By his own admission, my Dad was not the star of his high school basketball team; not the leading scorer; not the best point guard; not even a starter during his career. When he remembers his playing days, he talks of coming down with rebounds in a crowd of forwards 5,6,7 inches taller than he; he talks of locking up with the best player on the other team and taking pride in not letting him score; and of course, the humble guy that he is, he talks of his Achilles heel – the soft spot in his game; the reason he didn’t get the shoe contract; the shot opposing teams happily allowed: the almighty LAYUP…given 10 attempts from the top of the key or 10 breakaway layups, he’ll make double the jump shots just about every time. These facts and the stories to support them I’ve come to learn over years during countless backyard shooting sessions…
There’s a little slice of heaven back in Interlaken, NJ on Woodmere Rd where a patch of blacktop has sat tastefully cornered for over a decade in a perfectly self-manicured landscape just wide and deep enough to fit a regulation three point arch that half moons around a full fiberglass backboard outfitted with a red white and blue net like you used to see at the playgrounds…”backyard of the year” kind of stuff...a peaceful, private spot where a guy has no excuse for not getting hundreds of jumpshots up every day…a place where Dads rebound for sons while passing down the stories and recollections of “rebounding amongst the trees” . If we all had to choose just one place to live down the rest of our days, this is probably it for me. The concrete was first poured at some point between my 12th and 14th birthday…I’m a little hazy on the details obviously and I’m sure my Dad would know for sure, but I can back into this two year time frame because I know it was there when I started high school and it wasn’t during one of them indelible moments that a guy will never forget.
As a 10 and 11 year old kid, you don’t know and probably don’t care how many points per game your Dad averaged in high school (but you assume it was a lot, of course). When you’re regularly playing one-on-one in the backyard, the only thing you know and care about is that he’s taller, stronger, quicker and that you’ve never beaten him. As an 11 year old, he could probably shut you out every time if he really wanted to but he lets you compete for a while before shutting the door and imparting the life lessons of humility and the value of a strong work ethic…these lessons, as we all know, don’t become apparent until later in life and lacking any perspective at that age, you wonder if there will ever be a day that you find that first victory…that is, until you actually pull it off on your 12th birthday. I’m pretty sure the plan was not to let me win that day…I would imagine the script called for letting the young pup get close enough but then clamping down and preventing any real chance of victory…ahhh, but alas, the script would be thrown out...
One in a million. A total prayer that had no right to go in. The memory remains pretty vivid. I couldn’t tell you how we got to game point, but I do know that I was checking it up with a chance to hit a two (pointer) for the win. I know that it wasn’t the new court because we dribbled on a patch of dirt/weeds and shot at a backboard in worse condition than the ones at the DS Basketball camp held in a tennis facility. He checked it up and stood toe to toe ready to thwart any attempt at moving an inch closer to the basket. I had no chance and I knew it. My only option was to take a dribble away from the rim, spin with my back to the basket and heave desperation in the general direction of the goal. It could have ended up in any one of a hundred different places that it deserved to: the most predictable being over the fence, down the hill and in the neighbor’s yard across the street…BUT, it didn’t. Nope. It first landed squarely in the center of the box on the backboard (a place no self respecting balla player ever aims for) and then dropped cleanly through the net, signaling that first victory and sparking a celebration replete with loud noises, high stepping and double overhead fist pumping. Equally goofy as it was obnoxious I am sure…but hey, what did I care? I just beat my dad (my hero) for the first time ever in basketball. I’ll never forget it.
As the years wore on, the games of 1v1 became more and more competitive and then less and less so…I continued to grow (and figured out that Achilles heel) and eventually our time in the backyard was spent mostly doing shooting workouts. Some real quality father-son bonding back there in our own little slice of heaven…and we didn’t play the 1 on 1 game but twice a year: His birthday and mine. When I eventually went off to college and was only home during the summer, the ritual stretched to just once a year: the 4th of July. Father vs Son, 1 on 1. It’s funny how things tend to come full circle. He now playing the role of unlikely underdog and I the boring favorite. Mom would come out and watch from the steps of the back deck tsk-tsk’ing and shaking her head while I backed him down in the post as if to say, “If you send your father to the hospital, you’re out of the will”. We found subtle ways to level the action and keep things competitive but inevitably if he ever got close to game point, I would check it up, stand toe-to-toe, take away the top of the key jumper he loved and force him to the rim. We battle it out once a year every summer: no injuries; loser pours…
This past summer, with me off at College Part Duex, the annual tradition was put off until the second week in August (during my two week break). We laced ‘em up, he put on his Ursinus basketball shorts and an old school ND jersey (class of ’75) and we checked it up out back with Mom watching from the steps. Game 1 followed the script: a close, scrappy contest with more bricks than swishes but eventually less bricks from the 26 yr old…a predictable outcome. Game II followed a similar pattern from the start. We seesawed for a while in the summer heat conceding open jumpers to each other while conserving energy. The score stayed tight as we got closer to 11 and I finally found myself checking it up with the old man a two away from victory. So what did I do? This was crunch time...I got low and close and was determined not to give up that top of the key jumper….what did he do? He shot faked, looked right, drove left and you’d never believe it, but he went up for a contested layup and actually made it…oh boy…now the 16 seed is just a point away closing out the 1 seed…check it up…determined not give up the game winner and convinced the last point was a fluke, I assumed the stance. Same move: head fake to the rim, I stay on the ground…he fakes right, starts the drive left…there’s no way he’s getting that layup off again; I’m with him the whole way. One dribble and he stops…on a dime he rises up and shoots the pull-up…I’m caught off guard, expecting the layup and he gets a clean look….ball in flight …hits the front the rim, bounces off the backboard and finally drops through…game over…with all of the goofiness and none of the obnoxiousness of a 12 year old, the routine of high knees, double overhead fist pumping and hollering ensues. The crowd (of one) empties from the bleachers (the step) and rushes the court (lightly jogs through the arbor) to join in the upset celebration… needless to say, I poured three beers that night…one for the loser and one for the victor and his cheerleader.
At 57 years old and playing on stiff knees, he’s still teaching life lessons on the blacktop in the backyard…today’s thesis (with an assist from Mom): You’re never too old to live with a 12 year old’s joie de vivre.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Saint Malinowski on N. Saint Peters
At long last, writing this week from the road! The final class of the summer session let out only a couple of hours earlier and my girl has just taken the wheel for a couple of miles…with the wheel comes ownership of the dial and I’m sorry to turn off Cleveland’s ESPN radio (and the riveting discussion in anticipation of an intra-squad brown/white Browns scrimmage) but it provides a good chance to sit back and reflect a little bit...
The last week of the “summer intensive” proved to be a nice transition to the approaching two week respite – just a morning pass/fail course on the subject of “Strategy Essentials” (mostly some touchy feely shi…stuff). After Monday’s class, Emily and I realized that with a light course load, it might be a good week to host our turn at dinner … an unofficial club has formed within the MBA student body and it is the brainchild of our classmate Greg Carlson. During the first two or three weeks of the program, he casually polled students seeking interest in a no frills dinner-club-type group where each member would take a turn at hosting a homemade meal of their own “specialty dish”… the thought was, as he put it, “work hard one week and then sit back and don’t do jack for 15 weeks”. He came up with a name - the “College Meal Plan” (sounds like it should be a Kanye album doesn’t it) – and then volunteered to host the first meal two Fridays ago. He delivered a great night and a meat-lover’s paradise – bacon wrapped grilled chicken stuffed with Italian sausage and portabella mushroom…lights out…as delicious as it sounds…after the feeding that night, the process for establishing the next host was agreed upon – the game of “Fingers” (involving a pitcher of beer) that produces no true winner(s) and just one loser. As you might imagine, with the odds stacked against us (two players), it was no surprise that team McEvilowski would have the honor of chef responsibilities for round II…Cool, nooooo problem….we left that evening promising the very best (and likely first) shrimp enchilada our guests have ever seen.
In an effort to continue the momentum of the Meal Plan, we really wanted to get our Enchiladas in before the summer break. After learning that the this week would afford the chance, Monday night we sent out the invitation and received back a near unanimous response - 15 affirmative RSVP’s….the gauntlet had been thrown – a grown up dinner party for 17 people… as the responses trickled in, we thought hmmmm, maybe we were in a little over our heads….nahhh, no way. How hard could it be, right? I was going to cook up a couple batches of my specialty Enchiladas (the only thing I got) and Emily would bring it all alive with some sautéed broccoli, green beans, asparagus and a side of Mexican rice while also preparing nachos and a corn dip for an appetizer (she takes a lot of pride her dips and seems to have developed a bit of a niche in the department). We set off for the food store on Tuesday to get all the necessary ingredients (we were missing just the corn tortillas). The next morning we wake up, go to class, and each have our own agenda for the afternoon. We agreed that we’d meet back at the house at around 5/530 that evening and I’d make sure to pick up the missing tortilla shells and some borrowed baking sheets…
Among other things on the agenda was a tentatively scheduled workout at about 4pm. It’d been a while since my last showing at the pickup scene and I was hungry for a little hoops action…planned to get some shots up on my own and then run a couple games with the afternoon crowd (they usually trickle in between 4:30 and 5)...Took a while for us to finally round up 10 but once we got going, my team won a couple games and I was feeling pretty good about my performance … (the Matt Harping pull-up game was sharp and I was the proud recipient of a recruiting pitch from an intramural team captain)…so good, in fact, that I kind of lost track of time and before I knew it, when I finally asked someone what time it was, the response that came, “eh, a little after 6” was a bit startling…Oh ____!! (you fill in the blank…they all apply)…I hustle to the locker room, pack all my stuff in a bag and immediately head off for the car – no time for a shower, change of shirt or even shoes. It’s now 6:15 and I look at my phone to see 5 missed calls and 4 new text messages coming as early as 5:10 and evenly distributed through 6:10….You can guess who they were from….there was a gradual progression of tone: First, “Bri, maybe we should get started sooner”…then, a little later, “You already picked up the dishes and the tortillas right?”…and the 6:00 one: “You do know we are hosting 17 people at your house in an hour!”…OK, now I have a lot more work to do than I originally thought. There's a fairly long list of responsibilities when it comes to hosting dinner party and on top of it all I’ve now managed to find myself squarely in the dog house…Walking to the car, I call back: “I’m really sorry, I had no idea what time it was, I’m on my way to the food store and John’s (for the baking dish), I’ll be there in 10 minutes”…”Bri, I already went to Johns. He had no idea where you were. I’m sitting outside your house waiting for you. Do you have any idea how mad I am right now?”…Sensing this was not the time for sarcasm, I’m thinking solutions, “The spare key is -------. Let yourself in and I’ll be home in 5”…click…I’ve now just parked at the local grocery store and am running through the parking lot into the store wearing a completely drenched t-shirt, fully laced ankle braces and high tops…moving so quickly I don’t even notice the strange looks coming from fellow shoppers…I get the tortillas, run to the counter, check out and am back in the car in 2 minutes flat…hmmm, I wonder if there’s ever been a quicker trip to this grocery store ever…phone rings, “Bri. The key’s not there. Your roommate must have it. (Thinking to myself: Oh, yea…I told him to take it yesterday…whoops)” …click…Any many who’s been in a relationship lasting more than 6 months knows just how quickly emotions of the opposite sex can turn…I roll in front of the house at 6:40 and it’s abundantly clear that I’m dealing with undiluted and raw anger…”Em…”…”Don’t even try it”
She goes right to the kitchen to begin the prep work. I start straightening up the house. We planned for dinner to be served outside and to use the picnic table in the back as necessary seating…don’t exactly have the resources to host a 17 person formal dining experience…but the clouds are now threatening and only adding to the pain. As I start to move the two tables that we have out to the back deck, “What are you doing? We can’t eat outside. It’s hot and humid and it’s about to storm”…”But we really can’t fit everyone in…you’re right. My bad“ (A blatant lie. There is absolutely no way inside is going to work). I set up the tables inside and stand back to try and figure out #1) where we’re going to find another 5 chairs and #2) how the heck we’re to fit 17 of them around these awkwardly positioned tables…(still wearing the same wet outfit)…Emily continues to scramble preparing the food but looks up and finds me in problem solving mode (otherwise known as standing still doing nothing) … “What are you doing?”… “I’m trying to…”…”Just do something!”…OK, Fine. Time for an executive decision: the clouds will blow by. We’re eating outside. I move the tables outside, get the 3 chairs we have and set up the table cloths. Now, time to enter the Lion’s Den….I tread cautiously to the kitchen to take care of my culinary duties – the Enchiladas. Emily heads right for the bathroom to shower. I get done what I have to and at about 7:15 she emerges from the shower and asks, “Soooo when were you going to go to Greg’s to get the chairs and a pan for the rice that I need?”….Oh, right…On my way...
I grab the cell phone, “Greg, you still around? I have to come by to get the chairs…and do you have a pan for rice?”…”yea man, no problem. I’m on my way over in 5 minutes. I’ll just bring them with me.”….”Trust me dude, I don’t mind. See you in 2”. I hustle to get the chairs and am in the car turning the key when I realize that I forgot about the rice pan….pretty sure that would have been the straw that cut the camel’s balls off…I hustle back to get a pan and am again in the car headed home when I notice rain drops starting to hit the windshield...cursing and looking up to the sky (THINK: Henry Hill looking for helicopters in Goodfellas), I’m trying to evaluate how long it’s going to last…eh, doesn’t look bad, shouldn’t be too long…I get home to find a jeep parked outside and two guests inside…PHEW. A shield… the previously set tables are drenched but the rain seems to have stopped. We dry the tables and put the cooking into motion. It’s 7:35 and the rest of the party starts to show. After a dramatic 55 minutes, things seem to settle down and we look to have everything under control. The appetizers are served and receive many deserving compliments. The Enchiladas are in the oven and baking right on schedule. I finally have a chance to take a quick shower and by 7:50, I have a beer in hand and start to relax…man, that pull-up jumper felt damn good today…
Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves and after dinner, in true McEvily fashion, I forced all guests to play two rounds of knockout on our backyard basketball court…proudly sent them all home losers, I might add, as they wondered aloud what kind of person makes everyone play a game just so he can win… All in all, it turned out to be a fun evening and I could sense the tension easing with my ever-patient partner chef. When the last person left at around 11:30, the negotiation was quick and relatively painless. The act of contrition: a dinner at her favorite South Bend Italian restaurant, Papa Vinos. She really is the best….
“Bri, you ready to take back the wheel yet? There’s a rest stop coming up soon…Hey, what are you doing on that thing by the way?”…”Just typing up a blog post”…….”Let me guess, you’re going to make me relive it all again aren’t you?...I really should go find a new boyfriend!”
Sometimes, it’s hard to argue with her.
The last week of the “summer intensive” proved to be a nice transition to the approaching two week respite – just a morning pass/fail course on the subject of “Strategy Essentials” (mostly some touchy feely shi…stuff). After Monday’s class, Emily and I realized that with a light course load, it might be a good week to host our turn at dinner … an unofficial club has formed within the MBA student body and it is the brainchild of our classmate Greg Carlson. During the first two or three weeks of the program, he casually polled students seeking interest in a no frills dinner-club-type group where each member would take a turn at hosting a homemade meal of their own “specialty dish”… the thought was, as he put it, “work hard one week and then sit back and don’t do jack for 15 weeks”. He came up with a name - the “College Meal Plan” (sounds like it should be a Kanye album doesn’t it) – and then volunteered to host the first meal two Fridays ago. He delivered a great night and a meat-lover’s paradise – bacon wrapped grilled chicken stuffed with Italian sausage and portabella mushroom…lights out…as delicious as it sounds…after the feeding that night, the process for establishing the next host was agreed upon – the game of “Fingers” (involving a pitcher of beer) that produces no true winner(s) and just one loser. As you might imagine, with the odds stacked against us (two players), it was no surprise that team McEvilowski would have the honor of chef responsibilities for round II…Cool, nooooo problem….we left that evening promising the very best (and likely first) shrimp enchilada our guests have ever seen.
In an effort to continue the momentum of the Meal Plan, we really wanted to get our Enchiladas in before the summer break. After learning that the this week would afford the chance, Monday night we sent out the invitation and received back a near unanimous response - 15 affirmative RSVP’s….the gauntlet had been thrown – a grown up dinner party for 17 people… as the responses trickled in, we thought hmmmm, maybe we were in a little over our heads….nahhh, no way. How hard could it be, right? I was going to cook up a couple batches of my specialty Enchiladas (the only thing I got) and Emily would bring it all alive with some sautéed broccoli, green beans, asparagus and a side of Mexican rice while also preparing nachos and a corn dip for an appetizer (she takes a lot of pride her dips and seems to have developed a bit of a niche in the department). We set off for the food store on Tuesday to get all the necessary ingredients (we were missing just the corn tortillas). The next morning we wake up, go to class, and each have our own agenda for the afternoon. We agreed that we’d meet back at the house at around 5/530 that evening and I’d make sure to pick up the missing tortilla shells and some borrowed baking sheets…
Among other things on the agenda was a tentatively scheduled workout at about 4pm. It’d been a while since my last showing at the pickup scene and I was hungry for a little hoops action…planned to get some shots up on my own and then run a couple games with the afternoon crowd (they usually trickle in between 4:30 and 5)...Took a while for us to finally round up 10 but once we got going, my team won a couple games and I was feeling pretty good about my performance … (the Matt Harping pull-up game was sharp and I was the proud recipient of a recruiting pitch from an intramural team captain)…so good, in fact, that I kind of lost track of time and before I knew it, when I finally asked someone what time it was, the response that came, “eh, a little after 6” was a bit startling…Oh ____!! (you fill in the blank…they all apply)…I hustle to the locker room, pack all my stuff in a bag and immediately head off for the car – no time for a shower, change of shirt or even shoes. It’s now 6:15 and I look at my phone to see 5 missed calls and 4 new text messages coming as early as 5:10 and evenly distributed through 6:10….You can guess who they were from….there was a gradual progression of tone: First, “Bri, maybe we should get started sooner”…then, a little later, “You already picked up the dishes and the tortillas right?”…and the 6:00 one: “You do know we are hosting 17 people at your house in an hour!”…OK, now I have a lot more work to do than I originally thought. There's a fairly long list of responsibilities when it comes to hosting dinner party and on top of it all I’ve now managed to find myself squarely in the dog house…Walking to the car, I call back: “I’m really sorry, I had no idea what time it was, I’m on my way to the food store and John’s (for the baking dish), I’ll be there in 10 minutes”…”Bri, I already went to Johns. He had no idea where you were. I’m sitting outside your house waiting for you. Do you have any idea how mad I am right now?”…Sensing this was not the time for sarcasm, I’m thinking solutions, “The spare key is -------. Let yourself in and I’ll be home in 5”…click…I’ve now just parked at the local grocery store and am running through the parking lot into the store wearing a completely drenched t-shirt, fully laced ankle braces and high tops…moving so quickly I don’t even notice the strange looks coming from fellow shoppers…I get the tortillas, run to the counter, check out and am back in the car in 2 minutes flat…hmmm, I wonder if there’s ever been a quicker trip to this grocery store ever…phone rings, “Bri. The key’s not there. Your roommate must have it. (Thinking to myself: Oh, yea…I told him to take it yesterday…whoops)” …click…Any many who’s been in a relationship lasting more than 6 months knows just how quickly emotions of the opposite sex can turn…I roll in front of the house at 6:40 and it’s abundantly clear that I’m dealing with undiluted and raw anger…”Em…”…”Don’t even try it”
She goes right to the kitchen to begin the prep work. I start straightening up the house. We planned for dinner to be served outside and to use the picnic table in the back as necessary seating…don’t exactly have the resources to host a 17 person formal dining experience…but the clouds are now threatening and only adding to the pain. As I start to move the two tables that we have out to the back deck, “What are you doing? We can’t eat outside. It’s hot and humid and it’s about to storm”…”But we really can’t fit everyone in…you’re right. My bad“ (A blatant lie. There is absolutely no way inside is going to work). I set up the tables inside and stand back to try and figure out #1) where we’re going to find another 5 chairs and #2) how the heck we’re to fit 17 of them around these awkwardly positioned tables…(still wearing the same wet outfit)…Emily continues to scramble preparing the food but looks up and finds me in problem solving mode (otherwise known as standing still doing nothing) … “What are you doing?”… “I’m trying to…”…”Just do something!”…OK, Fine. Time for an executive decision: the clouds will blow by. We’re eating outside. I move the tables outside, get the 3 chairs we have and set up the table cloths. Now, time to enter the Lion’s Den….I tread cautiously to the kitchen to take care of my culinary duties – the Enchiladas. Emily heads right for the bathroom to shower. I get done what I have to and at about 7:15 she emerges from the shower and asks, “Soooo when were you going to go to Greg’s to get the chairs and a pan for the rice that I need?”….Oh, right…On my way...
I grab the cell phone, “Greg, you still around? I have to come by to get the chairs…and do you have a pan for rice?”…”yea man, no problem. I’m on my way over in 5 minutes. I’ll just bring them with me.”….”Trust me dude, I don’t mind. See you in 2”. I hustle to get the chairs and am in the car turning the key when I realize that I forgot about the rice pan….pretty sure that would have been the straw that cut the camel’s balls off…I hustle back to get a pan and am again in the car headed home when I notice rain drops starting to hit the windshield...cursing and looking up to the sky (THINK: Henry Hill looking for helicopters in Goodfellas), I’m trying to evaluate how long it’s going to last…eh, doesn’t look bad, shouldn’t be too long…I get home to find a jeep parked outside and two guests inside…PHEW. A shield… the previously set tables are drenched but the rain seems to have stopped. We dry the tables and put the cooking into motion. It’s 7:35 and the rest of the party starts to show. After a dramatic 55 minutes, things seem to settle down and we look to have everything under control. The appetizers are served and receive many deserving compliments. The Enchiladas are in the oven and baking right on schedule. I finally have a chance to take a quick shower and by 7:50, I have a beer in hand and start to relax…man, that pull-up jumper felt damn good today…
Everyone seemed to enjoy themselves and after dinner, in true McEvily fashion, I forced all guests to play two rounds of knockout on our backyard basketball court…proudly sent them all home losers, I might add, as they wondered aloud what kind of person makes everyone play a game just so he can win… All in all, it turned out to be a fun evening and I could sense the tension easing with my ever-patient partner chef. When the last person left at around 11:30, the negotiation was quick and relatively painless. The act of contrition: a dinner at her favorite South Bend Italian restaurant, Papa Vinos. She really is the best….
“Bri, you ready to take back the wheel yet? There’s a rest stop coming up soon…Hey, what are you doing on that thing by the way?”…”Just typing up a blog post”…….”Let me guess, you’re going to make me relive it all again aren’t you?...I really should go find a new boyfriend!”
Sometimes, it’s hard to argue with her.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Chalk It Up
For those of you unfamiliar with the many different distinguishing characteristics of this special little town of South Bend, allow me to enlighten you with yet another fun fact: South Bend is home to North America's very first artificial whitewater waterway...Didn't know that did you? Yea baby - nothing like a first-mover advantage (love the MBA-speak)... the South Bend course was the first of four now scattered throughout the country. Why, you ask? Well, thanks to some limited research (Wikipedia) the answer seems to be that these courses were built as training grounds for Olympic athletes to prepare for the Games' whitewater events. While South Bend was once home to such training, the official US National Whitewater Center, constructed in 2000, is located in Charlotte and serves as the venue for most of the training these days (They teach us that the first-mover advantage always wears off...). For you Wednesday night 'Wings n Trivia' regulars, the other two sites are in MD and TN.
The East Race Waterway, as it's called, now falls under the domain of South Bend Parks and Recreation Department. It opens during the summer on weekend afternoons for the local daredevils to taste for themselves what if feels like to fight the 1900 feet of scale 2 rapids. For just $5, anybody measuring in at a minmum of 4'6" can take the quick ride...a pretty tame exercise for even the most risk averse...With the summer program winding down (1 week left before a 2 week recess) us 1 yr students realize that without immediate action, our opportunity to brave this unique experience would soon be gone...and so it was that this past Saturday afternoon, a group of 10 MBA students took to the river each with 5 bucks, a pair of water shoes and expectations for not much more than a checkmark on the list of 'Only in South Bend'...
I should start with a little background...scale 2 rapids may not mean much to the rookie rafter, but for those of us with experience riding the safetynet-free waves of Mother Nature's scale 4 rapids, you'll have to excuse our yawn...you see, during the summer of my 14th birthday, the McEvily family vacation took us out West for a 5 day rafting excursion down the Green River and through the canyons of Utah...a great vaca that produced some unforgettable memories and, apparently, a touch of whitewater hubris that lingered untested for the next 12 years...
Getting back to present day South Bend...We arrive at the course, buy our tickets from the hotdog stand (I know what you're thinking but sadly no pre-game corndogs) and break up in to smaller teams. The combination of Garner, Shirley (male classmates), and McEvily develops a natural rapport and forms a smaller team of just 3...(Perfect, less of chance for novice rafters to get in my way)...we select our life vests, helmets and the winning raft before setting out down to the launching dock...."So, is this your first ride?" says the blonde lifeguard (full tattoo running down her right thigh) as she grabs the raft from us (the same one just requiring the efforts of three grown men to transport)..."Yep"..."OK, then let me give you my safety spiel..." As she goes on to describe the depth of water (~3ft), positioning of lifeguards (every couple hundred yards) and the proper "Rescue Me" technique (on your back, feet up, blah, blah, blah), I'm about ready to interrupt with, "Uh, Have you ever heard of the Green River? I think I'll be OK, Thanks..." but discretion gets the better of me...She pushes us off with one final piece of advice: "make sure to lock your feet into the sides of the boat or the seat in front of you for better balance"...and just like that, we're off...
...the current gradually picks up a bit and we can now see an approach to some white water...we attack it head on ready for some action...here we go...annnnnnd....Oh...Are you serious? THAT was IT??? ...what a bore...at least it'll be over in 5 minutes...current picks up some more....next rapid - half a step up...wonder why they even bother with lifeguards out here...next rapid - little more challenging...hey, this is close to being fun...the next one now in our sights...looks like a fair amount of white...we might actually get some splash here..."Yo Shirley, what are you doing? Why is the boat turning sideways?"..."You got me!"...we're now hitting the rapid sideways...no big deal..."Man, you guys should've seen me on the Green River..."...the sideways approach seems just fine...Hey, look - there's our other group walking back....wait a minute..."Dude, we're stuck!"...the raft, still sideways, is at the bottom of the current rapid while a mini waterfall effect prevents our progress down stream...A rush of current hits us from the side annnnnd....yep, you got it - the dreamteam capsizes (those Greek Gods always punish hubris)...
...ahhhh, water not too cold, this aint so bad, good way to cool off...I pop up from underwater and notice Shirley now floating down the river too...wait, I'm under again...something’s off here...Ahhh, Shoot!...my foot is caught in the boat (wedged under the seat in front of me, of course)....can't shake it loose!...up for air again...back under...the raft is now floating down stream with a Tuna hanging from its starboard!...can't break out...oh boy...is this it?...3ft of water on a manmade whitewater course with scale 2 rapids...what a way to go... thoughts flashing through my mind…I wonder how many people would come to my funeral...Definitely should have gone on that Brazil trip... Can't believe I missed that three in the '05 tournament game...FINALLY, the seat in front of me gives a little bit and the foot shakes free...PHEW!...OK, what was it that she said about the "Rescue Me" position...floating on my back...feet up...a lifeguard is now in sight and shouting instructions....he throws us (Shirely 5 ft ahead of me) each a rope...lifeguards from both sides of the waterway are delivering instructions...total confusion....what the HECK is going on here...there is only 3 feet of water!...this guy is struggling with his biggest catch of the day...Garner meanwhile finds his way back to the raft but clearly losing command of the vessel on his own and finds himself once again in the water! He's looking back at us, deer in the headlights...the two lifeguards on the other side are now yelling obscenity-laden orders at him…“Get back in the boat immediately!”… they think he's intentionally jumped overboard...He's yelling back, "CHILLOUT!"…superman lifeguard is pulling two of the biggest goofballs the St. Joseph's has ever known to shore while Garner manages to fight his way back to the raft...what the F just happened?!?! I notice our classmates, who have just witnessed this very embarrassing spectacle, are now across the way doubled over and laughing uncontrollably...
Shirley and I are dripping wet and walking to the end of the course to meet up with our team's sole survivor...having a pretty good laugh ourselves...Through plenty of tries and lots of duds, the guy seems to have really taken pride in having a one-liner for any situation (better known as Shirleyism's): "Well, I guess you can chalk that up to something that looks a whoooole lot easier than it really is"...There it is - a perfect delivery.
Indeed, only in South Bend...
The East Race Waterway, as it's called, now falls under the domain of South Bend Parks and Recreation Department. It opens during the summer on weekend afternoons for the local daredevils to taste for themselves what if feels like to fight the 1900 feet of scale 2 rapids. For just $5, anybody measuring in at a minmum of 4'6" can take the quick ride...a pretty tame exercise for even the most risk averse...With the summer program winding down (1 week left before a 2 week recess) us 1 yr students realize that without immediate action, our opportunity to brave this unique experience would soon be gone...and so it was that this past Saturday afternoon, a group of 10 MBA students took to the river each with 5 bucks, a pair of water shoes and expectations for not much more than a checkmark on the list of 'Only in South Bend'...
I should start with a little background...scale 2 rapids may not mean much to the rookie rafter, but for those of us with experience riding the safetynet-free waves of Mother Nature's scale 4 rapids, you'll have to excuse our yawn...you see, during the summer of my 14th birthday, the McEvily family vacation took us out West for a 5 day rafting excursion down the Green River and through the canyons of Utah...a great vaca that produced some unforgettable memories and, apparently, a touch of whitewater hubris that lingered untested for the next 12 years...
Getting back to present day South Bend...We arrive at the course, buy our tickets from the hotdog stand (I know what you're thinking but sadly no pre-game corndogs) and break up in to smaller teams. The combination of Garner, Shirley (male classmates), and McEvily develops a natural rapport and forms a smaller team of just 3...(Perfect, less of chance for novice rafters to get in my way)...we select our life vests, helmets and the winning raft before setting out down to the launching dock...."So, is this your first ride?" says the blonde lifeguard (full tattoo running down her right thigh) as she grabs the raft from us (the same one just requiring the efforts of three grown men to transport)..."Yep"..."OK, then let me give you my safety spiel..." As she goes on to describe the depth of water (~3ft), positioning of lifeguards (every couple hundred yards) and the proper "Rescue Me" technique (on your back, feet up, blah, blah, blah), I'm about ready to interrupt with, "Uh, Have you ever heard of the Green River? I think I'll be OK, Thanks..." but discretion gets the better of me...She pushes us off with one final piece of advice: "make sure to lock your feet into the sides of the boat or the seat in front of you for better balance"...and just like that, we're off...
...the current gradually picks up a bit and we can now see an approach to some white water...we attack it head on ready for some action...here we go...annnnnnd....Oh...Are you serious? THAT was IT??? ...what a bore...at least it'll be over in 5 minutes...current picks up some more....next rapid - half a step up...wonder why they even bother with lifeguards out here...next rapid - little more challenging...hey, this is close to being fun...the next one now in our sights...looks like a fair amount of white...we might actually get some splash here..."Yo Shirley, what are you doing? Why is the boat turning sideways?"..."You got me!"...we're now hitting the rapid sideways...no big deal..."Man, you guys should've seen me on the Green River..."...the sideways approach seems just fine...Hey, look - there's our other group walking back....wait a minute..."Dude, we're stuck!"...the raft, still sideways, is at the bottom of the current rapid while a mini waterfall effect prevents our progress down stream...A rush of current hits us from the side annnnnd....yep, you got it - the dreamteam capsizes (those Greek Gods always punish hubris)...
...ahhhh, water not too cold, this aint so bad, good way to cool off...I pop up from underwater and notice Shirley now floating down the river too...wait, I'm under again...something’s off here...Ahhh, Shoot!...my foot is caught in the boat (wedged under the seat in front of me, of course)....can't shake it loose!...up for air again...back under...the raft is now floating down stream with a Tuna hanging from its starboard!...can't break out...oh boy...is this it?...3ft of water on a manmade whitewater course with scale 2 rapids...what a way to go... thoughts flashing through my mind…I wonder how many people would come to my funeral...Definitely should have gone on that Brazil trip... Can't believe I missed that three in the '05 tournament game...FINALLY, the seat in front of me gives a little bit and the foot shakes free...PHEW!...OK, what was it that she said about the "Rescue Me" position...floating on my back...feet up...a lifeguard is now in sight and shouting instructions....he throws us (Shirely 5 ft ahead of me) each a rope...lifeguards from both sides of the waterway are delivering instructions...total confusion....what the HECK is going on here...there is only 3 feet of water!...this guy is struggling with his biggest catch of the day...Garner meanwhile finds his way back to the raft but clearly losing command of the vessel on his own and finds himself once again in the water! He's looking back at us, deer in the headlights...the two lifeguards on the other side are now yelling obscenity-laden orders at him…“Get back in the boat immediately!”… they think he's intentionally jumped overboard...He's yelling back, "CHILLOUT!"…superman lifeguard is pulling two of the biggest goofballs the St. Joseph's has ever known to shore while Garner manages to fight his way back to the raft...what the F just happened?!?! I notice our classmates, who have just witnessed this very embarrassing spectacle, are now across the way doubled over and laughing uncontrollably...
Shirley and I are dripping wet and walking to the end of the course to meet up with our team's sole survivor...having a pretty good laugh ourselves...Through plenty of tries and lots of duds, the guy seems to have really taken pride in having a one-liner for any situation (better known as Shirleyism's): "Well, I guess you can chalk that up to something that looks a whoooole lot easier than it really is"...There it is - a perfect delivery.
Indeed, only in South Bend...
Monday, July 12, 2010
The Decision
Shifting gears from the social scene to the academic schedule, we just recently finished up a week-long session of career development where critical skills like interviewing, job searching, networking and dinner table etiquette were hammered home...very important things that I was receptive to learning all about...but I just couldn't help myself from daydreaming during the afternoons about that glorious moment at some point in the near future when I finally decide which of the 10 different 6 figure job offers (dream sequence) is the best for me (they all swear the job market will be ready for us): Should I announce the decision in a more traditional way by making a phone call to both the winner and losers of the McEvily Sweepstakes.... orrrrrrrr, should I announce the decision quietly through this blog and let the scores of followers (employers included) find out all at the same time (call it the Kevin Durant style) orrrrrr, better yet, should I call up CNBC, request to have a 1 hr special a week from now, sell out to a bunch of sponsors, let the entire world fixate on me and only me for a couple of days, pretend like the decision really hasn't been made, take a bunch of bullsh*t questions from Jim (Cramer of course; I'm not lame enough to sit down with Grey), before finally announcing to the world (and my parents for the first time) that I've decided to pursue a career in subprime lending on the other side of the country (Sorry Mom, I'll fully expect you to write a seething letter about your son's bloated ego and sense of entitlement).....hmmmm, Durant or Lebron?....Tarantula or King James?....this is tough....what to do....
Shoot! Back to reality...the career coach with the microphone in hand now circling the room cold calls on me, "So Brian, how about you? What do you think your biggest strengths and weaknesses are and how do you expect to convince a hiring manager in an interview that you are the only candidate for the job?"...uhhh....well....I guess I'm pretty good at...uhh...Hey, have I told you about my blog?
Here's hoping for tough decisions in the next 6 months...
Shoot! Back to reality...the career coach with the microphone in hand now circling the room cold calls on me, "So Brian, how about you? What do you think your biggest strengths and weaknesses are and how do you expect to convince a hiring manager in an interview that you are the only candidate for the job?"...uhhh....well....I guess I'm pretty good at...uhh...Hey, have I told you about my blog?
Here's hoping for tough decisions in the next 6 months...
Sunday, July 11, 2010
When In Rome...
...do as the Romans and when in South Bend...well, go the local Demolition Derby. Yea baby, nothing like the smell of fire and oil to bring the kids out for this week's family affair.
Having a grand ol' time out here in Indiana and taking full advantage of all that that the area has to offer...btw, in case you were wondering, the star of the show last night at the Derby was a 14 year old kid (who looked not a day older than 12). He lasted until the final heat and cemented his status as the fan favorite (and true winner) as he climbed out of the opening where his station wagon's windshield used to be to jump up and down on the hood of his car...
Having a grand ol' time out here in Indiana and taking full advantage of all that that the area has to offer...btw, in case you were wondering, the star of the show last night at the Derby was a 14 year old kid (who looked not a day older than 12). He lasted until the final heat and cemented his status as the fan favorite (and true winner) as he climbed out of the opening where his station wagon's windshield used to be to jump up and down on the hood of his car...
Nothing like a jumbo corn dog and fifth row seats to the best that the St. Joe's 4H County Fair has to offer. Pretty embarrassing moment actually when I went to order that Jumbo sized corn encrusted foot long hot dog..."so, how do people usually eat these things?", I ask the girl at the window who kindly served us...you know, like standard ketchup/mustard or is there something even cooler made specifically for corndogs that I don't know about...is what I was thinking...in case you were wondering, there's not and what I thought was a legitimate question turned out to be just the opposite: Her mouth went straight to the floor, she looked me dead in the eyes and asked, "Wait, you mean you've never had a corn dog???" Thankfully, Emily has gotten pretty good at apologizing for her boyfriend and shoved me in the direction of the condiment stand before any further embarrassment...the corndog, for any other CD virgins out there, turned out to be damn good too with nothing more than a little yellow mustard.
When we're not getting down with the locals at the county fair, it's college as usual...last week, after gutting through a double final Friday, it was about time to host the first house party of the summer and I was proud to offer up 109 N. St. Peter St as the spot. Went out, bought a keg, enlisted some help for food (lights out buffalo chicken dip from Martha Malinowski), and picked up some ping pong balls...I'm going colllllleggggge all the way baby...keg stands and beer pong until 4am!!! So I send out the invitation through facebook - party starts at 9pm...first guest shows up at 9:30 with the classic look of fear that any first-to-arrive guest usually has: "Oh man, did I miss the party??" he says as he looks back at his car (the only one on the street) hoping for an easy out...Nope, you're the lucky one!...come onnnn in and help yourself to some buffalo dip and a beer (or about 25 because I'm not so sure anyone else is going to show)…. As luck would have it, he was the first of about 50 and it turned out to be a decent little shindig. Not much beer pong (or keg stands for that matter...disappointing, I know) but we did drum up a rowdy game of flip cup on the back deck… for about 10 minutes or so, until the party was officially christened an authentic Colllleggge house party when, from inside the house, I hear. "Oh, $hit. Where's Brian?!...the cops are here and they want to talk to whoever lives here". Certainly not unfamiliar words for a college kid, but as I find my way outside, thoughts of my brother's somewhat harrowing experience hearing those same words run through my mind (as a 20 year old, he bravely answered to a similar request in Chestnut Hill, only to find out that the Boston PD has a real ballbusting policy for honest kids who take responsibility for the cowardice of drunk and incoherent roommates who actually threw the party in the first place...but I digress). Anyway, without any roommates to dump this one on, I am introduced to Officer Kelly who promptly asks for identification...he takes a peek at the Jersey license and after finding the birth date, we all notice his face drop just a bit, "Damn, this guy’s 26 years old. Not the underage bust we were hoping for as we listened from the street. Better make up something about the neighbors calling in a noise distrubance"...he tells us to move it inside and keep it down. "No problem, nice to meet you Officer Kelly, looking forward to seeing you again soon..." 1 party, 1 visit from the cops...what a badass (just don't mind the white chinos and purple golf shirt ensemble while I obediently act on the SBPD demands)... after the run-in with officer Krupkie, errr I mean Kelly, the crowd slowly thins…ahhh, NOW it's starting to feel more like college again…
Indiana’s not so bad after all…We’re making do with what we got…Next party, it’s definitely buffalo dip AND corndogs.
When we're not getting down with the locals at the county fair, it's college as usual...last week, after gutting through a double final Friday, it was about time to host the first house party of the summer and I was proud to offer up 109 N. St. Peter St as the spot. Went out, bought a keg, enlisted some help for food (lights out buffalo chicken dip from Martha Malinowski), and picked up some ping pong balls...I'm going colllllleggggge all the way baby...keg stands and beer pong until 4am!!! So I send out the invitation through facebook - party starts at 9pm...first guest shows up at 9:30 with the classic look of fear that any first-to-arrive guest usually has: "Oh man, did I miss the party??" he says as he looks back at his car (the only one on the street) hoping for an easy out...Nope, you're the lucky one!...come onnnn in and help yourself to some buffalo dip and a beer (or about 25 because I'm not so sure anyone else is going to show)…. As luck would have it, he was the first of about 50 and it turned out to be a decent little shindig. Not much beer pong (or keg stands for that matter...disappointing, I know) but we did drum up a rowdy game of flip cup on the back deck… for about 10 minutes or so, until the party was officially christened an authentic Colllleggge house party when, from inside the house, I hear. "Oh, $hit. Where's Brian?!...the cops are here and they want to talk to whoever lives here". Certainly not unfamiliar words for a college kid, but as I find my way outside, thoughts of my brother's somewhat harrowing experience hearing those same words run through my mind (as a 20 year old, he bravely answered to a similar request in Chestnut Hill, only to find out that the Boston PD has a real ballbusting policy for honest kids who take responsibility for the cowardice of drunk and incoherent roommates who actually threw the party in the first place...but I digress). Anyway, without any roommates to dump this one on, I am introduced to Officer Kelly who promptly asks for identification...he takes a peek at the Jersey license and after finding the birth date, we all notice his face drop just a bit, "Damn, this guy’s 26 years old. Not the underage bust we were hoping for as we listened from the street. Better make up something about the neighbors calling in a noise distrubance"...he tells us to move it inside and keep it down. "No problem, nice to meet you Officer Kelly, looking forward to seeing you again soon..." 1 party, 1 visit from the cops...what a badass (just don't mind the white chinos and purple golf shirt ensemble while I obediently act on the SBPD demands)... after the run-in with officer Krupkie, errr I mean Kelly, the crowd slowly thins…ahhh, NOW it's starting to feel more like college again…
Indiana’s not so bad after all…We’re making do with what we got…Next party, it’s definitely buffalo dip AND corndogs.
Friday, June 18, 2010
Basketball Without Whistles
The life of a "baller" on the pickup court years after any meaningful competitive action can sometimes be a rather pathetic existence. We cling to any remaining trace of skill that once existed and occasionally test the boundaries of old...sometimes it's an aggressive shot selection that completely misses iron (airball) or a move to the lane that once worked (that is, until you forgot how to dribble with your left hand), or it could be a lefty hook that you never had the balls to shoot in a real game but now take with reckless abandon without the slightest regard for "time and score"...19 out of 20 times these attempts end in total disaster and can severely impact interaction with your friends for the evening...buuut, just like that perfect 7 iron to 2 feet on hole 11 en route to shooting a 117, there's always one shot, no matter how bad things are, that keeps you coming back for more every time.
Ultimately, we all find ourselves at some point during the 'afterlife' falling victim to something that is even more pathetic than the actual spectacle itself - actually thinking about and reliving the experience post mortem. It isn't enough that we waste two hours of every week playing the game....nope, we waste even more time daydreaming about it. Might be that perfectly tossed pass in transition or it could be a game winning jumper...OR, maybe it's a really bad turnover that lost the game (possibly a full court pass attempt from under your own basket with 3 seconds left, up 3 that hits the ceiling eventually resulting in a made three at the buzzer from your opponent and a loss in 2OT...idk, just a random example)...the point is - basketball remains a pretty highly anticipated weekly event for us has-beens and the results can often induce a "wish I had that one again" type of a reaction... one that's been known to linger... it's widely believed that Steven P. Erfle's experience at his own wedding was a 9.5 (out of 10) because he went 0-fer at Ursinus that morning...and it would have been only a 9 if not for the ride of his life during the "Hora" (chair dance)... See, I told you - really, pretty pathetic...
So the other night, immediately following the IPO, I received a call from an old colleague (who happens to be a self-titled Associate Head Men's Basketball Coach). It was a call in direct response to the blog posting and began with a very pointed question, "So, how much are you looking to get from MTV for dropping their show in your blog?"...I told you, this guy definitely spends too much time out here...Annnnyway, after explaining that there are no financial incentives behind this blogger's motives (so far. make me an offer) and after getting through the standard pleasantries that former colleagues typically share, I soon learned that he was "Ranging" down to the shore (he drives a white range rover) with his brother sitting shotgun. His brother, who happens to also be a good friend, is a newly minted college grad. I told him to say hello for me and I asked him how he was doing...a question to which the reply came back without a moment's hesitation: "He's doing pretty good...tough out there but he's working real hard to make his own opportunities...things are going to come together soon for him...his guy scored on him a couple of times but he went to the rim solidly at least twice tonight". It was only halfway through that I realized he wasn't talking about his kid brother trying to land a job during double digit unemployment...No, much more importantly, it was a coach's/brother's interrpretation of his play only minutes earlier...(with the honesty that only an older brother could deliver). Even sadder, I quickly forgot, myself, all sense of reality and started to ask details of the game...pathetic? Definitely. But a welcomed interruption to a night of statistics and accounting homework.
OK, so before signing off, I leave with a quick story about the 1 out of 20 that keeps you coming back...earlier this week I received an invitation to summer pickup from our classmate in the MBA program, Tim Abromaitis...quick bio - he graduated in three years and is making use of NCAA eligibility by pursuing a graduate degree...oh, and he'll probably be with your favorite NBA team next season...(a little different than ballroom dancing classes while Mom hangs out on scholarship in SoCal...btw, the BushPush has now been officially eradicated from the books. Never happened. ND won.) ... getting back to the story - I said that I'd be happy to play as long as they weren't looking for anything more than just another body to make 10. Ok, Great - Monday afternoon at 5:30 it is. I end up meeting Mr. NBA at about that time. Takes me back through the lockerroom; pretty sweet digs - plasmas, video games and leather couches for the "lounge" (I mentioned we were fundraising for a new lockeroom rug back in C-ville). We suit up and hit the floor. It's a smattering of current players, buddies still on campus and some alums back from playing overseas looking to stay in shape. Ends up being a good run and I hold my own (not completely embarrassing the family name) until an opportunity in transition materializes...I receive the outlet off a miss at the right hashmark. Just me and the 6-10 guy who's got a pretty good start and is defending the very hoop that I have my eyes on...I can see him salivating in my peripheral vision...I'm lining up the layup and I know he's asking himself if I'm really going to attempt it...hell, I can feel everyone else in the gym thinking the same thing (Think Sandlot scene where first fly ball is hit to Smalls in left and everyone else watches with one eye closed)...I bravely go up for the attempt - take off from the left foot...ball in right hand...he leaves the floor fully anticipating the spike....Then, a quick shift from the right to the left and I sneak it in for two. The classic lefty layup from the right side of the court!!!!...if there's such a thing as a patented move for a washed up DIII whiteboy, mine is this. Every once in a while you can catch an unsuspecting poor soul...in this case - the victim was the 6-10 kid who plays in the Big East.... 0-5 from three? Slept like a baby that night.
1 in 20. I'll take it every time. So, when are we playing next?
Ultimately, we all find ourselves at some point during the 'afterlife' falling victim to something that is even more pathetic than the actual spectacle itself - actually thinking about and reliving the experience post mortem. It isn't enough that we waste two hours of every week playing the game....nope, we waste even more time daydreaming about it. Might be that perfectly tossed pass in transition or it could be a game winning jumper...OR, maybe it's a really bad turnover that lost the game (possibly a full court pass attempt from under your own basket with 3 seconds left, up 3 that hits the ceiling eventually resulting in a made three at the buzzer from your opponent and a loss in 2OT...idk, just a random example)...the point is - basketball remains a pretty highly anticipated weekly event for us has-beens and the results can often induce a "wish I had that one again" type of a reaction... one that's been known to linger... it's widely believed that Steven P. Erfle's experience at his own wedding was a 9.5 (out of 10) because he went 0-fer at Ursinus that morning...and it would have been only a 9 if not for the ride of his life during the "Hora" (chair dance)... See, I told you - really, pretty pathetic...
So the other night, immediately following the IPO, I received a call from an old colleague (who happens to be a self-titled Associate Head Men's Basketball Coach). It was a call in direct response to the blog posting and began with a very pointed question, "So, how much are you looking to get from MTV for dropping their show in your blog?"...I told you, this guy definitely spends too much time out here...Annnnyway, after explaining that there are no financial incentives behind this blogger's motives (so far. make me an offer) and after getting through the standard pleasantries that former colleagues typically share, I soon learned that he was "Ranging" down to the shore (he drives a white range rover) with his brother sitting shotgun. His brother, who happens to also be a good friend, is a newly minted college grad. I told him to say hello for me and I asked him how he was doing...a question to which the reply came back without a moment's hesitation: "He's doing pretty good...tough out there but he's working real hard to make his own opportunities...things are going to come together soon for him...his guy scored on him a couple of times but he went to the rim solidly at least twice tonight". It was only halfway through that I realized he wasn't talking about his kid brother trying to land a job during double digit unemployment...No, much more importantly, it was a coach's/brother's interrpretation of his play only minutes earlier...(with the honesty that only an older brother could deliver). Even sadder, I quickly forgot, myself, all sense of reality and started to ask details of the game...pathetic? Definitely. But a welcomed interruption to a night of statistics and accounting homework.
OK, so before signing off, I leave with a quick story about the 1 out of 20 that keeps you coming back...earlier this week I received an invitation to summer pickup from our classmate in the MBA program, Tim Abromaitis...quick bio - he graduated in three years and is making use of NCAA eligibility by pursuing a graduate degree...oh, and he'll probably be with your favorite NBA team next season...(a little different than ballroom dancing classes while Mom hangs out on scholarship in SoCal...btw, the BushPush has now been officially eradicated from the books. Never happened. ND won.) ... getting back to the story - I said that I'd be happy to play as long as they weren't looking for anything more than just another body to make 10. Ok, Great - Monday afternoon at 5:30 it is. I end up meeting Mr. NBA at about that time. Takes me back through the lockerroom; pretty sweet digs - plasmas, video games and leather couches for the "lounge" (I mentioned we were fundraising for a new lockeroom rug back in C-ville). We suit up and hit the floor. It's a smattering of current players, buddies still on campus and some alums back from playing overseas looking to stay in shape. Ends up being a good run and I hold my own (not completely embarrassing the family name) until an opportunity in transition materializes...I receive the outlet off a miss at the right hashmark. Just me and the 6-10 guy who's got a pretty good start and is defending the very hoop that I have my eyes on...I can see him salivating in my peripheral vision...I'm lining up the layup and I know he's asking himself if I'm really going to attempt it...hell, I can feel everyone else in the gym thinking the same thing (Think Sandlot scene where first fly ball is hit to Smalls in left and everyone else watches with one eye closed)...I bravely go up for the attempt - take off from the left foot...ball in right hand...he leaves the floor fully anticipating the spike....Then, a quick shift from the right to the left and I sneak it in for two. The classic lefty layup from the right side of the court!!!!...if there's such a thing as a patented move for a washed up DIII whiteboy, mine is this. Every once in a while you can catch an unsuspecting poor soul...in this case - the victim was the 6-10 kid who plays in the Big East.... 0-5 from three? Slept like a baby that night.
1 in 20. I'll take it every time. So, when are we playing next?
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
The IPO
OK, so I must admit - never thought I'd ever be a "blogger"...always kinda thought of the "blogspot" as a place for computer geeks to leek images of the next iPhone or where rumors of political sex scandals started...a place where the likes of Mike McGarvey go to waste endless hours over lunch breaks or "film" sessions...(had to give my boy a shoutout in the maiden voyage)...needless to say, haven't spent much time over the years out here in the ol' blogoshere...until now that is. I've come to learn that there's some good that can come from it all and that it can serve many different purposes....hell, with a couple clicks of the mouse, they'll let anybody set one up for any old reason. So here goes - my attempt at publishing in the public domain...
Let me begin briefly with a purpose. After 4 years of undergraduate studies at the U (Ursinus College for you many followers accross the country) and another 4 years down the road at SEI Investments, I've now taken this show on the road out to South Bend in pursuit of an MBA from the Mendoza College of Business at the University of Notre Dame (in case it wasn't self-effident through my witty title...gotta love BusinessSchool). Mendoza, by the way, is the #1 ranked (undergraduate) business school in the country according to Bloomberg's BusinessWeek. And just walk through any one of the may halls here - there are constant reminders that us MBA'ers are total slackers (though if you leave out the whole undergraduate thing, it can sound pretty impressive)... but bragging about something I've had no part in building is not why this whole blog thing started. No, It started because I was in search of an outlet to write about the "Domer" experience and to document a short stint out here in the land of...well, what is this the land of, anyway? Underachieving and over-emphasized athletic programs??? Ok, you're right, a low blow from just a 2-week'er...In fact, the truth is that it doesn't take very long at all to realize just how special this place is and why it presents the opportunity of a lifetime. Looking forward to every moment...another 6-6 football season included.
So in case you didn't know, Indiana's state motto is "The Crossroads of America" (yea, there's a big sign that lets you know at the border) and I don't exactly know what they (the
state's founding fathers, of course) were going for when it was coined but to me, it just sounds like some place in the middle of nowhere where nothing cool (or state motto deserving) ever happens...and I can confirm that it's definitely not a place with any beaches...So what's a guy supposed to do out here in the middle of the summer? Well, after taking part in a kickball tournament this weekend (no, that's not a typo. We really did play kickball...and I'm pretty terrible at it. SEE PICTURE for evidence), I would be lying through the keyboard if I said there wasn't the slightest moment of reget. I miss you already my friend, the Jersey Shore...though, thanks to MTV, you now mean something very different to everyone I meet...(deep sigh)...it's a very sad reality that I have to introduce myself and my hometown with a disclosure that there's no affiliation with Mike "The Situation". F'in MTV producers - THANKS A LOT.
OK, first entry out of the way. Bottom line - this is a man-diary and I'll post if anything noteworthy happens. Be back soon enough....
Let me begin briefly with a purpose. After 4 years of undergraduate studies at the U (Ursinus College for you many followers accross the country) and another 4 years down the road at SEI Investments, I've now taken this show on the road out to South Bend in pursuit of an MBA from the Mendoza College of Business at the University of Notre Dame (in case it wasn't self-effident through my witty title...gotta love BusinessSchool). Mendoza, by the way, is the #1 ranked (undergraduate) business school in the country according to Bloomberg's BusinessWeek. And just walk through any one of the may halls here - there are constant reminders that us MBA'ers are total slackers (though if you leave out the whole undergraduate thing, it can sound pretty impressive)... but bragging about something I've had no part in building is not why this whole blog thing started. No, It started because I was in search of an outlet to write about the "Domer" experience and to document a short stint out here in the land of...well, what is this the land of, anyway? Underachieving and over-emphasized athletic programs??? Ok, you're right, a low blow from just a 2-week'er...In fact, the truth is that it doesn't take very long at all to realize just how special this place is and why it presents the opportunity of a lifetime. Looking forward to every moment...another 6-6 football season included.
So in case you didn't know, Indiana's state motto is "The Crossroads of America" (yea, there's a big sign that lets you know at the border) and I don't exactly know what they (the
state's founding fathers, of course) were going for when it was coined but to me, it just sounds like some place in the middle of nowhere where nothing cool (or state motto deserving) ever happens...and I can confirm that it's definitely not a place with any beaches...So what's a guy supposed to do out here in the middle of the summer? Well, after taking part in a kickball tournament this weekend (no, that's not a typo. We really did play kickball...and I'm pretty terrible at it. SEE PICTURE for evidence), I would be lying through the keyboard if I said there wasn't the slightest moment of reget. I miss you already my friend, the Jersey Shore...though, thanks to MTV, you now mean something very different to everyone I meet...(deep sigh)...it's a very sad reality that I have to introduce myself and my hometown with a disclosure that there's no affiliation with Mike "The Situation". F'in MTV producers - THANKS A LOT.OK, first entry out of the way. Bottom line - this is a man-diary and I'll post if anything noteworthy happens. Be back soon enough....
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