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Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Reflecting on World Cup, Wimbledon, and sports in general

One of the jobs I sandwiched between my teaching gigs was sportswriting and editing. To understand just what that meant to me at the time, you'd have to know that my dream job as I approached graduation from college was to be Sports Information Director at the University of Delaware. I had done stat work for the college radio station in both football and basketball, and I thought being the SID would be as close to perfect as I could get. But those jobs were and are scarce, and I found myself teaching - coaching lacrosse satisfied my sports hunger during those first years. When I found myself sitting around at home, waiting for my first child to be born, the opportunity arose to become a sports writer for a small local weekly and my ten-plus years as a sports journalist began. I schlepped my kids to countless games and learned to ask intelligent questions about soccer, cross-country, and wrestling, as well as gaining more knowledge of my beloved field hockey, lacrosse, football, basketball, baseball, and track and field. For a while, I even subscribed to The Sporting News.

As my kids grew, we were a full-bore sports family. I stood at countless soccer, lacrosse, and baseball games, then later at cross country and track meets. I love to watch people who love to play and get a thrill out of "my" teams winning. I've been a huge Phillies fan for over 30 years and find myself looking forward to every Olympics, winter and summer, for the pageantry as well as the competition.

And I really get the World Cup, having been in the UK the last time it was played. I was excited that the American team qualified and really enjoyed watching them play. But I have to confess that I was actually kind of glad that Ghana defeated them, not because there is anything inherently unlikeable about the American squad or its coach, but because it means so much more to other countries. It's not like the 1980 ice hockey squad - a bunch of amateur college kids playing against the Soviet machine; most (if not all) of the U.S. soccer team players are pros and many play in Europe. It reminds me a little of the basketball Dream Team - I never really liked that whole concept, frankly. And I am SO sick of American fans behaving so badly in international events. I really hate the constant chants of "U.S.A! U.S.A.!" whenever any American is competing in any sport. Seriously, folks, you had NOTHING to do with the little gymnast or water polo player accomplishing anything.

Also, my son-in-law has a soft spot for Ghana, having spent some time there. And Ofebia Quist-Arcton, an NPR reporter who is a Ghanaian and usually is covering much more serious events, was delightfully excited when she reported on the victory and what it meant to her country.

We Americans do American football, baseball, and basketball pretty damn well - we can enjoy soccer without feeling like we have to be a world power in that, too.

Is it wrong to love Wimbledon primarily for upsets? I somehow feel that it puts me in league with people who go to car races and are disappointed if no one crashes. I love it when the big names are pushed to the edge (Roger Federer) or occasionally defeated by a relative unknown (Venus Williams). And that marathon match was one of the most fascinating things I have ever seen. I remember watching the fortnight back in the Evert-Navratilova, Connors-McEnroe days and hearing Chris Evert talking about the ladies in the locker room drawing baths for the players. I particularly love the announcers: "Ad-VAHN-tage, Miss Nav rah ti LOV ah." And I thought it was funny that the married women were, at least early in my memory, called by their husband's names: I believe Chris was known on the scoreboard during her first marriage as "Mrs. J. Lloyd."

Finally, I am shocked, SHOCKED to hear that Lenny Dykstra took steroids. Really, weren't we all just so impressed how he developed those muscles through off-season hard work? I'm wondering what other names are going to trickle out now. Hate to think the whole decade of the 90s will carry the stain.

Oh, and it turns out there is a huge gambling scandal in sumo wrestling. Just saying.

Saturday, June 05, 2010

The rite of passage

Yes, the Senior Prom.

Like no other event, even more than graduation, the prom is the defining moment of transition for our seniors. They begin thinking about it, it seems, in January; they start shopping for dresses (often on the computers in my classroom) in February. The drama of who will sit at which table or share which limo seems to dominate the emotional landscape for most of April and May. Finally, the first Friday after Memorial Day arrives, and the cars, limos, and party buses pull up to the catering facility.

Along with my friend and partner, Karen, I have my assigned spot every year - checking in those with ticket numbers 1-200. This is my chance to see the girls teeter in on impossibly high heels, zipped, buttoned, or laced into dresses of a dizzying array of colors and patterns, trailed by young men who range from confident to bewildered to downright terrified in their rented finery. The attendees line up for photos (there is a LOT of tugging on tops of strapless dresses), then wander into the oh-so elegantly decorated to find their tables. The background music is lively but not so loud as to interfere with conversation and everyone is behaving like ladies and gentlemen - I saw any number of young men gallantly pulling out chairs for and offering their jackets to their shivering bare-shouldered dates. The salad is served, and then each table take its turn at going to the buffet. Once dinner is over, the lights go down, the volume of the music goes up and the kids step on to the dance floor.

Now, I've watched Dancing with the Stars and any number of music videos, but this is NOT what happens at prom (I've learned to eliminate the definite article in front of the word). First, the kids are jammed onto the floor with barely enough room between them to turn around, so that the really good dancers don't have space to make their moves. In fact, I watch one boy do some impressive dancing IN THE LOBBY because it is the only place he has the space to cut loose. Second, the partners do not face each other; they go for long stretches of time without ever seeing their dates' faces. Beyond these descriptions, I have nothing to say - I'm hoping it isn't my advanced age that makes me avert my eyes and retreat to the chaperons' spot on the perimeter. Let someone else wade through the throng and be the decency police.

We left before the wonderful ice cream sundae/bananas foster dessert buffet on the patio - the second shift of adults had rolled in - and drove home listening to the Phillies and Flyers games, pondering yet another version of our students' crossover into post-high school almost-adulthood. I remember my own prom, so many years ago, and how grown up I felt; I remember helping my daughter shop for her dresses and the photo shoot at my parents' house for her senior prom. It's a lot of planning and emotional investment for just one night, but for most of the kids it will be indelibly etched in their memories - for better or worse. Next week is exam week, then, in ten days, graduation, and it will all be a blur. But, years from now, when they look at photos, they will recognize that kid, straddling the divide between childhood and adulthood, and smile, remembering how important it was at the time and just how it felt to be that elegant, if only for one night.