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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.

Tuesday, May 31, 2011

NBA Salaries

   Go on line and check out some of the NBA's outlandish salaries. I did recently and sat in front of the screen scrolling down the list of players and salaries and shaking my head. It's awfully hard feeling sorry for the NBA owners as they prepare to ask for concessions from the players' union when teams continue to pay some of these stiffs, and I mean stiffs, salaries that don't in any way reflect their talent, not even their potential. When a guy like Mareese Speights receives (I hesitate to use the word earns) $1,773,960.00 - not Yen - a million more than JuJuan Blair and Taj Gibson, something is definitely wrong. Do you know that Kwame Brown is still getting $1,352,255 per year. That's an embarrassment. Kostas Koufas is making $1,298,642 per annum. Craig Brakins who is playing in the D League is being paid $1, 306,920. Ouch! I've never heard of Trevor Booker and he's pulling down a cool $1,204, 560. Double Ouch! And the great Solomon Jones is stealing $1,500,000. Do you know that LeBron James is not even in the top ten salaries? While Rashard Lewis and Michael Redd are paid more than LeBron. LeBron could take both of them on at the same time and beat them in a game of twenty-one.
   Trust me that there are a lot more examples and more egregious ones I could have used. Maybe I shouldn't be so surprised. Draft picking dumb has been going on for a long time. The Warriors in my era, I recall, selected a few stinkers. No need to name them. They're hopefully all retired government employees by now.
    I don't really begrudge the players. They have the right to earn whatever the market will bear. But I sure wonder who in the world selects these players. General managers, coaches, and scouts put their heads together, and what? Come up with some of these losers? OK, I slapped my wrist. It was unkind to call them losers. How about non-starters? There is a D League for players and coaches, I wonder if there shouldn't be a D League for general managers and scouts? Who in the hell are these guys that spend their owners money so freely? Or is it the owners who want to freely spend money?

One of my top ten sports poems is about softball.

Missoula Softball Tournament   by Richard Hugo

This summer, most friends out of town
and no wind playing flash and dazzle
in the cottonwoods, music of the Clark Fork stale,
I've gone back to the old ways of defeat,
the softball field, familiar dust and thud,
pitcher winging drops and rises, and wives,
the beautiful wives in the stands, basic, used,
screeching runners home, infants unattended
in the dirt. A long triple sails into right center.
Two men on. Shouts from dugout: go, Ron, go.
Life is better run from. Distance to the fences,
both foul lines and dead center, is displayed.

I try to steal the tricky manager's signs.
Is hit-and-run the pulling of the ear?
The ump gives pitchers too much low inside.
Injustice? Fraud? Ancient problems focus
in the heat. Bad hop on routine grounder.
Close play missed by the team you want to win.
Players from the first game, high on beer,
ride players in the field. Their laughter
falls short of the wall. Under lights, the moths
are momentary stars, and wives, the beautiful wives
in the stands now take the interest they once feigned,
oh, long ago, their marriage just begun, years
of helping husbands feel important just begun,
the scrimping, the anger brought home evenings
from degrading jobs. This poem goes out to them.
Is steal-of-home the touching of the heart?
Last Pitch. A soft fly. A can of corn
the players say. Routine, like mornings,
like the week. They shake hands on the mound.
Nice grab on that shot to left. Good game. Good game.
Dust rotates in their headlight beams.
The wives, the beautiful wives are with their men.

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Messi

After watching Lionel Messi of Barcelona play this afternoon against Manchester United and score two goals I could become a born again soccer fan. As an I-need-to-see-more-scoring American sports fan that sounds close to unpatriotic. But what a sight the little fellow was weaving through his Man U opponents, the ball seemingly clinging to his feet unwilling to part with him until he order it to go and then with such speed and accuracy into the net. A long time ago I saw the great Pele play and marveled. I never thought I'd see a soccer player that talented again. In between Pele and Messi, surely there have been a number of fantastic players, but since I'm not a consistent observer of the game, I am only partially aware of them.

If Messi hasn't converted me, he has made me more of a fan of the world game than I have been. I know when Barcelona is playing I will be tuned in. Does this make a convert? Not quite yet. I still believe soccer needs to figure out a way for teams to score. A couple of goals more per game I don't think is asking for too much.

Soccer doesn't really need the United States to be hooked on soccer, but if it ever does, watch out NFL.

Wimbley Field in London where Champions Finals was held holds 80,000 fans and it was filled to capacity.

In poetry there is something that's called a "found" poem, writing that is not meant to be a poem but comes close to poetry. Here is some inspired comments by Ray Hudson a British soccer commentator as he watched Lionel Messi.

"Neither With Net nor Trident"
The genius, the genius of
        Football
In our modern-day life
       Utterly
    Unpredictable
  He doesn't know
What he's going to do
   So how the hell
  Do the defenders
You cannot contain him
        With a net
        Or a trident
   He's got pace
  He's got pace
He's got vision
   Technique!
   And he's got
 Finishing power
        His cup
  Runneth over...
  Magnificent Messi
       Wild man
He doth bestride the Earth
      Like a Colossus.

Is there one American sports' commentator on radio and television who comes close to such eloquence, such passion? Can you imagine Marv Albert watching LeBron James and quoting from Julius Caesar?

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

Open Forum: On Lance Armstrong, Chronicle Wed. May 25, 2011

Dave Zirin argues that trying to identify athletes who gain an advantage through doping is a waste of the government's money and time. Given the state of our economy, not to mention myriads of far more serious criminal activities left unattended to, such an argument might sound logical. Wouldn't they be better dealt with, he asks, by their own sports' federations?

The answer might be yes, if indeed those sports federations had ever been serious about stopping doping. Prior to the government coming on the scene, those so called self governing federations took little notice of the drugs in their sports. Without the government stepping in, one could legitimately ask would any of the All -Star cheaters, such as Bonds, Clemens, McGwire, etc, been sanctioned? I doubt it. More than likely today, they would all be receiving their accolades, playing in celebrity golf tournaments, and writing their Hall of Fame induction speeches.

If you agree with me, that leaves only the government to act as an independent entity with enough clout to expose said cheaters - all cheaters, including the iconic Lance Armstrong if indeed it is proven he used blood boosters, blood transfusion, and testosterone shots, to gain an advantage over his opponents who, by the way, might very well have been doping themselves.

Frankly, I don't give a damn how much money Lance Armstrong raised for Cancer. I'm an athlete and I have cancer. Like Bob Lypsyte and other cancer survivors, I am grateful for Armstrong's effort to raise money for cancer research. It's the least he could have done after the medical profession saved his life and his career. Now, the best that he can do is tell the truth and take his consequences. Redemption without confession is meaningless.

Cheaters should be banned from their sports for life. It is the best way to discourage future cheaters and preserve the integrity of sports. All their awards should be returned. Their names should be struck from any record book. And, if they lied to the grand jury, they should, like any citizen, go to jail. Period, bottom line, end of tawdry story.

Was there anything better than riding your bike when you were a youngster, bending over those handlebars, pumping like crazy, wind in your hair? Here's a haiku about a riding a bike in a city.

My Bike

The wind behind me
Water bottle is my friend
Watch that taxi door

Saturday, May 21, 2011

Jerry West

Congratulations to Joe Lacob and Peter Guber the new owners of the Golden State Warriors. First they hire a fresh, young executive, Bob Myers, then they bring Jerry West on board as a member of the board and as a consultant, sensibly before they hired a coach. Thus, allowing a great basketball mind, like West's, to weight in on who the future Warrior coach will be.

I played ten years against Jerry. It was a challenge, a thrill, and a privilege. Oh, don't get me wrong, every time he drove the lane I did my utmost, with respect, to put him on the seat of his pants.

Recently, I was trying to figure out if I was playing today how many Flagrant Ones would have been called against me, and based on today's salaries, how much it would have cost me over a ten year NBA career.
I'll entertain all guesses. Flagrant Two's should not be included in your totals. I'll own up to a few F-2's - in which case a fight would have immediately taken place and benches cleared - but the majority of my hits were always struck going after the ball; the player simply was an extension of the ball. By the way there were a lot toughter dudes than moi back in the '60's.

In my last book of poems, Nothing You Lose Can Be Replaced, there is a poem for Jerry West.

Jerry West    by Tom Meschery

That nearly half-court buzzer beater
that kept the Laker's playoff hopes alive
was never in doubt. I knew its certainty
from fingertips to rim. Jerry, as sweet
as that shot was, I want to tell you
about another one far sweeter:
night falling and the cross-winds
of San Francisco full court pressing
All City Ray Paxton, postman
with the soft touch we depended on
in the clutch. He "called it" (something
you forgot to do) seconds before the rain
would have ended the game with nothing
resolved, summer over, the lucky players
off to college where they'd play
to big crowds indoors, safe and dry.

Friday, May 20, 2011

Warrior's Search for New Coach

This morning I read where Mike Brown, ex coach of the Cleavland Cavaliers is the front runner to get the heading coaching job of the Golden State Warriors. I read this and my heart seized up. Say it isn't so! The team just fired a coach who didn't hold his players accountable. Are we going to hire another coach of the same ilk? Did Brown ever hold LeBron accountable? Did Brown every have a strategy to use the great King James effectively on the offense. Not that I saw. They say defense is his specialty. If it was, I couldn't see what was so special about it.

In the same article I saw where the Warriors were talking to Lawrence Frank. Now there's a choice that makes sense. Working with a lot less talent than Mike Brown, Frank won lots of games other coaches of lesser skill would not have won. His own intelligence and a couple of years being an assistant to Doc Rivers makes him a far better choice than Brown. Frank coaching Kidd was a good combo. Frank coaching Curry and Ellis would be too. The Nets made a mistake firing him.

McHale? Really? He has tons of personality and NBA superstar charisma, but check out his coaching record. And not Sam Mitchell whose teams never played an ounce of D. Chuck Pearson might be a possibility if he promised to coach exactly the opposite way from the way he played.

And what about Adelman? Please don't tell me the Warriors are not going to interview one of the NBA's most successful coaches?

Is there another Tom Thibodeau out there? Dwane Casey's record with the Timberwolves and basketball history at Kentucky doesn't inspire a whole lot of confidence. How many superstars in Japan did he coach?

Brian Shaw looks as if he has what it takes, but does he know anything other than the triangle?

There is not a lot of room for a mistake picking a coach this year. We need a head coach who has the intelligence and strength to create a winner. Our fans have been extremely patient.

I've been offering up a lot of basketball poems recently. So let's change the subject. How about body building. It is a sport, ya know. Here's one from a female point of view.
Pumping Iron    by  Diane Ackerman

She doesn't want
the bunchy look
of male lifters:
torso an unyielding love-knot,
arms hard at mid-boil.
Doesn't want
the dancing bicepses
of pros.
Just to run her flesh
up the flagpole
of her body,
to pull her roaming flab
into tighter cascades,
machete a waist
through the jungle
of her hips,
a trim waist
two hands might grip
as a bouquet.