Called up from the Minors…is just the beginning

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Whether he coned the phrase or not, a friend of mine once said, “The Opportunity of a lifetime is only good for the lifetime of the opportunity.” Antonio Anderson began the lifespan of an NBA career on Monday when he was called up from the NBA’s minor league system known as the “D-League” (“D” for Development). Anderson went to the University of Memphis where he was known as a defensive stopper and he participated in more than one pre-draft workout, the NBA’s version of an initial interview for someone a particular franchise may wish to employ. Nevertheless, up until Monday, he was a member of the Rio Grande Vipers (Houston Rockets). He was called up for NBA service to the Oklahoma City Thunder where Kevin Durant and Russell Westbrook run the show.

Depending on the number of injuries on a pro team roster and other variables like team chemistry and win-loss ratio Anderson could last anywhere from 10 days to the remainder of the season. Emotions have to be running high. He’s on a team with electrifying players, one of them an All-Star. He’s on a team that’s in the midst of a nine-game winning streak. But no pressure right? Tonight he and his new squad are up against Steve Nash and the Phoenix Suns and the following night, San Antonio. He was player of the month in the D-League but new opportunities have a way of disregarding the accomplishments that earned you the Call-Up. I imagine Anderson will one day find himself at Staples Center amidst the stars and fanfare that is Lakerdom. He’ll suddenly be caught up on a screen and switch out to guard Kobe. There’s no development on the planet that gets you ready for that. But there he’ll be, 24 years young and either soaking it all up or buckling under the strain of trying to keep his job. What any of us wouldn’t give to be Antonio Anderson or any of the other Call-Ups. It’s an honor just to be one but being satisfied with an opportunity alone never suffices. It’s how you live within the opportunity that brings the joy. Anderson will have to compete, trust his instincts, play his game, be coachable, maximize all 86,400 seconds of every one of the 10 days on his contract. If he does that and if we do that, then we’ve become worthy of the opportunity of a lifetime.

A State of the Life Address

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The hard thing about writing a blog that’s relevant is being transparent enough for people to see who you really are. When you say, “6ixth Man is about learning from the journey so that you have an advantage…” it sounds pithy and bogus. But here was a very real 6ixth Man worthy insight I feel God showed me. And if you don’t like that God language, focus on the insight itself and see if it resonates.

In short, I looked up last October and suddenly was 34 years old. My students at the time were gracious, if only inadvertently. They said things like, “You don’t look 34” which translated means they’d expect 34-year old men to have sunken cheeks, gray hair (if any) and an oxygen tank in tow. That said, they affirmed that I appeared to be in my mid-to-late 20s. Fine. But I knew how old I actually was and felt pretty good for an old head. Nevertheless, I looked in the mirror at my life beyond the laugh lines and darkened skin and begin falling into the comparison trap. No children, student loans still to repay and a launch into the outer regions of self-employment. Where am I? What have I done? Life is speedin’ past me. But I focused on the first item on that list. No kids…that is until I was reminded of my curriculum vitae which has included nothing but kids from college aged to elementary and back.

I don’t have children of my own yet and they’re not guaranteed to arrive but should I not count my nieces, nephew, students from my first long-term sub assignment at Charter Oak High School as my own, in a way? Should I disregard the students and student athletes of Western Christian High School or my most recent tenure at Ramona High School in Riverside? Total them all and I’ve been a father figure to hundreds and it’s not to boast, rather to remind me, you and anyone else that the lives of young people require our interest. The comparison snare looms as the 30s settle. In six years I’ll be forty and then and then…(hyperventilation)…and then I keep aging and influencing young people on their quest for God, truth and fulfillment in a perilous world. Suddenly 34 is not so bad. And I married up so it’s even better than I thought.

Show me some I.D.

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Dr. Vivien Thomas braved the rapids of disappointment to offer his gift to anyone in need of it.

I deviated yesterday and didn’t address this like I said I would. Nevertheless, two days ago I focused on a tragic incident involving a faculty member from the University of Alabama who murdered three of her colleagues and wounded three others before being taken into custody. Actually, She was just the example of a wider focus on how our expectations fuel disappointment which can easily segway into anger, resentment and even vengeful acts. I quoted no statistics, cited no references and credited no research databases because who would dispute that disappointment is alive, well and poisonous.

So let’s say I’m right and this affliction, from which 100% of humans suffer, is pervasive. What do we do about it? I’ll get to that but for the record, disappointment materializes when parents lie to children, when promotions are given to the less qualified and when games are lost. Disappointment rears its head in the event that your first choice in colleges, graduate or otherwise, rejects your application. It’s present when you’re dumped and when your mentor displays a gross character flaw. I don’t need to go on but you know how I do. Disappointment surfaces in the event that your students text their friends when they should be learning and when your roommate eats the chicken sandwich you left in the refrigerator with your name written on it in permanent marker. Best believe that disappointment can become the broth in which we simmer and result of this recipe can be life poisoning.

I can think of only one real antidote to disappointment and it’s rooted in the spirit of Black History Month. IDENTIFY YOURSELF! I remember learning about Dr. Vivien Thomas,  a poor African-American surgeon who pioneered cardiac surgery, namely with babies suffering from blue baby syndrome. He was born in 1910 and raised in the heyday of post-slavery racism in America. He was among the first if not the first man of color to perform surgery on a white. Immensely qualified through his work with Dr. Alfred Blalock, Thomas was denied opportunities and paid a custodian’s wages for doing medical research. No one presses through such disappointment without a firm grasp of their own true identity.

My entire adult life I’ve listened to people say that God is either fictional or sadistic and I’m convinced that such conclusions say more about the broth in which we stew than it does about the truth of the cosmos. If Dr. Amy Bishop of the University of Alabama had a firm grasp on her acumen and the tenacity to continue her quest for purpose I’m certain that her three victims would still be alive. So now what? When anger, resentment, selfish ambition comes in like a flood and when you’re so consumed with what you and your organization are doing that you don’t ask questions of others to see what they’re doing, you can know that it’s disappointment you fear. We all do. But outcomes are no more predictable in this life than the color of the gum ball that will come out of the machine when you put your quarter in. You lose in life for right reasons and for deceptive ones, due to great competition and as a result of our own mistakes.  All I’m saying is that despite your history, there’s a real identity that stands to impact the world constructively regardless of who sings your praises. Show me some I.D.

When the Game Changes

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I found myself thinking the other day about the abruptness of a life change and how I’d react if I suddenly had a debilitating illness. Let’s do one better and look at a guy named Brian Grant, a former power forward known for his physical play in 12 years of NBA service. I remember watching Grant beast bigger players, snatching rebounds and bouncing off the ground like a compressed coil. He was that menacing guy with the tip-dipped dreadlocks who took it to the Lakers in the early part of the last decade. But now he’s been diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease.

I write a lot about identity and the value of the journey, that intangible bologna that everybody says is less important than money and living the vida loca. But try illness on for size as a common denominator that reduces us all to our mortal parts. I’m thinking that sickness is the ultimate leveler of playing fields and even the huber-athlete is vulnerable. A feature piece by TNT discussed Grant’s bout with depression as he initially discovered a change in energy level and physical ability. He thought himself to be suffering from a case of the doldrums as a recently retired NBA Superstar but it was more than that akin to the transition Michael J. Fox’s life encountered when he went from beloved actor to Parkinson’s disease research ambassador.

Man, it’s as if the personified “Bigger than Me” adage stands in the shadows of elites and commoners alike pleading with us to take life more seriously, to enjoy the right things and value the causes of the weak. Every now and again, though, good guys like Brian Grant and Michael J. Fox are stricken with a thorn that reminds us that basketball and movies rock but they don’t rule.

A Tide of Disappointment

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This morning I found out who Dr. Amy Bishop is but the event that made her notorious occurred last Friday when she went on a calculated shooting spree at the University of Alabama that left three faculty members dead and three injured. Apparently, Bishop had been denied tenure (permanent status as a university professor) earlier that day.

Clearly this woman is extreme and has an inability to deal with disappointment and I can’t help but find it peculiar that one of the more common reactions to disappointment is rage bent on vengeance. It leads me to questions beyond just why she did it? Why do any of us respond in anger to disappointment? What is the natural correlation between disappointment and revenge? Surely we don’t arrive on earth with expectations about how our lives should play out but somewhere along the expedition that is life, we create constructs or are taught them.  We divest ourselves of energy and devote time to higher education, for instance, not in hopes of anything but rather expecting the security and status that accompanies being one of society’s elite. And does it say more about our deluded perceptions of how much we actually control?

Shooting sprees have become common enough that I’m prone to think these episodes reveal a more common insight about the human condition. Of course we’re ill equipped for a future we haven’t seen when we expect the world to bend to our finite understanding. Moreover, when our limited paradigms are challenged by the likes of cancer, downsizing or walking papers via a bad break-up we reel out of control. We live in a world which diminishes the need for character scaffolding  and you can see the evidence in our heroes and heroines. Don’t you wonder why Nicole Richie is famous or how awards shows garner such outstanding ratings? The emphasis is on worshiping people all the while moving mentally away from the daily reality – the rubber and road marriage featuring you vs. any number of obstacles. The point is that we all do well to understand that among the details that comprise life is disappointment. Those ill equipped to deal with it usually hurt people and I dare anyone to disagree though I welcome it. Tomorrow’s blog post…how do we get equipped for the crap that lies ahead. Smile, you’ll like the answer to this one.

Life After Being “That Guy”

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egoI don’t feel old per se. But you know you’re not the young buck in on the open range when some 14 year old at the gym says, “You could probably guard Kobe couldn’t you?” With hope in his eyes and a glimmer of wonderous awe the youth looks to you as if to a demi-god. For a moment there’s a chance (the kid thinks) that he has just met a member of the upper echelon of basketball. But to his chagrin I reply, “Man, I’m 34. I couldn’t guard Kobe when I was 23. But if he ever wants to play I’m in.” Wow, I’m a dream killer. I just deflated that kid.

Well maybe he’s not totally undone but I’m not That Guy. And I was just talking to a friend during some hoop recently about players we all know who were That Guy. We discussed how the accolades of say the early 1990s mean nothing to up and coming stars. You could find yourself in a gymnasium runnin’ up and down with the guys who are putting it down currently. That is, they’re playing at Division I universities, professionally overseas or even in the NBA. It’s 2010 and if you were the man once-a-upon-a-time, that time has long since passed. And therein lies the anatomy of a life transition.

How do you learn to defer to the more capable, more gifted, born-in-the Late 80s/early 90s kids? It’s not that hard. We need only to let go of temporal identities through which we perpetually and possibly fraudulently define ourselves. Aging is a pariah and yet one of the few guarantees of our lifetime, unless your tenure is cut short by a bus you didn’t see coming. When did taking one’s place as an elder of society or at least a mentor become so undesirable? Maybe a better question is why it’s so undesirable? Easy answer. Being young and in the spotlight is fun. It’s your time to shine, you think. So we shine on a dime getting pretty, feeling invincible and striving to establish an identity based on some performance criteria. Those who are successful at this when they’re young, acquire reputation singularly based on the talent they’ve cultivated. But there’s a shelf life or better yet a best-if-used-by date for all fame and fanfare. No one gets to be HOT for a lifetime. I used to be pretty explosive to the basket off of one foot. Now I have Patellar Tendonitis and I play through a bit of pain every time I jump. I pass more now when playing with younger guys who play daily and train with scouts. Why in the world would I think that they should be passing me the ball? I had my time. Truth told, I was never That Guy but if you were, today you’re probably not so put the ego down and nobody gets hurt.

…Your Bread upon the Waters

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The 2010 NBA All-Star Weekend, at least in part, brought more attention to ailing Haiti and rightfully so as the job in aiding those folks will not soon be complete. There was a song sung in tribute by Erykah Badu and continued gratitude and urging toward generosity by Alonzo Mourning and Dywane Wade.

I’ve stopped counting how much money has been pledged or rendered by private and public citizens because I was struck with an impetus. I started thinking about the kind of giving that would most benefit a people in need. Is it money? It might be because there’s certainly always of lack of it where there’s poverty and desolation. But isn’t money a fuel as opposed to a product readily usable and consumable? I was thinking yesterday, would I rather have the ingredients needed for a meal as I starve to death or the meal, enough ingredients for tonight’s meal and a manual on how to produce the ingredients myself? It goes without saying that the latter is preferable but such a three pronged philanthropy is difficult because of how personal the giving has to become. After all, ain’t nothin’ really unique about giving money is there? It’s the most generic form of giving there is and we’ve almost come to worship it in America urging people to loosen purse strings as the culmination of real compassion.

But take the “love of people” (Phil-Anthropy) a step further. If you were to give from your place of strength what would be the item donated? Would it be water because you work for a purifying plant? Would it be a source of entertainment for a people who, like you, need a break from reality? Or would it be the gift of diffusing volatile and potentially violent situations? I mean, what if the thing you’re good at can’t be sent on a sea vessel and requires your physical presence. Would you go? Would I? Because in my reflection I realized that I’m not a physician. I’m just this guy who people seem to listen to and/or feel comfortable confiding in. I’m a basketball coach but I can exhibit patience when people just want to vent. Check this out. It’s like the whole world is in much more need of “you” than what you own. More and more I’m convinced if we weren’t so embarrassed about who we really are and offered what little we all have to the masses, the restoration of the devastated and brokenhearted might be expedited. Money is raw fuel but “YOU” are a healing salve; at least you are a portion of it. Why is it so hard to part with money only to find that it’s not even necessarily the best offering you possess? I guess that’s why I feel like this is a journal entry and not the last. I’m trying to figure out how to give my money in such a way that allows my “Me” to be given away simultaneously. If you got something on this one, share it homie and let us in your secret so we can tailor our gifts and see the aid all the way through to the hearts of the less fortunate.

Cast your bread upon the waters,
for after many days you will find it again.
2 Give portions to seven, yes to eight,
for you do not know what disaster may come upon the land.”
-Ecclesiastes 11:1-2