meta name=”robots” content=”index, follow” Meschery's Musings of Sports, Literature, and Life Meschery's Musings on Sports, Literature and Life: 2023-05-07

What my musings are all about...

Blogging might well be the 21st century's form of journaling. As a writing teacher, I have always advised my students to keep a daily journal as a way of organizing their thoughts for future writing projects, a discipline I have unfortunately never consistently practiced myself. By blogging, I might finally be able to follow my own good advice.

The difference between journaling and blogging is that the blogger opens his or her writing to the public, something journal- writers are usually reluctant to do. I am not so reticent.

The trick for me will be to avoid cluttering the internet with more blather, something none of us need more of. If I stick to subjects I know: sports and literature, I believe I can avoid that pitfall. I can't promise that I'll not stray from time to time to comment on ancillary subjects, but I will make every attempt to be interesting and perhaps even insightful.

Wednesday, May 10, 2023

REST IN PEACE JOE KAPP

 I have not met many people in my many years on this planet who lived life with as much enthusiasm and joy as University of California Bears and NFL quarterback great, Joe Kapp. He died at the age of 85 this past  Monday. I find myself honored that I was born in the same year 1938 as Joe, I have a lot of memories of Joe from as far back as our college days when I played for Saint Mary's and he played for the Bears, but so do most athletes of that time. Joes Kapp stories are filled with great athletic exploits, hijinks, memorable quotes, and deeply felt beliefs. 

I wrote the following poem that is in my recent collection of poetry, Clear Path for Joe. 

SOUL

     For Joe Kapp

  

                  Yesterday, among men of my generation of athletes, gray haired, aging

and aged, Joe Kapp, wild man, Mexican/Indian, famous for his exploits

on the football field, still wild, there like the rest of us to honor a great

dead coach, embraced me. And I embraced back, hearing him whisper

in my ear the word, Soul as if he was imparting to me a special secret

he’d discovered on his journey into the valley of dementia.

Too many knocks on the old noggin fuck it who gives a shit, didn’t we

have some good times? Was he telling me I had a soul or that souls

were present in this room, wafting through the air with the bravado

stories of our heroics? Oh, that we were ever so young and athletic

and destined for greatness. Was he pouring from the cup of his mouth

some special knowledge into my ear, a warm and blessed liquid. O My Soul,

was that you, coming to me when I least expect it, announcing your existence

among so many good men, through the mouth of this man, shaman

of expletives, high priest of stories and fists, and laughs, and beers

and hijinks that I recall left us all breathless, filled with good humor? O Joe,

quarterback, who never ran out of bounds because only gringos do, wild,

violent Joe, have you given me a parting gift, a piece of the eternal puzzle?