Let me take you back to 1973. I was 9 years old and I had just spent the fall watching the Notre Dame football high light show on Sunday mornings before I went to church. I can still hear the late Lindsay Nelson’s voice say, “And now to further action.”
It was a Saturday afternoon in the Spring of 1973. My father had taken me and several of my friends to swim at the Greensboro Central YMCA. As we were leaving, the TV in the lobby was playing the UCLA vs. Notre Dame basketball game. My dad said, “we might want to stop and watch the end of this game. Notre Dame just might upset UCLA.” The UCLA Bruins had won 88 straight basketball games. And this my friends, was how my sports marriage to Notre Dame sports was born during the last ten minutes of that game. Screaming and cheering wildly at the TV in the lobby, my father could only chuckle or note to passersby, “Do these kids not have parents?”
When Notre Dame won that afternoon, I must have practiced throwing the ball in the air like John Shumate 10000 times. I wanted to die my socks Green and Yellow. I asked for Green carnations for my lapel for Sunday Church. I quietly aspired for my nick name to be Digger.
Like a smoldering volcano, my love for all things ND lay dormant for many years. There was no request for conversion to Catholicism. No, special requests for the pope. And I promise you there were many things to go to confession over but to this day they stay locked in the vault.
I suffered under the Gerry Faust years. I anguished when they ran off Digger and I cheered for a few years the acquisition of Lou Holtz. Lou Holtz came about in my college days and my roommates thought it would be funny to burn all the ND memorabilia off my door. That day stays in the vault.
I became a true ND fan. Pulling for basketball as well as football. In the advent of the internet even looking at baseball, hockey, women’s basketball, etc. Could I name my first born Muffet? Then the movie Rudy came out and I felt in some way that the script was for me. The music, the tradition, the culture, the aura of all things Notre Dame. Hard to believe that the small town southern Baptist bred wished he was born red headed with the last name of O’Shannon or something.
Today I am a 42 year old man with one hobby; Notre Dame. I don’t ask for much but please let me see my football games every Saturday and the occasional basketball game.
As I reflect, I almost broke off the engagement to my wife, for during the national championship year of 1988, she made me go to dinner with her parents [promising to tape the USC vs. ND game.] Later that evening as we returned for the evening my future brother in law met me at the door screaming the results of the game. “I am sorry April, but the wedding is over! Oh, and I have to kill your brother Joe.”
We play Southern Cal on Saturday. I hope we keep it under 45 points. It is not going to be pretty but you have to love them during the tough times. Love hopes all things and endures all things. Love never fails.
Go Irish!
October 19, 2007
September 24, 2007
My Losing Season
I want all of the Fresh and Sophs on the Notre Dame football team to read this!!!
I was changing after PE to go to Freshman English when Coach Long, the boys Varsity basketball coach asked me to play on the varsity that evening. “You’re the only kid in this school that can look one way and pass the other,” Long laughed. I gave him this calm look and response of OK when in reality my heart was beating out of my chest.
You see that night Mauldin High School, my alma mater, was to play Hillcrest High School our archrival. Mauldin High School was the worst 4A basketball school in the state, and Hillcrest had some of the greatest athletes ever produced in the early 80’s. This night…the night that the 14-year-old freshman would play his first varsity basketball game…this would be the BIGGEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE!
The game was also important because we would play in front of actual people. Mauldin High basketball games were typically attended by about 16 or 17 parents, two secretaries taking tickets at the door, a maintenance man and if we were lucky we might also have 8 to 10 students at the games. 35 people max for home games. The Girls basketball team wouldn’t even stay to watch us play. Our girlfriends wouldn’t attend games. We played in a virtual morgue.
But when we played Hillcrest, we would have 2035 people; 2000 Hillcrest fans and 35 Mauldin people! And this was for our home game at Mauldin!
I couldn’t concentrate in class the rest of the day. I don’t even remember if I told my best friends about being asked to play for the Varsity. I do remember calling my dad and feeling his tremendous sense of pride through the telephone lines!
Coach said to be at the game by 7pm. I had my jock on at 3:30! This was the BIGGEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE!
I remember being so nervous that I couldn’t sit out and watch the girl’s game. I went straight to the dressing room to change, stretch and mentally prepare my self for the biggest night of my life. We were playing Hillcrest High School, and if we could win, and if I could hit the game winning shot, and if the crowd (all 35) would rush the court and lift me on their shoulders, and if Tara Estes the senior cheerleader would just know who I was. Life would be perfect!”
I thought it odd that the rest of the team was not nervous. Here it was after halftime of the girl’s game and I was still the only player dressed and ready in the locker room. “Maybe when you are a senior you just don’t get nervous before big games,” I thought to myself. But I was about to throw up. I don’t know what would have come up since I was too scared to eat all day!
Slowly players started to drift in and change. I had found a corner stall and had changed and was stretching and doing some ball handling exercises to get warmed up and loose for the biggest night of my life! I noticed that the players turned on music. They sang, they danced, they talked about what girls were putting out and who was going to get some from who that weekend! A few guys actually were taking a deck of cards and flipping individual cards at a baseball cap. “Maybe this is how you prepare for the biggest game of your life when you are a senior. You just aren’t scared,” I thought as I sweated through my uniform and warm up suit like I was in the middle of a sauna!
Coach Long walked in for the pre-game talk. It was his usual standard Hillcrest spiel. “Let’s keep it within 40 boys. Whatever you do fellas don’t piss ‘em off. Hell they look bigger and meaner than last year!” Coach Long deadpanned.
It wasn’t exactly “the one for the gipper” talk that I expected from my first varsity basketball game.
Coach Frost the JV coach sat beside me during the talk and leaned over and asked if I was nervous.
“Naw,” I replied with a wry grin.
“Hell boy, I couldn’t drive a nail up your ass you look so tight,” He laughed.
I sat there astonished trying to figure out why he wanted to drive a nail up my ass!
Anyway….
We formed a line and rolled on to the Mauldin High School court to the rousing ovation of 35 people!!! The cheerleaders went on a soda break!
I soaked it all in. Trying not to look at Thomas Dendy and James Seawright on the Hillcrest team. Two of the biggest studs I have ever known. Both went on to be All American football players at South Carolina. Baron Boyd was also on that team and he was a friend of mine from middle school. He was 6 foot tall at age 13 and never got taller. Yet that night I still looked at him like he was the same giant 13 year old whooping our butts back in middle school!
I was the perfect player. Right handed lay ups, left handed lay ups, I stretched and I cheered on my teammates. I remember seeing the pride on my fathers face as I made the lay up and went to the rebounding line. I remember trying to push my chest out a little as I strutted by Tara Estes!
I also remember a couple of seniors who would try to hit their lay ups by shooting the ball behind their back. One even tried to drop kick the ball in. As one guy walked back to get in line he would stick his hand out so you could slap him “5”, when I reached for him he hit me in the nuts!
“Maybe this is how you keep your composure as a senior when you are ready to play the biggest game of your life,” I groaned as I tried to recapture my breath.
I remember looking at the game clock and with two minutes to go before tip off, Lee Harris, our captain and really the only true basketball player on this team, called us together and said for all of us to follow him to the locker room. We filed off the courts like little ducklings following their mother and I was the last waddling duck in the rear.
Coach Long stood up and mouthed, “What the Hell are you guys doing?” I just shrugged my shoulders and followed like the good freshman I was. I wondered if we did this every game! “Lee Harris is going to give us the gipper speech and we will run back out to the court and kick the crap out of Hillcrest High School.”
But as we got to the corner of the gym, a senior (who shall remain nameless) decided it was time to initiate the freshman. So he pantsed me!
They pantsed me. That means they took my warm up pants and gym shorts and pulled them to the floor. Now I am a YMCA director’s son. I have been in locker rooms all my life. No tighty whiteys for me. No boxers on this boy! I was wearing a jock under my shorts. So there I was in the corner of the gym, in front of 2035 family friends and neighbors, in my entire beautiful white-butted splendor.
At Maudlin High the gym doors opened and you walked straight across the hall into the locker room. I remember falling into the double doors. Trying to pull my pants up and fighting the tears back from my red face and puffed up eyes. There were the culprits with their huge smiles waiting for me.
Out of nowhere came this fist and it hit one of the jerks right in the nose. Blood splattered everywhere. And for the next 45 seconds, there were 24 arms and legs and twelve bodies piled on top of each other in the middle of the locker room fighting, kicking, cussing, and biting! Of course I was still at the side of the fight because I had my pants up to about my thighs at that point. Tears streaming down my face. I think I even had that stuttering sound you make when you are crying and trying to catch your breath.
Coach Long came busting through the doors, “What the Hell is going on in here.”
Lee Harris popped up from the melee and yelled, “Get out of here coach we are having a team meeting!” And Coach Long turned 180 and walked out.
As I reflect on that moment I would estimate we are at 1 minute prior to the tip off of the biggest game of our life.
Players fell off the pile and staggered to their dressing stalls. They tried to pull themselves together as Lee Harris stood in the middle of the locker room. “This game means more to me than anything else in this world. Don’t leave this locker room unless you feel the same way!”
Lee flipped me a towel to dry my eyes and then he spun me around and we walked back out on the floor, the first two out the door. One by one the team came back out. What we must have looked like. Uniforms stretched, blood on some of us. My tear filled eyes! Coach Long’s confused look! I just have to laugh about it all now.
Now it would be nice to say that we went out and we beat Hillcrest High. We didn’t win but we did play the game of our lives and lost by about 6 points. We even had the lead late in the game.
The end of the story though comes several months later at graduation. Lee Harris was a friend of my older brother Chris’ and on graduation night he came over to the house before they went out to party. At some point I was with Lee Harris with no one around.
“Lee, I never thanked you for taking up for me at the Hillcrest game,” I stammered with my head probably pointed straight into the ground. “I hope when I am a senior that I have the guts to throw the punch and make the speech.”
Lee Harris looked over to me and without even a smirk he replied, “You don’t have to be the senior to do that Cam, you just have to care.”
I have taken that lesson with me every day of my life. The embarrassment of having my pants pulled down is really insignificant compared to the powerful words of Lee Harris. In fact, many teammates probably don’t even remember why we were fighting, they just remember the punch and the speech.
It is an amazing fuel; knowing that you can impact and influence people with your personal burning passion. You don’t have to be the hometown boy, or from the richest family or one of the old established patriarchs of the town. If you want to make a difference in the lives of the people around you, you have to care. And you have care so much that you know when to throw the punch and make the speech.
I was changing after PE to go to Freshman English when Coach Long, the boys Varsity basketball coach asked me to play on the varsity that evening. “You’re the only kid in this school that can look one way and pass the other,” Long laughed. I gave him this calm look and response of OK when in reality my heart was beating out of my chest.
You see that night Mauldin High School, my alma mater, was to play Hillcrest High School our archrival. Mauldin High School was the worst 4A basketball school in the state, and Hillcrest had some of the greatest athletes ever produced in the early 80’s. This night…the night that the 14-year-old freshman would play his first varsity basketball game…this would be the BIGGEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE!
The game was also important because we would play in front of actual people. Mauldin High basketball games were typically attended by about 16 or 17 parents, two secretaries taking tickets at the door, a maintenance man and if we were lucky we might also have 8 to 10 students at the games. 35 people max for home games. The Girls basketball team wouldn’t even stay to watch us play. Our girlfriends wouldn’t attend games. We played in a virtual morgue.
But when we played Hillcrest, we would have 2035 people; 2000 Hillcrest fans and 35 Mauldin people! And this was for our home game at Mauldin!
I couldn’t concentrate in class the rest of the day. I don’t even remember if I told my best friends about being asked to play for the Varsity. I do remember calling my dad and feeling his tremendous sense of pride through the telephone lines!
Coach said to be at the game by 7pm. I had my jock on at 3:30! This was the BIGGEST NIGHT OF MY LIFE!
I remember being so nervous that I couldn’t sit out and watch the girl’s game. I went straight to the dressing room to change, stretch and mentally prepare my self for the biggest night of my life. We were playing Hillcrest High School, and if we could win, and if I could hit the game winning shot, and if the crowd (all 35) would rush the court and lift me on their shoulders, and if Tara Estes the senior cheerleader would just know who I was. Life would be perfect!”
I thought it odd that the rest of the team was not nervous. Here it was after halftime of the girl’s game and I was still the only player dressed and ready in the locker room. “Maybe when you are a senior you just don’t get nervous before big games,” I thought to myself. But I was about to throw up. I don’t know what would have come up since I was too scared to eat all day!
Slowly players started to drift in and change. I had found a corner stall and had changed and was stretching and doing some ball handling exercises to get warmed up and loose for the biggest night of my life! I noticed that the players turned on music. They sang, they danced, they talked about what girls were putting out and who was going to get some from who that weekend! A few guys actually were taking a deck of cards and flipping individual cards at a baseball cap. “Maybe this is how you prepare for the biggest game of your life when you are a senior. You just aren’t scared,” I thought as I sweated through my uniform and warm up suit like I was in the middle of a sauna!
Coach Long walked in for the pre-game talk. It was his usual standard Hillcrest spiel. “Let’s keep it within 40 boys. Whatever you do fellas don’t piss ‘em off. Hell they look bigger and meaner than last year!” Coach Long deadpanned.
It wasn’t exactly “the one for the gipper” talk that I expected from my first varsity basketball game.
Coach Frost the JV coach sat beside me during the talk and leaned over and asked if I was nervous.
“Naw,” I replied with a wry grin.
“Hell boy, I couldn’t drive a nail up your ass you look so tight,” He laughed.
I sat there astonished trying to figure out why he wanted to drive a nail up my ass!
Anyway….
We formed a line and rolled on to the Mauldin High School court to the rousing ovation of 35 people!!! The cheerleaders went on a soda break!
I soaked it all in. Trying not to look at Thomas Dendy and James Seawright on the Hillcrest team. Two of the biggest studs I have ever known. Both went on to be All American football players at South Carolina. Baron Boyd was also on that team and he was a friend of mine from middle school. He was 6 foot tall at age 13 and never got taller. Yet that night I still looked at him like he was the same giant 13 year old whooping our butts back in middle school!
I was the perfect player. Right handed lay ups, left handed lay ups, I stretched and I cheered on my teammates. I remember seeing the pride on my fathers face as I made the lay up and went to the rebounding line. I remember trying to push my chest out a little as I strutted by Tara Estes!
I also remember a couple of seniors who would try to hit their lay ups by shooting the ball behind their back. One even tried to drop kick the ball in. As one guy walked back to get in line he would stick his hand out so you could slap him “5”, when I reached for him he hit me in the nuts!
“Maybe this is how you keep your composure as a senior when you are ready to play the biggest game of your life,” I groaned as I tried to recapture my breath.
I remember looking at the game clock and with two minutes to go before tip off, Lee Harris, our captain and really the only true basketball player on this team, called us together and said for all of us to follow him to the locker room. We filed off the courts like little ducklings following their mother and I was the last waddling duck in the rear.
Coach Long stood up and mouthed, “What the Hell are you guys doing?” I just shrugged my shoulders and followed like the good freshman I was. I wondered if we did this every game! “Lee Harris is going to give us the gipper speech and we will run back out to the court and kick the crap out of Hillcrest High School.”
But as we got to the corner of the gym, a senior (who shall remain nameless) decided it was time to initiate the freshman. So he pantsed me!
They pantsed me. That means they took my warm up pants and gym shorts and pulled them to the floor. Now I am a YMCA director’s son. I have been in locker rooms all my life. No tighty whiteys for me. No boxers on this boy! I was wearing a jock under my shorts. So there I was in the corner of the gym, in front of 2035 family friends and neighbors, in my entire beautiful white-butted splendor.
At Maudlin High the gym doors opened and you walked straight across the hall into the locker room. I remember falling into the double doors. Trying to pull my pants up and fighting the tears back from my red face and puffed up eyes. There were the culprits with their huge smiles waiting for me.
Out of nowhere came this fist and it hit one of the jerks right in the nose. Blood splattered everywhere. And for the next 45 seconds, there were 24 arms and legs and twelve bodies piled on top of each other in the middle of the locker room fighting, kicking, cussing, and biting! Of course I was still at the side of the fight because I had my pants up to about my thighs at that point. Tears streaming down my face. I think I even had that stuttering sound you make when you are crying and trying to catch your breath.
Coach Long came busting through the doors, “What the Hell is going on in here.”
Lee Harris popped up from the melee and yelled, “Get out of here coach we are having a team meeting!” And Coach Long turned 180 and walked out.
As I reflect on that moment I would estimate we are at 1 minute prior to the tip off of the biggest game of our life.
Players fell off the pile and staggered to their dressing stalls. They tried to pull themselves together as Lee Harris stood in the middle of the locker room. “This game means more to me than anything else in this world. Don’t leave this locker room unless you feel the same way!”
Lee flipped me a towel to dry my eyes and then he spun me around and we walked back out on the floor, the first two out the door. One by one the team came back out. What we must have looked like. Uniforms stretched, blood on some of us. My tear filled eyes! Coach Long’s confused look! I just have to laugh about it all now.
Now it would be nice to say that we went out and we beat Hillcrest High. We didn’t win but we did play the game of our lives and lost by about 6 points. We even had the lead late in the game.
The end of the story though comes several months later at graduation. Lee Harris was a friend of my older brother Chris’ and on graduation night he came over to the house before they went out to party. At some point I was with Lee Harris with no one around.
“Lee, I never thanked you for taking up for me at the Hillcrest game,” I stammered with my head probably pointed straight into the ground. “I hope when I am a senior that I have the guts to throw the punch and make the speech.”
Lee Harris looked over to me and without even a smirk he replied, “You don’t have to be the senior to do that Cam, you just have to care.”
I have taken that lesson with me every day of my life. The embarrassment of having my pants pulled down is really insignificant compared to the powerful words of Lee Harris. In fact, many teammates probably don’t even remember why we were fighting, they just remember the punch and the speech.
It is an amazing fuel; knowing that you can impact and influence people with your personal burning passion. You don’t have to be the hometown boy, or from the richest family or one of the old established patriarchs of the town. If you want to make a difference in the lives of the people around you, you have to care. And you have care so much that you know when to throw the punch and make the speech.
August 28, 2007
Hokie Nation
I picked up an old magazine at the Y the other day and it was about the Virginia Tech shooting. It didn’t surprise me when the article described Cho, the Va. Tech shooter, as having nothing in his eyes, no soul to see, complete emptiness. Whoever said that a person’s eyes were the windows to their soul, was definitely right on point!
All my life people have commented on my eyes. Mostly how blood shot they are or how I need to sleep more because of the dark circles. Occasionally someone will comment on the shade of green. Almost Notre Dame Green!
I remember the first times my kids opened their eyes to look at this crazy new world. My faced pressed close to theirs trying desperately to find some spiritual connection - trying to see if I could see their future. But all I saw was perfection. God gave them to me perfect on day one, and he gave me a lifetime to screw them up! Let’s just hope that the bar for screw up is raised so high by me that they turn out relatively unscathed.
When I go to weddings (It is a sign of aging when your friend’s kids start getting married) I love to watch the eyes of the groom as the bride finally steps into the door way to walk down the aisle. I look for those “Big Ole’ Saucers and a skipped heart beat. It would be easy to comment more on his eyes by inserting some man joke here, but I will let you create your own anecdote. When I saw my bride it was a look of “How could I possibly be this lucky!” (I should get major points for that so make sure you comment to April how sweet I am)
My job at the Y allows me to witness the great looks of a kid getting his first basket in basketball. It is a monumental jog back down court with a look of invincibility and scanning the sidelines to hopefully get the glowing nod of approval from mom or dad. Or its that look as a kid stands on first base and his coach pats him on the butt because he just got his first hit. It is unbelievable to see him run to first base without even touching the ground.
We also see the looks on kid’s faces when the soccer ball squirts through their hands and they give up the game winning goal. It is also the look of a teenager when they tell you that they got cut from the cheerleading squad. How easily our lives go from the thrill of victory to the agony of defeat.
The eyes will always tell us a story. From I am tired to I think I am in love to why don’t you get a breath mint! The eyes are the windows to our souls.
How do eyes go from, wow look at this new world (birth) to mass murderer (Va. Tech)?
A study by the SEARCH INSTITUTE proves that 50% of the kids in our middle schools have little or no connection with an adult in the school. No teacher, no secretary, no bus driver, not even the lunch lady knows anything more about them than their name! So when we ask how any kid can get this disconnected we need to realize how early it can start. We must realize that Cho went to a Christian Church and was in youth group and memorized bible verses, yet he still became isolated.
I don’t think we as adults understand the value of our eyes and our hearts and our connection with the large circle of kids that are in our lives.
I cringe when I hear parents cheer a miscue by a kid on another team. I once had a parent chastise me for applauding a great play by the goalie on the other team – “what are you doing?” she yelled.
How many times when we get in the car after a game and our kid wells up in tears because he just missed free throws to lose their game do we sit and say, “shake it off. When I was your age I missed free throws too. In fact if you really want to hear how I missed many of life’s free throws, we need to get a tall milk shake because this is going to take awhile.”
Our kids need to take note of our ability to admit we are fallible. (Not foulable because I never miss free throws but fallible) And my fellow parents, as we share our past goofs with our kids, take the time to listen to their fears. Make sure we give them time to connect to us. I know it is hard work to develop the skills to listen to our kids and the other young people around us, but we must fight to connect!
Some of the greatest parents in the world have the ability to really listen. These parents are available, they’re not judgmental, and they care. Often I guess parenting is less about all that we provide our kids, but rather a quiet listening ear.
And remember, it’s in the eyes. What color are your kid’s eyes?
All my life people have commented on my eyes. Mostly how blood shot they are or how I need to sleep more because of the dark circles. Occasionally someone will comment on the shade of green. Almost Notre Dame Green!
I remember the first times my kids opened their eyes to look at this crazy new world. My faced pressed close to theirs trying desperately to find some spiritual connection - trying to see if I could see their future. But all I saw was perfection. God gave them to me perfect on day one, and he gave me a lifetime to screw them up! Let’s just hope that the bar for screw up is raised so high by me that they turn out relatively unscathed.
When I go to weddings (It is a sign of aging when your friend’s kids start getting married) I love to watch the eyes of the groom as the bride finally steps into the door way to walk down the aisle. I look for those “Big Ole’ Saucers and a skipped heart beat. It would be easy to comment more on his eyes by inserting some man joke here, but I will let you create your own anecdote. When I saw my bride it was a look of “How could I possibly be this lucky!” (I should get major points for that so make sure you comment to April how sweet I am)
My job at the Y allows me to witness the great looks of a kid getting his first basket in basketball. It is a monumental jog back down court with a look of invincibility and scanning the sidelines to hopefully get the glowing nod of approval from mom or dad. Or its that look as a kid stands on first base and his coach pats him on the butt because he just got his first hit. It is unbelievable to see him run to first base without even touching the ground.
We also see the looks on kid’s faces when the soccer ball squirts through their hands and they give up the game winning goal. It is also the look of a teenager when they tell you that they got cut from the cheerleading squad. How easily our lives go from the thrill of victory to the agony of defeat.
The eyes will always tell us a story. From I am tired to I think I am in love to why don’t you get a breath mint! The eyes are the windows to our souls.
How do eyes go from, wow look at this new world (birth) to mass murderer (Va. Tech)?
A study by the SEARCH INSTITUTE proves that 50% of the kids in our middle schools have little or no connection with an adult in the school. No teacher, no secretary, no bus driver, not even the lunch lady knows anything more about them than their name! So when we ask how any kid can get this disconnected we need to realize how early it can start. We must realize that Cho went to a Christian Church and was in youth group and memorized bible verses, yet he still became isolated.
I don’t think we as adults understand the value of our eyes and our hearts and our connection with the large circle of kids that are in our lives.
I cringe when I hear parents cheer a miscue by a kid on another team. I once had a parent chastise me for applauding a great play by the goalie on the other team – “what are you doing?” she yelled.
How many times when we get in the car after a game and our kid wells up in tears because he just missed free throws to lose their game do we sit and say, “shake it off. When I was your age I missed free throws too. In fact if you really want to hear how I missed many of life’s free throws, we need to get a tall milk shake because this is going to take awhile.”
Our kids need to take note of our ability to admit we are fallible. (Not foulable because I never miss free throws but fallible) And my fellow parents, as we share our past goofs with our kids, take the time to listen to their fears. Make sure we give them time to connect to us. I know it is hard work to develop the skills to listen to our kids and the other young people around us, but we must fight to connect!
Some of the greatest parents in the world have the ability to really listen. These parents are available, they’re not judgmental, and they care. Often I guess parenting is less about all that we provide our kids, but rather a quiet listening ear.
And remember, it’s in the eyes. What color are your kid’s eyes?
August 8, 2007
The West Wing
I love the TV show West Wing. Ryanne (my daughter) and I watched a few episodes this weekend from the first season. This is still one of my all time favorite shows, even though it actually slipped in the last two years of production.
In the early years it was about the relationships between these noble people who worked for the President and served the country for this great historical cause. Reality though is that somehow after probably a billion dollars was spent by Bush and Kerry to smash each other, (and today’s candidates will top that,) all elections today are about serving to get re-elected. And the White House hopefuls serve to get elected! SUCH NOBILITY!
That makes perfect sense because that is exactly why most people vote today - To defeat the incumbent or to keep their person in office. Why couldn’t people go to the poles because of their civic duty and to have their voice heard on whom their leader is? Can decisions strictly be made because of sincere ideologies of genuine people. Nope, our votes typically are based on left or right - Democrat or Republican.
But I digress,
West Wing like other good shows always ruin themselves by creating too much drama. ER was the worst. The first two years were great because they centered on the people and the relationships around the ER. Then, and I’ve timed it, every 8 minutes the doors would blow open and an emergency would fly in and create this chaos. And not just a typical emergency, but it would be a busload of teenage cheerleaders on their way to build a house for the Habitat for Humanity. Or someone would come in with a 3-inch bomb taped to his or her chest that could blow up the entire state of Illinois. Too much drama! My wife would always chastise me to relax, that the show was called ER!
SO, in its last years, the West Wing all of a sudden became terrorist attacks, wars, bombs, deaths, kidnappings etc. Every episode. No more relationships.
I like to imagine my own life and draw parallels to this show. (The Y and the West Wing.) I am the President and I think everyone should stand when I enter the room. But that same kind of respect from Jeb Bartlett’s staff doesn’t transfer to the halls of the YMCA! My staff barely show up on time to my meetings much less stand when I enter the room.
But the Y, like West Wing, is about a group of people, working hand in hand for a mission far more worthy than we can imagine. But it’s not the crises that make the Y like the show. It is the relationships that are formed around the office. It is the short quick vignettes in hallways, behind office doors, over meals. That is what makes a show and that is what makes a job. That is what makes working for the Y such a great job. It’s not the drama, it’s the people.
We continually hear during exit interviews, “I’ll miss the people the most. They have become my family.” When in staff retreats we talk about what we were thankful for, everyone was thankful for the staff around the room. And that isn’t just some insignificant dribble that we all say to feel like part of the team and to get extra Brownie points from the CEO. I know at this point, some staff may ask, “Are there really Brownie points from the CEO?” Well that is another blog!
Today, take stock of what is important in your life….the people, the family, the faith, the country, the helpless, the hopeful, the lost, and the found.
In the early years it was about the relationships between these noble people who worked for the President and served the country for this great historical cause. Reality though is that somehow after probably a billion dollars was spent by Bush and Kerry to smash each other, (and today’s candidates will top that,) all elections today are about serving to get re-elected. And the White House hopefuls serve to get elected! SUCH NOBILITY!
That makes perfect sense because that is exactly why most people vote today - To defeat the incumbent or to keep their person in office. Why couldn’t people go to the poles because of their civic duty and to have their voice heard on whom their leader is? Can decisions strictly be made because of sincere ideologies of genuine people. Nope, our votes typically are based on left or right - Democrat or Republican.
But I digress,
West Wing like other good shows always ruin themselves by creating too much drama. ER was the worst. The first two years were great because they centered on the people and the relationships around the ER. Then, and I’ve timed it, every 8 minutes the doors would blow open and an emergency would fly in and create this chaos. And not just a typical emergency, but it would be a busload of teenage cheerleaders on their way to build a house for the Habitat for Humanity. Or someone would come in with a 3-inch bomb taped to his or her chest that could blow up the entire state of Illinois. Too much drama! My wife would always chastise me to relax, that the show was called ER!
SO, in its last years, the West Wing all of a sudden became terrorist attacks, wars, bombs, deaths, kidnappings etc. Every episode. No more relationships.
I like to imagine my own life and draw parallels to this show. (The Y and the West Wing.) I am the President and I think everyone should stand when I enter the room. But that same kind of respect from Jeb Bartlett’s staff doesn’t transfer to the halls of the YMCA! My staff barely show up on time to my meetings much less stand when I enter the room.
But the Y, like West Wing, is about a group of people, working hand in hand for a mission far more worthy than we can imagine. But it’s not the crises that make the Y like the show. It is the relationships that are formed around the office. It is the short quick vignettes in hallways, behind office doors, over meals. That is what makes a show and that is what makes a job. That is what makes working for the Y such a great job. It’s not the drama, it’s the people.
We continually hear during exit interviews, “I’ll miss the people the most. They have become my family.” When in staff retreats we talk about what we were thankful for, everyone was thankful for the staff around the room. And that isn’t just some insignificant dribble that we all say to feel like part of the team and to get extra Brownie points from the CEO. I know at this point, some staff may ask, “Are there really Brownie points from the CEO?” Well that is another blog!
Today, take stock of what is important in your life….the people, the family, the faith, the country, the helpless, the hopeful, the lost, and the found.
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