Bouncing Back (and a Reborn Longing)

I am one sore puppy today. My back, my knees, my hammies, everything is sore. I am happy to report that it was completely worth it.

Had our first hoops game of the new season last night at 10pm - and yes, playing a game that starts at 10pm stinks on many levels. My squad was short-handed, and an unnamed teammate fell asleep at 9:30, leaving us with 4 regulars and an emergency sub. We were playing a very good young team, and things looked bleak when my first two shots were unceremoniously, yet ferociously, blocked. To make matters worse, the star of the other team was none other than our arch-rival, El Douchebag, formerly of the squad that knocked us out of the playoffs last season. A funny thing happened on the way to the blow-out. We actually played very well. We fell behind a handful of times from anywhere between 8 and 12 points, and clawed back into the game every time. We didn't have enough juice to finish the job though. In fact, the other team had no less than 7 four-on-one and three-on-none dashes to the basket. Damn them and their young legs. However, I had my best game in ages. Scorekeeper said I had either 23 or 25 points - my best output in at least 2+ seasons. I rebounded fairly decently and made some nice passes for baskets. We ended up losing by 10 (give or take a point), but we definitely stamped ourselves as a team to contend with this season. Not bad for three older big guys, a point guard with a turned ankle and an emergency sub who had never played an organized game in his life. As Hugh Douglas used to say "confidence levels are high".

Stayed in the parking lot after the game jibber-jabbering, and the conversation turned from hoops to hockey. A conversation from a recent game at the old hockey rink that involved me made me realize for the first time how much I truly missed playing. It felt good to hear ex-teammates express (even second or third-hand) that they missed having me around. I was never a great player, even though I played non-stop for the better part of 9 years or so. In the lower-levels I was better-than-average, the middle levels I was okay, and in the upper-levels I had to work very hard to not be a liability to some of my teams. I brought other things to the table though, and I tended to have my moments where I was able to shine some. I was almost always a captain, and I was a pretty good leader in that capacity. One thing I always prided myself on was that I, and my teams, always looked out for one another. Guys on my teams always knew that if someone took a shot at them, I was going to be there to back them up. And, though I had to clean up my act as I took on a larger role at the facility over the years, my guys still knew that I had their backs, and my opponents knew that I would protect my teammates. The (paraphrased) "I wish Vince were still here playing with us" that was relayed to me was touching. Hearing the stories about playoff games and unnecessarily physical and dangerous acts by guys I would be playing against now made me pine for playing again. But alas, the stunt I pulled at the last job means that I might never play up there again. I was awash in regret for a short time last night, but it almost completely drained from me when I popped my head in The Man Zachary's room to check on him when I got home. I do miss playing, a lot. But I wonder how eager I would be to get into a cross-checking match with someone with the little guy waiting at home for me. Bah. I'd still be in the middle of all of it, who am I kidding?

Had a very interesting week since my last entry. The baby seemed to bounce back from his illnesses somewhat after he got onto his meds, so we decided to hit the beach for the weekend. The Man Zachary is a beach-lovin' fool. I have been checking the mail daily since coming home waiting for a fine from the Ocean City beach authorities for excess contribution to beach erosion. The Man Zachary likes to eat sand. Lots of sand. He would take a handful of sand, put it in his mouth, make raspberries to spit most of it out, grab another handful - and repeat. I was told to stop being the overprotective Dad and that this was normal. I don't know. He also tried to cruise into the ocean for his first swim. We had him on the ground in the wet sand and he crawled as fast as I have ever seen him straight towards the surf. It was awesome! Only a last-second save kept him from his first wave-in-the-face wipeout. We took zachary for his first-ever bike ride, and he seemed to enjoy it. Zachary loved the boardwalk, and at one point tried to wave to each and every passer-by (speaking of which, when did 13 and 14 year-olds start dressing like street-walkers? And why wasn't this the case when I was 14 and 15?). Sociable kid, my son.

It would have been a near-perfect weekend if not for my wife's desire to get home to get some work done on Monday. So, we left O.C. at 9:40pm on Sunday night expecting to fly home. Ooops. We hit the bumper-to-bumper crawl a quarter-mile into the Garden State Parkway. Took over 3 hours to get home. I was not a happy camper. Captain Jack Cranky was more like it.

[Currently Listening: African Head Charge - "The More We Are Together"]

Sick Kid Takes Precedence

Sleep deprivation has never bothered me less. Current events and other life annoyances that would normally send me into a ranting frenzy (items include my recent poker slump; idiotic unsafe drivers and a near road-rage incident of mine on Friday night - I believe I made a man crap his pants; the ridiculous costs of being in someone's wedding - especially for women; the unrelenting deluge of Barbaro coverage, etc.) have had to be back-burnered since late Sunday night. The Man Zachary has been a sick little guy, and it has been affecting me in ways I never thought possible.

Zachary has some sort of gonnecoculous nightmare that got into his chest sometime Sunday. Whatever he caught, it makes him hoarse - to the point that he can't cry or make his usual noises. His cough is pretty rough, and you can tell that it hurts him. He is having a tough time getting his breath, which in turn has caused him to really struggle at night. Sunday night and Monday night were rough, as he did not sleep for longer than an hour. Yesterday, whatever he has seems to have spread to his eye, as he woke up from his nap with his left eye swollen shut. Needless to say, Kim and I are pretty worried, and sleep deprived. This morning he was making horrid gagging noises as the congestion and build-up were overwhelming him. It was heartbreaking. I felt SO helpless. I just wanted to hold him and absorb his sickness into myself.

After his early-week doctor's appointment, it was determined Zachary has bronchiolitis (or infant asthma). The eye issues are from his 4th set of double ear infections. The doctor said on Monday that his ears looked perfect, but it does not take long for the ear infections to develop. He seems to be a lot better this morning (Friday), and I'm keeping my fingers crossed that some salt air this weekend will do him some good.

All of this has made me spend a lot of tiem thinking about parents and families with REALLY sick children. If The Man being sick has me tied up in knots like this, what about the people who have lost children to illness or accidents? I met a very nice neighbor of ours in the last few weeks. His name is Don. Don is married and has two daughters. A little over a week ago, Don's daughters (one college aged, one a 5th grader) were hit head-on somewhere near our development. The younger daughter has been in intensive care, undergoing multiple surgeries with some organs having to be removed. I have no idea how I would handle something like this. I am a strong person, but I could totally see myself crumbling if anything ever happened to my little guy.

[Currently Listening: T'Pau - "Heart and Soul"]

Exuberance

"Back up, back up is what you get. Beat up, keyed up this rocky road" - The Transplants - "Sad But True"

As I drove back to work from picking up lunch earlier today, I found myself overcome by a feeling of nigh-giddiness. It felt as though a wave of euphoria washed over me as I bopped along to "Sad But True" by The Transplants. It should be noted that this is not a happy song by any means. It is about missing the dearly departed, and it usually hits me pretty hard when I listen to it. It wasn't the song that triggered my happiness.

I am still fat, still uber-dissatisfied with my professional lot in life, my family (parents, sibs, etc.) is still struggling and my basketball team for next season isn't working out quite like I had hoped. My trip to the dermatologist Saturday morning is causing me some discomfort, and one of my cats is apparently suffering from some serious indigestion. We are barely making it from month-to-month in paying the bills, and my car is making a scary clunking noise when I have the wheel turned at an extreme angle in either direction. Yet, with all of this going on, I was filled with happiness and a desire to try to love my fellow human being more than I have of late.

It dawned on me this morning that while I complain a lot about what I have done with my life, it isn't all bad. I have a great wife who is supportive - while I am sure she wishes she could trade me in for a more chore-intense spouse. Our son, The Man Zachary, amazes me every day. The kid is slamming the fast-forward button developmentally. He is crawling all over the place, standing and walking around furniture, and starting to make sounds that vary from the normal "dadadada" and "muhmuhmuhmuh".

I believe a lot of my happiness is stemming from the weekend. It was Kim's first Mother's Day, and I believe I did well by her. We had my parents, Gabby and Kim's Mom over for a cookout on Saturday evening and it was very nice. My parents behaved, and Gabby was awesome. We gave her a pair of soccer cleats that she loved, and she was awesome with Zachary. Gabby tested for kindergarten last week, and we have collectively worried how she would do - or if my sisters drug-infested pregnancy would finally rear its ugly head). She tested almost perfectly, and we are very proud of her. Maybe my Mom isn't doing as bad a job as I have feared.

As I said last week, work has gotten somewhat better. Again, I am not going to let it go to my head in case the pod people give us my boss back. That being said, I am handling all of the extra stuff he is giving me well, and I should be in a position of strength when I ask for more money. Should he chach me on my request, I know I'll have options. The peace of mind that options bring to the table is invaluable.

Another thing that hit me over the past week or so is how thankful I am that my friends and family stuck by me through the mess I got myself in a little over a year ago. The stunt I pulled was very, very stupid. Yet, even people close to the situation refused to turn on me. Perhaps I am not quite the scumbag I believe myself to be sometimes...

My wife told me last week that I was a "wonderful" father. I don't know about that. I will say that it choked me up and made me feel really good. No matter how much my screwing up in college set me back, or what issues I might have from childhood, or mistakes that I have made in recent years - I still have something to shoot for. I can keep striving to be a better father, husband, friend, son, uncle, neighbor...a better PERSON. I like to rant and rave about how messed up the world is, how people drive me crazy, about how unfair things are - but I am no better than everyone else trying to make their way through this nutty world. You know what? I have a lot to be happy about.

Then again, I haven't read the news yet today...

[Currently Listening: Pete Townshend - "Let My Love Open the Door"]

Watch What You Say

I spent the first chunk of this spring counting myself as very lucky. Reports from the news and from people at work, etc suggested that this had already been a hellish season for allergies. I have had a pretty rough go of allergy season since my mid-to-early twenties, so I have been happily surprised so far that I haven't had much in the way of allergy-related problems. I went through a couple of sniffly days here and there, but I wasn't even taking my allergy pill so far this season. This has made me fairly happy because not only are allergy pills expensive - but the medical report I read a few weeks ago suggesting a direct link between antihisthamine intake and brain tumors was most disturbing. Two Thursdays ago I made the mistake of telling a coworker that I was having a pain-free spring allergy-wise. Ooops. They started to hit me over the following weekend, and last week I was a total mess. I totally broke my rule concerning voicing things that will undoubtedly jinx me. So I guess I deserved dragging myself around all of last week like something out of a George Romero movie...

Yet another sign that The Man Zachary is not taking after me at all - the kid is a crawling machine! Just over 8 months old and he is lightning quick. Not his old man. I was 15 months before I walked, and my Mom still loves to tell everyone that I have been lazy since early on. "I'd sit him on the floor with his toys and 6 hours later he'd be in the same spot!". Some things never change. My wife tells similar stories about me today.

Had a fairly decent weekend. Friday night got to unexpectedly hang out with neighbor Bill and his son Alexander. Saturday was more of the same, as we went to a lacrosse game early in the day and returned to ye olde development for an impromptu cookout. Kim's friend brought her twin 5-year-olds over (Gavin and Carter - they rock), her niece (12) and her niece's friend. I took those four, plus Alexander (12) and neighbor John (13) to the playground for some half-court hoops. I had a blast, and I believe the kids did too. Rewarded myself at the cookout with 4 brats and a burger. Kim, the neighbors and I saw MI:3 that night, and while it may have been the loudest movie I have ever attended, it was pretty good. Sunday was supposed to be a "get things done around the house" day, but that never materialized. I have since recovered from the disappointment.

Hump day is over half over and if I were to re-read my first paragraph, I would not type what I am about to type. I am (so far) enjoying what is easily my best work week since taking this job last April. The boss has given me some new responsibilities, he is talking to me as though I am a human being, and he has even told me "good job" a couple of times. Someone pinch me. I am not letting this go to my head for a couple of reasons. One, it is not bound to last - no matter how much work-related butt I kick. Two, it will most likely be revealed shortly that the being impersonating my boss this week is in all actuality one of the pod people.

I am usually a very good gift-giver when it comes to my wife. With the sole exception of her birthday (February) this year, I can honestly say that I have been pretty kick-ass in this department. I can also honestly say that I am mind-numbingly stupified as to what to get her for her first Mother's Day. I refuse to do jewelry, and I would like to do something thoughtful and from the heart - but I am QUICKLY running out of time. Normally, I have a plan of attack for gifts, but I am at a total loss. I am so overwhelmed by this that I haven't even given a thought to what to get MY Mom. I need to get the ol' grey matter cranking, and soon.

[Currently Listening: T.I. - "What You Know"]

The Anti-Coatesy

I was very dissapointed in the manner with which my Philadelphia Flyers were dispatched from the playoffs by the Buffalo Sabres. The Flyers losing 7-1 at home in a playoff game is completely inexcusable. I have, however, been able to draw something positive from the early end to the Flyers postseason run: I will not have to listen to anymore ridiculous, idiotic, quasi-retarded rants by Flyers announcer Steve Coates, in particular his never-ending argument that the NHL would be safer if it did not punish fight instigators.

Steve Coates is a passionate announcer. He loves hockey, and he loves the Philadelphia Flyers. He is a throwback, a good soldier in the old-time-hockey army. The problem with "Coatesy" is he continues to hold on tightly to the ways of a bye gone era. I once loved a good hockey fight as much as any true orange-and-black-clad Flyers fan. However, as I have gotten older and more attuned to the actual goings-on in hockey games, the majority of hockey fights irritate me. 90% of hockey fights are one team's goon versus the other team's goon. Oh-so-often we will hear the announcers claim that the fight taking place between Goon-A and Goon-B is to settle an issue involving Player C, who cheap-shotted Player D. Huh? Come again?

Coatesy maintains that cheap-shots are on the rise because the NHL instituted a 5-minute instigation penalty for any player that tries to start a fight. The Coatesy logic is simple: if a player knows in the back of his mind that he will be challenged to a fight should he try to hurt another player, then that player will be more apt to behave. This logic IS simple. It is also flawed.

I played in a hockey league for 9 years, a league that imposes an automatic half-season suspension for any player that so much as throws a punch. As you may guess, there were very few full-blown fights in this league. There were also relatively few nasty cheap-shots in this league, a league in which there were very heated rivalries - teams and players that despised one another. What is it that kept the majority of players, even though there was genuine hatred between some of them, from attempting to injure other players? It was a mixture of strongly-enforced penalties for said acts combined with a fear of Old Testament justice. While fighting may be outlawed in the league, there was a double-dose of sanctions that always had to be kept in the back of our minds. First, any cheap shots that were caught by the referees were punsihable by penalties and suspensions. Secondly, the "eye for an eye" Old Testament theory was always in play. If you do something to someone else, chances are good that one of their teammates will, at some point, be looking to do that (or worse) unto you or one of your teammates.

Fighting in the NHL had just gotten silly. If (hypothetically, pre-lockout) Scott Stevens crushes Simon Gagne with a borderline cheap hit, and Ken Hitchcock sends out Donald Brashear - who ends up fighting Krzysztof Oliwa - who does that teach a lesson to? How does this fight make Scott Stevens think twice about burying the next Flyer unfortunate enough to be along the boards with their back turned? IT DOESN'T. But if Scott Stevens is assessed an intent to injure penalty and has to sit out 10 games while surrendering 10 game checks - THEN it becomes very unlikely that Mr. Stevens does anything similar in the future. Or, instead of sending Donald Brashear to fight Oliwa, perhaps he chases down Stevens, or better yet - Patrick Elias, and crushes him into the boards with all due prejudice - do you believe Stevens would make the same play again? Not likely.

Fighting in the NHL is as outdated as a large, slow-footed defesneman. Even pre-lockout, most teams did not carry a fighter on their playoff rosters. Why? Because playoff games are important, and teams need their best PLAYERS suited up. Not guys who provide a side-circus that has no bearing on a game whatsoever other than some crowd-fed momentum swing. The game is evolving, and positively so. Steve Coates would do well to evolve along with it.

[Currently Listening: Traveling Wilburys - "End of the Line"]