Rush Hour

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If it wasn’t for haste, my number of husband “Man Errors” would be significantly lower along with about a million other unnecessary things I say and do. “Haste makes waste” is a hard axiom to dispute. Whether it’s rushing your shot in a game or mistiming the words you say I can confirm that Rush Hour can become a lifestyle – a habit detrimental to you and those closest to you.

What prompts me to rush my words or impetuously make decisions is a false sense of urgency. In my mind I’m thinking #1 that I’m right and #2 that what I have to say has immediate significance. I used to think that it was just the delivery of my words that bore importance but I’m learning Trial-and-Error style that I talk too much and often at the wrong times.

Where actions are concerned, I’m guilty of imposing fallacious time tables on myself, the kind that say, ” You’re wanting to apply to that Ph.D. program and you only have 5-6 weeks to get it done.” The truth is, I have until I die to get it done; I’d just rather not wait that long. Rush Hour is a monarchy in our age, dare I say a Dictatorship. Ethics, priorities and the very joy of our existence, at least mine, are adversely affected by a propensity to be expedient at all costs. Fast is the rule in Southern California but we’re not alone.

So if I had this morning back, I’d take the rush out of my conversation with my wife. I’d take my time leaving the house because I forgot my wallet and it cost me 10 minutes. In my hurry to do some yard work I turned the hedge trimmers into 100-foot extension cord trimmers. Did I mention that I’m three weeks behind on car washing, home repair and book publishing research because I’ve created an unlivable pace that speeds me past things and people that matter. “Young man,” the older folks used to say, “What’s your hurry?”

Selling Out

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I’ve seen it all when it comes to selling out. I’ve been the “sell-out” in my own mind and a victim of my own self talk. “Norman, you sell-out, dating that (non-African American) girl.” Or, “Norman, you need to sell-out brotha. Don’t you see all the guys at this pro workout ditching work to make the most of this basketball tryout? You hustled over here after work but that ain’t enough.” I’ve also said, “Norman, you’re a sell-out man because you’re afraid to use your academic vernacular around people who live in the inner city.”

My head is crazy – a profuse flow of sap that often revolves around the feeling that I’m either compromising who I am or not making the right sacrifices. But dig this. I remember being at this one workout in 2005 and talking to a guy in between drills. He worked for UPS and he was 35-years-old. He was at a semi-pro free agent workout in the middle of a workday. He was selling out, competing, having fun and as much as I wanted to judge him I couldn’t help but admire him. He was having the time of his life and he’s never going to earn a dime hoopin’.

Selling out has one of the most notorious connotations. It’s the kind of word that screams epithetically, “Who do you think you are, trying to make a difference and pretending to be more committed than everyone else.” I can’t help but personify the sentiment so pervasive in our culture. It whispers the most insidious notions and what may begin as cautionary conscience speedily turns to venom. Everybody is so careful and nobody is sold out to anything which has bred the very thing that sell-outs are accused of – COMPROMISE. I think I’d rather die by the light saber than be an “unsold-out.” All of the things that make the deepest impact are sold out. The torrential rain that furnishes the Amazon with overgrowth, the Tsunami generated miles offshore that devastates unsuspecting villagers with 500 mph waves or the meteor that penetrates the Earth’s atmosphere. The common denominator is blatant. Why in the world would we think we could live with purpose minus a good and proper sell-out?

Cycles

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Cycles

It’s disconcerting when a cycle is broken.

I think of a cycle as some systemized routine – a consistent fixture which serves some functional purpose. Before ninth grade, my only cycles consisted of school and maybe band for the three years I was in junior high. I played clarinet, took my instrument home on the weekends and even continued playing for one year in high school as a member of the marching band.

I wasn’t an avid clarinetist though because it was too easy to stop playing when I found a cycle to replace it. Basketball became my cycle the day I made the freshmen team in high school. I made first then second cuts, was issued a uniform, took team pictures, practiced everyday including some Saturdays. It was the first time I’d ever been a part of a real team that seemed to need my participation. We had duffle bags with “West Covina Bulldogs” silk screened on the side.

Band gave me something to which to belong but I never dreamed of competing in a field show competition as a kid growing up in south Los Angeles. When the basketball cycle ensued, it was game over and the new cycle was exhilarating. For the next 7 years fall meant basketball. The leaves change colors, the temperature cools, lunches are lost during preseason conditioning and the gym becomes a second home. There was no shortage of idols either as myself and kids like me watched men with the same skin color realize their dreams on our favorite NBA teams. I think this made the cycle that much more alluring as basketball became not only a place of belonging but a source of opportunity.

At 13, I thought there would be a jersey, an upcoming season and good health for at least the next 30 years. But I’m thankful for the eight. I wonder what kind of cycle you’re in right now?

A Familiar Word from Burt Bacharach

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Burt Bacharach composed an ageless classic whose chorus goes:  “What the world needs now is love sweet love. It’s the only thing that there’s just too little of.” I haven’t downloaded any of Bacharach’s greatest hits (no offense to Mr. Bacharach) but I just created a station for him on pandora.com. Back to the love, I see that the world’s need could be localized to sport or work for that matter.

A quick word association for things that come to mind when I hear love mentioned include: God, wife, young people, basketball and writing. And how do I know the love is not counterfeit for these? Try as I might, I can’t stop talking to God, I enjoy living and traveling with my wife (even if it’s just to the store), I teach, basketball is my endorphin switch and I wake up way too early to write if it’s something I can take or leave.

I used to think that Mr. Bacharach was telling us to love others more and rid the Earth of bigotry. Fair enough, but is it possible that what the world needs now is for us to love what we’re doing so that it’s not drudgery. If there’s too little love in the world, maybe it’s because we’ve been swindled and robbed of passion. I suppose even sports can become like a business to the kid who has absorbed peer pressure and expectations that make competing about anything but love. Love is not so nebulous a concept that it should be dismissed as irrelevant.It’s what brings meaning to our pursuits. Love denotes unabashed commitment and the question is not whether love exists in the world that needs more of it as much as it is, “Why aren’t we letting love live as we work, play and attempt to serve?”

Commanding Well while in Command

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Well in CommandI‘m learning that when you reprimand subordinates, the purpose is to reconstruct. I was coaching one day when a player showed up unprepared for practice. My reaction was a series of interwoven emotions: disappointment, a sense that I had been disrespected, anger and embarrassment. I made the mistake of allowing my emotions to move me away from constructive coaching into punitive coaching. The latter sounds like an oxymoron because it is. If coaching becomes punishing, it is no longer interested in moving the player or subordinate forward. I talked aloud with my assistant coach about the situation within earshot of the player and thus embarrassed my player. She was upset but mostly saddened because I didn’t seem to understand her reason for not practicing.

So there I was, on the verge of making a huge relationship withdrawal and losing the ability to coach this young lady. But then wisdom flew in with cape and superhero music in the background. I went to the player, suffering from menstrual symptoms, and said, “I know you have cramps today but…when you don’t dress for practice I feel like you don’t care.” It was a step in the right direction but still not quite constructive enough. So I added, “If today you only have 30 percent in you because you’re in pain, give me 100 percent of the 30 percent that you have girl (smile). Can you give me the 100 of the 30?” She nodded yes and I had reestablished the wellness of my command. That said, I probably need to work on understanding a little more before I’m understood.

The dog ate my homework and my work ethic

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The motivation for making an excuse is puzzling every time I or others do it.

Somewhere in our planet’s history, people began justifying mistakes, oversights, complacency and the like. An NFL player says in a post-game interview that he would have done so-and-so if the defender hadn’t held his jersey. I’m good at the, “I didn’t have time” brand of rationalizations which translated means “I failed to prioritize the rights things.” But the most intriguing part of excuse giving is not in the content but rather the motivation of this ancient art.

Using athletics as an example, what does a player hope to achieve by explaining why they did not or cannot do something everyone else is doing? Do they want to be the exception that is exempt from a workout or the penalty rendered for tardiness? Does this person really wish to separate themselves from the team that is adhering to the rules? I’m afraid that may be exactly it.

I, they and we are, at minimum, tempted to preserve our own interests and, at most, will do it at all costs. Please excuse the following: my failure to show up, wear the appropriate attire or my mild physical ailment that today qualifies as a legitimate reason for not practicing. If it’s excused, then it’s without penalty. But nothing is without penalty. Such a construct is grossly unnatural. Sacrifice and exchange are undisputed rules which are illustrated simple examples such as the inability to be in two places simultaneously or eat soup with chopsticks. The old adage goes, “You make your choices and then your choices make you.” Today is a day that we can liberate ourselves from excuses by anticipating the major events, apologizing for violations and/or doing what’s expected of us under less than ideal conditions.

Not Quite a Full Ride

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I dreamed of being recruited to play Division I College Basketball. Big deal. Haven’t I been rehashing my aspirations and disappointments as a motif on this blog? But what I didn’t know is that the typical four-year athletic scholarship, affectionately known as a “Full Ride” is actually a series of one-year scholarships. When you’re recruited out of high school, apparently you’re offered an opportunity to play your sport for free, one year at-a-time. You have to renew your scholarship each year technically and sometimes, if a new coaching regime replaces the old, you could go from Full Ride to Hitchike Home in a matter of seconds.

Two friends who played for Division I programs enlightened me on this fact and something just seemed deceptive about it. Better be on your p’s and q’s if you’re a big-time recruit. You could be out of a job by your sophomore year and in need of real financial aid on the FAFSA fast track. My “Spidey Senses” are tingling and telling me that the average high-end recruit in America is not so adept at navigating the financial aid world of loans and grants. So the miracle of attaining a free education is possible, all be it a long shot, and extremely fragile.

I’ve often thought about what I’d say to young athletes pursuing the Scholly (scholarship) en route to the ultimate prize, an athletic career. Peripheral vision would be my theme. It’s vital in every sport I can picture being played. But it’s just as valuable figuratively. Peripheral vision protects by granting you a split-second warning that may enable evasive action. Isn’t that why the good quarterbacks can avoid the sack on occasion? There is vulnerability in this world that is no respecter of persons. Young, old, healthy or rehabilitated the nemesis of our age could be the intentional ploys of deception coupled with self-seeking ambition. The unsuspecting prep icon is a ready example of how pride will hand you over to the wicked “for they cannot sleep till they do evil; they are robbed of slumber till they make someone fall.” Keep ya head up when you’re being wined and dined for your services.