Trying your best

I played in a three on three basketball tournament a few weeks ago that was part of the "Blues Heritage" festival that Jackson has every year. I've never played in a three on three tournament before, so I wasn't sure what to expect. I played in a couple of five on five tournaments this year and our team finished right in the middle of the pack both times. These were pretty competitive teams in the five on five tournaments, so middle of the pack wasn't that bad.

When I got to the 3 on 3 tournament, I found out that our team was in the over 30 bracket with only two other teams. Two other teams??!!! Are you serious? How can you have a tournament with three teams? And I'm only twenty-six...granted two other players on my team were thirty or older. There's something about the human body when it starts getting older. A lot of mass is added and you get "grown man strong" for lack of a better term. I'm not there yet. I work out and exercise, but I don't have a lot of mass (and don't care for any) and barely weigh 200 pounds. I saw some of these guys we were going to play and they outweighed me by 20 pounds. Now that would be no problem in a full court game, but 3 on 3 is half court, so it's not like I could run them to death. I was getting prepared to get knocked around a lot.

And I did get knocked around...I was actually fouled twelve straight times in one game by this guy who was either doing it on purpose or was the worst basketball player I've ever played against. It was probably a little of both. We ended up winning three straight games to win the tournament and won them fairly easily, but that was after I had to sit out for bad sportsmanship and throwing an elbow. In my defense, it's hard to keep your cool when you're getting hit every single play. The only thing I kept saying was, "This is not basketball." They had to make a rule before the championship game that each player could only foul five times. Makes sense.

A lot of people think they can play basketball and a lot of those people can't. I'm not saying I'm great. I can't jump that high, I'm not that quick and I'm an average shooter at best. I have decent post moves, I can rebound well and I like to play physical, but for the most part, I know how to play the game. I know where to be in situations, where to pass, where to dribble on fast breaks, when to cut, etc. I understand the right way to play the game. I don't foul everytime because I know how to play decent defense. After I had been fouled for the 8th straight time and said a few words to this guy, his teammate said, "Hey, he's trying his best." I think that phrase is used as a cop out too many times in our society. I could try my best at flying a plane, but I could never get a job as a pilot. I could try my best at computer programming, but a computer would never get programmed. Trying your best is a great start, but there has to be knowledge of what you're trying your best at. It's a combination of effort and intelligence and ability. I don't ever want to just try my best. I want to know what I'm trying my best at, and hopefully, I'll be successful at whatever that is...not just because I'm trying my best, but because I have a desire to be excellent.

From the Vault - June 28, 2006

The random pic I chose today was taken two years ago at my friend, Justin's, wedding shower. I've known Justin since around the fifth or sixth grade when he wore cool lines shaved in the side of his head and a William "Refigerator" Perry jersey. See, Justin's last name is also Perry, so it just fit.

Justin and I have played many sporting events with and against each other and have also had our share of disagreements over said sporting events. We've been on many road trips including Arlington, TX (where Justin fell asleep driving and I got a speeding ticket that turned into a warrant for my arrest), Boma, TN (not many people know about that one), and Irving, TX for a week long mission trip where we attended something called a "Rainbow Youth Rally"...and, no, it was not an outreach event geared toward the young homosexual community in Irving. Justin and I were interns under our youth minister during the winter of 2000. We actually had our own offices and would visit schools trying to get students to come to our youth program. We had our office sponge painted the colors of the schools that we would visit, but I could've thrown up in a bucket, splashed around the room a little, and it probably would've looked close to the same as the sponge paint. Regardless, I don't think I've ever laughed that much and that hard in one given month in my whole life. There are a few quotes from that month that only Justin will get, so as an homage to him I will include them here: "Come and getcha love" and "Stong woman". Not funny to anyone else, but he knows.

In the picture above, Justin and I are at his wedding shower in July of 2004. He married Jackie in September of that year and they are currently in seminary in Wake Forest, NC. Justin is going to school to be a pastor and from what I read in his emails, he has grown into a great man. After I graduated from college, Justin and I didn't see each other as much. He had one year left and then moved to Memphis. I don't think I've seen him since his wedding and that's a little weird. I've never thought about it until now. Justin were as different as two people can be. We did have some similarities, but we were always a healthy contrast to one another. At times those differences could grate against each other and make for some tense moments that probably lasted longer than they should have, but are easily laughed at now. This picture was the last time I saw Justin in a "non" formal setting (his wedding). We still keep in touch and, probably, always will. A lot of things seem like a lifetime ago, but can still be around when you want them to be.

From the Vault

I've never liked Tuesdays. I'm not sure why, but they've always been my least favorite day of the week. So, I've decided that every Tuesday I will randomly pick an old picture out of this tupperware box I have sitting on my closet shelf in my office and blog about it.

This picture was taken in May of 1997 at my high school graduation. I graduated in a large class...about 450 students. These are my parents standing with me. My dad, Bobby, and my mom, Nancy. We all look a lot different today than we did then. To be honest, I don't remember much about my graduation ceremony. My school didn't have what you would call a "formal" ceremony. A lot of cheering and whooping...some gang signs flashed as some students received their diplomas. You know, a typical graduation. I distinctly remember wanting to get out of there fast because I had a baseball game to play that night and I remember that night at our "project graduation" I won a K-mart gift certificate (which I used for flip-flops) and a "Shoe Carnival" t-shirt that said "I shopped at Shoe Carnival and lived." Whatever that means.

My senior year was pretty good. It wasn't great or special or anything. I have a feeling most people would say that the older they get the events that happen in the five to six years after graduation tend to dwarf the "senior year experience." We did have a new principal my senior year who was absolutely Terrible! (terrible with a capital "T") He became more of a punch line by the end of the year and our principal from the previous three years actually ended up handing our diplomas to us on graduation night. I can remember being a bit self conscious because most of my friends were graduating with honors and had "honor cords" and tassles and a bunch of stuff that's probably in an attic somewhere now and I had a plain green graduation gown with a yellow tassel. I graduated almost right in the middle of my class. A startling 2.4 gpa. I wasn't blessed with the best work ethic my first 19 years of life.

We have our ten year reunion coming up next year. I only keep in touch with about five or six people from my senior class. It'll be fun, I guess to go and show how much I've changed since then. I've kept myself up pretty well and I'm willing to bet that most of my other classmates haven't. Other than that, I guess I want to leave high school in that picture. My last time on that campus, posing for a picture with my parents. My best years (like most people) have come after that night.

Prime

After writing my Brett Favre blog last night, I started thinking about other people I like watching perfrom, whether they're athletes or musicians or actors. See people like that, who are on "stage" in front of millions of people every year, they have their "primes". Those times when they seem untouchable and their ceiling for greatness in limitless. Those times when everyone talks about how these people will change the respective business of which they are a part. In these "primes", these people are clearly five or six notches above your average person. They carry themselves differently, they do things that only the smallest percentage of society can do. People say athletes are overpaid and maybe they are. Same with musicians and actors, but tell me how many average people can do what they do. None. These people are special. I will say, however, that we (as a society) in the past twenty or so years have done a great job at making average/below average actors and musicians seem great. Sadly, people with only minimal talent (see Toby Keith or almost any other country music artist on the radio today) are making the most money. Alas, that is another blog in and of itself. This one is about five people who have or had unspeakable talent and were at the top of their industry at one point. These are the people I would love to go back in time and watch:

1. Brett Favre - Green Bay Packers Quarterback - 1995 - Why this year? This was the year he won his first MVP award and even though the Packers did not go to the Super Bowl that year anyone could see that it was just a matter of time before they were there. He was still young enough to throw his body and his arm 100% into every play. He played and lived with a lot of rebellion. Truly a gunslinger.

2. Will Clark - San Francisisco Giants First Baseman - 1989 - As a 25 year old, cocky, brash player, he took the Giants to the World Series and set a record for play-off batting average that still stands today. I'll never forget (as a 9 year old) watching him get the game winning hit off Mitch Williams on an October afternoon. I was hooked. His eye black was smeared like war paint and the camera shook because the fans were so loud. No one doubted he would get the winning hit...it was a given. Clark retired in 2000 after making one more play-off push with the St. Louis Cardinals and leading them to the National League Championship after taking over for Mark McGwire. He hit .345 with 12 homeruns and 45 RBI's in only two months. Average those totals over a full season and they would stand with anyone's best year.

3. Adam Duritz - lead singer for Counting Crows - 1996 - After releasing their first album in 1993, Rolling Stone compared Duritz to a young Van Morrison with the songwriting ability of Dylan and Springsteen. After touring two years straight, Duritz folded under the pressure and went into a state of depression. After facing his fears of being in the spotlight, he and the band released "Recovering the Sattelites", an angry, noisy album completely different from the previous album that garnered so much praise. RTS was full of angst and doubt and was probably their best album overall. Today Counting Crows are still touring, but seem to be on their last leg. Duritz had another bout with depression and has gained a lot of weight. They haven't released an original studio album since 2002.

4. Mel Gibson - 1994 - It's hard to remember the initial feeling you get when you see something great for the first time. I've seen Braveheart at least ten times and each time I know I'm watching something great. I would love to see Braveheart again for the first time in a movie theater and ride the emotion of it from the beginning to the end. It's a shame what Hollywood has done to him after he made "The Passion of the Christ". That movie, itself, was another one I would love to see again for the first time.

5. John Irving - author - 1978 - The year he released "The World According Garp", his signature novel. I would love to have started reading him then and waiting impateintly for his next novel and next novel and next novel. Too bad I wasn't born until a year later. After reading "Garp" you knew he would have many more great books on their way. I would've loved to have taken the ride. To wait and see how the next novel would be. I've been able to the next best thing and just read them all at once. After "Garp", Irving wrote "The Hotel New Hampshire", "The Cider House Rules", "A Prayer for Owen Meany", and "A Widow for One Year". What a streak of novels! I have read all of these except for "The Cider House Rules" and they are all great pieces of literature full of every emotion imaginable. I have not read his latest release which was in November of last year, but it's hard imagine it will top the other ones I have read.

Endings are always sad

I just finished watching a Brett Favre press conference. He's starting his 16th year in the league and for the last few years it's been up in the air as to whether or not he would return. Last year, Green Bay had its first losing season in 14 years...or in other words, since Brett Favre took over the quarterback position in 1992. In that time he won three consecutive MVP awards (which had never been done and still hasn't been done), he led the Packers to two Super Bowl apperances (97-98) and won one of them, he broke the record for most consecutive games started by a quarterback, and is 26 touchdown passes away from breaking Dan Marino's career record.

In a weird way Brett Favre has been a fixture in my life for the last 13 years. He's been my favorite player since 1993 and every fall I would watch the Packers play when they were on television. I can remember when they beat Detroit in the play-offs in 93 when Favre threw a 60 yard touchdown pass to Sterling Sharpe to win the game. I can remember on hall-o-ween night in 1994 when all of my friends were going to a party, I stayed home to watch the Bears and Packers on Monday night football. On New Year's Eve of that same year, I stayed home to watch Green Bay shut down Barry Sanders in the first round of the play-offs. I remember Thanksgiving of that year, driving to Lexington to visit my father's parents' graves and carrying a portable/adaptable television in the car so I could watch Dallas and Green Bay. And like so many other times in the early/mid 90's, the Cowboys stomped the Packers. I remember in 1995 (the first year Favre won the MVP) watching Green Bay's first game of the season from a motel room in Arlington, TX because I was watching my other favorite athlete (Will Clark) play baseball that week-end for the Texas Rangers. I can still picture my living room crowded with me and four of my friends in January of 1996 when the Packers dismantled the 49'ers in San Francisisco to make it to the NFC champioship game. I remember that victory was especially sweet because we were all snowed in at my house and hadn't been to school in three days. I can also remember that next week, going to early church to get home in time for the pre-game show for the NFC championship and how disgusted I felt when Dallas, once again, destroyed the Pack. I'm still standing in my living room that summer day in 1996 when Brett Favre addressed the media after coming out of rehab for addiction to pain killers and a struggle with alcohol. I can rememeber my mother commenting to my dad that she wished he would quit drinking, too. And my dad (without a pause) saying, "If you looked his wife, I probably would." I remember that season and a 13-3 record and second MVP for Favre. I remember being congratulated, like I was on the team or something, when the Packers beat Carolina to go to the Super Bowl. All my friends were shaking my hand and patting me on the back because they knew that team and that player were somehow a part of me. I was at a church Super Bowl party (against my wishes) the night Green Bay and Reggie White sacked New England to win back the Lombardi trophy. I spent the entire game by myself upstairs away from everyone else, so I could watch it in peace. And high school was over.

I can still see my dorm room in college in November of 97 when Green Bay was finally getting their revenge against the damn Cowboys. And how I kept putting off going on a blind date that afternoon with my future wife until I was sure the game was out of reach. I can remember Favre butting heads with Warren Sapp and grabbing linebacker's face masks, afraid of nothing. I can see the pass fall short to Chumra to end the chances for a second Super Bowl win. And I'll never forget watching John Elway helicopter into the endzone like a flying horse. They showed that replay too much. In 98, when the team wasn't quite the same, I watched them lose to Detroit on a Thursday night from my bed in my dorm room. Favre threw two picks. They were able to win a wild card slot that year and the day they played their first round game my girlfriend (now my wife) and I watched in horror as Terrell Owens (who had dropped about five balls that day) caught a pass over the middle from Steve Young as time expired, then took a vicsious hit from the Packers' safety, Darren Sharper and still held on to the ball. Game over. Season over. Coach Holmgren to Seattle.

I got engaged the follwing May and the Pack hired Ray Rhodes for one disappointing season. I got married in 2000 and the Pack improved, but not enough, but I still remember Favre throwing a game ending touchdown to Antonio Freeman against the Vikings on Monday night football. No play-offs for the second straight year. A little improvement (and retribution) in 2001 as I started my first real job out of college as a social worker. My partner was a big Redskins fan and the Monday night game after the 9/11 tragedy saw the Packers whip the 'Skins. I had a lot to say the next day at work. I watched Mike McKenzie thwart another T.O. touchdown catch as the Pack won their first play-off game since their Super Bowl season in 97, only to get embarassed by the Super Bowl bound Rams the next week. Favre threw six picks and talked about retiring. A great regular season in 2002 collapsed as Mike Vick and the Falcons walked all over the Pack at Lambeau. I had a paper route that Christmas break and every morning I would get up at 1:30 a.m. and start my route and there was one house with a Packers' flag and I would always know that they would be watching that Saturday night. And they watched Favre get bested by Mike Vick. In 2003, I was working at the same job I have today, teaching school. I put Brett Favre posters and jerseys on the walls in my room/office. That year my dad and I went to St. Louis to watch him play in person for the first time. They lost and Favre broke his finger. I can remember watching MNF that December at my uncle's house with my entire family the night after Favre found out his father died. I still see him hurling the ball like he was trying to physically release his grief and pain. And my family celebrating (even though they weren't Packer fans) and delaying the opening of gifts so we could watch that magical first half. And the next week driving through the Smoky Mountains on the way to the Dixie Stampede with my wife's family, I made her drive so I could watch the game on another portable/adaptable tv. I watched the packers dismantle the Broncos in a game they had to win to make the play-offs while my wife and all of her family made the family picture without me. I remember getting up at least ten times that night and borrowing my sister-in-law's phone to call my dad every ten minutes to get an update on the Vikings' game and the feeling I got when I found out they lost and the Pack were going to play-offs. The next week and the overtime win against Seattle...more calls of congratualtions to me, like I was on the team. And then the next week, in what was the worst experience I've ever had watching a sporting event. Watching Favre throw the ball wildly into the air and seeing it land the arms of an Eagles' safety setting up the game winning field goal. A season that was thought to be destined, pre-arranged, or "heavenly helped" came crashing down. The next year watching the Pack start 1-4 only to come back and win the division on Christmas Eve in Minnesota. And me, having a wreck on the icy roads trying to get to my parents' house to watch the game because my in-laws were in town. And then last year, the first losing season, Favre showing his age, my friend and I driving to Cincinnatti on my birthday only to see Brett throw six picks and Green Bay fall short. And remembering the feeling this past April when he said he's coming back for one more year.

I have always been loyal (probably to a fault) to people I care about, whether I know them or not. They become a part of me and carve a place into a certain time of my life. They are connected to certain places and certain times. So a person who is connected to those places and those times becomes something bigger. They become a representation of something else. And when they leave or fall out of sight then a door shuts on that time they were here. As I was watching Favre's press conference today, it occured to me that I have grown from a child to a man and the whole time sports was a backdrop. Brett Favre and the Packers have been around for milestone achievements in my life: high school, high school graduation, college, engagement, marriage, college graduation, adulthood. I know this sounds like a little much and I don't mean that Brett Favre has been a huge influence in my life because he hasn't. I don't know the man. I do know, though, that the one constant in all of these changes has been Sunday afternoons in the fall. I know that. And if nothing else, it's neat to know that someone you admire is still doing what they were doing when you were barely a teen-ager.

I like things that have beginnings and endings. I guess that's why I'm a school teacher. I like definite book ends on things. That's why I've always been loyal to players and not teams. I will still be a Packers' fan when Brett Favre finally retires. But when his chapter closes, it will be the last common factor that ties certain events in my life together. Beginnings are great because things are new and you don't really know how it's going to turn out, the middle in this case was awesome (two super bowls, three mvp's) and endings are always sad. They just are. If it ends the way it should, it's sad because it's over. If it ends the way it shouldn't, it's sad because it didn't end well. This is the ending and it's sad. "The price of a memory is the memory of the sorrow it brings."

Mr. Brady

I had never had a dog growing up. Well, never had a dog for very long. We took in a stray once, named him/her "Star" and then we had to give it back the next day. I grew up with cats. I know it's not a very masculine animal, but we had them and as I got older I would bring stray cats home and they would stay. By the time I graduated high school, we had Beavis (acquired in 1995), Hope (acquired in 1996) and Whitey (acquired in 1989). Two of the three are still alive...Whitey has moved on. I never really wanted a dog. It's not that I didn't like them, just never wanted one. I got my first dog in the fall of 2002 and named him Brady.

At the time, my wife was working 12 hour shifts on the oncology floor at the hospital. It was an emotionally exhausting job. I remember that she would come home at 7:00 at night and just crash on the couch. Luckily, she only worked three days a week, but the job was getting to her and had beat her down pretty good. I thought it would be a great idea to surprise her with a new puppy. I asked the lady what breed the dogs were and she had no idea...she just knew the mom was a lab. They all looked like labs in the face and they were all golden. I picked the smallest one because we were renting a house then and had no fence around our backyard. I picked up Brady that night and had home and in the bathroom before Davina got home. I told her to go open the door and see what was in there. Initially, she wanted to take him back, but that night she ended up sleeping with him on the couch. In a moment of foreshadowing, he peed on her in the middle of the night. This is the Mr. Brady that we would come to know.

We moved into a new house in March of the following year and while Mr. Brady's body had grown longer and his head had grown bigger, his legs had hardly grown at all. We waited and waited for him to grow, but he only stayed in limbo between a full grown lab and a puppy. Mr. Brady enjoyed his new home and I would let him swim in the pond in our neighborhood in the afternoons. On a trip to the vet that spring we discovered the shocking truth: Mr. Brady was mix of dotson and lab. How these two breeds of dogs managed to physically pro-create is beyond my imaginiation. Many times I have tried to work out the logistics behind this mystery and I cannot wrap my mind around it. Mr. Brady was a half-breed and by this time behavior bordered on insane.

Over the next couple of years things got a little busy. I didn't walk him as much, but we would still let him in the house when we decorated the Christmas tree every year. He liked that, I think. During this time, Mr.Brady developed what weather.com calls "thunder phobia". Basically, he is insanely scared of storms. This is probably due to the fact that he has been outside during two tornadoes. Davina and I were both locked down at work and couldn't get home to let him in the house. Regardless, everytime it thunders Mr. Brady will hurl himself at the back door like a linebacker diving for a tailback. It's such an awful thud that we always end up putting him in the garage. This past August Mr. Brady decided he was too special not to be able to pass his genetic make-up on to another unfortunate mutt, so he bit and dug his way through our fence. We called the vet to get an appointment to get him fixed, but the next appointment was more than a week away. We poured quickcrete concrete in the hole where he dug out. We flipped the boards, so he no longer could squeeze through the hole in the fence that he had eaten through. Still, he struggled. He had scratched up his paws and legs. And, yes, he did manage to get out. A week later, he was fixed and settled down quite a bit.

In December of this past year, I decided Mr. Brady needed someone new to play with, so I went to the local humane society and purchased Nacoma. A husky, pit bull, and some other things mix. She is a whole other story that I will tell later. In short, they get along great and even though they don't know it, they are getting ready for another move to our new house at the end of the month.

Last night, Mr. Brady slept in the garage because it was lightning outside. Nacoma whined and whined because he wasn't outside. And sometimes, when I want to get strange looks, I will take Mr. Brady to the high school soccer games or football games. Some kids say he's cute, some kids say he's ugly, some smaller kids are simply scared of him. The high school kids in my class tell me he's the ugliest dog they've ever seen and he might be. He's been a pain in the ass more times than not and to be honest I can't really find a redeemable quality about him. The only good thing about him is that I've never seen any other animal that looks like him. He is one of a kind on every level.

Pool Boy

I have always had a knack for having things happen to me that make great stories to tell. Some of these things are a result of choices I make and some of them just happen. Hopefully, over the summer, I can share some of these.

Last week I was officially certified as a Red Cross lifeguard. This summer I will be lifeguard at the Jackson Country Club. The only thing halfway strange about this is that I am 26 and married. See, lifeguarding would've been a pretty cool job to have when I was, say, 18 or 19...but 26 could border on creepy. The advantages of lifeguarding for a 19 year old male are seemingly endless. Free tan, no heavy manual labor, lots of girls, etc...for a 26 year old married man the advantage is this: a summer job/paycheck.

Many of the students I teach have asked me this question: "Why are you lifeguarding this summer? Don't you get paid from school?" The answer is "yes, I get paid and I'm not sure why I'm lifeguarding...it sounded like a good idea at first". Yesterday I went to the pool to turn in my paperwork and get a crash course on the filtering system, pool vac, and chemical changing. Our filter system is pretty shot so it kicks out sand at the left side of the shallow end of the pool. The pool vac is attached to a 20 foot tall pole that is pieced together with duct tape and other fine material. The pool manager asked me to vacuum some in the pool so that I could get the hang of it. Do you ever get a sense of how someone sees you when you're performing a task or doing some physical activity? I hardly ever think of how people see me, but yesterday as I had the pool vac rolling furiously on the bottom of the pool and as I wrestled with that pole that kept falling apart each time I pulled back on it, I had a clear vision of who I was at that moment: I was the "pool boy". I was wearing a t-shirt that was black with white letters saying "New Jersey" on the left side of the front of the shirt and on the back was written in red cursive "Lovin' " and in white capitalized print "Jersey". I just recently shaved my head completely (razor and all) and my scalp had about four days growth on the top and my face matched it except for the black goatee that hadn't been trimmed in a few weeks. In short, I looked like a dock worker on the eastern seaboard. I'm quite sure I made a great impression on the aristocrats at the Country Club. But hey, sometimes there are sacrifices for a paycheck...like a free tan, no manual labor, and, of course, cleaning the pool.