We're heading into 2012 so I guess it's time for the annual "Best of" lists to start coming out. I'll start with the best stories of the last year that I worked at DoubleACS. One of these may have technically been produced in December of 2010 but that's just semantics.
The best part of this interview was me having to run back to the studio to get a battery for the camera since I forgot it as I was leaving. I apologized for it only to have Maddie tell me to "never let it happen again". That sense of humor and relaxed attitude was obvious throughout our conversation as though she was amazed that this would be a story at all. I was astounded by the courage that she, and her family, showed in the situation and the remarkable recovery that she made.
Concussions are a serious issue at all levels of athletics and for some reason when Massachusetts created a law forcing the MIAA to make changes to its regulations and education no one seemed to make a big deal about it. Part of the problem was that no one was quite sure what it would mean for schools, athletes, coaches, or parents. That's still an issue but I was thankful that at least the issue was being addressed.
This was one of my favorite interviews that I did while working at DoubleACS, partially because it came out pretty well but also because it's much easier to interview someone who is excited about the topic. Missy had tons of energy and an infectious enthusiasm for the new job.
This last video I didn't finish editing, but conducted the interview and found the clips from the game action. I had never seen him smile before this interview. He played with aggression and a scowl and until I spoke with him off the field I had no idea he was a funny, gregarious kid.
(Before I go forward with my argument I want to say that I understand what I will propose would never in a million years happen, that large sums of money mean far more than anything else in the era of Glazer-nomics and modern football, plus I’m not even sure that UEFA would allow it BUT I’m all for wishful thinking.)
I think that given the opportunity to take a spot in the knockout round because of issues with Sion and the Swiss FA that United should pass on it and continue on in the Europa League. They had their chance to qualify over the last two games of the group stage against teams that should’ve been beaten and they blew it. They are where they deserve to be and just because UEFA creates an opening doesn’t mean that they should accept it.
This is in some respects an ethical issue. If you didn’t earn the spot on the field, in fact you wasted your opportunity in the easiest group in the competition, then you shouldn’t just be handed a ‘get out of jail free card’. Also, how is it fair to Basel who played outstanding in both games against United and earned their place on the pitch? It makes no sense to punish them for the actions of another team in their league.
This is also about needing to accept limitations. While United always seem to pick up steam around the holidays and the second half of the season, there have been very few Champions League-worthy performances. In the league they’ve been solid if unspectacular but in Europe it has been far worse. Constant lineup changes, some forced and some not, have shown the squad's scary lack of depth. This isn’t a time of rebuilding but it’s certainly a transitional period from the team of Giggs, Scholes, Neville, and Ferdinand to the team of Welbeck, Jones, Cleverley, and Rooney. Playing in the Thursday-Sunday schedule of the Europa League may force Sir Alex’s hand to allow more time for reserve and youth players that many fans have been clamoring to see such as Paul Pogba, Will Keane, and the always interesting Ravel Morrison. Taking this pass to the knockout stages will only cover over the need to hasten the transition.
(Case in point, the last time United was knocked out in the group stages they were knocked out of Europe entirely, also in what should’ve been a routine group. That was in 2005, from 2006-11 the team won the Champions League title and made two more finals, one of the best European run in the club’s history. Sometimes a slap is needed to wake everyone up and get refocused.)
This is also about curiosity. With all due respect to the great teams of Europe I’m kind of interested in United taking on Ajax, Athletic Bilbao, Atletico Madrid, or Udinese. For some reason the novelty factor seems really strong, for me at least, to play in the “secondary” competition. The “penalty” of the Europa League is an interesting test with plenty of challenges ahead. Of course there is always the possibility of a Manchester derby in Bucharest in the spring, which is reason enough to say no to sneaking back into the Champions League.
I know that United are not going to say no to millions of dollars, they are on the side of Harry Redknapp who seems to think that a team should either finish in the top 4 or bottom half to avoid the Europa League, and, given the team’s penchant for finding form after the busy Christmas period, there is still the belief that they could win the competition.
In the end this will end up being a moot point, there is no way the Swiss FA hurts itself and Basel by fighting UEFA, but if it happens and United are given that backdoor pass they should have the guts to say, “thanks, but no thanks”.
It’s been 77 days since the regular season came to a close on September 28th and it has taken me just about that long to collect my thoughts on the atrocity of blowing a 9 ½ game lead in a single month.
The two worst Red Sox collapses in the time that I have been a conscious fan of the team, which discounts 1986 because I was 7 and I’m not sure I even watched the games, have come during two of my most difficult Falls personally. The team’s effort seemed to strongly mirror my own attitude.
2003 will always be the worst collapse because everything seemed perfect. The glorious success that all Red Sox fans had hoped for was in our grasp and our ace, our favorite, Pedro had put the Yankees in their place, but...
By the time Boone ended the season I had left my friends to go home because I just couldn’t take the pain of the inevitable loss.
For reasons I’m not getting into here, 2003 was by far the worst time for me personally and, by a degree of magnitude, is far worse than the current situation. The same can be said for the record-setting atrocity that was the Red Sox in September.
Unlike 2003, there was always something about this year’s squad that seemed weak. The lineup was amazing. Jacoby Ellsbury and Adrien Gonzalez were legitimate MVP candidates, Marco Scutaro dominated the final month, David Ortiz found the fountain of youth (fingers crossed that it wasn’t the fountain of PED but at this point would anything surprise you?), and the combination of Jared Saltalamacchia and Jason Varitek combined to be a mostly productive catcher. Despite the missing in action JD Drew (finally giving up on the pretense of trying to play once a week) and Kevin Youkilis (karma’s a bitch) the Sox were an offensive machine.
The problem that everyone could see coming, but no one wanted to admit, was that the pitching staff sucked. John Lester regressed into a nibbler and always seemed to be pitching out of jams and seemed incapable of getting into the 7th inning. Josh Beckett seemed to be back to his best but there has been confusion on whether or not this was just a lot of good luck or great stuff (and you could read all of the articles on the subject in the time it took him to throw a pitch). Injuries took their toll leaving the fans to watch Kyle Weiland, Andrew Miller, Eric Bedard, and Tim Wakefield try to scrape enough innings to finish the season.
Then there was John Lackey. I want to be sympathetic as he obviously pitched through a lot of pain both physically and emotionally, but the stink of his starts (6.41 ERA, .302 BAA, 1.62 WHIP) won’t be washed away simply with pity. There was never enough blame to go around after he would allow 11 ringing line drives in 5 innings. It was always the stadium design, poor defense, or just bad luck, never just bad pitches left over the middle of the plate. His elbow was always great during bullpen sessions just not when there was an actual hitter at the plate. I hope he comes out in 2013 and is lights out, but I’d be just as happy to see him pitching for the Nationals when that happens.
I don’t want to go into the behind-the-scenes drama that has engulfed the team since the season ended except to say that I can’t erase the image of our starters lined up on the couch in the clubhouse smothered in empty KFC buckets and gravy looking like White Goodman from the final scene of Dodgeball.
It was time for Theo and Tito to move on. It’s been a great nine-year run but new energy was needed. Thanks for introducing the Duck Boat parade to Boston and good luck but it is time to find the next great manager. I’m disappointed that they didn’t take the chance on Sandy Alomar, Jr. he could have been the kind of ex-player/leader that this team was crying out for. Bobby Valentine will keep the seat warm for two years, hopefully for the second choice way back in 2003, Joe Maddon.
The front office is a disaster but the lineup is going to be pretty close to what it was this year. Right field will be up for grabs and Ryan Kalish may finally get his chance at a regular roster spot. If Carl Crawford returns after a season of swinging the bat like Bernie Mac in Mr. 3000 (RIP) then the outfield should be solid. I would love for them to try and trade Youk but who wants an oft injured, angry, teammate bashing, and regressing third baseman? I’m not sold on the return of Kelly Shoppach but look around the league and find more than a handful of catchers that you really want behind the plate everyday.
The focus needs to be on the rotation. There is talk of turning Daniel Bard and Alfredo Aceves into starters, Clay Buchholz should return from injury, Junichi Tazawa will get a bigger look and now a closer has been brought in from the Astros. There is no reason for the panic that has engulfed Red Sox Nation.
The fans have returned to the pre-2004 levels of despair over what has transpired since September 1st. There has to be the recognition that after the collapse of 2003, when it seemed that the only chance we had of ever seeing the Red Sox make the World Series had slipped from our grasp, the team was even better in 2004 and took home the title. Relax fans it will be better again, the team will regroup, the core will return chastened, and the Red Sox will battle for the playoffs just like they always do.
Growing up I was the kid that played laser tag by finding the closest tree to the house and standing behind it hoping with fingers crossed that I would be found right away and could go stand in “jail”. Instead of reveling in the freedom of the shadows, the woods, and the dark I craved the security of a crowd, a fire, or the backyard light.
I don’t enjoy swimming in the ocean. Sure, when I was a kid I’d go to Scarborough Beach to body surf and if I’m drunk at Block Island I’ll jump right in (so I’ve been told) but I can’t get over not being able to see what is below me.
I don’t like outdoor parties where I’m straining to see by the light of a couple of tiki torches or camping where a few pieces of kindling are the only thing separating me from total darkness. I want to be where everything is illuminated.
This isn’t just about a childish fear of the dark (although it’s that too) but about the metaphor of avoiding the unknown. It’s about my needing the security blanket of friends and family and my inability to strike out on my own to find my way through unforeseen adversity. We’ve all seen enough horror movies to know that what shocks and frightens us most is what we don’t see coming, what we can’t anticipate.
I have lived most of my life hidden underneath my security blanket. I am the scared little kid sucking his thumb because I’m afraid the monsters under my bed are going to get me. I am a creature of habit because there is safety in routines. There is security in never taking a chance.
I know the way to break the cycle of misery that I’ve been in since August is to push myself, to face up to my demons, and to venture out into the darkness and see what I’m capable of. It’s time to grow up, to stop imagining the dangers hidden in every shadow, and to push myself into a brave new world to succeed or fail on my own. It’s time to stop making excuses, to stop holding back, to stop waiting for someone to hand it all to me.
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Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about suicide. I don’t need someone to take away my shoelaces or sharp objects, but every night when I’m lying at home wondering if I’ll be able to pay my bills, every morning when I wake up wondering if it’s even worth getting out of bed, my heart starts racing, my mind swirls with worst case scenarios and I can’t help but wondering, ‘Would it just be easier if…’
Last weekend I woke up on Sunday morning, did my usual scan of Twitter, and read about Gary Speed found hanged in his house. I was shook to my core. Possibly it was the cold brutality implied in that particular method of suicide or the shocking randomness of who died, but I felt overwhelmed. I’ve been depressed my whole life (not diagnosed, but I’m not going to get many people who argue otherwise) but I haven’t felt as empty as I have in these past few months since high school. For some reason, I was suddenly afraid of myself and for myself. I kept thinking, “If he could do it…”
(I’ve tried to figure out why Gary Speed hit me so hard. I’ve watched him play and I know it seemed so out of character from the player everyone admired, but his story isn’t any more stunning or tragic than those of Robert Enke, Mike Flanagan, Derek Boogaard, or any of the non-celebrities that I’ve heard about. For whatever reason hearing about Speed pushed me into a funk and made me question myself more for the past two weeks than at any other moment in my life.)
The problem with depression is that it can hit at any moment, it’s triggered by nothing tangible, and it drops a veil around you that, even if you are conscious of it, can be very difficult to lift. There is nothing but loneliness behind that veil no matter how big the crowd surrounding you. Behind the veil lie anger, resentment, sadness, self-pity, and desperation. There are moments when I can see myself being rude, closed off, and unhappy but no matter how much I hate myself for it; I can’t prevent it. The worst part is that I have friends and family who care about me and want to help but no matter how sincere their efforts it only makes me feel more pathetic and useless. I’ve always felt that I can control it despite years worth of examples when I couldn’t. I try to play it off as just sadness about the end of my summer in Phoenix, about the lack of a job or about living at home, but I know that no matter how happy I seem, I am always on edge about when that veil will drop next and when everything that seems positive in my life will be warped by my mind into another failure.
So, I’ve been thinking about suicide a lot lately and I have cried, I have had panic attacks, I have sat and stared at my wall, and I have tried so many times to write about how I feel. I don’t want family, friends, or anyone else who reads my blog (ok so its just family and friends but just in case) to fear for me or to feel bad for me. I’m not writing all of this for pity, just to explain where I’ve been at these past few months and from how far down I’m trying to recover.
______________
I can remember that moment when I was sitting in my driveway, all my possessions stacked around me so I could barely see the mirrors, and I was looking into a future that seemed settled. I was going to move to Phoenix and everything was going to be new and bright and fantastic.
I remember feeling good about myself and I remember looking into the rearview mirror, smiling, and saying ‘I actually feel really proud.' (Then feeling weird cause I was sitting in the car talking to myself.)
Now my memories of the desert are filled with regret. Not about the relationship that I wanted to be the last of my life, not about the job offer that came the week I left, not about the sunshine and warmth (ok I regret coming back to a New England winter), but I regretted the build-up to that morning when I got in my car and drove off. I regret the parties, the good-byes, and the support I received. I regret it all because I have never before let so many people down. Driving back home was a failure, not just to myself but to all my friends and family who wished me well.
I need to redeem myself, but I don’t know how. I need to succeed not only for myself, but to prove I’m not the loser that my aborted stay in Phoenix made me.
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This is becoming a novel. It’s also apparently a William Faulkner novel since it will make no sense to anyone but the author. I will try to end the novel on a bright note for anyone who may have made it this far.
I appreciate everyone that has been there for me my whole life. I’ve needed every bit of it. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to express my appreciation better, especially these past few months. It’s now time to get moving. I need to get out of my head, to take some chances, and to make my own happiness instead of counting on everyone else to do it for me.
Very rarely does someone from Attleboro get the opportunity to play for a major professional championship but this Sunday night at 9 PM, former Attleboro High player Geoff Cameron and the Houston Dynamo will try to take home the MLS Cup from David Beckham and the LA Galaxy. As if that isn’t a difficult enough task the Galaxy has the benefit of playing at home in the Home Depot Center, where they lost only one game in 2011. The Dynamo will also be without the man that sparked their offense all season, MVP candidate and MLS Best XI Brad Davis, who won’t be able to play due to an injury picked up in the semi-final win over Kansas City.
It seems like there’s a lot stacked against Houston in the finals, but if you speak to Cameron about the challenge don’t expect anything but confidence, “People said that we couldn’t win without him [Davis], that we weren’t a complete team, but I think everyone stepped their game up when he went down against Kansas City. It was 0-0 when he went off and Adam (Moffat) took the set pieces and we scored on a set piece and then we scored a run of play goal. Obviously he’s a big part of our team, but at the same time we’ve got a lot of players that can step up and play the role and that’s what we can do.”
Heading into the playoffs there wasn’t a lot of chatter about the Dynamo despite the club’s history of MLS Cup titles and they continue to fly under the radar even into the title game. Of course lining up against internationals with the notoriety of Landon Donovan, Robbie Keane, and David Beckham makes it difficult to get much press but Cameron believes this could work to the Dynamo’s advantage, “they’re supposed to win so for us, we have nothing to lose. Let’s just go out there, have fun, kick butt, and leave it all on the field.”
Cameron is an Attleboro native who learned the game playing on local fields and playing pickup games at the Armory on Park St. His talent got him onto the varsity practice field while he was still in middle school, eventually leading to two years with the Bombardiers and off-seasons playing with the club team Bayside United. His skills advanced quickly and he chose to play two years at Providence Country Day before turning in an all-A10 performance while at URI. But for Cameron no matter where his career leads him it’s imperative to remember his roots and the man that kick started his love for the game, Attleboro High coach Peter Pereira.
“I’ve been very, very close to him for a long time, most of my life. He still gets up in the morning and opens up the armory and gives a place, an opportunity, for the kids to play pick-up soccer. For me there’s nothing better to see than that. He has the heart and the love of the game and he just spreads it out to give people an opportunity to play. That’s a fantastic thing that he does personally and he’s been a close friend of the family for a real long time and I can’t thank him enough for the support that he’s given me and the things that he did for me. There’s nothing better that I can do in return than to come back and help him out, showing up, and hanging out with the kids. Any way I can be a role model and any advice I can give the kids is the best thing for me.”
One of the players that has benefited from the advice that Cameron gives out on his frequent visits to Bombardier practices is junior midfielder Dominik Machado, currently part of the New England Revolution developmental squad. Machado is taking advantage of an academy system that Cameron didn’t have and the current MLS all-star makes sure to keep the potential MLS player grounded, “I told him 100 percent always remember where you came from because if you ever forget that then you’ll end up becoming nothing. I just said stay focused, stay humble, and stay hungry. If you’re hungry then you’ll accomplish a lot of things.
Discipline, dedication, and desire, if you have those then you can accomplish anything you want in life.”
If Geoff Cameron ever forgets that mantra he need only look at the tattoo on his arm as a reminder. That discipline and desire became critical to his career when he suffered a PCL tear and missed nearly four months of the 2010 season. After a rehab stint that was nearly half as long as expected he finished the 2010 season strong. At the beginning of 2011, Dynamo Coach Dominic Kinnear moved Cameron into the midfield but two months ago decided the defense needing shoring up and since the move back to his natural position at central defender the Dynamo have caught fire. Houston will enter the MLS Cup with a 263-minute shutout streak.
Cameron’s move back to central defense for his club team has coincided with a change in management at the national team level and the calls for him to represent the US as it heads into World Cup qualifying next summer have increased considerably. This isn’t something that has gone unnoticed by the player himself, “I hear that all the time, even guys on our team who play for their national teams say ‘why don’t you play for yours’ and I simply say I don’t know man. I’m just going to wait for my opportunity and obviously my ultimate goal is to make it into the World Cup in Brazil.”
One of the best routes into the national team set-up, whether Bob Bradley or Jürgen Klinsmann is the coach, is to play regularly for a team in Europe. Prior to the injury last season there were rumors of potential European suitors and now that he is back playing at a high level those rumors should increase when the European transfer window opens again in January. While Cameron’s focus is intently on his team and this Sunday’s final there is always the individual goal to play on the biggest stage.
“In talking with my agent there are some teams interested over in Europe but like my agent said, he wants me to stay focused on the season and win a championship. Obviously one of my goals in life is to play in Europe. I had the opportunity to play for Nottingham Forest in the Championship [the 2nd tier of British soccer] for a bit last off-season after my injury, to stay sharp, and I thought it helped me out this season playing center-mid and center back. Going into pre-season I felt really good so the experience over there was amazing and I’d 100 percent love to play over there, so that’s one of my goals but at the same time I have a guaranteed contract for next year and we’ll see after that.”
For now Geoff Cameron will put aside concerns about the national team and the call of Europe to focus on the opportunity to win the MLS Cup. All that stands in the way is the league’s best team, on their home field, with three international stars, but the Dynamo defender isn’t in awe. He’s ready to work, “Make sure whenever Beckham has the ball just pressure, pressure, and make him uncomfortable. Don’t give him time to look up and just hit a ball to a free spot because he can put a ball on a dime. The same thing with Landon and Keane, you got to be wary of those guys because they’re clever. They have experience, so you just can’t give them time on the ball and you have to make them uncomfortable. That’s one thing we do, we’re committed, we don’t stop, and we’ll keep running.”
The MLS Cup will air on ESPN Sunday night at 9 PM from the Home Depot Center in Carson, CA.
With the annihilation of a very poor Somerset Berkley team at McGrath Stadium, Bishop Feehan clinched another EAC title, another berth in the Division 3 playoffs, and another great chance to get to Gillette Stadium for the Super Bowl. The Shamrocks went a perfect 4-0 in the conference this season and did so by a combined score of 134-7. In fact the only touchdown that Feehan gave up against an EAC opponent this season came in the final minute against Somerset with the starters bundled up on the bench.
In some circles this would be all the proof that is needed that Feehan needs to find a new conference, there just isn’t enough of a challenge from the current set-up. Many people wanted Feehan to make a jump to the Hockomock League before it was announced that Taunton and Milford would be moving in next season. My question is: what would make Feehan want to change anything?
Sure the EAC isn’t the best competition, especially since Attleboro and Dartmouth took away the two biggest schools in the conference, but it is an almost guaranteed spot in the football playoffs, which is the big money maker for any high school. Meanwhile in other sports, under the current rules, Feehan teams will almost always find themselves with a spot in the postseason. But the lack of proper opposition is almost a myth; Martha’s Vineyard won the league in boys’ soccer this season, while Coyle and Cassidy are always strong in softball, baseball, and hockey. Oh by the way, last year Somerset beat Feehan in football. Yet it is always the assumption that no one in the EAC can stand up to Feehan. This is generally true in cross-country and girls’ soccer but not across the board.
An underrated benefit to playing in the EAC is flexibility. With only four conference opponents Feehan can continue to play a very difficult out of conference schedule. When Attleboro High switched from the five team Old Colony League to the 10 team Hockomock it left very little room for Athletic Director Mark Houle to keep longtime rivals such as Dartmouth, New Bedford, Taunton, and even Feehan on the schedule because every game was taken up by conference play. This is a problem that will only be exacerbated by the move to a 12 team conference next season.
Feehan on the other hand can schedule match-ups with LaSalle, Barrington, Fontbonne Academy, Cardinal Spellman and other teams that provide the challenges that may not be consistently there within the EAC. This may seem like a small point in the long run, but there is something to be said for a little variety. It’s nice to see teams that would otherwise never find their way to Attleboro.
Now that the Hockomock League has closed its doors to Feehan, at least for the foreseeable future, there also doesn’t appear to be an obvious landing spot for the Shamrocks. Maybe the EAC invites in the remnants of the OCL or Feehan moves to the South Coast Conference but this isn’t Boise State moving to the Big East to get a BCS berth there are issues with each option.
Unfortunately, there is also the question of whether or not Feehan would be welcomed in with open arms. There is some hesitation for schools to bring in Feehan because of their regional nature, their excellent resources or because of the long-held belief that they recruit potential players from their rivals.*
*(Disclaimer- I’m not making any claims that Feehan recruit, I honestly don’t know anything about the subject and I’m not taking a side. I’m simply saying that people believe they do, it does influence the way some people see the school, and distasteful or not it is part of the equation.)
There are a lot of factors working both for and against Feehan moving out of the EAC, but in the end the most important decision for Feehan has to be how to build on an already successful sports program and, at least to me, the best choice is to stay put and keep on winning. Now if they could just get someone decent on Thanksgiving Day…
Some days listening to Pandora can be a destructive exercise. Beautiful songs of longing or emotional impact turn into excuses for self-pity and a loathing of what the world has done to you. It’s never a reminder of the mistakes you make and the situations that you either passed up or botched, it is ALWAYS the world’s fault for your current predicament.
Depression is an evil condition particularly when it is coupled with the irrational delusion that somehow you have no control over the things happening around you. Heartbreak, unemployment, empty bank accounts are horrible things to deal with (especially all at once) but lying around listening to sad music and feeling bad for yourself won’t change anything.
Unfortunately this has been my stock response to trouble for as long as I can remember. I imagine that even as a baby in my crib that instead of crying or screaming when I had crapped my diaper I instead lay in my own excrement blaming the world for my upcoming rash. Why put up a fight and try to improve things? Then I would lose the power of being a martyr. Suddenly I wouldn’t have other things to blame it on but rather have to accept that maybe I had a hand in my own downfall and then my situation would lack the proper context to draw sympathy from those around me.
Over the years I have gained the wisdom to recognize this behavior in myself, although unfortunately not the wisdom to prevent it or stop it, which requires a much higher level of enlightenment than I’ve yet mustered.
In many respects this type of apathy and cynicism made me the perfect pre-2004 Red Sox fan. I expected failure because the world would never allow me the joy of seeing my team come up victorious and in fact would force me to lose in diabolical and heart-rending situations. This perfectly suited my negative outlook and gave me one more reason to continue down my path of mediocrity. The end result was always going to be a loss no matter what so don’t try too hard.
The Red Sox found a way to turn things around and created a situation where the future was always a bright one. Personally I thought I had as well. This September ripped the optimism back out of my psyche and brought it back to 2003 levels. Strangely there is some comfort in this situation as at least I can point to specific reasons why my current outlook on things is so bleak, but after feeling good for a little while it is very difficult to consider going back to a prolonged run of feeling miserable.
Back to the Pandora. Much like the Red Sox have been, music is always tied into certain memories that create the conditions on whether or not I like a song. Nostalgia and music is covered brilliantly by Chuck Klosterman for Grantland. I try to listen to the AvettBrothers channel and each song that once was full of intrinsic heartwarming melodies is now a hand holding my head underwater until the bubbles finally stop. Dramatic I know. These were songs that helped define a new outlook on where my life was headed and without changing a single word are now painful reminders of failure.
This Red Sox season held a similar fate. The team was rolling and everyone knew this was the team to beat despite injuries, and apparently drunken binges in the clubhouse, and the fans trusted that the team would give us a collective happy ending. Then it all dropped off a cliff. Suddenly we watched with horror as an entire month of ineptitude led into the worst/best night of baseball ever.
Now we’re left to pick up the empty beer cans and cardboard Popeye’s containers and try to remember the good times while Ray Lamontagne and A FineFrenzy urge us to shed some tears and move on.
*Just to make it clearer these were all songs that came on Pandora while I was working on this post today, all of them are particularly poignant to the past year, none of them were the songs that originally prompted me to write. Pandora is scary in its cruelty...
My grandfather was stationed in England, just outside London, during the Vietnam War. Unbeknownst to him this would lead, some 40 plus years later, to me being a diehard and fanatic Manchester United supporter. See, my grandfather was able to witness the historic mid-60’s triumvirate of George Best, Bobby Charlton, and Denis Law and was enthralled by the style with which they played the game. As a kid I found a packet of holographic player cards that my grandfather had collected. The long hair and ridiculous short shorts, the logo, the cool nickname, everything looked so interestingly foreign to my 10 year old self.
Little did I know that 10 years later I would start playing soccer thanks to a college girlfriend and a co-ed indoor league in Warwick that would be my Sunday (and sometimes Tuesday/Wednesday/Thursday) refuge for over a decade. Once I started playing the game it was inevitable that I would be enthralled by the sport and I had to seek it out at the highest level (sorry MLS but not quite). Thanks to my grandfather’s stories and collectibles there was only one team that I could support.
No one roots for this team but we don't care.
(Now this is a far-cry from the love affair that I have developed with the team in the present day , which includes following every soccer writer I can find on Twitter, keeping the transfer blog bookmarked, and watching any game that might be on TV including the Spanish-language telecasts of the Copa America or under-20 World Cup. Incidentally, though I don’t understand a word that they’re saying I still think the announcers were much better than those on Fox Soccer. I even had my girlfriend read Fever Pitch to get a better understanding of my mentality, then told her to read Juliet Naked as well just to show that I wasn’t just a troglodyte sports fan. Not sure it worked.)
Following Manchester United, and European soccer in general, has taken its place alongside the Red Sox and Celtics and I consider my knowledge of the subjects to be well-above the common fan. (This is when we get to the actual point of the blog, by the way.)
Why do I always consider myself a “better” fan than everyone else? Why do the “pink hats”, the people singing “Sweet Caroline” (singing it karaoke-style while wasted in Vegas doesn't count), or people who don’t know where we picked up Mike Aviles bother me? Why should I care? Why does it have to be a competition? Shouldn't being a fan be about the communion of fun and common interest, not about the depth of feeling that any interest might arouse?
The other night at Good Times (which is ironically never a good time) I kept shaking my head, laughing, and/or getting actually upset at the ill-informed comments of the drunks at the bar. I don’t know why the random Tigers fan who seemed to know nothing about the Tigers other than that they don’t serve Bud at Tigers Stadium (he was old but I assumed he was talking about Comerica Park not flashing back to the ’84 World Series) upset me. I can’t get upset because he works all day and doesn’t spend every waking hour studying the ticker on ESPN.com or watching Baseball Tonight.
There isn’t a single person in Manchester (England not New Hampshire) who would think that I was anything but a carpet-bagging Yankee pink hat for Man U just because I live in the US. I wasn’t brought up with stories of Busby’s Babes and I didn’t get to see the ’99 Champions League win as it was happening so I don’t count as a “real” Manc. That’s basic English elitism about US soccer fans but aren’t I (and a lot of Red Sox writers too, I’m looking at you Pete Abraham and Bob Ryan) being just as elitist about people who aren’t fanatics about the teams we hold dear?
Here's to you John Lackey!
While I’m slamming my fist down, having my night ruined, and getting pissed every time that John Lackey pitches most fans are going to be grabbing a beer and talking with the people near them about how great it is to be out watching the game. It’s time to grow up and stop giving a shit about how little most people know about the Red Sox or baseball history. It’s time to embrace the “pink hats” as all part of the game, just as it’s time to stop holding a grudge because people are ignorant. Fine, you might not be the same type of fan as me (you probably have a lot more fun being a fan) but if you have any questions feel free to ask.
In the end, I’m the one with the answers and the issues.
I wish people would stop saying, “Everything happens for a reason. It’s for the best.” It’s categorically not for the best. Eventually time will ease the pain, the failure, but nothing will change the fact that I didn’t want this. I couldn’t imagine this happening. I’m embarrassed, ashamed, devastated…
You know when you’re driving to school or to work or to any place that you’ve been a million times and suddenly out of nowhere you realize that you’ve arrived but can’t remember the drive at all? We’ve all done it. The body goes into autopilot, muscle memory pushing you forward down a very familiar path. The same happened on my trip back to the East Coast.
It was five days of staring straight ahead, the road endlessly stretched out in between markers that seemed more real on a map than when driving through them. Gallup, Amarillo, Oklahoma City, Indianapolis then….home. It was five days of heartbreak, painful acceptance of blame, and regret.
Some people say they have no regrets. I am not one of those people. I have plenty of them but never has something left me this empty because I regret not MY unhappiness but that of the person who I loved. When you do something supremely stupid you feel bad because it hurts your family but their love is eternal and not only will they forgive you but they will try to support you. A relationship (she would want me to call it a domestic partnership) even one filled with love, is far more fragile than that.
My friends like to joke about how I think everything sucks, that I am always miserable, and I can’t have a good time. I wish there was no truth to the gag. Until I know how to make myself happy how can someone possibly be happy with me? I don’t have any answers and right now under a cloud of depression I’m having a hard time focusing on the future, just the sadness.
All of this depressing, desperate whining is the explanation for why this Adele song, which I heard probably 3092 times on the way home, is so powerful to me and came out at exactly the wrong time. Listening to any emotional song during a break-up is a bad idea, but this is striking because rather than an image of clothes strewn about on the ground outside, broken picture frames, and lots of heavy drinking, this song inspires just a deep longing for a return to the status quo. It is rationale anger and true sadness, not of HOW it ended but rather that it ended at all. Anyway, make fun of me if you like but each time this came on the radio the waterworks were soon to follow…
The documentary that I helped produce has recently won another award. "Thompson Chemical" was awarded 1st Place in the documentary category of the Alliance for Community Media's National Hometown Movie Awards. This is a great honor for all who worked on the project, most notably the lead producer Roger Mulcahy. It was a lot of hard work particularly since it was a project that had to be completed concurrently with the day-to-day responsibilities of working at DoubleACS.
I wrote a piece for the playbill that was handed out at the premiere of "Thompson" and it explains the origins of the project and what it meant to those of us who worked on it:
The Making of “Thompson Chemical”
We initially received 2 16mm film reels from the Fire Department with the intention of trying to convert them into a DVD for Chief Churchill. When we first saw some of the footage it was shocking as much because we had never heard of Thompson Chemical as for the actual scenes we were seeing. It seemed strange that such a tragic and important event could have passed one or two generations, albeit over 40 years, without it ever being mentioned.
Documentaries had been a topic of discussion around the studio for several years and we had been searching for a topic that would pique our interest while at the same time providing a benefit to the community as a whole. The idea was floated that this footage could provide the jumping off point for a worthwhile project. It would be fair to say we never anticipated the scope of what this project would become.
With permission from Chief Churchill to use the footage and from The Sun Chronicle to scour their archives from 1963-4 we started to develop a story of what happened at Thompson Chemical that night and in the months that followed. We then began the search for interview subjects and just as quickly realized that the story we thought we were creating was nothing like the reality for the people who lived through it.
A project that we hoped would take a few months stretched out over a year involving 15 taped interviews and countless more discussions with neighbors, workers, firefighters, police officers, historians, and family members that all had different perspectives on that horrible night.
The story of Thompson Chemical is not a single strand that runs in a simple, straight line from beginning to end because the story of Thompson Chemical is not about an event, but rather it’s about people and their individual reactions to tragedy. The one common factor throughout the story is a generation of people in Attleboro, raised through a world war, awakening from a great depression into a suddenly promising future that showed a remarkable ability to cope. That stoicism, that ability to manage a difficult situation, while still having the remarkable clarity of memory that all who we interviewed had, turned out to be far more dramatic than the event on its own.
Hopefully, after a year’s worth of work we have been able to properly document a slice of the history of Attleboro to ensure future generations remember Thompson Chemical but also, and perhaps more importantly, remember the people whose lives were affected by it.
Tornado sirens are the scariest sounds that I will ever hear in my life. Until recently, tornados were as foreign to the Northeast as tsunamis and I had never heard that particular combination of screeching fear, anger, violence, and despair. I’m not positive that the tornado itself would be as terrifying than the heart stopping unknown of hearing those sirens for the first time.
Walking across the street to get dinner was surreal as no one was reacting to the banshee noises emanating from seemingly everywhere. The bar patrons were sitting calmly laughing about the slim chances of a tornado actually touching down (“Never in my lifetime…except that one time”) getting angry when the bartender told them they were closing early and they had to head home (after buying another round, of course). After a day of weather in Pennsylvania that would seem over the top for a horror flick, the Gods were apparently no happier when I arrived in Ohio.
Good time to stop and take a picture
Heading back to the hotel I saw my first funnel that wasn’t on the Weather Channel. I could’ve sworn that I was standing in the middle of it and I immediately started looking for something that I could tie my $10 belt to like I was Bill Paxton (or Pullman, whichever one was in Twister). In reality it was miles away and I was actually standing in a group of gawkers all with our phones out to record the experience and make sure everyone saw it on Facebook. The sirens stopped 30 minutes later but I sat awake all night in a cold sweat waiting to be carried away to Oz (the Technicolor version, not the HBO version).
I couldn’t leave Youngstown fast enough.
Day 2 was beautiful. Despite warnings to the contrary, Ohio and Indiana were beautiful to drive through. Farmland as far as you could see but with houses, hills, and wooded areas mingled together that made for a serene trip, which was amplified by the welcome sunshine (Illinois on the other hand is boring as hell). Making great time I raced through into Missouri and crossed the Mississippi in St. Louis.
Crossing the Mississippi should be the seminal moment of the trip. It should be a clear marker that you are no longer in the East but now out into the wilds of the western USA. It should give you the feeling that you are Kerouac On the Road taking part in some great adventure. In reality the Mississippi River smelled like sewage and while driving past The Arch was cool I never felt as though I wanted to stop.
Traveling cross country on your own can be an experience akin to Yoga meditation. Alone with your thoughts (and your Ipod) you get to delve into the reasons behind your journey and the destination that you are racing towards and can come to some clarity about who you are and who you want to be. Of course, I experienced it more akin to a war between me and the miles ahead. I was more like Odysseus trying to get to his Penelope as quickly as possible and I was battling against the sheer immensity of the Midwest. In my Calvinist New England mindset it was the struggle I needed to overcome to achieve true happiness at the end. Damn Puritans ruining everyone's fun.
I flew past St. Louis thinking nothing about storms or trouble ahead. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to me, Oklahoma was being ravaged by a series of powerful thunderstorms that lay straight across my path. I was also headed towards Joplin, Missouri that only a few days earlier was almost completely destroyed by a twister that no special effects could equal. I only became aware of this when I decided to put an end to Day 2.
My second night on the road was no less terrifying and stressful than the first. Stopped an hour north of Springfield, MO I watched the news to see that my road ahead was directly through Mother Nature’s killing fields and was constantly reminded by the very serious weatherman that this was the worst tornado season in years. The stress of knowing that I would have to drive through Oklahoma was quickly set aside when I was woken up at 4:30am by that now familiar screeching wail that sent me scrambling to the bathroom wrapped in blankets and sweat.
The hotel called everyone into the lobby and away from the windows until the sirens stopped. Turns out the tornado landed a few miles away. (“No big deal” according to the hotel employees. I had a different opinion.) The next morning I drove by Joplin and I saw trees sawed in half, guardrails tossed aside and, even from the highway, I witnessed pure evil and thought of what could have been. It was impossible not to shake…
From Oklahoma City to New Mexico each mile looks as ugly as the next and yet, that doesn't make it any less impressive. Staring into the largest sky I've ever seen, at least while my feet were on the ground, I felt as though I could see all the way back home and see Phoenix forward in the distance. The world seemed compacted as though everything was just around the corner but at the same time I finally appreciated the vastness of the country. Like I was reading a Steinbeck novel the world opened up in front of me and everything was a reminder of the Dust Bowl and the Great Depression. I quickly turned the Ipod to “The Ghost of Tom Joad” set the cruise control and tried to imagine what it would be like to live in a region where Amarillo is a big city.
West Texas is dull (no offense to the people living there but it really is a whole lot of nothing) but for the sky. New Mexico added the element of colorful mountains, massive plateaus, and majestic desert scenes to the ever present wind that pushes from Missouri through to the Pacific. Making the final push to Phoenix, hands at 10 and 2 just like Driver’s Ed taught me, I tried to keep the car from being blown off the road and avoid the inevitable Dust Storms I could see in the distance stalking my path.
Driving in the West is a sad experience. I felt isolated and transported back in time. Wind, dust, and brown were the only sensory inputs for over a thousand miles. When I saw a group of cowboys riding the fences it dawned on me how tough and bleak an existence it must be in the middle of nowhere. Of course they all probably went home to their satellite dishes and broadband internet, but seeing them in Marlboro Man pose made them all seem like John Wayne taming a new land. I’ve never been more aware of my city slicker-ness. Albuquerque, Gallup, and Flagstaff might as well have been New York City the way they rose out of the nowhere haze.
Everything about the West is trapped in nostalgia. Every sign tried to pull me off the highway to the history and drama of Route 66. You get the sensation that you are traveling through a memory of a glorious past. The small town oasis eroding in diesel exhaust. An America trudging wearily day after day, pleading to be heard over the air conditioner, desperate for us to roll down our tinted windows and believe that it was once great. Even if, in truth, it never was.
One more road to Phoenix and it was just as overwhelming as all the rest. I-17 is 2 hours of downhill skiing. Long slopes matched by sharp turns that had me on the edge of my seat (an uncomfortable way to drive by the way), all the while dodging trucks and trying not to get pushed off the road by cars pretending they were on the Autobahn. At the end of the road the Valley of the Sun awaited and with a grateful sigh and a long stretch I had made it to the end.
My new home (Chase Field top left)
P.S.- I apologize. I never meant for this post to be this long. If you made it all the way to the end I appreciate your effort and the fact that you didn’t have anything better to do.
Joe Posnanski wrote a great, and long, blog post about what defines “Home” and it seemed poignant to me as I made the biggest decision of my life. I was about to move away from the only place I’ve ever known, the people I’ve spent so many years getting in and out of trouble with, having good times, great times, and tough times. I was leaving my actual family and all of the people who had become family.
I heard my grandmother cry and say this might be the last time we ever see each other. I watched my grandfather rush back into the house rather than cry in front of me. I tried to hold back tears watching my sister leave walk away wiping tears off her cheek. I cried and held my mother in the kitchen grateful that she wasn’t able to see me off because I didn’t know if I would actually be able get on the road.
Good byes have never been so tough.
I will never forget my last night with my friends. Finally understanding how close we had all become and how important they all were to me. But even more shocking was how much they were going to miss me. I never really appreciated my own place in the group dynamic and that the emotions I was feeling were shared by so many other people in my life. Every moment of that night was an awakening and an emotional struggle.
I hate good byes.
But…there are things that happen in your life that are completely unexpected and force you out of your comfort zone. Circumstances push you to grow as person, to experience a part of yourself that you might not have realized existed. The most obvious of these is falling in love and, being a romantic, once that happened to me there was only one goal in my mind. I had to be with the person I love, any place without her would feel incomplete.
I miss everyone back East and that will never change. Yet, as I drove 2600 miles through the heart of this immense country racing to be with the woman I love, I realized I was carrying my friends, my family, and my Home with me. I will always be a Mass-hole, New England will always be at the essence of who I am no matter where I live, and nothing that happens in the future will change that.
So…When I finally pulled into the driveway in Phoenix, grateful to be off the long road (I’ll have more about the actual trip itself in a later post), and I wrapped my arms around the reason for my move there was only one thing I could think to say,
Real Salt Lake is the best team in MLS. Their record is impeccable (such as knocking off the Revolution with a ‘B’ squad) and they play with a style that Real Madrid could take a few lessons from. There is no question they are the favorites to win MLS Cup this season along with New York and LA.
Unfortunately that wasn’t an MLS team on the field with them last night and when Jamison Olave fell asleep for just a minute and allowed Humberto Suazo to sneak past him the dream of every MLS fan died a painful 45-minute death. The goal started after another giveaway by star forward Alvaro Saborio who had an absolute shocker and made some touches that I would be mad about my Indoor Co-ed Rec League teammates making.
As much fun as it is to watch Will Johnson play there is a streak of Sunday morning Rec League about him too. He never stops working and he can pop up anywhere, but he has no sense of position. He and Robbie Russell made great plays throughout the first half but always looked as though they would follow the ball into the bathroom if that’s where a Monterrey player took it. How many times did Andy Williams and Will Johnson streak across your screen as they tried desperately to get back into position?
This is where RSL missed Kyle Beckerman. They missed his positional sense, his calmness, and his ability to move the ball forward without losing the initial midfield shape. He finds the forwards, Javier Morales, and whoever starts on the right wing without leaving big gaps anywhere on the field. Last night the opposite was true and despite heroic effort RSL never really got themselves in spots to put the ball into the box to someone’s foot. Everything looked congested and mostly lost.
Taylor Twellman made essentially the same point last night when he argued that RSL missed the chance to play the ball out wide and to attack a massed defense, especially in the 2nd half, at their weakest point. I wonder if this was something Jason Kreis planned or if it was just the style that Williams and Johnson chose. Either way, until late in the game when Monterrey parked the bus, it pinned the 2 outside backs in their own half because there was no cover if they charged forward.
RSL showed unbelievable stores of energy, strength, and talent but they picked the wrong day for some of their stars to have horrible performances (Saborio, Williams, and Alvarez most notably). Monterrey defended well and played as everyone expected with the diving, the time wasting, and the theatrics, but in the end they took their one chance and, as seems to always be the case with American soccer teams, RSL missed.
After last night my disappointment level with American soccer is at an all-time high (Clint Dempsey’s great but 2 goals in a meaningless game don’t take the bitter taste out of my mouth). Judging by an SI article from Grant Wahl and the general response on Twitter to last night’s game I’m not alone.
Real Salt Lake was so close. On the verge of sending an MLS team to Japan for the FIFA Club World Cup, on the verge of beating a Mexican team over two legs to win an important regional title, and on the verge of giving MLS fans the opportunity to watch them take on Manchester United or Barcelona but they came up short.
It feels as though we’ve read this script before at the World Cup, Copa America, and Confederations Cup (except for the big win over Spain which will always make that tournament a mostly happy memory). There are always opportunities for American soccer to push themselves to the next level, the international level, the “You have to pay attention to me now!” level, and unlike Americans in just about every other sport, our soccer teams always disappoint (see Freddy Adu and 2011 U-20’s).
Yet until one of our teams exceeds expectations there won’t be the effort on the part of the “Worldwide Leader” to air the games, show the highlights, or treat it with any more respect than they treat curling. But... rather than just being mad at the lack of coverage it’s time for our teams to DEMAND it. The only way to demand it?
When I’m watching a Man U game on TV I like to be alone in my room where I can yell and gesticulate and generally be as obnoxious as possible without worrying about aggravating anyone (or embarrassing myself). Otherwise I want to be with other Man U fans who feel the same way I do when everything is going to hell.
So…suffice it to say that watching a game on mute while lying next to a sleeping girlfriend in a Boston hotel room isn’t the ideal atmosphere. Especially when Sir Alex insists on sending out a team that would struggle in a Carling Cup game (I’m looking at you Gibson) let alone an important early April game against a team that has had our number the past few seasons and while all of our title challengers are nipping at our heels.
(Please excuse the use of “our” or “we” as though wearing my replica Rooney jersey somehow puts me on the Man U payroll, but I am one of those kind of fans. I am also on the Red Sox and the Celtics and University of Michigan football team if you’re wondering.)
After the 2nd Noble penalty found its way to the back of the net my frustration was at an all-time high and all I could do was silently curse the world, curse the fact that I really like Green Street Hooligans, that I bought my dad that West Ham jersey and that I was stuck in that room. So I gave up. I shut the game off and rolled over and put my arm around my girlfriend and tried to go back to sleep and forget about those damn Hammers fans singing that stupid song.
This might seem like maturity. I could’ve (and have in the past) started throwing things and ranting and raving and let my whole day be ruined by the bad bounces and pre-Champions League stumbles of the “most hated team in Britain”.
But it wasn’t maturity. It was petulance. I was being a spoiled brat who gives up as soon as my team comes under pressure. Instead of hanging around to watch another fantastic Man U comeback (3rd time this season they have comeback from 2-0 down at half) and a hat trick from my favorite, vocabulary-challenged, player I quit Instead of having faith in a team that is renowned for its ability to overcome adversity and the likelihood for relegation-threatened West Ham to collapse, I stopped believing.
Part of me is superstitious enough that I actually thought if I just shut off the TV then it would increase the chances of something amazing happening, simply because I wasn’t watching. But I would be lying if I claimed it was anything other than I just didn’t believe.
I don’t know where the skepticism comes from although maybe rooting for the Red Sox my whole life hasn’t helped. Maybe New Englanders with our Calvinist love of struggle, hardship, and Blue Laws makes us all overly negative? The inferiority complex of Bostonians trickling down into my fandom? Or maybe I’m just a miserable bastard, who knows? My girlfriend will watch her team right to the end believing they will make the miracle comeback, my team gives up a goal 1 minute in to the season and I’ve just given up all title hopes.
When the game was over and I was walking across the street to get some breakfast I couldn’t help but look at the results and fist-pump my way through an intersection (getting a few strange looks in the process) and believed that my decision to shut off the TV had been the impetus for my team to push on and get the win. Such is being a fickle fan, we all have our ways to influence the games, even if mine is simply to lack faith and give up. We all have to do our part!
