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Posted by on Dec 31, 2012 in Blog, Essays, Travel | 1 comment

The Empty Blue Chair

 

View from La Croisette

 

This is the story of an empty blue chair.

More precisely, it’s the story of a person who once occupied it — someone’s name I do not know.

It’s the story of a loyal companion who sat beside the blue chair, so faithfully  — at the same time and place, each and every day.

This is the story of love and loss, of life and death, and ultimately of rebirth and renewal.

This is a personal story, a search for that special someone who once occupied the blue chair — which is now empty.

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Posted by on Dec 3, 2012 in Blog, Essays, Las Vegas | 4 comments

What Strength Really Means — A Story of Two Cowboys

 

Personal Note:  In the coming days, I’ll be posting stories of people and incidents that have inspired me.  Hopefully, these special people will inspire you, as well.

 

How would you define strength?

Ponder this question for a moment.

How is strength best defined?  Take a moment and consider the possibilities.

Okay, so perhaps you have an answer.  Now, permit me to have a go at this.  Perhaps by the end of this essay, you may want to re-think your answer and consider alternative ways that strength is revealed in our society.

Here’s my take.

Strength isn’t manifested in achieving superiority, nor by making others inferior.  Strength isn’t exhibited in anger or intimidation.

To the contrary.  Real strength is embodied in personal sacrifice.  It’s going out of one’s way to help a fellow human being.  It’s putting another person’s comfort above your own.  It’s dealing with the bad breaks in life and making the most out of them.  That’s real strength.

I still have a lot to learn.  I have a long way to go.  No doubt, I have inner demons to conquer.  But life has taught me it’s the small things that really matter.  It’s the small things in life that bring joy and nourish optimism.  Small things, like a glass of vintage wine, a meaningful conversation with family or friends, a comfortable resting place beside a warm fireplace, hearing your favorite Christmas carol, or watching a golden sunset.

Each of those things might not seem exceptional.  But they are!  They are indubitably rewarding.  When we look back at our lives, I think most of us remember the simpler things we have done and experienced that brought us the most happiness.

It’s also the small things that often provide us with the most profound lessons.  A seemingly trivial moment in the middle of the day can reveal a great deal about what’s really important.  Our values stem not so much from formal education or access to the most learned academics.  Life’s most meaningful lessons are taught in the classroom of daily life and come directly from one’s own experiences and observations.  Our values are challenged and often reaffirmed by things that happen to us every single day.

 

………………..

 

The National Finals Rodeo is in town this week.  Every December for the past 27 years, thousands of rodeo cowboys and cowgirls come to Las Vegas from all over the country — indeed from all over the world — to watch and participate in the national championship finals rodeo.  Up and down the Vegas Strip, it’s backed up bumper to bumper with pick-up trucks and horse trailers — with license plates from Oklahoma, Arizona, Montana, Idaho, Wyoming, Manitoba, Texas, and all points in between.  Cowboy hats are everywhere — whether it’s elegant Venetian or down-home Sam’s Town.  Almost every visitor has shiny new belt buckle and wears a pair of blue jeans or coveralls.  An “invasion” of cowboys would not be too strong a word.

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Posted by on Sep 16, 2012 in Blog, Essays | 2 comments

The Dropped Third-Strike Drill

 

 

Writer’s Note:  This is the second in a two-part series.  This blog is contributed by someone who wishes to remain anonymous.  All names of those in this story have been changed at the author’s request.  Please take the time to read this.  It’s beautifully written — and a wonderful inspiration to kids and adults alike.

 

PART II.

 

If you’re a kid playing baseball, there is nothing that causes more disappointment than striking out.

You walk up to the plate and every eye in the stadium is focused on you.   Regardless of what the statistics indicate about your potential for success, the level of expectation is still high.  When a pitcher gives up a home run, it is certainly a disappointment for him.  But everyone knows that in order to be effective in his role a pitcher must throw strikes.  Pitches in the strike zone are, for the most part, hittable and sometimes they are hit out of the park.

When you’ve struck out however, you have either missed the pitches that were in the strike zone, or swung at pitches that were not.  Sometimes both.  You were given multiple opportunities and you wasted them.  To make matters worse you must now take a long, lonely stroll back to the dugout, which affords you ample opportunity to contemplate your recent failure.

But you are certainly NOT a failure — for in the battle between pitcher and hitter, a significant advantage belongs to the pitcher in almost every case.

It has been said that hitting a round ball with a round bat is the hardest fundamental task in all of sports and yet each time you come up to the plate, you expect to and are expected by others to, hit the ball.

When a player makes an error, he may be given the opportunity to redeem himself on the very next pitch.  A diving catch or a perfect throw results in a stadium full of cheering fans, and the dejection that was felt mere seconds ago has now been drastically reduced if not completely eliminated and replaced by a sense of joy and accomplishment.  Strike out however, and several innings will likely pass before you get another chance to bat.  You will carry that sense of failure with you from the batter’s box to the dugout and when you take your position on the field, that sense of failure will continue to haunt you.  It will likely persist even as you take your next turn at bat.  Striking out can be horrible.  Indeed, the disposition of the entire town was adversely affected — their hopes gone, their dreams crushed — by one single example of missed opportunity when The Mighty Casey struck out.

Every summer there are kids on diamonds all across America striking out.  They walk back to their dugouts with their heads hung low while their parents either sink in their seats trying to hide, or scream at them to keep their eye on the ball, or worse yet, telling them they suck.  Right, as if that beer-bellied dad could hit a 65-mph fastball on the inside corner thrown by a 11 year old from just 45 feet away.

Pick any team, on any summer day, on any diamond in America and I guarantee you’ll see it — unless by some miraculous improbability the team you pick happens to be one that I coach.

When coaching youth sports, I believe that it’s important to be as positive as possible.  Emphasize successes, not failures and look for opportunities to promote success in difficult or disappointing situations.  Give the athlete something specific to focus on improving rather than dwelling on the negative result.

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Posted by on Sep 15, 2012 in Blog, Essays | 1 comment

The Penalty Kick

 

 

Writer’s Note:  The next two blog entries are follow-up to a controversial column posted two weeks ago on former NFL coach Vince Lombardi’s famous creed — winning is everything.  I received some interesting e-mails in response.

One reader was emotionally affected by the discussion.  He was kind enough to share his perspectives with me about his own experiences as an amateur baseball coach.  I was so impressed with his outlook on what coaching and teaching really means, that I requested permission to reprint his email.  He graciously agreed.  His thoughts are posted in Part II.  The title is “The Dropped Third-Strike Drill” — coming tomorrow. 

Part I (below) recounts my experience several years ago as a little league soccer coach.

Read Here:  WHY VINCE LOMBARDI HAD IT WRONG


It’s Saturday.

On ball fields all across America, millions of kids and parents of those kids will be cheering and having fun.  But there will also be a lot of ugliness.

You know what kind of ugliness I’m referring to.  You’ve seen it.  You’ve experienced it.  It may have even crept into your own team or family.  It is the ugliness that comes from the twisted mantra — winning is everything.

No.  In fact, winning is not everything.  In many cases, it’s not even that big a thing.  Or at least, it shouldn’t be.

Many years ago, I coached a boys soccer team.  I took the voluntary position because I had been a licensed USSF soccer referee for about five years.  Refereeing kids soccer games subjected me to some serious abuse.  But I loved the game and therefore was determined to get more involved as a head coach.  I also played a few seasons in an adult league as a goalkeeper.  Believe it or not, I was on the local Catholic Church team.  We were called the Crusaders.  And we sucked.

I lasted two seasons as a head coach.  We were known as the Zavala Vikings.  I enjoyed working with those kids, so much.  They must all be grown up now.  I wonder what happened to some of them.  Occasionally, I also wonder if the things I did and said on the field helped them in some small way.

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