Blog blast from 2004: High School Basketball

This is a blog entry that I transferred from another system. I started regularly attending Indiana high school basketball games in 2004, so this is a bit dated. But it brought back some good memories, so here it is.

Fall 2004

11-26-2004.…………Brown County at Seymour

Popcorn.

The warm, oily, salty smell of popcorn in a warm gym on a dark Indiana night.

The most common sports analogy is the eternal hope of baseball spring training. But for the last two years, Indiana high school basketball has sustained me through cold, dreary Midwestern winters.

The NBA starts its interminable season while football is still in full swing. Then the college teams start playing exhibition games, and then, finally, around Thanksgiving (the best holiday) the high schools start playing with the round ball.

My wife and I have six children. Sean and Andrew are the two oldest and away at Indiana University. Patrick and Mary are both in high school at Indianapolis Roncalli and have grown resistant to family outings on weekend nights.

That leaves our two youngest, Conor (13) and Eamon (11) subject to their father’s enthusiasm.

“Hey! Let’s go see Greenwood play tonight!”

Plied with the promise of concessions and permission to take along friends from school, they’re usually up for a game.

The older kids didn’t play basketball at the high school level, though Sean and Andrew always played in high-school CYO and still play in IU intramurals. I was never good enough to make my own high-school team in Louisville. I console myself with two facts; a) I went to a really big school and b) my senior year we lost in the District finals (sort of like an Indiana sectional) to Rudy Macklin’s senior team, and they lost in the regionals to Darrell Griffith’s senior year team. So two NBA players came out of Louisville that year. Whenever we watch a small school, I always think I could have played for that team.

I wasn’t attending games during Indiana’s halcyon one-class days. I’ve read and heard enough about it to complain about multi-class, but pining for the old system hasn’t ruined the game for me. So last year, Conor and Eamon and I went to several games around town. This year, we (okay…..I) decided to go to a different gym for every game to soak up as much Hoosier hysteria as possible.

I wanted to go to a game earlier than this, but family obligations (Conor and Eamon are both playing CYO basketball this year)) intervened. Finally Eamon and I drove down to Seymour with his friend Joe to catch the season opener for the Seymour Owls and Brown County. (The Brown County……. what? Leaf-peepers? Overpriced Fake Antiques? State Park Visitors? Controlled Deer Hunters?)

We walked into the old 50s- style gym with two levels of wood bleachers and press tables in the corners of the second level. As we entered, the popcorn smell startled me after the tedious hour-long drive. High school basketball!

As he takes our tickets (about four steps away from where we bought them; why bother?) the old guy at the entrance barks cheerfully “Which side?”

“What?”

“Brown County or Seymour? Seymour’s on the left,” he says. “Brown County’s on the right.” He stops and cackles as he sees Eamon‘s Roncalli sweatshirt.

“Or are you just here to watch some basketball?”

“Yeah,” I say. “We’re just here to watch.”

After getting snacks at a minimally-stocked concession stand (the Roncalli band boosters would be appalled) we sit in the lower level on the Brown County side. I usually try to face the benches so I can watch coaches’ reactions. The lower level is mostly full, but there are only a few scattered fans above. The crowd is mostly older people and young families. The Seymour student cheer block of 50-60 kids is across the court from us.

Seymour is a lot bigger than BC. The Owls’ front line is 6’2”, 6’4”, and 6’5”, while the tallest leaf-peeper is only 6’1”.

Still, BC hangs in there until the half, mostly on three-pointers and turnovers by the Owls. I’m coaching Eamon and Joe’s team this year, so I helpfully point out the benefits of setting screens and moving after a pass. Both boys nod as they munch popcorn, but I’m not dumb enough to see that as thoughtful reflection.

The Owls have one kid named Eric Werske, 6’4” and 245 who was a called “a rebounding machine” in the “Inside the Game” newspaper I picked up in the lobby. The publication has features on other area teams as well as conference recaps from last season.

Wenske is a space eater, especially against the out-sized Controlled Deer Hunters. He has nice footwork for a heavy kid, but his shot still gets blocked a couple of times. He never smiles, and barks at a BC kid with the temerity to box him out on free throw.

Seymour pulls away and ends up winning by about 20. BC has a 5’11” guard named Jordan Hawley who must have had 20-plus points and does a good job getting to the basket, but he stops working to get the ball late in the game.

On the way out to the car I kicked something metallic in the parking lot. I looked down and saw a dented shell casing. Joe asked why that would be in a school parking lot. I looked around at the scattered University of Kentucky jackets on retreating fans and changed the subject.

12-7-04.…………….Chatard at Scecina

That first blast of popcorn smell at Scecina is mixed with the aroma of institutional cleaner and floor wax. As Eamon and I walked in, we talked about the last time we were here. He got second place in the Indianapolis CYO wrestling tournament in 2003 as a third-grader. I remembered that it was a warm, rainy, early spring Sunday. Eamon remembered that he lost in the final to a red-haired kid from Holy Spirit. The kid’s Dad was a short guy with a mullet and he congratulated Eamon after the tournament on a hard-fought match.

Tonight we sit on the visitor’s side behind the benches, where the wrestlers always awaited their next match, some talking to friends, the older ones listening to headphones, many of them just staring blankly into space. When a wrestler’s name was called to report to a mat, he’d sometimes jump up and run down to the floor, taking the bleacher steps two at a time, pulling on headgear and rearranging the singlet to relieve the self-induced wedgie.

What happened more often was that the kid wouldn’t hear his name over all the whistles, parents’ yelling, and kids’ commotion. After a few minutes, another kid or an adult would run up and the wrestler would look panicky.

What? Which mat? Where? Am I wrestling that big kid?

We watch the end of the JV game as Chatard smokes the smaller Crusaders.

Though they were a lot bigger and heavier, the Chatard varsity plays a man press the first quarter and takes a 21-5 lead. Scecina brings four kids into the backcourt and doesn’t set screens to get anybody open with predictable results.

The half time score is 38-16, but in the second half Scecina starts taking my telepathic advice (SET A PICK, FOR CRYIN’ OUT LOUD) and does a little better but still falls.

Last year the boys and I selected a Most Entertaining Player for the season. It was a kid from Greenwood named Matt Pittman who was the only senior starter. The year before Greenwood had won their Region, but it was a senior-dominated team. Though Greenwood struggled all year, Pittman played hard in every game we watched. In one game he led a comeback against Mooresville after his team went down by 20 in the first half.

The boys liked him because he had a sense of humor. He and the Mooresville point guard had been going at it all night, chirping back and forth, emphatically boxing each other out away from the basket, etc. At one point close to the end of the game the other kid knocked Pittman down and was called for a foul. As the Mooresville player was arguing the call, Pittman reached his hand up for help and the kid started to take it, but then looked down and saw who it was and stomped away. Pittman just grinned.

Greenwood fell just short in the comeback, but Pittman shook the other kid’s hand afterward and they both laughed about something.

In this game I get the same feeing about a kid from Scecina named Vinny Redell. A plump senior, he dove on the floor for loose balls, paid attention to his coach and joked with the Chatard kids during the game. Redell is our first nominee for player of the year.

12-10-04.………………Whiteland at Roncalli

This is Roncalli’s (and Conor’s) season opener, and with two current Roncalli students in the family as well as two alumni we consider it a home game. There’s no popcorn aroma in the lobby, probably because the concession stand is on the first floor below the gym. Then again, we’re at Roncalli so often that even if there was a distinct smell we wouldn’t notice it anymore.

I’m surprised that that the roster sheets are so much nicer than most schools we’ve visited. Multi-color covers with photos of RHS kids playing football, tennis, soccer, etc. Of course, being a Catholic school, these covers may be recycled for all sports, thereby getting some kind of volume discount. When Andrew wrestled his freshman year we found that the team practiced in the cafeteria. The kids would move the tables, roll out the mats, practice, clean the mats, roll them back up and replace the tables and chairs. All while sharing the cafeteria with whoever else was using it.

When we went to meets at newer public schools, they’d have wrestling practice rooms with permanent mats maintained by janitorial staff. Catholic education requires making do with what you have.

I looked at Roncalli’s roster and realized that I’d seen several of these kids grow up in St. Barnabas grade school from 1st or 2nd grade on. Some are Mary or Patrick’s classmates, and I have specific recollections of a couple; Patrick getting into a pre-school scuffle with one, another misbehaving in Mary’s eighth grade class.

Patrick is playing with the pep band up on the stage, and we make eye contact. He gives us a big smile and an overt wave. That wouldn’t have happened before, but, being a senior, he’s shed a lot of his insecurities.

Whiteland was 4-17 last year and according to the Hoosier Hoops magazine graduated their top six scorers. I guess that’s not necessarily a bad thing with four wins. They do have 6’6” Josh Martin who missed all of last year with an injury, and the preseason press expects big things from him.

Roncalli, on the other hand, is supposed to improve over last year’s 10-11 season. Tonight two of their mainstays (Sergi and Kuntz) are still out with football injuries.

From the tip-off the Roncalli cheer block is animated and loud. Because of their third consecutive state title in football? Season opener? Whatever the reason, the Whiteland Warriors seem rattled and turn the ball over on three of their first five possessions.

The Rebels take a 20-7 lead at the end of the first quarter. The next period opens in much the same way. Whiteland’s Seth Tichenor gets intimidated out of an easy put back by Roncalli’s Jason Werner. Werner is Indiana’s Mr. Football for 2004, 6’5”, and, by all accounts, a good kid. He can really jump and scores a lot of points, but he still moves like a football player. One kid ran into him and literally bounced off onto the floor.

Five minutes into the second, Whiteland goes to a man press. The Rebels make some turnovers but also get a couple of layups. Martin then hits a free throw and scores on the next two possessions to cut the lead to 27-13.

Whiteland inexplicably goes back to a 2-3 zone that the Rebels penetrate repeatedly to post a 40-15 halftime lead.

Most of the Roncalli starters come out early in the third, but the Rebels keep building the lead. I remember that Roncalli beat Whiteland pretty bad during the football season, too. It’s bad enough to lose to a football power, but basketball is a sport where the Rebels are usually vulnerable. Now the country kids were getting pounded by the private school again, and they didn’t like it. There was a small but vocal contingent of Whiteland students, and they started exchanging taunts with the Roncalli cheer block.

Whenever the Warrior fans would start up, the Roncalli kids would chant “scoreboard”. As the game went on, the taunts got a little meaner on both sides. The home fans started saying “Where’s your tractor?”. The visitors responded with “Daddy’s money” and waved dollar bills.

Sensing an ugly incident brewing the Roncalli principal went over to the home students and told them to stop. The kids grumbled, but did what they were told. I know I‘m biased, but it‘s typical of Roncalli to take pre-emptive action in that kind of situation. A few years ago the atmosphere at the Roncalli-Cathedral football game grew so intense that there were alumni fights in the parking lot.

When the school president told a parents group that Roncalli wasn’t scheduling Cathedral for awhile he made sure to let us know all the problems weren’t caused by Cathedral; he made sure he described our own fans’ inappropriate behavior.

In the fourth quarter Martin starts to heat up and seems to move more freely, making power moves to the basket. But it’s too late and Roncalli wins 64-39.

This is probably one of the few games where we actually have a rooting interest, but I’m glad to check Roncalli off our list. We may see them on the road later in the winter, but I want to see uncharted gyms.

12-17-04.……………….Columbus North at Perry Meridian

Wide, carpeted hallways painted powder blue and gray. I know this was a popular color scheme in the mid-70’s because it matches the tuxedo I wore to my senior prom.

Perry Meridian is a big suburban school right across the street from St. Barnabas. It’s closer to our house than Roncalli, so I decided to take Eamon and Joe over there to catch a game after our Friday grade school team practice. Conor decided to stay home and play with a family friend.

I spent the last half hour of our practice haranguing the kids about setting screens and moving after they make a pass. We get to the gym for the second half of the JV game, and I take the opportunity to point out all the picks being set against a man defense. Eamon and Joe nodded politely. Hope springs eternal in the breast of a grade school coach.

Before the varsity game started, Perry students and band members passed out slips of paper to the home-side fans requesting silence during warm-ups, introductions and tip off. The idea was that we’d explode with a roar on the Falcons’ first basket, intimidating the Columbus players and fans. Kids kept walking around the home stands shushing people and holding up signs that said “Quiet”.

Joe generally talks non-stop unless he’s sleeping or swallowing food (chewing is no obstacle). You get to where it seems like background noise, but I encouraged him to be a good fan and keep quiet. He did okay for a few minutes, but then started tapping his foot, shifting uneasily in his seat, and finally bouncing up and down. I was afraid he’d bust a blood vessel.

Finally Perry scores on their third possession, and the place does sound loud. But after a couple of plays, the noise level goes back to normal, and PM posts a 13-10 lead at the end of the first quarter.

PM’s best player is a tall, slim black kid named Dominique John. Just before the half he catches the ball about five feet past the arc, turns and jumps easily, unhurried, and lofts an effortless shot that falls cleanly through the net to give Perry a 27-23 lead.

When really good jumpers elevate, they seem to rise much higher proportionate to their effort than the rest of us. I remember playing intramurals in college one time and as a guy blocked my shot (okay….actually he caught my shot) I saw his waistband rising above my head.

The Perry cheer block stands here, like about everywhere else; but they don’t seem nearly as loud as Roncalli. It could be that the wide-open spaces in the second level stands swallow the sound - not a problem in Roncalli’s tiny gym.

Joe is making up for lost time, asking rapid-fire questions about our 5th-6th grade team.

“Who do we play next what’s their record who’s second in the division can I go get some popcorn….”

I’m still mentally replaying that day’s practice. I had a disagreement with the other coach about whether to make the kids backpedal on defense. He doesn’t agree with that, and (as I told him) every coach I’ve ever had made me backpedal. He thinks it’s more important to get back quickly than it is to see the ball. I watch for this, and both teams seem to sprint to midcourt and then turn around. I can live with that, and make a mental note to half-way concede the point.

CN has a 5’10” guard named Dusty Whitis who looks like a seventh-grader and has a funny-looking shot, but he makes a couple of long jumpers and plays great on-ball defense. PM wants to run everything through either John or their 6’5” center Michael Spears.

Falcons coach Mark Barnhizer comes further out on the floor than any coach I’ve seen. He’s about six feet past the sideline when the play is at the other end. He is screaming hoarsely at his players every few seconds, like it’s as necessary as blinking. And it’s not dignified screaming; it’s full-body, bend-at-the-waist, fender-bender screaming. Stomping on the floor for emphasis. I wonder how long it takes for players to grow deaf to that.

One PM player misses a shot when he’s fouled, and Barnhizer squats with his head in his hands for ten seconds. His team is up six points.

With about a minute to go a PM player is whistled for a foul and, several feet onto the floor, Barnhizer throws his pen down so hard that it bounces two feet. When an assistant retrieves it he snatches it out of his hand and continued his tirade.

How does this guy get away with this? Somebody told me awhile back that Barnhizer was a big-deal player in his own right in high school, but it’s not like this guy is working on a string of championships.

With Perry nursing a one-point lead and 14 seconds left, John steps out of bounds in the backcourt under defensive pressure. Now Barnhizer disputes the call from fifty feet away, getting in the referee’s ear about no foul call.

CN in-bounds under its own basket, but as Whitis is dribbling across the lane he steps on the line. Columbus misses two shots after Spears hits a free throw and Perry wins 52-50.

12-18-04.…………………………Waldron at Milan

Milan. 1954. Plump’s last shot. Hoosiers.

This is the image before most of America (at least most white people) when somebody mentions Indiana high school basketball. Kids from the country (i.e., white kids) playing unselfish basketball with lots of screens, passing and cutting, playing below the rim. It’s also how most Hoosiers (at least most white Hoosiers) think of themselves.

Conor and Eamon are each allowed two friends on this trip due to a combination of circumstances that involve family reciprocation and avoiding hurt feelings. Besides, it’s the first day of Christmas vacation, and I’m feeling generous. Conor takes Nick and Sean, and Eamon takes Danny and Joe (who is actually starting to bear a faint family resemblance).

We make our way southeast on I-74 past suburban clutter and gradually move through small clusters of rural houses. The fading sun casts a pink glow on stark, bare trees, whose shadows claw at the sides of white frame houses.

By the time we turn onto State Road 101 it’s full dark and we pass six or seven churches (Bible, Southern Baptist, non-denominational; not a lot of papists in these parts) between I-74 and Milan. About four miles out of town 101 makes a sharp left at a three-way stop. At the crossing a big combine waits patiently as several cars stop and then turn. I guess he’s in no hurry this time of year.

We get out of the van, air dank from kid’s breath into frigid cold that smells like snow. Inside the gym two pensioners are taking tickets, joking with teenagers about having enough money for popcorn.

It’s halftime of the JV contest. The film “Hoosiers” was loosely based on the Milan team of 1954 and I was hoping that it’d be a small, rickety gym. Though it has a vaguely retro look, it’s probably less than 20 years old. It seats no more fans than Roncalli, but the stands rise more gradually so it seems roomier.

They do have artifacts and a scoreboard from the old gym in the lobby, along with photos commemorating the state title. In the gym itself, the banners show that the Milan cupboard hasn’t exactly been bare lately. They won their Region in 2001 and a sectional in 2003.

Waldron won their first state title last year, but hadn’t won a game since. Their two big kids were twins who were 6’10” or so, but they were seniors and the first-year coach rode the 1A title to a job at 4A Southport. Last year we went to the semi-state round in Seymour where Waldron beat White River Valley to get to the finals. The place was full of rabid Waldron fans, who helped make the Seymour gym the loudest place I’ve been in since my college days when Darrell Griffith would dunk on guys at Louisville games. Tonight only about 50 Waldron fans are in attendance.

The Milan side is pretty crowded despite their own winless record. There were a lot of young couples with babies, retirees, and player-parent-aged couples. Milan only had eleven players on the varsity (with four or five of those double-rostered on JV), but fifteen cheerleaders and an eight-member dance team for the boys to mock.

The game starts out sloppy, with active defense and bad passing on both sides. Milan is up two at the half after a brief flurry of threes from both sides. In the second half there is more banging down low. Milan’s 6’6” forward David McIntosh blocks a lot of shots, but he gets his fifth foul with about two minutes to play.

Waldron has a strong forward of their own in senior Ryan Wallace. Listed at 6’1”, he looks like a football player, setting screens, directing teammates, and passing crisply. I wonder how frustrating that must be, to be a decent player on a state champion, then come back for your senior year and be on a bad team. During the game, he doesn’t complain about calls or chastise teammates. Another possible player of the year.

Milan ends up winning 60-55 to get their first win of the season. I watch Waldron’s first-year coach as he leaves the floor. A supporter trots up and says something encouraging, and the coach nods and winks in appreciation. Barnhizer should watch this guy.

12-29-04.………………………..Shelby Shootout

It’s just Conor and I at the Shelbyville High School holiday tournament because Eamon is with his cousin in Louisville. Conor had no friends available, so he gets to listen to me pontificate about screens all by himself.

We drove down I-65 and turned east on State Road 44 to Shelbyville, passing farmhouses and fields covered with the remnants of our 15” snowfall that came a couple of days before Christmas. Cornfield stubble stucd up out of the melting snow and the islands of uncovered grass in front yards looked like bright green pools.

The exterior of the Shelbyville gym looks almost new. Inside it’s a retro-field house look, with wooden bleachers and concrete steps leading up to the second level. Small scoreboards occupy opposite corners and there’s a big octagonal scoreboard suspended from the ceiling at mid-court.

After much of the crowd has filed in for the first game, the public address announcer started assigning bleacher sections to each of the four schools in the tournament, which occasioned a lot of coming and going as people moved into and out of the sections they’d chosen for themselves. As neutral observers, we stayed put in had become the Cambridge City section on the first row.

We were again met with a sub-par concession stand after deferring supper to get there early. Conor settled for a 2” wide slice of cheese pizza and I made do with nachos. At least the Cheez-Whiz was hot.

Franklin Central vs. Greenwood

FC has a player named Donald Washington who is a two-time defending state champion in the long jump. The program says he has offers to play football from “several major colleges”. He’s a strong, smooth left-handed kid who unsurprisingly has mad ups. Conor misses taking an errant pass to the face by inches, and the referee jokes with him about making the play. The FC Flashes take a 14-11 lead at the end of the first quarter.

I remember several of the Greenwood players from last year. We probably saw four of five of their games, so their memories stuck a little better than most. There’s a distinct aging in the players’ faces from last year. Kids like John Pfifer and Robbie Newbold looked like scared, jittery underclassmen last season. Now they look intense, determined, and calm despite urgent, physical defense from FC.

In the second quarter Washington gets two feet above the rim to dunk an alley-oop pass. He is standing at the free throw line when the coach sends subs to the scorers table. Washington looks around, then half-turns back to the lane and rolls his eyes as he wipes his mouth on his jersey. After the first free throw he jogs back to the bench and the coach moves him down to sit in front of an assistant, who bends his ear for a minute or so before sending him back into the game.

FC takes a 28-17 halftime lead as they hit jump shots from the corners and drive for layups. Greenwood is missing jump shots and can’t get anything done inside. The lead would be bigger, but Newbold calmly drains a pair of jumpers right in front of us to score the last five points of the half.

The Woodmen open the second half in a 1-3-1 (my favorite grade school defense and another bone of contention amongst our coaching staff) but go back to a man defense after Washington soars in for two finger-roll layups. Against the man he gets loose for a slam dunk from the side and hangs on the rim for a second.

Greenwood responds with a couple of long threes from Newbold, but after the second one FC closes out on him no matter how far from the basket he gets the ball.

FC’s coach Mark James is apparently from the Barnhizer school. Constantly screaming at his team and stomping cowboy boots on the floor to get his players’ attention. Maintenance guys must hate these clowns.

The Flashes wear Greenwood down in the last quarter, stretching the lead past twenty points. FC puts in a 6’9” player named JuJuan Johnson with a couple of minutes left, but the spindly sophomore is easily pushed off the block. At the horn Franklin Central has prevailed 62-40 and I went to get a second course of concessions.

In the hallway there’s a Shelby County athletics display and I found that the gym is named after William Garrett, a Shelbyville player who was one of the first African Americans to get regular playing time in the Big Ten. After he finished at Indiana University he played for the Harlem Globetrotters and took a job as dean at Indiana University-Purdue University at Indianapolis (IUPUI).

Shelbyville vs. Cambridge City

We move up to the second level before the game as the Cambridge City cheerleaders are posting up right in front of us. The warm-ups show why Shelbyville chose to face the Eagles in the first game. CC sports only one player over 6’2”. Shelbyville has 6’7” center Andy Hampton, and the program reveals he’s already committed to IUPUI.

The Eagles hit their first two shots (both threes) but Hampton hits a jumper from the elbow, and then a catch and shoot turnaround. After a Golden Bears steal, he gets loose for a breakaway dunk to put Shelbyville ahead 9-6.

Sometimes, you can just tell that a game is a lost cause. Even though Shelbyville is playing at half-speed, they’re a step ahead on every possession. They put in a diamond and one zone press to close the quarter and go ahead 18-13. In the second the Bears pressed man-to-man and open up the lead to 35-16.

Eagles first year coach Brandon Pennington graduated from Cambridge City in 1996. A young, slim guy with a goatee and a receding hairline, he paces the floor, shouting encouragement and clapping, but he looks like he’s just hoping for a break.

After halftime the Bears take out Hampton, but still seem to get three or four shots every trip when they need them, and CC gets no more than one.

Late in the game Cambridge City’s forward is pulled from the game after being called for a foul. As he comes off, Pennington is trying to tell him something, but the kid keeps bobbing and weaving trying to ignore his coach and get to the bench. When he sits down an assistant starts talking to him and he gets up to move. When the coach grabs his jersey he angrily yanks it out of his hand and sits further down the bench between two other players.

Late in the game as his teammates continue to take a beating the kid is laughing with teammates on the bench. He’s no Ryan Wallace.

What does the designated hitter rule have to do with the mid-terms?

So apparently the World Series between two teams with great pitching and compelling individual stories drew the lowest TV ratings EVER.

The Texas Rangers had never been to the World Series. Their best player is a recovering heroin addict who was out of baseball 4 years ago but has turned his life around, resulting in the curious spectacle of ginger ale showers instead of beer and champagne. Their best pitcher started for last year's champion but was traded to a team that missed the playoffs, then dealt to Texas in mid-season.

The Giants hadn't won a WS since the fifties and came out of the weakest Division in the National League. They've escaped the specter of Barry Bonds, baseball's poster boy for the steroid era. They boast the best closer in baseball, a guy with a fake beard and a flaky attitude.

But nobody watched. Because it's not the Yankees or Red Sox? Because the scores weren't expected to be 11-10? Because there were no prospects of Jose Mesa intentionally beaning players?

It's because of the DH rule and everything it represents; it's America's worst instincts on display. Our insistence on specialization; our creepy TMZ/People magazine voyeurism; and most of all, our absolute intolerance for delayed gratification.

A week later we held mid-term elections. Apparently "centrist" Democrats and all republicans interpret the mid-term defeats as a public groundswell against health care reform. The sad thing is that they're probably right.

Memo to the masses: MOST OF THE BILL HASN'T KICKED IN YET.

I'd like to bet that one year from now you see growing public appreciation for health care reform. In January, older offspring can remain on their parents health care as they get their careers started. Kids won't be left out of your new insurance plan because of a pre-existing condition. And very few people have a health care plan that will be a taxed benefit.

But the (m)asses don't understand that. They didn't get a check in the mail yesterday like the bribe they got from W.; we haven't bombed any developing countries in months, so country-pop singers don't have any fresh jingoistic songs; and the government that didn't respond to Katrina, consigns veterans to charity medical care, and allows mine and food safety to erode to Eastern European levels is too big. A guy can't even send the kids to McDonalds for dinner every night because taxes are too high.

What a freaking joke. We've become a country of cranky three-year-olds overdue for a nap that want everything, and we want it now.

Support our troops

My Dad fought in Korea in the 1950s, and I've had several cousins serve in the military.

So far my sons and daughter have all been spared that experience. I actually considered joining out of high school, but it would have cost me a full four-year scholarship. The terms of my ride mandated that I enroll right after high school and complete my coursework in four years. And I was in no position to forego the free money.

Still, I know I've profited from the pain, suffering, and death of many others who joined and served for a variety of reasons. But I find it hard to stand up and cheer when soldiers are announced on planes, introduced at ball games, etc. I feel like I'm aiding and abetting a giant fraud on these people.

I read that the single demographic factor most closely associated with military service is the county unemployment rate. What that says to me is that a lot of young people are going in because they have few other options. (Unlike Dick Cheney. And me.)

Despite that, I see people I know clapping and cheering wildly for servicemen and women who would (I believe) advocate strongly against such service for their own children. Most of the Bush/Cheney cabal that started an unnecessary war in Iraq avoided military service themselves. My Dad always called them "chicken hawks", and he resented the facile patriotism of yellow ribbon magnets and jingoistic bumper stickers.

Once when I had a layover in Las Vegas I agreed to give up my seat to a soldier on an overbooked flight. It had nothing to do with "supporting the troops"; I got $700 in flight credits and a few free hours in Vegas. But some fat-ass blowhard on the flight was loudly telling everybody else in the waiting area that he'd pay $100 to anybody giving up their seat. When I agreed to be bumped, he shuffled up and offered it to me. I declined and he beat a quick retreat.

So this is "patriotism". Offer to throw a little money around, but don't actually volunteer to be inconvenienced yourself. I guess it's to be expected. All Bush asked of us after 9/11 was to go shopping. So when we're asked to "salute the troops in attendance" or give a standing ovation to a bunch of teenagers being sworn in, I get queasy. I feel like there's some cruel joke being played on them, and that when the commander shakes their hands he's passing them a folded up paper with "It sucks to be you" printed on it.

I do appreciate their service. I just wish the service didn't consist of being callously used and thrown into danger to protect Halliburton shareholders and as a Viagra substitute for George Bush.

En Cuba

I've been reading a lot about Cuba lately.

Not just Cuba, but about Che Guevara, Fidel, the Revolution, etc. And I can't avoid the conclusion that the continuing embargo is a) cruel, b) stupid, and c) not in our best interests.

To be fair, there are reasons why we punish a tiny nation with long-standing ties to the U.S.

1) They threatened us with nuclear weapons in the early sixties.....there is that. But before that time the U.S. had sponsored an invasion (Bay of Pigs), attempted several times to assassinate Castro (wonder if Castro kids ever thought about invading the U.S. "'cause he tried ta kill muh daddeh"?), and officially declared we can occupy their country whenever we want (Platt Amendment).

2) The Cuban Revolution dispossessed the U.S. and U.S. companies of assets and will not compensate the owners.....true enough. But we got most of those those assets by bribing corrupt officials of successive regimes.

3) The Cuban government is repressive and brutalizes its one people.....Yup. Probably not as much as the majority of countries with which we do business. China? Russia? Most of the Middle East and Africa?

Lifting the embargo would likely help democratize Cuba. Don't misunderstand; Cuba will never go back to what it was, which was a third world kleptocracy client state. A lot of Cubans are devoted to the Revolution, and it's not hard to see why. Despite shortages and hardship (mostly imposed by the U.S.), Cubans still have free medical care, low infant mortality (lower than the U.S.), free education through graduate school, and guaranteed employment. There are a lot of people in this country who would keep quiet and attend mandatory political rallies for those benefits.

But engagement with Cuba would be a boon to U.S. companies (now prevented from competing with Europe and Canada for joint projects). And those U.S. citizens who lost property in the revolution would have some hope of negotiated compensation.

Finally,Helms-Burton makes us look vindictive, arrogant, and, frankly, a bit silly in the eyes of the world. I deeply respect my ex-brother-in-law who endured hardship in leaving Cuba as a child and made his way in the U.S. A gentle man, he still says he'd gladly kill Fidel with his own hands if he had the chance. But it's been fifty years. And we can't allow raw emotion to dictate our foreign policy.

World Cup Observations

June 14th was the two-year anniversary of my Dad's death. The World Cup reminds me of him. He always said it was his most reliable soporific(though he always enjoyed watching his grandsons play).

I'm one of the few Americans my age who actually played the game as a youth, but I don't remember Dad ever attending a game. He may have been there, but since he worked swing shift at the factory he was often sleeping or working during the day. I know he was a lot more enthusiastic about my basketball games, even when I was playing in a rec league in high school. But I digress.

I watch a lot of sports, but there are a few aspects of the WC that make it a truly unique experience.

1) Close enough
In soccer approximations frequently come into play.

Ball out of bounds? Okay, just throw it in from somewhere around in there.

How much time is left? Well, about five minutes. Only the referee really knows, and he may not have decided yet.

Was that player just fouled? Well, yeah, but his teammate got the ball so we'll just ignore it.

2) Amusing English translations
"Group of Death" sound like something kids made it up in a treehouse.

3) Stoppages of play
Compared to the primary American sports, there are almost no stoppages of play. Unlike baseball or football, it's impossible to read and watch a soccer game at the same time. It means you have to stay engaged in the game or miss one of the one or two goals that are suddenly scored. And staying engaged increases the enjoyment.

Of course, soccer ain't perfect. All the exaggerated flopping to get a call seems unabashedly European and thus, somewhat effeminate. I know this is jingoistic, but I can't help it.

So celebrate the World Cup for what it is. It's only on every four years, and has yet to be completely Americanized (in stark contrast to the Olympics).

And, Dad....enjoy your nap.

My seat back is already upright....

My first post. I have a strange urge to get out the video camera.

I guess this first foray should be on some weighty, topical matter, like the death of the American dream, or the ethics of biotechnology, or the designated hitter rule.

But what I really want to talk about is air travel.

For the past few years, my job has required air travel about once a month. When I was younger, airports seemed exciting and exotic. All these interesting, well-dressed people traveling to attend to urgent matters. Now it just seems like drudgery, a chore to get through that involves frequent contact with rude large people. I hate to sound like a crank, but.....

Issue 1...carry-on baggage
If you're going to insist on carrying on as much as possible to save that critical ten minutes at baggage claim, please do it quickly. And if you can't lift it unassisted, you should probably check the damn bag. Don't get pissy if your Panama hat gets crushed by a laptop. Next time either wear it or leave it at home, Mr. Valdez.

Issue 2....personal space
I know the seats are cramped. But they're cramped for me, too. Don't stick your elbows into my side so you can be comfortable. Respect the armrest, for cryin' out loud. It's the DMZ of coach fare.

Issue 3....the gate stand-up
If you're too tired or weak from the flight to support yourself on your own two feet, why do you feel the need to leap up as soon as the seat belt sign is off, rip your bag from the overhead and block the aisle while leaning against my seat?

Issue 4....the baggage claim
Why in the hell does everybody feel a need to rush up next to the carousel? If everybody would just stay back ten feet, nobody would have to elbow their way through people standing with their arms folded with one foot up on the carousel, blankly staring at bags passing by. Other people's bags.

These are just my complaints about other passengers. My beefs with the actual airlines will await another day.