October Classic

I like to believe that I’m pretty hard to surprise. Perhaps it’s due to an over active imagination that works right alongside an overly anxious, that leads me down weird and winding road, where I consider even the most preposterous of situations. Or maybe I’m just an arrogant ass. I’m not entirely sure, but the truth is, that it’s probably some combination of the two. But I am genuinely surprised that I am about to watch the New York Mets and the Kansas City Royals play in the World Series.

I mean, I first started talking about the possibility of this match up back in late April. The Mets were in the midst of what ended up being an 11 game winning streak, and had the best record in baseball at 13-3. The second best record belonged to the Royals, who were 12-4. And even after last year, I was telling a buddy that the Mets were built somewhat similar to the Royals. We had a great fielding center fielder, a superb young catcher, some bullpen arms that throw really hard, and a homegrown vet who was the heart and soul of the team. But the Mets and their fans, were most hopeful about the rotation we thought we had.

Yet at the same time, a promising young rotation had burned us before, 20 years ago with Generation K. Three pitchers who were supposed to lead us to the promise land, and would be the foundation of a contender for the next decade. Then the arm trouble started, and that bright future we were promised, became the ghost story evert Met fan would one day tell their children as a pre-cautionary tale. When Matt Harvey went from starting the All-Star game at home to having Tommy John surgery by the end of the year, we were all terrified of Generation K II. If Hollywood could only serve up reboots, why shouldn’t baseball?

May and June came, and the Mets began to fade. On the 4^th of July, we were just a .500 team. The future still looked bright, but our hitting was ridiculous. The Royals were battling for the best record in the American League, and re-match of the 1985 World Series appeared much more realistic than a Mets-Royals series. But baseball is a funny sport, and it’s a long season. A month later we were back in first, and the Royals continued marching towards October. And the “promising” rotation of the Mets was exceeding expectations.

That’s when my wife and daughter really got nervous. When I first mentioned the idea of the two teams playing each other in the World Series, they kind of laughed it off. They said it sounded horrible, mostly because they felt I would be unbearably annoying. I mean, that doesn’t sound all that far-fetched, and a few years ago they would have been exactly right. But as I documented last year, I really liked this Royals team.

The idea of my Mets playing their Royals sounded better and better. They feared a “house divided” but the way I’ve looked at it is; if the Mets are going to lose in the World Series, I’d much rather they lose to the team my family loves. How could I really get upset at something that would bring them so much joy? And hell, these Royals are one likable bunch. Losing to them wouldn’t hurt nearly as much as the 2000 World Series loss to the Yankees hurt. It wouldn’t compare to the stomach punch that was the 2006 NLCS against the Cardinals. Seriously, still waiting on you to swing Carlos Beltran (originally a Royal).

This is a win-win series for me. I want my Mets to win, there’s no question. But if losing means seeing ear-to-ear smiles painted on my wife and daughters faces, that’s pretty hard to chalk up as a loss.

Either way, I’m ready. Let’s Go Mets!

Back to the PG

What does the Marvel Universe have in common with hip-hop? Well, currently, nothing. And for that matter, probably not much in the future. But if it were up to me, there would be an entire inner weaving series of movies made about hip-hop, much like the Marvel Universe. It’s a thought I’ve played with in my minds’ eye for a few years, and after seeing how well the NWA story was told in Straight Outta Compton I’m pretty confident that it’s a solid idea.

Straight Outta Compton introduced the guys who made up, for my money, the second most influential group in the history of modern music. Along with brief introductions to some significant characters who remained on the peripheral of the story. There was Tupac, Snoop, Warren G, Suge, and if you paid close enough attention, you even saw Chuck D. Now, they don’t all deserve to have movies made about their lives and careers, but they could all have recurring roles throughout this universe of movies. And Suge would be a cross between Loki and Ultron. Or if you take the DC approach, he’s the “League of Shadows” all on his own.

The next movie would be a Dr. Dre biopic, with more time spent on the Death Row years. Where we would get more familiar with Snoop as well as Tupac, we’d see the introduction to the East Coast-West Coast war, where we would also see Diddy for the first time. The Dre movie takes us through his launching the careers of Eminem and 50 after he formed Aftermath. And next we could enter the world of Bad Boy, who crossed paths with Jay Z early on. So from the Bad Boy movie, the next movie could be about Jay Z, which would be an interesting story alone, and would introduce icons Russell Simmons, Kanye, Beyonce and Nas. A Diddy movie would also include Simmons, and hip-hop isn’t middle age right now, without Russell. His label, Def Jam, launched the careers of Run DMC, LL Cool J, and The Beastie Boys. And a Def Jam story can’t be told without Rick Rubin, who might be the most interesting character in this entire universe. Or any other universe.

I was never a comic book fan, so I’m not familiar with the Marvel Universe beyond the movies I’ve seen or heard are coming down the pipeline. But I know hip-hop well enough to know whose story necessitates its own movie and who would be better off as a Hawkeye or Nick Fury.

I have another idea for a universe of movies, but we’ll save La Cosa Nostra for another time. Oh and by the way, much like Iron Man I have to say that Straight Outta Compton was a lot better than I expected. 

Miracle Worker

They were right. I mean, over the years they said an awful lot, and they were right about more than they were wrong, but they really nailed it. I’m not sure exactly who they are, and neither are you, but you’ve heard from them all your life. But when they said you’ll never known pain, until you see your child suffering, they couldn’t have been more right. Of course, without passing on some kind of wisdom that would have given me the ability to alleviate some of my daughters’ pain, they weren’t being all that helpful.

But they were right all the same. When I was 13, I was fairly certain I knew hurt, anger and disappointment on a more personal level than the 13 year olds around me. Because when you’re 13, you know everything better than anyone else. Now with the little maturity I’ve gained, I’ve learned that everyone has their own bag of problems they carry with them wherever they go. It’s the fact I can’t say or do anything, to pass this wisdom on to my own 13 year old that is currently eating me alive. I feel like I’m a five-star meal for a Burmese python.

I can tell myself that she’s going to be okay. She’s a super bright girl, with a great sense of humor and heart that no snake could ever change. And it’s all true, she is that smart and has a huge heart. The girl that loves art, passed on the opportunity to enroll in the advanced art class, so she could spend one hour a day working as an assistant to the art teacher with her special needs class. I mean, sure I’m bragging, but I’d be an ass to not brag. But knowing she’ll be okay isn’t any help at the moment. Maybe that’s a ‘Me’ problem, but it is what it is.

I’m learning that telling her stories about my own experiences as a sensitive, anxious 13 year old (or 38 year old) only really helps me. Sure, I can commiserate with her, but I still never walked even a step in her shoes and we both know it. So they were wrong. They said the teenage years are the hardest, and 7^th grade is the hardest year of your life. But it’s not even close. Seeing your kid go through those years is way harder.

I’m pretty sure I now know exactly how Helen Keller felt before Anne Sullivan came along. I have so much I want to communicate to her, some real wisdom (I think), but the sounds won’t make any sense and the gestures probably just look rude. So if you know a miracle worker…

Do What You Can

I like to tell myself that I don’t understand all the vitriol I’ve heard or read since Caitlyn Jenner accepted the Arthur Ashe Courage Award, but that’s not the case. I understand, at best, it’s all ignorance and at worst, it’s good ol’ fashion hate. On one level, I can understand disagreeing with her winning the award. There are so many courageous men and women, who at least have a toe in the sports world. What I can’t grasp, is how people can judge how courageous someone else is, or isn’t.

The fact of the matter is, we have no idea how brave anyone else is. The barista that served you a latte at Starbucks, she may have had to sneak the kids out of the house in the middle of the night to escape an abusive husband. The kid you just walked by in the mall, yeah, the one who had his head buried in his phone and never even looked up as he nearly walked into you. Maybe his mom was just diagnosed with breast cancer, and just getting out of the house took every ounce of courage he had. And I mean no disrespect to those who serve our country, but the fact is, they aren’t all super heroes in uniform. The vast majority have more courage than I can even imagine, but there are also some who just wanted to pull the trigger without legal repercussions. Who knows?

I mention the military, not because I think their courage needs to be questioned. But because that’s become the popular example. “Caitlyn Jenner doesn’t deserve this award, it should go to someone who serves. They’re risking everything for us.” Now, it’s true that they are, but this is an award given out by a sports network to people involved in sports. So there’s that. And furthermore, where was the outrage when Michael Sam won? Why weren’t we demanding that a wounded warrior was more deserving than Robin Roberts? Truth is, if you believe someone from the service deserved the award, by your own logic, the award shouldn’t even be named after Arthur Ashe. He didn’t give a limb in service of this country. Why was he more deserving than the vets who had just served in the Gulf War? He wasn’t. But…and this is important here, he was an athlete and ESPN was (and remains) a network devoted to covering sports. And Ashe faced his tragic death with the courage and grace we should all admire. It was a different time, but that’s the grace and courage that Jenner showed when she risked so much to be true to herself.

You may not agree with how she’s living her life, and you might be one of those who keep calling her “Bruce.” But then you’re the same person who would have kept calling Muhammad Ali, “Clay.” And most importantly, you missed the point of Jenner’s beautiful speech. “I know I’m clear with my responsibility going forward, to tell my story the right way, for me, to keep learning, to reshape the landscape of how trans issues are viewed, how trans people are treated. And then more broadly to promote a very simple idea: accepting people for who they are. Accepting people’s differences.”

I probably shouldn’t even go here, but I just can’t help myself. There’s been a lot of talk that Lauren Hill, the college basketball player who lost her battle to cancer this year, but only after she took the court and touched the lives of millions. I love her story, and it breaks my heart. Driving to work on Tuesday, I heard her parents on the “Mike & Mike Show” on ESPN radio, and I was tearing up in the car. Hill’s fight, and her efforts to spread awareness, took great courage. And I have the up-most respect for her, but…the truth is, her fight was actually a little easier than Jenner’s. More tragic, but a little easier. Hill knew how her story would end. She knew she was going to die, and that it would happen much sooner than it should. But when you already know the outcome, it makes doing the brave thing a little easier. That doesn’t make her struggle and easier, or her loss any less tragic.

Lastly, remember what this is: an award from a network. Getting upset about who they decided to present it to, well that’s really making a big deal about something that isn’t that important. Can you name three past winners? Hell, I named two above, and you probably already forgot their names. So if ESPN giving an award to Caitlyn Jenner upsets you, that’s a you problem. Good luck with that.

Little Big League

I’m going to tell you why you’re rooting for the 2014 Kansas City Royals, or why you should be. These Royals are essentially a little league team. No, that’s really not an insult, but instead it’s the greatest compliment I can give. They play like a bunch of 12 year olds. Not just the enthusiasm, which is copious. But they play the way we were all told to play. First and foremost, you hustle. You always hustle. Play defense well. Catch the ball, throw to the cutoff. Don’t try to make the great play, just play smart defense and hustle and the great plays will happen. Learn how to lay down a bunt and learn how to run the bases. Throw strikes, and trust your defense. If they can’t catch up to your fastball, that’s great, but throw strikes.

They do everything your little league coach taught you. And they play like 12 year olds. They love to run, and they love to get dirty. They chomp their gum, wear rally caps and spit seeds. But even the players on the team remind you of kids you played with. Alex Gordon is the great athlete, who does everything like the cool kid in school. He can strike out four times in a single game, but he never looks phased.  Eric Hosmer has the punky haircut and is always pumping up his teammates, and man can he hit. And anytime he gets a hit, the first thing he does is look back to the dugout and pumps everyone up even more.  Mike Moustakas is that super intense kid, the one you want on your side if there’s ever a fight. He’s the strongest kid on the team, and you get the feeling that his parents are probably too hard on him, but he lives and dies with the team. Salvy Perez is the big lug of a catcher, always quick with a joke and a word of encouragement. And he’ll swing at anything and everything. Lorezno Cain is the kid who started later than everyone else, but he’s such a great athlete that he’s already one of the best players on the team. He’s just a freak athlete, but he doesn't even realize it yet.

And everyone really likes each other. The parents sitting in the bleachers can tell, and watch with pride as the dirty up their uniforms. They have an air of confidence, but never seem arrogant. There’s just no quit in any of them. They go up against teams with bigger and stronger kids, whose parents pay for all the best coaching and ridiculously expensive bats and cleats, and they beat ‘em. They appreciate every victory, and never take it for granted.

Maybe it’s the last summer before someone leaves to join a traveling team, or a dad’s  transfer takes someone else away to a far off exotic city, or maybe they’ll stick together all the way through high school.  None of that matters to a 12 year old on the field. That’s the stuff grown-ups worry about; these kids just want to keep playing.  And man, they sure are fun to watch. 

Be Royal

I was 12 when we moved to Kansas City from back east. And the truth is, before we moved, the Royals were my second favorite team. I had a 1985 Fleer sticker of Royal Stadium, and thought that it looked like a pretty cool stadium. But more than that, the Royals reminded me of the Mets. My Mets had a young dominant pitcher in Dwight Gooden, and the Royals had Bret Saberhagen. The Mets had centerfielder that could fly with Mookie Wilson and the Royals had a Wilson of their own in WIllie. Both teams had right fielders who could hit the cover off the ball and gritty third basemen.

I hated the idea of leaving my friends and my Mets, but Kansas City didn’t sound like a horrible place. And we were going to live just 30 minutes from the stadium, compared to the nearly two hour trip we had back east. It was 1989 and the Royals had a pretty good team. But then we moved here, and I felt completely lost. I convinced myself that cheering for the Royals meant that I was being disloyal to the Mets. I quickly grew to hate living here, and rooting for a Kansas City team would have required positivity and enthusiasm. Being an angry 12 year old made that impossible. And so I quickly began to despise the Royals and the Chiefs.

As I made friends, even some who were Royal fans, my anti-KC feelings became part of those friendships. It’s great to root with people, but rooting against them is more engaging than being apathetic. So as the 90’s went, and the Royals ran their franchise into the ground, it became great fun to root against them. It helped take the focus off my Mets, who quickly became horrible themselves. 

I kept my anti-KC for years. Years became a decade, and soon a second decade. I made an exception when I attended the University of Kansas, and fell in love with Lawrence and the tradition of Jayhawk basketball. Plus, Lawrence never felt like the rest of the midwest to me. The Royals kept assembling ridiculous rosters and the Chiefs kept disappointing their faithful fans. So that was pretty fantastic. 

Things began to shift when I found someone who wasn't just willing to marry me, but really wanted to. And being a Kansas City native that I loved, I started to warm to the teams of her youth. Aspects of Kansas City that I used to mock, started to become appealing. It’s really affordable, and very family friendly. 

Before I knew it, and without realizing it, I built a life here. Fantastic friends and a great family of my very own. So while other cities are sexier and have more to offer, Kansas City became home. And the Royals, after going through more rebuilding projects than any fan base should ever be asked to endure, started to show some promise. Along with the promise I saw on the field, there was seeing my wife cheer for them. And then it finally happened. I accepted the Royals and Kansas City became home. Not home “until…” but it’s really home. It’ll never be where I’m from, and I’ll always love Long Island and the memories of back east. But it’s where my daughter is forming her childhood memories.

Last night’s 12 inning win brought back memories of seeing the Mets beat the Astros in 16 innings in the 1986 playoffs. And there’s nothing as memorable as a baseball team that won’t quit and finds a way to win. Go Royals. You know, unless they’re playing the Mets. 

You're the Shepard

Like everyone else, I’m dazed by the loss of Robin Williams. Social media does a lot of things well, and a lot of things have room for improvement. But it’s hard to say it does anything better than react to the loss of a beloved figure. The fact that Williams’ was as cherished as ever, even though his work hasn’t been up to par for years, is absolutely beautiful to me. But do yourself a favor, and catch his guest appearance on” Louie” from 2012.

I have, as I’m sure you do my favorite Williams’ roles. John Keating, Sean Maguire and Adrian Cronauer were three iconic roles. That’s three iconic and career defining roles. Three old friends I could easily spend a Saturday afternoon with. The great teacher I wish I had, the therapist that I really connected with that never came along and the best morning DJ to ever walk the earth, who taught me everything I ever needed to know about the Vietnam War.

I’ll quote them often and thanks to Williams, I’ll always remember my father saying “shazbot.” But I’ll also always remember how I felt yesterday, when I heard the news of his passing and how he passed. While so many like to accuse a suicide victim of taking the easy way out, I just don’t see it that way. Williams’ suicide brought back a lot of darker memories for me. I’m reminded of a period of my life, from probably 12 until 22, when the same option was very much in play. I’m thankful that I received help and never went through with any attempts, and I’m mindful that the darkness of depression is always closer than I like to admit. Like the fact my daughter posted on Facebook a year or so ago, “you are never more than 10 feet away from a spider.”

I understand that for me, depression is probably never more than 10 feet away, and I have to remain vigilante to keep it at bay. I haven’t had those kind of thoughts in nearly 10 years, and I’d like to believe I never will.  It breaks my heart that Williams fell victim to his. Last night I was online looking for my favorite Robin Williams moments, and came across his appearance on “Inside the Actors Studio.” He was brilliant, but I distinctly remember feeling that I was watching a tortured man on that stage. He was manic. I heard that a member of the audience was hospitalized due to a hernia sustained from laughing during his interview with James Lipton. I don’t doubt it, and based on her laugh, I think I know who it was. At least I remember the laugh. But Williams’ entire interview, and it turns out his life, make me think of “Tears of a Clown” by Smokey Robinson.

“Now there’s some sad things known to man, But ain’t too much sadder than, the tears of a clown. When there’s no one around”

What has been made most clear to me, since hearing of Williams death, is how powerful social media can be. I found myself thinking, as everyone rushed to share their sadness or their favorite Robin Williams moments and expressed more compassion and kindness than social has ever displayed; what if we did this more often? What if, instead of waiting until Facebook reminds us of birthdays, we occasionally just told our friends and family how we feel about them? It’s naïve, simplistic and maybe even immature, but screw it. Maybe choosing to be kind over being cool could help someone out on the day where randomly hearing something kind could make all the difference.

Because you know what?  John Keating was right when he said, “no matter what anybody tells you, words and ideas can change the world.”