfriend." It's a great visual as enormous computer screens are strewn across the stage as adjoining iPads dangle aimlessly from the ceiling.
After a short intermission consisting of several couples from the audience fighting near the restrooms and at the bar...Act II begins.
ACT II
The second act begins with a jazzy number which introduces both divorce attorneys who reveal their diabolical plot to drain their clients of their assets. They dance around with briefcases which open intermittently and cash falls out. The song is called, "We're the Only Winners," and undertones of "We are the Champions" can be heard in the chorus.
Next is a memorable little ditty called, "Alternate Weekends". It's an excellent courtroom scene where both parents fight over custody and has all the intensity of Jean Val Jean pleading to the Judge in Les Miserables. The tone changes quickly into a gentle ballad sung by the show's children while sitting in their therapist's waiting room. "My shrink is Crazier than Me" showcases great harmony.
The ending of "Divorce: The Musical" leaves the audience wanting more as we never really find out if our beleagured couple ever officially remarries. However, they reminisce about what could have been in a final song called, "You Ruined My Life."
Casting begins next month.
But don't worry. This year's roster of Broadway Shows had something for all shapes and sizes. We had The Normal Heart (Aids), Catch Me if You Can (white collar crime)and Sister Act (identity theft.), to name a few. And this doesn't even count all the foul language that had to be removed during several acceptance speeches. So after a year like this, it would seem that Broadway has now officially covered every possible tragedy or vice known to man. All except one.
Divorce.
Divorce: The Musical. I already smell Tony. After all, what fun is divorce if you can't sing about it? There have already been successful shows about dating, marriage, and raising a family. So how is it possible that the Great White Way has avoided divorce for all these years?
Act I
The opening number would be a bouncy tune called, "I Do." Think a big wedding with lots of singing and dancing; a Broadway natural. After this, the show picks up some steam with the very steamy number, "Honeymoon Sex." which contains the famous line:
Don't read your iPad, not a single blurb
Just shut off the lights and post Do Not Disturb
The show's tone takes an ominous turn when the orchestra plays fan favorite, "Diaper Rash" which helps introduce a baby into the storyline. There's an uproarious ending where the lead holds on to the final note for over 20 seconds, ending suddenly when his baby son pees in his father's eye.
The end of Act I has a pivotal moment when cyber infidelity is "exposed" and relayed to the audience in a hard rock tune called, "My Twitter Girlfriend." It's a great visual as enormous computer screens are strewn across the stage as adjoining iPads dangle aimlessly from the ceiling.
After a short intermission consisting of several couples from the audience fighting near the restrooms and at the bar...Act II begins.
ACT II
The second act begins with a jazzy number which introduces both divorce attorneys who reveal their diabolical plot to drain their clients of their assets. They dance around with briefcases which open intermittently and cash falls out. The song is called, "We're the Only Winners," and undertones of "We are the Champions" can be heard in the chorus.
Next is a memorable little ditty called, "Alternate Weekends". It's an excellent courtroom scene where both parents fight over custody and has all the intensity of Jean Val Jean pleading to the Judge in Les Miserables. The tone changes quickly into a gentle ballad sung by the show's children while sitting in their therapist's waiting room. "My shrink is Crazier than Me" showcases great harmony.
The ending of "Divorce: The Musical" leaves the audience wanting more as we never really find out if our beleagured couple ever officially remarries. However, they reminisce about what could have been in a final song called, "You Ruined My Life."
Casting begins next month.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Pointless
My name is Adam and I'm a Points-a-holic. Yeah, you heard me. I love earning points on any and all of my purchases. I think it all started with the original Discover Card. The more you charged, the more you received back in cash credits. Then I graduated to converting my charges into airline points that could be applied to domestic flights. When I finally worked my credit up to elite status, I moved into the in crowd with American Express.
And this was the best of all. I could convert points into gift cards or concert tickets. They even told me about ways to double my points. Seeing that my totals were actually getting me somewhere tangible, I now look for points anywhere I can find them.
This is what recently led me to signing up for a points program at Sephora. Well, maybe it wasn't all about the points. The cashier was cute, dressed in all black and very friendly. She also said that my purchases would accumulate with every purchase I made, and that I could eventually apply the to products in the store. I said, "why not?", and she asked for my email address to seal the deal.
And here's where a man's mind turns to silly putty when just the right female's asking for information. This mistake, which seemed so innocent at the time, has now made me a member of the Sephora Beauty Insider - an email newsletter for the latest product highlights at Sephora. In this era of Big Brother technology, I could only naturally assume that Sephora would have a historical track of my purchases, and send information on the different colognes I've purchased over the years.
Guess again. Thanks to the highly unsophisticated Sephora marketing team, I'm now getting the latest information on products I would use only for an enhancement to a Halloween costume. Thanks to Sephora, I'm now learning about exciting products like "face luminizer gel", "pore purifying strips", "glossy balm", and "self-tanning body mist." Nothing on cologne, or anything else that pertains to men. I would have even settled for insights into face and body wash. But no......I was stuck with face luminizer gel.
I should have really learned my lesson. All points programs are not created equal. Some are merely looking for your email address so they can blast you with email sensory overload. That's why you have to be selective. Signing up for Best Buy makes sense. Bath and Body Works? Not so much. The same rules apply for credit cards.
Go into any mall, and in any store, and if you agree to open a credit card with them, they extend a total discount of 10-15%. Before long, you realze that you're carrying around about 10 credit cards you don't need and you're suddenly on 10 new email lists that you'd like to delete before every opening them. One thing I know is that I'm not alone here.
Why do we all fall for these clearly obvious marketing tactics? Is it just to save money, or do we somehow boost our egos when either accumulate or apply points. It evokes a sense of arrogance. You become a Points Elitest or Points Snob. And you can't share these points and can only remain with you. So really, what's the point of all this?
It's something our Mothers all taught us a long, long time ago. Don't take candy from strangers.
And this was the best of all. I could convert points into gift cards or concert tickets. They even told me about ways to double my points. Seeing that my totals were actually getting me somewhere tangible, I now look for points anywhere I can find them.
This is what recently led me to signing up for a points program at Sephora. Well, maybe it wasn't all about the points. The cashier was cute, dressed in all black and very friendly. She also said that my purchases would accumulate with every purchase I made, and that I could eventually apply the to products in the store. I said, "why not?", and she asked for my email address to seal the deal.
And here's where a man's mind turns to silly putty when just the right female's asking for information. This mistake, which seemed so innocent at the time, has now made me a member of the Sephora Beauty Insider - an email newsletter for the latest product highlights at Sephora. In this era of Big Brother technology, I could only naturally assume that Sephora would have a historical track of my purchases, and send information on the different colognes I've purchased over the years.
Guess again. Thanks to the highly unsophisticated Sephora marketing team, I'm now getting the latest information on products I would use only for an enhancement to a Halloween costume. Thanks to Sephora, I'm now learning about exciting products like "face luminizer gel", "pore purifying strips", "glossy balm", and "self-tanning body mist." Nothing on cologne, or anything else that pertains to men. I would have even settled for insights into face and body wash. But no......I was stuck with face luminizer gel.
I should have really learned my lesson. All points programs are not created equal. Some are merely looking for your email address so they can blast you with email sensory overload. That's why you have to be selective. Signing up for Best Buy makes sense. Bath and Body Works? Not so much. The same rules apply for credit cards.
Go into any mall, and in any store, and if you agree to open a credit card with them, they extend a total discount of 10-15%. Before long, you realze that you're carrying around about 10 credit cards you don't need and you're suddenly on 10 new email lists that you'd like to delete before every opening them. One thing I know is that I'm not alone here.
Why do we all fall for these clearly obvious marketing tactics? Is it just to save money, or do we somehow boost our egos when either accumulate or apply points. It evokes a sense of arrogance. You become a Points Elitest or Points Snob. And you can't share these points and can only remain with you. So really, what's the point of all this?
It's something our Mothers all taught us a long, long time ago. Don't take candy from strangers.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Bring Your Father to Work Day
My kids rarely ask me what I do for a living, and it's probably a good thing. I'm not even sure I know myself anymore.
However, when my company mentioned that they would be participating in a national "Bring Your Child to Work Day" event, I jumped at the opportunity. This day would not be haphazardly strewn together either. There was an agenda, and a real educational purpose. The children were to be graced with an opening address by the President of our division; a privilege that most employees rarely see.
The children were asked to shadow their parents around the office, and even interview them in the process. They were then expected to report back to the hosts on their findings. They were to be shown a "sizzle reel" explaining the basic tenets of our organization, and the unique capabilities of our sales and technology departments. After lunch, the day would consist of writing ad copy and working on producing their own television commercials.
I decided to take my youngest daughter because my oldest had a scheduled field trip. She was genuinely excited until she saw the agenda. Write copy? Make a commercial? That seemed too complicated and several feet above a 7-year old's head. I explained that they wouldn't make the projects too difficult, but she had her trepidations. Even an innocuous word like "storyboard" freaked her out. I told her it was like writing a comic strip, but she said she couldn't draw. I simplified it and said you just put a few words below a few sketches, but this worked about as well as a small band aid on a bullet wound.
It took a few weeks of prodding, but I finally convinced her. And so, the little girl ventured out on her first day at work in the big city. She was nervous, and who could blame her? Strange environment, new kids. It got me thinking about that feeling we get when starting any new job. We feel like kids.
She arrived promptly and I introduced her to some of my co-workers. She was shy, unlike the way she is almost anywhere else. The agenda began with the ceremonial meet and greets.
They asked each child what they wanted to be when they grew up. Everyone picked their top choice. My daughter had 4: Doctor, Dancer, Singer and Teacher. Holy crap. I'd have to work until I'm 97 to pay off the educational expenses. Maybe she could save money and become a dancing doctor or a singing teacher.
Shortly after, the kids were asked to interview their parents. And this is where the transformation began. If a salesperson entered my office when she was interviewing me, she tried to usher them out. She started forming allegiances with other people so she could get help escorting the more aggressive ones out. The kids were soon asked back into a conference room to share their findings and my daughter said brusquely, "you can leave now, Dad." First she removes colleagues, then she removes me.
After working on her commercial, she started using words like "green screen" and "tag line" like they had always been in her vernacular. One of the producers said that she has a knack for writing copy. People in human resources told me that they were impressed with her participation level. Several salespeople liked her assertiveness.
At the end of her work day, she noticed an employee pacing around his cube, wearing a baseball glove. He was tossing a softball in the air. My daughter's instinct told her to ask what he was doing. He said, "I'm bored." My daughter quickly replied, "shouldn't you be working?" There was deafening laughter in the office, as my daughter showed that she may be a natural born manager. I let her sit behind my desk and when a salesperson approached her for rates, she quoted them 40 percent higher than me.
During the last half hour, she was introduced to a barrage of people. This time she gave each one a firm handshake and even outstretched her hand first on a few occasions. People began asking her when she's coming back and a few joked about hiring her.
But the real joke was on me. Because I didn't take my daughter to work last week.
She took me.
However, when my company mentioned that they would be participating in a national "Bring Your Child to Work Day" event, I jumped at the opportunity. This day would not be haphazardly strewn together either. There was an agenda, and a real educational purpose. The children were to be graced with an opening address by the President of our division; a privilege that most employees rarely see.
The children were asked to shadow their parents around the office, and even interview them in the process. They were then expected to report back to the hosts on their findings. They were to be shown a "sizzle reel" explaining the basic tenets of our organization, and the unique capabilities of our sales and technology departments. After lunch, the day would consist of writing ad copy and working on producing their own television commercials.
I decided to take my youngest daughter because my oldest had a scheduled field trip. She was genuinely excited until she saw the agenda. Write copy? Make a commercial? That seemed too complicated and several feet above a 7-year old's head. I explained that they wouldn't make the projects too difficult, but she had her trepidations. Even an innocuous word like "storyboard" freaked her out. I told her it was like writing a comic strip, but she said she couldn't draw. I simplified it and said you just put a few words below a few sketches, but this worked about as well as a small band aid on a bullet wound.
It took a few weeks of prodding, but I finally convinced her. And so, the little girl ventured out on her first day at work in the big city. She was nervous, and who could blame her? Strange environment, new kids. It got me thinking about that feeling we get when starting any new job. We feel like kids.
She arrived promptly and I introduced her to some of my co-workers. She was shy, unlike the way she is almost anywhere else. The agenda began with the ceremonial meet and greets.
They asked each child what they wanted to be when they grew up. Everyone picked their top choice. My daughter had 4: Doctor, Dancer, Singer and Teacher. Holy crap. I'd have to work until I'm 97 to pay off the educational expenses. Maybe she could save money and become a dancing doctor or a singing teacher.
Shortly after, the kids were asked to interview their parents. And this is where the transformation began. If a salesperson entered my office when she was interviewing me, she tried to usher them out. She started forming allegiances with other people so she could get help escorting the more aggressive ones out. The kids were soon asked back into a conference room to share their findings and my daughter said brusquely, "you can leave now, Dad." First she removes colleagues, then she removes me.
After working on her commercial, she started using words like "green screen" and "tag line" like they had always been in her vernacular. One of the producers said that she has a knack for writing copy. People in human resources told me that they were impressed with her participation level. Several salespeople liked her assertiveness.
At the end of her work day, she noticed an employee pacing around his cube, wearing a baseball glove. He was tossing a softball in the air. My daughter's instinct told her to ask what he was doing. He said, "I'm bored." My daughter quickly replied, "shouldn't you be working?" There was deafening laughter in the office, as my daughter showed that she may be a natural born manager. I let her sit behind my desk and when a salesperson approached her for rates, she quoted them 40 percent higher than me.
During the last half hour, she was introduced to a barrage of people. This time she gave each one a firm handshake and even outstretched her hand first on a few occasions. People began asking her when she's coming back and a few joked about hiring her.
But the real joke was on me. Because I didn't take my daughter to work last week.
She took me.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Field of Screams
I started playing baseball when I was 8 years old.
I'm not sure what originally attracted me to it, but I was certain it was something I couldn't live without. There was something beautiful and inexplicable about the sound that those old wood bats made when connecting perfectly with the ball. And better yet, how cool it was to slide into second just ahead of the throw when stretching a single into a double. And what kid could ever forget that feeling of being on the mound and striking out an opposing player on three consecutive pitches?(Don't worry, it didn't happen often).
But as good as all the memories were, there was still one that I wish I hadn't taken with me.
I'm not talking about the obvious like a season ending injury, an awful coach, or popping up with two outs and the bases loaded. This one trumped them all - -
Overzealous Parents.
They were always well represented on both sides, and they made sure their voices could be heard. Everyone was fair game. They yelled at the umpires, their Coach, the opposing Coach, and most importantly....their own children.
It was specifically their vicarious natures which forced them into a hypercritical mode. You just wanted to say, "Hey look, pal. You played baseball a long time, but those days are over. Now the next generation is picking up the mantle. So just sit back and keep your trap closed." Of course, the less than politically correct dialogue that actually swam through my head was much shorter and closer to "shut the F up."
So now that I have a daughter playing competitive softball, I'm prepared to keep my opinions to myself, especially when on the field. There's just one problem.
I can't.
Something just comes over me as soon as the ball is put into play. I yell where to throw the ball, or where a player should stand on the field. I scream about hitting the cut-off man (or woman), or holding onto the ball. And I'm not even the coach.
Have I now fallen into the same trap as the hoards of parents before me?
You're damn right. But it's not for the reasons you may think. I don't yearn to play girls softball, and I recognize that at 10 years old, this isn't exactly Triple-A ball. You see, the true essence of the problem is baseball itself.
Baseball plays more games than any other professional sport. It's the equaivalent of an NBA and an NHL season combined. So there's never been a shortage of exposure to the game. Also, between Little League and softball, I've been in hundreds of games myself over the course of a lifetime. After awhile, you've just seen everything. You've seen so much that you have insight into something before it even happens. And with that kind of knowledge, how could I keep it to myself? I'm compelled to share with the group.
My daughter doesn't want to hear it. Neither does her coach. So why do I continue to rant?
It's simple. I was an athlete. And athletes are born to compete. If you show up on a field, a rink, a court, or whatever, you're there for a single purpose. To win. It's in my DNA; programmed like a character in the Manchurian Candidate. There's the sound of bat hitting the ball, and my mouth just opens by itself.
You're here to win. If not, why would you play?
My daugther has found several other reasons. She has hot chocolate on the bench during the cold Saturdays of April. She gets to show off her new glove and cleats every season, and giggles with the other girls about who knows what as they stand around in the outfield.
She'd like to win. But if she doesn't, it's not an issue. There's always a playdate later that afternoon. She's just enjoying an afternoon in the sun with her friends. The game is secondary.
I wish it was for me. However, there is something positive to look forward to. My grandchildren won't be constantly critiqued by their Mother when they grow up.
I just can't say the same about their grandfather.
I'm not sure what originally attracted me to it, but I was certain it was something I couldn't live without. There was something beautiful and inexplicable about the sound that those old wood bats made when connecting perfectly with the ball. And better yet, how cool it was to slide into second just ahead of the throw when stretching a single into a double. And what kid could ever forget that feeling of being on the mound and striking out an opposing player on three consecutive pitches?(Don't worry, it didn't happen often).
But as good as all the memories were, there was still one that I wish I hadn't taken with me.
I'm not talking about the obvious like a season ending injury, an awful coach, or popping up with two outs and the bases loaded. This one trumped them all - -
Overzealous Parents.
They were always well represented on both sides, and they made sure their voices could be heard. Everyone was fair game. They yelled at the umpires, their Coach, the opposing Coach, and most importantly....their own children.
It was specifically their vicarious natures which forced them into a hypercritical mode. You just wanted to say, "Hey look, pal. You played baseball a long time, but those days are over. Now the next generation is picking up the mantle. So just sit back and keep your trap closed." Of course, the less than politically correct dialogue that actually swam through my head was much shorter and closer to "shut the F up."
So now that I have a daughter playing competitive softball, I'm prepared to keep my opinions to myself, especially when on the field. There's just one problem.
I can't.
Something just comes over me as soon as the ball is put into play. I yell where to throw the ball, or where a player should stand on the field. I scream about hitting the cut-off man (or woman), or holding onto the ball. And I'm not even the coach.
Have I now fallen into the same trap as the hoards of parents before me?
You're damn right. But it's not for the reasons you may think. I don't yearn to play girls softball, and I recognize that at 10 years old, this isn't exactly Triple-A ball. You see, the true essence of the problem is baseball itself.
Baseball plays more games than any other professional sport. It's the equaivalent of an NBA and an NHL season combined. So there's never been a shortage of exposure to the game. Also, between Little League and softball, I've been in hundreds of games myself over the course of a lifetime. After awhile, you've just seen everything. You've seen so much that you have insight into something before it even happens. And with that kind of knowledge, how could I keep it to myself? I'm compelled to share with the group.
My daughter doesn't want to hear it. Neither does her coach. So why do I continue to rant?
It's simple. I was an athlete. And athletes are born to compete. If you show up on a field, a rink, a court, or whatever, you're there for a single purpose. To win. It's in my DNA; programmed like a character in the Manchurian Candidate. There's the sound of bat hitting the ball, and my mouth just opens by itself.
You're here to win. If not, why would you play?
My daugther has found several other reasons. She has hot chocolate on the bench during the cold Saturdays of April. She gets to show off her new glove and cleats every season, and giggles with the other girls about who knows what as they stand around in the outfield.
She'd like to win. But if she doesn't, it's not an issue. There's always a playdate later that afternoon. She's just enjoying an afternoon in the sun with her friends. The game is secondary.
I wish it was for me. However, there is something positive to look forward to. My grandchildren won't be constantly critiqued by their Mother when they grow up.
I just can't say the same about their grandfather.
Happy 50th Anniversary To Me
It took over one full year, but I've finally written my 50th blog. Please hold your applause. For most professional bloggers, this is far from an impressive feat. Most can crank out 2 per day and hit their 50th in any given month. But that's not my style. I'm more of a quality over quantity kind of guy. And depending on who you talk to you, that quality is still in question.
Needless to say, I'll be celebrating my anniversary all week. I'm not sure how I should be rejoicing. Maybe I'll buy myself a new keyboard or upgrade my IPad, where I wirelessly write many of these pieces. Then again, this blog isn't exactly profitable, and I'm on a tight budget.
Thankfully, Blogger is free, and so is their proprietarty data. In turn, (50) blogs have revealed a few interesting statistics. For one, I'm now up to 1100 page views! Look out Google, here I come. With these numbers, I anticipate going public in the next 6-8 months, with a stock valuation somewhere between Facebook and Twitter. I've also been read in a grand total of (10) different countries, making this blog an international sensation. This kind of global reach will undoubtedly help with the pricing of my IPO.
I'm also proud to report that there are (2) followers of my blog. It's not exactly a record, but they are both female which does wonders for my ego.
I don't have specific demographics. Hopefully that won't affect my chances of selling banner ads to advertisers. I've also had about (5) people comment on specific blogs, making me a force in social media. A majority of my page views emanate from Facebook, so I can thank Marc Zuckerberg for creating a site to rate the attractiveness of Harvard students and inadvertently creating a great feeder website to my blog.
I really am a self made man. My family rarely reads my blogs at all. This should help to shorten the number of people I have to thank during the acceptance speech I'll have to give once Time Magazine announces me as the 2011 Man of The Year.
You know, this anniversary thing could really get to a guy's head.
Maybe it would be best to get back to some semblance of reality, and begin working on the next blog. However, first I must begin preparing for what I'll say after being awarded a Pulitzer.
Needless to say, I'll be celebrating my anniversary all week. I'm not sure how I should be rejoicing. Maybe I'll buy myself a new keyboard or upgrade my IPad, where I wirelessly write many of these pieces. Then again, this blog isn't exactly profitable, and I'm on a tight budget.
Thankfully, Blogger is free, and so is their proprietarty data. In turn, (50) blogs have revealed a few interesting statistics. For one, I'm now up to 1100 page views! Look out Google, here I come. With these numbers, I anticipate going public in the next 6-8 months, with a stock valuation somewhere between Facebook and Twitter. I've also been read in a grand total of (10) different countries, making this blog an international sensation. This kind of global reach will undoubtedly help with the pricing of my IPO.
I'm also proud to report that there are (2) followers of my blog. It's not exactly a record, but they are both female which does wonders for my ego.
I don't have specific demographics. Hopefully that won't affect my chances of selling banner ads to advertisers. I've also had about (5) people comment on specific blogs, making me a force in social media. A majority of my page views emanate from Facebook, so I can thank Marc Zuckerberg for creating a site to rate the attractiveness of Harvard students and inadvertently creating a great feeder website to my blog.
I really am a self made man. My family rarely reads my blogs at all. This should help to shorten the number of people I have to thank during the acceptance speech I'll have to give once Time Magazine announces me as the 2011 Man of The Year.
You know, this anniversary thing could really get to a guy's head.
Maybe it would be best to get back to some semblance of reality, and begin working on the next blog. However, first I must begin preparing for what I'll say after being awarded a Pulitzer.
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