A Sports Decade of Cheats

As sports news focused on the "SpyGate" yesterday, I couldn't help but reflect upon how history will remember the last decade in sports.

It is clear now that the Patriots broke the rules -- they videotaped coaches hand signals, and used that information in later games. They claim that they did not use this information IN the football games that they were already in, but there is now evidence that suggests that may have been the case. This is a football dynasty that won each of their Super Bowls by a single field goal apiece. They will be remembered as a franchise that cheated to win it all.

In baseball, this will be remembered as the decade in which the lid was blown off the steroids secret in baseball. And there's still no testing for HGH. Barry Bonds hit 73 homeruns in one year, and passed Hank Aaron with #756 last year. Roger Clemens continued pitch well into his 40's & set records this decade with no little help from performance enhancing substances. Sure, the Red Sox broke the curse, but that seems overshadowed by the inflated players & numbers of recent years.

Even in the NBA, people have always wondered in a strange game if something shady isn't going on relative to point-shaving -- be it with a player, coach, or even a referee. And then the news broke last summer about NBA referee Tim Donaghy. Donaghy made calls in games (even one notable playoff game) that affected the point spread in those games. He gambled, accrued a debt, got in trouble with some powerful people, and became complicit with their plan to make money off of his influential position.

Then again, I think that there is nothing new under the sun: we've lived in culture of cheating for quite a long time. SpyGate? The New York Baseball Giants did that half a century ago. When Bobby Thompson hit his "Shot Heard 'Round the World" (you know, the one where they play that clip & the announcer yells "THE GIANTS WIN THE PENNANT, THE GIANTS WIN THE PENNANT!!"), he probably knew what pitch was coming because of a complex system that allowed the Giants batters to steal signs from the catcher to the pitcher (according to Joshua Prager's book, "Echoing Green"). Gaylord Perry was a notorious cheater, known in his career for scuffing baseballs & throwing spit-balls. And yet he is celebrated in Baseball's Hall of Fame! Ask any former NFL offensive lineman and they will tell you that they could have had a flag thrown on them for holding on just about every down of football that they played. There's a way to get away with it, and the good ones learn how to do it without getting caught.

I know what the rest of you take away from all this, but it just impresses upon me how important it is for Christians & churches to be counter-cultural -- to be people & organizations of integrity. If we don't stand out as different, then what do we have to offer to the world?

The Dreams of Dwight Schrute

One of the best Christmas gifts I've ever received, and the BEST I received this past Christmas, was a tear-off calendar of quotes from the television series, "The Office." Its great -- every morning I wake up, tear a new page, and laugh at the day's quote. Its genuinely a blessing to start each day with a good laugh.

I thought I'd share today's with everyone. It is courtesy of Dwight Schrute: a geeky, megalomaniacal salesman at Dunder-Mifflin Paper Company.

My perfect date? I take the girl out for a nice dinner. She looks stunning. But then, some guy tries to hit on her... so I grab him and throw him into a jukebox. But the other ninja has a knife... so I take her home... As I kiss her goodnight, I hear something in the leaves, and I flip her around. She gets a poison arrow right in the back.
-- Dwight

A Unique Experience Shared

I've read a couple of touching articles in the last couple days from a couple of other men who lost their mother. If there's one common theme I've come to discover, it is how much these men would love to be able to call their mother. And that is true. As each day passes, I discover within me a deeper longing to pick up the phone, call my Mom, and tell her what's been going on lately.

I used to be real bad at that. When I first went off to college, Mom would have to call me every few months or so. Finally, she got fed up with it, and she had to confront me. A year or two into college, she told me in one conversation:

"I want you to call me more regularly. YOU call ME. And I want you to tell me 'I love you' everytime you do that. It means a lot to me."

You know, sometimes ladies just have to spell it out for us. Mom did that for me, and the message was heard. So I began to make a Sunday night ritual of it. When I was leaving the church building from the PM worship service, I'd give her a ring. Sometimes I'd take the long way home so we could talk a little longer; other times I'd just sit in my truck in the driveway. Most times we would just chit-chat & wouldn't talk very long. But semi-regularly, on Sunday night's, I'd pick up the phone & call my Mama.

I even nearly reached for the phone last night. My sister & I have even talked about how it sort of seems like we could pick up the phone to talk to her -- except that we actually can't. I was driving home from PM worship service last night, had the radio off, and I thought about calling her. Except I actually couldn't.

My thanks to Lori for forwarding this to me Saturday: Jason Steckel wrote about this experience in the latest Wineskins:

It was less than a year and a half later, [my son] Matthew came into the world. Again, we were reminded of the hole in our families. I wished that my mom was there to share in this special moment. As a new life began, I was reminded of a life that ended too soon.

In the years since, I have often had moments where I wanted to talk to my mom. Whether it was seeking advice, wanting to share a special moment, or simply the desire to say hi, there are times when I just wish my mom was still here. But again, I am reminded that we live in a broken world where death is inevitable and no one is immune from pain and suffering.

And in Sunday's New York Times, Tom Friedman very simply tells the reader to Call Your Mother:

Whenever I’ve had the honor of giving a college graduation speech, I always try to end it with this story about the legendary University of Alabama football coach, Bear Bryant. Late in his career, after his mother had died, South Central Bell Telephone Company asked Bear Bryant to do a TV commercial. As best I can piece together, the commercial was supposed to be very simple — just a little music and Coach Bryant saying in his tough voice: “Have you called your mama today?”

On the day of the filming, though, he decided to ad-lib something. He reportedly looked into the camera and said: “Have you called your mama today? I sure wish I could call mine.” That was how the commercial ran, and it got a huge response from audiences.

So on this Mother’s Day, if you take one thing away from this column, take this: Call your mother.

I sure wish I could call mine.

Me too, Tom.

Love is Patient

In the aftermath of my Mom's passing, I've heard a number of stories about people losing loved ones. The saddest of these stories are the ones where people walk through the rest of their life with deep regret over some matter that can no longer be mended. I'm so relieved that I'm not plagued with any real deep regret.

When my Mom was diagnosed with cancer back in late October of '06, Mom decided that she wanted to try to pursue a homeopathic treatment. My sister, Katie, and I gave her a hard time about not even wanting to go see an Oncologist to pursue a more mainstream treatment. A few weeks later (the week of Thanksgiving), once the cancer began to cause extreme skin discoloration, Mom got scared enough to go visit the Oncologist. I remember that it was my sister Katie who finally talked her into going. And I drove all the way over to Mobile, AL to meet her at the clinic to escort her on the 2-hour drive back to her home.

When I showed up, she had already started to receive her first dose of chemotherapy intravenously. I remember that she was sitting there receiving the treatment, snacking on some Nutter Butters, and watching an instructional video about what was about to happen to her body. That first week with chemo I believe was about one of the roughest for her. She was painfully nauseous, weak, and generally sick-feeling. And I was there for all of it that first week. Mom would receive chemo treatments every two weeks. I wasn't able to be there every two weeks -- Katie & Mom's sister were able to be there to help her when I wasn't -- but I was there for her as much as it was possible for me to be there.

When Mom had her mastectomy, Katie was there with her. But when Katie had to be relieved, I showed up and was there for Mom. And when an infection developed from Mom's surgery & she had to be driven to the hospital 2 hours away in the middle of the night, I was there. While she was in the hospital for the next three and a half days, I stayed there with Mom for all of it.

When the cancer spread to Mom's brain, and she needed to be driven to radiation treatments every weekday, Katie & I moved her down to Florida & we were there for her. And when Mom had her seizure, began to die, and finally passed, we were there for her every step of the way then, too.

I don't have any regret about Mom in that sense. I gave & provided for her almost everything I could offer. Almost.

If there is one thing I regret, it was that I wasn't more patient with Mom. In her last year, Mom lost a lot of her considerable brain power. She would ask the same questions over & over, forgetting the answer I had already shared with her. After a while, this grated on my nerves. And when these moments continued to happen, my frustration could be clearly sensed through the tone of my voice. Mom even had to tell me one time, "You hurt my feelings. I can't help it." Naturally, I apologized. And I got better about it. But my impatience would still show through from time to time.

Anyway, if there is one thing I could share with my friends on Mother's Day, many of you with mothers who soon will be moving into the sunset of their lives, it would be for each of you to learn to love those around you more patiently. I found this letter particularly convicting. It was read by Dr. James Dobson on his radio show, Focus on the Family, some time ago:

To all my children:

A few years ago, I saw a tee-shirt with the words "Live Long Enough to Be a Burden to Your Children." Back then, I thought it was funny, Today, I don't think it's funny at all, because I am afraid I'm doing just that. None of us want to be a burden to our family, but the older we get, the more we realize that age comes not only to the aging person, but to the family, as well. Both must accept old age and make the necessary adjustments.

Sometimes I wonder how the children of Methuselah felt about their father who lived to be 969 years old. Imagine, at more than 900 years old, did he have all of his faculties at that age? Or was he blind, deaf, and maybe so feeble that he couldn't walk? Did his children worry about whether he was eating right, getting enough exercise and dressing warmly enough? How did he accept his advancing years? These questions came to mind because, as a parent, I hate having to rely on my children to do things for me that I could do for myself a few years ago.

You children are always so kind and generous about looking after me, but I want to be doing for myself. I long to drive my car again. I want to go alone to the grocery store to shop, and I want to drive myself there. I want...but you get the idea. What I really want is to be 70 again. The truth of it is, that our roles are reversed, and now I am your child needing you in a special way. I suppose my upcoming birthday started my thoughts along these lines. You never forget my birthday, or any other special day, without a gift. I realize the problems you must have in choosing a gift, because I have what I need in material possessions. This is a good time to tell you that what I truly want are things I can never get enough of, yet they are free. I want the intangibles. I want just a little more of your time, and that's selfish of me, I know, because you have your own children, and grandchildren, who want your time, and also you need time for yourselves. But all I want is just a few unhurried minutes. I would like for you to come and sit with me, and for you to be relaxed. It makes me so nervous when you sit on the edge of your chair and keep looking at your watch. We can talk, or we can be silent. I would just like for us to be together.

You children who live out of town are thoughtful to call me on the phone, but I would like it if you could just write once or twice a month. Then I could look forward to reading and rereading your letters. I don't always hear every word you say on the phone, and a letter or two would help me greatly.

I need your patience when I don't hear what you say the first time, so please don't be annoyed. I know how tiresome it is to always be repeating , but sometimes I must ask you to repeat. Now, you don't need to yell at me, just speak slowly. I need your patience when I think too much about the past. I need your patience with my slowness and my set ways. I want you to be tolerant with what the years have done to me physically.

Please be understanding about my personal care habits. I really can't see when my dress is dirty or the floor needs cleaning. I spill things. I lose things. I get unduly excited when I try to figure out my bank statements. I can't remember what time to take my medication, or if I took it already. I take too many naps, I know, because you have said, "Quit spending all of your time sleeping." Well, sometimes when I sleep in the daytime, it was because I was awake half the night. At other times, sleep helps to pass the day. When I have nothing but time on my hands, a 15-minute nap seems like an hour.

Well, there you have it: time, patience, and understanding. These are the priceless gifts that I want. Over and over again, I take my bible, (thank God that I can still read), and I read what Paul wrote in Philippians 4:11: "I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith to be content." But oh, how trying!

I know what it is to be in need, and what it is to have more than enough. I remember how your father and I struggled through the depression, and then how wonderful it was when we finally had a good nest egg, and had saved something for old age. I am thankful I can still care for myself financially (that is, unless I live to be 969!)

Finally, in his letter, Paul wrote, "I can do all things through Christ which strengthens me." I know I can, too! Maybe I can't do all I want to, the way I used to, but how comforting it is to know His eye is on the sparrow and I know He cares for me. I guess being 80 isn't so bad after all! God has blessed me so much.

Love,
Mom

How Do You Treat Reckless Drivers?

So, about a half hour ago, I had just followed my sister to drop off her car for an oil change, and we were headed up a highway in town to go grab lunch at Chick-Fil-A. This highway (HWY 77 here in Panama City) is a 4-lane road, and on this particular stretch there is a middle turn lane and a "6th" lane on the right that is for turning into a number of restaurants, hotel, & flower shop on the right. Its sort of a strange constant turn lane.

From time to time, I'll be driving this stretch of road, and people will turn into that lane to turn right at the upcoming intersection (which is about 300 yards away) & speed up. Not only does it selfishly hog the turn lane for those who have to wait before they can get in the lane, slow down, & turn, but it is an accident waiting to happen with someone who will get ready to slow down & turn without seeing the person barreling down the turn lane at 45 MPH.

Well, this happened today. My sister & I are driving along in the right lane, doing about 35 MPH in a 45 MPH zone -- traffic was heavy, and gas prices are rather high for me to be doing a lot of accelerating. All of a sudden, this SUV turns into the right turn lane & speeds up. It starts accelerating & passes us doing at least 45 MPH in this turn lane (maybe higher, but I don't want to sound like I'm exaggerating).

So I went into diatribe mode with my poor, captive-audience sister -- "that's so selfish," blah blah, "and that's how accidents happen," yackity schmackity. You know...

And, all of a sudden, she turns right where we're going to turn. And when I finally turn there, I see that she's right in the Chick-Fil-A line that we were going to get in. And right as I pull up behind her, she rolls her window down to pour some ice out of a cup.

WELL! That's enough of an opening for me.

So I roll down my window, and I yell, "HEY!!" I wait for her to poke her head out of the window, and I holler, "That's NOT a passing lane!!"

She starts going, "Awww, gimme a break!"

And I said, "THAT is how accidents happen!!"

She says, "F@#& YOU!" And then gave me the finger. She ordered, and as she was pulling up, gave me the finger again.

As we pulled out of Chick-Fil-A, we took a short cut to go back to get Katie's car. All of a sudden, we pass this business where we see that car & that woman getting out of it. So I honked the horn at her a couple times. I didn't care to look back to see if she "responded."

My general working philosophy is this: people need to know when they've done something idiotic. And I don't mind being that guy who confronts them to let them know that what they did was stupid. If have to shame them with my horn, or my words, so be it.

Takes Longer Than I Thought

I haven't felt very normal since Mom's Memorial Service. In fact, honestly, I've been a little depressed. I haven't wanted to blog much lately because I've been worried that I'd be Donnie Downer.

But I had a good talk today with a couple of my friends in ministry. Apparently, this whole mourning deal takes longer than I thought. I'd rather not be lethargic, disinterested in most things, and mopey. I'd rather get back to normal. But it is part of the process apparently. And the process lasts awhile.

I didn't realize that. I knew that folks generally take a year to begin to fully move on -- there's always those first holidays to deal with (first Christmas, first Mother's Day, etc.). I just hadn't ever really, fully conceived that each day would be so blue.

Just a little FYI for everyone out there who hasn't grieved before & would expect everything to be all back to normal within a few weeks...

Whiny Homer Announcers

The downside to expansion teams in baseball over the last 15 years is that I get to see less & less Braves baseball here in Florida. Braves used to be on "WTBS" every night back in the day. Now the MLB has contracted games out to Fox Sports Net, I only get to watch the Braves on TV whenever they are the Fox or ESPN game of the week.

The upside, however, is that I get to watch 19 Red Sox games per year. By virtue of playing the Tampa Bay Rays 19 times every season, I get to see those games on my local FSN affiliate. The Rays are playing in Boston this weekend, so I've enjoyed watching the games on TV.

There is a downside even to this, however. I have to listen to the poor souls who have the unenviable task of announcing all 162 Rays games every year. And it really shows. Bob Uecker, a.k.a. "Harry Doyle," made it funny in the movie "Major League." But these guys are clearly depressed. And it becomes evident when they start talking about the "privileged" Red Sox.

"Boy, how can these guys lay off pitches THAT close??"

They whine about every bad call, and the production crew show endless replays of it. Today, Ray Eric Hinskie had a double land in fair territory that the umps called foul, and these announcers won't let it go. In fact, they have some commercial sponsor that sponsors the "[So-and-So Company] Call of the Game." That just gave these whiners another excuse to wring their hands over that missed call again.

Kevin Youkilis especially draws the ire of these announcers. If there's a borderline pitch, and Youk doesn't swing at it, and the Ump calls it a ball, it drives them nuts. "Well, its never a strike if KEVIN YOUKILIS doesn't swing at it, apparently." "[Chuckle Chuckle]," goes the color man.

By the way... it is now the top of the 8th inning. (I'm totally not making this up.) And the FSN production team just showed the "Infiniti Unbelievable Play of the Game." And they showed a replay of Hinskie's fair ball that the umps called foul.

Its not that I'm angry that these Rays announcers are so sour & jaded. Its that I pity them. Let go of the bitterness & hate, guys!