I was called "classless" for putting my blog link in all my newspaper Web site comments so that people could click and go straight to my blog if they liked.
The guy who called me "classless" did so anonymously.
** Somebody made a comment about how I clearly miss the North Coast and that my heart is still back home. The latter is true, obviously, because I spent most of my life in Humboldt County, raised two sons up there, got to enjoy the small-town, slower-paced lifestyle, etc.
I can't say that I actually miss living there now, though, because there are so many more opportunities for my younger kids down here that the crime and over-crowding and traffic is offset by being so close to so many cool things. My kids have gone to more Giants baseball games this season than I went to my entire life. It's a half-hour drive to the ball park. (I don't go. Those ticket prices are outlandish, I figure.) At my age, finally, I'm used to the warm weather down here -- not when it's 104 degrees, but when it's 85 or 90. Once I got used to the warm weather and about 95% more sunny days with blue skies ... I had to acknowledge I didn't miss living right on the coast.
Great example of why I'm OK putting up with "big-city" living ... my youngest kids will never be caught in one of those nightmarish youth programs because they have choices and can pick what suits them. If my youngest son was on a team with a coach who we agreed was unsuitable, he could play in another league or for another team. It makes coaches, theater directors, etc. a lot more accountable.
** Oddly, my youngest kids still like to talk about how they're a little sturdier and able to take discomfort because, "We're from Eureka." My son insists he pitches better on foggy days -- even though he was 4 when he last lived in Eureka. When he gripes that it's "cold" when it's 65 degrees, I'm quick to mention that weather like that would have had us running through the sprinklers in Eureka.
** I've had kids I coached 10, 20 years ago approach me down here or e-mail me out of the blue. Those guys who had a good time playing on teams I coached are, and always have been, the only people I tried to please.
** Does anybody remember Little Joe's Drive-In down on Broadway, around where the feed store and Mike's are located? I think I remember going there when I was really little.
** Interesting that I've seen more stadiums and other redwood-based public structures built decades ago that have been maintained down here than I see in Humboldt County. The Eureka Babe Ruth Field, Albee Stadium's old (old) baseball field, Haney-Jacobs Little League field and the Arcata Ball Park were all super-cool old redwood structures that fell into disrepair and were simply razed. Too bad. Some towns down here have managed to preserve such things.
** It's been 8 years, but someone in my family still takes a second every July 4 to say, "This is fun, but it's not like going to Old Town in Eureka." I know there aren't fireworks up there this year, except in Arcata, but I also remember 3 straight years as a kid going to the dock of the bay to see the fireworks show and only being able to see brightly colored flashes above a thick layer of fog.
** It hit me while I was at the gym just now that I let the people who take sports way, way, way more seriously than I do get me sounding like I'm the one with the stick up my rump. Sure, I know a lot about sports history up there ... but, until about 3 weeks ago, I really hadn't thought about the Humboldt Eagles, the state of the Humboldt Crabs or even the Legion baseball team I started. All of a sudden, halfway through what amounts to a workout for me now, I thought, "How did I get my undies in a bunch explaining the merits of the old Eagles and why I started that team? Who cares? It was 100 years ago."
I appreciate the fact anybody reads this ... seriously.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Question the Coach to His Face
In the last few months three North Coast baseball coaches have been just brutalized on the Times-Standard Topix section, but I'm betting none of the anonymous critics had the courage to walk up to any of them and say to their faces the things they wrote about them.
Todd Ziegler makes a living coaching at College of the Redwoods. Criticism comes with his job. Troy Ghisetti's probably not concerned about the nasty criticism he's taken for his work coaching at Arcata. Still, if you have a problem with one of them -- you'd get further trying to solve it if you talked to them rather than talking about them.
Jim Pastori, Jr. is almost certainly giving his time to coach the Eureka Dukes Junior American Legion team and he's just getting trashed by people who don't sign their names yet who claim to have great concern for the players and the team.
I've been criticized professionally by readers and taken my fair share of heat over how I've coached various youth sports teams. Anonymous criticism always struck me as pointless. I couldn't answer allegations or explain what I was thinking to people who didn't give me a telephone number, an e-mail address or a place I could mail them a note. Whatever problems anonymous critics had, or have, never were addressed. Even if I got an anonymous e-mail, my response was tempered knowing that I had no clue if I was writing to an adult man or a 12-year-old boy.
The inability to solve problems or address concerns of anonymous critics has me wondering if any of the many folks criticizing a Eureka youth baseball coach have walked up to the man and said, "I have a problem with how you coach and this is the problem..."
I've caught hell from some sports fans up there for not offering more sharp opinions here or in the Topix section. The opinions are the result of me looking at different viewpoints and tempered by the fact I wouldn't write anything about somebody that I wouldn't tell them if I had the chance.
I can't imagine many of the people who've just leveled the Dukes coach have walked up to him and said those things, then given him a chance to explain. The big beef over how much playing time his son receives is one thing he deserves a chance to explain, especially if people are making his still young son the focus of public conversation on a media outlet's Web site.
It's quite possible that the coach doesn't want to explain it, I don't know. Still, if the folks who claim to care about youth baseball and the players really want to make things better, they have to walk up and ask the coach to explain himself. If he blows them off, then the first step to taking action to fix the problem has been taken.
I read that parents are afraid that openly questioning the coach will result in their kids losing playing time. That's no excuse. The anonymous critics who fear their kids will lose spots in the lineup are saying, "I'd rather have my kid stuck in a terrible situation and playing than risk making things better for everybody and him maybe losing some playing time."
The first step, I've always maintained, is for the player to talk to the coach about his concerns. I made it clear at the beginning of every season that I wouldn't discuss playing time with parents until I had a chance to talk to the player. I learned early that sometimes the parents have problems that the kids don't share. So, I liked the chance to talk to the players first. Plus, I felt like the players benefited from knowing they could talk to the coach in a open, safe atmosphere. If I couldn't explain the situation to the player, then I'd talk to parents.
I almost never had parents approach me, but I did have some kids come up timidly and quietly to ask, "Why don't I play more?" Then, I got some pleasure in talking to them and watching them walk away feeling pretty pleased with themselves for handling their problem themselves.
Obviously, this is not me taking a stance on the quality of coaching on that Legion team. Their games aren't televised down here. I'm just pointing out that it's easier than its ever been to criticize coaches anonymously. And, clearly, I don't think anonymous criticism does anybody any good.
The readers who had problems with things I wrote were almost always surprised to find that I listened to their concerns, let them chew me out and tried to explain what I meant. It wasn't unusual for me to say, "I guess I didn't make my point very clearly. Your criticism is valid." Hey, even if you think I'm a jackass -- I'm capable of surprising.
Other people can be the same way, so ... confront the problem and the people you think are creating it. That's the only way to help the players.
Todd Ziegler makes a living coaching at College of the Redwoods. Criticism comes with his job. Troy Ghisetti's probably not concerned about the nasty criticism he's taken for his work coaching at Arcata. Still, if you have a problem with one of them -- you'd get further trying to solve it if you talked to them rather than talking about them.
Jim Pastori, Jr. is almost certainly giving his time to coach the Eureka Dukes Junior American Legion team and he's just getting trashed by people who don't sign their names yet who claim to have great concern for the players and the team.
I've been criticized professionally by readers and taken my fair share of heat over how I've coached various youth sports teams. Anonymous criticism always struck me as pointless. I couldn't answer allegations or explain what I was thinking to people who didn't give me a telephone number, an e-mail address or a place I could mail them a note. Whatever problems anonymous critics had, or have, never were addressed. Even if I got an anonymous e-mail, my response was tempered knowing that I had no clue if I was writing to an adult man or a 12-year-old boy.
The inability to solve problems or address concerns of anonymous critics has me wondering if any of the many folks criticizing a Eureka youth baseball coach have walked up to the man and said, "I have a problem with how you coach and this is the problem..."
I've caught hell from some sports fans up there for not offering more sharp opinions here or in the Topix section. The opinions are the result of me looking at different viewpoints and tempered by the fact I wouldn't write anything about somebody that I wouldn't tell them if I had the chance.
I can't imagine many of the people who've just leveled the Dukes coach have walked up to him and said those things, then given him a chance to explain. The big beef over how much playing time his son receives is one thing he deserves a chance to explain, especially if people are making his still young son the focus of public conversation on a media outlet's Web site.
It's quite possible that the coach doesn't want to explain it, I don't know. Still, if the folks who claim to care about youth baseball and the players really want to make things better, they have to walk up and ask the coach to explain himself. If he blows them off, then the first step to taking action to fix the problem has been taken.
I read that parents are afraid that openly questioning the coach will result in their kids losing playing time. That's no excuse. The anonymous critics who fear their kids will lose spots in the lineup are saying, "I'd rather have my kid stuck in a terrible situation and playing than risk making things better for everybody and him maybe losing some playing time."
The first step, I've always maintained, is for the player to talk to the coach about his concerns. I made it clear at the beginning of every season that I wouldn't discuss playing time with parents until I had a chance to talk to the player. I learned early that sometimes the parents have problems that the kids don't share. So, I liked the chance to talk to the players first. Plus, I felt like the players benefited from knowing they could talk to the coach in a open, safe atmosphere. If I couldn't explain the situation to the player, then I'd talk to parents.
I almost never had parents approach me, but I did have some kids come up timidly and quietly to ask, "Why don't I play more?" Then, I got some pleasure in talking to them and watching them walk away feeling pretty pleased with themselves for handling their problem themselves.
Obviously, this is not me taking a stance on the quality of coaching on that Legion team. Their games aren't televised down here. I'm just pointing out that it's easier than its ever been to criticize coaches anonymously. And, clearly, I don't think anonymous criticism does anybody any good.
The readers who had problems with things I wrote were almost always surprised to find that I listened to their concerns, let them chew me out and tried to explain what I meant. It wasn't unusual for me to say, "I guess I didn't make my point very clearly. Your criticism is valid." Hey, even if you think I'm a jackass -- I'm capable of surprising.
Other people can be the same way, so ... confront the problem and the people you think are creating it. That's the only way to help the players.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Dads Favoring Sons
I coached my oldest sons in different sports on the North Coast for years and years. It came as no surprise that all a parent had to do was figure out that the shortstop (or point guard or quarterback) was my son in order to shout, "That coach favors his own son!"
The first time I heard that type thing was when I was 10-year-old. My coach played his son, a pretty good 12-year-old, played every inning at first base. Small problem among the parents, though, was that a lefthanded-throwing guy named Tad Sundquist on our team and he was a full-time outfielder. Tad was probably the best first baseman in our league ... he just never got to play first base until he was 12 and the coach's son had moved on.
My mom used to tell me that parents complained that Tad didn't play first base over the coach's son. It didn't matter to parents that the son never made mistakes that cost games. He was the coach's son and was therefore perceived to be getting favorable treatment.
Sundquist went on to be one of the finest first basemen in Eureka High and College of the Redwoods history, starred for the Humboldt Eagles, and was chosen in the major league draft a few times. By the time I was in high school, nobody I knew ever figured any first baseman could've ever been good enough to play ahead of Sundquist -- and they were right.
My coach probably did favor his son. Coaches do tend to favor their sons, often subconsciously, in all sports. I'm equally sure that other parents are going to gripe that coaches favor their own kids -- simply by virtue of the coach having a kid on the team.
If the kid holds his own and there's not a player with markedly better talent on the bench ... I can explain why coaches can, and probably sometimes do, give their sons some extra playing time. I doubt it'll change the minds of the puritans who really think youth sports are ever going to be fair and just all the time.
First, a coach tends to spend more time playing and practicing with his own kid. If you coach, you love the sport. Love the sport, you play with your kids. You hear all the time on TV that coaches' sons often turn out to be fine athletes. In spite of historical evidence to the contrary and analysts who disagree, I'm sure the coach's son you know is simply terrible.
Second, a guy devotes hours and hours and hours of his life to coaching a team. The single, solitary benefit a coach gets from coaching is that he can get his son a little (or a lot) more playing time. (Sometimes coaches have wives or family members who insist he damn well better favor his kid. Don't discount that.)
One year, a new coach took over my oldest son's football team and, the only position change he made was to put his son at QB and my son at some different positions. It was an example of a dad wanting something his son had no interest in. The son had never expressed any interest in playing quarterback, but his dad wanted him to play the position. It was painful to watch and, finally, a group of other concerned parents convinced the man that he was only hurting his own son by insisting he play QB.
Oh, as you coach and bitch from the bleachers ... ask yourself if the coach demands more of his son. That happens a lot, ask my kids. Sometimes what you think is "favoritism" is a situation that's hard on the kid.
I think I catch hell for being a buzz-kill on T/S Topix sites because I just say, "I'm trying to think it through." In this case, I'm suggesting coaches know their kids best. They know how they handle pressure. For instance, if my baseball teams got into a situation where we needed to run a pick-off play, I knew my kids were so sick of me explaining it over dinner or watching TV that they could do it in their sleep.
I think dads tend to rely on their kids and it can be perceived as favoring them. I know that when I didn't have a son on a team, I'd find myself relying on another player I felt could handle almost anything. Matt Davey played on a ton of my baseball teams and he got the dirty jobs normally reserved for my sons when they weren't on the team or were too young to handle them. Matt never complained...but, I did play him every inning, put him in spots where he could shine and did anything I could to repay him for his effort.
There are coaches willing to lose games and hurt other kids to keep their kid in the game and the spotlight. I suggest, however, we consider cases and coaches individually ... and really think hard before screaming "favoritism." Quite often, the person who's most hurt when bickering over alleged "favoritism" begins is the kid everybody thinks is being favored.
The first time I heard that type thing was when I was 10-year-old. My coach played his son, a pretty good 12-year-old, played every inning at first base. Small problem among the parents, though, was that a lefthanded-throwing guy named Tad Sundquist on our team and he was a full-time outfielder. Tad was probably the best first baseman in our league ... he just never got to play first base until he was 12 and the coach's son had moved on.
My mom used to tell me that parents complained that Tad didn't play first base over the coach's son. It didn't matter to parents that the son never made mistakes that cost games. He was the coach's son and was therefore perceived to be getting favorable treatment.
Sundquist went on to be one of the finest first basemen in Eureka High and College of the Redwoods history, starred for the Humboldt Eagles, and was chosen in the major league draft a few times. By the time I was in high school, nobody I knew ever figured any first baseman could've ever been good enough to play ahead of Sundquist -- and they were right.
My coach probably did favor his son. Coaches do tend to favor their sons, often subconsciously, in all sports. I'm equally sure that other parents are going to gripe that coaches favor their own kids -- simply by virtue of the coach having a kid on the team.
If the kid holds his own and there's not a player with markedly better talent on the bench ... I can explain why coaches can, and probably sometimes do, give their sons some extra playing time. I doubt it'll change the minds of the puritans who really think youth sports are ever going to be fair and just all the time.
First, a coach tends to spend more time playing and practicing with his own kid. If you coach, you love the sport. Love the sport, you play with your kids. You hear all the time on TV that coaches' sons often turn out to be fine athletes. In spite of historical evidence to the contrary and analysts who disagree, I'm sure the coach's son you know is simply terrible.
Second, a guy devotes hours and hours and hours of his life to coaching a team. The single, solitary benefit a coach gets from coaching is that he can get his son a little (or a lot) more playing time. (Sometimes coaches have wives or family members who insist he damn well better favor his kid. Don't discount that.)
One year, a new coach took over my oldest son's football team and, the only position change he made was to put his son at QB and my son at some different positions. It was an example of a dad wanting something his son had no interest in. The son had never expressed any interest in playing quarterback, but his dad wanted him to play the position. It was painful to watch and, finally, a group of other concerned parents convinced the man that he was only hurting his own son by insisting he play QB.
Oh, as you coach and bitch from the bleachers ... ask yourself if the coach demands more of his son. That happens a lot, ask my kids. Sometimes what you think is "favoritism" is a situation that's hard on the kid.
I think I catch hell for being a buzz-kill on T/S Topix sites because I just say, "I'm trying to think it through." In this case, I'm suggesting coaches know their kids best. They know how they handle pressure. For instance, if my baseball teams got into a situation where we needed to run a pick-off play, I knew my kids were so sick of me explaining it over dinner or watching TV that they could do it in their sleep.
I think dads tend to rely on their kids and it can be perceived as favoring them. I know that when I didn't have a son on a team, I'd find myself relying on another player I felt could handle almost anything. Matt Davey played on a ton of my baseball teams and he got the dirty jobs normally reserved for my sons when they weren't on the team or were too young to handle them. Matt never complained...but, I did play him every inning, put him in spots where he could shine and did anything I could to repay him for his effort.
There are coaches willing to lose games and hurt other kids to keep their kid in the game and the spotlight. I suggest, however, we consider cases and coaches individually ... and really think hard before screaming "favoritism." Quite often, the person who's most hurt when bickering over alleged "favoritism" begins is the kid everybody thinks is being favored.
Adults Want Control, but Kids Need Options
All it took for the Eureka Dukes Junior American Legion team to be accepted was for me to leave town and have the Eureka Falcons American Legion program suck it into one big Eureka Legion organization. Conversely, players lost the chance to choose which summer baseball team they played for when the Falcons absorbed the Dukes.
The demise of the Humboldt Eagles Connie Mack League team also killed the Humboldt Falcons -- technically Eureka's American Legion, but team serving as a feeder team for the Connie Mack Eagles. The organization created roster spots for 36 kids from Eureka northward. The birth of the Falcons as Eureka's American Legion team accounted for 18 of the spots that disappeared when the Eagles died. Since the Falcons opted not to field a Junior American Legion team like those supported in Northern and Southern Humboldt, I felt it wouldn't be too difficult to start the Dukes for Eureka players 16-17 years of age. The Falcons and Dukes, separate but equal teams, combined to provide 36 players summer baseball -- just as the Eagles/Falcons had for years.
Fred Sundquist and City Ambulance donated money that allowed me to charge the players a fee that covered the cost of uniforms and tournament play. Odell Shelton from the Southern Humboldt 76ers program gave me guidance. Sport & Cycle helped the Dukes spring to life.
I've never mentioned him here for fear he'll catch hell for associating with me, but my great friend Duane Hagans coached and was the other guy who got the Dukes going and to where they are today -- an established Eureka Legion team. Duane is exactly the type of man who, I think, Humboldt County baseball needs. He's never coached a team his son played on and he's coached every single kid, regardless of their talent, equally hard. He has no stake in anything except helping young baseball players learn the game and then get chances to play it.
The Dukes gave 16- and 17-year-olds an alternative to the Falcons. At one point, I was being criticized for potentially weakening the Falcons roster by taking some talented younger players. Actually, one of the 16-year-old standouts was Jackie Christensen and he called and asked me if I thought he should tryout for the Falcons or for the Dukes. Jackie was the type kid who was going to do well at whatever level he tried to play, so I told him give the Falcons and come over to the Dukes if things didn't work out.
If an adult's in youth sports for himself and to stroke his own ego, he tells a boy like Jackie was bad things about the Falcons and promises him the moon to play for the Dukes. The fact that Jackie and others had a choice was enough for me.
Then, the next year, the Northern Humboldt folks and other got upset because they dropped Junior Legion play and the Dukes became an alternative to 16- and 17-year-olds throughout the county. I caught hell for contacting Arcata, McKinleyville, South Fork, Fortuna and Ferndale kids. The kids were all really nice, polite and seemed pleased to have a choice. At that time, there were some pretty good baseball talent headed to the 76ers who weren't to excited about the prospect. There were Northern Humboldt players who didn't want to play summer ball for the same coaches they played for in high school. The Dukes gave all those kids the choice and, in theory, meant they had no reason to complain about getting stuck in baseball's death valley by virtue of their street address.
There were good baseball guys who understood that the Dukes could serve players in different ways. When we realized there was no reason we couldn't have players 14 or 15 years of age, Lee and Jesse Hawkins joined the Dukes from McKinleyville -- at age 14. It bolstered our team and, I think, gave them opportunities unique to 14-year-old players at the time. Their father Roger got McKinleyville players John Jaso and Travis Brunner to play for the Dukes for one summer, with Jaso dominating Junior Legion pitching when he was 15 years old. I was soundly criticized for inviting Eureka Babe Ruth League standouts to play for the Dukes. Man! I was told it would destroy the Babe Ruth League and ... insane stuff.
I believe that the Dukes currently have 15-year-old players and that the Babe Ruth League has survived nicely. See? Adults were mad at me for starting the Dukes because the Dukes gave Babe Ruth all-star players a chance to play up in age and competition -- and that meant that adults who ran Babe Ruth baseball wouldn't be able to field the strongest possible all-star teams.
Who were we doing all the work for? Ourselves, as adults, or so the players could get the best baseball experiences?
No youth sports organization wants competition for players. It's not unique to the old Humboldt Eagles or the Eureka American Legion program. Guys who spent their lives building the Eureka Babe Ruth or Arcata Senior Little League programs wanted the very best players to take part so their all-star teams would do well. I get it. You get it. Everybody wants the best players.
Sadly, nobody's ever wanted to compete and improve their baseball programs in order to attract players who are given a choice. In order to make the Dukes a little more interesting to players, we had different coaches come out -- and we practiced between games so that the kids could work on their game in drills and the bullpen. I didn't mind losing the majority of players I'd invited to the Dukes, as long as I felt like the Dukes program was offering kids and parents something a little different.
The Dukes gave kids a choice for a couple of years. Now, heavens, the Dukes are just another team where (I assume) kids get placed so they can season until they're deemed ready to play for the Falcons. It's just another team coached by, I assume, dads who are teaching the same kids the same things they've been teaching them since Little League. It's always been my opinion that you can judge a coach's confidence in what he knows based on how willing he is to let knowledgable coaches help him out. There aren't many dads who want high school or college coaches, or former pro players, out helping them coach. Why?
As I wrote here earlier, I learned a great deal about baseball listening to Buster Pidgeon spend hours on individual lessons with my sons. It's foolish for dads who played 20, 30 years ago to believe they learned enough back then to keep modern kids current. There are dads who are great coaches. There are guys who never played college or pro ball who do a nice job. Down here, though, top kids from age 12 on up are playing on teams where former college players are paid to coach 'em up with the most current drills, techniques, etc.
Obviously, this is personal to me because I'm attached to the Dukes -- even if I'm the only one who knows it. I've also got a younger son still playing and I can see, from experience, that the stuff I learned playing and then from my older sons' coaches is old information. Obviously, the stuff I learned and the coached 10 years ago still works. But, my youngest son and his friends are getting college-level coaching and being infused with a higher level of focus and intensity -- from coaches they have a lot more in common with than they do with their old man.
Choices. Adults don't like 'em. Players absolutely deserve them.
The demise of the Humboldt Eagles Connie Mack League team also killed the Humboldt Falcons -- technically Eureka's American Legion, but team serving as a feeder team for the Connie Mack Eagles. The organization created roster spots for 36 kids from Eureka northward. The birth of the Falcons as Eureka's American Legion team accounted for 18 of the spots that disappeared when the Eagles died. Since the Falcons opted not to field a Junior American Legion team like those supported in Northern and Southern Humboldt, I felt it wouldn't be too difficult to start the Dukes for Eureka players 16-17 years of age. The Falcons and Dukes, separate but equal teams, combined to provide 36 players summer baseball -- just as the Eagles/Falcons had for years.
Fred Sundquist and City Ambulance donated money that allowed me to charge the players a fee that covered the cost of uniforms and tournament play. Odell Shelton from the Southern Humboldt 76ers program gave me guidance. Sport & Cycle helped the Dukes spring to life.
I've never mentioned him here for fear he'll catch hell for associating with me, but my great friend Duane Hagans coached and was the other guy who got the Dukes going and to where they are today -- an established Eureka Legion team. Duane is exactly the type of man who, I think, Humboldt County baseball needs. He's never coached a team his son played on and he's coached every single kid, regardless of their talent, equally hard. He has no stake in anything except helping young baseball players learn the game and then get chances to play it.
The Dukes gave 16- and 17-year-olds an alternative to the Falcons. At one point, I was being criticized for potentially weakening the Falcons roster by taking some talented younger players. Actually, one of the 16-year-old standouts was Jackie Christensen and he called and asked me if I thought he should tryout for the Falcons or for the Dukes. Jackie was the type kid who was going to do well at whatever level he tried to play, so I told him give the Falcons and come over to the Dukes if things didn't work out.
If an adult's in youth sports for himself and to stroke his own ego, he tells a boy like Jackie was bad things about the Falcons and promises him the moon to play for the Dukes. The fact that Jackie and others had a choice was enough for me.
Then, the next year, the Northern Humboldt folks and other got upset because they dropped Junior Legion play and the Dukes became an alternative to 16- and 17-year-olds throughout the county. I caught hell for contacting Arcata, McKinleyville, South Fork, Fortuna and Ferndale kids. The kids were all really nice, polite and seemed pleased to have a choice. At that time, there were some pretty good baseball talent headed to the 76ers who weren't to excited about the prospect. There were Northern Humboldt players who didn't want to play summer ball for the same coaches they played for in high school. The Dukes gave all those kids the choice and, in theory, meant they had no reason to complain about getting stuck in baseball's death valley by virtue of their street address.
There were good baseball guys who understood that the Dukes could serve players in different ways. When we realized there was no reason we couldn't have players 14 or 15 years of age, Lee and Jesse Hawkins joined the Dukes from McKinleyville -- at age 14. It bolstered our team and, I think, gave them opportunities unique to 14-year-old players at the time. Their father Roger got McKinleyville players John Jaso and Travis Brunner to play for the Dukes for one summer, with Jaso dominating Junior Legion pitching when he was 15 years old. I was soundly criticized for inviting Eureka Babe Ruth League standouts to play for the Dukes. Man! I was told it would destroy the Babe Ruth League and ... insane stuff.
I believe that the Dukes currently have 15-year-old players and that the Babe Ruth League has survived nicely. See? Adults were mad at me for starting the Dukes because the Dukes gave Babe Ruth all-star players a chance to play up in age and competition -- and that meant that adults who ran Babe Ruth baseball wouldn't be able to field the strongest possible all-star teams.
Who were we doing all the work for? Ourselves, as adults, or so the players could get the best baseball experiences?
No youth sports organization wants competition for players. It's not unique to the old Humboldt Eagles or the Eureka American Legion program. Guys who spent their lives building the Eureka Babe Ruth or Arcata Senior Little League programs wanted the very best players to take part so their all-star teams would do well. I get it. You get it. Everybody wants the best players.
Sadly, nobody's ever wanted to compete and improve their baseball programs in order to attract players who are given a choice. In order to make the Dukes a little more interesting to players, we had different coaches come out -- and we practiced between games so that the kids could work on their game in drills and the bullpen. I didn't mind losing the majority of players I'd invited to the Dukes, as long as I felt like the Dukes program was offering kids and parents something a little different.
The Dukes gave kids a choice for a couple of years. Now, heavens, the Dukes are just another team where (I assume) kids get placed so they can season until they're deemed ready to play for the Falcons. It's just another team coached by, I assume, dads who are teaching the same kids the same things they've been teaching them since Little League. It's always been my opinion that you can judge a coach's confidence in what he knows based on how willing he is to let knowledgable coaches help him out. There aren't many dads who want high school or college coaches, or former pro players, out helping them coach. Why?
As I wrote here earlier, I learned a great deal about baseball listening to Buster Pidgeon spend hours on individual lessons with my sons. It's foolish for dads who played 20, 30 years ago to believe they learned enough back then to keep modern kids current. There are dads who are great coaches. There are guys who never played college or pro ball who do a nice job. Down here, though, top kids from age 12 on up are playing on teams where former college players are paid to coach 'em up with the most current drills, techniques, etc.
Obviously, this is personal to me because I'm attached to the Dukes -- even if I'm the only one who knows it. I've also got a younger son still playing and I can see, from experience, that the stuff I learned playing and then from my older sons' coaches is old information. Obviously, the stuff I learned and the coached 10 years ago still works. But, my youngest son and his friends are getting college-level coaching and being infused with a higher level of focus and intensity -- from coaches they have a lot more in common with than they do with their old man.
Choices. Adults don't like 'em. Players absolutely deserve them.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Gun Shots
When my son went to play for a baseball in Dixon, a town that's sort of like McKinleyville was in the 1970s, the country kids only had one question. "Do you hear lots of gunshots at night living in Fairfield?"
He doesn't hear "lots" of gunshots, but he's heard gunshots.
We live on the west side of I-80 and this is supposed to be the better side of Fairfield. There's a ritzy gated community up the road and, then, comes a green belt with really, really, upscale homes that connect Solano County to the Napa Valley. When we moved in eight years ago, the better side of town was actually OK by my North Coast standards. Times have changed.
In the last couple years, we've been shaken in the middle of the night by the police helicopter that started roaming the skies at night -- covering the entire city. The flights have stopped now, but for months and months, the helicopter spent a lot of time flashing the huge spotlight down on the park a couple hundred feet from my house.
I didn't mind them making noise and flashing that light because a kid was shot and killed at that park a couple years back. If there's any spot that bad-ass troublemakers can gather and raise hell, they will. So, I liked that the helicopter kept the park clear of trouble.
It was, I'll admit, unsettling to wake up one morning at the sound of the helicopter -- and opening my window to see the helicopter had landed on my street. There was some criminal activity near here.
That criminal activity wasn't quite as well concealed as that which my old neighbors engaged in.
The first week I lived in my house, near the park and adjacent to my kids' elementary school (considered one of the top two or three in the city), I was eating dinner and noticed smoke coming out of the next-door neighbors' garage. The flames from inside became noticeable and, quickly, the house was on fire and my neighbors were watching fire trucks and police cars pour onto our street.
We got the need for the fire trucks. We couldn't understand why cop cars blocked the street in both directions ... until officers started running around collecting the tenants. They'd been operating a meth lab in the garage next to my kitchen window...on the better side of town.
At one point, the officers had six guys sitting handcuffed on the curb. Two guys had split, jumped a fence, and headed for the park. They were eventually apprehended ... but, not until my kids had spent an angst-filled evening with criminals on the run in the area.
Fairfield, as I mentioned, used to be very much like towns on the North Coast. Quiet. Safe.
I imagine the better side of town started being pretty bad when people started knocking law enforcement, questioning how they do their jobs of keeping regular people relatively safe, etc. You know?
It's perfectly fine with me if some people who wind up dealing with law enforcement have problems with how some officers do their job. I don't care if some officers aren't good guys, because I don't think I'll ever have to call one to come over and watch the 49ers on TV. If I need a police officer, I'm going to need him to save my kids or me or stop a crime.
Get too picky about defining police officers and you wind up with helicopters landing on your street and meth labs getting busted next door.
He doesn't hear "lots" of gunshots, but he's heard gunshots.
We live on the west side of I-80 and this is supposed to be the better side of Fairfield. There's a ritzy gated community up the road and, then, comes a green belt with really, really, upscale homes that connect Solano County to the Napa Valley. When we moved in eight years ago, the better side of town was actually OK by my North Coast standards. Times have changed.
In the last couple years, we've been shaken in the middle of the night by the police helicopter that started roaming the skies at night -- covering the entire city. The flights have stopped now, but for months and months, the helicopter spent a lot of time flashing the huge spotlight down on the park a couple hundred feet from my house.
I didn't mind them making noise and flashing that light because a kid was shot and killed at that park a couple years back. If there's any spot that bad-ass troublemakers can gather and raise hell, they will. So, I liked that the helicopter kept the park clear of trouble.
It was, I'll admit, unsettling to wake up one morning at the sound of the helicopter -- and opening my window to see the helicopter had landed on my street. There was some criminal activity near here.
That criminal activity wasn't quite as well concealed as that which my old neighbors engaged in.
The first week I lived in my house, near the park and adjacent to my kids' elementary school (considered one of the top two or three in the city), I was eating dinner and noticed smoke coming out of the next-door neighbors' garage. The flames from inside became noticeable and, quickly, the house was on fire and my neighbors were watching fire trucks and police cars pour onto our street.
We got the need for the fire trucks. We couldn't understand why cop cars blocked the street in both directions ... until officers started running around collecting the tenants. They'd been operating a meth lab in the garage next to my kitchen window...on the better side of town.
At one point, the officers had six guys sitting handcuffed on the curb. Two guys had split, jumped a fence, and headed for the park. They were eventually apprehended ... but, not until my kids had spent an angst-filled evening with criminals on the run in the area.
Fairfield, as I mentioned, used to be very much like towns on the North Coast. Quiet. Safe.
I imagine the better side of town started being pretty bad when people started knocking law enforcement, questioning how they do their jobs of keeping regular people relatively safe, etc. You know?
It's perfectly fine with me if some people who wind up dealing with law enforcement have problems with how some officers do their job. I don't care if some officers aren't good guys, because I don't think I'll ever have to call one to come over and watch the 49ers on TV. If I need a police officer, I'm going to need him to save my kids or me or stop a crime.
Get too picky about defining police officers and you wind up with helicopters landing on your street and meth labs getting busted next door.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
You Tube: Is It Necessary?
Calling up the Fairfield rap video mentioned below reminded me of the serious questions I have about the overall value of You Tube. I'm like the idea of being able to watch TV shows or news interviews online, but ... any dope with a video camera can record another dope and ...
http://youtube.com/watch?v=7jqkBsv5PLA
Or, worse, any goofy kid with time on his hands and a digital camera can make a music video featuring his miniature dachsund.
http://youtube.com/watch?v=aFJmpH1sg4o&feature=related
My sons haven't, clearly, been too much influenced by the gangs and rap music down here, I guess. They all agree the You Tube stuff was hilarious ... which simply makes me feel really, really, really old.
http://youtube.com/watch?v=7jqkBsv5PLA
Or, worse, any goofy kid with time on his hands and a digital camera can make a music video featuring his miniature dachsund.
http://youtube.com/watch?v=aFJmpH1sg4o&feature=related
My sons haven't, clearly, been too much influenced by the gangs and rap music down here, I guess. They all agree the You Tube stuff was hilarious ... which simply makes me feel really, really, really old.
Representing the 707 ... This Isn't Kansas ...
No, really ... my kids I can drive 2, 3 minutes and we're in a part of our town that would appear to the average Humboldt County resident to be a place you'd only see in a movie ...
http://youtube.com/watch?v=C3l0YKzyPGA&feature=related
The link's to a You Tube video that my friend's teen-aged son says, "Makes Fairfield famous!" Seriously.
Every street and school you hear mentioned is real -- I could give you directions. It's not as though Fairfield High School's considered exceptionally dangerous either -- in fact, it's probably not among the more dangerous campuses in Solano County.
http://youtube.com/watch?v=C3l0YKzyPGA&feature=related
The link's to a You Tube video that my friend's teen-aged son says, "Makes Fairfield famous!" Seriously.
Every street and school you hear mentioned is real -- I could give you directions. It's not as though Fairfield High School's considered exceptionally dangerous either -- in fact, it's probably not among the more dangerous campuses in Solano County.
Gangs in Myrtletowne
The Humboldt County Gang Task Force made some arrests and attracted community attention to a problem that's, clearly, gotten 80 times worse in the eight years since I left the North Coast.
There are gang members being targeted, rightfully, in Myrtletowne? In Pine Hill? Humboldt Hill? Incredible.
I think gang problems in an isolated area like Humboldt County begins with how modern kids react to being ignored or otherwise left to run relatively free by parents and community leaders. Sure, there are real gang-bangers who leave big cities to do business and recruit in Eureka. But, that alone can't account for how a growing number of Humboldt kids are growing up "ghetto" or "gangster."
(And ... please ... don't lecture me on "real gangsters" and "wannabees." Look up Fairfield in any story about gang-related violence ... then check Solano County. I know about gang-related lifestyles because, even on the theoretical safer side of town, we're surrounded by it.)
I'm not blaming TV or movies for how people live their lives, but I do think the gangster lifestyle is wildly glorified on TV shows every single day -- and those shows bring the "ghetto" and "gangster" stuff to Eureka. Kids with no real identity or feeling of belonging watch TV, or see a movie, and feel some affinity for whatever they perceive the gang lifestyle to be.
There were "gangs" and youth crime problems years and years and years ago, too. Kids in Eureka just had no way to identify with it because it wasn't in their living room. Kids were raising hell in some places, but ... "American Bandstand" was still all that Eureka kids knew about their peers across the country.
So ... I blame parents who don't take 30 seconds to tell their kids, "You are nothing like the gang kids living in the inner-city you see on TV. You can like rap and hip-hop ... but, when you hear hardcore stuff, keep in mind YOU are the people they're mocking and being angry at, OK?" It's not that hard to remind kids who they are, where they came from and how to get to wherever they want to go ... but, it takes time.
It's a problem here that, really, is out of control. I can drive 5 minutes and my kids and I will be smack in the middle of "The 'Hood." I've taken my son to youth basketball games where drug dealers were doing business in the parking lot. It's ... accepted...I don't know if it's acceptable, but nobody really seemed to care that there was strange, strange stuff going on all around little kids showing up to play basketball. There are drive-by shootings in places where people are raising kids in what, at first glance, seem like neighborhoods that could be in Arcata, Fortuna or Eureka.
All the task force can do for "gang" types in their 20s or 30s is arrest them and hope they land in jail. I hope an equal amount of community energy is aimed at kids who are just beginning to feel the influence of gang activity.
There's a pretty specific reason my son and daughter didn't connect to the "gang" atmosphere in our version of "The 'Hood." Ethnicity and racial composition here is radically different than it is in Humboldt County. Let's say my 12-year-old son made it his goal to get down with gang activity, OK? It'd be a long, long, long time before he'd be accepted...or even trusted...by the kids or the older guys who influence them. Part of it is that my son lives on the other side of town and part of it is that he was one of two caucasians in his six-team league for boys in 6th and 7th grades.
I used to worry about seeming racist, but now? I've spent a great deal of time in places that would scare small-town folks. I've never been scared or even felt threatened at, say, the YMCA or in a city park. I don't know that it's a black or Latino or Asian thing ... but, the dudes selling drugs from their car were black ... the guys who started the fight after the basketball game were Latino ... and the Asians are, apparently, not to be messed with at all.
I know there are white kids just as stupid and just as troublesome ... ignorance knows no race, creed or color. The white kids seem to be hangers-on, not leaders. So, it exactly what it appears to be, I guess. If it sounds like I'm racist, I apologize.
I'm rambling ... which is a sin, near as I can tell. I just don't think it wise to do just arrest old gangsters. Really, really give thought to how younger kids are attracted to that lifestyle and what can steer them clear. I suggest you bus a bunch of "tough" Eureka elementary school kids to Vallejo and leave them off in front of Vallejo High school after school. They'll find the "lifestyle" is a little different than it's portrayed on TV.
It's a race thing ... a low-income thing ... an immigration thing ... a thing kids do to feel part of something. But, it's something I think can be addressed in Humboldt County before it gets anywhere near as bad as it is down here.
There are gang members being targeted, rightfully, in Myrtletowne? In Pine Hill? Humboldt Hill? Incredible.
I think gang problems in an isolated area like Humboldt County begins with how modern kids react to being ignored or otherwise left to run relatively free by parents and community leaders. Sure, there are real gang-bangers who leave big cities to do business and recruit in Eureka. But, that alone can't account for how a growing number of Humboldt kids are growing up "ghetto" or "gangster."
(And ... please ... don't lecture me on "real gangsters" and "wannabees." Look up Fairfield in any story about gang-related violence ... then check Solano County. I know about gang-related lifestyles because, even on the theoretical safer side of town, we're surrounded by it.)
I'm not blaming TV or movies for how people live their lives, but I do think the gangster lifestyle is wildly glorified on TV shows every single day -- and those shows bring the "ghetto" and "gangster" stuff to Eureka. Kids with no real identity or feeling of belonging watch TV, or see a movie, and feel some affinity for whatever they perceive the gang lifestyle to be.
There were "gangs" and youth crime problems years and years and years ago, too. Kids in Eureka just had no way to identify with it because it wasn't in their living room. Kids were raising hell in some places, but ... "American Bandstand" was still all that Eureka kids knew about their peers across the country.
So ... I blame parents who don't take 30 seconds to tell their kids, "You are nothing like the gang kids living in the inner-city you see on TV. You can like rap and hip-hop ... but, when you hear hardcore stuff, keep in mind YOU are the people they're mocking and being angry at, OK?" It's not that hard to remind kids who they are, where they came from and how to get to wherever they want to go ... but, it takes time.
It's a problem here that, really, is out of control. I can drive 5 minutes and my kids and I will be smack in the middle of "The 'Hood." I've taken my son to youth basketball games where drug dealers were doing business in the parking lot. It's ... accepted...I don't know if it's acceptable, but nobody really seemed to care that there was strange, strange stuff going on all around little kids showing up to play basketball. There are drive-by shootings in places where people are raising kids in what, at first glance, seem like neighborhoods that could be in Arcata, Fortuna or Eureka.
All the task force can do for "gang" types in their 20s or 30s is arrest them and hope they land in jail. I hope an equal amount of community energy is aimed at kids who are just beginning to feel the influence of gang activity.
There's a pretty specific reason my son and daughter didn't connect to the "gang" atmosphere in our version of "The 'Hood." Ethnicity and racial composition here is radically different than it is in Humboldt County. Let's say my 12-year-old son made it his goal to get down with gang activity, OK? It'd be a long, long, long time before he'd be accepted...or even trusted...by the kids or the older guys who influence them. Part of it is that my son lives on the other side of town and part of it is that he was one of two caucasians in his six-team league for boys in 6th and 7th grades.
I used to worry about seeming racist, but now? I've spent a great deal of time in places that would scare small-town folks. I've never been scared or even felt threatened at, say, the YMCA or in a city park. I don't know that it's a black or Latino or Asian thing ... but, the dudes selling drugs from their car were black ... the guys who started the fight after the basketball game were Latino ... and the Asians are, apparently, not to be messed with at all.
I know there are white kids just as stupid and just as troublesome ... ignorance knows no race, creed or color. The white kids seem to be hangers-on, not leaders. So, it exactly what it appears to be, I guess. If it sounds like I'm racist, I apologize.
I'm rambling ... which is a sin, near as I can tell. I just don't think it wise to do just arrest old gangsters. Really, really give thought to how younger kids are attracted to that lifestyle and what can steer them clear. I suggest you bus a bunch of "tough" Eureka elementary school kids to Vallejo and leave them off in front of Vallejo High school after school. They'll find the "lifestyle" is a little different than it's portrayed on TV.
It's a race thing ... a low-income thing ... an immigration thing ... a thing kids do to feel part of something. But, it's something I think can be addressed in Humboldt County before it gets anywhere near as bad as it is down here.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Arcata Neighbors Should Unite Against Growers
Well, let me make the assumption that residents of Arcata don't want marijuana grow houses operating in their neighborhoods. OK? Then, let me mention that Arcatans should unite to run troublesome growers out of their neighborhoods.
It turns out that my aunt's house on the hill in Arcata ("Emily's House") was rented after she died -- to pot growers. The house was completely trashed and needed thousands and thousands of dollars in repairs. An antique door was ruined by people who, logically, cared more about the dope than the door.
Now, I've lived across the street from a grower/seller down here and it didn't bother me or my neighbors. (I doubt the other neighbors even knew what the guy did for a living.) So, I have to point out that a grow house or a dealer isn't an automatic plague on a neighborhood. OK? If they don't cause trouble and nobody's bothered, and law enforcement can't bust them, it's a free country.
I'm just hearing nothing but horror stories about pot grow houses being rented out in Arcata neighborhoods. I'm told there's one, or more, even up near or on the Baywood Golf & Country Club course.
There are people in Arcata who feel like trying to run troublesome grow houses out of neighborhoods is some sort of anti-American witch hunt. That's bull ... crap. Honest, working folks who pay their mortgage and their taxes -- and raise their families -- damn well do have the right to want grow houses that cause an odor or otherwise serve as a blight on a neighborhood removed.
Don't bring up the medical marijuana argument. I'm in favor of medical marijuana. In fact, I believe that if marijuana were legalized the problem haunting Arcata neighborhoods would disappear. I have no problem with legalizing marijuana. I've seen people drunk and stoned -- there's not a dime's difference I can notice.
It aggravates me to hear people mock homeowners who want to rid their neighborhoods of grow houses. They write and talk as though pot growers have rights as Americans to muck up a neighborhood because, hey, it's just marijuana...deal with it.
Arcata neighbors ought to demand that law enforcement comes down like a hammer on the in-town grow houses that are causing problems. I always felt there was good reason for the marijuana industry to be centered in the netherlands and tall trees of Southern Humboldt. It kept what I consider a relatively innocent drug and a business that's going to exist regardless out of North Coast neighborhoods. But, there was a grow house in my aunt's old house!
I'm told that more than a few Arcatans are literally afraid of reporting grow house operators to police. I don't guess I worry about death threats made to a newspaper writer because, well, that comes with pushing buttons and writing letters that make people mad. But ... homeowners fear reprisal?
How can that be?
Arcata residents, since I don't guess you can count on the city leaders, need to appeal to law enforcement as a large, vocal majority. I mean ... unless pot grow houses in some neighborhoods add value to the areas.
It turns out that my aunt's house on the hill in Arcata ("Emily's House") was rented after she died -- to pot growers. The house was completely trashed and needed thousands and thousands of dollars in repairs. An antique door was ruined by people who, logically, cared more about the dope than the door.
Now, I've lived across the street from a grower/seller down here and it didn't bother me or my neighbors. (I doubt the other neighbors even knew what the guy did for a living.) So, I have to point out that a grow house or a dealer isn't an automatic plague on a neighborhood. OK? If they don't cause trouble and nobody's bothered, and law enforcement can't bust them, it's a free country.
I'm just hearing nothing but horror stories about pot grow houses being rented out in Arcata neighborhoods. I'm told there's one, or more, even up near or on the Baywood Golf & Country Club course.
There are people in Arcata who feel like trying to run troublesome grow houses out of neighborhoods is some sort of anti-American witch hunt. That's bull ... crap. Honest, working folks who pay their mortgage and their taxes -- and raise their families -- damn well do have the right to want grow houses that cause an odor or otherwise serve as a blight on a neighborhood removed.
Don't bring up the medical marijuana argument. I'm in favor of medical marijuana. In fact, I believe that if marijuana were legalized the problem haunting Arcata neighborhoods would disappear. I have no problem with legalizing marijuana. I've seen people drunk and stoned -- there's not a dime's difference I can notice.
It aggravates me to hear people mock homeowners who want to rid their neighborhoods of grow houses. They write and talk as though pot growers have rights as Americans to muck up a neighborhood because, hey, it's just marijuana...deal with it.
Arcata neighbors ought to demand that law enforcement comes down like a hammer on the in-town grow houses that are causing problems. I always felt there was good reason for the marijuana industry to be centered in the netherlands and tall trees of Southern Humboldt. It kept what I consider a relatively innocent drug and a business that's going to exist regardless out of North Coast neighborhoods. But, there was a grow house in my aunt's old house!
I'm told that more than a few Arcatans are literally afraid of reporting grow house operators to police. I don't guess I worry about death threats made to a newspaper writer because, well, that comes with pushing buttons and writing letters that make people mad. But ... homeowners fear reprisal?
How can that be?
Arcata residents, since I don't guess you can count on the city leaders, need to appeal to law enforcement as a large, vocal majority. I mean ... unless pot grow houses in some neighborhoods add value to the areas.
Crusaders, Crabs and Firing Coaches
St. Bernard High made some changes in its athletic department staff that prompted principal Pat Daly to assess modern-day treatment of students.
"Kids today get coddled. They need to be pushed,” Daly told the Times-Standard's Sean Quincey on Friday. “To hold students accountable on and off the court, that's not old-fashioned. Those are basic standards."
I agree with Daly.
I also think 33 1/3 rpm records are better than CD recordings and that black Chuck Taylor Converse high-top All-Stars are the best basketball shoes ever made. Music, TV and movies were, I figure, way better in the 1970s than they are now. So, naturally, I'd tend to think today's kids are coddled.
There's no telling how Crusader sports parents are going to react to the old-school approach Daly supports. Unless there's been a radical change in how St. Bernard folks look at athletics and life -- I'd think there are quite a few that corners can be cut and that what they want is more important than what any coach wants.
Say, your family helps pay for a new set of football uniforms. You will walk onto the practice field and tell the private school coach if he's pushing your son too hard -- or maybe, not playing him enough.
If two athletes go to the same school-wide party and break the same school rules and both get suspended -- the family with the roots that run deepest at a private school are going to go demand that their kid's suspension be lifted. (And, honest, just because the one kid gets a slap on the wrist doesn't mean the kid whose family's new to the private school won't get kicked off the team. That's what happened.)
I've never thought getting tough on the athletes was the challenge at private schools. It's enforcing rules in spite of a family's money and influence that was and could remain tough.
******
One last St. Bernard-related note ... former principal Jeff Jacbos' name came up in the T/S Topix section today. One reader wished Jacobs could return to St. Bernard. Another reader made references to things Jacobs, reportedly, did wrong and wouldn't want him back. Finally, a high-brow reader wrote that there was no place for talking about the Jacobs, Al Brisack, Stan Twitchell Era of sports at St. Bernard. It's about the education of "the children." Then, the reader looked down his nose at dopes like me and tried to close the case on Jacobs' alleged wrongdoings by writing that no one making comments knew "the truth."
Oh. I was making comments. And, while I don't know every detail of every allegation ... I know some things.
Don't you just hate it when some know-it-all tries to make you feel like a third-grader caught making faces in class? My oldest sons were attending St. Bernard when the North Coast Section began investigating St. Bernard and about the time folks started building a case to push Jacobs out.
I really like Jeff Jacobs ... so, I hope he's happy and doing well at a place where he doesn't have to serve so many different masters. I went through some things with him parent-to-prinicipal that would surprise and shock North Coast folks. I never envied him having to deal with people who, oh, bought football uniforms for a team their kid played for.
Just don't say no one knows the truth.
-----
Can anybody think of a Humboldt-Del Norte League coach who got fired specifically for losing more games than he or she won? I can't.
I've heard of some coaches down here at big-time sports schools who had their coaching jobs taken from them when their success rate dwindled. But, honestly, I can't think of a full-time teacher who lost a coaching job in the H-DNL for losing games or running shoddy practices.
I don't know a single thing about Coach Johnson or Arcata High football at this point. I just had a booster agree with a newspaper reader and say he should've been fired for losing games. If he'd been fired for that reason, he'd have been the first H-DNL coach I've ever heard of to lose his job based on a team's record.
Someone mentioned proposed that Eureka or Del Norte would surely fire football coaches with Johnson's record. No. Not at all. Lewis Nova lost a fair amount of games at Del Norte, kept his job and built a powerhouse. Eureka High's football team has had some down seasons from the time George Lee was the first coach I knew to date under Garrett Montana. No coach ever got fired. No basketball coaches got fired at those schools either -- and they've had up-and-down seasons over time.
Anybody know a coach who, it appears, got canned for losing?
--
Fresno State College World Series star Steve Detwiler's returning to the North Coast this summer after playing for the Crabs last summer. He became a national figure with his play in the "Wonder Dogs" miracle run to a title. But, the Times-Standard story kind of inferred Detwiler's playing for the Crabs this summer, while detailing the surgery he'll have on torn ligaments in his thumb.
http://www.times-standard.com/localsports/ci_9716255
I read it and, honestly, couldn't determine if the story stated Detwiler definite was or wasn't playing for the Crabs. I can't imagine him recovering from surgery before the Crabs season ends, nor can I imagine a healthy CWS hero not hooking on in the Cape Cod League or somewhere with a higher profile.
--------
To put the importance of the Crabs on the North Coast in perspective to their importance in Northern California, do a Google search for "Best of the West Tournament baseball." You'll find two newspaper stories about the tourney the Crabs are in down here -- and they're from the Eureka Reporter and The Times-Standard. And, if you read those stories and think it's a big deal down here ... think again. I went to watch the Crabbies play the Solano Thunderbirds summer college team just up I-80 a few miles a couple years ago ... fewer than a hundred fans.
The Crabs are a North Coast treasure.
"Kids today get coddled. They need to be pushed,” Daly told the Times-Standard's Sean Quincey on Friday. “To hold students accountable on and off the court, that's not old-fashioned. Those are basic standards."
I agree with Daly.
I also think 33 1/3 rpm records are better than CD recordings and that black Chuck Taylor Converse high-top All-Stars are the best basketball shoes ever made. Music, TV and movies were, I figure, way better in the 1970s than they are now. So, naturally, I'd tend to think today's kids are coddled.
There's no telling how Crusader sports parents are going to react to the old-school approach Daly supports. Unless there's been a radical change in how St. Bernard folks look at athletics and life -- I'd think there are quite a few that corners can be cut and that what they want is more important than what any coach wants.
Say, your family helps pay for a new set of football uniforms. You will walk onto the practice field and tell the private school coach if he's pushing your son too hard -- or maybe, not playing him enough.
If two athletes go to the same school-wide party and break the same school rules and both get suspended -- the family with the roots that run deepest at a private school are going to go demand that their kid's suspension be lifted. (And, honest, just because the one kid gets a slap on the wrist doesn't mean the kid whose family's new to the private school won't get kicked off the team. That's what happened.)
I've never thought getting tough on the athletes was the challenge at private schools. It's enforcing rules in spite of a family's money and influence that was and could remain tough.
******
One last St. Bernard-related note ... former principal Jeff Jacbos' name came up in the T/S Topix section today. One reader wished Jacobs could return to St. Bernard. Another reader made references to things Jacobs, reportedly, did wrong and wouldn't want him back. Finally, a high-brow reader wrote that there was no place for talking about the Jacobs, Al Brisack, Stan Twitchell Era of sports at St. Bernard. It's about the education of "the children." Then, the reader looked down his nose at dopes like me and tried to close the case on Jacobs' alleged wrongdoings by writing that no one making comments knew "the truth."
Oh. I was making comments. And, while I don't know every detail of every allegation ... I know some things.
Don't you just hate it when some know-it-all tries to make you feel like a third-grader caught making faces in class? My oldest sons were attending St. Bernard when the North Coast Section began investigating St. Bernard and about the time folks started building a case to push Jacobs out.
I really like Jeff Jacobs ... so, I hope he's happy and doing well at a place where he doesn't have to serve so many different masters. I went through some things with him parent-to-prinicipal that would surprise and shock North Coast folks. I never envied him having to deal with people who, oh, bought football uniforms for a team their kid played for.
Just don't say no one knows the truth.
-----
Can anybody think of a Humboldt-Del Norte League coach who got fired specifically for losing more games than he or she won? I can't.
I've heard of some coaches down here at big-time sports schools who had their coaching jobs taken from them when their success rate dwindled. But, honestly, I can't think of a full-time teacher who lost a coaching job in the H-DNL for losing games or running shoddy practices.
I don't know a single thing about Coach Johnson or Arcata High football at this point. I just had a booster agree with a newspaper reader and say he should've been fired for losing games. If he'd been fired for that reason, he'd have been the first H-DNL coach I've ever heard of to lose his job based on a team's record.
Someone mentioned proposed that Eureka or Del Norte would surely fire football coaches with Johnson's record. No. Not at all. Lewis Nova lost a fair amount of games at Del Norte, kept his job and built a powerhouse. Eureka High's football team has had some down seasons from the time George Lee was the first coach I knew to date under Garrett Montana. No coach ever got fired. No basketball coaches got fired at those schools either -- and they've had up-and-down seasons over time.
Anybody know a coach who, it appears, got canned for losing?
--
Fresno State College World Series star Steve Detwiler's returning to the North Coast this summer after playing for the Crabs last summer. He became a national figure with his play in the "Wonder Dogs" miracle run to a title. But, the Times-Standard story kind of inferred Detwiler's playing for the Crabs this summer, while detailing the surgery he'll have on torn ligaments in his thumb.
http://www.times-standard.com/localsports/ci_9716255
I read it and, honestly, couldn't determine if the story stated Detwiler definite was or wasn't playing for the Crabs. I can't imagine him recovering from surgery before the Crabs season ends, nor can I imagine a healthy CWS hero not hooking on in the Cape Cod League or somewhere with a higher profile.
--------
To put the importance of the Crabs on the North Coast in perspective to their importance in Northern California, do a Google search for "Best of the West Tournament baseball." You'll find two newspaper stories about the tourney the Crabs are in down here -- and they're from the Eureka Reporter and The Times-Standard. And, if you read those stories and think it's a big deal down here ... think again. I went to watch the Crabbies play the Solano Thunderbirds summer college team just up I-80 a few miles a couple years ago ... fewer than a hundred fans.
The Crabs are a North Coast treasure.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
It's What Parents Do
The photograph on the left is one of my 12-year-old son pitching in a baseball game in Manteca in the spring of this year. His performance in that game, along with subsequent efforts as a pitcher and hitter, resulted in people who pay attention to such things deciding that my son is one of the best 12-year-old baseball players in the United States.
This isn't uncharted territory for me as a parent. My older sons were among the best baseball players in Humboldt County ... wait ... no , this is totally uncharted territory for me as a sports dad.
I'm going to admit that it's pretty damn cool for a man who grew up loving and living baseball to have a 12-year-old son rank among the best American players in his age group. I'm not going to brag about it because I know that even being the best 12-year-old in America doesn't mean much in the overall scheme.
I mean, my son's 5-foot-10'ish and 147 pounds -- with room still to grow, the doctor said. I was 5-foot-7 and 130 pounds at 12 ... and 5-foot-9 and 175 pounds at 17. I'm aware of the role that the growth process plays in youth sports. I get it. I should mention that my son Trent kept growing well into college and scrapes near 6-foot now. He was around 5-foot-7 as a senior in high school. I get that we can't predict an athlete's future based on what he does at 12 because ... stuff happens. You don't grow. Somebody keeps growing.
But, c'mon! When parents are in position to enjoy their kids success ... just let them enjoy it. I found Humboldt County a particularly difficult place for any parent to relish their child's successes without having people line up to mock the parents and tear down the kids. I think my daughter would just thrive in the arts community on the North Coast, but I know equally well that somebody would point out her every flaw and mention that her dad's a jerk and, probably, leave me wishing she could be a big fish in a big pond, rather than any sized fish in a small pond.
I can't go to a game or read about kids sports online without being hit over the head by somebody who has to warn me, and other parents, not to enjoy or make too much of their youngster's accomplishments. I actually had a guy ask me how my son got on these "All-America watch lists," then proceed to tell me that I ought to ignore them and get him good coaching, a high-powered tournament team and make sure he studies really hard in school. And, I'd prefaced talk of the boy's status nationally by saying, "It's freaky to imagine grown men rating little kid players. It doesn't mean anything to anybody but me."
What I guess I'm wishing folks would do, what I want to do, is to just let parents treasure their kids' experiences any way they like. Let's say I did respond to my son's baseball success by slapping him around and talking about reality and the future and the odds of making the big leagues being so slim ... wouldn't that totally ruin the experience for him? I suspect people think I'm enjoying his success because I see it as him traveling a path to the big leagues or a college scholarship. They are so wrong!
I'll know his chances of getting an athletic scholarship when he's 16 or so. If he's got pro baseball talent, I'll know when he's in high school. He's got a 72 mph fastball pitching from 51 feet from the plate, but until he's got a fastball in the mid-80s in high school ... fastball speed doesn't meant anything. I refuse to let that knowledge deny me the pleasure of cheering his success as a 12-year-old pitcher.
I'd no more slap my son into some long-term, adult view of baseball and life any more than I'd attend my daughter's upcoming performance and greet her backstage with a list of upcoming lessons and the names of kids who had great voices who never achieved a thing in life. That wouldn't help her enjoy being a kid performer, so why do it?
Still, people seem intent on pressuring me and other parents to drag our own kids down a notch or two. They forget that many kids will never enjoy purer senses of accomplishment than they do at this age. Things get complicated in high school and college. Right now, they are naive enough (if adults leave them alone) to play, succeed and then come home and relish the moment by playing video games.
Parents put a lot of time and money into helping position their kids to achieve. So, if you hear a manic dad (who might be me) shouting encouragement ... leave him alone. He might've had to choose between paying for a new baseball glove and taking a grown-up style trip to Lake Tahoe. And, he might be doing what his mom did when he played. You shouldn't assume that a parent who seems frenzied during a game remains so at home cooking dinner, cleaning the house, etc.
My son's a noted little kid baseball player -- so, speaking for the parents of noted athletes everywhere, don't assume we're jackals with misplaced priorities buried in our misguided souls. We like to watch our kids have fun. It's what parents do.
This isn't uncharted territory for me as a parent. My older sons were among the best baseball players in Humboldt County ... wait ... no , this is totally uncharted territory for me as a sports dad.
I'm going to admit that it's pretty damn cool for a man who grew up loving and living baseball to have a 12-year-old son rank among the best American players in his age group. I'm not going to brag about it because I know that even being the best 12-year-old in America doesn't mean much in the overall scheme.
I mean, my son's 5-foot-10'ish and 147 pounds -- with room still to grow, the doctor said. I was 5-foot-7 and 130 pounds at 12 ... and 5-foot-9 and 175 pounds at 17. I'm aware of the role that the growth process plays in youth sports. I get it. I should mention that my son Trent kept growing well into college and scrapes near 6-foot now. He was around 5-foot-7 as a senior in high school. I get that we can't predict an athlete's future based on what he does at 12 because ... stuff happens. You don't grow. Somebody keeps growing.
But, c'mon! When parents are in position to enjoy their kids success ... just let them enjoy it. I found Humboldt County a particularly difficult place for any parent to relish their child's successes without having people line up to mock the parents and tear down the kids. I think my daughter would just thrive in the arts community on the North Coast, but I know equally well that somebody would point out her every flaw and mention that her dad's a jerk and, probably, leave me wishing she could be a big fish in a big pond, rather than any sized fish in a small pond.
I can't go to a game or read about kids sports online without being hit over the head by somebody who has to warn me, and other parents, not to enjoy or make too much of their youngster's accomplishments. I actually had a guy ask me how my son got on these "All-America watch lists," then proceed to tell me that I ought to ignore them and get him good coaching, a high-powered tournament team and make sure he studies really hard in school. And, I'd prefaced talk of the boy's status nationally by saying, "It's freaky to imagine grown men rating little kid players. It doesn't mean anything to anybody but me."
What I guess I'm wishing folks would do, what I want to do, is to just let parents treasure their kids' experiences any way they like. Let's say I did respond to my son's baseball success by slapping him around and talking about reality and the future and the odds of making the big leagues being so slim ... wouldn't that totally ruin the experience for him? I suspect people think I'm enjoying his success because I see it as him traveling a path to the big leagues or a college scholarship. They are so wrong!
I'll know his chances of getting an athletic scholarship when he's 16 or so. If he's got pro baseball talent, I'll know when he's in high school. He's got a 72 mph fastball pitching from 51 feet from the plate, but until he's got a fastball in the mid-80s in high school ... fastball speed doesn't meant anything. I refuse to let that knowledge deny me the pleasure of cheering his success as a 12-year-old pitcher.
I'd no more slap my son into some long-term, adult view of baseball and life any more than I'd attend my daughter's upcoming performance and greet her backstage with a list of upcoming lessons and the names of kids who had great voices who never achieved a thing in life. That wouldn't help her enjoy being a kid performer, so why do it?
Still, people seem intent on pressuring me and other parents to drag our own kids down a notch or two. They forget that many kids will never enjoy purer senses of accomplishment than they do at this age. Things get complicated in high school and college. Right now, they are naive enough (if adults leave them alone) to play, succeed and then come home and relish the moment by playing video games.
Parents put a lot of time and money into helping position their kids to achieve. So, if you hear a manic dad (who might be me) shouting encouragement ... leave him alone. He might've had to choose between paying for a new baseball glove and taking a grown-up style trip to Lake Tahoe. And, he might be doing what his mom did when he played. You shouldn't assume that a parent who seems frenzied during a game remains so at home cooking dinner, cleaning the house, etc.
My son's a noted little kid baseball player -- so, speaking for the parents of noted athletes everywhere, don't assume we're jackals with misplaced priorities buried in our misguided souls. We like to watch our kids have fun. It's what parents do.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Catching Up -- For Real
It's been nearly 9 years since I left Humboldt County and, much as I like just kicking back into gear with old friends in this spot, it seems like I should catch people up on who I've become.
I browsed the many things I wrote on a My Space blog over the last couple years and stumbled on "New Year's Revolutions." It's a list of resolutions I made at the dawn of 2008. As I read them six months after I wrote them, I started thinking I probably haven't changed that much at all...
New Year's Revolutions
12/28/07
The best way to start a list of New Year’s resolutions would seem to be to list of things I’ve resolved to do in past years.
OK. Here goes...let me think...
In 1984, I resolved to begin training for the 7.5-mile Trinidad-Clam Beach Run on the first day of 1985. I ran 5 miles on Jan. 1, 1985 and, about six weeks later, I finished the only real race I’ve ever run in 45 minutes, 22 seconds. I ran away from a friend of mine (former T/S photographer Neil Gilchrist) who’d made it clear there was no possible way I could out-run him, on a hilly, coastal course that finished with a a run through a shallow river and a mile burst on a sandy beach.
The good news that I’ve never failed to make a New Year’s resolution a reality. The bad news is that I’ve only really made one resolution -- and that was 23 years ago.
I’ve got some things I want to accomplish in 2008, though, seriously. They’re more important, given my age, to be considered resolutions. Resolutions are for wimps. I’m making New Year’s Revolutions.
1) Lose 20-25 pounds . . . My mom would've belched, "What? Are you going to cut off your arm? There’s no other gawdam way YOU can lose 20 pounds!" I’ve been hovering around the same weight for a long time. My blubber hangs from my body in places such that it might as well spell out: "Heart Attack Country." It’s all dripping off my waist. It’s a reasonable goal. I don’t eat much during the day. I eat like a 10-year-old in a chocolate factory after 9 p.m., though. I’ll cut down on the sweets. Increase my exercise. And ... lift ... weights ... and ... even ... do some sit-ups. I’ll be aware of my mom’s old warning, "Make sure you LOSE the weight and don’t just put it somewhere you can’t see it." (Then, she’d point at her own ass.)e
Update 6/25/08: I've GAINED weight in 2008.
2) Explain less . . . I talk like someone who doesn’t care what people think of him, but I actually waste time trying to get people to see things my way. I need to watch that.
3) Address my finances. . . It wouldn’t ...
Update 6/25/08: If I drank or smoked dope, I'd assume I was drunk or stoned when I made this resolution. Who was I kidding?
4) Show some stones . . . It’s not that I back down so much as that I haven’t always stood up or stepped out. I’ll stand up and step out now.
Update 6/25/08: I do speak up and speak more loudly if I feel I'm right these days. I do it more wisely than I did when I was living up north, though.
5) Read more . . . My 12-year-old son started out a voracious reader. He read the entire "Lemony Snicket" series in a couple months back in fourth grade. He’s in sixth grade now and, barely, reads the minimum amount to get the independent reading grade his teacher gives out. My son is, far and away, the most intelligent and brightest of my children. And, really, his little sister’s smart as a whip... I was bugging the youngest son, as I so often to do about a variety of topics, to read more. "Hey, I’ve read eight chapters of the basketball book...and I’m 37 pages into the Barack Obama biography," he snapped. I belched, "You’ve had those books for over a month! What? Are you reading a page a day?" Then, I told him I once read three books in one day when I was his age. "No way! That’s impossible...were they picture books?" (He’s a smart-ass. I don’t know where he gets it.) Then, as my other frame of reference for the importance of reading, I mentioned winning Mrs. Brown’s award for the most book reports done by any third-grader in 1965. My son’s laughter indicated I probably need to set a better example and start reading.
Update 6/25/08: She did record in a studio in Indiana and everybody loves the CD. But, the rest of my life keeps giving me excuses to keep from setting up piano lessons and individual vocal coaching and ... excuses are like assholes, I know, everybody's got one.
7) Write every day . . . I like to write.
Update 6/25/08: Now, I'm writing every single day. I realize I like to write for people I feel I know about things I know we care about.
I'll never make resolutions again.
I browsed the many things I wrote on a My Space blog over the last couple years and stumbled on "New Year's Revolutions." It's a list of resolutions I made at the dawn of 2008. As I read them six months after I wrote them, I started thinking I probably haven't changed that much at all...
New Year's Revolutions
12/28/07
The best way to start a list of New Year’s resolutions would seem to be to list of things I’ve resolved to do in past years.
OK. Here goes...let me think...
In 1984, I resolved to begin training for the 7.5-mile Trinidad-Clam Beach Run on the first day of 1985. I ran 5 miles on Jan. 1, 1985 and, about six weeks later, I finished the only real race I’ve ever run in 45 minutes, 22 seconds. I ran away from a friend of mine (former T/S photographer Neil Gilchrist) who’d made it clear there was no possible way I could out-run him, on a hilly, coastal course that finished with a a run through a shallow river and a mile burst on a sandy beach.
The good news that I’ve never failed to make a New Year’s resolution a reality. The bad news is that I’ve only really made one resolution -- and that was 23 years ago.
I’ve got some things I want to accomplish in 2008, though, seriously. They’re more important, given my age, to be considered resolutions. Resolutions are for wimps. I’m making New Year’s Revolutions.
1) Lose 20-25 pounds . . . My mom would've belched, "What? Are you going to cut off your arm? There’s no other gawdam way YOU can lose 20 pounds!" I’ve been hovering around the same weight for a long time. My blubber hangs from my body in places such that it might as well spell out: "Heart Attack Country." It’s all dripping off my waist. It’s a reasonable goal. I don’t eat much during the day. I eat like a 10-year-old in a chocolate factory after 9 p.m., though. I’ll cut down on the sweets. Increase my exercise. And ... lift ... weights ... and ... even ... do some sit-ups. I’ll be aware of my mom’s old warning, "Make sure you LOSE the weight and don’t just put it somewhere you can’t see it." (Then, she’d point at her own ass.)e
Update 6/25/08: I've GAINED weight in 2008.
2) Explain less . . . I talk like someone who doesn’t care what people think of him, but I actually waste time trying to get people to see things my way. I need to watch that.
Update 6/25/08: I wasted half of today going back in forth via e-mail with the self-important editor of the weekly paper in Arcata over a post I wrote (and then removed) and his response -- that I also posted, then removed. So, if I'm explaining myself to the damn editor of the Arcata Eye ... I'm failing to live up the resolution.
3) Address my finances. . . It wouldn’t ...
Update 6/25/08: If I drank or smoked dope, I'd assume I was drunk or stoned when I made this resolution. Who was I kidding?
4) Show some stones . . . It’s not that I back down so much as that I haven’t always stood up or stepped out. I’ll stand up and step out now.
Update 6/25/08: I do speak up and speak more loudly if I feel I'm right these days. I do it more wisely than I did when I was living up north, though.
5) Read more . . . My 12-year-old son started out a voracious reader. He read the entire "Lemony Snicket" series in a couple months back in fourth grade. He’s in sixth grade now and, barely, reads the minimum amount to get the independent reading grade his teacher gives out. My son is, far and away, the most intelligent and brightest of my children. And, really, his little sister’s smart as a whip... I was bugging the youngest son, as I so often to do about a variety of topics, to read more. "Hey, I’ve read eight chapters of the basketball book...and I’m 37 pages into the Barack Obama biography," he snapped. I belched, "You’ve had those books for over a month! What? Are you reading a page a day?" Then, I told him I once read three books in one day when I was his age. "No way! That’s impossible...were they picture books?" (He’s a smart-ass. I don’t know where he gets it.) Then, as my other frame of reference for the importance of reading, I mentioned winning Mrs. Brown’s award for the most book reports done by any third-grader in 1965. My son’s laughter indicated I probably need to set a better example and start reading.
Update 6/25/08: I've read 3 books in the 6-plus months of 2008 ... and I can't count what I read online. I'm failing.
6) Be my daughter’s promoter . . . Every parent of every kid who can carry a tune or act even a little rushes to pay hundreds of dollars for a talent agent to get the kid auditions. My daughter’s really talented. (No...Really talented.) I’m making a pledge to get her into a recording studio ... and to auditions ... myself. She wants to do it, so it’s my deal to make it happen. Her sole stated goals are, "To have my own TV show and win a Grammy before I’m 15." She’s turned 10 April 4.
Update 6/25/08: She did record in a studio in Indiana and everybody loves the CD. But, the rest of my life keeps giving me excuses to keep from setting up piano lessons and individual vocal coaching and ... excuses are like assholes, I know, everybody's got one.
7) Write every day . . . I like to write.
Update 6/25/08: Now, I'm writing every single day. I realize I like to write for people I feel I know about things I know we care about.
I'll never make resolutions again.
"Page 2"
ESPN.com writer Tim Keown doesn't need me to trumpet his always entertaining and insightful column, "The List," that appears Tuesday's on "Page 2" of the sports Web site. But, a portion of his most recent list merits my sharing it:
On Tuesday, Keown wrote:
"• Apparently there is such a thing as presumed guilty: Cedric Benson was ordered to install a Breathalyzer in his car that unlocks the ignition only after it doesn't detect alcohol.
• And in other traffic news, the high road remains clear: In what was described as a "freestyle rap in a New York nightclub" on Sunday night, Shaquille O'Neal ripped Kobe Bryant by saying, among other things, "Kobe [expletive], tell me how my [expletive] tastes."
• And finally, I know Shaq has his experiences and I have mine, but: I've always found nothing but trouble when I get going on a freestyle rap."
Come to your own conclusion about the Breathalyzer in the former Bears' running back's car -- installed without him being found guilty of any alcohol-related charge. (We all assume, I guess, he was drunk when he was driving his boat erratically.)
I like Shaq. He's the same guy off camera that you see on camera. So, in his world, that rap was a laugh riot. I just don't get Shaq's hook ..."Kobe, tell me how my ass tastes?" I've even talked to younger people who know what it means and they can't explain it so that I understand.
Regardless, Keown's weekly piece on the ESPN Web site takes writing sports columns to a completely different place. It's not hard to sit down and list random thoughts about random sports events and athletes. To take the back way, the more inventive way, by making a list ... sort of makes me embarrassed to have considered myself a sports columnist.
On Tuesday, Keown wrote:
"• Apparently there is such a thing as presumed guilty: Cedric Benson was ordered to install a Breathalyzer in his car that unlocks the ignition only after it doesn't detect alcohol.
• And in other traffic news, the high road remains clear: In what was described as a "freestyle rap in a New York nightclub" on Sunday night, Shaquille O'Neal ripped Kobe Bryant by saying, among other things, "Kobe [expletive], tell me how my [expletive] tastes."
• And finally, I know Shaq has his experiences and I have mine, but: I've always found nothing but trouble when I get going on a freestyle rap."
Come to your own conclusion about the Breathalyzer in the former Bears' running back's car -- installed without him being found guilty of any alcohol-related charge. (We all assume, I guess, he was drunk when he was driving his boat erratically.)
I like Shaq. He's the same guy off camera that you see on camera. So, in his world, that rap was a laugh riot. I just don't get Shaq's hook ..."Kobe, tell me how my ass tastes?" I've even talked to younger people who know what it means and they can't explain it so that I understand.
Regardless, Keown's weekly piece on the ESPN Web site takes writing sports columns to a completely different place. It's not hard to sit down and list random thoughts about random sports events and athletes. To take the back way, the more inventive way, by making a list ... sort of makes me embarrassed to have considered myself a sports columnist.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Take It Somewhere Else
The beef between gay-bashers and those who want to fight gay-bashers needs to be taken outside. They don't have to leave, but they can't fight here.
It just so happens that, in my fairly sheltered, simple life, I've come across 3, 4 gay couples and each couple has earned my respect and affection. They've been nice to me. They've been nice to my family. They've shown respect for their property and surrounding property. They work hard to earn a living and pay their taxes. They don't cause anybody even a hint of trouble. They stay out of my bedroom and I stay out of their bedroom.
Pretty damn simple deal, I think. I don't know how many people in my neighborhood have had multiple sex partners or stand as monogamous because -- I don't give a flying fig what other people do behind closed doors. It's not of my business. It's none of your business. I've been divorced twice and in neither instance was the demise of the marriage impacted in any way by the actions of homosexual couples. I've screwed up two marriages all by myself and, really, think it amazing that some pinhead, know-nothing would infer that homosexuality in America can do more to harm marriage than heterosexuals like me have already harmed it.
You know how I come off sounding this way about this topic? Well, I was around these folks for a long, long, long time and really didn't talk about their sexual preference or their level of love for each other. They didn't ask me about those things and, honest, I didn't ask them. I wouldn't have known, one way or the other, the nature of their coupling if they hadn't referred to each other as "partners" or acknowledged at some point they were in a relationship.
They collect jerseys on e-bay and work in doctor's offices and sell insurance. They clean up when their dogs poop on my lawn. They listen to music I like. They shop locally and help the economy.
I'm not ignorant. I just disagree with people who disagree in principle with same-sex coupling and, thus, insist on doing and saying anything at any time to try to hurt people who I've never seen do anything that hurts anybody else.
It just so happens that, in my fairly sheltered, simple life, I've come across 3, 4 gay couples and each couple has earned my respect and affection. They've been nice to me. They've been nice to my family. They've shown respect for their property and surrounding property. They work hard to earn a living and pay their taxes. They don't cause anybody even a hint of trouble. They stay out of my bedroom and I stay out of their bedroom.
Pretty damn simple deal, I think. I don't know how many people in my neighborhood have had multiple sex partners or stand as monogamous because -- I don't give a flying fig what other people do behind closed doors. It's not of my business. It's none of your business. I've been divorced twice and in neither instance was the demise of the marriage impacted in any way by the actions of homosexual couples. I've screwed up two marriages all by myself and, really, think it amazing that some pinhead, know-nothing would infer that homosexuality in America can do more to harm marriage than heterosexuals like me have already harmed it.
You know how I come off sounding this way about this topic? Well, I was around these folks for a long, long, long time and really didn't talk about their sexual preference or their level of love for each other. They didn't ask me about those things and, honest, I didn't ask them. I wouldn't have known, one way or the other, the nature of their coupling if they hadn't referred to each other as "partners" or acknowledged at some point they were in a relationship.
They collect jerseys on e-bay and work in doctor's offices and sell insurance. They clean up when their dogs poop on my lawn. They listen to music I like. They shop locally and help the economy.
I'm not ignorant. I just disagree with people who disagree in principle with same-sex coupling and, thus, insist on doing and saying anything at any time to try to hurt people who I've never seen do anything that hurts anybody else.
Monday, June 23, 2008
No, Really ... I Don't Beat My Son!
I took another star turn as ball park villain at my 12-year-old's tournament game Sunday in Concord. Those times when I'm shouting encouragement, making what seem perfect coaching points, are becoming out-of-body experiences. And, when I'm talking to an umpire who's 100 percent wrong -- and I'm absolutely in the right -- there's really no stopping me.
Oh, I'm not proud of being the dad who makes noise. I sure don't like having a game official turn away from the game to say something to me in the bleachers. I'll bet you to the punch ... I'm a jackass! I'll try not to be a jackass at the next game, but on Sunday ...
We arrived at the championship semifinal with my son's team, the Admirals, leading 4-3. Their pitcher plunked a hitter to put the go-ahead run on first in the bottom of the third inning. As I was walking down to the dugout to check the score, I see the umpire walk out and start lecturing the pitcher. He's a great big kid who has trouble throwing strikes, but I've not thought a young pitcher was intentionally hitting batters since, well, I intentionally hit a McKinleyville High batter in the butt during a summer league game that ended in a brawl at old Albee Stadium.
My oldest son coaches the Admirals with more calm and repose than I ever show coaching. He gave the umpire a chance to talk to the pitcher before walking out to mention that, maybe, the umpire ought not coach his pitcher. And, really, there was no reason to delay the game with the temperature reaching 100 degrees on a day where smoke from Bay Area fires were reaching Concord.
"I just told him I know he's not trying to hit batters," the umpire said. "But, I'm in charge of keeping the players safe and, I told him if he hits another batter ... he's outta the game."
My son pointed out the small matter of their being no rule covering that type of action by an umpire.
"I know it's not in the rulebook, but it's my discretion to remove him from the game for safety reasons," the umpire said, as if he actually knew what he was talking about.
So, I went from happy to hot in a split-second. Nothing upsets me more than umpires who make up the rules and don't know how to do their jobs. To hammer home my suspicion that the ump was an over-officious goof who didn't know the rules or how to run a game, I got to hear the opposing coach greet the Admirals relief pitcher with, "Hey...he can't pitch! He pitched six innings yesterday!"
My son, more calmly than I would have, said, "He pitched yesterday when we beat YOUR TEAM and only played three innings!" The umpire said, "I know he's just trying to cause trouble. We're playing by the rules, so ... " The reliever stood idle, with his teammates, why the umpire went to talk to the other team's coach. But, hey, he knew the coach was just causing trouble.
The game fell apart for the Admirals at that point. Trailing 10-4, my son came on in relief and registered a strikeout on three pitches. The Admirals rallied to make it 10-6 heading to the bottom of the fourth.
My son was wild ... really wild ... wild like the worst kind of wild a tall, gawky, lefthand pitcher can be. He walked in a run around striking out the side. I channeled my mom for the entire inning, trying to "coach" him through. The only difference between my mom "coaching" me through a rough patch was that she cursed at me, cursed at the umpire and, somehow, didn't make people around her mad.
Midway through the difficult pitching performance, I noticed that my son's tailing fastball wasn't being called a strike. It's an unhittable pitch when it's right. It cross the inside corner against a righty hitter, then breaks in under the guy's hands. When he has a umpire who knows how to position himself to call a game, and who isn't afraid of getting hit with a foul tip, that pitch is a gem.
Sunday's home plate umpire started a couple feet behind the Admirals catcher. By the time my son was into his second inning of work, he was at least seven foot behind home plate ... with a catcher squatting in between him and heart of the strike zone. After the fourth fastball did what it does and I didn't hear, "Steeee-rike!" I said, "That is a strike!" After the fifth fastball and another walk, I said, "It crosses the plate a strike, then tails in ... c'mon!"
It was about then that I began the out-of-body experience.
Fastball ... strike ... nope! Ball 1. "Scoot up. You're seven feet behind homeplate." (Really, in my mind, it came out sound cool and calm.) Fastball ... snaps under the hitter's hands. Ball 2. "You can't possibly see that pitch where you're setting up."
(Note: I took umpire training from Eureka High counselor Ron Dias when I was a kid. Then, I took advanced umpiring training from a good umpire named Mike Bickler who lived in Eureka for awhile. I know positioning and I know the rules. Home plate umpires set up over the catcher's inside shoulder ... not seven feet behind the catcher, flinching because a kid throws hard.)
Now, it's worth noting that my youngest son doesn't like to hear me holler. So, I'm so outside my body that I'm beginning to upset him ... and bug the trailer park fans cheering for the Maniacs ... but, hey, I was right! When right's on my side ... I'm a jackass who's in the right!
Now the game proceeds with 10 minutes before the time limit expires. My son and his mates are rushing to get 3 outs. His catcher missed a pitch in the dirt. It might or might not have hit him. The home plate umpire who believes the rule book allows for him to exercise discretion in all areas at any time, took off his mask and asked if the boy was OK.
Now, really, I'm a horse's ass of the first degree ... I get that ... but, since the kid said, "I'm fine. Let's go," I sort of thought, maybe, the umpire should've put his mask back on and played on. The boy knew how hurt he was or wasn't. His coaches are charged with his safety, not the ump. And, hell, his mom and dad were there and would've protected him. But ... the umpire was one who only feels he has total control in one place on earth -- on a baseball field when he's working.
I heard the umpire say, "I don't care if the game ends while we're standing here. We're not playing until you take a break." The catcher was in his squat giving my son signs when I shouted, "Let's go."
The ump tired and shouted at me: "I'm in charge of the players' safety and I gotta kid down here crying and you wanna start the game up? Great! He's down here crying and ..."
I said, "He's in position and ready to play. I just said, 'Let's go.' "
A fan in a muscle shirt and weightlifter sunglasses said, "Now you're ruining MY experience at the game!" I thought, "Screw you Jarhead ... shuddup and sit down," but said, "Just ignore me then, I'm not talking to you."
The ump, maybe 2 minutes into the mess I guess I created, said, "I don't care if he wants to play ... he's crying and ..."
I could've stopped. Karen said, "Stop." My daughter was poised to leap over her and stick her hat in my mouth, but ... "You're an umpire, not a psychiatrist...just play the game. Ignore me..."
From that point on, I realized I'm in another world when it comes to baseball and exercising the rules and an umpire doing his job. If they know the rules and position themselves correctly, I never say a word. I umpired. I know we all make a bad call now and then, but we should never create "an umpire's discretion" or opt to shrink the strike zone on a big, hard-throwing pitcher because we're afraid of getting hit by a fastball.
If I'm crazy...please, tell me so.
I won't care, but, please ... tell me so.
It occurred to me that people hear me at one game and assume I was equally as loud at the other 30 I've attended. Then, they remember all the talk about abusive sports dads and figure I beat and berate my son at home. They're wrong. My youngest son tells me, "You hollered way too much." I say, "I'm sorry. You know I'm just nervous and I know I'm wrong. I'm getting better, I hope." I never say a negative word about his baseball performance at home. None. Zero. But, to hear me Sunday, it would've been easy to assume my kid was getting his ass-kicked in the parking lot ... you know?
No, really, I don't beat my son!
However, if I'd had the presence of mind to remember my oldest son (who trained for a couple years in mixed martial arts) was in the park, I might have walked down and asked that guy in the muscle shirt if he wanted to do something to help enhance his ball park experience. I figure...I throw a punch...he decks me...my son's in the mix and ...
No, really, I only portray a jackass at the ball park once in awhile.
Oh, I'm not proud of being the dad who makes noise. I sure don't like having a game official turn away from the game to say something to me in the bleachers. I'll bet you to the punch ... I'm a jackass! I'll try not to be a jackass at the next game, but on Sunday ...
We arrived at the championship semifinal with my son's team, the Admirals, leading 4-3. Their pitcher plunked a hitter to put the go-ahead run on first in the bottom of the third inning. As I was walking down to the dugout to check the score, I see the umpire walk out and start lecturing the pitcher. He's a great big kid who has trouble throwing strikes, but I've not thought a young pitcher was intentionally hitting batters since, well, I intentionally hit a McKinleyville High batter in the butt during a summer league game that ended in a brawl at old Albee Stadium.
My oldest son coaches the Admirals with more calm and repose than I ever show coaching. He gave the umpire a chance to talk to the pitcher before walking out to mention that, maybe, the umpire ought not coach his pitcher. And, really, there was no reason to delay the game with the temperature reaching 100 degrees on a day where smoke from Bay Area fires were reaching Concord.
"I just told him I know he's not trying to hit batters," the umpire said. "But, I'm in charge of keeping the players safe and, I told him if he hits another batter ... he's outta the game."
My son pointed out the small matter of their being no rule covering that type of action by an umpire.
"I know it's not in the rulebook, but it's my discretion to remove him from the game for safety reasons," the umpire said, as if he actually knew what he was talking about.
So, I went from happy to hot in a split-second. Nothing upsets me more than umpires who make up the rules and don't know how to do their jobs. To hammer home my suspicion that the ump was an over-officious goof who didn't know the rules or how to run a game, I got to hear the opposing coach greet the Admirals relief pitcher with, "Hey...he can't pitch! He pitched six innings yesterday!"
My son, more calmly than I would have, said, "He pitched yesterday when we beat YOUR TEAM and only played three innings!" The umpire said, "I know he's just trying to cause trouble. We're playing by the rules, so ... " The reliever stood idle, with his teammates, why the umpire went to talk to the other team's coach. But, hey, he knew the coach was just causing trouble.
The game fell apart for the Admirals at that point. Trailing 10-4, my son came on in relief and registered a strikeout on three pitches. The Admirals rallied to make it 10-6 heading to the bottom of the fourth.
My son was wild ... really wild ... wild like the worst kind of wild a tall, gawky, lefthand pitcher can be. He walked in a run around striking out the side. I channeled my mom for the entire inning, trying to "coach" him through. The only difference between my mom "coaching" me through a rough patch was that she cursed at me, cursed at the umpire and, somehow, didn't make people around her mad.
Midway through the difficult pitching performance, I noticed that my son's tailing fastball wasn't being called a strike. It's an unhittable pitch when it's right. It cross the inside corner against a righty hitter, then breaks in under the guy's hands. When he has a umpire who knows how to position himself to call a game, and who isn't afraid of getting hit with a foul tip, that pitch is a gem.
Sunday's home plate umpire started a couple feet behind the Admirals catcher. By the time my son was into his second inning of work, he was at least seven foot behind home plate ... with a catcher squatting in between him and heart of the strike zone. After the fourth fastball did what it does and I didn't hear, "Steeee-rike!" I said, "That is a strike!" After the fifth fastball and another walk, I said, "It crosses the plate a strike, then tails in ... c'mon!"
It was about then that I began the out-of-body experience.
Fastball ... strike ... nope! Ball 1. "Scoot up. You're seven feet behind homeplate." (Really, in my mind, it came out sound cool and calm.) Fastball ... snaps under the hitter's hands. Ball 2. "You can't possibly see that pitch where you're setting up."
(Note: I took umpire training from Eureka High counselor Ron Dias when I was a kid. Then, I took advanced umpiring training from a good umpire named Mike Bickler who lived in Eureka for awhile. I know positioning and I know the rules. Home plate umpires set up over the catcher's inside shoulder ... not seven feet behind the catcher, flinching because a kid throws hard.)
Now, it's worth noting that my youngest son doesn't like to hear me holler. So, I'm so outside my body that I'm beginning to upset him ... and bug the trailer park fans cheering for the Maniacs ... but, hey, I was right! When right's on my side ... I'm a jackass who's in the right!
Now the game proceeds with 10 minutes before the time limit expires. My son and his mates are rushing to get 3 outs. His catcher missed a pitch in the dirt. It might or might not have hit him. The home plate umpire who believes the rule book allows for him to exercise discretion in all areas at any time, took off his mask and asked if the boy was OK.
Now, really, I'm a horse's ass of the first degree ... I get that ... but, since the kid said, "I'm fine. Let's go," I sort of thought, maybe, the umpire should've put his mask back on and played on. The boy knew how hurt he was or wasn't. His coaches are charged with his safety, not the ump. And, hell, his mom and dad were there and would've protected him. But ... the umpire was one who only feels he has total control in one place on earth -- on a baseball field when he's working.
I heard the umpire say, "I don't care if the game ends while we're standing here. We're not playing until you take a break." The catcher was in his squat giving my son signs when I shouted, "Let's go."
The ump tired and shouted at me: "I'm in charge of the players' safety and I gotta kid down here crying and you wanna start the game up? Great! He's down here crying and ..."
I said, "He's in position and ready to play. I just said, 'Let's go.' "
A fan in a muscle shirt and weightlifter sunglasses said, "Now you're ruining MY experience at the game!" I thought, "Screw you Jarhead ... shuddup and sit down," but said, "Just ignore me then, I'm not talking to you."
The ump, maybe 2 minutes into the mess I guess I created, said, "I don't care if he wants to play ... he's crying and ..."
I could've stopped. Karen said, "Stop." My daughter was poised to leap over her and stick her hat in my mouth, but ... "You're an umpire, not a psychiatrist...just play the game. Ignore me..."
From that point on, I realized I'm in another world when it comes to baseball and exercising the rules and an umpire doing his job. If they know the rules and position themselves correctly, I never say a word. I umpired. I know we all make a bad call now and then, but we should never create "an umpire's discretion" or opt to shrink the strike zone on a big, hard-throwing pitcher because we're afraid of getting hit by a fastball.
If I'm crazy...please, tell me so.
I won't care, but, please ... tell me so.
It occurred to me that people hear me at one game and assume I was equally as loud at the other 30 I've attended. Then, they remember all the talk about abusive sports dads and figure I beat and berate my son at home. They're wrong. My youngest son tells me, "You hollered way too much." I say, "I'm sorry. You know I'm just nervous and I know I'm wrong. I'm getting better, I hope." I never say a negative word about his baseball performance at home. None. Zero. But, to hear me Sunday, it would've been easy to assume my kid was getting his ass-kicked in the parking lot ... you know?
No, really, I don't beat my son!
However, if I'd had the presence of mind to remember my oldest son (who trained for a couple years in mixed martial arts) was in the park, I might have walked down and asked that guy in the muscle shirt if he wanted to do something to help enhance his ball park experience. I figure...I throw a punch...he decks me...my son's in the mix and ...
No, really, I only portray a jackass at the ball park once in awhile.
Reporter's National Columnist a Fraud
Definitions of 'marriage'
The American Heritage® Dictionary - (4 definitions)
Middle English mariage, from Old French, from marier, to marry; see marry1.]
(noun)
The legal union of a man and woman as husband and wife.
The state of being married; wedlock.
A common-law marriage.
A union between two persons having the customary but usually not the legal force of marriage: a same-sex marriage.
A wedding.
A close union: “the most successful marriage of beauty and blood in mainstream comics” (Lloyd Rose)
--------------------------------------------
Really, it wasn't necessary to Google David Benkof after reading his syndicated column in the Eureka Reporter. I mean, I knew he was a moron spouting lies to make his point as soon as he started to explain how same-sex marriage will hurt the institution of marriage.
"The first harm is to the meaning of “marriage” itself. The term in California has always referred to couples who agree to be sexually exclusive. Couples usually don’t marry until they are ready for such a commitment. Although adultery certainly occurs, virtually everyone involved agrees that such acts damage marriages, and should be discouraged whenever possible.
"Yet most male-male couples are not sexually exclusive. According to gay.com’s psychotherapist, Michael Shernoff, only approximately one-third of gay couples are monogamous. The rest typically have “arrangements” that allow one or both partners to have sex with others under certain conditions — such as no kissing, or only out of town, for example."
Say what? The meaning of marriage, its definition, is listed here straight out of the American Heritage Dictionary. Benkof pulls "couples who agree to be sexually exclusive" out of his own hind end and, then, makes a statement he can't prove. If you write a column, a hate piece, you damn well better be able to prove that, "...Most male-male couples are not socially exclusive." And, no, citing a Web site that refers to how many gay "couples" are monogamous doesn't help explain how many gay married couples will be monogamous.
OK. My bitch is with this guy selling himself as a writer who knows his craft and takes it seriously. And, I guess, I've got a problem with the Reporter running the guy's malarkey knowing it's full of half-truths, lies and ... well, stuff Benkof pulls out of thin air.
I didn't need to Google Benkoff to find out what manner of man would write this stuff ... but, as I've written, I know lots of gay couples who are good people. So, I thought I'd Google Benkoff and find out where he gets off writing this trash. I found a link:
http://www.boxturtlebulletin.com/david-benkof-behind-the-mask
"David Benkof has been getting a bit of attention lately. This year he’s written several articles which he has been able to get published in mainstream newspapers. Sadly, he’s used deception and dishonesty to do so.
"Benkof, as David Bianco, lived as a gay man and was actively involved in gay news distribution, serving as founder and contributor to Q-Syndicate from 1995 to 2003. Then in 2003, Bianco announced that he had made some changes in his life. He had changed his identity to bisexual, his religion to Orthodox Judaism, his beliefs about homosexual acts to be unacceptable, his goals to include marriage to a nice Jewish girl, and his name to Benkof. He then went off to Israel for some years to study. And now he’s reemerged and is seeking to be influential in the restriction of gay rights and equality.
"Now he’s saying things that deserve to be questioned. Somewhere in Benkof’s reinvention tour, he forgot that some things really are true; not in the religious because-God-said-so way, but in the objective factually accurate way.
Let’s look at a few of the claims that Benkof has been making recently.
"Benkof uses some variation of the following description of himself when writing his columns for straight readers:
"David Benkof is a columnist for several gay newspapers across the country. He blogs at GaysDefendMarriage.com and can be reached at DavidBenkof@aol.com. (Ted Note: That column tag appeared in the Eureka Reporter.)
"Those reading it think, 'Hey, this guy is credible. He writes for gay newspapers, he must be saying what some gay people are thinking.'
"The only problem is that it isn’t true. On the Gays Defend Marriage website, Benkof claims:
David Benkof’s “Fabulously Observant” column offering readers of LGBT newspapers traditionally religious and conservative perspectives on gay and lesbian issues debuted at the beginning of May. Currently, two publications subscribe - the Dallas Voice and Q-Notes (North Carolina). Other publications in Florida, Ohio, and Oklahoma have purchased at least one installment..."
Benkof's a fraud. So, I'm not sure what that makes the two publications who use his stuff all the time or the others who've cherry-picked his gay-bashing efforts.
We don't have to agree on same-sex marriage, but the heaven's sake don't let people like David Benkof or the newspapers who publish him get passed off as honest arbiters in a complicated debate of American rights and lifestyles.
The American Heritage® Dictionary - (4 definitions)
Middle English mariage, from Old French, from marier, to marry; see marry1.]
(noun)
The legal union of a man and woman as husband and wife.
The state of being married; wedlock.
A common-law marriage.
A union between two persons having the customary but usually not the legal force of marriage: a same-sex marriage.
A wedding.
A close union: “the most successful marriage of beauty and blood in mainstream comics” (Lloyd Rose)
--------------------------------------------
Really, it wasn't necessary to Google David Benkof after reading his syndicated column in the Eureka Reporter. I mean, I knew he was a moron spouting lies to make his point as soon as he started to explain how same-sex marriage will hurt the institution of marriage.
"The first harm is to the meaning of “marriage” itself. The term in California has always referred to couples who agree to be sexually exclusive. Couples usually don’t marry until they are ready for such a commitment. Although adultery certainly occurs, virtually everyone involved agrees that such acts damage marriages, and should be discouraged whenever possible.
"Yet most male-male couples are not sexually exclusive. According to gay.com’s psychotherapist, Michael Shernoff, only approximately one-third of gay couples are monogamous. The rest typically have “arrangements” that allow one or both partners to have sex with others under certain conditions — such as no kissing, or only out of town, for example."
Say what? The meaning of marriage, its definition, is listed here straight out of the American Heritage Dictionary. Benkof pulls "couples who agree to be sexually exclusive" out of his own hind end and, then, makes a statement he can't prove. If you write a column, a hate piece, you damn well better be able to prove that, "...Most male-male couples are not socially exclusive." And, no, citing a Web site that refers to how many gay "couples" are monogamous doesn't help explain how many gay married couples will be monogamous.
OK. My bitch is with this guy selling himself as a writer who knows his craft and takes it seriously. And, I guess, I've got a problem with the Reporter running the guy's malarkey knowing it's full of half-truths, lies and ... well, stuff Benkof pulls out of thin air.
I didn't need to Google Benkoff to find out what manner of man would write this stuff ... but, as I've written, I know lots of gay couples who are good people. So, I thought I'd Google Benkoff and find out where he gets off writing this trash. I found a link:
http://www.boxturtlebulletin.com/david-benkof-behind-the-mask
"David Benkof has been getting a bit of attention lately. This year he’s written several articles which he has been able to get published in mainstream newspapers. Sadly, he’s used deception and dishonesty to do so.
"Benkof, as David Bianco, lived as a gay man and was actively involved in gay news distribution, serving as founder and contributor to Q-Syndicate from 1995 to 2003. Then in 2003, Bianco announced that he had made some changes in his life. He had changed his identity to bisexual, his religion to Orthodox Judaism, his beliefs about homosexual acts to be unacceptable, his goals to include marriage to a nice Jewish girl, and his name to Benkof. He then went off to Israel for some years to study. And now he’s reemerged and is seeking to be influential in the restriction of gay rights and equality.
"Now he’s saying things that deserve to be questioned. Somewhere in Benkof’s reinvention tour, he forgot that some things really are true; not in the religious because-God-said-so way, but in the objective factually accurate way.
Let’s look at a few of the claims that Benkof has been making recently.
"Benkof uses some variation of the following description of himself when writing his columns for straight readers:
"David Benkof is a columnist for several gay newspapers across the country. He blogs at GaysDefendMarriage.com and can be reached at DavidBenkof@aol.com. (Ted Note: That column tag appeared in the Eureka Reporter.)
"Those reading it think, 'Hey, this guy is credible. He writes for gay newspapers, he must be saying what some gay people are thinking.'
"The only problem is that it isn’t true. On the Gays Defend Marriage website, Benkof claims:
David Benkof’s “Fabulously Observant” column offering readers of LGBT newspapers traditionally religious and conservative perspectives on gay and lesbian issues debuted at the beginning of May. Currently, two publications subscribe - the Dallas Voice and Q-Notes (North Carolina). Other publications in Florida, Ohio, and Oklahoma have purchased at least one installment..."
Benkof's a fraud. So, I'm not sure what that makes the two publications who use his stuff all the time or the others who've cherry-picked his gay-bashing efforts.
We don't have to agree on same-sex marriage, but the heaven's sake don't let people like David Benkof or the newspapers who publish him get passed off as honest arbiters in a complicated debate of American rights and lifestyles.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
We Should Understand Each Other
Anonymous said...
I wonder Ted, do you deliberatly misunderstand most people's opposition of gay marriage or are you really clueless ?
---
I can't dismiss the idea I'm clueless in so, so many ways. I've thought long and hard about the gay lifestyle and, as I've written, I've been extremley close to a gay couple who raised two boys -- and were, and remain, the most lo.ving, caring, unselfish couple I've ever met.
Anonymous ... you can try to enlighten me regarding "most people's opposition of gay marriage." Seriously. I've built my understanding by knowing gays, knowing heterosexuals and deciding ... I think they they equally deserve the right to enter the legal contract that is marriage.
I'm a Christian and I attend church frequently (not every week). I have a personal relationship with The Big Guy upstairs. I can't believe the God I love would want to deny folks happiness. And, admittedly, there are all kinds of interpretations of what God does and doesn't want for his children.
I don't guess I want to get into a debate based on religion because the "marriage" I favor is the legal contract portion -- in the eyes of the law. Christians with the best of intentions argue and argue and argue some more about how the God they worship and the Bible they read address homosexuality. You know? I'm aware there's no winning an argument over differences between Christians. I'd rather not argue with a fellow Christian -- about anything. There's too much we agree on and that's what we should focus on.
So...Anonymous...enlighten me ... but, please, don't bash and call names or pull Bible verses out of context. Even if we disagree, we should understand each other. I'm sure you understand that I've known a number of gay folks who are just people to me -- I choose not to concern myself with what goes on in their bedroom and believe they should be allowed to marry. (I'm hetero and married twice...and screwed both up unmercifully, so I'm no judge of who should and shouldn't wed.)
Saturday, June 21, 2008
'They Don't SEEM Lesbian...'
It doesn't really matter what the haters and pinheads who, usually in the name of God, blast away at the gay lifestyle think. Generations have been raised homophobic to now, so it's the next generations that will hold the key to acceptance and equal treatment for all.
Critics of same-sex marriage, especially the open-mouth breathers, give the impression that gay couples stand out from everybody else. You'd think they all look like they dress for the San Francisco Gay Pride Parade -- every day of the week. That's such a ridiculous notion, but it's coming from people who believe folks decide to turn gay and, then, seek to turn the rest of us with them. Common sense can't play much role in what the gay-bashers believe.
The two neighbor women had a yard sale today. My ex-wife's out of town and I've been with my youngest kids for five days. (I'm with them every day, actually, but we've been at their house with mom gone -- not at my house, which is a couple hundred feet away from their place.) My daughter asked if I'd go to the yard sale with her, but I said I'd give her a couple bucks to buy things if she was willing to walk the 50 feet and browse by herself.
"Don't be afraid of their dogs," I said, thinking of the two biggest canine creatures I've ever seen. We joke that the two dogs are so big and laid back that it's actually there house and that they board the two ladies. Big dogs!
My daughter's 10, but I know she's not afraid of the dogs. I wondered if our family's ongoing debate over whether the women are lesbians or not had her over-thinking the trip to the yard sale. It's been clear for awhile to me that the women are a really happy gay couple who do all kinds of cool things. The kids' mom has suggested I'm stereotyping them because they own and operate lots of really big electric tools and drive oversized trucks with those really, really huge tires.
Well, the neighbor who lives between my kids and the two women knows for a fact that the ladies are a gay couple. It's no big deal, really, not even on a cul de sac in suburbia. See, when we moved into the cul de sac, an upscale gay couple lived on the other side of us. There was a semi-retired woman and a blonde who operated her own business. They, too, seemed really happy and were nicer to us than any neighbors for as long as we shared a property boundary.
My daughter hit the rummage sale with three $1 bills. She came back a half-hour later with a Barbie styling salon and a box full of Barbie clothes and other little odds and ends. As she rummaged through her treasures, she mentioned that they had football and baseball jerseys on sale, too.
As foreward thinking as I like to believe I am, I actually mumbled, "It's odd that they'd have a Barbie collection." It's not odd at all. Girls play with Barbies ... and the women were girls once. And, adults do sometimes have toys at their home for times when families visit. (I'm an idiot!)
My 12-year-old son got back from a baseball tournament and did back flips when he heard the couple had those sports jerseys. He shrieked aloud when his sister casually mentioned, "I think they had a St. Louis Cardinals baseball shirt!" The Cardinals are my son's favorite team. He was dressing and asking his wildly outgoing sister to go with him to see the women and, perhaps, make a post-rummage sale deal for that Cardinals jersey.
The plan was set. My daughter would do the talking. My son would bring the cash. Off they went, happy as you please. For all the fear adults show of gays ... my kids were that mindlessly focused solely on closing the deal on that Cardinals jersey. Those women, I'm happy to report, are just neighbors ... really nice neighbors.
I wondered if those simpletons and anonymous dumbheads who attack and assault gay people would've worried if their son had wanted to guy buy that jersey? Would they have said all the things about the gay lifestyle that they write in places like the Times-Standard Topix section? I imagine they'd make sure their own kids believed all the venoumous nonsense they do, thus ... gays won't soon be treated equally by all.
My kids talked their way into the house and learned that the women had dozens of jerseys they'd purchased off of e-bay. My son dropped $20 for an authentic Albert Pujols jersey that, at one point, cost a couple hundred bucks. And, they learned that the women actually own a company that sells equipment for off-road driving. (My daughter can really make conversation, so they probably told her all kinds of things one wouldn't expect during a brief business transaction.)
They got back about the time I put dinner on the table. My daughter started telling me about those freakishly large dogs. The dogs are nice, also, apparently ... they do sleep in the garage. She also told me about the couple's furniture ... she told me their names ... she told me all the stuff she knows I never bother to learn about any of my neighbors.
During dinner, my son said, "They don't seem lesbian."
He's a sensitive, intelligent boy who rarely says something really, really ignorant. But, when he said that, his sister laughed out loud and said, "What did they seem like?" I asked him what made it seem like they werent' lesbian. "Did you see them holding hands or talking about a double-date with some guys? Do I seem heterosexual?"
They didn't seem lesbian?
We all laughed and hoped that, eventually, that none of us will even stop to think about it.
Critics of same-sex marriage, especially the open-mouth breathers, give the impression that gay couples stand out from everybody else. You'd think they all look like they dress for the San Francisco Gay Pride Parade -- every day of the week. That's such a ridiculous notion, but it's coming from people who believe folks decide to turn gay and, then, seek to turn the rest of us with them. Common sense can't play much role in what the gay-bashers believe.
The two neighbor women had a yard sale today. My ex-wife's out of town and I've been with my youngest kids for five days. (I'm with them every day, actually, but we've been at their house with mom gone -- not at my house, which is a couple hundred feet away from their place.) My daughter asked if I'd go to the yard sale with her, but I said I'd give her a couple bucks to buy things if she was willing to walk the 50 feet and browse by herself.
"Don't be afraid of their dogs," I said, thinking of the two biggest canine creatures I've ever seen. We joke that the two dogs are so big and laid back that it's actually there house and that they board the two ladies. Big dogs!
My daughter's 10, but I know she's not afraid of the dogs. I wondered if our family's ongoing debate over whether the women are lesbians or not had her over-thinking the trip to the yard sale. It's been clear for awhile to me that the women are a really happy gay couple who do all kinds of cool things. The kids' mom has suggested I'm stereotyping them because they own and operate lots of really big electric tools and drive oversized trucks with those really, really huge tires.
Well, the neighbor who lives between my kids and the two women knows for a fact that the ladies are a gay couple. It's no big deal, really, not even on a cul de sac in suburbia. See, when we moved into the cul de sac, an upscale gay couple lived on the other side of us. There was a semi-retired woman and a blonde who operated her own business. They, too, seemed really happy and were nicer to us than any neighbors for as long as we shared a property boundary.
My daughter hit the rummage sale with three $1 bills. She came back a half-hour later with a Barbie styling salon and a box full of Barbie clothes and other little odds and ends. As she rummaged through her treasures, she mentioned that they had football and baseball jerseys on sale, too.
As foreward thinking as I like to believe I am, I actually mumbled, "It's odd that they'd have a Barbie collection." It's not odd at all. Girls play with Barbies ... and the women were girls once. And, adults do sometimes have toys at their home for times when families visit. (I'm an idiot!)
My 12-year-old son got back from a baseball tournament and did back flips when he heard the couple had those sports jerseys. He shrieked aloud when his sister casually mentioned, "I think they had a St. Louis Cardinals baseball shirt!" The Cardinals are my son's favorite team. He was dressing and asking his wildly outgoing sister to go with him to see the women and, perhaps, make a post-rummage sale deal for that Cardinals jersey.
The plan was set. My daughter would do the talking. My son would bring the cash. Off they went, happy as you please. For all the fear adults show of gays ... my kids were that mindlessly focused solely on closing the deal on that Cardinals jersey. Those women, I'm happy to report, are just neighbors ... really nice neighbors.
I wondered if those simpletons and anonymous dumbheads who attack and assault gay people would've worried if their son had wanted to guy buy that jersey? Would they have said all the things about the gay lifestyle that they write in places like the Times-Standard Topix section? I imagine they'd make sure their own kids believed all the venoumous nonsense they do, thus ... gays won't soon be treated equally by all.
My kids talked their way into the house and learned that the women had dozens of jerseys they'd purchased off of e-bay. My son dropped $20 for an authentic Albert Pujols jersey that, at one point, cost a couple hundred bucks. And, they learned that the women actually own a company that sells equipment for off-road driving. (My daughter can really make conversation, so they probably told her all kinds of things one wouldn't expect during a brief business transaction.)
They got back about the time I put dinner on the table. My daughter started telling me about those freakishly large dogs. The dogs are nice, also, apparently ... they do sleep in the garage. She also told me about the couple's furniture ... she told me their names ... she told me all the stuff she knows I never bother to learn about any of my neighbors.
During dinner, my son said, "They don't seem lesbian."
He's a sensitive, intelligent boy who rarely says something really, really ignorant. But, when he said that, his sister laughed out loud and said, "What did they seem like?" I asked him what made it seem like they werent' lesbian. "Did you see them holding hands or talking about a double-date with some guys? Do I seem heterosexual?"
They didn't seem lesbian?
We all laughed and hoped that, eventually, that none of us will even stop to think about it.
Under Fire
I've never missed the cool breeze and fog quite as much as I do right now -- 8:34 p.m., 6-20-21-08.
The temperature's been in the mid-90s to low 100s in the East Bay Area and Sacramento region for the last week. That means the delta breeze we usually enjoy in Solano County has turned into something you'd expect standing near a blast furnace. I wasn't aware that we were in fire country here, but ... judging by the billowing gray smoke that has blocked out the sun in front of my kids' house ... I've decided we're smack in the middle of the type place that can burn as quickly and tragically as somewhere in Southern California.
There's a 750-acre fire burning out of control in Napa County and has hopped a series of mountain ridges into Solano County -- the county where we reside these days. You know how when you hear about a fire you subconciously think, "Oh, OK ... it's there ... I'm here ... there are X miles and a lake between the fire and me. I'm safe," right? Well, I've gone through that subconscious process about 101 times in the last couple hours and can't decide if my kids and I are safe or not.
Earthquake? Fine. I know earthquakes. Big storms? Rain. Mudslides. Floods. Aces! I can handle it. Fires? I don't know anything about fires except that they take on a life of their own and, in the case of the one burning to the north of us, give me an extreme case of the skeevies.
There's a 300-acre grass fire burning on the other side of my little town -- oh, it's not my town! This place is where I store my stuff and sleep at night. I'm only here now because my children are here. The grass fire is on the north side of Highway 12, which is a mile from I-80 ... which runs right through Fairfield and Vacaville and Vallejo and Davis.
I don't know a great deal about Armageddon and I never mention it in regard to natural disasters or the like. I don't take God's return to earth lightly and, frankly, I expect it at some point. With the mountain due north of my kids' front room window blocked by dark, black smoke ... and gray smoke billowing from the other direction as I look out the kitchen window ... I'm thinking, you know, if I were around for the end of times, I'd expect it to look kind of like this.
FYI: I prefer earthquakes to fire ... just so you know.
The temperature's been in the mid-90s to low 100s in the East Bay Area and Sacramento region for the last week. That means the delta breeze we usually enjoy in Solano County has turned into something you'd expect standing near a blast furnace. I wasn't aware that we were in fire country here, but ... judging by the billowing gray smoke that has blocked out the sun in front of my kids' house ... I've decided we're smack in the middle of the type place that can burn as quickly and tragically as somewhere in Southern California.
There's a 750-acre fire burning out of control in Napa County and has hopped a series of mountain ridges into Solano County -- the county where we reside these days. You know how when you hear about a fire you subconciously think, "Oh, OK ... it's there ... I'm here ... there are X miles and a lake between the fire and me. I'm safe," right? Well, I've gone through that subconscious process about 101 times in the last couple hours and can't decide if my kids and I are safe or not.
Earthquake? Fine. I know earthquakes. Big storms? Rain. Mudslides. Floods. Aces! I can handle it. Fires? I don't know anything about fires except that they take on a life of their own and, in the case of the one burning to the north of us, give me an extreme case of the skeevies.
There's a 300-acre grass fire burning on the other side of my little town -- oh, it's not my town! This place is where I store my stuff and sleep at night. I'm only here now because my children are here. The grass fire is on the north side of Highway 12, which is a mile from I-80 ... which runs right through Fairfield and Vacaville and Vallejo and Davis.
I don't know a great deal about Armageddon and I never mention it in regard to natural disasters or the like. I don't take God's return to earth lightly and, frankly, I expect it at some point. With the mountain due north of my kids' front room window blocked by dark, black smoke ... and gray smoke billowing from the other direction as I look out the kitchen window ... I'm thinking, you know, if I were around for the end of times, I'd expect it to look kind of like this.
FYI: I prefer earthquakes to fire ... just so you know.
Friday, June 20, 2008
A Note to Gary Thompson!!!
This response to former Eureka NFL defensive back Gary Thompson's comment came through Friday night. I thought I'd post it and, maybe, somebody can get word to Gary that somebody's looking to contact him:
Debbi Thompson has left a new comment on your post "H-DNL to the NFL draft":
Hey,get back to me. Would love to get that info about yourself.Its been forever and a day.Im alive..youre alive..but not everyone made it this far alive.Dont know if you heard or not..Ill have to tell you all about it.Please,email me at dgreene@primus.ca ASAP would be my preference.I pray youll see this or that anyone who sees this will tell you.I would so appreciate it.Regards to you and yours Gar,all my best,Deb.
Debbi Thompson has left a new comment on your post "H-DNL to the NFL draft":
Hey,get back to me. Would love to get that info about yourself.Its been forever and a day.Im alive..youre alive..but not everyone made it this far alive.Dont know if you heard or not..Ill have to tell you all about it.Please,email me at dgreene@primus.ca ASAP would be my preference.I pray youll see this or that anyone who sees this will tell you.I would so appreciate it.Regards to you and yours Gar,all my best,Deb.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Honoring Jim Sylvia
"College of the Redwoods will hold its fifth annual Redwoods Athletics Dinner and Sports Auction August 14 at the Adorni Center in Eureka.
Proceeds from the dinner and auction go toward CR student athletes and their sports programs.
Last year, the auction raised more than $95,000, the most in its four-year history.
This year’s event will honor Jim Sylvia, who has been involved with Corsair athletics in a number of capacities over the years. -- Eureka Reporter, 6-19-08
Proceeds from the dinner and auction go toward CR student athletes and their sports programs.
Last year, the auction raised more than $95,000, the most in its four-year history.
This year’s event will honor Jim Sylvia, who has been involved with Corsair athletics in a number of capacities over the years. -- Eureka Reporter, 6-19-08
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Jim Sylvia's the most overlooked coach in the glorious history of College of the Redwoods athletics. Clearly, no one in the business of covering sports up there right now knows it, though. The Reporter brief simply mentioned that he coached the Corsairs wrestlers to first- and second-place finishes in the Golden Valley Conference.
Sylvia coached CR's club when Frank Cheek had a nationally-ranked wrestling program at Humboldt State College. Sylvia was in the middle of the golden era of wrestling on the North Coast.
Sylvia's interest in and mastery of some disciplines in mixed martial arts have always