Dead To Me

      College basketball season started 32 days ago.  So far, around 3,500 Division-I games have been played, most of which have been televised or streamed.  And I have not watched one of them. Or one minute of one of them.  For most of my life, the anticipation of the start of college basketball began once the calendar hit October.  It was something akin to the excitement children feel waiting for Christmas morning, with all its wonderment and special gifts.  When it wasn't college basketball season, I'd fill my entertainment needs by playing or watching lacrosse, hiking, beaching, going to the theater or a comedy show, and attending a few Springsteen concerts if he was on tour.  All of that was a filler of time and space, however. Like the coming attractions before a movie, or the opening act before a favorite band takes stage.  Once Autumn's cool air ended the summer's heat, the countdown began, like December 1st began the countdown to Christmas and Santa Claus.  But this year, there's been no countdown, no anticipation, no Christmas morning.  College basketball is dead to me now.  My five-month long season of joy and dedication, spanning four decades, has come to an end.

     I was six years old when Mom drove me to the former Westfield High School on a cold, snowy morning for basketball sign-ups for YMCA's Biddy Basketball League.  I didn't want to go and I cried the entire ride there.  My best friend wasn't going, and I wouldn't know any of the other kids that would be there.  Plus, I had no clue about, or interest in, this sport called basketball.  I and a hundred other strange faces did dribbling, passing, and shooting drills, and played a few 5-on-5 scrimmages, which looked more like that old electronic football game where the plastic player pieces just moved in clumps when the metal vibrating floor was turned on.  After the two-hour tryout and selection of teams, my tears had long dried, and it seemed like this new sport was something I might enjoy after all.  I was selected to play on the "Specials", no doubt the worst team name in the league. There wasn't much I remember about that first season of playing, other than the scoring totals for games were around the 10-6 and 8-4 mark.  This was before youth size basketballs and seven-foot baskets were a thing. Regular size basketballs in the small hands of six and seven-year-olds, being heaved up at a 10-foot hoop, wasn't conducive to a whole lot scoring.  I'm not sure if I converted on any of my shot attempts that first year, but I do remember Davey, the son of our coach, Mr. Ralph, did most of our scoring.  Mostly because of him, I took home my first trophy, for a third-place finish in the league.  The collectible memento I still have today.

Officially Done

      "The mind is willing, but the body is weak."

     This was my sentiment of thought when I finally decided to quit playing lacrosse at age 50, after playing competitively for 35 years.

"The body is willing, but the mind is weak."

     This is the sentiment I have now, after officiating high school and youth lacrosse for four years.  So I'm quitting.

     Getting back into the game of lacrosse as an official has been something I've enjoyed - to a degree. Not playing anymore and having had my fill as a high school coach for 15 years, becoming a high school and youth official seemed a chance to reconnect to the sport I've loved since my teenage years.  At age 58, I'm light years away from my playing days' speed, but I can still move well enough up and down the field as an official.  Learning the techniques of proper pacing, spacing, and angles from my fellow veteran referees has been immeasurably helpful in effectively doing the job.  So my body is willing and capable.  My mind and my psyche however, are not.  My mental stamina has fallen well behind my physical stamina, so I'm giving it up.

     Coach Bob Knight always preached that in sports competition, "The mental is to the physical as 4 is to 1".  Having talent will only bring about a certain level of success, he'd say.  The thinking part and mental toughness is what's needed to maximize those talents and bring about one's full potential.  This was a philosophy I fully subscribed to as a player and as a coach.  And though it's a principle meant for players, I find it fittingly applicable to officials.  I'd change the ratio of 4:1 to more like 10:1 when it comes to officiating, or maybe even 20:1.  The ability to remain mentally strong through all the adversity a referee endures during the course of a game and a season is quite challenging.  My fellow officials seem able to do it, but I've concluded that I cannot.  Not anymore.  I've had enough of all the verbal abuse.  I can't take the profanity directed my way.  I'm done absorbing the constant barrage of yelling and criticism.  From coaches, from players, from parents, from spectators.  I've had enough, and it's not worth it to me anymore.

The Ghost of Bruce Springsteen

     I had put my convertible top down about a mile ago.  After the four hour drive in the midday sun, it was cool enough now to allow the feel of the outdoor air and the pre-set sun.  My GPS showed one more stoplight and a half mile to go before I'd come to Kingsley Street.  I shuffled my car stereo player to Bruce's "Darkness On The Edge Of Town" and skipped to the third track, Something In The Night.  My memory flashed back 22 summers ago to 2002, when my best friend and fellow Springsteen fanatic Mike and I did the same thing. The difference being it was a cassette tape we popped in and not a cd. We had to stop at the beginning of the street before we could proceed, waiting to hit the right spot on the cassette tape before we pressed play.  On this day, by myself, the timing was perfect, there was no waiting.

     The four-note piano intro starts which follows with a three note measure repeat. Bruce's wordless voice enters 20 seconds later, accompanied by a crescendo of drumbeats... "Ohhh, Ohhh, Ohhhhhh...." Crashing symbols are followed by Bruce's first line of the lyrics another minute later.  I take my left turn in perfect timing... 

"Well I'm riding down Kingsley figuring I'd get a drink

Well, I turn the radio up loud so I don't have to think..."