One of my best friends has always known how to turn around the sagging fortunes of community newspapers. It's simple, really, but all the people who've wasted years watching newspapers die have failed to grasp what my pal knows to be true.
People buy small newspapers for the same reasons that they buy metro newspapers or check their favorite web sites. They want to be informed, entertained, inspired, amused and to feel like they're getting some bang for their buck.
My friend was the sports editor at a Solano County newspaper for years. Even when he built a staff of writers that produced an abundance of hyper-local copy, he knew that many of the Fairfield Daily Republic's 18,000 or so readers couldn't have cared less about the local Little League or high school teams.
He knew that there were folks who'd never buy his newspaper if all he could provide them were stories about kid and amateur adult athletes those folks weren't interested in at all.
What? You think community newspapers will grow strong featuring nothing but small-town, local sports? OK. When was the last time you went to watch a Tuesday night bowling league event or a youth club's swim meet?
See? You don't care about that stuff, so why would you read about it?
So, my friend Brad Stanhope kept his eye out for national and international stories that he considered "water cooler stories." He knew it was foolish to think everyone who could buy the Daily Republic only wanted to read about the events and people in Fairfield, Suisun City, etc. It was simple, but it was genius ... and the editors and publishers who are strangling the lives out of their community papers now still don't get it.
No, really ... they don't get it. I've been a sports editor more recently than Brad Stanhope has been and my effort to keep his "water cooler story" theory convinced me that the people who can save small papers are actually without a clue as to what can save them.
One day Brad, my boss, decided that our featured story should be an Associated Press piece about people in Great Britain who wager on squirrel racing.
"People are going to stop and read this story," he said, smiling because I rolled my eyes, speechless at the thought of a community paper featuring a piece about gambling ... on squirrels ... in Great Britain.
Brad knew that people didn't buy the Daily Republic to read Associated Press stories. He just thought that not all AP stories were created equally.
"If you didn't work here would you read that story about the 49ers that you want to put in that spot?" he asked.
Excellent question. And, no ... I wouldn't read a generic story about the San Francisco 49ers written by a wire service reporter who, I knew, doesn't give much time or thought to the team or the story. And, I read about the 49ers in a dozen other spots, so why would I read about them in the DR?
Clearly, Brad had thought through his theory, which is more than most of today's small-town editors and publishers have done.
Today's Daily Republic sports section featured a Little League all-star game featuring 9- and 10-year-old players.
Everyone who read today's DR got to that sports page, thought, "Isn't it nice that they're writing and taking photographs of the local children," then turned the page without giving the story a second thought.
The only people who care about a baseball game between 9- and 10-year-old players are their parents, immediate family, a few frienda and, well ... wait! It's uncertain if anyone beyond parents would read a game story once they figured out the final score.
I can't remember a thing about that Little League all-star story or any of the other dozens of hyper-local high school or other sports featured daily in the Daily Republic. I can't remember much about hundreds of similar stories I've written myself.
I remember that story about squirrel racing. It was different. It caught my eye and stopped me on the page.
How do I know that hyper-local doesn't sell? Well, I know the circulation figures haven't risen in Fairfield or Napa (or Vallejo or Vacaville) very much or for very long in the last decade or two. If the all-local, all-the-time nonsense was truly appealing, circulation figures would rise.
Interesting stories sell papers. Stories that appear to be interesting generate web page views.
The squirrel racing story was interesting. I remember people who read it and thought, "This is ridiculous." Still, they read it. When they put the Daily Republic down they knew they could count on finding stories in there that they might not find anywhere else.
I'm certain that people would have discussed it around the water cooler if there were still water coolers in many offices.
I was reminded that my friend can save community newspapers, if they'd let him, when I looked at the Daily Republic today.
My friend has a new gig at the DR, on the news side. So, I wasn't surprised to see an A1 story from the Associated Press about a move that could result in overly obese children being taken away from their parents. It was tucked in amongst those hyper-local stories I never read.
I read that story about the fat kids being snatched away from their parents and realized that my pal's still finding the interesting story -- and then selling it to managers who are looking for local names and local news and, apparently, to bore me to death.
Brad is probably explaining his "water cooler" theory to a new generation of co-workers. And, he's starting by telling the younger staff members what it was like when offices had water coolers.
Just because it's local doesn't make it interesting. I hope my friend can convince more people of that quickly, while newspapers still have a chance.
(Contact Ted Sillanpaa at tsillanpaa1956@gmail.com.)
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
There's Only One Game on List of Top Youth Sports
Take away soccer and there's not a team sport that really does for the very young player what organized athletics claim to do to benefit children.
It takes hours and hours and hours of practice for a 6-year-old even to learn to hit a baseball off a tee. Basketball is a pointless exercise until a kid can dribble the ball and has the strength to shoot the ball anywhere near the basket.
Soccer allows even beginners to play by standard rules and still get the benefits of exercise, teamwork while learning whether or not they enjoy competition.
There are loads of room for failure in activities like tee ball, mini-hoops basketball and other similar miniaturized team sports. Having coached both sports for kids who often hadn't played even in their own yards showed me the angst involved in a 6-year-old swinging a bat at a stationary ball, three times, and missing it each time.
Kids who are willing to run can't really fail on a soccer field. How hard is it for a pint-sized player to understand that they just need to keep the soccer ball from getting near their team's goal? My daughter and her teammates ran themselves ragged and had a blast when, really,
The other day I watched home video of my then 5-year-old son playing quarterback on touch football team for boys so young that they really didn't know the point of the game. I coached the tiny team with the idea that my son would distribute the ball to make sure every player got a chance to touch and run with the ball.
Small problem, though, because I trained my son to throw the ball short distances or to hand it to his teammates ... but, there was no way to teach the other children to hold on to the ball. The league didn't set aside practice time, not that practice would've helped a great deal.
The video shows my son throwing a pass to a little teammate that hit the tiny fellow right in the hands. The boy dropped the ball. The video shows my son drop his head into his hands, just devastated that the pass had fallen incomplete. It showed the little would-be receiver watch the ball bounce away, crestfallen.
There isn't a second of home video that shows anything but my daughter having a blast chasing the ball around the too-big field, laughing with her teammates and loving the orange slices at halftime.
Kid sports have to be fun and be fun all the time when kids are only out there because we send them out there. That makes youth soccer the only sport on a short list of team sports that really little kids should be playing.
(Contact Ted Sillanpaa at tsillanpaa1956@gmail.com.)
It takes hours and hours and hours of practice for a 6-year-old even to learn to hit a baseball off a tee. Basketball is a pointless exercise until a kid can dribble the ball and has the strength to shoot the ball anywhere near the basket.
Soccer allows even beginners to play by standard rules and still get the benefits of exercise, teamwork while learning whether or not they enjoy competition.
There are loads of room for failure in activities like tee ball, mini-hoops basketball and other similar miniaturized team sports. Having coached both sports for kids who often hadn't played even in their own yards showed me the angst involved in a 6-year-old swinging a bat at a stationary ball, three times, and missing it each time.
Kids who are willing to run can't really fail on a soccer field. How hard is it for a pint-sized player to understand that they just need to keep the soccer ball from getting near their team's goal? My daughter and her teammates ran themselves ragged and had a blast when, really,
The other day I watched home video of my then 5-year-old son playing quarterback on touch football team for boys so young that they really didn't know the point of the game. I coached the tiny team with the idea that my son would distribute the ball to make sure every player got a chance to touch and run with the ball.
Small problem, though, because I trained my son to throw the ball short distances or to hand it to his teammates ... but, there was no way to teach the other children to hold on to the ball. The league didn't set aside practice time, not that practice would've helped a great deal.
The video shows my son throwing a pass to a little teammate that hit the tiny fellow right in the hands. The boy dropped the ball. The video shows my son drop his head into his hands, just devastated that the pass had fallen incomplete. It showed the little would-be receiver watch the ball bounce away, crestfallen.
There isn't a second of home video that shows anything but my daughter having a blast chasing the ball around the too-big field, laughing with her teammates and loving the orange slices at halftime.
Kid sports have to be fun and be fun all the time when kids are only out there because we send them out there. That makes youth soccer the only sport on a short list of team sports that really little kids should be playing.
(Contact Ted Sillanpaa at tsillanpaa1956@gmail.com.)
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Justin-Siena baseball's mini-controversy far off point
There are lots of nice people who aren't suited to coaching high school athletics.
Just because a guy was a baseball star in his playing days doesn't mean he can organize a practice, keep up with modern coaching techniques or is possessor of communication skills.
Your best friend might be a sociable fellow with a variety of interests and considerable intellect. That wouldn't, however, have anything to do with his ability to run a high school baseball program.
It's important to note these truths before wading into the mini-controversy surrounding the Justin-Siena High baseball program in Napa.
Justin-Siena just rehired head baseball coach Allen Rossi. Rossi returns after Scott Wright's five-year tenure running the Braves' program ended with the former Vintage High and Cal State Fullerton baseball star being fired this spring.
There is debate swirling around the Justin-Siena and Napa Valley baseball communities over Wright's dismissal. It's like every controversy that follows a coaching change at any high school.
Wright's supporters are upset over the way he was just sent packing despite his being a good friend and with a storied baseball background.
Others who follow Justin baseball are jumping for joy over Wright's departure and the return of the highly-successful and respected Rossi. All they know of Wright is what they know of him as a baseball coach.
The bickering goes on because no one wants to address what led to the coaching change. Folks fear that pointing out a coach's shortcomings are personal attacks on the coach as a human being. So, they argue about that which they don't understand.
The quality of community journalism has digressed to the point that coverage of Wright's termination shed no light on the details. It seemed as though the school had nothing but the highest regard for the former coach's work. The coach, himself, said simply that their were differences of opinion.
Coaches are fired over small differences of opinion.
If readers care enough to comment on newspaper stories in support of the old coach or the new coach, it's incumbent upon the media to try to find out why Wright might've been terminated.
Shedding some light on why the coaching change was made will be the only way to quiet Wright's critics and those who will now set about trying to undermine Rossi.
My son was a freshman left-handed pitcher at Justin-Siena in the spring. He started and ended the season on Wright's varsity team, enjoying the middle of the year playing for a coach he really liked named Mark McLeod.
I've spoken to Wright two or three times in the last three years. Once my kids reach high school, I expect their coaches to be diligent and communicative. So, I didn't talk to Wright this spring. I talked to my son about how to wade through the ups and downs of his first high school baseball season.
The folks who are bickering on the Napa Valley Register web site about Wright being treated unfairly or about the need to move forward with no further talk of what Wright did to lose his job can keep bickering -- or they can read on for a better understanding of the painful process of firing a high school coach.
My son called home in the middle of one of his varsity baseball practices. He said he didn't want to waste another practice watching his varsity teammates playing Wiffle ball instead of doing indoor baseball drills at a rainy-day practice.
Yes, Justin-Siena's baseball practice turned ito a backyard Wiffle ball game on rainy days. If someone would like to defend a varsity baseball coach who allows Wiffle ball games to account for a practice session, more power to them.
My kid wouldn't have been outside playing Wiffle ball at home, he'd have been doing homework to keep pace at the highly academic private school. So, I drove to Justin-Siena to pick him up. He wound up staying at practice to run relay races at the end of practice with his teammates.(Relay races aren't conditioning drills.)
High school baseball players playing Wiffle ball during varsity baseball practice doesn't make the coach a bad guy. Parents like me just expect more from a baseball coach, that's all.
Pitchers need to having a throwing schedule to include their game appearances and work between game appearances. Watch a practice at school with a quality program and you'll see kids throwing in the bullpen under the watchful eye of a pitching coach at practice. Even if it's wet outside, an indoor pitchers' mound allows for young pitchers to get their work in.
Justin-Siena pitchers didn't have a throwing program.
When my son's pitching, and his coach is calling his pitches, I would expect the coach to know that he's a fastball-curveball pitcher with a still-developing change-up. I'd expect the coach to know he's a freshman who throws a lot of pitches and goes deep in the count even when he's at his best. Last spring, my son was playing for a coach who clearly didn't take time to understand his pitchers.
It's impossible to find a college or professional hitting instructor who thinks pitching machines help hitters prepare for game situations. So, Justin-Siena's coach and his staff missed the mark by having the kids hit off machines almost exclusively. Live batting practice came on the field, with players standing around waiting their turn to hit.
The game has changed. First-rate coaches run practices built around fast-paced drills that balance work on hitting and the nuances of defense. Justin-Siena's coaching staff didn't run practices that quality coaching staffs run throughout Northern California.
Hey, it's not easy to run a first-rate, 2011-style high school baseball practice. Parents with sons who are serious about the game expect first-rate, new era workouts.
There are reasons to question how the 2010-2011 Justin baseball team was coached. None of those reasons have a thing to do with Scott Wright's character or his standing the community.
At mid-season, my son pitched a complete game and threw just over 100 pitches in a complete game JV win on a Wednesday. He was called to join the varsity and be prepared to pitch the following Saturday -- on two days rest.
Two days after pitching a complete game at Justin, my kid warmed up and threw maybe 40 pitches, after warming up in the bullpen, in Walnut Creek.
If all that I knew about the former coach and staff was that they allowed my son to throw 140 pitches in three days, it'd be reason for me to call for and approve a coaching change.
I should have complained to the Justin-Siena coaches in the spring. My son was overworked ailing. I opted not to go through the baseball staff protocol of meeting with the head coach in the presence of an assistant coach. My bad.
In the final week of the season, with my kid's arm still sore from the two outings in three days, he got the call back to the varsity. He warmed up to pitch three times in four days. He pitched twice in three days until, finally, he felt like he couldn't be at all effective and told the coaches he couldn't work in a game that determined the league's final playoff entry.
See? It's not about whether a coach was a great player in his youth. It's not about whether he a nice guy, a good friend. Coaching moves are made based on how a man tasked with nurturing young athletes handles those athletes.
My son, obviously, didn't respond well to the care he and his pitching arm were given this spring. He's sidelined with an arm injury after he could only manage 1 2/3 innings in the first game of a national summer tournament in Arizona.
Put yourself in this dad's shoes. Would you be worried that the former coach was unfairly dismissed?
Justin-Siena's decision to change baseball coaches doesn't reflect on Scott Wright's standing in the school or community. He's still a great and valued friend to many. Some Justin baseball parents could only judge him based on how he handled our players.
The Justin-Siena administration made a personnel decision that is believed to have best served the athletes and their families. The bickering should end or more people will be moved to tell more stories and, really, that would get ugly.
Let the controversy end. It would be best for all.
(Contact Ted Sillanpaa at tsillanpaa1956@gmail.com)
Just because a guy was a baseball star in his playing days doesn't mean he can organize a practice, keep up with modern coaching techniques or is possessor of communication skills.
Your best friend might be a sociable fellow with a variety of interests and considerable intellect. That wouldn't, however, have anything to do with his ability to run a high school baseball program.
It's important to note these truths before wading into the mini-controversy surrounding the Justin-Siena High baseball program in Napa.
Justin-Siena just rehired head baseball coach Allen Rossi. Rossi returns after Scott Wright's five-year tenure running the Braves' program ended with the former Vintage High and Cal State Fullerton baseball star being fired this spring.
There is debate swirling around the Justin-Siena and Napa Valley baseball communities over Wright's dismissal. It's like every controversy that follows a coaching change at any high school.
Wright's supporters are upset over the way he was just sent packing despite his being a good friend and with a storied baseball background.
Others who follow Justin baseball are jumping for joy over Wright's departure and the return of the highly-successful and respected Rossi. All they know of Wright is what they know of him as a baseball coach.
The bickering goes on because no one wants to address what led to the coaching change. Folks fear that pointing out a coach's shortcomings are personal attacks on the coach as a human being. So, they argue about that which they don't understand.
The quality of community journalism has digressed to the point that coverage of Wright's termination shed no light on the details. It seemed as though the school had nothing but the highest regard for the former coach's work. The coach, himself, said simply that their were differences of opinion.
Coaches are fired over small differences of opinion.
If readers care enough to comment on newspaper stories in support of the old coach or the new coach, it's incumbent upon the media to try to find out why Wright might've been terminated.
Shedding some light on why the coaching change was made will be the only way to quiet Wright's critics and those who will now set about trying to undermine Rossi.
My son was a freshman left-handed pitcher at Justin-Siena in the spring. He started and ended the season on Wright's varsity team, enjoying the middle of the year playing for a coach he really liked named Mark McLeod.
I've spoken to Wright two or three times in the last three years. Once my kids reach high school, I expect their coaches to be diligent and communicative. So, I didn't talk to Wright this spring. I talked to my son about how to wade through the ups and downs of his first high school baseball season.
The folks who are bickering on the Napa Valley Register web site about Wright being treated unfairly or about the need to move forward with no further talk of what Wright did to lose his job can keep bickering -- or they can read on for a better understanding of the painful process of firing a high school coach.
My son called home in the middle of one of his varsity baseball practices. He said he didn't want to waste another practice watching his varsity teammates playing Wiffle ball instead of doing indoor baseball drills at a rainy-day practice.
Yes, Justin-Siena's baseball practice turned ito a backyard Wiffle ball game on rainy days. If someone would like to defend a varsity baseball coach who allows Wiffle ball games to account for a practice session, more power to them.
My kid wouldn't have been outside playing Wiffle ball at home, he'd have been doing homework to keep pace at the highly academic private school. So, I drove to Justin-Siena to pick him up. He wound up staying at practice to run relay races at the end of practice with his teammates.(Relay races aren't conditioning drills.)
High school baseball players playing Wiffle ball during varsity baseball practice doesn't make the coach a bad guy. Parents like me just expect more from a baseball coach, that's all.
Pitchers need to having a throwing schedule to include their game appearances and work between game appearances. Watch a practice at school with a quality program and you'll see kids throwing in the bullpen under the watchful eye of a pitching coach at practice. Even if it's wet outside, an indoor pitchers' mound allows for young pitchers to get their work in.
Justin-Siena pitchers didn't have a throwing program.
When my son's pitching, and his coach is calling his pitches, I would expect the coach to know that he's a fastball-curveball pitcher with a still-developing change-up. I'd expect the coach to know he's a freshman who throws a lot of pitches and goes deep in the count even when he's at his best. Last spring, my son was playing for a coach who clearly didn't take time to understand his pitchers.
It's impossible to find a college or professional hitting instructor who thinks pitching machines help hitters prepare for game situations. So, Justin-Siena's coach and his staff missed the mark by having the kids hit off machines almost exclusively. Live batting practice came on the field, with players standing around waiting their turn to hit.
The game has changed. First-rate coaches run practices built around fast-paced drills that balance work on hitting and the nuances of defense. Justin-Siena's coaching staff didn't run practices that quality coaching staffs run throughout Northern California.
Hey, it's not easy to run a first-rate, 2011-style high school baseball practice. Parents with sons who are serious about the game expect first-rate, new era workouts.
There are reasons to question how the 2010-2011 Justin baseball team was coached. None of those reasons have a thing to do with Scott Wright's character or his standing the community.
At mid-season, my son pitched a complete game and threw just over 100 pitches in a complete game JV win on a Wednesday. He was called to join the varsity and be prepared to pitch the following Saturday -- on two days rest.
Two days after pitching a complete game at Justin, my kid warmed up and threw maybe 40 pitches, after warming up in the bullpen, in Walnut Creek.
If all that I knew about the former coach and staff was that they allowed my son to throw 140 pitches in three days, it'd be reason for me to call for and approve a coaching change.
I should have complained to the Justin-Siena coaches in the spring. My son was overworked ailing. I opted not to go through the baseball staff protocol of meeting with the head coach in the presence of an assistant coach. My bad.
In the final week of the season, with my kid's arm still sore from the two outings in three days, he got the call back to the varsity. He warmed up to pitch three times in four days. He pitched twice in three days until, finally, he felt like he couldn't be at all effective and told the coaches he couldn't work in a game that determined the league's final playoff entry.
See? It's not about whether a coach was a great player in his youth. It's not about whether he a nice guy, a good friend. Coaching moves are made based on how a man tasked with nurturing young athletes handles those athletes.
My son, obviously, didn't respond well to the care he and his pitching arm were given this spring. He's sidelined with an arm injury after he could only manage 1 2/3 innings in the first game of a national summer tournament in Arizona.
Put yourself in this dad's shoes. Would you be worried that the former coach was unfairly dismissed?
Justin-Siena's decision to change baseball coaches doesn't reflect on Scott Wright's standing in the school or community. He's still a great and valued friend to many. Some Justin baseball parents could only judge him based on how he handled our players.
The Justin-Siena administration made a personnel decision that is believed to have best served the athletes and their families. The bickering should end or more people will be moved to tell more stories and, really, that would get ugly.
Let the controversy end. It would be best for all.
(Contact Ted Sillanpaa at tsillanpaa1956@gmail.com)
Monday, July 11, 2011
Fairfield natives Keown, Sciacca earn Napa baseball honors
http://napavalleyregister.com/sports/high-school/all-county-baseball-first-team/article_5a8168ec-a3b2-11e0-a404-001cc4c002e0.html
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Fairfield baseball stars Alex Keown and Tony Sciacca have been placed on the All-Napa County baseball team by the Napa Valley Register. (The full set of first team selections can be found at the link above. Ideally, I'll figure out how to embed links directly soon.)
Keown was, without question, the best player on the Justin-Siena High team that struggled in Marin County Athletic League play. He was honored by the Napa newspaper as sort of a utility player, but had a banner season as Justin's No. 1 pitcher. The junior threw four pitches for strikes only to have his won-loss record marred by a shakey Justin-Siena defense and lackluster offense.
Keown was the team's lead-off hitter. The newspaper all-star selections, which are based on coaches' individual all-league nominations, don't reflect that Keown is one of the finest receivers and throwers to go behind the plate this spring. His quick release and powerful, accurate throwing arm helped the Braves stay in the MCAL playoff race.
Keown also saw extended action in the middle infield during a chaotic season at Justin where his leadership helped maintain a semblance of order in a campaign that ended with the dismissal of head coach Scott Wright.
While Keown played in the Tri-Valley Little League in Fairfield, Sciacca played for Fairfield Pacific. The sophomore pitcher-infielder had an outstanding season in Napa for tiny Trinity Prep. He also starred for coach Bob Greene's varsity as a freshman.
Fairfield connections go deeper at Trinity Prep. Greene graduated from Armijo High, is a lifetime Fairfield resident and coached JV baseball at Armijo High before former varsity head coach Marcus Franco was inexplicably sent packing after one glorious season at the helm at Armijo.
Keown played in the Bay World Series invitational tournament as a pitcher and catcher. He spent the summer playing for the Napa American Legion team that finished second in District I in tournament play at Laurel Creek in Fairfield.
Sciacca plays summer baseball for the best-kept secret among the many summer programs. He is in his second season for Solano Community College baseball coach Scott Stover's Solano Junior Falcons squad that features players, like Vanden star Elway Santisteven, from throughout the region. Stover's club includes players from Fairfield schools, Trinity Prep, Justin-Siena and other schools.
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Contact Ted Sillanpaa at tsillanpaa1956@gmail.com
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Fairfield baseball stars Alex Keown and Tony Sciacca have been placed on the All-Napa County baseball team by the Napa Valley Register. (The full set of first team selections can be found at the link above. Ideally, I'll figure out how to embed links directly soon.)
Keown was, without question, the best player on the Justin-Siena High team that struggled in Marin County Athletic League play. He was honored by the Napa newspaper as sort of a utility player, but had a banner season as Justin's No. 1 pitcher. The junior threw four pitches for strikes only to have his won-loss record marred by a shakey Justin-Siena defense and lackluster offense.
Keown was the team's lead-off hitter. The newspaper all-star selections, which are based on coaches' individual all-league nominations, don't reflect that Keown is one of the finest receivers and throwers to go behind the plate this spring. His quick release and powerful, accurate throwing arm helped the Braves stay in the MCAL playoff race.
Keown also saw extended action in the middle infield during a chaotic season at Justin where his leadership helped maintain a semblance of order in a campaign that ended with the dismissal of head coach Scott Wright.
While Keown played in the Tri-Valley Little League in Fairfield, Sciacca played for Fairfield Pacific. The sophomore pitcher-infielder had an outstanding season in Napa for tiny Trinity Prep. He also starred for coach Bob Greene's varsity as a freshman.
Fairfield connections go deeper at Trinity Prep. Greene graduated from Armijo High, is a lifetime Fairfield resident and coached JV baseball at Armijo High before former varsity head coach Marcus Franco was inexplicably sent packing after one glorious season at the helm at Armijo.
Keown played in the Bay World Series invitational tournament as a pitcher and catcher. He spent the summer playing for the Napa American Legion team that finished second in District I in tournament play at Laurel Creek in Fairfield.
Sciacca plays summer baseball for the best-kept secret among the many summer programs. He is in his second season for Solano Community College baseball coach Scott Stover's Solano Junior Falcons squad that features players, like Vanden star Elway Santisteven, from throughout the region. Stover's club includes players from Fairfield schools, Trinity Prep, Justin-Siena and other schools.
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Contact Ted Sillanpaa at tsillanpaa1956@gmail.com
Sillanpaa on Sports707: Sillanpaa on Sports707: Scholtens in the Daily Republic
href="http://www.dailyrepublic.com/sports/highschool/rodriguez-hurler-scholtens-named-to-all-state-teams/
Fairfield Daily Republic link to sports editor Paul Farmer's story about all-state pitcher Jesse Scholtens of Rodriguez High School.
Fairfield Daily Republic link to sports editor Paul Farmer's story about all-state pitcher Jesse Scholtens of Rodriguez High School.
Scholtens, Rodriguez baseball stars shine in summer
All-state high school baseball pitcher Jesse Scholtens continued his stellar career this summer, after sparkling for Rodriguez High School. He just did it under the media radar because he joined a growing number of Solano County players to play summer ball outside of Solano County.
Scholtens, shortstop Devon Golden and other keys to the Mustangs' Sonoma County Athletic Conference champion spent the summer playing for the Sacramento Whiplash.
Since he didn't play for a Fairfield-based American Legion team, media coverage of Scholtens only extends to his Fairfield-based high school play. The 6-foot-4 right-hander, however, is the elite level baseball player who typical spends his summer in showcase events and playing throughout the state, region and the country.
Scholtens shined at the Rawlings National Invitational World Series in Stockton in June. The senior righty drew rave reviews from one Bay Area coach who said, "He is legit. He throws hard. He throws strikes. He throws multiple pitches for strikes -- and he's aggressive. He works quickly and that's really appealing."
Scholtens also played in the Bay Area World Series for prep stars sponsored by Northern California scout and coach Blaine Clemmens. Scholtens was joined in that showcase event by Fairfield's Alex Keown, who played in the Tri-Valley Little League before going on to star at Justin-Siena in Napa. Keown is a senior catcher and pitcher.
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Hey! If you found this online, leave a note. Please! The more interest attracted by this effort to differently spotlight Solano and Napa county's athletes will result in more in-depth, hopefully interesting looks at area players of all ages. Contact me at: tsillanpaa1956@gmail.com.
Scholtens, shortstop Devon Golden and other keys to the Mustangs' Sonoma County Athletic Conference champion spent the summer playing for the Sacramento Whiplash.
Since he didn't play for a Fairfield-based American Legion team, media coverage of Scholtens only extends to his Fairfield-based high school play. The 6-foot-4 right-hander, however, is the elite level baseball player who typical spends his summer in showcase events and playing throughout the state, region and the country.
Scholtens shined at the Rawlings National Invitational World Series in Stockton in June. The senior righty drew rave reviews from one Bay Area coach who said, "He is legit. He throws hard. He throws strikes. He throws multiple pitches for strikes -- and he's aggressive. He works quickly and that's really appealing."
Scholtens also played in the Bay Area World Series for prep stars sponsored by Northern California scout and coach Blaine Clemmens. Scholtens was joined in that showcase event by Fairfield's Alex Keown, who played in the Tri-Valley Little League before going on to star at Justin-Siena in Napa. Keown is a senior catcher and pitcher.
----
Hey! If you found this online, leave a note. Please! The more interest attracted by this effort to differently spotlight Solano and Napa county's athletes will result in more in-depth, hopefully interesting looks at area players of all ages. Contact me at: tsillanpaa1956@gmail.com.
Wednesday, January 06, 2010
Oncourt Culture Clash
Napa High School's girls basketball team is a supremely gifted group. Every player on the roster is white in a town where people of color still stand out.
Vanden High School is located on the outskirts of Fairfield, just off I-80 about 45 miles from Oakland. The girls basketball team is one of the best in Northern California. Every player on the Vikings' roster is black and lives in a place where, odd as it sounds, minority groups have become the majority.
Those of us who still choose to believe basketball, and sports, success has to do with something more than race and economic status figured Napa's girls were in good position to win the game. Heck, it was the group from Napa that hooked up the booming hip-hip and rap mix to blast through the gymnasium speaker system during pre-game warm-ups. If basketball was about funk and soul and whatever else apparently lies at the roots of rap and hip-hop -- Napa's kids chose the music to back up their game.
The only thing separating the two highly-rated teams was that one had all blacks and the other had all whites. Race and the neighborhood a kid lives in didn't seem to make any difference. Both teams had great records and star players. Play on.
When warm-ups ended, Napa's girls skipped back to their bench. Vanden's girls huddled in the middle of the court and chanted loudly as they swayed back and forth. That, as it turns out, was the all-black Vikings serving notice that sports success is actually a lot about race and background because race and background influences confidence, desire and skill.
The crowd, made up largely of Napa fans, went immediately silent as the Vanden chant began. The Vikings were greeted with smirks and raised eyebrows when they walked over to their bench. They, as it turned out, had no idea because it turns out that Vanden's girls make every gymnasium their gymnasium. Attitude and focus do play a role in basketball, so ... OK ... the team from the inner-city had an edge. Those smirks and raised eyebrows were actually nervous reactions from Napa fans who aren't used to, um, seeing...you know...er...a team with...with all...uh...girls in green uniforms who stomp the gym like they own it.
Now, there are people who saw the Napa-Vanden game who'll insist that the Vikings' near-30 point victory had nothing to do with race, heritage and social status. There are those, though, who could see that it had everything to do with the victory.
The players and teams do have largely equal skill sets and were equally prepared as units. Why, then, did Vanden's fullcourt pressing defense result in every Napa player giving the ball up almost immediately in the face of pressure?
When the game really started to turn Vanden's way, each player in Napa's lineup slowly backed down. (After the game, even the Napa coach said, "Our team just folded.") By the end, only one Napa player was still challenging Vanden. This player, who isn't normally in position to handle the ball, became the lone ballhandler. When her peers stepped back, she stepped up. (She's one of the finest female athletes in the state and, thus, has had to get past preconceived notions of what should happen when gifted black, inner-city athletes compete against more privileged suburan white kids.)
At one point, one of Napa's key players was knocked to the ground. She sat there long enough for the aforementioned Napa standout to shout, "Get up! C'mon!" The look on her face seemed to show that she hadn't considered whether winning a basketball game was worth getting knocked down over.
Just seconds later, one of Napa's primary scorers and rebounders jumped for the ball -- exactly when Vanden's 6-foot-1 center jumped for it. The Napa girl went flailing out of bounds as the Vanden player grabbed the ball and dropped it through the hoop. Again, the look on the Napa player's face showed that she and her teammates aren't accustomed to making every fight for a loose ball a fight for life in microcosm.
Most all agree that blacks are quicker and jump higher than whites. So, we hesitate to rate quickness and leaping ability on what seems to be skin color alone. But, Napa's got a pretty productive fullcourt press and big rebounders. Vanden responded to them with quick passes and bursts to the basket. Take away the one Napa all-state type athlete and there wasn't a single player in a white uniform as quick or as quick to get off the ground as any girl in a green uniform.
Napa's girls seemed intimidated by their all-black opponent. That was the difference in the game. Napa's girls wanted to win and were prepared to win. Vanden's girls played like they had to win, as though victory was the only acceptable result.
It was a clash of cultures. There are probably culture clashes in gyms all across the country on any given night.
In Napa, and other more privileged spots in America, kids grow up being taught that a "good try" is the goal. They are surrounded by adults who try to coach out of them a desire to play as though victory is the only acceptable result. The youth sports culture in white, suburban America has taken too far the notion that it's not whether you win or lose, but how you play the game.
Go out there thinking about giving a good try and believing that winning and losing doesn't matter will get a girls high school basketball team run out of the gym.
Vanden's girls basketball team pushes and bumps and scores and scores and...they understand that opponents will push back. They live in a world where lots of pushing and pulling goes on every single day -- sometimes just to survive. So, go ahead, play hard...push them...knock them around. They can handle it. Heck, they expect it.
It's 2010, but an all-white team still doesn't necessarily want to throw down when they can back down against a confident, aggressive all-black team.
It's culture thing.
Kids who grow up in the inner city under harsh economic conditions will get run over and forgotten if they get knocked down, so they rarely back down. Youngsters who come from more affluent areas maybe feel like they have a fall back position if they get knocked down, so they'd just as soon back down.
Yeah, it's a culture thing.
Vanden High School is located on the outskirts of Fairfield, just off I-80 about 45 miles from Oakland. The girls basketball team is one of the best in Northern California. Every player on the Vikings' roster is black and lives in a place where, odd as it sounds, minority groups have become the majority.
Those of us who still choose to believe basketball, and sports, success has to do with something more than race and economic status figured Napa's girls were in good position to win the game. Heck, it was the group from Napa that hooked up the booming hip-hip and rap mix to blast through the gymnasium speaker system during pre-game warm-ups. If basketball was about funk and soul and whatever else apparently lies at the roots of rap and hip-hop -- Napa's kids chose the music to back up their game.
The only thing separating the two highly-rated teams was that one had all blacks and the other had all whites. Race and the neighborhood a kid lives in didn't seem to make any difference. Both teams had great records and star players. Play on.
When warm-ups ended, Napa's girls skipped back to their bench. Vanden's girls huddled in the middle of the court and chanted loudly as they swayed back and forth. That, as it turns out, was the all-black Vikings serving notice that sports success is actually a lot about race and background because race and background influences confidence, desire and skill.
The crowd, made up largely of Napa fans, went immediately silent as the Vanden chant began. The Vikings were greeted with smirks and raised eyebrows when they walked over to their bench. They, as it turned out, had no idea because it turns out that Vanden's girls make every gymnasium their gymnasium. Attitude and focus do play a role in basketball, so ... OK ... the team from the inner-city had an edge. Those smirks and raised eyebrows were actually nervous reactions from Napa fans who aren't used to, um, seeing...you know...er...a team with...with all...uh...girls in green uniforms who stomp the gym like they own it.
Now, there are people who saw the Napa-Vanden game who'll insist that the Vikings' near-30 point victory had nothing to do with race, heritage and social status. There are those, though, who could see that it had everything to do with the victory.
The players and teams do have largely equal skill sets and were equally prepared as units. Why, then, did Vanden's fullcourt pressing defense result in every Napa player giving the ball up almost immediately in the face of pressure?
When the game really started to turn Vanden's way, each player in Napa's lineup slowly backed down. (After the game, even the Napa coach said, "Our team just folded.") By the end, only one Napa player was still challenging Vanden. This player, who isn't normally in position to handle the ball, became the lone ballhandler. When her peers stepped back, she stepped up. (She's one of the finest female athletes in the state and, thus, has had to get past preconceived notions of what should happen when gifted black, inner-city athletes compete against more privileged suburan white kids.)
At one point, one of Napa's key players was knocked to the ground. She sat there long enough for the aforementioned Napa standout to shout, "Get up! C'mon!" The look on her face seemed to show that she hadn't considered whether winning a basketball game was worth getting knocked down over.
Just seconds later, one of Napa's primary scorers and rebounders jumped for the ball -- exactly when Vanden's 6-foot-1 center jumped for it. The Napa girl went flailing out of bounds as the Vanden player grabbed the ball and dropped it through the hoop. Again, the look on the Napa player's face showed that she and her teammates aren't accustomed to making every fight for a loose ball a fight for life in microcosm.
Most all agree that blacks are quicker and jump higher than whites. So, we hesitate to rate quickness and leaping ability on what seems to be skin color alone. But, Napa's got a pretty productive fullcourt press and big rebounders. Vanden responded to them with quick passes and bursts to the basket. Take away the one Napa all-state type athlete and there wasn't a single player in a white uniform as quick or as quick to get off the ground as any girl in a green uniform.
Napa's girls seemed intimidated by their all-black opponent. That was the difference in the game. Napa's girls wanted to win and were prepared to win. Vanden's girls played like they had to win, as though victory was the only acceptable result.
It was a clash of cultures. There are probably culture clashes in gyms all across the country on any given night.
In Napa, and other more privileged spots in America, kids grow up being taught that a "good try" is the goal. They are surrounded by adults who try to coach out of them a desire to play as though victory is the only acceptable result. The youth sports culture in white, suburban America has taken too far the notion that it's not whether you win or lose, but how you play the game.
Go out there thinking about giving a good try and believing that winning and losing doesn't matter will get a girls high school basketball team run out of the gym.
Vanden's girls basketball team pushes and bumps and scores and scores and...they understand that opponents will push back. They live in a world where lots of pushing and pulling goes on every single day -- sometimes just to survive. So, go ahead, play hard...push them...knock them around. They can handle it. Heck, they expect it.
It's 2010, but an all-white team still doesn't necessarily want to throw down when they can back down against a confident, aggressive all-black team.
It's culture thing.
Kids who grow up in the inner city under harsh economic conditions will get run over and forgotten if they get knocked down, so they rarely back down. Youngsters who come from more affluent areas maybe feel like they have a fall back position if they get knocked down, so they'd just as soon back down.
Yeah, it's a culture thing.
Saturday, August 08, 2009
Got The Boy a Big League Foul Ball
Little strikes me as more absurd than a grown man taking his baseball glove to a Major League Baseball game in hopes of catching a foul ball hit into the stands.
Nothing strike me as more ridiculous than a group of men wrestling for a foul ball hit into the seats at a big league game.
I've really thought it through. And, I realize, most men reading this are thinking, "Hey, asshole...I take my mitt to the game all the time! I'd kill to get a foul ball at a Giants game when I'm in San Francisco!" It's fine with me if grown men are interested in trying to catch a foul ball, but I think the notion's absurd. I don't care if 12 dudes from four different sections dive over rows of seats to fight over a ball -- as long as they don't dive on me or anyone else who might be injured in their childish rush to get a game-used big league ball.
The ball only costs $7, maybe $10. I can buy a brand new one and not have to look foolish to get it. What makes the game-used ball special? Well, umpires rub them down with a special mud concoction that makes them easier to grip. And, of course, they've been touched by the pitcher and the bat that the batter used to hit the foul ball. So, I can't see myself coming out of a scrum in section 106, row 4 feeling good because I got a ball that Bobby Howry touched right before Johnny Gomes hit it my way...
Wait, that's not true. In most cases I wouldn't go out of my way to get a ball that a journeyman pitcher like Howry touched before a former Petaluma High School star like Gomes blooped it into the seats. Today, at AT&T Park in San Francisco, I went a bit out of my and grabbed a ball that those two big leaguers had been warring with.
Is it techinically going out of my way to turn halfway around, see the ball bounce on the ground behind me and then grab at it? I didn't leave my seat. I didn't turn the full 180 degrees needed to really make a full effort for the ball. My lone thought was, "It's right there and Kellen always wants a foul ball..."
I grabbed a big league foul ball -- my first one ever -- and handed it to my 13-year-old son.
Hooray for me! Huh?
We got free tickets from my son Trent's co-worker. I really only go to big league games when somebody gives me tickets. I love the game and love those Giants, but I won't pay $78 for two tickets to get close enough to enjoy the game. Sitting the press box off and on for years spoiled me. I root for the Giants, but I don't cheer out loud. So, if I'm in cheaper seat far from the field, it's really no fun for me.
Let me stop, briefly, to thank my older sons who have friends who have access to amazingly good seats that sometimes come my way free of charge. Kellen and Tyren have sat in the dugout seats -- the seats at ground level that you can see on TV every time they show the batter from the center field camera. All four kids went and took turns sharing those premium freebies and two seats in the lower box seats right behind home plate. Trent's co-worker gave him two tickets today that put Kellen and I just past the Reds' dugout, four rows from the field.
My primary concern about foul balls is getting out of the way of those line drives that get laced into the seats. Trent's mom Amy got hit with a ball fouled straight back at Candlestick Park once. It thumped her thigh and shoulder before she could flinch -- and before I could fight my natural reaction to duck. A guy in front of her grabbed it and celebrated. She got a bruise. Those high, high, sky-high pops are of no interest either. At best, it's going to sting like hell if you catch one.
I won't fight for a foul ball.
Today, around the sixth inning, Howry threw a pitch that Gomes popped in our direction. I've spent a lifetime figuring out if a foul ball's coming at me or whether I'm safe. As the ball started curl back toward the field, as all pop fouls do, Kellen said, "Heads up," and leaned away and said, "Hey! Heads up!" That was him telling to me try to get the ball without saying, "C'mon dad! Don't be a candyass! Stand up and catch it!"
I didn't move. The ball came down on a woman in the row behind me. She was flanked by two grown men who sat there, apparently, and let her duck forward and take the foul ball in the square of the back. I didn't see it because I didn't turn around. Kellen's second, "Hey, heads up," did spur me half-turn and...the ball was coming to a rest right behind my seat.
It took no effort...none...to reach back with my left hand and grab the ball. It was so simple that I grabbed with my thumb and two fingers...not with a full, five-finger, I-gotta-have-this-ball death grip. Before I could move the ball, some horse's ass from 10, 12 rows behind me came sprinting down the stairs and leaped at the ball.
A full grown man who, I figure, was about 6-foot, 210 pounds was so damned determined to get that foul ball that he dove onto the cement and got both hands on the ball...on top of my hand. My first thought was, "Screw it, asshole! Take the ball!" I imagined a brief tussle that would be shown in replays on television. Yeek!
Then, I realized I actually only had the ball in a thumb and index finger grip. It was then that I heard Kellen say, "Get it!" And, it was then that I had one of my rare bursts of intentional machismo. I was going to fight over the ball...as much as I could with my weaker arm and a tiny, little grip.
Until I heard Kellen say, "Get it," I didn't believe the stories of super-human strength that some folks show when they're helping their family. I didn't exactly have to lift a Volkswagon off of Kellen, but I did need to pull the baseball away from a guy who had a better grip and a whole lot more gotta-have-it than I did. The dumb shit just kept pulling at the ball that I had pinned to the cement.
I was at the point where I was going to look at the guy, tell him he could buy one for $10 and then say, "Take it...maybe Bobby Howry can autograph it for you." But...I got my middle finger (which I wanted later to use in a much different way in regard to my foe) on the ball. I realized, "Hey, this jackass is giving it everything he's got and I'm pulling the ball from him!" I never win battles of strength and even less frequently win battles of will. One tug, with a twist that came to mind late, and I had the ball.
I handed it to Kellen and started watching the game. He was excited. It must be cool to see your old man do something so macho and dad-like. He almost never gets the chance. Then, the two season-ticket holders who treated our section like their living room looked at Kellen and said, "Give her the ball. It hit that lady behind you."
He looked at me. I looked at him. Clearly, the season-ticket holders know baseball etiquette requires every foul ball be given to the little kid. And, clearly, they looked at my 6-foot, 145-pound 13-year-old with slight sideburns and in need of a little shave and thought a 17-year-old was stiffing the old lady who took the blow.
"I'd keep it. You're only a kid," I said. "It's up to you."
Left to his own sense of fair play and common courtesy, he turned and offered the ball to the woman. She politely declined and ... happy ending all around. The season ticket holders, and all who saw his gesture, lauded him for doing the right thing. (After his father essentially said, "Screw 'em! Keep it!")
So, that's how I got the foul ball I figured I'd never get at a big league ball park.
I'm pleased with my effort because Kellen's got dreams, you know? So, he held that damned ball and stared at it off and on until the final out. He called everybody in the immediately family to tell them about the event. He showed it to me and said, "Feel how flat the seams are...it seems so tightly wound...must be hard to make it curve..." Then, he finally got ahold of his little sister to tell her the tale.
"I got a foul ball at the Giants game," he said.
"YOU got the foul ball?"
I nearly missed the I-80 exit onto the Bay Bridge.
"YOU got the ball? Tell her how you got it!!!"
I felt a rush of testosterone.
Nothing strike me as more ridiculous than a group of men wrestling for a foul ball hit into the seats at a big league game.
I've really thought it through. And, I realize, most men reading this are thinking, "Hey, asshole...I take my mitt to the game all the time! I'd kill to get a foul ball at a Giants game when I'm in San Francisco!" It's fine with me if grown men are interested in trying to catch a foul ball, but I think the notion's absurd. I don't care if 12 dudes from four different sections dive over rows of seats to fight over a ball -- as long as they don't dive on me or anyone else who might be injured in their childish rush to get a game-used big league ball.
The ball only costs $7, maybe $10. I can buy a brand new one and not have to look foolish to get it. What makes the game-used ball special? Well, umpires rub them down with a special mud concoction that makes them easier to grip. And, of course, they've been touched by the pitcher and the bat that the batter used to hit the foul ball. So, I can't see myself coming out of a scrum in section 106, row 4 feeling good because I got a ball that Bobby Howry touched right before Johnny Gomes hit it my way...
Wait, that's not true. In most cases I wouldn't go out of my way to get a ball that a journeyman pitcher like Howry touched before a former Petaluma High School star like Gomes blooped it into the seats. Today, at AT&T Park in San Francisco, I went a bit out of my and grabbed a ball that those two big leaguers had been warring with.
Is it techinically going out of my way to turn halfway around, see the ball bounce on the ground behind me and then grab at it? I didn't leave my seat. I didn't turn the full 180 degrees needed to really make a full effort for the ball. My lone thought was, "It's right there and Kellen always wants a foul ball..."
I grabbed a big league foul ball -- my first one ever -- and handed it to my 13-year-old son.
Hooray for me! Huh?
We got free tickets from my son Trent's co-worker. I really only go to big league games when somebody gives me tickets. I love the game and love those Giants, but I won't pay $78 for two tickets to get close enough to enjoy the game. Sitting the press box off and on for years spoiled me. I root for the Giants, but I don't cheer out loud. So, if I'm in cheaper seat far from the field, it's really no fun for me.
Let me stop, briefly, to thank my older sons who have friends who have access to amazingly good seats that sometimes come my way free of charge. Kellen and Tyren have sat in the dugout seats -- the seats at ground level that you can see on TV every time they show the batter from the center field camera. All four kids went and took turns sharing those premium freebies and two seats in the lower box seats right behind home plate. Trent's co-worker gave him two tickets today that put Kellen and I just past the Reds' dugout, four rows from the field.
My primary concern about foul balls is getting out of the way of those line drives that get laced into the seats. Trent's mom Amy got hit with a ball fouled straight back at Candlestick Park once. It thumped her thigh and shoulder before she could flinch -- and before I could fight my natural reaction to duck. A guy in front of her grabbed it and celebrated. She got a bruise. Those high, high, sky-high pops are of no interest either. At best, it's going to sting like hell if you catch one.
I won't fight for a foul ball.
Today, around the sixth inning, Howry threw a pitch that Gomes popped in our direction. I've spent a lifetime figuring out if a foul ball's coming at me or whether I'm safe. As the ball started curl back toward the field, as all pop fouls do, Kellen said, "Heads up," and leaned away and said, "Hey! Heads up!" That was him telling to me try to get the ball without saying, "C'mon dad! Don't be a candyass! Stand up and catch it!"
I didn't move. The ball came down on a woman in the row behind me. She was flanked by two grown men who sat there, apparently, and let her duck forward and take the foul ball in the square of the back. I didn't see it because I didn't turn around. Kellen's second, "Hey, heads up," did spur me half-turn and...the ball was coming to a rest right behind my seat.
It took no effort...none...to reach back with my left hand and grab the ball. It was so simple that I grabbed with my thumb and two fingers...not with a full, five-finger, I-gotta-have-this-ball death grip. Before I could move the ball, some horse's ass from 10, 12 rows behind me came sprinting down the stairs and leaped at the ball.
A full grown man who, I figure, was about 6-foot, 210 pounds was so damned determined to get that foul ball that he dove onto the cement and got both hands on the ball...on top of my hand. My first thought was, "Screw it, asshole! Take the ball!" I imagined a brief tussle that would be shown in replays on television. Yeek!
Then, I realized I actually only had the ball in a thumb and index finger grip. It was then that I heard Kellen say, "Get it!" And, it was then that I had one of my rare bursts of intentional machismo. I was going to fight over the ball...as much as I could with my weaker arm and a tiny, little grip.
Until I heard Kellen say, "Get it," I didn't believe the stories of super-human strength that some folks show when they're helping their family. I didn't exactly have to lift a Volkswagon off of Kellen, but I did need to pull the baseball away from a guy who had a better grip and a whole lot more gotta-have-it than I did. The dumb shit just kept pulling at the ball that I had pinned to the cement.
I was at the point where I was going to look at the guy, tell him he could buy one for $10 and then say, "Take it...maybe Bobby Howry can autograph it for you." But...I got my middle finger (which I wanted later to use in a much different way in regard to my foe) on the ball. I realized, "Hey, this jackass is giving it everything he's got and I'm pulling the ball from him!" I never win battles of strength and even less frequently win battles of will. One tug, with a twist that came to mind late, and I had the ball.
I handed it to Kellen and started watching the game. He was excited. It must be cool to see your old man do something so macho and dad-like. He almost never gets the chance. Then, the two season-ticket holders who treated our section like their living room looked at Kellen and said, "Give her the ball. It hit that lady behind you."
He looked at me. I looked at him. Clearly, the season-ticket holders know baseball etiquette requires every foul ball be given to the little kid. And, clearly, they looked at my 6-foot, 145-pound 13-year-old with slight sideburns and in need of a little shave and thought a 17-year-old was stiffing the old lady who took the blow.
"I'd keep it. You're only a kid," I said. "It's up to you."
Left to his own sense of fair play and common courtesy, he turned and offered the ball to the woman. She politely declined and ... happy ending all around. The season ticket holders, and all who saw his gesture, lauded him for doing the right thing. (After his father essentially said, "Screw 'em! Keep it!")
So, that's how I got the foul ball I figured I'd never get at a big league ball park.
I'm pleased with my effort because Kellen's got dreams, you know? So, he held that damned ball and stared at it off and on until the final out. He called everybody in the immediately family to tell them about the event. He showed it to me and said, "Feel how flat the seams are...it seems so tightly wound...must be hard to make it curve..." Then, he finally got ahold of his little sister to tell her the tale.
"I got a foul ball at the Giants game," he said.
"YOU got the foul ball?"
I nearly missed the I-80 exit onto the Bay Bridge.
"YOU got the ball? Tell her how you got it!!!"
I felt a rush of testosterone.
Thursday, August 06, 2009
Self-Loathing On the Jogging Trail
When I was a runner, in my 20s and 30s, I mocked the overweight dude out slogging along at a snail's pace. Dude'd be sweating through his gray t-shirt and the white sweat band he wore around his bid, old head. More often than not, he was carrying a cassette tape player or a walkman CD machine because, God knew, there was no way he'd make it a mile or two without music to drastic him from the discomfort.
At that point, I was running five miles in a hair over 30 minutes. Living in my hometown of Eureka, I'd go out of my way most days to find more, steeper hills to run. On days when nothing felt right, and there were many, running hard and fast and for five or six miles saved me. I felt alive. I felt good about myself, which was and is rare, every step of the way.
Now? I'm that overweight dude shuffling along with an iPod playing tunes to keep my mind off how it difficult every step has become. Worse...I'm an old, overweight dude. Way worse...I'm suffering shin splints -- or some other malady that stems from asking my legs to carry more weight, too far and too fast. And...shit...I'm barely even jogging two miles.
There's a truly serious runner working in my office. He's about my age, but he's never allowed himself to balloon to 30 pounds over his ... er, 40 pounds over his prime running weight. (Actually, I've gained 90 pounds since I first ran six hard miles a day at the height of my battle with panic attacks in my early 20s.) The guy runs half-marathons and he trains with a team that has a coach and, heck, I remember when my pals and I laughed because the only real athletes on our high school cross country team were David Wells, Mike Whitehead and Rick Hrdina. Beyond those three studs, it was a bunch of guys who could run and couldn't play ball.
"What's wrong with being that guy?"
Figures that the runner I work with would have sympathy for the devil I think is the overweight, old, lard ass I've become.
"You're out there...you're doing it..."
That's exactly what I used to hear people say about the fattest, slowest, dopiest looking runners in my running heyday. "Oh, be nice...at least he's out there running!" (I'd point out that it's not running if you're barely moving.)
What's wrong with being that guy?
I'm an athlete. I play ball. The guy who bats cleanup and leads the team in home runs doesn't wear a white headband. The guy who goes in the game to defend the leading scorer on the other basketball team wouldn't have a pot belly. I'm the guy who goes out to play flag football, once every couple years, and absolutely tears it up at quarterback...so, everything's wrong with me being that guy because...I'm not that guy...I'm those guys I just described.
Damn!
I jogged again tonight, doing just about everything the runner told me to avoid as I get back in shape. I didn't start with a speed walk. I jogged 1.5 miles and stopped only to walk one little upward slope just before my shin splits began to ache. Then, I shuffled all the way home...2.3 miles...listening to my iPod and wishing that "Lunatic Fringe" could inspire me to acknowledge who I've actually become and, thus, move me to be who I've always felt I was.
See, now...I'm a walking, talking A-1 heart attack waiting to happen. It's not a matter of if I'm going to have one -- everybody in my family had one or more. It's simply a matter of when I'm going to have a heart attack. I've known it for years and, thus, ran all those miles simply to add a few minutes or a few days or a few weeks to my life. I was running five, six miles and...I thought...running away from the heart problem I knew was right behind me.
My risk factors for a heart attack probably couldn't be higher. I'm genetically predisposed. And, thanks to getting away from fitness, my blood pressure has risen to Stage One hypertension. (No...it doesn't stop me from jogging when others would walk.) I'm overweight and my cholesterol levels are high. Actually, my overall cholesterol level is OK...my bad cholesterol level is high.
Dammit, I'm not that guy. I'm not that guy who goes for a walk and hopes that, maybe, in a couple months he can jog a little. I'm not that guy who's afraid to run because it elevates his heart rate. I'm smart enough to know that I'm not running so hard that I can't control my breathing. Remember the famous running doctor? Dr. Jim Fixx? He was an early proponent of distance running for health, then died at the start of a short run of a heart attack. It turned out he ignored pains in places that indicate a heart problem. To date, I've had no such pain ... and I'm not that guy who walks and checks his pulse all the while because he's fuckin' afraid of dropping on the jogging path.
I got in shape once, when I really was an athlete, outrunning depression and panic attacks. Maybe I can do it again, even though I'm not an athlete at all, because I'm not going to give up and just sit around eating cookies until the heart attack hits. Only a candy-ass in a gray sweatshirt, with a walkman, black tennis shoes and a really, really, really red face who takes walks for fitness would do that.
I'm not that guy.
At that point, I was running five miles in a hair over 30 minutes. Living in my hometown of Eureka, I'd go out of my way most days to find more, steeper hills to run. On days when nothing felt right, and there were many, running hard and fast and for five or six miles saved me. I felt alive. I felt good about myself, which was and is rare, every step of the way.
Now? I'm that overweight dude shuffling along with an iPod playing tunes to keep my mind off how it difficult every step has become. Worse...I'm an old, overweight dude. Way worse...I'm suffering shin splints -- or some other malady that stems from asking my legs to carry more weight, too far and too fast. And...shit...I'm barely even jogging two miles.
There's a truly serious runner working in my office. He's about my age, but he's never allowed himself to balloon to 30 pounds over his ... er, 40 pounds over his prime running weight. (Actually, I've gained 90 pounds since I first ran six hard miles a day at the height of my battle with panic attacks in my early 20s.) The guy runs half-marathons and he trains with a team that has a coach and, heck, I remember when my pals and I laughed because the only real athletes on our high school cross country team were David Wells, Mike Whitehead and Rick Hrdina. Beyond those three studs, it was a bunch of guys who could run and couldn't play ball.
"What's wrong with being that guy?"
Figures that the runner I work with would have sympathy for the devil I think is the overweight, old, lard ass I've become.
"You're out there...you're doing it..."
That's exactly what I used to hear people say about the fattest, slowest, dopiest looking runners in my running heyday. "Oh, be nice...at least he's out there running!" (I'd point out that it's not running if you're barely moving.)
What's wrong with being that guy?
I'm an athlete. I play ball. The guy who bats cleanup and leads the team in home runs doesn't wear a white headband. The guy who goes in the game to defend the leading scorer on the other basketball team wouldn't have a pot belly. I'm the guy who goes out to play flag football, once every couple years, and absolutely tears it up at quarterback...so, everything's wrong with me being that guy because...I'm not that guy...I'm those guys I just described.
Damn!
I jogged again tonight, doing just about everything the runner told me to avoid as I get back in shape. I didn't start with a speed walk. I jogged 1.5 miles and stopped only to walk one little upward slope just before my shin splits began to ache. Then, I shuffled all the way home...2.3 miles...listening to my iPod and wishing that "Lunatic Fringe" could inspire me to acknowledge who I've actually become and, thus, move me to be who I've always felt I was.
See, now...I'm a walking, talking A-1 heart attack waiting to happen. It's not a matter of if I'm going to have one -- everybody in my family had one or more. It's simply a matter of when I'm going to have a heart attack. I've known it for years and, thus, ran all those miles simply to add a few minutes or a few days or a few weeks to my life. I was running five, six miles and...I thought...running away from the heart problem I knew was right behind me.
My risk factors for a heart attack probably couldn't be higher. I'm genetically predisposed. And, thanks to getting away from fitness, my blood pressure has risen to Stage One hypertension. (No...it doesn't stop me from jogging when others would walk.) I'm overweight and my cholesterol levels are high. Actually, my overall cholesterol level is OK...my bad cholesterol level is high.
Dammit, I'm not that guy. I'm not that guy who goes for a walk and hopes that, maybe, in a couple months he can jog a little. I'm not that guy who's afraid to run because it elevates his heart rate. I'm smart enough to know that I'm not running so hard that I can't control my breathing. Remember the famous running doctor? Dr. Jim Fixx? He was an early proponent of distance running for health, then died at the start of a short run of a heart attack. It turned out he ignored pains in places that indicate a heart problem. To date, I've had no such pain ... and I'm not that guy who walks and checks his pulse all the while because he's fuckin' afraid of dropping on the jogging path.
I got in shape once, when I really was an athlete, outrunning depression and panic attacks. Maybe I can do it again, even though I'm not an athlete at all, because I'm not going to give up and just sit around eating cookies until the heart attack hits. Only a candy-ass in a gray sweatshirt, with a walkman, black tennis shoes and a really, really, really red face who takes walks for fitness would do that.
I'm not that guy.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Baseball, And What Not....
The Fairfield Expos youth baseball organization poured money and hard work into turning the town's Laurel Creek Park into their home field.
The organization constructed batting cages -- one down each foul line and restored the dugouts. There were two tiny bleachers, now there is a high-rise seating area behind home plate. The seats have backs, just like the seats at a big league ball park.
Most interestingly, the organization installed all-purpose turf in the infield. The number of first-rate youth baseball facilities in the area with grass or dirt infields is dwindling to the point it's apparent that the cost of all-purpose turf is offset by the ease of maintenance and its availability even after some wet weather.
I stopped in to see the ball park and caught an inning of men's league baseball. The Solano Mud Cats were playing a team from the Bay Area. The Mud Cats featured a couple of former minor leaguers, one was a catcher who bounced around pro ball for years because he remains a sterling defender. It occurred to me that my hometown Humboldt Crabs always open their summer collegiate season against the Fairfield Indians. The Indians just added a young player who was selected in the first five rounds of the Major League Baseball draft, then struggled in the low minors for years. But, the Indians are just an average men's league baseball team, not even as good as Solano County's other men's league team -- the Mud Cats.
It would serve the Crabs college talent and their fans if the Mud Cats and Indians threw together the best 18 players (and a boat load of pitchers) to go play the Crabs in June. It would be great baseball and, potentially, the visiting team might even win a game.
The Sunday afternoon game I watched drew a pretty good crowd for a men's league game in Fairfield. There were probably, oh, 30 or 35 fans.
My son and I noted players who were standouts in Solano County, including the kid who's actually returning to play in an independent minor league team today.
I noted that one former college star looked like he'd put on 40 pounds. My daughter asked, "How can you tell if they're out of shape?"
"If they're built close to the way I'm built," I said, "they're out of shape. Baseball players don't usually have love handles or pot bellies."
The organization constructed batting cages -- one down each foul line and restored the dugouts. There were two tiny bleachers, now there is a high-rise seating area behind home plate. The seats have backs, just like the seats at a big league ball park.
Most interestingly, the organization installed all-purpose turf in the infield. The number of first-rate youth baseball facilities in the area with grass or dirt infields is dwindling to the point it's apparent that the cost of all-purpose turf is offset by the ease of maintenance and its availability even after some wet weather.
I stopped in to see the ball park and caught an inning of men's league baseball. The Solano Mud Cats were playing a team from the Bay Area. The Mud Cats featured a couple of former minor leaguers, one was a catcher who bounced around pro ball for years because he remains a sterling defender. It occurred to me that my hometown Humboldt Crabs always open their summer collegiate season against the Fairfield Indians. The Indians just added a young player who was selected in the first five rounds of the Major League Baseball draft, then struggled in the low minors for years. But, the Indians are just an average men's league baseball team, not even as good as Solano County's other men's league team -- the Mud Cats.
It would serve the Crabs college talent and their fans if the Mud Cats and Indians threw together the best 18 players (and a boat load of pitchers) to go play the Crabs in June. It would be great baseball and, potentially, the visiting team might even win a game.
The Sunday afternoon game I watched drew a pretty good crowd for a men's league game in Fairfield. There were probably, oh, 30 or 35 fans.
My son and I noted players who were standouts in Solano County, including the kid who's actually returning to play in an independent minor league team today.
I noted that one former college star looked like he'd put on 40 pounds. My daughter asked, "How can you tell if they're out of shape?"
"If they're built close to the way I'm built," I said, "they're out of shape. Baseball players don't usually have love handles or pot bellies."
Thursday, April 16, 2009
"We Heard You Died"
So, I'm driving back from the store with my youngest son and get a telephone call from work.
"Ted? This is Andy. Hi!"
Yeah. Hi. OK. What? I'm sick. I called in sick. Flu or something that, alas, doesn't take away the need to do fatherly duties. (Dads can't call in sick.)
"Yeah...Marty just got a call ... um...from the Times-Standard up in Eureka...and..."
What? Gee whiz? I know the guys I work with are incredibly thoughtful, but I don't think I need to hear about every communication between them and my old newspaper.
"...and, um, the sports editor said you were in a car accident..."
Say what? No.
"I what? No. I'm driving home right now. That's weird."
Weird didn't accurately describe how it felt to hear a rumor that I'd been in a car wreck, perhaps 350 miles away in my old hometown.
"...actually...um..."
Andy pauses when he's saying something he's uncomfortable saying. Nice guys are like that. They know they're going to say something potentially upsetting so ... they ... hesitate. (Thus, I tend to blurt things out and think later.)
"...actually, they said you'd passed away."
The Times-Standard guy called the Napa Valley Register guy to ask if I'd died.
Oh. OK. Whew! I thought it was something important.
"He called to see if I'D DIED!?!?!?! That's insane. I'm alive, unless something happened I don't know about. My son's in the back seat of the car and he's in trouble if I'm dead..."
I laughed it off because my parents' deaths skewed my view of death. I'm a little afraid of dying, like lots of people. I know it makes people left behind really sad, so ... sure ... I'd say the thought of death is unpleasant. I have, however, come to grips with the fact I'm going to die and that the world will go on...my family and friends will get over my death and, hopefully, prosper.
Hearing word of my own demise didn't send a chill down my spine or anything.
I am on the case now, though, trying to figure out how the story unfolded. I know there are folks in my home area who likely relish the notion of my passing. But, the story apparently started in Fairfield...and, really...nobody cares enough about me one way or the other there to start a rumor. Word is that it could be a joke...
Now, I'll acknowedge, hearing I'd died did not make me laugh.
"Ted? This is Andy. Hi!"
Yeah. Hi. OK. What? I'm sick. I called in sick. Flu or something that, alas, doesn't take away the need to do fatherly duties. (Dads can't call in sick.)
"Yeah...Marty just got a call ... um...from the Times-Standard up in Eureka...and..."
What? Gee whiz? I know the guys I work with are incredibly thoughtful, but I don't think I need to hear about every communication between them and my old newspaper.
"...and, um, the sports editor said you were in a car accident..."
Say what? No.
"I what? No. I'm driving home right now. That's weird."
Weird didn't accurately describe how it felt to hear a rumor that I'd been in a car wreck, perhaps 350 miles away in my old hometown.
"...actually...um..."
Andy pauses when he's saying something he's uncomfortable saying. Nice guys are like that. They know they're going to say something potentially upsetting so ... they ... hesitate. (Thus, I tend to blurt things out and think later.)
"...actually, they said you'd passed away."
The Times-Standard guy called the Napa Valley Register guy to ask if I'd died.
Oh. OK. Whew! I thought it was something important.
"He called to see if I'D DIED!?!?!?! That's insane. I'm alive, unless something happened I don't know about. My son's in the back seat of the car and he's in trouble if I'm dead..."
I laughed it off because my parents' deaths skewed my view of death. I'm a little afraid of dying, like lots of people. I know it makes people left behind really sad, so ... sure ... I'd say the thought of death is unpleasant. I have, however, come to grips with the fact I'm going to die and that the world will go on...my family and friends will get over my death and, hopefully, prosper.
Hearing word of my own demise didn't send a chill down my spine or anything.
I am on the case now, though, trying to figure out how the story unfolded. I know there are folks in my home area who likely relish the notion of my passing. But, the story apparently started in Fairfield...and, really...nobody cares enough about me one way or the other there to start a rumor. Word is that it could be a joke...
Now, I'll acknowedge, hearing I'd died did not make me laugh.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
The White Shadow: 2009
It was like an episode from that CBS drama "The White Shadow." Remember? The caucasian guy coaches the all-black high school basketball team?
The difference here was that my 13-year-old son was the only caucasian on an all-black AAU basketball team coached by four black men. They played in a tournament up in northern Sacramento and southern Placer County -- in the Rocklin, Roseville area.
Things were cool playing at Foothill High just off I-80, not far from the ghetto that stands where McClellan Air Force Base once stood proudly. It's a mixed-race area and the only racial delineation came on the court where 10 white kids from Rocklin ran and passed circles around my kid's team.
The little kids on my son's team are told to do one thing and one thing only when they get the ball, "Push it! PUUUUUUSH it! Run! Faster!" Great concept, but lack of body control and plan really makes the balls-out fastbreak problematic. Then, on defense, they press -- for 32 minutes. They're a quick, scrappy bunch but, again, lack of body control and an incredibly well coached team from Rocklin routinely beat the press without the ball ever touching the court...pass...pass...pass...layup! Impressive.
My son looked like Shaquille O'Neal out there. He's 5-foot-1, 155 pounds and he's gone through puberty...he's going through the tail end right now. When he was in the game, it just didn't look right. Everything changed. He seemed too strong and seemed like he got too much higher than the other kids. Not in a good way, either, it got me to thinking because...my son should never, not for one second, dominate a basketball game involving kids his age.
Ah, then I remembered...the guy who recruited him hemmed and hawed about ages and birthdates and said, "Oh, every team has one or two bigger, older kids." My son's a seventh grader. The Rocklin team plays in the sixth-grade division.
"He's illegal," the coach said, thus explaining why my son looked like he was so much bigger, stronger and older.
It didn't matter if he was a year too old, the team's not very good. So, they headed for Rocklin -- an affluent, almost solely white enclave just off I-80. It's a sea of cookie-cutter homes, in sparkling new subdivisions. Rocklin High School is beautiful and clean and ... it's not like Fairfield or any school in Fairfield.
The Warriors played another well-coached bunch of white kids. I got to see why, sadly, normally clear-thinking white folks are put off by equally well-intentioned black folks. There's a societal difference -- we're all just people, but...we're different in how we communicate and how we, oh, cheer at a kids basketball game.
The black folks, and their kids, cheered and played like teams from inner-city black neighborhoods. The coaches yelled a lot, and really loud, and the kids couldn't understand them. They knew, "Push it!" and "Pressure!" That was it.
What comes off as everyday speak between the coaches and kids sounds really harsh to the people who live in Rocklin or Lincoln or Auburn, you know?
Hey, we all speak some form of broken English. Bloggers have made broken English into a writing style. But, when the Rocklin fans heard the coach shout, "C'mon, use your head! Come over and sit on the bench. You're not giving full effort," it came out sounding like:
"What'chew doin' out there! Git yo'self on the bench where you belong! You ain't even tryin'!"
And, it echoed in the gym.
Parents in the stands shouted advice to my son. "Get your arms up. You're so big ... can't nobody get the ball from you!" (But, can't always get that ball and hold on to it when you haven't played much basketball either.) I got the distinct impression that my Fairfield-based peers feel that every kid on their team should know how to play basketball and should play it well. And, they seemed to give the white kids (yeesh, I know this sounds racist) no credit for moving the ball around, being dead-eye shooters and playing a disciplined brand of basketball that some high school teams couldn't manage. (When you pay $1,000 to get your kid good coaching...you get really good coaching.)
The poor little point guard from Fairfield felt he'd been fouled...a lot. When his dad finished hollering at him and the lady behind me finished shouting that her son, "Needs his minutes" -- the kid stormed off the floor and blurted, "This is bullshit!"
The fans from Placer County let out an audible gasp. It didn't phase me or my son. We curse, er, I curse around him and he's heard and said every curse word imaginable. Yet...he's an honor student, so...go figure.
I just knew those affluent, white adults were thinking, "Typical! That's why I moved out of the city! Those people are ..." Then they added what they think minorities in general, and blacks specifically, are doing to society.
They're making it ... more colorful. They're no different and it pissed me off thinking the people looked down on them.
Then, after a huge loss, the coaches did a deal that you would see in a Will Ferrell movie, or maybe something where Jonah Hill plays a team manager. The kids were all sitting on the curb, tired and defeated...and a father who likes amazingly like the comic Cedric the Entertainer started talking...and, I've heard him talk...he's a really bright, articulate man. He explained the basketball team's offense to me and I couldn't have understood every word more clearly. Somehow, though, in front of all those kids in public...he started shouting things like, "Lemme' axe you sumthin'..." and, "Ya gotstuh' represent Fairfield" and...other stuff white kids in Placer County say to emulate the black kids in Fairfield who, once they hit high school dominate the teams from Placer County.
My son might never been in a team meeting where's urged to "represent," but those Placer parents will hear another coach talk to another group of players and completely misunderstand everything they hear.
I think basketball in the inner city is a bit of a lifestyle choice, maybe an avenue out of bad times. If my son's see an NBA game...they see hope and they see heroes...they only see guys who look like them. You know? We have a black president, but it's going to take time for sixth-grade kids to start aspiring to become Barack Obama. They will, some do now, but it'll take time. For now, they all want to be Kobe and LeBron -- and their parents are digging the idea.
So, basketball's just another game...another activity to the folks in Placer County. It's a lifestyle...it's THE game...to the folks who run with the Warriors.
It's too bad we judge each other without knowing each other.
It's also too bad I sort of expect my son to follow the rules and that, thus, his time with the Warriors was brief. There's no misjudging breaking the rules in youth sports.
The difference here was that my 13-year-old son was the only caucasian on an all-black AAU basketball team coached by four black men. They played in a tournament up in northern Sacramento and southern Placer County -- in the Rocklin, Roseville area.
Things were cool playing at Foothill High just off I-80, not far from the ghetto that stands where McClellan Air Force Base once stood proudly. It's a mixed-race area and the only racial delineation came on the court where 10 white kids from Rocklin ran and passed circles around my kid's team.
The little kids on my son's team are told to do one thing and one thing only when they get the ball, "Push it! PUUUUUUSH it! Run! Faster!" Great concept, but lack of body control and plan really makes the balls-out fastbreak problematic. Then, on defense, they press -- for 32 minutes. They're a quick, scrappy bunch but, again, lack of body control and an incredibly well coached team from Rocklin routinely beat the press without the ball ever touching the court...pass...pass...pass...layup! Impressive.
My son looked like Shaquille O'Neal out there. He's 5-foot-1, 155 pounds and he's gone through puberty...he's going through the tail end right now. When he was in the game, it just didn't look right. Everything changed. He seemed too strong and seemed like he got too much higher than the other kids. Not in a good way, either, it got me to thinking because...my son should never, not for one second, dominate a basketball game involving kids his age.
Ah, then I remembered...the guy who recruited him hemmed and hawed about ages and birthdates and said, "Oh, every team has one or two bigger, older kids." My son's a seventh grader. The Rocklin team plays in the sixth-grade division.
"He's illegal," the coach said, thus explaining why my son looked like he was so much bigger, stronger and older.
It didn't matter if he was a year too old, the team's not very good. So, they headed for Rocklin -- an affluent, almost solely white enclave just off I-80. It's a sea of cookie-cutter homes, in sparkling new subdivisions. Rocklin High School is beautiful and clean and ... it's not like Fairfield or any school in Fairfield.
The Warriors played another well-coached bunch of white kids. I got to see why, sadly, normally clear-thinking white folks are put off by equally well-intentioned black folks. There's a societal difference -- we're all just people, but...we're different in how we communicate and how we, oh, cheer at a kids basketball game.
The black folks, and their kids, cheered and played like teams from inner-city black neighborhoods. The coaches yelled a lot, and really loud, and the kids couldn't understand them. They knew, "Push it!" and "Pressure!" That was it.
What comes off as everyday speak between the coaches and kids sounds really harsh to the people who live in Rocklin or Lincoln or Auburn, you know?
Hey, we all speak some form of broken English. Bloggers have made broken English into a writing style. But, when the Rocklin fans heard the coach shout, "C'mon, use your head! Come over and sit on the bench. You're not giving full effort," it came out sounding like:
"What'chew doin' out there! Git yo'self on the bench where you belong! You ain't even tryin'!"
And, it echoed in the gym.
Parents in the stands shouted advice to my son. "Get your arms up. You're so big ... can't nobody get the ball from you!" (But, can't always get that ball and hold on to it when you haven't played much basketball either.) I got the distinct impression that my Fairfield-based peers feel that every kid on their team should know how to play basketball and should play it well. And, they seemed to give the white kids (yeesh, I know this sounds racist) no credit for moving the ball around, being dead-eye shooters and playing a disciplined brand of basketball that some high school teams couldn't manage. (When you pay $1,000 to get your kid good coaching...you get really good coaching.)
The poor little point guard from Fairfield felt he'd been fouled...a lot. When his dad finished hollering at him and the lady behind me finished shouting that her son, "Needs his minutes" -- the kid stormed off the floor and blurted, "This is bullshit!"
The fans from Placer County let out an audible gasp. It didn't phase me or my son. We curse, er, I curse around him and he's heard and said every curse word imaginable. Yet...he's an honor student, so...go figure.
I just knew those affluent, white adults were thinking, "Typical! That's why I moved out of the city! Those people are ..." Then they added what they think minorities in general, and blacks specifically, are doing to society.
They're making it ... more colorful. They're no different and it pissed me off thinking the people looked down on them.
Then, after a huge loss, the coaches did a deal that you would see in a Will Ferrell movie, or maybe something where Jonah Hill plays a team manager. The kids were all sitting on the curb, tired and defeated...and a father who likes amazingly like the comic Cedric the Entertainer started talking...and, I've heard him talk...he's a really bright, articulate man. He explained the basketball team's offense to me and I couldn't have understood every word more clearly. Somehow, though, in front of all those kids in public...he started shouting things like, "Lemme' axe you sumthin'..." and, "Ya gotstuh' represent Fairfield" and...other stuff white kids in Placer County say to emulate the black kids in Fairfield who, once they hit high school dominate the teams from Placer County.
My son might never been in a team meeting where's urged to "represent," but those Placer parents will hear another coach talk to another group of players and completely misunderstand everything they hear.
I think basketball in the inner city is a bit of a lifestyle choice, maybe an avenue out of bad times. If my son's see an NBA game...they see hope and they see heroes...they only see guys who look like them. You know? We have a black president, but it's going to take time for sixth-grade kids to start aspiring to become Barack Obama. They will, some do now, but it'll take time. For now, they all want to be Kobe and LeBron -- and their parents are digging the idea.
So, basketball's just another game...another activity to the folks in Placer County. It's a lifestyle...it's THE game...to the folks who run with the Warriors.
It's too bad we judge each other without knowing each other.
It's also too bad I sort of expect my son to follow the rules and that, thus, his time with the Warriors was brief. There's no misjudging breaking the rules in youth sports.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Former Star Feels H-DNL Coaches Could Do More
This note from former Eureka High football star Cardedrick Foreman (Class of 1998), says the things that I've long believed about the challenges even the most gifted athletes face on the North Coast.
Cardedrick lives in Utah, with his family, now. He spent four years playing Weber State — and I actually heard some knothead who follows H-DNL football try to say that Weber State doesn't play big-time football. Those, I think, are the type people Foreman addresses:
"Thanks so much for the consideration...People don't know I didn't play my sophomore year (at Eureka High) because my grades weren't good and my parents said 'no-go' to teach me a lesson! Now I have a 4-year degree and had a great career. I'm a proud father and husband. I often wonder how much better I could have been if the coaches didn't hold me back and just let me play and supported the fact that I wanted to go to a bigger college program. There is plenty of talent in Nor-Cal just little support...talk about a guy who put up numbers and got zero credit/support Reggie Menniweathers would be a great story!"
Foreman played wide receiver as a freshman on the Eureka High JV team where, at that time, the JV club passed for far more yardage than the varsity. The majority of the pass yards came on passes to Foreman. Then, he sat out his sophomore years when his peers who'd starred on the JV team were called up to play varsity football. He was, honestly, by far the best of those sophomores. How many parents would keep their sophomore off the team, over grades, if they were keeping them off the varsity team?
In his junior year, with Eureka play 22 different starters on offense and defense, Foreman was a full-time defensive back. He was the quickest, most elusive player on the team -- but, Eureka used 22 different starters, so Foreman didn't play a down on offense. That would, for modern-day fans, be the equivalent of Mo Purify only playing defensive back in his junior year. Foreman was the team's best receiver, too, but he only played defense.
Well, when injuries hit the running backs before the North Coast Section semifinal game between Eureka and Amador Valley, Foreman finally got the call and got some reps at flyback in the playoff game. Before his senior year, Eureka's starting quarterback (my oldest son) transferred to St. Bernard -- and Foreman spent his final year at EHS playing quarterback. And, he ran the complicated fly offense well -- as the best running quarterback the Loggers had ever had.
Foreman could've played both ways -- and starred. He had the speed and strength to have wowed college scouts -- especially once he got to the college camps and combines. But, it didn't happen that way. He played wherever he was told. It seems like the result should've been coaches helping showcase him on both sides of the ball -- and then at camps and combines. If Foreman had his 1,000 yards rushing -- or his 50 catches -- and his inate ability to play DB ... he'd have been a big-time recruit. If he'd gotten to camps and combines, there's no telling how far he could've gone.
He got to Weber State, which is clearly commendable, on his own. And, he's making a nice life for himself on his own.
Reggie Menniweathers was a great running back, with great speed and power. He ran for over 1,000 yards a year for three years on raw talent. He played fullback, halfback, flyback...but never a down on defense. He was built to run over and tackle kids in high school. Playing defense would've helped give him that extra edge if a college came calling. He wasn't nearly as gifted as Foreman, but he was a raw talent who could've used his ability as a running back to play in college. And, if he could've been coached into a serviceable defender -- and, really, it wouldn't have taken much -- he'd have been one of those guys everybody talked about for years.
I believe after rushing for over 3,000 yards, Reggie spent a year at College of the Siskiyous. Then, that was it.
There's no doubt that there are great athletes up there now, but ... there couldn't be athletes better than Foreman. There wasn't a running back in the H-DNL the last 3, 4, 5 years as good as Menniweathers. I saw the best back this year and, honest, Menniweathers was at other-worldly by comparison. Give him the ball, teach him to tackle...get him that college attention...and he'd have played four years and, maybe, everything would've been different for him and his family.
We'll never know, though.
Cardedrick lives in Utah, with his family, now. He spent four years playing Weber State — and I actually heard some knothead who follows H-DNL football try to say that Weber State doesn't play big-time football. Those, I think, are the type people Foreman addresses:
"Thanks so much for the consideration...People don't know I didn't play my sophomore year (at Eureka High) because my grades weren't good and my parents said 'no-go' to teach me a lesson! Now I have a 4-year degree and had a great career. I'm a proud father and husband. I often wonder how much better I could have been if the coaches didn't hold me back and just let me play and supported the fact that I wanted to go to a bigger college program. There is plenty of talent in Nor-Cal just little support...talk about a guy who put up numbers and got zero credit/support Reggie Menniweathers would be a great story!"
Foreman played wide receiver as a freshman on the Eureka High JV team where, at that time, the JV club passed for far more yardage than the varsity. The majority of the pass yards came on passes to Foreman. Then, he sat out his sophomore years when his peers who'd starred on the JV team were called up to play varsity football. He was, honestly, by far the best of those sophomores. How many parents would keep their sophomore off the team, over grades, if they were keeping them off the varsity team?
In his junior year, with Eureka play 22 different starters on offense and defense, Foreman was a full-time defensive back. He was the quickest, most elusive player on the team -- but, Eureka used 22 different starters, so Foreman didn't play a down on offense. That would, for modern-day fans, be the equivalent of Mo Purify only playing defensive back in his junior year. Foreman was the team's best receiver, too, but he only played defense.
Well, when injuries hit the running backs before the North Coast Section semifinal game between Eureka and Amador Valley, Foreman finally got the call and got some reps at flyback in the playoff game. Before his senior year, Eureka's starting quarterback (my oldest son) transferred to St. Bernard -- and Foreman spent his final year at EHS playing quarterback. And, he ran the complicated fly offense well -- as the best running quarterback the Loggers had ever had.
Foreman could've played both ways -- and starred. He had the speed and strength to have wowed college scouts -- especially once he got to the college camps and combines. But, it didn't happen that way. He played wherever he was told. It seems like the result should've been coaches helping showcase him on both sides of the ball -- and then at camps and combines. If Foreman had his 1,000 yards rushing -- or his 50 catches -- and his inate ability to play DB ... he'd have been a big-time recruit. If he'd gotten to camps and combines, there's no telling how far he could've gone.
He got to Weber State, which is clearly commendable, on his own. And, he's making a nice life for himself on his own.
Reggie Menniweathers was a great running back, with great speed and power. He ran for over 1,000 yards a year for three years on raw talent. He played fullback, halfback, flyback...but never a down on defense. He was built to run over and tackle kids in high school. Playing defense would've helped give him that extra edge if a college came calling. He wasn't nearly as gifted as Foreman, but he was a raw talent who could've used his ability as a running back to play in college. And, if he could've been coached into a serviceable defender -- and, really, it wouldn't have taken much -- he'd have been one of those guys everybody talked about for years.
I believe after rushing for over 3,000 yards, Reggie spent a year at College of the Siskiyous. Then, that was it.
There's no doubt that there are great athletes up there now, but ... there couldn't be athletes better than Foreman. There wasn't a running back in the H-DNL the last 3, 4, 5 years as good as Menniweathers. I saw the best back this year and, honest, Menniweathers was at other-worldly by comparison. Give him the ball, teach him to tackle...get him that college attention...and he'd have played four years and, maybe, everything would've been different for him and his family.
We'll never know, though.
Sunday, February 15, 2009
H-DNL athletes to DI schools: 2008
D-I Athletes Since mid-1980s...Updated 5/8/08
fw1997 asked about Humboldt-Del Norte League athletes other than Mo Purify and Ray Maualuga who've gone onto NCAA Division I athletics in the last 20 years...here's a list that I don't claim is complete...it's close, though:
Here's the list...
Maualuga, Eureka/USC, football
Purify, Eureka/Nebraska, football
Cardedrick Foreman, Eureka/Weber State, football
David Sharp, St. Bernard/Virginia Military Institute, baseball
Gregg Reynolds, Arcata/University of Pacific, baseball
Travis Fleming, McKinleyville/University of Pacific, baseball
Matt Nielsen, McKinleyville/Sac State baseball
Gary Wilson, Eureka/Sac State, baseball
Mark Gorge, Arcata/Sac State, baseball
Jeff Borghino, Arcata/Sac State, baseball
Mitch Walter, Arcata/Kansas State, baseball
Ryan Johnston, McKinleyville/U. of Arkansas, baseball
Matt Tomlin, St. Bernard/University of Nebraska, baseball
Brandon Marcelli, Eureka/Fresno State, baseball
Mo Charlo, Eureka/Nevada, basketball
Trina Bindel, Eureka/Wake Forest, track and field
Brandon Bieber, Del Norte/U of Alaska-Fairbanks, basketball
Vicky Fleschner, Fortuna/Oregon, cross country & track
Heidi Bowman, South Fork/Marquette, basketball
Trina McCartney, McKinleyville/Oregon, basketball (She graduated in '87)
Matt Creason, Eureka/Georgetown, cross country & track
Debbie Templeton, South Fork/Stanford, track and field
Megan McMillan, Del Norte/Oregon State, volleyball
Morrie Roe, Arcata/Hawaii, football
Scott Eskra, Eureka/Mississippi, baseball
Gina Loechl, Eureka/Wisconsin, swimming
Dustin Smith, golf
Ashley Curry, McKinleyville, UC Davis
Buck Pierce, Del Norte/New Mexico State, football
While the general belief is that it's no big deal to go from the H-DNL to college sports unless one jumps to D-I, stop and consider how many H-DNL athletes go on to play four years of college athletics at any school. Not that many, right? In my world, at my age, it remains noteworthy to play at any college or university.
Here's the list...
Maualuga, Eureka/USC, football
Purify, Eureka/Nebraska, football
Cardedrick Foreman, Eureka/Weber State, football
David Sharp, St. Bernard/Virginia Military Institute, baseball
Gregg Reynolds, Arcata/University of Pacific, baseball
Travis Fleming, McKinleyville/University of Pacific, baseball
Matt Nielsen, McKinleyville/Sac State baseball
Gary Wilson, Eureka/Sac State, baseball
Mark Gorge, Arcata/Sac State, baseball
Jeff Borghino, Arcata/Sac State, baseball
Mitch Walter, Arcata/Kansas State, baseball
Ryan Johnston, McKinleyville/U. of Arkansas, baseball
Matt Tomlin, St. Bernard/University of Nebraska, baseball
Brandon Marcelli, Eureka/Fresno State, baseball
Mo Charlo, Eureka/Nevada, basketball
Trina Bindel, Eureka/Wake Forest, track and field
Brandon Bieber, Del Norte/U of Alaska-Fairbanks, basketball
Vicky Fleschner, Fortuna/Oregon, cross country & track
Heidi Bowman, South Fork/Marquette, basketball
Trina McCartney, McKinleyville/Oregon, basketball (She graduated in '87)
Matt Creason, Eureka/Georgetown, cross country & track
Debbie Templeton, South Fork/Stanford, track and field
Megan McMillan, Del Norte/Oregon State, volleyball
Morrie Roe, Arcata/Hawaii, football
Scott Eskra, Eureka/Mississippi, baseball
Gina Loechl, Eureka/Wisconsin, swimming
Dustin Smith, golf
Ashley Curry, McKinleyville, UC Davis
Buck Pierce, Del Norte/New Mexico State, football
While the general belief is that it's no big deal to go from the H-DNL to college sports unless one jumps to D-I, stop and consider how many H-DNL athletes go on to play four years of college athletics at any school. Not that many, right? In my world, at my age, it remains noteworthy to play at any college or university.
6 comments:
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Thanks Ted!
Amazing list.
Is there any athletes of note that you were surprised never made it to the D-1 Collegiate level? - May 7, 2008 1:58 PM
- This post has been removed by a blog administrator.
- May 7, 2008 3:27 PM
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not sure if it's D-1, but john thurston from ferndale is wrestling for UC Davis.
hope you don't mind if we copy and use your list!
Thanks, Ted
It's exciting that you started this blog. Finally someone in the blogosphere who talks about North Coast sports. Can't wait for the discussions to be had here
Sean - May 7, 2008 6:16 PM
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It's great if the North Coast media uses the lists I put together...but, I'd like to be credited...unless a list just falls to me out of the sky with no research, then I don't expect any credit.--ts
- May 7, 2008 8:45 PM
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How about the ones from Humboldt that have played pro ball? Gary Thompson of Eureka is one of very few NFL players to just play JC ball then make the Bills as a starter in the 80's!
Al Erickson played Basketball in the Australian league for over 15 years? He just retired last year. - May 7, 2008 9:41 PM
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Shawn Sorenson, Eureka/Rice, track
Eureka High Hall of Famers
It's become clear that H-DNL "history" is defined as the period of time members of the area's working media and the current group of really avid fans can remember. So, sadly, "history" seems to start in about 1991 -- it's rare that we read anything about athletes who actually made history in the H-DNL.
So, credit the folks who started the Eureka High School sports hall of fame for reaching out to lots of different folks from lots of different backgrounds -- and a variety of age groups -- because they came up with a near perfect list of initial inductees into the EHS shrine.
Coach Jay Willard and former Olympic sprinter Elta Cartwright were no-brainers. They pre-date me. Olympic sprinter and a guy who had such impact that the gymnasium and the walkway to the football are both named after him? Ideal selections.
There are generations of people who don't know how amazingly gifted Rob Harrison was, in three sports, in the 1980s. The people who bicker about which modern-day football running backs are bound for college have no idea how truly unique Harrison was carrying the ball. And, obviously, few no he was a state-level wrestler, hurdler and jumper.
It figures that even fewer people know what a fantastic athlete John Burman was in the 1960s. He was a state-level sprinter who really left an indelible mark on the North Coast by leading Humboldt State to a win in the 1968 Camellia Bowl against Fresno State. Yes...Humboldt played Fresno State and beat Fresno State -- and it wasn't really that close.
Rich Mayo was a multi-sport star who wound up starting at quarterback for the Air Force Academy team that played in the Cotton Bowl. I remember being a kid ripping through an older friend's old "Sport" magazines and stumbling onto mention of "Air Force quarterback Rich Mayo, from Eureka, Calif." I had no idea it was even possible to go from Eureka to mention in sport magazine, let alone big-time college football stardom. It's cool he can be inducted along with Ralph Mayo.
Katrina Bindel was the best female athlete I saw in my 1,001 years on the North Coast. She won state track and field medals when it was really rare for H-DNL athletes to even get to the state meet. She was on course to become, most insiders thought, a star in the international heptathlon competition. Then, an injury sidelined her in the early 1990s. She was magnificent.
Billy Olson is the former Eureka High baseball pitcher who, in my opinion, is the most overlooked of any truly fantastic former Logger athlete. The guy was a flame-throwing lefthanded pitcher who was virtually, almost literally, unhittable in the late 1960s. He went directly from pitching in high school to being the Humboldt Crabs' ace -- back when the Crabs were playing the elite semi-pro teams, filled with stars from major colleges. And...Olson handled those Alaska summer college teams just fine at an age when, honestly, most pitchers would've quaked at the thought of facing stars from Southern Cal, UCLA, Stanford, etc.
It's not exactly an accident that Olson hasn't spent 40 years having his baseball accomplishments recounted every spring and summer. I tracked him down to do an interview once in the 1990s. It wasn't like I ever forgot the guy, but I just never knew where to look for him. You know how some guys slip really easily into talking about their accomplishments? It wasn't at all easy for Olson to talk about being, I think, the best pitcher in H-DNL history. He was clearly more comfortable listening to me tell him things I remembered seeing him do on the field. (Yeah...I was interviewing my "hero" and I was nearly 40 years old.)
His wife, I believe, pulled out a small scrapbook with some stories about Olson's baseball heyday. I was struck by how he clearly was remembering some of those games and teammates and opponents for the first time in years. I was also struck by him being that humble even when I admitted from the start that I brought my sons along on the interview just so they could meet the guy I'd spent so much time telling them about.
And ... now ... I'm rambling on like a school boy about Billy Olson again. Hey...he was really, really good and not a pitcher who's come along in the 40 years since came close to being as dominant as he was before he injured his pitching arm. (Well, St. Bernard grad Greg Shanahan was amazing, too, he was a righthander who wound up pitching for the L.A. Dodgers. He and Olson had a couple epic matchups I remember reading about.)
How much of a fan am I of Olson? Hmmm? My youngest son's a tall, lanky 12-year-old pitcher...he's a lefty. Pretty good, too. He asked me who my favorite lefty pitcher was and I said, "You...of course." Then, I swear, I paused and said, "Well, actually a guy named Billy Olson's my favorite lefty of all-time, so you're No. 2 ... but ..."
and from there, a 12-year-old heard all the Billy Olson stories that simply must remaining a vivid part of H-DNL history.
I hope Olson and the others can all take part in the homecoming ceremony. They have places in H-DNL history that, I fear, is becoming increasingly lost.
---------------
Ted's Opinion: People gripe and moan that athletes are forced to pick one sport, or one position, far too early in life. So, I nominate for the EHS Hall of Fame -- Joe Denbo, Class of 1974, and Cardedrick Foreman, Class of 1998.
Denbo played three years of varsity quarterback at Eureka for some good teams -- played some receiver, too. He played two seasons of varsity basketball -- and was darn good. His three years as a varsity baseball outfielder were productive and prooved that great athletes can do as many sports as they could handle. Even in 1971-1974...there weren't many 8-time varsity letterman who started in three sports. Joe deserves an honor for a time we miss greatly.
Foreman was a football star who played receiver as a freshman, defensive back as a junior (with a little running back tossed in -- because he was the most elusive runner on the team)...then he capped his career by converting to quarterback as a senior. That's unheard of and...get this...Foreman was really exceptionally gifted at all those positions for truly outstanding EHS teams. He deserves a Hall of Fame nomination...and, here it is...
So, credit the folks who started the Eureka High School sports hall of fame for reaching out to lots of different folks from lots of different backgrounds -- and a variety of age groups -- because they came up with a near perfect list of initial inductees into the EHS shrine.
Coach Jay Willard and former Olympic sprinter Elta Cartwright were no-brainers. They pre-date me. Olympic sprinter and a guy who had such impact that the gymnasium and the walkway to the football are both named after him? Ideal selections.
There are generations of people who don't know how amazingly gifted Rob Harrison was, in three sports, in the 1980s. The people who bicker about which modern-day football running backs are bound for college have no idea how truly unique Harrison was carrying the ball. And, obviously, few no he was a state-level wrestler, hurdler and jumper.
It figures that even fewer people know what a fantastic athlete John Burman was in the 1960s. He was a state-level sprinter who really left an indelible mark on the North Coast by leading Humboldt State to a win in the 1968 Camellia Bowl against Fresno State. Yes...Humboldt played Fresno State and beat Fresno State -- and it wasn't really that close.
Rich Mayo was a multi-sport star who wound up starting at quarterback for the Air Force Academy team that played in the Cotton Bowl. I remember being a kid ripping through an older friend's old "Sport" magazines and stumbling onto mention of "Air Force quarterback Rich Mayo, from Eureka, Calif." I had no idea it was even possible to go from Eureka to mention in sport magazine, let alone big-time college football stardom. It's cool he can be inducted along with Ralph Mayo.
Katrina Bindel was the best female athlete I saw in my 1,001 years on the North Coast. She won state track and field medals when it was really rare for H-DNL athletes to even get to the state meet. She was on course to become, most insiders thought, a star in the international heptathlon competition. Then, an injury sidelined her in the early 1990s. She was magnificent.
Billy Olson is the former Eureka High baseball pitcher who, in my opinion, is the most overlooked of any truly fantastic former Logger athlete. The guy was a flame-throwing lefthanded pitcher who was virtually, almost literally, unhittable in the late 1960s. He went directly from pitching in high school to being the Humboldt Crabs' ace -- back when the Crabs were playing the elite semi-pro teams, filled with stars from major colleges. And...Olson handled those Alaska summer college teams just fine at an age when, honestly, most pitchers would've quaked at the thought of facing stars from Southern Cal, UCLA, Stanford, etc.
It's not exactly an accident that Olson hasn't spent 40 years having his baseball accomplishments recounted every spring and summer. I tracked him down to do an interview once in the 1990s. It wasn't like I ever forgot the guy, but I just never knew where to look for him. You know how some guys slip really easily into talking about their accomplishments? It wasn't at all easy for Olson to talk about being, I think, the best pitcher in H-DNL history. He was clearly more comfortable listening to me tell him things I remembered seeing him do on the field. (Yeah...I was interviewing my "hero" and I was nearly 40 years old.)
His wife, I believe, pulled out a small scrapbook with some stories about Olson's baseball heyday. I was struck by how he clearly was remembering some of those games and teammates and opponents for the first time in years. I was also struck by him being that humble even when I admitted from the start that I brought my sons along on the interview just so they could meet the guy I'd spent so much time telling them about.
And ... now ... I'm rambling on like a school boy about Billy Olson again. Hey...he was really, really good and not a pitcher who's come along in the 40 years since came close to being as dominant as he was before he injured his pitching arm. (Well, St. Bernard grad Greg Shanahan was amazing, too, he was a righthander who wound up pitching for the L.A. Dodgers. He and Olson had a couple epic matchups I remember reading about.)
How much of a fan am I of Olson? Hmmm? My youngest son's a tall, lanky 12-year-old pitcher...he's a lefty. Pretty good, too. He asked me who my favorite lefty pitcher was and I said, "You...of course." Then, I swear, I paused and said, "Well, actually a guy named Billy Olson's my favorite lefty of all-time, so you're No. 2 ... but ..."
and from there, a 12-year-old heard all the Billy Olson stories that simply must remaining a vivid part of H-DNL history.
I hope Olson and the others can all take part in the homecoming ceremony. They have places in H-DNL history that, I fear, is becoming increasingly lost.
---------------
Ted's Opinion: People gripe and moan that athletes are forced to pick one sport, or one position, far too early in life. So, I nominate for the EHS Hall of Fame -- Joe Denbo, Class of 1974, and Cardedrick Foreman, Class of 1998.
Denbo played three years of varsity quarterback at Eureka for some good teams -- played some receiver, too. He played two seasons of varsity basketball -- and was darn good. His three years as a varsity baseball outfielder were productive and prooved that great athletes can do as many sports as they could handle. Even in 1971-1974...there weren't many 8-time varsity letterman who started in three sports. Joe deserves an honor for a time we miss greatly.
Foreman was a football star who played receiver as a freshman, defensive back as a junior (with a little running back tossed in -- because he was the most elusive runner on the team)...then he capped his career by converting to quarterback as a senior. That's unheard of and...get this...Foreman was really exceptionally gifted at all those positions for truly outstanding EHS teams. He deserves a Hall of Fame nomination...and, here it is...
North Coast Fans Are Angry
Sunday, February 8, 2009
North Coast People Are Angry...etc.
The swirl of controversy surrounding Eureka High's boys basketball team resulted in one North Coast fans suggesting that criticism of individual players indicates how poorly the boys conduct themselves because, he wrote, folks never see area fans being critical of other athletes.
The comment went on to include a list of North Coast athletes like Rey Maualuga, Mo Purify and a who's who of current high school stars. The writer stated that the Loggers basketball kids are deserving of criticism and the proof comes in knowing that Maualuga, Purify and the others never catch flak from area fans.
Virtually every athlete the fan mentioned has, indeed, been criticized in the very public newspaper forums up there. Purify got trashed when he signed with the Cincinnati Bengals. Maualuga gets knocked off and on by people who feel obligated to point out that he might be an All-America football star, but that he was just a kid who got in trouble like everybody else in Eureka. And, with only a few exceptions, high school stars get ripped in the most personal manner as if they're professionals who, in part, earn their paycheck by taking their lumps.
It seems like North Coast sports fans are angry -- or, perhaps, sports fans are angry. Maybe some fans care too much or take it all too personally. Regardless, high school and other small-market athletes don't get that really harsh treatment in many other places.
The other day, I wrote two stories about Justin-Siena High school athletes who'll be leaving Napa to attend college and compete on scholarship in football and track and field respectively. The football player's going to Washington State, while the track athlete's headed for Stanford.
The Napa area treats high school athletes much like they're treated on the North Coast. The newspaper features them, even over nearby professional and major college athletes. The kids in Napa get the star treatment. So, if it was simply a matter of small-market fans resenting small-market "stars," there'd be some backlash when two Napa athletes are featured as a result of accepting scholarships.
There were five reader comments to the stories about the athletes. (And, five comments are about five more than sports stories usually get.) All five were positive and in praise of the athletes. There wasn't one comment aimed at questioning the kids' talents or their GPA. Nobody wrote to mention that they saw one of the kids do something wrong once.
Granted, the kids I wrote about seem to be stellar high school citizens. I'd wager that they've never done anything that would prompt some fan to log on to a public forum and assault their folks for being bad parents.
Still...if was a "sports fan" anger we note on the North Coast, there'd be some similar resentment to athletes in other places. It seems as though the North Coast sports fans are more angry, more easily, than most. And, they manage to make it all more personal than it is in high school sports circles elsewhere.
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Two things can be equally true. High school athletes can be held to the same rules that apply to every other high school student. High school athletes shouldn't be targeted in public forums for vicious personal attacks.
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I joined Facebook yesterday and, apparently, only two people who attended Eureka High School in the 1970s has the computer knowledge and interest in social networking to have joined what my kids assure me is a really interesting development in Internet content. Or, I suppose, I just don't know how to search Facebook to find people I might have attended school with.
----------------------
There's good and bad living in a metropolitan area like the one we reside in these days. One good thing is that a youngster can escape whatever tags they pick up as they progress through school. Kids aren't necessarily stuck with the "goof-off" tag that followed them from Cutten Elementary to Winship when they get to Eureka High. Kids involved in sports literally get a fresh start when they go from middle school to high school.
Knowing that the middle school experience doesn't dictate the type of high school experience a kid will have makes the middle school sports experience more enjoyable for parents...well, for me. In a larger area, it's easier for parents to enjoy (if we're willing) each team and each sport as an individual entity. Kids move around. Adults don't know everything about every kid's weakness or strength. I know I felt like the first year of Little League was the first step to making the high school team when we lived up there.
It's probably better to give high school coaches the final word on who plays than to give increasingly more clout to coaches from youth ball forward. You know?
The comment went on to include a list of North Coast athletes like Rey Maualuga, Mo Purify and a who's who of current high school stars. The writer stated that the Loggers basketball kids are deserving of criticism and the proof comes in knowing that Maualuga, Purify and the others never catch flak from area fans.
Virtually every athlete the fan mentioned has, indeed, been criticized in the very public newspaper forums up there. Purify got trashed when he signed with the Cincinnati Bengals. Maualuga gets knocked off and on by people who feel obligated to point out that he might be an All-America football star, but that he was just a kid who got in trouble like everybody else in Eureka. And, with only a few exceptions, high school stars get ripped in the most personal manner as if they're professionals who, in part, earn their paycheck by taking their lumps.
It seems like North Coast sports fans are angry -- or, perhaps, sports fans are angry. Maybe some fans care too much or take it all too personally. Regardless, high school and other small-market athletes don't get that really harsh treatment in many other places.
The other day, I wrote two stories about Justin-Siena High school athletes who'll be leaving Napa to attend college and compete on scholarship in football and track and field respectively. The football player's going to Washington State, while the track athlete's headed for Stanford.
The Napa area treats high school athletes much like they're treated on the North Coast. The newspaper features them, even over nearby professional and major college athletes. The kids in Napa get the star treatment. So, if it was simply a matter of small-market fans resenting small-market "stars," there'd be some backlash when two Napa athletes are featured as a result of accepting scholarships.
There were five reader comments to the stories about the athletes. (And, five comments are about five more than sports stories usually get.) All five were positive and in praise of the athletes. There wasn't one comment aimed at questioning the kids' talents or their GPA. Nobody wrote to mention that they saw one of the kids do something wrong once.
Granted, the kids I wrote about seem to be stellar high school citizens. I'd wager that they've never done anything that would prompt some fan to log on to a public forum and assault their folks for being bad parents.
Still...if was a "sports fan" anger we note on the North Coast, there'd be some similar resentment to athletes in other places. It seems as though the North Coast sports fans are more angry, more easily, than most. And, they manage to make it all more personal than it is in high school sports circles elsewhere.
==============
Two things can be equally true. High school athletes can be held to the same rules that apply to every other high school student. High school athletes shouldn't be targeted in public forums for vicious personal attacks.
---------------------
I joined Facebook yesterday and, apparently, only two people who attended Eureka High School in the 1970s has the computer knowledge and interest in social networking to have joined what my kids assure me is a really interesting development in Internet content. Or, I suppose, I just don't know how to search Facebook to find people I might have attended school with.
----------------------
There's good and bad living in a metropolitan area like the one we reside in these days. One good thing is that a youngster can escape whatever tags they pick up as they progress through school. Kids aren't necessarily stuck with the "goof-off" tag that followed them from Cutten Elementary to Winship when they get to Eureka High. Kids involved in sports literally get a fresh start when they go from middle school to high school.
Knowing that the middle school experience doesn't dictate the type of high school experience a kid will have makes the middle school sports experience more enjoyable for parents...well, for me. In a larger area, it's easier for parents to enjoy (if we're willing) each team and each sport as an individual entity. Kids move around. Adults don't know everything about every kid's weakness or strength. I know I felt like the first year of Little League was the first step to making the high school team when we lived up there.
It's probably better to give high school coaches the final word on who plays than to give increasingly more clout to coaches from youth ball forward. You know?
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
All-Time H-DNL Basketball Team
It can't be the North Coast's all-time hoop squad or it would be filled with the number of great players who've been recruited to and starred at Humboldt State. People who don't remember the 1960s and most of the 1970s at HSU have no idea how bad things were, nor will they ever appreciate what Tom Wood's built in his long tenure leading the Lumberjacks.
Without paying a great deal of attention to HSU hoops now that the 'Jacks are on top of the world, I could name 7 guys who'd demolish any All-Time Humboldt-Del Norte League team:
F -- Hooks...Fred? Right? He was as exciting and effective as any player I every saw up there.
G -- Daryl Westmoreland...He was a big, athletic guard on HSU's NCAA Division III powerhouse coached by Jim Cosentino -- who eventually got dinged by a recruiting scandal, thus starting the Tom Wood era.
C -- Ray Beer...he was half-man, half-monster -- D-III style -- in the early 1980s. Just a beast. This Jacks team filled the old East Gym for a regional game against a New Jersey Tech team and, it was unforgettable.
F -- Austin Nichols...based on what I saw and read, Nichols and Hooks were leaders of the greatest team in HSU history...dominating D-II like Westmoreland and Beer overwhelmed D-III 25 years ago.
So, the all-time H-DNL team I arrived at is...all about the H-DNL...local kids who played middle school ball, high school ball and, then, starred in college...
G...Isaac Gildea...he was a basketball player and a winner at McKinleyville and CR -- then starred at Humboldt.
F...Al Erickson...a 6-foot-4 swingman who was, literally, Larry Bird-like on a smaller stage at Eureka High, CR and Humboldt. He could do everything -- by far the best of the Erickson basketball brothers.
G...Gary Mendenhall...starred at St. Bernard in the very early 1980s -- maybe the late 1970s. He could shoot...pass...defend and...win. He still holds University of Santa Clara records.
G/F...Mo Charlo...he starred at Eureka and wound up starring in Division I for Nevada. There hasn't been a better all-around player to come of the H-DNL and, I think, Charlo's success signals the start of a string of H-DNL players who'll eventually overshadow the local kids who starred at HSU. (Although, I tend to think Erickson and Gildea could've played wherever they really wanted to and got a chance to compete.)
C...Jeff Nielsen...there's not a high-scoring, shot-blocking center to call on, but the former Ferndale star from the early '70s anchored the middle for the best CR team in school history that rolled in the Northern California tournament. Nielsen was tough and big enough to handle the middle.
C....Mike Jaentsch...He and Jeff Moon were big (6-7'ish) studs for a 1970-71 Del Norte team that played two of the most memorable games in H-DNL history against Eureka.
Also on the list: Ryan Riewerts is a guy lots of people found reason to knock, but he won wherever he played and his dominating performance for Bill Treglown's CR team that rolled in the Nor Cal tourney was so memorable -- a burly 6-foot-3 power forward domanating the glass...Brandon Bieber and Justin Mora proved that if you played the game correctly and play it really hard all the time, good things will happen and you'll maximize your talent...6-foot-10 John Murray was a star at Eureka in the very early 1960s and merits an all-time spot...It's my team and I'm lacking backcourt help and -- I gotta have the heart n' soul of Hoopa's first champions -- Augie Valdez. ... Finally, I need forward John Poovey who starred on two great Eureka High teams coached by Al Erickson's father Julian Erickson. John passed away too soon not long ago. He could play.
Head coach: Doug Oliveira...he turned Hoopa's program around with a 3-pointing shoot team that played swarming defense, but he was good at adapting to the talent he had, too.
Without paying a great deal of attention to HSU hoops now that the 'Jacks are on top of the world, I could name 7 guys who'd demolish any All-Time Humboldt-Del Norte League team:
F -- Hooks...Fred? Right? He was as exciting and effective as any player I every saw up there.
G -- Daryl Westmoreland...He was a big, athletic guard on HSU's NCAA Division III powerhouse coached by Jim Cosentino -- who eventually got dinged by a recruiting scandal, thus starting the Tom Wood era.
C -- Ray Beer...he was half-man, half-monster -- D-III style -- in the early 1980s. Just a beast. This Jacks team filled the old East Gym for a regional game against a New Jersey Tech team and, it was unforgettable.
F -- Austin Nichols...based on what I saw and read, Nichols and Hooks were leaders of the greatest team in HSU history...dominating D-II like Westmoreland and Beer overwhelmed D-III 25 years ago.
So, the all-time H-DNL team I arrived at is...all about the H-DNL...local kids who played middle school ball, high school ball and, then, starred in college...
G...Isaac Gildea...he was a basketball player and a winner at McKinleyville and CR -- then starred at Humboldt.
F...Al Erickson...a 6-foot-4 swingman who was, literally, Larry Bird-like on a smaller stage at Eureka High, CR and Humboldt. He could do everything -- by far the best of the Erickson basketball brothers.
G...Gary Mendenhall...starred at St. Bernard in the very early 1980s -- maybe the late 1970s. He could shoot...pass...defend and...win. He still holds University of Santa Clara records.
G/F...Mo Charlo...he starred at Eureka and wound up starring in Division I for Nevada. There hasn't been a better all-around player to come of the H-DNL and, I think, Charlo's success signals the start of a string of H-DNL players who'll eventually overshadow the local kids who starred at HSU. (Although, I tend to think Erickson and Gildea could've played wherever they really wanted to and got a chance to compete.)
C...Jeff Nielsen...there's not a high-scoring, shot-blocking center to call on, but the former Ferndale star from the early '70s anchored the middle for the best CR team in school history that rolled in the Northern California tournament. Nielsen was tough and big enough to handle the middle.
C....Mike Jaentsch...He and Jeff Moon were big (6-7'ish) studs for a 1970-71 Del Norte team that played two of the most memorable games in H-DNL history against Eureka.
Also on the list: Ryan Riewerts is a guy lots of people found reason to knock, but he won wherever he played and his dominating performance for Bill Treglown's CR team that rolled in the Nor Cal tourney was so memorable -- a burly 6-foot-3 power forward domanating the glass...Brandon Bieber and Justin Mora proved that if you played the game correctly and play it really hard all the time, good things will happen and you'll maximize your talent...6-foot-10 John Murray was a star at Eureka in the very early 1960s and merits an all-time spot...It's my team and I'm lacking backcourt help and -- I gotta have the heart n' soul of Hoopa's first champions -- Augie Valdez. ... Finally, I need forward John Poovey who starred on two great Eureka High teams coached by Al Erickson's father Julian Erickson. John passed away too soon not long ago. He could play.
Head coach: Doug Oliveira...he turned Hoopa's program around with a 3-pointing shoot team that played swarming defense, but he was good at adapting to the talent he had, too.
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
Don Terbush II
When I was sports editor of the Times-Standard in the 1990s, I did a long interview with Lawrence "Scoop" Beal. He was one of the great newspapermen in Humboldt County history. He was the sports editor of one of the two dailies in Eureka...then became the managing editor...yielding his sports duties to Don Terbush.
Scoop was a promoter...a talker...he had stories one would expect from a character in "Guys & Dolls." He ran with former heavyweight champion Max Baer...and actually played a role in the formation and early promotion of the Humboldt Clowns traveling basketball troupe that made routine, and popular, stops in West Coast towns that the Harlem Globetrotters would never visit. Scoop knew everybody and was happy to talk and talk and talk...which was a joy for a kid who can't hear enough stories about things like the old swim stadium at Freshwater Park. (If you cross the water and get up on the bank now covered by trees, you'll see remains of old-fashioned stadium seating where residents used to enjoy aquacade water shows.)
Beal died not long after I did the interview and ran a three-part story about his life in sports.
Don Terbush would never, ever, offer to sit down and tell a writer stories about his time as sports editor of the Times-Standard. It took me knowing him for decades to learn that he was a champion sprinter...in Compton, Calif....in high school. He was involved in athletics at Humboldt State after he got out of the military. He didn't talk about himself and, I imagine, will never want to talk about himself. In fact, Don doesn't like people who make themselves the star of the story. Nothing made Don cringe like hearing somebody taking credit for, say, making the Humboldt Crabs a nationally-known summer baseball program.
"Louie built the Crabs," Don told me, referring to Lou Bonomini. "If it wasn't for Louie, there'd have been no Crabs...not like they were. What a laugh! (Somebody else) saying he helped Louie build the Crabs."
The late Lou Bonomini wouldn't have promoted himself either.
As written previously, Don probably tolerated working with me...as I tolerated being a kid working for a guy I thought was too old-school for modern newspapering. (I didn't just start being an idiot. I've been an idiot for years!)
Then, a funny thing happened, I was all of a sudden a married man, with two kids who worked as sports editor of the Times-Standard. All of a sudden, I saw Don in a different light. He wasn't just the guy who was the timekeeper at the epic amateur fight cards at Municipal Auditorium or the guy who traveled with Humboldt State College's football teams in their glory years -- including the 1968 Camellia Bowl season when the Lumberjacks beat Fresno State. Don stopped being my boss and the Crabs scorekeeper, announcer and vice-president. Don was suddenly sort of a role model.
Since I was always right and everybody else was wrong, I took the job offer from a Southern California newspaper in the 1980s and left Eureka. Remember, Don passed on job offers to stay in Eureka, keep a low profile and live a quiet, productive life with his wife Tina and three children. After a couple years on what was the comparative newspaper fast track, I had a stack of clips from covering Magic's "Showtime" Lakers and the Los Angeles Rams. I'd covered the Rose Bowl and a Super Bowl -- and stopped thinking it was all that big a deal to stand in line at the Dodger Stadium media buffett behind Vin Scully.
When my kids were in school and I realized I couldn't take a five-mile run without the air quality in SoCal wrecking me for days, I realized...the big-time wasn't what it was made out to be. It hit me that, sure, I was on track to be a beat writer for some team -- just like I'd wanted to be -- but, that beat writers travel and travel would take me away from my kids. How could I coach my kids in youth sports or go to their school functions if I was covering the L.A. Clippers in Detroit in December?
That's when I realized that the guy I thought was wrong turned out to be absolutely right. Don Terbush did what I didn't realize I wanted to do...he put his lifestyle and his family ahead of the need to be in what is perceived as a more glamouros job. I never asked Don where could have worked, but just about any newspaper offers more perceived glamour than the T/S offers, right?
I didn't return to Eureka to work in newspapers, but that's where I wound up. I stumbled, almost literally, back into the sports editor's job. I was happy to have gotten a second chance at getting my priorities straight. I'd never cover the major sports, but I'd never miss a parent-teacher conference either. I'd have to listen to parents mock me for how I did my job, but I still got to coach my kids and their friends. It wasn't exactly as smooth as Don made it look but I did wind up using his career and choices as a model for my own.
It was a revelation when I admitted that, after years of thinking he was old-fashioned and not really interested, I admitted...I'd followed in Don's footsteps because I decided that he made choices that were really wise.
Don put up with all the same headaches other small-market editors face. He just handled it with more dignity than, well, I did. We were generations apart. So, he put friendships with coaches and players first...he got along with everybody I ever saw him deal with. If he didn't get along with them, you wouldn't know it unless he said something well after he'd dealt with folks. Me? I was intent on putting a premium on opinion and more pointed feature stories and ... making myself a target for people who don't like opinions or pointed features.
Don avoided those critical pieces and wrote "Sideline Slants." I used to cringe at the formula he used to write that column, but one day I realized that one of the true highlights of my young life was when I got mentioned in a Sunday "Sideline Slants." So...I forgot my roots. I forgot what was so cool about the Times-Standard. Nobody read my column and thought, "Oh, gosh...Ted Sillanpaa mentioned me!" But, when I was playing briefly on the baseball team at College of the Redwoods and broke my finger, Don mentioned the injury and quoted coach Tom Giacomini about my being sidelined and when I might return. Truly...that was a highlight in my life! I made "Sideline Slants."
Of course, I didn't remember the wonderful place "Sideline Slants" had in Humboldt County until I'd already become a target...often on purpose. My bad! I couldn't go back to write "Sideline Slants: 1997," you know? I had a reputation that, I guess, lots of people hated. But, it was mine and I stuck to it. I secretly wished I had a reputation like the one Don built.
I used to talk to Don when he'd come in to write that fishing column that, by God, cannot be his legacy, you know? He'd ask about my kids. I'd talk and he'd listen. And, eventually, I noticed he wasn't giving me advice...but he was giving me a chance to learn from him if I really paid attention.
And...no...I'm sure Don didn't stop and think, "Ted's really messed up! I'll try to help him out." Don wouldn't impose his beliefs on anybody. But, I know I learned about being a dad and dealing with life and the profession just talking to him when I was, finally, able to hear what other people were saying.
I have little discipline and, sadly, give up easily on tough tasks. Don is disciplined and diligent to the point I used to see him walking the same course...around his neighborhood and along a street that bordered my neighborhood...ever day, at the same time. He never walked faster. He never walked slower. But, by God, Don Terbush always walked. I started to think that just doing it ... everyday...the same way...was really commendable. I admired that in Don.
Don and I weren't close enough for me to know if he was a good, great, average or indifferent father. He'd never talk about that stuff. It was private. But, his daughters Merriedawn and Kathy always spoke highly of him. And, he spoke proudly of his son Don and never said a bad thing about his wife Tina. (And, you'd be surprised how hard it is to spend a full day in a newspaper office without hearing somebody bitch about their spouse.)
My ex-wife did daycare for Don's granddaughter Crystal, who is the same age as my son Trent. I thought that, perhaps, Trent and Crystal would someday date and that Don and I would, perhaps, watch a football game on TV at Thanksgiving or something. I've had some crazy dreams.
Since Don's not going to get a big feature story splashed all over the T/S...because he wouldn't want to sit and talk about himself...I can leave this legacy for him...save him the hassle after causing him so much hassle over the years...
Don Terbush is a good man. He's a fine, fine writer who understood his craft and the business that is now dying. When the business started losing guys like Don, it figured that the business was headed toward its demise. If my sons had, more or less, the same virtues I saw later in life in Don ... I'd be proud of them.
Somebody, maybe the North Coast Journal, should corner Don and talks to some of his peers. His story should be told in a forum much bigger than this little thing. But, in the interim...I just want to say that Don Terbush was a solid man I am proud to have worked for and with. I owe him a debt of gratitude I could never repay...and he probably has no idea he had any impact on me at all.
That's how Don is and will always be...
Scoop was a promoter...a talker...he had stories one would expect from a character in "Guys & Dolls." He ran with former heavyweight champion Max Baer...and actually played a role in the formation and early promotion of the Humboldt Clowns traveling basketball troupe that made routine, and popular, stops in West Coast towns that the Harlem Globetrotters would never visit. Scoop knew everybody and was happy to talk and talk and talk...which was a joy for a kid who can't hear enough stories about things like the old swim stadium at Freshwater Park. (If you cross the water and get up on the bank now covered by trees, you'll see remains of old-fashioned stadium seating where residents used to enjoy aquacade water shows.)
Beal died not long after I did the interview and ran a three-part story about his life in sports.
Don Terbush would never, ever, offer to sit down and tell a writer stories about his time as sports editor of the Times-Standard. It took me knowing him for decades to learn that he was a champion sprinter...in Compton, Calif....in high school. He was involved in athletics at Humboldt State after he got out of the military. He didn't talk about himself and, I imagine, will never want to talk about himself. In fact, Don doesn't like people who make themselves the star of the story. Nothing made Don cringe like hearing somebody taking credit for, say, making the Humboldt Crabs a nationally-known summer baseball program.
"Louie built the Crabs," Don told me, referring to Lou Bonomini. "If it wasn't for Louie, there'd have been no Crabs...not like they were. What a laugh! (Somebody else) saying he helped Louie build the Crabs."
The late Lou Bonomini wouldn't have promoted himself either.
As written previously, Don probably tolerated working with me...as I tolerated being a kid working for a guy I thought was too old-school for modern newspapering. (I didn't just start being an idiot. I've been an idiot for years!)
Then, a funny thing happened, I was all of a sudden a married man, with two kids who worked as sports editor of the Times-Standard. All of a sudden, I saw Don in a different light. He wasn't just the guy who was the timekeeper at the epic amateur fight cards at Municipal Auditorium or the guy who traveled with Humboldt State College's football teams in their glory years -- including the 1968 Camellia Bowl season when the Lumberjacks beat Fresno State. Don stopped being my boss and the Crabs scorekeeper, announcer and vice-president. Don was suddenly sort of a role model.
Since I was always right and everybody else was wrong, I took the job offer from a Southern California newspaper in the 1980s and left Eureka. Remember, Don passed on job offers to stay in Eureka, keep a low profile and live a quiet, productive life with his wife Tina and three children. After a couple years on what was the comparative newspaper fast track, I had a stack of clips from covering Magic's "Showtime" Lakers and the Los Angeles Rams. I'd covered the Rose Bowl and a Super Bowl -- and stopped thinking it was all that big a deal to stand in line at the Dodger Stadium media buffett behind Vin Scully.
When my kids were in school and I realized I couldn't take a five-mile run without the air quality in SoCal wrecking me for days, I realized...the big-time wasn't what it was made out to be. It hit me that, sure, I was on track to be a beat writer for some team -- just like I'd wanted to be -- but, that beat writers travel and travel would take me away from my kids. How could I coach my kids in youth sports or go to their school functions if I was covering the L.A. Clippers in Detroit in December?
That's when I realized that the guy I thought was wrong turned out to be absolutely right. Don Terbush did what I didn't realize I wanted to do...he put his lifestyle and his family ahead of the need to be in what is perceived as a more glamouros job. I never asked Don where could have worked, but just about any newspaper offers more perceived glamour than the T/S offers, right?
I didn't return to Eureka to work in newspapers, but that's where I wound up. I stumbled, almost literally, back into the sports editor's job. I was happy to have gotten a second chance at getting my priorities straight. I'd never cover the major sports, but I'd never miss a parent-teacher conference either. I'd have to listen to parents mock me for how I did my job, but I still got to coach my kids and their friends. It wasn't exactly as smooth as Don made it look but I did wind up using his career and choices as a model for my own.
It was a revelation when I admitted that, after years of thinking he was old-fashioned and not really interested, I admitted...I'd followed in Don's footsteps because I decided that he made choices that were really wise.
Don put up with all the same headaches other small-market editors face. He just handled it with more dignity than, well, I did. We were generations apart. So, he put friendships with coaches and players first...he got along with everybody I ever saw him deal with. If he didn't get along with them, you wouldn't know it unless he said something well after he'd dealt with folks. Me? I was intent on putting a premium on opinion and more pointed feature stories and ... making myself a target for people who don't like opinions or pointed features.
Don avoided those critical pieces and wrote "Sideline Slants." I used to cringe at the formula he used to write that column, but one day I realized that one of the true highlights of my young life was when I got mentioned in a Sunday "Sideline Slants." So...I forgot my roots. I forgot what was so cool about the Times-Standard. Nobody read my column and thought, "Oh, gosh...Ted Sillanpaa mentioned me!" But, when I was playing briefly on the baseball team at College of the Redwoods and broke my finger, Don mentioned the injury and quoted coach Tom Giacomini about my being sidelined and when I might return. Truly...that was a highlight in my life! I made "Sideline Slants."
Of course, I didn't remember the wonderful place "Sideline Slants" had in Humboldt County until I'd already become a target...often on purpose. My bad! I couldn't go back to write "Sideline Slants: 1997," you know? I had a reputation that, I guess, lots of people hated. But, it was mine and I stuck to it. I secretly wished I had a reputation like the one Don built.
I used to talk to Don when he'd come in to write that fishing column that, by God, cannot be his legacy, you know? He'd ask about my kids. I'd talk and he'd listen. And, eventually, I noticed he wasn't giving me advice...but he was giving me a chance to learn from him if I really paid attention.
And...no...I'm sure Don didn't stop and think, "Ted's really messed up! I'll try to help him out." Don wouldn't impose his beliefs on anybody. But, I know I learned about being a dad and dealing with life and the profession just talking to him when I was, finally, able to hear what other people were saying.
I have little discipline and, sadly, give up easily on tough tasks. Don is disciplined and diligent to the point I used to see him walking the same course...around his neighborhood and along a street that bordered my neighborhood...ever day, at the same time. He never walked faster. He never walked slower. But, by God, Don Terbush always walked. I started to think that just doing it ... everyday...the same way...was really commendable. I admired that in Don.
Don and I weren't close enough for me to know if he was a good, great, average or indifferent father. He'd never talk about that stuff. It was private. But, his daughters Merriedawn and Kathy always spoke highly of him. And, he spoke proudly of his son Don and never said a bad thing about his wife Tina. (And, you'd be surprised how hard it is to spend a full day in a newspaper office without hearing somebody bitch about their spouse.)
My ex-wife did daycare for Don's granddaughter Crystal, who is the same age as my son Trent. I thought that, perhaps, Trent and Crystal would someday date and that Don and I would, perhaps, watch a football game on TV at Thanksgiving or something. I've had some crazy dreams.
Since Don's not going to get a big feature story splashed all over the T/S...because he wouldn't want to sit and talk about himself...I can leave this legacy for him...save him the hassle after causing him so much hassle over the years...
Don Terbush is a good man. He's a fine, fine writer who understood his craft and the business that is now dying. When the business started losing guys like Don, it figured that the business was headed toward its demise. If my sons had, more or less, the same virtues I saw later in life in Don ... I'd be proud of them.
Somebody, maybe the North Coast Journal, should corner Don and talks to some of his peers. His story should be told in a forum much bigger than this little thing. But, in the interim...I just want to say that Don Terbush was a solid man I am proud to have worked for and with. I owe him a debt of gratitude I could never repay...and he probably has no idea he had any impact on me at all.
That's how Don is and will always be...
Sunday, February 01, 2009
Don Terbush
If you've spent years gnashing your teeth of things I've written that appeared in North Coast publications, blame Merriedawn Terbush.
For being one of the nicest girls/women I've ever known, and for having known her since we were in high school, I should know how to spell her first name. But, see, Don Terbush's daughter was "Merd" to her friends. So, I called her "Merd," too. She sort of outgrew "Merd" and I once gave great thought to calling her by her given name. (Boys were aware of being stuck in the dreaded "Friend Zone" in the 1970s, too, and I didn't want to be pigeon-holed as just her pal at one point. And...now I've spilled a deep secret...moving on...)
I should know her married name, too. But, I haven't seen her much over the years so...I probably shouldn't have brought up the whole "Friend Zone" thing and ... never mind.
Where was I?
Oh, my mother died when I was going to College of the Redwoods. I was 17 1/2 and working at Cutten Supermarket when Merd came by to tell me that her dad was going to be looking for a part-time sports writer. She said I should go talk to him. And, oh, did my mom love Merriedawn! She routinely, from the time she got to know her, would mention that I was a "jackass" for messing around with other girls and date with "Merd." I never argued the point, never disputed it. I just pointed out that there was the small problem of other boys, other girls and having to ask somebody I actually liked on a date ... out of the blue ... at which point my mom mumbled, "You are such a (*&^%^ jackass" and walked off.
Don hired me to take the part-time job Merriedawn mentioned and I began making his very, very comfortable professional life a pain. He didn't really want to mentor part-time guys. He was distant, as a man who'd been in the business for many, many years should be when dealing with a 17-year-old who wanted to be Woodward or Bernstein -- or both. I learned to write quickly by having Don tell me, "You have to stop writing now." I learned to write short stories on deadline, without leaving any facts out, by having Don just cut my stories wherever he needed to cut them to fill the hole on the page.
You'd be amazed at how quickly a young writer catches onto the idea that he shouldn't save key facts for way down a story once he picks up a newspaper to read his 15-inch story and sees that only 10 inches of it made it into the newspaper. And, to Don's credit, I completely got it. Write quickly and write to fit.
I used to fight, in a passive-aggressive way, the weekly feature story assignments Don and his full-time guy Mike Jessie came up with for me. It would begin a long fight against authority that, as the song says, authority always wins. I didn't get important enough feature assignments for Don to fight me about them, so if he wanted a story about two Hoopa High wrestlers and I did a McKinleyville boxer -- he would just grunt and remind me that he was still waiting for the wrestlers' story.
Mostly, I didnt talk to Don Terbush because he had what was my dream job. I know. Weird. My dream job, once I realized I wouldn't play center field for the San Francisco Giants, was to be sport editor of the Times-Standard. I grew up reading the T/S and Don's column, "Sideline Slants." People talk about how much local sports news they read in small papers today, but there was a time when our Eureka Midget League baseball game stories appeared in the next day's newspaper. The JV basketball box score ran right below the varsity box score and, honest, they didn't have a bigger staff back then. They just put a premium on reporting the news when it was fresh and honestly believed that "names made news" and, moreover, that names sold newspapers.
I remember hearing that Don passed up job opportunities in bigger towns, at better newspapers. I thought that was about the most ridiculous damned thing I'd ever heard. I was 13, 14 years old at the time. I vowed that I would try to become the sports editor of the Times-Standard first, but that I'd blow town and head for the biggest publication, in the biggest town, the minute I had the chance. I scoffed, as much as a teenager can scoff, at the idea that Don passed those jobs so he could raise his family in Eureka.
Of course, I didn't realize that newspaper guys live a nomadic life. They bounce around and they don't coach Little League or go to dance recitals. The sports editor of the small market paper has the time to live a normal life. The NFL beat writer becomes famous and makes big money, but he doesn't get to many of his kids' functions or spend much time with his family in the fall and winter -- or early spring.
Naturally, I didn't figure that out until I'd bounced around and landed in Eureka...at the Times-Standard...having shunned Southern California and that job market...and wound up as sports editor of the Times-Standard for a second time. I barely filled Don's shoes the first time on the job. I was young and impulsive and not organized. So, when I got a second chance to do my dream job, I was better ready.
This isn't the whole story. I'm going to write more because I haven't spoken to Don since I left Eureka in 2000. And, despite the rocky start, I've learned over time that he had much more of an impact on my life than he would have dreamed or I would've imagined. And, he's just a good guy who raised a good family and did good things in the community and I don't want him to be remembered as the guy who wrote the fishing column.
Don Terbush couldn't care less what people think of him. He's a confident man, cool actually. He was a great athlete in his youth in Southern California and Humboldt State.
For being one of the nicest girls/women I've ever known, and for having known her since we were in high school, I should know how to spell her first name. But, see, Don Terbush's daughter was "Merd" to her friends. So, I called her "Merd," too. She sort of outgrew "Merd" and I once gave great thought to calling her by her given name. (Boys were aware of being stuck in the dreaded "Friend Zone" in the 1970s, too, and I didn't want to be pigeon-holed as just her pal at one point. And...now I've spilled a deep secret...moving on...)
I should know her married name, too. But, I haven't seen her much over the years so...I probably shouldn't have brought up the whole "Friend Zone" thing and ... never mind.
Where was I?
Oh, my mother died when I was going to College of the Redwoods. I was 17 1/2 and working at Cutten Supermarket when Merd came by to tell me that her dad was going to be looking for a part-time sports writer. She said I should go talk to him. And, oh, did my mom love Merriedawn! She routinely, from the time she got to know her, would mention that I was a "jackass" for messing around with other girls and date with "Merd." I never argued the point, never disputed it. I just pointed out that there was the small problem of other boys, other girls and having to ask somebody I actually liked on a date ... out of the blue ... at which point my mom mumbled, "You are such a (*&^%^ jackass" and walked off.
Don hired me to take the part-time job Merriedawn mentioned and I began making his very, very comfortable professional life a pain. He didn't really want to mentor part-time guys. He was distant, as a man who'd been in the business for many, many years should be when dealing with a 17-year-old who wanted to be Woodward or Bernstein -- or both. I learned to write quickly by having Don tell me, "You have to stop writing now." I learned to write short stories on deadline, without leaving any facts out, by having Don just cut my stories wherever he needed to cut them to fill the hole on the page.
You'd be amazed at how quickly a young writer catches onto the idea that he shouldn't save key facts for way down a story once he picks up a newspaper to read his 15-inch story and sees that only 10 inches of it made it into the newspaper. And, to Don's credit, I completely got it. Write quickly and write to fit.
I used to fight, in a passive-aggressive way, the weekly feature story assignments Don and his full-time guy Mike Jessie came up with for me. It would begin a long fight against authority that, as the song says, authority always wins. I didn't get important enough feature assignments for Don to fight me about them, so if he wanted a story about two Hoopa High wrestlers and I did a McKinleyville boxer -- he would just grunt and remind me that he was still waiting for the wrestlers' story.
Mostly, I didnt talk to Don Terbush because he had what was my dream job. I know. Weird. My dream job, once I realized I wouldn't play center field for the San Francisco Giants, was to be sport editor of the Times-Standard. I grew up reading the T/S and Don's column, "Sideline Slants." People talk about how much local sports news they read in small papers today, but there was a time when our Eureka Midget League baseball game stories appeared in the next day's newspaper. The JV basketball box score ran right below the varsity box score and, honest, they didn't have a bigger staff back then. They just put a premium on reporting the news when it was fresh and honestly believed that "names made news" and, moreover, that names sold newspapers.
I remember hearing that Don passed up job opportunities in bigger towns, at better newspapers. I thought that was about the most ridiculous damned thing I'd ever heard. I was 13, 14 years old at the time. I vowed that I would try to become the sports editor of the Times-Standard first, but that I'd blow town and head for the biggest publication, in the biggest town, the minute I had the chance. I scoffed, as much as a teenager can scoff, at the idea that Don passed those jobs so he could raise his family in Eureka.
Of course, I didn't realize that newspaper guys live a nomadic life. They bounce around and they don't coach Little League or go to dance recitals. The sports editor of the small market paper has the time to live a normal life. The NFL beat writer becomes famous and makes big money, but he doesn't get to many of his kids' functions or spend much time with his family in the fall and winter -- or early spring.
Naturally, I didn't figure that out until I'd bounced around and landed in Eureka...at the Times-Standard...having shunned Southern California and that job market...and wound up as sports editor of the Times-Standard for a second time. I barely filled Don's shoes the first time on the job. I was young and impulsive and not organized. So, when I got a second chance to do my dream job, I was better ready.
This isn't the whole story. I'm going to write more because I haven't spoken to Don since I left Eureka in 2000. And, despite the rocky start, I've learned over time that he had much more of an impact on my life than he would have dreamed or I would've imagined. And, he's just a good guy who raised a good family and did good things in the community and I don't want him to be remembered as the guy who wrote the fishing column.
Don Terbush couldn't care less what people think of him. He's a confident man, cool actually. He was a great athlete in his youth in Southern California and Humboldt State.
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Some more college athletes from the H-DNL, courtesy of readers...
Jim Berning, Montana basketball
Mike and Ron Spini, University of Washington baseball
Stacey Morgan U Washington baseball
Rick Lundblade, Stanford baseball.
Rob Harrison, Sac State football
**Harrison initially accepted a full scholarship to play at San Diego State University out of Eureka High School.
Kenny Maire - Cal baseball