Jack’s Blog

After Wednesday night’s (minor) upset at Stockdale HS in Bakersfield, our boys basketball team from Buchanan (Clovis, CA) HS had to play #1 seed, and defending (back-to-back) Valley champion, Clovis East (who had just gone through the conference undefeated), on a neutral court.  At Clovis East.

Although the first time these two hooked up (at Buchanan), the Bears had a chance to send it into OT - with the ball, in front of the BHS bench, down three and 3 seconds to go.  The coaches set up a play which produced a pretty good look, but it didn’t go.  Then just a couple of weeks ago, the two played at CE.  Buchanan got down three scores before it even got on the board.  It’s just that the three scores were two TD’s and a FG.  Yeah, it was 17-0 Clovis East and it never got much closer.

When a couple of the BHS parents asked me after the Stockdale game if I thought our boys (in addition to having a son on the squad, I also am a math teacher at Buchanan) had a chance against the T-Wolves (once a coach gets out of coaching, his opinion is sought out a whole lot more than when he was actually in the business).  One reason is most people are too busy criticizing you (especially if their kid’s on the team - in which case, I’ve found the criticism is usually in inverse proportion to their child’s playing time), so I’ve tried to be careful when commenting on games since I’ve gotten out of the coaching business. 

In answer to the parents’ question about assessing our chances, I said that I couldn’t believe that the players from East would think for a minute that they would lose.  Going into that second game against the Bears, you can bet their coaches were telling them how close the first contest was and that they’d better focus on the game plan if they didn’t want to be embarrassed in their own gym.  When they absolutely waxed BHS in that second tilt, their kids must have made a couple snide comments to their coaches (in a kidding way), “OK coach, how’d we follow the game plan?  The only embarrassment was to the team that’s getting on the bus now.”  Chuckles all the way around.

So, naturally, defying all odds, Buchanan pulled the upset, 70-69, stunning all those in attendance - including the Buchanan supporters!  As a parent, I always bring something to the game to occupy myself, because I know I’d get into it too much and probably end up making a fool of myself and embarrassing my wife and son (and our other son, once he was told about it).  Usually, I have a math quiz or test to grade, but as readers of this space know, I lost my cell phone in Bakersfield Wednesday night so I was transferring as many of the numbers I had backed up on the computer (rather, that someone had backed up on a computer for me) as I could.  The good news was that about 600 numbers were on that list.  The bad news was that I had a little over 900 numbers in it when I lost it.  Speaking of “losing it,” there were a couple of occasions where I caught myself turning into that dreaded coach’s nightmare - the parent - and I now know what that meant.  Objectivity flys out the window once the game begins, and I did catch myself.  I do wonder, however, since Alex is only a freshman, how’s it going to be over the next four years?  A sobering thought. 

Because as I’m sure the Clovis East coaching staff will tell anyone who will listen, that’s one of the most difficult things about dealing with high school kids - as anyone who has, or ever had, a high schooler will tell you: 

“You can tell them, but you can’t tell them much.”�

Have you ever been with someone who is constantly trying to impress you (or the crowd you’re with) with his or her superior knowledge of (you name it)?  And if/when he or she is not fawned over, indignance rears its ugly head in the form of a rebuke of those who are (forced to be) there.

There’s always the “do you know how much experience I have? or how much I’ve accomplished in the field of …? or that I wrote a book (or books) on …?”  If not shown the proper respect (from their point of view), an attack on your, or the audience’s, character usually follows.

This will be, possibly, the shortest blog I’ve ever written, because everyone out there knows a person identical to the one I’m describing and the summary of that experience can be described by Margaret Thatcher’s famous retort about whether a woman can ever be thought of as a powerful political figure:

“Being powerful is like being a lady.  If you have to tell people you are, you aren’t.”

 �

No normal blog tonight (as if the others are normal) because my wife, Jane, younger son, Alex, and I just got in and it’s after midnight - and I have to get up at 6 am for another “shift” at Buchanan High School, teaching three different types of algebra.  After checking my students’ answers, you’d think I was teaching forty-three different types of algebra.

From 5:00-6:00 pm, I was doing what I always do at this time of year on a Wednesday at 5:00 pm: co-hosting The Jerry Tarkanian Show.  Tark’s the other “co-host” and when the station (Clear Channel Communications and Fox Sports Radio 1340 and 1400 in Fresno) was trying to come up with a name for the show, they cut the list of possibilities to two: Jerry Tarkanian Talks Basketball or The Jack Fertig Show.  They decided to combine the two - and came up with The Jerry Tarkanian Show, using the “The” and “Show” from one title and “Jerry Tarkanian” from the other.

In all fairness, I was consulted regarding the selection and asked how I felt about it. Before giving them a final decision, however, they advised me that one specific statistic would greatly aid me in making up my mind.  That tidbit was easily located by paying a visit to the “information superhighway” (isn’t that what people who know something about computers call the internet)?  The stat I was ordered to check was how many career Division I head coaching wins Jerry and I shared in men’s college basketball.  I found the number was an astonishing 778, (all of them by him).

When they sought whether or not I felt the show’s title was fair, I, being the team player that I credit myself with being, unhesitatingly agreed that it was more than fair (as opposed to playing that favorite California game - sue the bastards for some kind of discrimination).  Winning the case, and making yourself rich (and your attorney richer) doesn’t have one iota to do with the claim having any grounds, only how good your lawyer is (or how inept the other side’s is - and there’s no shortage of contestants in that category).

The difference in tonight’s show was that Jane had accompanied me there - not to listen to it - but to check out the absolutely beautiful merchandise at Fresno Distributing, where we air it from.  Without a doubt, they have in stock, or can order, the most exquisite kitchen and bathroom fixtures, appliances and necessities.  Immediately following the show, we hopped into the family car and hightailed it south to Bakersfield to watch Alex and his Buchanan Bears (the #9 seed) play Stockdale High (the #8 seed).

The bad news was it was an hour and a half drive (well, actually a two-hour drive that we made in an hour and a half), whereas, had the seeds been switched, and there was just as good case for it, we would have had the home game, meaning having dinner at home and sauntering over to BHS.  The good news was that our older son, Andy, had yet to see his younger bro compete in a high school game and, since he’s attending UC-Irvine, he decided to make the two-hour drive north. 

Naturally, it was great seeing “Andy Boy,” who hasn’t been home since Xmas break (which his mom refers to on an occasional daily basis).  We were in a really big rush (the game started at 7:00 pm and we got there just as the second half was beginning).  Quick stop in the gym’s rest room facility and it was time to pay (senior citizen rate I’m proud to say), which meant putting down my “man bag,” i.e. purse and my phone (I think) and getting out the billfold.  Walking the length of the floor to the visitor’s section, where we exchanged hugs with number #1 son and settled down to watch a frantic, competitive, exciting game (our Bears were down a point at the half).

My back (which anyone who’s ever come near this blog knows causes me lots of pain, mainly due to an emergency surgery in 2005 - the fifth of eight back surgeries) was acting up and I asked someone who looked like he was in charge (and, luckily, he was) if there was any possible way I could get a chair.  Normally, I bring my own (a portable rocker), but we were in too much of a hurry.  He obliged, and although I graciously thanked him, I don’t know if he realized the gigantic favor he’d performed.

Back and forth, the Bears finally managed a three-point victory, which, try as they might, they couldn’t give away by missing crucial free throws, most any of which would have iced it. Then, with a six point lead and under five seconds to go, Stockdale’s best player (and the kid who was the leading scorer in the game) drilled a three-pointer, followed by a time out.  With 1.1 seconds in the game and a three-point lead, we threw a pass which barely made it past half-court (the instructions were to throw it deeper) - directly to their aforementioned best guy, who launched a three.  One collective inhale by the Buchanan faithful, followed by an exhale of relief when the shot to send it into overtime, went awry.

It was about this time I realized a fate worse than losing the game, thus ending the season, may have occurred.  I couldn’t find my cell phone.  My lifeline!  I’d made similar mistakes in the past, only to find it on the front seat, resting, after I’d parked, got out and subsequently forgot my precious little friend.  I said to Andy (and his UCI buddy, Justin, who made the ride to keep Andy company and because he’s a big basketball fan) that it was probably hiding in its comfortable spot.

We went outside (I was going to follow him to the nearest gas station to fill up his truck, a promise I extended if he made the trip - and which he took me up on, without hesitation), but lo and behold, … no cell phone on the front seat.  I looked outside the car, i.e. maybe I knocked it out in my haste to get to the gym, but no luck there, either. 

Coincidentally, the brochures and business cards for the new business an artist friend of mine and I recently started - also something you’d know if you frequent this space, due to the shameless plugs (OK, Pete, I said it) happened to be delivered earlier in the day, with the contact number on each as well as on the website, www.CuteBabyNameGifts.com.  Yeah, it is (559) 287-3305, my cell phone number.  Nice timing.  I’ll have to cancel the number (unless I get a call from the Dean, whom Jane spoke with after the game, and who informed her that if it were turned in, it would go to his office).  Fat chance.

I violated satirist Elbert Hubbard’s statement (of fact, in the case of most people I know):

“Everyone is a damn fool for five minutes a day.  Wisdom consists of not exceeding that.” 

    ¼/p>

This country is in such bad shape now that, unless a newly elected president got up and stuttered and stammered through his speech, it would have to brighten the mood of the people.  The speech is always interesting, but for most Americans, present blogger included, what is usually of greater benefit is listening to the “experts” afterward.

Naturally, partisanship must be factored in, whether it be in the polls that follow or the guests who do.  The polls after a president’s speech are skewed, so we are told, along his party’s line because the only people who are polled are those who actually listen to the speech and, of those who listen, the majority are from the same party as the speaker.  So, it’s no surprise that the “those who approve” category was in the upper 60’s to mid 70’s (in terms of percent).

After hearing those results, it was time to listen to the other “pols” and representatives (whether they be talk radio or television hosts, columnists or others with a predetermined agenda - for either side).  The Obama supporters were giddy, listening to their summation of the speech while the anti-Obama’s will acknowledge the fact that the president is a good speaker (mainly because if they didn’t, no one would ever take them seriously again), but then got into the “pork” and the bigger government and other items of note they picked out which they claimed had been tried and failed in previous administrations.

The one person, of all those “interpreters,” for lack of a better term, I listened to following the speech (and that number was probably between 15-20) who showed the greatest amount of balanced opinion was none other than the president’s biggest (former) rival, John McCain.

I don’t pretend to be able to read minds, especially not one as savvy as Senator McCain’s - with all the experience he’s had and all the adversity he’s gone through (how’s that for an understatement), but one possible reason for his evenhandedness might be that he is the one person in the nation listening tonight who could have had the thought running through his mind, “There, but for the grace of a number of voters, go I.“  This thought process may have influenced his evaluation of what was said, keeping in mind that if the speaker actually had been him, he’d have hoped for an objective breakdown of the points he’d have covered. 

I saw Senator McCain on Larry King, during an interview in which The King asked him about most of the critical topics that were mentioned.  The Senator listened, as Stephen Covey advises, with the intent of understanding and replying to the question (as opposed to circumventing it to throw in a pointed criticism or an idea of his he thought would sound better to the American public), and on many issues he agreed with the president.  On others he agreed in principle but not in the actual practice (e.g. how Guantanamo Bay Naval Base was shut down) and on still others, he voiced his disagreement, but in a civil, logical and response.  That, among other traits, is what separates him from the over-the-top commentators and individuals with private agendas, wise as they may be, like Rush Limbaugh, Sean Hannity, Karl Rove, Nancy Pelosi and Jesse Jackson (undoubtedly the first time those five names were mentioned in the same sentence).

Regarding Bernard Baruch’s line, I don’t think President Obama has to worry, but I think Senator McCain showed he doesn’t either.  That line was:

“A political leader must keep looking over his shoulder all the time to see if the people are still there.  If they aren’t still there, he’s no longer a political leader.”

It’s bad enough that the country’s economic situation is upside-down and its morale is at an all-time low, but to have to hear Rush Limbaugh say he hopes Barack Obama’s policies fail, you wonder if some people in the United States have any idea of a team concept.  Is partisan politics that important?

Rush is way too big a figure for me to take on - even if he doesn’t know he’s being taken on.  Somehow, I don’t think he’s a frequent visitor of this blog.  Plus, he has it all over me when it comes to dealing with distractions, e.g. after my fifth back surgery, Oxycontin was prescribed for me.  The effect it had on me was to make me hallucinate, yet Rush was popping them and still doing his top-rated show.  Simply an amazing display of commitment to his strength and weakness - simultaneously!

Therefore, if I will take issue with a talk show host, it ought to be someone on the local front.  Due to finishing my latest audiobook, I turned on ESPN sports talk radio on the way to and from my latest version of rehabilitation - yoga.  Guy Haberman was filling in as host for the late afternoon show and was discussing a letter to the editor in the local newspaper, in which the writer supposedly said the glory days of Bulldog basketball were the years under Jerry Tarkanian’s tenure and that he’d given up on the current version of Bulldog basketball.

Haberman had statistics from the Tarkanian years, stating how many games the teams won, lost and were vacated due to ineligible players.  He then went on to say that the people who claim that the atmosphere was electric at Selland Arena must be crazy because Tark’s record showed he had an under .500 winning record.

In this case, I think there are two different arguments being staged at the same time.  Haberman’s claim is that the atmosphere at the arena couldn’t have been electric - look at the stats.  How can you get excited over a vacated game?  First of all, the games weren’t vacated until well after they were played.  While they were being played, people were filling up Selland beyond capacity and frantically cheering on their ‘Dogs.  I can’t recall one person in attendance who calmly sat there and said, “How can you people get so wild -don’t you know these games are going to be vacated?”

I defy anybody who attended the games at Selland Arena, while Jerry was coaching, to make the statement that the atmosphere was - I usually try not to use the same word over and over - but in this case, electric is as close to a perfect word to describe the overall feeling people had at the games. 

Having a strong opinion about a topic is normal, especially for someone who’s trying to get people to listen to their station when there are so many other things they could be doing - whether it be listening to other stations, e.g. talk radio, music or news or listening to homemade CD’s made up of their favorite selections, talking to others in the car or, just plain enjoying the silence.  And that only covers the listeners who are driving! People listening in their homes or at work have a multitude of other choices, so what a talk show host is saying had better keep their interest.

There are three camps when it comes to Jerry Tarkanian - those who love him, those who hate him and those who don’t care (by far, the smallest group).  Each tribe has its own (very good) reasons for feeling the way they do.  However, no one in either of the first two - even those who have gone on record as passionately despising the man - can deny the SaveMart Center would have been built had it not been for Tark.

Obviously, having worked with Jerry during the seven years he was at Fresno State and having known him since the summer of 1974 when he brought his sons, George and Danny, to attend our camp at Washington State, I have a different perspective than Guy Haberman does.  Jerry’s a coach’s coach, evidenced by his rolodex of other coaches.  Every Wednesday on Fox Sports radio 1340 and 1400 AM (shameless plug), I co-host The Jerry Tarkanian Show and it totally blows me away at the coaches he gets to tape interviews.  I’m not sure but I believe, at least in the three years I’ve done the show, we’ve had most every head coach from any of the top 10 programs in the country, in addition to Bob Knight, Lute Olson, Dick Vitale, Digger Phelps, a couple of the Maloof brothers (owners of the Sacramento Kings) and Billy Packer.  He certainly doesn’t lack for fans - or friends.

Naturally, he has his flaws (don’t we all?) - and many of them could be in the “doozy” category, but I came up with a philosophy regarding people that I’m fond of telling my sons, students and colleagues.  As a matter of fact, it’s on the wall of my room at Buchanan High.  It goes like this:

“You like the people you like, not because they don’t have faults, but because, even though they do, you can overlook them.  You don’t like the people you don’t like because they have a fault, or faults that you, try as you might, cannot overlook.  Just remember, the people you like are disliked by others and the people you dislike are liked by others.  So don’t deify those you admire and don’t crucify those you don’t.  Simply try to UNDERSTAND everyone.”

For whatever reason, I’ve been deluged (meaning at least three people have made requests) with readers (some of whom are friends, others I get emails from and are the kind souls who simply check the blog on a daily basis) asking me to post another story from my book, Life’s A Joke.  If anyone is tired of reading these stories, buy these people a book!  It’s only $13 but because I’ll pay the postage, the price is cut to 10 bucks. 

Today’s tale is about a recruiting trip I made when I was a graduate assistant at the University of Oregon (my third, and thank goodness, last of my three GA stops and fourth and final season as a grad assistant - hey, it was fun and I couldn’t have been happier, but a guy’s got to make some money sometime). 

Anyone who’s ever gone to a different state from the one in which they were born and had spent the majority of their life ought to really appreciate this one.  Should anything similar have happened to you and you want to share it in the form of a comment or an email, please feel free to do so.

In 1975 graduate assistants were allowed to recruit off campus - a rule that has since changed.  Not only can grad assistants no longer recruit off campus - there aren’t grad assistants anymore in college basketball.

I had a two-week trip back East around Christmas time (if we were going to recruit that far away, we weren’t going for just a couple days).  One of the stops was in my home state of New Jersey.  I was going to watch a prospect from Bayonne play, but the game was scheduled at, believe it or not, an elementary school.

I drove into Bayonne and figured I’d go to a gas station to ask for directions to the school.  Note: In 1975, there was no “mapquest” or any such animal as a GPS unit.  Usually the best place for directions was the local service station, where, and here’s another shocker, they used to pump your gas, check your oil and wash your windshield (front and back), so in case you’re wondering why some (older) people call them “service” stations, that’s the reason.  As I pulled in, I spotted the attendant leaning in the doorway with a look on his face that said he was upset with the entire world and bored out of his mind.  I rolled the window down (yeah, we actually had to manually roll down the windows back then - I imagine it was to toughen us up), which got me an even more disgusted look since he realized I wasn’t even going to buy anything, just ask him a question.

I said, in the friendly Pacific Northwest voice I’d picked up, having lived there for the past three years,  “Excuse me, buddy.  How do I get to Washington Elementary School?”

He looked at me, sneered and said, “How the bleep do I know?  Do I look like I go to bleepin’ elementary school?”

My New Jersey roots immediately kicked in as I pulled away and said, “You look like you never even got out of bleeping elementary school!”

Ah, it’s so good to be home.

When people start talking about where they’re from and what they rememebr about growing up there, that is one of the stories that always pops into my head.  It must have something to do with what Christina Baldwin was referring to when she said:

“How we remember, what we remember and why we remember form the most personal map of our individuality.” �

This season, nearly everyone agrees that the Big East is the toughest conference in Division I men’s basketball (excluding anyone who’s connected with the other conferences, as is the case every year).  They have more teams ranked in the AP poll than any other league (two of the top four, four of the top ten, five in the top 15/20 and six in the top 25).  

What better place for a grandstander to “make a statement” than at a post-game press conference following a win by the then #1 team in the land (soon to change due to their loss to #4, Pitt, a fellow Big East member).  The free lance reporter attention-seeking clown, Ken Krayeske, who fraudulently obtained a press credential by claiming he was a photographer (although, surprise! no one saw him with a camera) attended the press conference because he no doubt sees himself as a true, red-blooded American patriot & do-gooder, a watchdog for society (as many a media member proclaim they are). Although, as a member of society, I can’t ever recall asking anyone, including any member of the fourth estate to serve in such an exalted capacity.  When I first heard this claim (in the early 1980’s), I asked many people I knew (and even some I didn’t), if they may have requested at some time for the media to act as a watchdog for our society and have yet to find one soul who has given me a positive response. 

This bit of misplaced behavior wasn’t the first time Krayeske acted like the complete schmuck he so evidently is.  After being highly critical of Connecticut’s governor, he was arrested for approaching her at a parade in an aggressive manner and then not disclosing his intentions for his actions.  He was labeled as a “possible threat” to the governor, arrested for civil disobedience (which is a criminal offense) and placed in jail for “breach of the parade route.”  

I have fallen into his transparent trap of mentioning his name, which is naturally what he really craves more than what he refers to himself as - a reporter and political activist for a newspaper rag called the Hartford News.  What others call him, especially after last night’s fiasco, isn’t nearly as kind but, I am sure, is more accurate and much less flattering.  He managed to open the press conference with a question regarding Calhoun being the highest paid employee in the state of Connecticut (quoting his salary of $1.5 million, which Calhoun immediately corrected by saying it was more than that), a state which is facing a budget deficit (not exactly placing them in an exclusive club in this day and age) which, in itself was totally improper and made Krayeske guilty of, if nothing else, bad timing - as in wrong place, wrong event, wrong time. 

What did the second coming of Mighty Mouse (”Here I come to save the day!”) expect? -Calhoun to say, “Hey, you know, you bring up a good point.  The only decent act for me to take is to give back a portion of my salary.  Exactly what percent do you think is appropriate?  And, while we’re on the subject, is there going to be a matching gift by you - not in total dollars, of course, but in percentage?  You obviously feel very strongly about this, so let’s get the ball rolling.  Who cares about some old basketball game anyway?  The real reason we have these press conferences after the game is to try and fix the problems of the state.  So now the cat’s out of the bag and maybe other coaches can address your very important question too.  I’m sorry, I never gave you a chance to respond to my question of how much you are planning to donate to the cause - or do you think my giving back would suffice?”  Author’s aside: I am also sorry - but for an entirely different reason. I feel the need to apologize to Mighty Mouse for mentioning him and Krayeske in the same sentence.  They really don’t have anything in common.  One’s a mouse and the other’s a rat.

I’ve never met Mr. Krayeske - and I’m sure that, if he were to read this, we’d each have the identical comment - PTL!  Considering what UConn spends for Jim Calhoun and the men’s basketball program, compared to what it brings in (according to the coach, $12 million), the program is a bargain!  If all other state programs had the results UConn men’s basketball program did, the state would have a major surplus.  Krayeske disrupting the post-game press conference was just another example of what people like him do: solve a problem by putting the burden on someone else.   

One of my closest friends at my place of employment (Buchanan High School) is one of our art teachers, Albert Van Troba.  In fact, Albert is the one responsible for setting me up with the amazing artist who does the C.U.T.E. Baby Gifts - my latest endeavor into the world of business, which, by the way, is receiving rave reviews.  To check it out, simply go to the Home Page of this website and click on the link (www.CuteBabyNameGifts.com) - or click on the link right here!  A line Albert coined a few years back applies to the Ken Krayeskes of the world:

“Some people go through life standing in line at the complaint counter.”

LeBron James is putting up numbers nearly impossible to believe, the latest of which was his 55-point outburst last night against the Bucks in Milwaukee.  What’s of greater importance is that he has his Cavs’ team challenging for the best record in the East.  It’s pretty evident that this year James and Kobe Bryant are locked in a personal duel to show the world not only who the best player currently is in basketball, but who the best player is in the history of basketball.

It’s been obvious since his first interview that Kobe scripts every word and gesture he says or displays to remind the viewing public of Michael Jordan, from his mannerisms (including the pauses), to the pursing of his lips when contemplating the answer to a query, to the playful look he’ll give every so often in response to a reporter’s question.

LeBron emulates MJ as well.  The “powder thing” that Jordan made famous when he would put the powder on his hands just before tip-off and then clap right in Johnny “Red” Kerr’s (the color commentary man when MJ was playing for the Bulls) face.  He goes MJ one better, by creating a cloud, pounding on his chest and making the other nine players wait while he tries to draw attention to himself.  Whether MJ clapped his hands in front of Kerr as a friendly, practical joke (topped only by Lucy on Charlie Brown every year when she promises she won’t, but still gets Chuck to fall for it when she pulls away the ball) or to draw attention to himself, it’s blatantly obvious James is seeking personal attention - something that is totally unnecessary because once the ball goes up, there’s little doubt as to whom the viewing audience will be watching.  And don’t think for a minute LeBron had never seen the Nike spots Jordan did with Spike Lee and how each of them rose in stature with the success of those commercials.  Do you think it’s a coincidence there was a “four stages of LeBron” commercial (which to the Baby Boomer crowd reeked of “wannabe be, but couldn’t quite pull it off, like Mike), followed by other attempts - LeBron as a lawyer and LeBron with the chalk.  There are two major differences between MJ and LBJ that the latter will never be able to overcome - and they are where the controversy about this blog enters the picture - or this blogosphere.  One is that Michael Jordan had two loving, caring and responsible parents, each of whom had a classy, dignified air about him or her.  LeBron has a father he never knew (I think the term for that type of male parent is dead beat dad) and a mother who is fifteen or sixteen years older than her son.  To say she’s the antithesis of classy is not a criticism as much as an observation when, during a nationally televised game against the Celtics, she left her seat, upset with the way Paul Pierce was defending her baby, prompting her only child to instruct her to “sit your ass down!”  I’ve tried several times to imagine Michael Jordan saying that to his mama and something keeps my mind from processing that mental picture - probably because there is no way it would happen.  Instead, LeBron had “his boys” leading him in the ways of how a teenager of such miraculous physical tools should act.    

Author William Rhoden who wrote Forty Million Dollar Slaves claims this kind of behavior occurs when the young, gifted athlete acquires such obscene wealth and his parents become, more or less, his employees - because he is the major (sometimes the only) bread winner in the household and thus becomes financially responsible for them.  Therefore, his parents lose any authority or ability to influence him - and he is proud of this set of circumstances.

Nor did MJ’s parents present him with a Hummer on his 18th birthday, 1) because they would feel strongly against him driving such a car at 18 and 2) because it wouldn’t send the right kind of message.  Yet, LeBron didn’t know any better - and maybe Michael didn’t (at that age) either which is where the common sense and child rearing skills come into play.

The other glaring difference between the two basketball mega-stars is Michael had Dean Smith, while Keith Dambrot and Dru Joyce, LeBron’s high school coaches, both being the good and decent men (and coaches) they are, probably never had LeBron carry the bags as a freshman.  In addition, learning basketball and life skills from the father of team unity is something that taught Jordan humility and respect for teammates (both of which he was later in his professional career criticized for, so imagine what he would have been like not having to grow under the Dean).  Some people say Smith was the only person who could hold Jordan under twenty points a game, but if that is indeed true, i.e. that he made Jordan sacrifice his scoring ability in the name of winning (MJ’s freshman year, they won it all, with you-know-who nailing the winning jumper against Georgetown), he was even more extreme when it came to how to be a proper teammate and play within a team set of rules - both on and off the court.     

Another knock on LeBron is he doesn’t know what he wants to be, which I feel is completely unfair - mainly because I think I know exactly what he wants to be - the best ever to play the game of basketall.  What I think is tearing away at LeBron James is he doesn’t know what else he wants to be. 

He’s co-hosted the 2007 ESPY Awards; in March 2008, he became the first black man ever to appear on the cover of Vogue magazine, posing with Gisele Bundchen, in a picture depicting King Kong and Fay Ray.  In his latest commercial (for State Farm), he dreams he wants to be a member of the Cleveland Browns.  Then there was the well known incident where he refused to sign teammate Ira Newble’s petition regarding the conflict in the Darfur region of the Sudan, then relenting a year later, saying he looked into the matter and proceeded to blather on about what the problem was.  There were no follow up questions because I’m certain I’d remember those remarks.

So his major conflict isn’t about basketball at all (to him anyway) - and he’s proving that maybe he’s right on that count.  His dilemma deals with the quote from Charles Swindoll:

“One essential ingredient for being an original in the day of copies is courageous vision.”

Yoga (my new, latest necessity - and, after listening to my local doctors as well as those at Stanford Pain Management, necessity is the correct word) is supposed to have a calming influence.  For one thing, you practice breathing.  I found out how “wrong” I breathe - and I’ve been doing it most of my life, if memory serves me correctly.  The breathing for yoga is to relax you, put you in touch with your body and give you a sense of calm, of serenity, of peacefulness.

I was somewhat taken aback when my yoga instructor, easily the most balanced person I’ve known (granted, I never met the Marareeshi Maharesh Yogi - he’ll have to forgive me if I spelled his name wrong, but after a few breaths - especially the ouji kind, he’ll forgive anyone and anything short of stealing his favorite camel), told me that not only did I have to silence my cell phone, but I couldn’t even bring it into the session (and it’s just the two of us)!  I hadn’t planned on answering it, for goodness sakes, but what if someone had sent me a text?  You mean I can’t even flip it open and read it?  Even if I promise to breathe while reading?

A few weeks ago, I was on my way to a yoga session after a parent conference that went longer than expected.  I should have known it would when the mom asked me what I thought the problem was with her daughter.  I’ve never entered one of those 25 words or less contests, mainly because it takes me 22 words just to clear my throat.  So here I am rushing to get to the studio by 4:00 pm (the scheduled time for the session), when the person reading the audio book I’m listening to, while frantically driving to get there on time, says, “You know your life is somewhat out of whack if you find yourself hurrying to a yoga class.”

How profound!  Yoga is all about relieving stress and not allowing enough time to get there defeats the whole purpose.  When I get to the studio (I have private lessons because my “yoga skill set” is not quite ready for public display, plus I need the personal attention since there isn’t a pre-beginner’s level yet), the mood is already set - the dim lights, the whatever kind of soothing music they play (not the sounds of the ocean because, at 60 years of age, this would cause other problems) and the soft, caring voice of the instructor - kind of like the voice of my kindergarten teacher, only 55 years later.

I had experienced something new at yesterday’s lesson that disrupted the session and this time it wasn’t even my fault.  It seems as though there’s space for rent directly above the yoga studio - the very same studio that the instructor and her husband recently renovated by partitioning off a room, putting in a door, painting and investing quite a bit of time and money so her students or clients or customers or baby yogis - evidently, I’m not aware of the proper term - enjoy a more conducive environment.  Near the end of my session, when I’m about as unwound as I get (which is probably still two-three times wound-er than the average inflexible guy on the street), this music starts blaring from above!  I mean, somebody is gettin’ down!  And it ain’t Mozart.  It’s heavy metal, amp’d to the max!

The unflappable instuctor closed (a little more tightly than I’d seen in previous sessions)her eyes ( and I’ll bet a dollar to a doughnut - although right about now, that’s pretty much an even money wager) that none of the words running through her mind sounded remotely like “Namaste” - usually the final word said after going through a yoga class, and giving thanks, or in my case, the word right after “Oy vey!”

She made a quick recovery (someone on top of a mountain somewhere must be very proud) and didn’t say a word until I asked if that impromptu concert cost extra.  She laughed - for a yoga instructor, she has an excellent sense of humor (working with me, it helps; otherwise she’d die of frustration) and told me a group was planning to move in upstairs and open a club.  As in music, dancing, booze and other things not at all connected to yoga.  I asked if she didn’t have provisions against such businesses, since this would destroy the “yoga experience.”  Even a novice as myself, I could see the two worlds had nothing in common and the latter could ruin the former. 

She said she did, but had hoped it wouldn’t come to that.  Those yoga people.  What was she hoping for - a stretch-off?  The shape business is in nowadays, the landlord would probably rent out available space to a leper colony if he could get first and last month and a damage deposit.

When I left, she was on the phone speaking with the landlord, in very docile tones.  I’ve gotten to know her, so I will make another wager.  Should the P Street Band (the location, not their moniker) stay, they will be playing - and practicing - at times that do not affect the yoga studio.  If one or the other is forced to move - and this where yoga builds inner resolve, it will be the louder of the two groups.  After all she (and her husband) have put into these improvements and considering the passion she has for her occupation, she will follow the words of Dolores Ibarruri:        

“Better to die on one’s feet than to live on one’s knees.”�

Frequent readers of this blog know I have a morphine pump implanted in my abdomen due to the overwhelming, excrutiating pain of numerous surgeries, deterioration of discs, lack of flexibility and neglect to take care of my body (mainly not following a consistent stretching regimen and not strengthening the core muscles).

When morphine was the only drug in the pump, I had to go to the Stanford Pain Management Clinic for refills every six months.  Since another drug has been added to the mix, that return trip has been cut to once every 44 days.  I don’t like to miss school for a variety of reasons: it takes more time writing the instructions for the substitute than it does for me to just teach the class, I don’t like using up the sick leave (with the state of the economy, you never know when you’ll need some and if you’re out and have to take leave without pay, ugh) and I’ve always felt if you’re paid to do a job, you should do it.

This is why I scheduled my visit for this past Monday, since we were off from school.  Stanford was building a new pain clinic - and all that goes with it - and as with everything Stanford does, it’s completely state-of-the-art.  Just my luck, Monday was designated as “moving day,” so my appointment was cancelled and rescheduled for Wednesday at 10:30 in the morning.

When the nurse who administered the refill called to tell me, I made one request - actually more like a demand.  I’d had other appointments for pump refills in the morning, only to get there and find out the pharmacy didn’t deliver until the afternoon, extending my stay - and day - quite a bit longer.  The new facility is a little farther away, which adds 15 minutes to the three hour (if there’s no traffic) drive from Fresno.  I mentioned this to the nurse and told her I had to be back in Fresno no later than 4:30 pm.  Every Wednesday I co-host The Jerry Tarkanian Show on Fox Sports radio in Fresno, an extremely popular show (which is why it airs at “drive time”) and, since it’s live radio,  when 5:00 pm comes, it’s show time, whether I’m there or not.

She said she understood.  The following day, I had a voice mail message from this same nurse, saying the appointment had to be changed to 11:30 am.  I returned the call after school but she’d gone for the day so I related, quite clearly, to the receptionist my urgency of getting out of there to be able to get home in plenty of time.  The procedure is not a long one - they simply take out what medicine’s left in the pump and weigh it, to make sure the pump is dispensing the drugs properly and then fill it up for another 44 day cycle.  Sure enough, after checking with the nurse, the receptionist called me back and said all systems were go, that the nurse guaranteed the “meds” would be there when needed.

I got there early (about 11:10 am) because I always want to make sure I’m not holding them up since their schedule is of the utmost importance.  They deal with people with chronic, severe pain and, as you can imagine, nobody in that condition wants to be held up - you feel bad enough with everything else you have to endure.  When I checked in, the receptionist remarked, “Oh, I remember talking to you.  You’re the one who has to get back home to do a live radio show.”

I told her how impressed I was with her memory, but I was equally happy that I got my message across loud and clear.  When the nurse called me to go into the room, it was actually a little before 11:30 so I felt the day had success written all over it.  In reality, what was written all over the day must have been graffiti because as the nurse and I entered the room, another woman came in behind us.  She was introduced as the manager of the clinic.  I felt queasy, not because I know enough people already and don’t need to make any new acquaintances, but at her mention of words and phrases like “unfortunately,” “things beyond our control” and “tried the best we could.”  She concluded this beating around the bush part with “The pharmacist thought she had enough medicine, but when she got in today, she realized she needed more and had to order it.  It won’t be here until” (of course) “1:00 pm.  However, we have a wonderful, brand new cafeteria and I have a voucher for you so you can have lunch as our guest.”

I was doing everything in my power to maintain my composure and said, “This is exactly what I needed to avoid.  That’s why I was so explicit with my instructions.”  Dreading having to drive home with nothing to show for it but 350 miles on my odometer, I asked, if I had to come back, when could I, meaning when did my pump go dry?  The answer I got was tomorrow.  Nice.

“Well, she really did try - and there’s never a guarantee about these things.”

“No, there was a guarantee; that’s why I’m here.  I mean, what if the drugs aren’t ready by 1:00?”

“Let’s not go there,” she immediately replied with a smile, I think to insure me this scenario couldn’t possibly occur.

“I didn’t want to go here!”  I said, releasing my frustrations on this poor lady (another reason I was upset was that I wasn’t going to be able to see my doctor that day - I mean, if I’m making the trip, which isn’t exactly around the corner, why not schedule it for a day the doctor is going to be in the clinic).  This manager’s main job was, apparently, to deliver bad news, mostly related to incompetence, none of which dealt with her.  I still felt no empathy.

The nurse said they’d give me a room, led me into one and remarked that the bed was a posturpedic!  Wow, lucky me.  I was asked if I wanted to go to the cafeteria and I said, no, I’d just as soon lay my body down, knowing that when this procedure ended, I would be setting major speed records on my return trip.

At 1:00 pm in came my new best friend, the nurse, who’d done this procedure on me a couple times prior.  But, this time, she couldn’t quite get the needed inserted properly.  Off she went, to find one of the doctors.  Luckily, she quickly found one (or they gave a white coat to somebody who knew how to get the job done) and it wasn’t 5 minutes later, I was out of there, getting gas and heading home - at a speed below Jason Richardson’s 90 mph in a 35 zone, but not well below it.

Everything was smooth sailing - until we came to a complete halt on the Pacheco Pass.  All of a sudden, I was in a two lane parking lot.  Although I couldn’t see it, apparently, an 18-wheeler changed from the fast lane to the slow and didn’t see the van in the slow lane, causing damage, but no injuries.  The vehicles were across both lanes and, whether for insurance purposes or something else, they weren’t being moved.  Finally, the police moved all the trucks to the right shoulder and allowed the cars to (barely) pass in the left lane.

I had originally called the station to alert them of my circumstances, left a message and now called back to override the first message, saying I thought I’d make it after all.  I got to the show at 4:57 and thought, “What a day!”  Then, when we started with a fantastic live interview with undefeated Fresno City College men’s basketball coach, Ed Madec, it looked like the storm clouds were parting.

However, the guy at the switchboard started having problems of his own (we didn’t get an intro - all of a sudden, the guys from the station who where at Fresno Distributing - where we originate the show from - pointed at me and said to start the show; later on, the same guy missed the cue for the taped interview Jerry had with Washington’s coach, Lorenzo Romar).  They told me he was trying to get things straightened out.

The show (mercifully) ended and I rushed home to wolf down some dinner before heading off to watch our younger son, Alex, play against the first place team in the conference.  Our guys had been playing better and there was a ray of hope we had a chance to pull a major upset.  We got behind early by two - touchdowns - before we even scored.  In reality, it was 17-0 before we scratched and eventually lost, 90-66.  On the way out of their gym, I heard one of our parents say, “Well, the boys tried.”

After a day of all this trying, I was reminded of the quote by my late and great friend and mentor, John Savage, who, in situations such as these, was always fond of saying:

“Trying is failing - with honor.  Get it done!” �