Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Exciting Night Tonight
Tonight I get to throw out the first pitch at the Bowling Green Hot Rods game.
Monday, July 20, 2009
My Three Meetings with Don Meyer
Last week, former Lipscomb basketball coach Don Meyer was given the Jim Valvano Courage Award by ESPN. Coach Meyer recovered from a pre-season car crash and cancer diagnosis to lead the Northern State Wolves to an 18-win season. Win #11 was Coach Meyer's 903rd, one more than Bob Knight's all-time men's college basketball record of 902.
MomofTwins went to school with two of the Meyer daughters, Brooke & Brittney, so she knows the family better than I do. I only met Coach Meyer three times during my time at Lipscomb. If he remembers any of them I'd be surprised, but then again the capacity of Lipscomb Nation to remember its own never ceases to amaze me.
The first time I met Coach Meyer I was a new kid on campus. I had just transferred from Harding (long story), and had some ideas about how some of what Harding did with its intramurals could be used at Lipscomb. They had just hired a new Intramural director, Scott Grissom, so I dropped by his office to talk. Before long, Scott introduced me to his boss, Andy Lane (another great guy with a prodigous memory for names and faces. My first time on campus in five years was a basketball game this February. Andy Lane saw me, said hello, and asked about my kids by name. Dude.) Anyway, we talked in Andy's office for a few minutes and before long he's taking me around the athletic department introducing me to the folks who work there. Sherry Phillips I knew from church, but everybody else was new to me. On top of that, they were in the middle of their work days.
That's just the way Lipscomb people are.
One of the stops on our tour was the basketball office. Coach Bennett was out, but that afternoon I met Sherri Eubanks, Mike Roller, and Don Meyer. Coach Meyer was courteous, but he was not chatty. The coaches were going over some of the finer points of a defensive scheme I vaguely recognized as a form of match-up zone, and since I had nothing to add to the conversation, I sat and listened for a while, then Andy and I resumed the tour. My first impression (later confirmed when I would be walking through the upstairs of the gym during basketball practice) was that Coach Meyer was very focused, very determined, and very good at what he did.
That, and the only thing harder than beating Coach Meyer is distracting him.
The following season a friend of mine asked me to ride along to Lady Bisons road games to make game film. One night on our way to Martin Methodist, we stopped for he pregame meal at a nearby restaurant. This trip was a little bit unusual because the men's and women's teams travelled together. Coach Meyer drove his own car, but since the teams were on the same bus we all ate at the same place. I sat down with one of the womens' team student-assistants. Coach Meyer was at a different table, but nearby. Now ordinarily I'm a wallflower anyway, so it takes one to know one. That said, I have never seen anyone in my life try harder to blend into the background of a social situation than Coach Meyer on gameday.
Understand, these are not the observations of a long-term acquaintence, just someone who crossed his path on two random days -- one in mid-September, one in early February. Also understand, this is not criticism. As a preacher, I face "gameday" every Sunday, and I'm often just as focused, just as hard to distract. When I'm "on the clock," I'm giving everything I have -- so much so that if something happens on a Sunday I probrbaly won't remember it unless I write it down.
That said, there was one more occasion where Coach Meyer's path crossed mine. I had just graduated from Lipscomb maybe six weeks earlier. My sister, a starter on what would be a state-runner-up basketball team, was coming to Coach Meyer's Bison Basketbal Camp. She, my mom, and one of her teammates were driving from Florence, SC to Nashville, and were coming over Monteagle Mountain in the rain when something caused her car to begin to slide. Another car hit hers on the drivers side. The resulting injuries weren't serious, but they were enough to keep my sister and her friend from playing that week.
My sister spent the week recuperating at a friend's house in Nashville. This friend's dad worked at Lipscomb, and eventually word got back to Coach Meyer about what had happened. So Sunday afternoon we're sitting in this friend's parents living room, and Coach Meyer's car appears in the driveway. He and one of his coaching colleagues came to see my sister. The visit lasted about 45 minutes, Coach Meyer and me wall-flowering while the other coach and my mom had a nice chat.
My mom is one of those people. If she ever ran across that coach again, she'd probably ask about his kids by name.
What was impressive about the visit was not what Coach Meyer said, or more to the point what he didn't say, but the fact that he was there. This was camp registration day, likely the busiest day of the year from a paperwork and people-coordination standpoint. If there were ever a day when there were details to look after, this was it. But the one detail Coach Meyer wasn't going to let slip was coming to see a camper who wasn't going to get to play.
He put people before paperwork.
Even more impressive was that during the visit even Mr. Socially Inept Me could see how uncomfortable Coach Meyer was. Those close to him say Coach Meyer is the type who loves to do what he is good at, but making conversation with peple he doesn't know well is not one of his strongsuits. Yet in spite of his discomfort, in spite of everything else that had to be done that day, he knew that he could do some good just by showing up.
So he did.
In the last year, people who have spent a lot of time around Coach Meyer have expressed how much they love him. I can see why. Coach Meyer himself has also talked about how his injuries and illness have given him an opportunity to express to those same folks how much he loves them. For his sake, I'm glad he has found his voice enough to say these things out loud.
But if my three, random encounters with Coach Meyer are indicitave of the way he has lived the rest of his life, my suspicion is that deep down in their hearts, the folks hearing these words from Coach Meyer for the first time aren't hearing anything they didn't already know.
MomofTwins went to school with two of the Meyer daughters, Brooke & Brittney, so she knows the family better than I do. I only met Coach Meyer three times during my time at Lipscomb. If he remembers any of them I'd be surprised, but then again the capacity of Lipscomb Nation to remember its own never ceases to amaze me.
The first time I met Coach Meyer I was a new kid on campus. I had just transferred from Harding (long story), and had some ideas about how some of what Harding did with its intramurals could be used at Lipscomb. They had just hired a new Intramural director, Scott Grissom, so I dropped by his office to talk. Before long, Scott introduced me to his boss, Andy Lane (another great guy with a prodigous memory for names and faces. My first time on campus in five years was a basketball game this February. Andy Lane saw me, said hello, and asked about my kids by name. Dude.) Anyway, we talked in Andy's office for a few minutes and before long he's taking me around the athletic department introducing me to the folks who work there. Sherry Phillips I knew from church, but everybody else was new to me. On top of that, they were in the middle of their work days.
That's just the way Lipscomb people are.
One of the stops on our tour was the basketball office. Coach Bennett was out, but that afternoon I met Sherri Eubanks, Mike Roller, and Don Meyer. Coach Meyer was courteous, but he was not chatty. The coaches were going over some of the finer points of a defensive scheme I vaguely recognized as a form of match-up zone, and since I had nothing to add to the conversation, I sat and listened for a while, then Andy and I resumed the tour. My first impression (later confirmed when I would be walking through the upstairs of the gym during basketball practice) was that Coach Meyer was very focused, very determined, and very good at what he did.
That, and the only thing harder than beating Coach Meyer is distracting him.
The following season a friend of mine asked me to ride along to Lady Bisons road games to make game film. One night on our way to Martin Methodist, we stopped for he pregame meal at a nearby restaurant. This trip was a little bit unusual because the men's and women's teams travelled together. Coach Meyer drove his own car, but since the teams were on the same bus we all ate at the same place. I sat down with one of the womens' team student-assistants. Coach Meyer was at a different table, but nearby. Now ordinarily I'm a wallflower anyway, so it takes one to know one. That said, I have never seen anyone in my life try harder to blend into the background of a social situation than Coach Meyer on gameday.
Understand, these are not the observations of a long-term acquaintence, just someone who crossed his path on two random days -- one in mid-September, one in early February. Also understand, this is not criticism. As a preacher, I face "gameday" every Sunday, and I'm often just as focused, just as hard to distract. When I'm "on the clock," I'm giving everything I have -- so much so that if something happens on a Sunday I probrbaly won't remember it unless I write it down.
That said, there was one more occasion where Coach Meyer's path crossed mine. I had just graduated from Lipscomb maybe six weeks earlier. My sister, a starter on what would be a state-runner-up basketball team, was coming to Coach Meyer's Bison Basketbal Camp. She, my mom, and one of her teammates were driving from Florence, SC to Nashville, and were coming over Monteagle Mountain in the rain when something caused her car to begin to slide. Another car hit hers on the drivers side. The resulting injuries weren't serious, but they were enough to keep my sister and her friend from playing that week.
My sister spent the week recuperating at a friend's house in Nashville. This friend's dad worked at Lipscomb, and eventually word got back to Coach Meyer about what had happened. So Sunday afternoon we're sitting in this friend's parents living room, and Coach Meyer's car appears in the driveway. He and one of his coaching colleagues came to see my sister. The visit lasted about 45 minutes, Coach Meyer and me wall-flowering while the other coach and my mom had a nice chat.
My mom is one of those people. If she ever ran across that coach again, she'd probably ask about his kids by name.
What was impressive about the visit was not what Coach Meyer said, or more to the point what he didn't say, but the fact that he was there. This was camp registration day, likely the busiest day of the year from a paperwork and people-coordination standpoint. If there were ever a day when there were details to look after, this was it. But the one detail Coach Meyer wasn't going to let slip was coming to see a camper who wasn't going to get to play.
He put people before paperwork.
Even more impressive was that during the visit even Mr. Socially Inept Me could see how uncomfortable Coach Meyer was. Those close to him say Coach Meyer is the type who loves to do what he is good at, but making conversation with peple he doesn't know well is not one of his strongsuits. Yet in spite of his discomfort, in spite of everything else that had to be done that day, he knew that he could do some good just by showing up.
So he did.
In the last year, people who have spent a lot of time around Coach Meyer have expressed how much they love him. I can see why. Coach Meyer himself has also talked about how his injuries and illness have given him an opportunity to express to those same folks how much he loves them. For his sake, I'm glad he has found his voice enough to say these things out loud.
But if my three, random encounters with Coach Meyer are indicitave of the way he has lived the rest of his life, my suspicion is that deep down in their hearts, the folks hearing these words from Coach Meyer for the first time aren't hearing anything they didn't already know.
Friday, July 17, 2009
I Don't Want To Be A Millionaire
"I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and ***** it, people like me."
Just not enough to put me on TV to try to win a million dollars.
The last time I tried out for Who Wants To Be A Millionaire, the best part of the audition was the standing in line.
Seriously.
The test was recycled -- I got several right just by reviewing old show questions. I passed the knowledge test, but missed the "how willing are you to put up with our attitude?" question. Not willing enough, apparently. From the AP who brought me into the test room, to the test coordinator guy, to the absolute zoo of the interview room, it looked like everybody working there had gotten out of bed entirely too early to do a job they hated.
And part of the process of getting on the show is, from what I've been told, catching the right AP in a good mood.
Sorry. Not for me.
If you want to go on the show, and even if you manage to get into the chair opposite Regis or Meredith, I'll be glad to be a phone-a-friend. My Google-Fu is powerful, grasshopper.
Just don't ask me to be a contestant. It's just not worth it.
Just not enough to put me on TV to try to win a million dollars.
The last time I tried out for Who Wants To Be A Millionaire, the best part of the audition was the standing in line.
Seriously.
The test was recycled -- I got several right just by reviewing old show questions. I passed the knowledge test, but missed the "how willing are you to put up with our attitude?" question. Not willing enough, apparently. From the AP who brought me into the test room, to the test coordinator guy, to the absolute zoo of the interview room, it looked like everybody working there had gotten out of bed entirely too early to do a job they hated.
And part of the process of getting on the show is, from what I've been told, catching the right AP in a good mood.
Sorry. Not for me.
If you want to go on the show, and even if you manage to get into the chair opposite Regis or Meredith, I'll be glad to be a phone-a-friend. My Google-Fu is powerful, grasshopper.
Just don't ask me to be a contestant. It's just not worth it.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Marathon Update
Marathon training is on hold for a while. The intestinal infection will need a 30-day course of antibiotics to clear up. While I'm on the medicine, I'm supposed to avoid anything that might strain a tendon, and any prolonged exposure to direct sunlight. Since on the best of days I start to lobster up after about 15 minutes, and since "running" is at the top of the list of "things that can injure a weak tendon," I'm going to have to be down for the next month or so.
We'll try again in August.
We'll try again in August.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Don't Blame Me . . .
I voted for Bryan the Shark.
The girls liked Corky, the Tennis Ball on a Stick.
MomofTwins, however, is all about the pig. Front runner.
I know, I know. A house divided. The scandal of it all!
Oh, and Mr. TV Man, the next time somebody tries to sell you a script about a planet-killing rock careening toward Earth with the promise "It'll be great!" . . . don't. Just, don't. Please. I don't care how big the names are in your cast, or how "new and original" your story concept might be.
Don't. Just don't.
The girls liked Corky, the Tennis Ball on a Stick.
MomofTwins, however, is all about the pig. Front runner.
I know, I know. A house divided. The scandal of it all!
Oh, and Mr. TV Man, the next time somebody tries to sell you a script about a planet-killing rock careening toward Earth with the promise "It'll be great!" . . . don't. Just, don't. Please. I don't care how big the names are in your cast, or how "new and original" your story concept might be.
Don't. Just don't.
Wednesday, July 1, 2009
USA 2-3 (or 4) Brazil
Interesting couple of games for the U. S. at Confederations Cup. Against Spain, they are out-chanced 25-11 but come away with a 2-0 win. Then, against Brazil, they give up 39 scoring chances while mustering only 13 and nearly escape with another win, falling 3-2.
A "scoring chance" is defined as a ball that goes over the end line (goal kick, corner, kick, or goal), a PK, or play called back as offside. At the Confederations Cup, scoring chances turned into goals about one time in 10. (41 out of 416, with stats not available for Iraq-New Zealand and USA-Egypt).
4 goals on 24 chances is quality finishing. Only giving up 3 goals against 64 chances is solid defense and breath-taking goalkeeping. The problem is in the midfield, where those chances are created and allowed. If you're giving the two best teams in the world 64 chances to score, the odds of holding them down for two games are slim indeed. If the U. S. wants to compete seriously for the World Cup, the midfield is where they will have to get better. A lot better. And fast.
And yes, USA fans, the ball off the underside of the bar was all the way in before Howard cleared it. That's a goal Brazil should have had.
A "scoring chance" is defined as a ball that goes over the end line (goal kick, corner, kick, or goal), a PK, or play called back as offside. At the Confederations Cup, scoring chances turned into goals about one time in 10. (41 out of 416, with stats not available for Iraq-New Zealand and USA-Egypt).
4 goals on 24 chances is quality finishing. Only giving up 3 goals against 64 chances is solid defense and breath-taking goalkeeping. The problem is in the midfield, where those chances are created and allowed. If you're giving the two best teams in the world 64 chances to score, the odds of holding them down for two games are slim indeed. If the U. S. wants to compete seriously for the World Cup, the midfield is where they will have to get better. A lot better. And fast.
And yes, USA fans, the ball off the underside of the bar was all the way in before Howard cleared it. That's a goal Brazil should have had.
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