Jack’s Blog

DON’T DO IT!

Seriously, although going through three days of detox with my wife was brutal, I did manage to lose eight pounds.  While there are more that need to go, I guarantee they won’t be lost via detox.  The only reason I finished this ordeal was because of my wife.  First of all, I promised her I’d join her in this tomfoolery.  Next, Jane was the one who made all those nasty smoothies.  After the first one of those dreadful things, I wouldn’t have been able to justify spending the time it took chopping, slicing, dicing and blending the fruits, vegetables and flax seed - and, I’m sure, whatever other foul ingredient the recipe calls for.  I might have been able to brew the green tea but as I mentioned in Saturday’s blog, I don’t like tea.  In any color.  The only T I like is the kind that’s called against the opposing team.  And only then if we have a good free throw shooter.

As far as soaking in a bath for 30 minutes with 2 1/2 cups of Epson salt (and 10 drops of lavender), c’mon.  2 1/2 cups of Epson salt!  I thought I was in Utah.  They (whoever “they” is) say it’s a good idea to read, that it relaxes you. One admission: I haven’t taken a bath since my little duckie drowned.  Maybe I forgot the technique, but I gave the reading idea a try.  I just can’t figure how to read and not get the magazine wet.  By the end of the half hour, the magazine was as wrinkled as I was.

I did lose significant weight but there have got to be more pleasant methods.  With the three-day detox program, you’re supposed to feel more rested and energized.  Maybe all my medical problems, e.g. multiple surgeries and the subsequent pain, made me a bad candidate for the three-day plan.

The best thing, however, is if you listen really hard, you can hear a large woman with an operatic voice.  Not only has the fat lady sung, she’s taken her bows and left the building. What I’m most grateful for is:

“The next time I get my shoes shined, I won’t have to take the guy’s word for it.”

As readers of this blogspace are well aware, our younger son, Alex, is a freshman basketball player at Cal State Monterey Bay of the CCAA conference.  The league is composed of 12 teams, all located in California.  They play two games/week, usually on Friday and Saturday, meaning the conference season is 12 weeks.  Throw in a few non-conference games and if someone, say a player’s parents, were dead set on going to every game, they’d need to understand their weekends would be occupied from late November into March.

In fact, last weekend was the final one for Alex and his fellow Otters and while the team showed quite a bit of improvement from last year, it wasn’t good enough to get into the conference tourney.  As far as how Alex’s first intercollegiate season went, he averaged 13.4 points/game (about the same number he averaged as a frosh at Buchanan HS), broke the school scoring record for a freshman and was named Freshman of the Year in the conference.  Following the last game, Jane and I brought home not only Alex, but his two freshmen roommates, Coley (a point guard) and Tim (a post player).  Apparently, Alex sold Fresno so well to his two teammates, they just had to visit.

After I took them back on Monday in time for class, I turned around and headed home.  Jane and I were once again “empty nesters.”  Having time on your hands can become a dangerous thing.  A couple days ago, Jane asked me if I would join her in a “three day detox” this weekend.  Since we had no place to go, and my calendar was clear, i.e. no doctor’s appointments, no yoga sessions, no meetings with my intern for CuteBabyNameGifts.com, I thought, “Hey, maybe this will actually give me a purpose for the weekend.  I could use a new challenge.”

Wrong.  At least for me.  This challenge, while it might be just what the doctor ordered, wasn’t what I had in mind for the weekend.  Wake up and have some green tea with lemon.  While others find green tea delicious and comforting, I can barely get it down.  Breakfast, lunch and dinner are smoothies.  You do get a snack though - another smoothie - and you get to pick any of the three smoothies to have for the snack.

Jane gave me my breakfast smoothie and, upon looking at the pink substance, I asked her what was in it.  When she said, “Blueberries, strawberries, a banana, . . .” I thought this ordeal might be great for me.  Then she said, “Kale, spinach, . . .”  Whoa!  First of all, I didn’t think kale was supposed to be eaten.  I thought it was a garnish, not belonging to any food group.  And as far as spinach, I like it as much as the next guy (except for maybe Popeye) but not mixed with a banana.  When she said flax seed was also an ingredient, I figured this was some fraternity initiation prank that, somehow, got into mainstream America.  This couldn’t have been invented by a medical person.  The two other smoothies have a similar taste, the lunch selection being green and the dinner “entree” brown.  Yeah, brown.

There’s also a 30-minute soak, the grand finale, in the tub filled with hot water, 10 drops of lavender and 2 1/2 cups of Epson salt.  Try soaking in a tub for a half hour.  For a type A personality, it’s difficult.  This blog is being written after Day 1 of our three day ordeal.  What I can say for sure is that I will complete this - without cheating - but it won’t be easy.  The people who promote this say after drinking the smoothies, you won’t be hungry.  And they’re right.  It’s just that you’re not satisfied.  The reason I’ll do it, though, is because:

“The reward is better than the risk.”

And I promised my wife.

My final year of teaching was last year, i.e. June, ‘12.  One of the classes I taught was for students who struggled badly with algebra.  It was composed of mainly sophomores but I also had juniors and even a couple seniors in it.  It was a real challenge for these kids and a heckuva challenge for me.

At the beginning of (and throughout) all of my algebra classes, I try to show the similarities between math and life.  The very first example I use is 2x=6.  My point is to show that whatever you do to one side of an equation, you must do to the other side - that is the definition of equality.  I also mention that in almost every problem they come across, their answer is going to look like “x=   “, meaning their goal for the problem is “to get x by itself.”

In solving this particular problem, I’d ask the class if they knew what “stalking” is.  Immediately I had their attention because stalking is infinitely more interesting than math.  Everyone would say yes, and await my next remark.  I would say, “In this problem, the 2 is stalking the x.  Since our goal is to get x by itself, we need to eliminate the 2.  What’s one way to eliminate a stalker?”

Invariably, in every class there is (at least) one wise guy.  Come to think of it, in classes I took, it was usually me.  Every time, in 12 years of teaching high school algebra, there has always been (at least) one kid who would yell out, “Kill him!”  The class would howl.  I mean, how many times is someone going to get the chance to say something so offensive and rude and get away with it because, in fact, killing a stalker is one way of eliminating him.

Every other time I used this example, my next remark would be, “That’s right, killing him would eliminate him.”  Then, I’d erase the 2, saying I’d just “killed” the 2.  Unfortunately, that doesn’t get the right answer.  “Would that be the right answer to eliminating a stalker?” I’d ask the class.  Of course, the serious kids would say it’s not because you’d get caught, go to prison, etc. and the social point would be made.

In this particular class, however, there was a new student, a 15 year old boy from a group home.  Many of these children don’t get the proper guidance that their peers who live with their parents receive.  This youngster was new to the district, having moved in from the Bay Area.  When the question about getting rid of a stalker came up, one of the other kids in class said, “Use a hit man.”  Laughter ensued, until our new friend - who had yet (we had just begun the second week of school) to utter a word in class - blurted out, “Yeah, like mother f—-r Jones!”

Normally, when something so outrageous is said in class, kids “ooh” and “ah” in reaction to something so bold.  This time, there was complete silence in class.  Pin drop kind of silence.  In our school district, this was an offense that was followed by some kind of severe punishment, including a possible expulsion.

Because one of the girls up front had said something at the same time he did (although not nearly so loud), I wasn’t sure I heard this boy correctly.  I thought I’d heard him but, never in my tenure had I encountered this problem - whether in my classroom or stories from other teachers.  I said to the young man, “Excuse me?” to which he replied, “Yeah, like mother f—-r Jones.”

I kind of smiled as I said to him, “You know, I gotta write you up for that one.”  I’m thinking it really took some nerve on this kid’s part, but if I overlooked it, surely the word will get out that I allowed a kid to say “mf” in my class and the amount of grief I’d get wouldn’t be worth cutting the kid some slack - although that was my initial reaction.

By now, any of you of who saw the movie, Bad Bosses, know where the kid got his answer (or in his head, how he knew the answer).  The date he yelled out his answer, that movie was in its first week in the theaters.  Basically, the plot was there were four friends who had two things in common: they were meek and they had bad bosses - one was demeaning, a female boss making inappropriate sexual advances, in essence, creating hostile environments.  One day they were together complaining about the treatment they were receiving at work when the topic of killing their bosses came up.  By now, even if you haven’t seen the movie, you’ve probably figured out the hit man they decide to use is named . . . Mother F—-r Jones.

So, basically, here was a kid, with little direction from home, moving into a new district, trying his best to fit in, knowing math wasn’t his best subject (believe me when I say that) and finally having something to add to the conversation.  And he ended up with a referral!

Art Linkletter coined the phrase, “Kids say the darnedest things” but I don’t believe he’d heard anything like my man from Oakland.

A couple days ago I blogged about the theory of giving all kids trophies, i.e. raise their little self-esteems and justify it by claiming they’re participation awards.  Even if a kid never swung a bat, or caught or threw a ball.  That idea bothers me - as it does a whole lot of other people.  Another issue that I find irritating is the philosophy that every child needs to go to college.

As I tend to do, allow me to relate a story.  Last weekend, as my wife and I have done every weekend since the basketball season started for the Cal State Monterey Bay Otters, we traveled to watch younger son Alex play.  On afternoon prior to a game, we were at our room in the Marriott, watching, what else? - other college games on TV when the CBS station went down.  All the other channels worked, just not CBS.  A call to the front desk brought a relatively young guy up to the room.  He immediately fixed it, we thanked him and, no sooner had he walked out the door than it went blank again.

I saw him down the hall, called and he returned.  He looked at it again, thought for a moment and said he had an alternate plan.  Sure enough, presto, CBS.  I asked him if he’d gone to the local college.  His response was that he didn’t, that in fact, he hadn’t even gone to college.  “I went to electricians’ school.”  I told him wherever he went, he must have paid attention because he had no trouble fixing our problem - even if he did have to go to Plan B.  We told him how appreciative we were, I offered him a “green” thank you (which he refused) and everybody lived happily ever after (at least so far).

My point is that here is a young man who is providing necessary service, making a living, doing what he likes (maybe loves) to do and is probably pretty proud of himself.  He isn’t a drain on society and chances are, he never will be.  What’s wrong with that?  Admittedly, I don’t know whether or not our TV savior was a good math student in high school.  I regret I didn’t ask.

When I returned to classroom teaching in 2002 (my last math classroom assignment was in 1972), I saw changes at the administrative level.  One was the belief that every student should take (and pass) algebra in the eighth grade.  When the No Child Left Behind law was passed, it reeked of politics.  How many actual teachers were involved - and whose input was valued - I don’t know but I am convinced that politicians were more deeply involved than teachers.  Listen to it: No Child Left Behind.  Sounds like a vote getter.  The question we teachers posed was, “Did you really think we were leaving kids behind before you invented your Pollyanna, cockamamie law?”  Really?  The numbers said graduation rates weren’t where they needed to be, colleges were turning out inferior students (compared to other nations as well as what we’d produced in prior decades) and, damn it, we needed to do something about it!  So, how do politicians and administrators go about fixing things?

They have meetings.  Obtain data.  Come up with a catchy slogan.  Then, when it’s time to do the actual work, turn it over to the people.  If it works, take the credit; if it doesn’t, ignore it.  Unless it’s too big.  Then point fingers.

The problem in this case was the entire feel-good operation was fundamentally flawed.  And here was the main flaw.  One of my former fellow teachers - without the use of data, technology or even calling a meeting - put it better than anyone I’ve ever heard: “We don’t leave any children behind,” she said.  “Some of them choose to stay.”  And one reason (of many) is that the powers-that-be who decide what curriculum should be taught have the notion that, among other impractical beliefs, every child take and pass algebra in the eighth grade.

I had juniors in some of my classes who couldn’t pass algebra, no matter how many times they tried.  Sure, the politicians and administrators claim, Jaime Escalante got it done but the Escalantes, just as the Shakespeares, Michael Jordans, Babe Ruths, Picassos, Gates’ - you get the drift - are in short supply.  Just as the Abraham Lincolns and Geoffrey Canadas are. One reason kids have trouble with algebra is they can’t see the relevance.  While I had many examples of the crossover value between algebra and life (actually, math and life), kids at that age need more proof.  My “proof” is my electrician friend from the Marriott.  Although I didn’t ask him what grade he got, my guess is that if he went to electricians’ school, he probably went there instead of college or, as several youngsters I’ve taught, went after an attempt at college.

Many years ago I had a freshman in an algebra class who didn’t do anything in class.  No homework, didn’t study for tests.  Naturally, he was failing.  I checked his other classes and noticed he was failing nearly all of them.  One day I asked him, “If you’re not doing homework or studying, what do you do after school every day and night?”

A glow appeared in his eye and he said, almost defiantly, “I can’t wait to get home every day.  My dad has an old Chevy in our garage and I start working on it as soon as I get home until I go to bed.”  I thought about it and said, “You must know that car pretty well.”  I’d never before seen such passion in his look.  It was like he was saying, “Go ahead, ask me something about that car.  As a matter of fact, ask me something about any car!”

I told him - and the class - that when I was in school, we’d make fun of the kids who took auto shop.  Then, one day, I was at my mechanic’s garage getting my car fixed because I knew as much about cars as he (looking at the young boy) did about algebra.  The class laughed.  He sneered.  My mechanic fixed it - and I got the bill.  $1,200!  That was when I wished I had taken auto shop in school.  I praised the boy for thoroughly understanding something so practical.

Then I made a statement that politicians and administrators would have thought blasphemous.  I told the class that no one had ever died from lack of algebra knowledge.  I looked at that boy - who was listening more intently than at any time all semester - and said, “Not everyone needs to go to college.”  I continued, “So why, then, do you need algebra?  To get a high school diploma.  My mechanic didn’t go to college.  But he graduated from high school.

“Many of you have parents who can’t help you with your algebra homework, right?”  I now had their attention.  About 75% of the heads were nodding.  “Yet, at one time, your parents could do algebra.  Which means one thing: you don’t need to know this forever.”

Studies have shown that, after being tops in education for decades, the U.S. is currently behind many countries in math (other subjects, too, but math was my area).  During my next-to-last year, one of our other algebra teachers had a student teacher who was born and raised in China.  One day at an algebra meeting we asked her why the Chinese were so proficient in math.  Her answer was, as I had read about Japan, that students were tested in their early teens and placed in one of three categories: military, vocational or college.

The reason I was given when I asked why we didn’t employ the same system was, “Oh, Jack, that would be tracking.”  So?  Isn’t it good to be on the right track?  It seems there is a strong lobby, or whatever the group is called, that believes (see my blog from 2/26) every kid should get a trophy.  The other countries are passing us by because they’re placing kids where they have the greatest chance to succeed.  Rumor has it they save a ton of money on trophies, too.  (Granted, there ought to be an “out” if a kid’s a late bloomer but how many late bloomers are there compared to those who are “miscast,” for lack of a better word?)

For example, hotels need not only outstanding electricians but gardeners, cooks, front desk clerks, order takers and food servers (aka waitresses and waiters), bus boys and girls, valet parkers, plumbers, bartenders, security personnel.  Heck, there are more non-college jobs than positions for college grads.  And that applies to so many other walks of life.

When it comes down to it, the number one goal in any person’s occupation is:

“Find something you love to do - and get somebody to pay you to do it.”

Let’s reexamine what we’re doing, identify kids’ passions and abilities, and give them the best opportunity to succeed.  For them and the country.

For those of you who read this space yesterday, you’re expecting the second installment.  That was the plan - until, as the saying goes, life got in the way.

After I left the dentist’s office today, I stopped at a Subway on the way home for a sandwich.  Outside the store, which is located about a block away from the junior high, I noticed a shopping cart with a few items in it, one of them a baseball glove.  There was a kid, junior high age, sitting nearby.  He said, “Excuse me, can I have a dollar for . . . ”

“No, sorry,” I cut him off.  It’s not that being panhandled is a pet peeve of mine.  In this case, what bothered me was that this was a predominantly upper class area and a young kid who, upon first blush (which may be somewhat prejudiced), looked anything like a person who needed to beg.  I remember thinking, “Now!  At your age?  This is the career choice you’ve selected?  Sorry, no.”

I went inside, ordered my sandwich and didn’t think any more of that initial scene - until another, older kid showed up and lurked in the doorway.  The young lady working at Subway recognized this apparent trouble maker and told him to go.  He walked past the store, giving her the one finger salute, followed by, you guessed it, my little friend and another little lost sheep who hooked up with the pair.  Not surprisingly, the trio returned, led by the obnoxious older boy.  As soon as I saw them, I sensed the situation was going to escalate, so I called 911.  He burst into the store and began dog-cussing the owner, dropping senseless racial epithets.  Although he was no farther than ten feet away from me, he had no idea I was explaining what was happening to the 911 operator.  It rather evident that this youngster was under the influence of something, calling the Middle Eastern owner the n-word, accompanied by f-bombs and other slang.  When the owner raised his voice and demanded the wannabe gangsta leave, the kid picked up a chair and hurled it at the middle-aged man.

The action did no harm, except for enraging the owner who chased after the youngster.  As we all learned long ago, when people are attacked, they make one of two choices: fight or flight.  Cowards, such as the one in this story, choose the latter.  When he got just outside the door, he collided with one of his smaller buddies who must have thought his man was going to choose the former.  The two collided, the owner caught up and fists were flying.  They weren’t hitting anybody, just flying.  Finally, the kids took off as I gave the play-by-play to the woman on the other end of my phone.  Evidently, she was passing along the info because she said to me, “OK, I think the officers have them against the wall near the junior high.”  Some criminals.

I went to the owner who, by now was on the phone to a friend (or relative or lawyer), explained I had called 911 and the kids had been apprehended.  He thanked me as I was getting a refill of my Diet Coke.  Naturally, while all this was transpiring (and I was talking to the operator), I never stopped eating my 6″ tuna and provolone on wheat (with avocado - my new health kick).  My curiosity got the better of me so, rather than drive home, I went out of the parking lot in the opposite direction.  Fresno’s Finest must be more efficient than most departments because as I pulled out heading south, I noticed a couple patrol cars headed the other way.  I U-turned at the light and returned to give my “deposition.”

During the entire experience, my mind kept returning to the same topic:

“Where are the parents and what are they like?”

We leave for San Bernadino and San Diego to catch the Cal State Monterey Bay Otters play their final two road contests.  In the past seven weeks I’ve put 5000 miles on my (what used to be new) car.  The following story is from my book Life’s A Joke.  I was one of the less memorable moments of my first year in college coaching.  The blog will return Tuesday.

The year 1972 marked my first college coaching job, a graduate assistantship at the University of Vermont.  The stipend was only $1,000 plus tuition for graduate school.  Naturally, I was going to find the cheapest place I could to live.  I was gung ho about coaching in college after having spent my first two years after graduation teaching math and coaching football and basketball at my alma mater, Highland Park (NJ) High School.

I knew I was going to spend most of the time at the office and just needed a place to sleep at night.  I drove from New Jersey to Vermont, about a six-hour drive, got a newspaper, looked through the rental properties and noticed that there was a room in someone’s home for $80/month.  This was about the best deal I could find, so I went to the house, spoke to the people and found out that they had two grown children who had moved out of the house, a son and a daughter, and they were renting out their rooms.  I would have one room, another grad student would have the other bedroom, ans we would share the bathroom.

I signed the piece of paper the lady handed me which served as a contract and the she uttered the words, “Of course, we don’t allow you to bring any girls up to the room.”

Anxious to get back to New Jersey and realizing I probably wasn’t going to find anything cheaper, I said, “I understand.”  After I got there, I realized that the social life wasn’t going to be too good in Vermont with this type of arrangement.  The people were extremely kind, allowing us to use the living room to watch TV.  We even occasionally got into the refrigerator.

One day I was downstairs and looked up at the pictures of their son and daughter on the wall.  The daughter, I thought (or talked myself into believing) was relatively attractive, so when the mother said, “Oh, by the way, our daughter is coming over tonight,” the wheels of my devious 24-year-old mind started turning and I thought maybe this was a way to circumvent the rules.

I got all cleaned up, thought I was looking and smelling pretty good and figured, “Let’s see how the evening unfolds.”  Knock on the door and I heard the parents say, “Oh, hi, honey, come on in and meet Jack.”

I turned around, trying to give about the coolest look any guy could possibly give when I was the most shocked I ever was in my life. I was staring at their daughter.

The nun.

Sir Walter Scott said:

“Oh what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive.”

After spending all that time in the car with my sports-talk listening wife last weekend (when “the 50s on 5″ wasn’t on- I mean, we are baby boomers), I can’t help but compose another blog about the guys who spew sports knowledge over the air.  Maybe I’m sensitive because I’ve done that job before.  Not for a living, more as a substitute for a friend, or as a post game call-in host.

My first experience was in 1971 when I was a grad assistant at Vermont.  It was the first time I’d ever hosted a sports talk show, substituting for a friend of mine who did it everyday, three hours a day, six days a week.  Occasionally, he took an R&R day and this was one of those days.  What I did is what I’m not hearing now on sports talk and that is being prepared to comment about what is going on in the sports world.  Sure, I was only filling in for a night and these guys are doing it for a living but you owe your boss and your listeners a 100% effort.  When I went on the air (for a three hour segment), I had enough “filler”, i.e. interesting sports information, to put on a compelling show if no one called.

Instead, today’s guys seem to possess one essential characteristic: they’re all highly opinionated.  They bluff their way through shows, often repeating phrases they’ve heard from coaches and players to make themselves sound educated.  One I caught was: “”Having a running game in the NBA is great but in the playoffs, teams make you play half-court.”  Yet I’ve never heard one of those talking heads (not counting former coaches or players, of course) explain to a listening audience how, exactly, that’s accomplished.  Another that’s in vogue is, “one change that could be a major factor in the football team’s success is the change from the 4-3 to the 3-4 defense.”  Other than the obvious (assuming it is obvious), never have I had described to me what the difference in coverage is and why, after all these years of 4-3, is 3-4 the “right” move now.

The one I like best is the low-risk, high-reward prediction of “I know they’re huge underdogs but I have a good feeling today.“  This bold statement is usually made by the sports guy on the station for the local underdog, trying to create an upbeat atmosphere.  It’s also a ploy for a big, national contest where one guy sticks his neck out and goes contrary to the rest of his colleagues.  If the guy is right, he gets to bask in his own prognosticating brilliance, as well as remind everyone in the listening audience that his “gut” just told him something.  If he’s wrong (it’s mainly a “he” game now, but women will be settling into those seats soon enough), hey, it was just a “feeling.”  Or, simply never bring it up again.

This on-air “knowledge” isn’t really new.  I can remember how you’d hear about the wisdom of pinch hitting righties against lefthanders and vice versa.  Back then, though, the guys in the booths were actually told that by the coaches and players.  They actually could explain about higher percentages of success.  Then people like Tony LaRussa, Jim Leyland and Billy Beane started doing things their way - and they weren’t about to tell anybody why.

Back to my first sub role on a radio talk show.  As stated, I had all kinds of tidbits to keep people entertained and informed.  Then, I got my fist call.  It was about race car driving, the subject that would rival “mating rituals of the yak” as the topic I know least about.  I had to admit this to the caller, only to have the next two callers ask about the same subject.  My response was, “Of all the subjects you callers could ask, you bring up race car driving.  I don’t even know how to drive a car with a stick shift!”

The moral of the story is:

“Stick to talking about what you know.”

The following is a blog I did five years ago - about something that happened several years prior.  The story was brought up at our friend’s house on Super Bowl Sunday and it got a big laugh so I thought I’d repeat it.  That and I need to pack for yet another weekend trip to Monterey to watch younger son, Alex, a freshman, who currently is the fifth leading scorer in the league (CCAA).  See you next Tuesday.

There are times when your children’s behavior makes you wonder if they hear anything you tell them.  While their actions make you wonder, every so often you get an indication that they’re paying more attention to you than you realize.  The following story is from my book, Life’s A Joke. 

We moved to Fresno (from Arcadia) in 1995 and our first son, Andy, began playing soccer with a group of boys from his elementary school.  The coach was a father of one of the players and someone who was very knowledgeable and passionate about soccer.  Following games, he would have a brief meeting with the team to discuss what had happened - in order to improve their performance for the next game.

Our opponent on this day had a young star named Benji.  He was the talk of the team prior to the game and I was really interested to watch this 7-year-old prodigy.  Sure enough, Benji lived up to his reputation as he scored both goals in the 2-0 match.  After the contest, the coach called the team together as he always did.  He posed the question, “What do we need to do to get better?”

Andy immediately raised his hand, absolutely certain he knew the answer.

“Recruit Benji!”

Robert Parish was selected as one of the 50 greatest players of all-time.  Does that make him qualified to be an NBA coach?  To my knowledge there’s never been a definitive study done comparing skill as a player to that of a coach.  However, history tells us that while being a great player doesn’t preclude someone from having a similar career on the bench, it’s a rare superstar who becomes a successful coach.

Parish is upset at his former teammates, claiming they didn’t reach out to him the past few years.  Independent of former players shunning him or teams turning their backs on him (mainly his club, the Celtics), his story boils down to the fact that a) he’s broke, b) he’s not broke but doesn’t have as much money as he needs or c) he simply just doesn’t have as much money as he wants.

The story of his plight always returns to his money woes.  He’s auctioned off his championship rings, his Hall-of-Fame ring and his 50 greatest player ring, items most people would never part with.  Although he was employed by the team he played for, Parish claimed the $80,000 a year job the Celtics were paying him wasn’t enough.  He said he was in the market for an NBA assistant or head coaching position - one that paid six or seven figures.  Right there, he lost sympathy from most of us common folk.  Personally, prior to my retirement, I had seven figure jobs from as far back as 1977.  Of course, two of those figures were after the decimal point.

The reason Parish says he ought to be hired is because he was such a highly skilled player himself; that he could really help a team.  Parish is experiencing the same cold shoulder as a couple other former superstars - Kareem Adbul Jabbar and Rick Barry.  Each of these guys shared a characteristic other than being one of, if not the best, at their position.  All were standoffish.  And that’s being extremely kind.

What Robert Parish, as well as others like him, needs to learn is summed up in a line I heard many years ago from Hubie Brown:

“You’ve got to learn how to say hello before it’s time to say goodbye.”

Fans of sports teams often act like they’ve lost their minds.  As a group they can’t be studied too much as far as I’m concerned.  Now that I’m retired, I get to live the life of a fan.  Not a life-long, jersey-wearing, shut-everything-down-when-my-team-is-playing type of supporter, but still a guy with a vested rooting interest in a team.  My son plays for the Cal State Monterey Bay men’s basketball team and possibly because, for the years and years I coached and watched relatively normal people lose their objectivity (always) and their sensibility (a little less often), I usually remain rather stoic during games.

Sports Illustrated did an article on Indiana’s return to the top of college basketball a little over a year ago (1/16/2012).  In it they mentioned a guy named Ed Hirt who is a psychology professor at Indiana.  Professor Hirt has done years of research on the group known as “sports fans.”  On only one occasion did I witness an IU game in Assembly Hall (a really interesting blog for another day).  It was an NIT quarterfinal game, meaning the winner went to Madison Square Garden for the NIT Final Four.

The Hoosiers were playing Marquette, coached by the late Rick Majerus.  Here’s a brief summary: although I think officials’ calls usually even out over the course of a game, in this contest, there was no doubt Marquette got screwed throughout.  The worst call of the night came when Indiana had the ball, down one with seconds to play.  There was a shot at the buzzer - that missed.  Out from under the basket, a referee came with his arm up, hand clenched.  He had an off-the-ball (more like off-the-wall) foul against Marquette.  Uwe Blab, the Hoosiers’ center made the first, missed the second.  IU prevailed in OT.

During the game, however, there were some close calls that went against IU.  Men, well-dressed and groomed, seemingly intelligent, with their young sons (6-10 years old) by their sides, would go absolutely apoplectic, screaming at the officials, saying words I know their little boys had yet to hear in school - but would certainly be repeating at IU games well into the next (this) century.

Hirt’s findings (not solely Indiana fans, for the record) are “that the subjects’ moods were deeply affected by the team’s performance of their team.”  That, in itself is not shocking.  But he went on to say that when their team won, the fans experienced such a high, they felt they could perform better than usual, i.e. down when their “team” loses, up when it wins.

Having rabid fans was awesome - during games.  Outside of game day, not so good.  As a 30 year assistant, I was more of a target for fans’ complaints than the head coach, mainly because fans are in awe, or are afraid, of the head man.  They feel an assistant coach is the vehicle through which they can vent, that I would either pass along their brilliant suggestions so we’d win the next one (and never lose again, in many of their minds) or that I was just as frustrated as they were since my team lost too (because of that idiot of a head coach we had).  If they couldn’t find something stupid the head coach did, they’d blame the loss on a player or players.  This was easier since it was obvious if a guy missed a shot or threw the ball away.  Although it might be deserved, blaming a loss on a college kid made the fan(s) feel bad, but in most cases, an increase in the amount of spirits could overcome that remorse.

This phenomenon was described by Hirt as:

“The identity is so powerful, fans often see themselves through their team.”

Sad, but true in many cases.