Jack’s Blog

Just got back in town from a day-and-a-half basketball camp on UCLA’s campus that Alex was invited to attend. 

The camp was advertised as a great learning experience for the participants: be taught by the entire Bruin coaching staff, see their returning players demonstrate and, for some, compete against their incoming freshmen.  Stay one night in a dormitory room, eat on campus and play in historic Pauley Pavillion.

The camp ran as promised - and then some.  On the second day, there was a slot for a guest speaker.  Many of the events had been shifted or, even cancelled (e.g. Sunday nights games - but there wasn’t a peep to be heard from anyone, as the kids were absolutely beat), and the wise move of not playing the evening games was made, improving the quality of play yesterday.

Back to the guest speaker.  It was downplayed - to the point of, not only no gigantic mystery as to the identity - but, not even mentioning it - leaving open, to those who looked at the schedule and saw a number of changes, the possibility of abandoning the “guest speaker” slot and substituting games.

No way - not in Westwood.  For those of you who might be guessing the Wizard as the speaker, it’s fairly common knowledge that health issues preclude Coach Wooden from doing something of this nature.  Maybe one of the many sensational former UCLA players (and there’s a plethora of candidates)?  The speaker was none of those.

Instead, an older, but incredibly distiguished looking man - in street clothes - came out to speak to the group of mainly 14-17 year olds, each of whom sat on the Pauley Pavillion floor in utter amazement, hanging on every word - but hearing very few.  None had ever seen him play, but each knew exactly who he was - maybe not by name, but by the nickname he’d been given some years back: The Logo.

Jerry West, in a crisp white shirt (obviously straight from the cleaners), dark slacks, dress shoes and sunglasses (which he had to give to someone to hold a few minutes into the talk because it was difficult to speak with a basketball in one hand and sunglasses in the other) was an imposing sight - even if his attire was rather incongruent to the occasion.

No matter.  I have to admit I moved down to the floor level to better hear what he was saying, in his soft-spoken tone, more of a nonchalant, “here’s what I know about the game and how I approached it” than a “you’d better pay attention, because if you don’t follow what I’m saying, you’ll never make it” message.  When he finished a couple of the younger guys at the camp simply stared at each other and simultaneously said, “Sweet!“  

The following quote about two types of men pretty much summed up what he had to say - and after hearing him, the listener wasn’t quite sure which category he belonged to - maybe both:

“Some men succeed because they are destined to, but most men because they are determined to.”

Bill O’Reilly, on his way out of the country, took the time last night to speak out (on his own show) on a subject that is becoming all too familiar in our country: a political leader with the morals of a sewer rat.

O’Reilly, host of the #1 cable news show for the last 8 years (I’m not sure that O’Reilly doesn’t think the 8 ought to be on its side), was incensed that those from the left are, in his words, “celebrating” the downfall of South Carolina governor (for the time being), Mark Sanford.  This, from a person who, if he disagrees with you, calls you a “pinhead” on national television.  O’Reilly mentioned something to the fact that when former governor John Edwards fell off the fidelity wagon, conservatives may have criticized him, but none of them celebrated his indiscretion.  I was curious as to why BOR didn’t bring up that Monica girl and the guy who was president at that time and replay video footage of the comments made by him and his other fair and balanced colleagues.  Possibly he had put it behind him.

In what I initially thought was a moment of comic relief, he brought on one of the nation’s most kind-hearted human beings, a veritable saint, with a warmth toward his fellow man that few, if any other, member of this, or any other society, possesses.  Naturally, I’m speaking of Karl Rove.  In acknowledging Rove, O’Reilly said, “You’ve been (referred to) as a hatchet man by people who don’t like you.”  Now, how could someone not like an honest, above-board gentleman who, in an effort to help his man win an election, broke into the office of the competitor so he (Rove) could steal letterhead and then print up flyers, inviting people, i.e. voters to a (fictitious) party offering free drugs and prostitutes? A note of clarity: the actual word “prostitute” may not have been used - I mean, what kind of guy would do something so despicable - but there was no way anyone could not have understood the gist of the mesage.  Guess what?  His man won!  Good campaigning. 

O’Reilly went on with his introduction of this bastion of integrity (Rove) with what might be in the running for understatement of the year, “Politics is a rough business - you do what you’ve got to do to get your guy in.”  I can’t remember much after hearing that.  I was even less interested in hearing what Karl (with a K, like Marx) had to say. 

Then, Bernard Goldberg came on and admitted that he “used to be on that side.”  By that side, I think he meant both “left” and “wrong.”  He sounded extremely sure of his views, probably like he did when he was on “that side.”  Could Bernie have another change of heart some time in the near future and head back over?  He’ll say no way, just as he would have if he were asked oh so many years ago, but if the right numbers were proposed for a book deal, . . . well, everyone has his price.

One man who was on the receiving end of Goldberg’s wrath was Paul Begala, Democratic strategist (see one of my earliest blogs, 4/22/07 for a sensational perspective - mine - on political strategists) and member of the fivehead club - as in most people have a forehead, but Paul goes us all one better.  There was a film clip of Begala ranting over the apparent brain freeze of Sanford.  Yet, he, too, never mentioned Monica what’s-her-name.  Do all these guys suffer from selective memory?

John Savage, a name mentioned often on this website, was a brilliant man.  I learned more from him during the seven years I was honored to know him, than I did from 99% of others I’ve met (using a conservative estimate) throughout the years.  John used to speak to hundreds of insurance salespeople (his actual vocation) or to similar numbers when he was hired as an inspirational speaker.  His style was basic, down-to-earth (what all of us could only wish was) common sense.  

Occasionally, during a presentation, John would say, “You guys out there who are running around on your wives - you’re all frauds!”  This caught everyone’s attention mainly because it was so unlike John’s personality.  Then, once he had everyone’s attention (statements like that tend to earn the audience’s total focus), he’d wryly say, “And if you disagree with me, I’d be happy to debate it with you on local TV - in your hometown.”

This always brought a laugh, with some (usually those wiping their faces and necks) a tad more nervous than others, but it managed to get his point across.  John, who died in February of 1993, used to say a good motto was, “One wife, no girlfriends.”  Like I said, common sense. 

Lost in all of this sniping is the fact that a governor, for an extended period of time, was derelict in his duty, having left his office (not to mention his mind) and told no one where he was.  Hey, buddy, you’re in charge, and have the final say of, what happens in your state.  There are only 50 of your type in this nation and it’s a job that carries with it an extremely high degree of responsibility.  (And to think there were times people would say women couldn’t govern because of their inability to think straight when they were menstruating).  Come to think of it, wasn’t Sanford gone for about 4-5 days?

The knee jerk reaction of nearly all of these talk show hosts (because their livelihood is driven, not by what’s right or wrong, but by ratings), is to circle the wagons if the mistake is made “by one of ours” or attack, attack, attack if the blunder is made by someone on the other side.  How about discussing the right thing to do and what effect the mistake could have on the country?

Doesn’t this sound familiar?  Today, the “right” is absolutely tearing apart the current administration and how every decision that’s being made and every act that’s taken is heading the country into complete ruin.  But, where things so great before this administration took over - what - six months ago?  The country was going to hell in a hand basket when the “right” party was in power (according to the left).  Now that the worm’s turned, it’s the Republicans’ opportunity to complain.

The lesson to be learned is this: it’s far better to be the party out of power - because then, you can criticize and be as loud as you want.  The other side has to justify what they’re doing.  Many Americans will be on your side - those without jobs, houses and portfolios that are worth half of what they were.

This country has completely lost its sense of what it means to be a member of a team.  The motto has changed from, “There’s no I in team,” to “Yeah, but there’s a me in it.”  If only solving our unity problem was as easy as explaining the Sanford, Edwards, Spitzer, Clinton, (add in your favorite).  Those actions are easily explained by one of the best and brightest -Robin Williams - who observed:

“God gave man two heads, but only enough blood to operate one at a time.”  Â

While I was watching the NBA draft yesterday, for some reason, I was reminded of the one in 1983.  I was an assistant coach at the University of Tennessee and our best player that year was Dale Ellis.  Entering his senior year at UT, Dale was a consensus All-American, based on his stellar play the previous years, with the most impressive statistic being that he made an unheard of 66% (UT record) of his shots as a junior.

The three point line had yet to be incorporated into the collegiate game.  Our head coach, Don DeVoe (recently inducted into the UT Hall-of-Fame), had the philosophy of pounding the ball inside.  We employed a two in (post players), three out (perimeter players) offense and Dale was one of our posts.  When we didn’t have a fast break opportunity, we ran set plays, the majority of which were to get a high percentage shot (the shot clock hadn’t been introduced at the college level either), usually for one of our posts.

The basketball coach during my college days was Richie Buckelew.  By 1983, he’d become a scout for the Atlanta Hawks.  Following one of our SEC games, he saw me said that I was going to be shocked when he told me what position Dale would play in “the league.”

I didn’t want to look like I had no knowledge of the pro game, so I said to him, “I know - small forward,” ready for him to praise me for my evaluation skills.

“No,” he said. “2 guard.”

During our season, we had broken the players into groups to work with before practice actually got under way.  Dale had been in my group all year and I had told any scout who asked about his range that Dale could easily go out to 18′ and, in fact, that’s where most of our pre-practice shooting spots were.  Never did I think that our center, and for all intents and purposes, that’s the position Dale played for us, could make the transition to second guard in the NBA - and be able to shoot three’s from five feet further out!

Dale’s ballhandling and passing skills were adequate and, while he was an outstanding post defender, mainly because he was so much quicker than nearly all of the big guys he guarded and he had excellent anticipation, there was no way I ever thought he could guard an NBA 2 guard. 

Dale had another great season (capped off by playing to his fourth straight NCAA tournament) and when draft day came, he was being lauded as a Top 10 pick.  The NBA draft was nowhere near the spectacle it is now, but, even though there wasn’t the hype, none of us were disappointed when he was selected ninth by the Dallas Mavericks.

When Dale returned in the summer to finish his degree (a promise he made - and kept - to his mother, i.e. that he’d get his degree), he came by my office.  His mood was nothing short of doom and gloom.  He said how disappointed he was that he’d play great in practices, but when game time came around, he seldom got in.  What made it more frustrating was that, on the occasions he did manage to get quality time, he played very well, e.g. there was a game in which he came off the bench to score 18 - but, that performance was followed by the five most dreaded letters a players can see by his name in a box score: DNP-CD, standing for “Did Not Play - Coach’s Decision.” 

Incidentally, for a couple more intriguing and insightful Dale Ellis stories, purchase a copy of my book, Life’s A Joke for only $10 (I’ll pay the S&H).  Send a check to: Life’s A Joke 365 Sandpiper Ct. Fresno, CA 93730.  

Dale once told me he trusted (that was the word he used) me because I would always give it to him straight.  After hearing his stories about not playing (even though I could see it was really bothering him), I said, “Gee, Dale, it sounds like you’re miserable and you’re really getting screwed.  Why don’t you quit and just get another job that pays you a quarter of a million dollars?” (which was what the ninth pick got back then and isn’t nearly what today’s guys are making, but still is a heckuva lot more than I’m pulling down - 26 years later!

The corners of his mouth turned up, just a little, into one of those “OK, you got me” smiles, and he said, fully understanding my point, “Nah, I think I’ll stick with this line of work.”

I then told him that I had talked to his agent because I, in fact, had been following him through the agate (small print in the sports section, e.g. box scores) and had seen exactly what he’d been complaining about.  His agent told me that one thing he could be thankful for was that, while their coach, Dick Motta, indeed, did not like playing rookies, the Mavs’ organization was not known as one of those that was vindictive, and if they could make a move to better themselves - and a disgruntled player who, for whatever reasons did not fit into their plans - they would move him.

Sure enough, after Dale’s second year with the Mavs, he was traded to Seattle for former UNC star, Al Wood.  Dale flourished in that system, making the NBA All-Star team, before ultimately spending 17 years in the NBA and, when he retired, left as the all-time leader for made three-pointers.  He’s since dropped to third behind Reggie Miller and Ray Allen. 

The morale of the story is, unless you are Michael Jordan, Kobe Bryant, Larry Bird, Shaquille O’Neal, Magic Johnson, or a can’t miss player (and although he’s far and away the best player available in this draft, I’m not sure I’d even consider Blake Griffin a can’t miss player), the key to your success is . . . are you and what you bring to the franchise a good match for the team that selects you?  If so, you’re fortunate and will most likely enjoy a long and profitable career.  If not - and remember, the higher a player gets picked, usually, the worse a team he goes to, so slipping several spots might just land you on a pretty good team - one which can use the skill set you have and not need you to do more than you are physically - and mentally - equipped to take on.  

There was a story in Sports Illustrated (4/28/08 edition) on Peyton Manning and how, during his initial meeting with the Colts’ coach Jim Mora and its GM, Bill Polian, he said to them, “I’d really like to come here if you want me.”  The true football fan will recall that the year Manning was to be drafted, there was a great debate (as ridiculous as it seems now) as to which player deserved to be the overall number one pick in the draft (with everyone knowing the other would go number two), Manning or Ryan Leaf from Washington State?  Obviously, Peyton felt strongly about his ability, since he continued - and I can’t say I remember anyone else possessing the stones to say anything even close:

“But if you don’t, I promise you I’ll come back and kick your ass for the next 15 years.”

Returned from SoCal after making sure older son, Andy, was well on the road to recovery after an emergency appendectomy.  Our friends, the Dolinoys (Paul & Betty) proved to be the most gracious hosts - in a time of great need).  Paul was with Andy through his ordeal in the hospital, made sure he had thorough instructions for him to follow post-op and even picked up his medications (without which, Andy wouldn’t have had nearly as easy a recovery).

All Betty did was make all his meals and, in an effort way above and beyond the call of duty, washed his dirty clothes, then dried and folded them.  To understand how major a task this was, let’s just say if a person could have gotten ill from the amount of dirty clothes he had, Andy Boy would have been in critical condition.  While she was at it, she cooked for his dad as well.  I didn’t have the nerve to ask her to wash, dry and fold any of my clothes.

A successful trip, ending at 4:30 am, the time I got back (and the reason for no blogs).

In case you’ve been at an intervention meeting or just returned from the mountains, where there was no TV reception or don’t care one iota about NBA basketball (in which case, I doubt you’d be spending time on this website), the Phoenix Suns traded Shaquille O’Neal to the Cleveland Cavaliers.  Since none of the Cavs going to Phoenix was named LeBron, the Cavs have now become the overwhelming favorites to win next year’s NBA championship.

No, I haven’t forgotten about the Boston Celtics (in the East) now that KG is back, healthy and (a little more than) anxious to reclaim what he went to Boston for - and got - only to watch while his team couldn’t do what, deep down, everyone, including and especially, Garnett knew they couldn’t do - win it all without him.  Nor have I forgotten about the current champs (from the West), the Los Angeles Lakers, who will be returning the core (Kobe) of the team that breezed to the crown this past season.

Isn’t adding Shaq (even though he’s older and less mobile than he was last year) to a team with LeBron like adding a younger, but still not particularly mobile Shaq, to a Miami Heat team with Dwayne Wade (who, while a superstar, wasn’t/isn’t quite in LBJ’s class)?  Or is it like adding older vets like Karl Malone and Gary Payton to a Lakers team with Shaq and Kobe?

I have to admit that when I first heard that Malone and Payton went to LA, my first thought was, “Isn’t it going to be awfully difficult for opponents to score?  Kobe, even back then, was a lockdown defender, Payton was known as ‘The Glove’ for his defense ability to cover people (like a …), Malone was a defensive force at power forward and Shaq was back there in case, what, the fifth starter got beat?”  Yet, it didn’t play out that way at all.  Although it wasn’t as bad as when the New York Metropolitans where introduced as the newest National League franchise and immediately signed Casey Stengel to manage a bevy of future Hall-of-Famers (but guys who made it to the Hall because of everything they did prior to joining the Mets), it didn’t work out (even) close to what everyone in Tinseltown (especially Mitch Kupchak and Jerry Buss) had thought.

So, does that mean to put the champagne on ice but don’t yet pop the corks?  For lack of a better word - yup.  The Cavs (who, allegedly aren’t done dealing) are trying to accomplish the dual tasks of winning a title for Clevelanders AND persuading LeBron to remain close to his hometown (maybe not forever, but at least for the remainder of his NBA career).  On first blush, it looks as though the Cavs will be difficult to guard (duh, they were that last year as long as James was in the game and had the ball).  With Bron-Bron improving his outside jump shot and his remarkable passing ability also getting better as each season goes by, they now have in Shaq (albeit on a limited basis - meaning 60-70% of the games and a number of practices - that number approaching zero as his career winds down) a guy with great hands and someone who can clean up misses (and knows what to do with them once he gets those mitts on the ball) and whose presence will be hard to leave in order to help on penetration.  Throw Shaq the ball and he still commands a double-team and the Big Whatever-He-Decides-To-Be is a very adept passer.

So what’s not to like?  First, the percentage of NBA teams running pick & roll as their main offense has come down - from 110% (if a player can give it, why can’t that same percentage of teams run it?) to 90% (as the penetrate & pitch game has become popular - mainly for teams who don’t have the personnel to run pick & roll).  If the Cavs thought Zydrunas Ilgauskas had a tough time covering pick & roll, wait until Mike Brown tells Shaq how he’d like for him to move away from the basket and get closer to the man setting the screen.  Wonder who will win that discussion?

Also, how will the move affect the intangibles?  Mike Brown has a record most people would covet.  Why, then, are so many coaches (and television commentators) polishing up their resumes, assuming the rumors of a coaching change have any substance?  When Charles Barkley says (in the tactless way only Charles can), “I hate Cleveland’s offense!  They don’t run, then they do nothing in the half court until the shot clock’s down, then they give the ball to LeBron and say, ‘Go ‘head LeBron, win it for us, big fella.’ “  That might not have been verbatim, but it was something to that effect.  And then, after he scored, what was it, 32 straight point to end the game - or was it score or assist on every one of the last 32 points, and Charles’ partner, Kenny Smith says, “Yeah, he did it, but no NBA player can do that for three straight games (the performance LeBron would have had to repeat in order to win the series).  The body won’t hold up.”

The Round Mound and The Jet weren’t doing Mike Brown any favors by stripping him naked in front of many a million people, they were simply doing their jobs.  And, what’s worse for Coach Brown is that they turned out to be right!  When owners hear that - and there are so few who really understand what it means to play in a high pressure event, like an NBA Playoff game (and, please, don’t tell me about the pressure of signing a multi-million, billion, gazillion dollar deal), playing five-man hoops in front of 20,000 people - who didn’t pay that much for tickets, parking, concessions and souvenirs, to see their team lose or anyone on their team play poorly - and millions more watching, including their family, close friends, their kids’ close friends and nearly every person they’ll see anytime they’re out in public - plus having their salaries published so that anybody can, say, figure how much a player made per/point, minute, rebound, foul, whatever (including those who do it for a living, e.g. media), they think the best way to appease fans is to fire the guy at the top (not exactly at the real top - although, often, that’s where the blame lies).  So, the Cavs will open their season full of hope - and a death watch for their coach.

So, in answer to the question posed at the top of the blog, we’ll all have to stay tuned.  As for Mike Brown, he would be wise to heed the words of legendary football football coach, Bear Bryant:

“In a crisis, don’t hide behind anything or anybody.  They’re going to find you anyway.”           Â

Most books on parenting tell moms and dads to treat each child equally - or as equally as is reasonable.  I’m aware of this theory and, once again, within reason, I subscribe to it. 

A recent order for our rapidly growing baby gift business (www.CuteBabyNameGifts.com) was for a set of twin girls: ISABELLA & EMMA.  If the general consensus for parents is to treat siblings the same, you can imagine how much more that theory extends to twins!  I emailed the person who ordered the gifts (the grandfather, it turned out) and mentioned to him that our sensationally talented artist (although that description sounds biased, you would be immediately in complete agreement if you saw his work), told me that for names of six letters or longer, he is going to put them on 12″ x 18″ illustration board so as not to crowd the letters and symbols.

A very nice gesture (at no extra cost), but now one grandchild would be getting a bigger present than the other, a probable cause for disharmony in the household.  Since it’s not a good idea to tell a customer (or a boss) bad news without having a potential solution for it, I advised grandpa that it would probably be a good idea to frame the gifts, but do so using either a 12 x 18 frame (and mat EMMA) or use a, for example, 16 x 20 frame and mat both of them.  A nice, considerate touch that few of today’s companies would feel an obligation to do.  And grandad was quite appreciative, I might add.

After using my vast knowledge (aka, common sense) to help divert that potential disaster, I was thrust into a decision-making proposal for something that hit closer to home.  As I posted in my last blog, our younger son, Alex, and I were leaving Saturday morning to go to the Sacramento area to play and watch, (thank the Lord, respectively).  On Sunday, I was awakened at around 7:30 am with a phone call from my wife who told me that our older son, Andy, thought he had food poisoning and had his best friend and fraternity brother, Stratton Constantinides (I guess we’re fortunate we don’t have to do a baby gift for him), drive him to the hospital.  After a CT scan was taken, it was determined Andy was suffering from appendicitis and needed emergency surgery, i.e. that day.

Readers of this blog will remember my good college friends, Paul & Betty Dolinoy, who, after living in Atlanta for a good number of years, decided to return to one of their former residences in Huntington Beach, CA.  Lucky for us they did. 

My call to them disrupted a quiet Sunday afternoon, turning it into a hectic Sunday afternoon.  Paul immediately went to the hospital to have an “experienced presence” in the room - someone who would make Andy feel more at ease, since, with all that was happening - and it doing so rather quickly, Andy was reassured that a parental substitute was there to facilitate, what with him feeling pain, and getting groggy from the meds the nurse had provided.  Paul stayed at the hospital until Andy drifted off and, then went to catch a movie to pass the time, but close enough to get back to the hospital when they wheeled Andy in for the procedure.  All this time, Betty served as Jane’s lifeline, calling my wife with periodic updates and giving her another “mother” to talk to and get advice from since Betty (and Paul) have two grown girls, who had similar experiences at the same age. 

Meanwhile, I left the semi-final game at halftime (Alex told me he was going to “do work” in honor of his older bro)  and when the first half ended, Alex had 15 points and a bunch of assists, proving good on his word.  I made the three hour drive home, to get some clean clothes but mainly for my precription medications.  Then, I drove the 4 1/2 hours to Huntington Beach and got to Paul & Betty’s house only to see Andy lounging in Paul’s Ritz-Carlton robe.

I’ve done favors for the Dolinoys, although I can’t remember anything remotely close to the first class treatment - with no time to plan - they provided Andy.  I guess Zig Ziglar’s signature line is exactly as he (continually) says it: 

“You can get whatever you want out of life if you just help enough other people get what they want.” �

We’re headed up to Rocklin (near Sacramento) for a basketball tournament, so no blog tomorrow night, although I already have one in mind for Sunday night you definitely won’t want to miss.

California rules (that a coach can work with his team year round) and summer basketball has turned high school hoops into a 12 month ordeal.  Many coaches (not only basketball) actually force their athletes into making a decision when they get to the high school level: it’s my sport only or don’t bother showing up.

If the athlete’s good enough, i.e. if he (and his parents) are in the position of power, they can call the coach’s bluff.  More times than not, I’ve seen the coach back down, making the (wise) decision that part of a great player is better than none of him (truthfully, the reality of this situation is that this type of behavior is not at all limited to the male side of the equation).  Especially when a coach of a female powerhouse, who’s looked up to by the community (including the district administration, who are way more interested in championships than they’ll ever admit), is the one giving the ultimatums.

It might be as veiled a statement as, “Well, if you really want to play in our program, you need to make a total commitment” (which, left unsaid - or not - means playing that sport all the time).

I have to admit that what was most attractive to me about coaching on the high school level was the fact that a coach could work year round with the guys.  After working in college basketball, in which the NCAA continually cut back the time coaches were allowed to work with their squads (be it individual instruction or team practice), getting together whenever I desired sounded like nirvana.

One reason was I had prepared myself for thirty years to be a Division I head coach (independent of the level of D-I) and had organized everything from the pregame warm up routine and man-to-man offense, complemented by a multiple defense system to home and school recruiting visits and organizing a booster club (notice I mentioned “independent of the level” of D-I).  Because this was going to be a little more sophisticated a system than the typical high school program,  I needed that on-court time. 

Never, though, did I plan on threatening a boy to play only basketball.  One major reason is that I thought it would be highly hypocritical - since I played three sports (football, basketball and baseball) during my four year scholastic career.  Truth be told, basketball was my worst sport (of those three).  In fact, while coaching at Buchanan (Clovis, CA) High School, nearly all of us were on the same page when it came to sharing our athletes, mainly for the same reason I felt, i.e. they played more than one sport during their high school days.

That leads me to our younger son, Alex.  He plays basketball exclusively.  In elementary school, he was, I was told by one of his teachers, the only kid in the school who participated in every sport that was offered throughout his 4th, 5th and 6th grade years.  In 4th, it was cross country and wrestling (football and basketball weren’t allowed until 5th), in 5th he was the defensive MVP of the football team (ILB), captain of the basketball team and played volleyball.  He was over the weight limit for football in 6th (you needed to be 121 - including pads - and Alex checked into 6th grade at 143, so he barely missed the cut . . . so he became the team’s manager).  He once again played basketball, but with his buddies from the grade ahead of him (most of the kids in our neighborhood were now in the 7th grade) in junior high school, he decided he was going to forego volleyball and pick up baseball again (he’d played Little League but, although he started at third base - as one of only two 8-year old starters, he said the only thing he liked about America’s pasttime was that you were allowed to eat sunflower seeds during the game).  After baseball concluded, he came home and told me he was going out for the track team.  I thought it was a good idea, that all the running would keep him in shape.  When I asked him what he was going to do, he told me, “High jump.”  Of course, he had never high jumped, but once the coach showed him the technique, he wound up taking second in one of the final meets of the year.  Once in junior high, and back with his buddies again, after basketball season, he took up tennis (his best friend was an outstanding tennis player and for two weeks a year, he’d attend his friend’s dad’s tennis camp.  That was the extent of his tennis.  Still, he ended up as #2 singles and went undefeated throughout the season.  He hasn’t played tennis since.

Those of you who are still reading this rambling discourse (after reading a paper I turned in one time, my high school English teacher asked me if I was from Babylon) might be wondering if there’s a point.  If there is, it’s this.

Although Alex plays basketball only, to be quite honest, part of me would love to see him play football (along with baseball, my two best sports).  My wife doesn’t put up too much of a fight in instances like this.  But, in the case of football, she’s seen me and the problems I’ve had (the first question doctors asked me, prior to the first of my eight back surgeries - two weeks after we got married was, “Were you ever in a car accident?”  The next question was if I ever played football).  And it’s not only me.  Jane’s dad was quite the football player himself (as well as a state championship scholastic coach in Nashville, TN - where they take their FB seriously) and during his later years, the arthritis he developed (his doctor told him it was due to old football injuries) made it painful to watch him attempt to get up from our couch.

The capper came with Son #1.  Andy is the ultimate team guy.  In 2nd grade he told me a new kid had just moved in and they became fast friends.  That kid was Zak Hill, the youngest of three sons of Fresno State’s new football coach, Pat Hill.  Naturally, it was decided early on that, when they got the 5th grade, they’d be two of the stalwarts on the Valley Oak elementary school football team.  Jane was worried and shared her concerns with our family doctor - who just happened to be the Bulldogs’ team doctor.  He told Jane to let Andy play until 9th grade when they did away with weight limits.  Jane thinks the world of our doc, so she agreed - until the day that Andy separated his shoulder in a blocking drill and had to have surgery of his own - at 13 years of age.  End of football in the Fertig household.

In addition, Alex is that rare athlete who just might be better served to concentrate on one sport.  He has a future in basketball.  Not that he’s going to be doing it for a living, but, with natural maturation of his body (he was measured and weighed at the Nike event in St. Louis at 6′2″ and 188) and mind, he ought to be able to parlay that skill into a free college education.  And with parents in their (very, very) early 60’s, that’s quite a comforting thought. 

I have tried to strike a balance between the coach who sees a gift a young boy has and encourages him to go for it and a father who’s interfering with his son’s life and pushes too hard.  It’s a fine line, but so far, Alex has shown a genuine enthusiasm for basketball.  With my obsession that people realize their potential, there is much more I’d do to get Alex to be better, but not if I feel it’s going to have a negative impact on his “being a kid.”  It’s not easy, but when SI prints a story like the one they did a few issues ago on Todd Marinovich, backing off gets easier and easier. 

I continue to use a quote by one of my favorite authors (and judging by how well - and how many of - his books sell, hundreds of others’ favorite author too), John C. Maxwell:

“If you want your life to be a fantastic story, realize you’re the author.”Â

The term “armchair quarterback” has been replaced by what it always was: armchair coach.  Come on, did you really think that a guy sitting at home (especially one with a small - or not so small - wager on the game) would be content with just calling the shots on one side of the ball?  Plus, the new designation allows for the same couch (or chair) potato to become the “coach” for all the other sports he watches and makes brilliant comments about (usually after a play is over).  The word “he” is used because generally, someone whose actual knowledge of the game is in inverse proportion to how much he thinks he knows about it, tends to be a male.  See, guys, the ladies haven’t caught us in every area yet.

In the sport of basketball, there are so many instances where such a “professional” can put his theories to work, it’s one of the favorite times of the year for these masters of the (p)leather.  Following the NBA Playoffs alone, many an armchair must be re-upholstered, there are so many cases that have been bantered about.

One such area that lends to debate is what’s referred to by coaches (the real ones) as late game situations.  In general, these are two-three minutes or less to go in the game and what to do when certain situations arise.  Let’s discuss one particular late game situation that occurred in the recently concluded NBA Finals, possibly the turning point in the series.

With 11 seconds to go and the Magic holding a three point lead over the Lakers, Dwight Howard is at the free throw line, shooting two.  Obviously, if he makes one, the game becomes a two-possession game and, with only 11 seconds, can be chalked up as a win for DisneyWorld over DisneyLand, tying the series at two games a piece.  But, maybe to make it interesting, maybe because he’s not a good enough free throw shooter yet (probably the latter), Howard misses both and the Lakers call time out.

OK, armchair guys, compare your thinking to the coaching staff of the Magic - who, following the game, each of you blasted- according to comments left on websites, water cooler talk and quotes in the papers (media members, especially columnists, aren’t excluded from the “armchair coach club,” they just happen to get paid for voicing - in print or through the airwaves - their version of what should have been).

First question to be discussed during the time out is: where are the Lakers choosing to put the ball into play - on the baseline (94′ from their goal) or at midcourt?  Then, and this is one item I didn’t see or hear discussed, do we have a foul to give?  Admittedly, I didn’t search the internet or jump from channel to channel to hear as many views as I could have following the game, although it was the first thing I inquired when talking to my friends, mostly current or former coaches (the real kind).

If you have a foul to give (and the Lakers are taking the ball out at the end line, which is what they chose to do), when do you want to give it?  Right away, under, say, six seconds?  It is my understanding now, that, in fact, the Magic did have a foul to give.  As everyone who has more than just a casual interest in the game seems to know, the players have to be careful not to take a foul on a player who is in the act of shooting, thus giving him three FT’s and defeating the purpose of giving that last foul (whehter the opponent is in the bonus or not).  Most dangerous, because of how good he is at anticipating a foul and because of his reputation, is Kobe, so the strategy is probably: do not to let Kobe touch the ball.  If he does, double him immediately and get it out of his hands.  Imagine letting Kobe Bryant shoot a three with the game on the line and eventually losing?  You’d be fired before the series got to Game 5.

An aside: since, following the game’s conclusion, no one asked Stan Van Gundy if he or his staff knew they had a foul to give (at least no one I heard, which was limited to what ESPN-TV broadcast of the post game press conference), I don’t know if that factored into what their strategy was.  With the sheer number of coaches and all the coaching experience (Brendan Malone, himself, is a 40-year coaching veteran), I’d be totally shocked if someone didn’t mention it - although, how the Magic played following the Lakers’ timeout did nothing to make me think they did know.

Even assuming they did not have a foul to give, the argument of “do you or don’t you foul with a three-point lead and seconds to go?” comes into consideration.  This has been a hot topic ever since the first coach decided not to foul and the opponent hit a three-pointer to send the game into OT.  With my background in math (and math being based on logic), I think fouling is playing the odds and the right move. 

This strategy was asked of SVG and he logically answered the question.  His comment was, because there were 11 seconds - and because they had shot free throws so poorly(10-17 in the fourth quarter), he simply didn’t think it would be to his club’s advantage to foul, stop the clock and, in all likelihood, give them two points, then have them foul his guys (Howard had just missed two and the normally reliable Hedo Turkoglu had missed five!)

OK, back to what to do when they take the ball out and have to go the length of the floor.  We know what they chose and what happened - and, naturally, the armchairs say, “How can you double Kobe, knowing he’s going to pass it up the floor and Orlando will be outnumbered?”  Wait a minute now.  Let’s break that statement down.  “…knowing he’s going to pass it up the floor…”  What, in Kobe’s history, would lead someone to the conclusion that, at the end of a game, with a W or L on the line, he’s going to pass the ball? Because he’s double-teamed?  Have you ever taken a glimpse of some of the shots he takes when he’s doubled?  Exhibit A: take a gander at the picture of the shot he’s hoisting on page 35 of the June 15 issue of Sports Illustrated - and he’s only being “one-and-a-half teamed.”  Hey, I’m no Kobe-hater.  I think he’s the best player in the game today, followed closely by LeBron, but to say, don’t double because you know he’s going to pass, I’m going to have to accuse you of not only second-guessing, but doing so after knowing the outcome.  There is room for an argument on whether or not to double him, but there is NO basis for that argument.

Next criticism of Stan VG (having been a 30-year assistant, I feel the entire staff shares the blame, as they ought to the credit when decisions work): “Why was Jameer Nelson in the game at that point?”  Regarding this, I don’t believe there’s any reason anyone can give that would justify Nelson being in the game.  Although I was on the staff at Fresno State when Rafer Alston played there, and he and I got to be pretty close because we were both Easterners (me from New Jersey and Rafer from that suburb of New Jersey, NYC), my belief on this has absolutely no bearing the relationship between Rae and me.  The reason I say that is because I don’t think Rafer should have been in the game at that point.  Up three, with seconds to play, size is what’s needed to guard, not experience or quickness.  Who cares if one of the Lakers beats his defender off the dribble?  They need a three to hurt you!  Even Stan said in the press conference that he was astounded at how much room Nelson gave Fisher, gesturing with arms spread as he spoke.  “It’s like we were guarding against the layup,” Coach VG said, kindly using the word “we” instead of the defender’s (Nelson) name.  

If you think Van Gundy felt, “Even if they hit a three, we go into overtime,” you’re not the armchair whiz you make yourself out to be, because if the game goes into OT, no matter what he says to his guys, they know they gave it away, and the momentum the Lakers would riding into OT (coupled with the fact, lest we forget, that their personnel is better - and you can never let the favorite up for another breath if you have the chance to put them away).  Human nature takes over, along with self-doubt on one side (Orlando) and (for the Lakers) a sense of relief and renewed commitment not to let this golden opportunity slip away - again!

Unfortunately, although all of this must be taken into consideration, if a coach took this long to make a decision, the game would be lost due to forfeit.  This was just a (futile, no doubt) attempt to show armchair coaches that a little more thought and planning goes into a late game decision than, “How the hell could the Magic have not fouled?”

As I used to say when I spoke at coaching clinics or to callers on post game radio shows:

“A good coaching move is one that works.”

Since I posted on the blog prior to our leaving for St. Louis the reason we were going, i.e. that our son, Alex, was invited to the NIKE Hoops Jamboree for the Top 100 freshmen and sophomore high school basketball players in the nation, many people have inquired during the past couple days how he performed.

His coach, Norm Persin (an extremely successful high school coach whose ‘08-’09 squad won the State Championship in Ohio) and Vince Baldwin (Director of Scouting for Nike Elite Youth Basketball) each described Alex’s play at the four day event as “solid.”  To the cynic, that may sound like a nice way of telling the kid’s dad that he didn’t suck, but since I know both of those guys, they were aware there was no need to sugarcoat their response.  I already knew spectacular or incredible weren’t words that I would have expected anyone to attach to Alex’s game.

After recruiting Division I college players for three decades, I have a pretty good handle on evaluating potential ballplayers (although if you read the story in my book, Life’s A Joke of the scouting report an NBA coach had asked me to do on John Stockton, you might take issue with that statement).  So, armed with all this experience, solid is the word I’d have used to summarize his play in St. Louis.  Ask anyone who’s ever worked with, or coached, Alex and, to a man, they’ll say the strength of his game is “understanding how to game,” i.e. “making the right play.” 

He does have skills, e.g. shooting, extremely good hand-eye coordination, ballhandling, passing, understanding defensive principles (proper stance, anticipating the next pass, where to be depending on where the ball is, etc.) and overall team play.  Does that sound like a father?  I have to admit I heard that description of many a prospect during my time in D-I hoops and, quite often, the father was a tad prejudiced in his son’s favor.  I’ve tried to separate father from coach, but I doubt I’m as neutral observer as I think I am.

Overall, as my former boss, current mentor and friend (as well as the Director of International Basketball for Nike), George Raveling, said to me, after watching Alex play, “It was a great experience for him.  He can use this as a barometer to work on his improvement.”  As I’ve tended to do often, although not always, I fully agree with George on that assessment.  Alex found out that there are a lot of really outstanding players in his age group (15-16).  He’d known it before, having played for Team Georgia Elite in AAU competition but I don’t think he’s ever seen as many truly talented players all in one gym at the same time.

The facilities were incredible.  The event was run entirely on the campus of St. Louis University.  Their new rec center was where the guys played, they stayed in a dorm on campus and ate three squares meals in a campus facility.  Obviously, Nike put their best foot forward to impress the impressionable, so the kids were treated extremely well.  However, they were expected to be on time and exposed to some leadership training to show them that, even at an event such as a so-called “all-star camp,” there’s more to their lives than just playing the game.

In the upper echelon of the camp, there were several truly gifted players.  I wasn’t there to evaluate talent, just follow my son from game to game, but it was impossible not to take notice of the size, speed, quickness, jumping ability and overall athleticism of youngsters, many of whom aren’t old enough to have a driver’s license.  Each team had a player 6′11″ or bigger and all of the ten-men squads had an exceptionally quick guard, yet the position that was in abundance was the super athletic, leaping wing man.  Other than shot attempts, the number one stat in the camp had to be offensive rebounds.  Few players, if any, blocked out and everybody’s dream (who could) wanted to follow up slam dunk a teammate’s miss.  There were more dunks than in an average college game because 1) there was no real interest in blocking out, 2) everyone was looking to block shots, so 3) defensive rotation (which you’d normally see in an organized college contest) wasn’t present and guys had running, unimpeded head starts.

Still and all, there were some extremely competitive games and an observer could get a feel for how players performed under pressure - especially during the final evening when games were shortened to three minutes and started with the score tied.  In this situation, it was easy to tell which kids understood the value of each possession and which ones played the same as they did in the other games.  Some very talented players have a long way to go, considering where they claim they’re planning on attending college.  Too many of these guys wouldn’t change the way they play if they had a frontal lobotomy.

As with any parent, I was proud of the way my son played.  He didn’t try to do what he couldn’t do (something that’s very tempting when kids see what others their age can do, e.g taking bad shots), knocked down open jumpers (although not as consistently as he needed to at this level, i.e. on his other teams - where he’s option #1 or #2 and it’s not as crucial if he misses three or four shots, because he, and his coach, know he’ll string four or five in a row later on), made the right pass (fed the post when his 7-foot African center had his man pinned or when any of the other guys had mismatches, used bounce passes at the end of a break, as opposed to “falling in love with the lob pass” for the spectacular dunk they see on TV, but turning it over more times than not and ruining an easy scoring opportunity, took defenders off the dribble and allowed the situation to determine whether he was going to pull up or take it all the way to the basket, was usually in a defensive stance and didn’t get too discouraged when he’d get beaten by a super quick guard, handled himself well (blended in with the other guys, something I’ve noticed he has a real knack for, when he would play with other teams in which he didn’t know anybody) and was a credit to his high school, his family (beside my wife and me, his older brother, Andy, and two aunts, Peggy and Susan, made the trip to St. Lou) and himself.

Lessons learned were 1) how to be a complementary player when not everyone can be a star, 2) there are better players than he is so, while hard work got him to this level, even more is necessary to move up to that truly elite status and 3) that he belonged - while there were times he was overmatched quickness-wise, those players were blowing by everybody in camp and that intelligence - shot fakes, understanding proper defensive rotation and offensive technique - can be used effectively against anyone - so what coaches have been teaching (and preaching) for years is worth knowing, and . . . attitude can be the determining factor in how coaches (yours and opposing) view you as a player. 

As any reader of this blog - or simply of my website - can imagine, my two sons are constantly bombarded with quotes (no, I don’t just use them in speeches and blogs).  My hope is that Alex (and Andy, for that matter) learn what was said about Muhammed Ali:

“Champions don’t become champions in the ring.  They’re merely recognized there.  To be a champion, you must be willing to pay the price on a daily basis.”

In the school district where I’m employed, I was surprised at a faculty meeting early in my tenure when we (the faculty) were told to list the pluses and deltas of a certain program.  Apparently, +’s and -’s are now referred to in the world of education as “pluses and deltas.“  Not having been told, and admittedly, not requesting an explanation, I deduced that since “delta” stands for “change,” some truly kind-hearted soul came up with the idea that minuses had a negative connotation (duh!) - like mistakes and as such, might hurt someone’s feelings, so instead, we call them “deltas” as in, “It wasn’t your fault; it’s just something you’re going to change, you know, to make you a better person - and, by golly, you are a darn good person.” 

Early on, I found it difficult to say 4 “delta” 3 = 1.  OK, that’s taking it too far but, when I re-entered the high school world of teaching, after living in one of the most accountable industries in America: big-time college athletics (where if the score was 86-83, and you were 83 too often, your job security was in serious jeopardy, leading your employer to make a delta), I found sensitivity in this country has hit an all-time high. 

Then again, maybe the negative of yesterday has become a delta because we need to stop it because it’s wrong.  Therefore, we must make a change.  And that would be a rational explanation - if only the leadership philosophy in today’s school districts, mirroring the overly sensitive nature of society - didn’t reflect that feeling.  For example, every baseball playing youngster gets a trophy (allegedly, for participating) and at the beginning ages, score isn’t allowed to be kept.  When our two sons were in that stage (they’re 20 and 15 now), most of the time I’d notice the only people not keeping score were the parents of the team that was, uh, “losing.”  Even though there was no such thing.

When I asked (having entered parenthood much later in life than most - I was 40 when our first son was born and 45 when the second one made his grand entrance into this world) why it was we weren’t supposed to keep score in such sports like soccer and baseball (where it was so obvious what the score was - I mean, that’s a major part of learning how to play the game, i.e. put the ball into the net - or in between the two cones and across the goal line - for a goal and touch home plate to make a run), I was informed it was because we didn’t want to inflict a negative self-image on someone that young, i.e. brand the team and its players with fewer goals or runs as a “loser or losers.” 

I wondered about the kind of message we’re sending when they were playing a game, and were either doing better than, or not as well as, the other team.  Wouldn’t they pretty much know that (I sure hope my kids would be able to figure it out) and wouldn’t that lead to a weird self-esteem, knowing they were doing better or worse than the others they were playing against, but weren’t allowed to talk about it?

Mistakes, missteps and tragedies are all a part of life.  The death of a loved one, doing poorly on an assignment or a test, not being chosen for an extracurricular activity in which there are tryouts, losing an election (even in elementary school), heartbreak after ending a relationship (or having it ended), getting a case of poison ivy or sunburn knowing you were going somewhere both were probable, being pulled over by a policeman and receiving a ticket (or, if you’re lucky, maybe a stern warning), and all the other unfortunate moments one faces while growing up are vital lessons to be experienced.  Then, you’re wiser than before each happened.

Maybe the delta in place of the minus is just meant for teachers and it truly does mean “it’s wrong, it doesn’t work, change it.”  I’d rather call it what I see it as and have people (me included) learn reality from the old adage I heard long ago:

“It’s not a mistake if you never do it again.  Then, it’s simply a learning experience.  Do it again (and again and again . . . ) and it’s a mistake - and the more times you keep doing it, the bigger mistake it is.”

We’re back - and getting home from St. Louis was a heckuva lot easier than going there was.  Read on about our trip to St. Louis. 

Our (my wife, Jane and son, Alex, and I) journey to St. Louis (Alex had been invited to the NIKE Hoop Jamboree, a 4-day competition for the Top 100 freshmen and sophomore high school basketball players in the country) began without incident.  The check-in for the flight from Fresno to Las Vegas was smooth and the flight was on time and uneventful.  The remainder of the trip could have been a great deal easier than it was, but at the time, who was to know?

Our plane arrived at the Sin City airport and we immediately went to our departing gate for the Denver portion of the trip (Fresno isn’t one of the easiest places to get in and out of), where we were then to catch a plane to St. Louis.  As we were about to sit down, we heard an announcement that there was ground fog in Denver which was causing delays for all planes going in and out of the Mile High City (no wonder there was ground fog -normally, fog a mile high doesn’t affect travel). 

We inquired about our flight in particular, and was told it would be 45 minutes late.  Since our connection was only an hour, that left us only 15 minutes to make our next flight (and, the gate agent informed us, we needed to keep in mind that the doors closed 10 minutes prior to departure).  In addition, our plane arrived at Gate 33 and the St. Louis plane departed from Gate 71.  Armed with this bit of pleasant news, Jane asked the agent if, perhaps, the plane coming into Denver that would be taking us to St. Louis would also be late, giving us a little more wiggle room (than the five minutes we were currently staring at).

“No, I’m sorry,” the gate agent said.  “That aircraft is originating out of Denver.”  Lucky us.  I asked the agent, who, at that time, wasn’t in the running for the most popular person in the airport (even though he had no control over the weather in Denver) if there was a plane from Las Vegas to St. Louis, even if it meant taking a red-eye, or if there was another flight to Denver.  No direct St. Lou flight and, naturally, our flight was the last one out of Vegas to Denver. 

“I can get you on a flight to St. Louis tomorrow morning that gets in at 11:20 am,” he told me.  That meant we’d have to wait for our luggage, get a rental car and drive directly to the registration site on the campus of St. Louis U.  Since the camp wasn’t going to be a breeze for Alex to begin with, I was trying to find a way to give him the best chance to perform well, knowing that stepping off of a plane and onto the court wasn’t it.  Participants had to be checked in by 12 Noon CST on Thursday (which is why we had to leave on Wednesday) and activities started promptly at 3:00 pm.  So, we were going to be late for check-in and he’d have to rush to get his dorm room, gear, get dressed and back to the rec center - not to mention that we’d have to either get a hotel room and get up really early to make it back to the airport, or sleep at the gate, neither option sounding too good to me.  It turned out it didn’t matter as that flight was way overbooked.  This was just the beginning.

“There’s a flight to Chicago (from Denver) that leaves a little later than your original flight to St. Louis, which would then connect to a flight to St. Louis, . . . oh, but it’s oversold, too.” That situation sounded as good to me as we could hope for at this time so I asked if there was any possible way he could put us on standby and let us take our chances.  “I’m sorry, but since you have baggage checked and it’s too late to take it off the plane it’s on, that would be impossible. 

“Don’t worry about the baggage” (Alex had carried his bag on so, technically, we had all the bags we absolutely needed; Jane and I could handle the inconvenience of a day with the same clothes and we could always get toiletries at the hotel).

“Well, sir, you’re not allowed to fly on one plane and have your baggage on another.” 

“Why not?” I asked him.  “Look, we got on our original flight with the luggage, and there’s no way we would have known that ground fog in Denver would ruin our plans to get to St. Louis for a basketball event, so” (here’s where you have to be really careful with what you say, because with airport security having been ratcheted up since 9/11/01 - when terrorists who’d been known to have taken flying lessons, but weren’t interested in how to land a plane, and all the other obvious oversights that occurred before that fateful and horrific day - they never know when an overweight, nearly bald, 60-year-old Jewish guy, who’s had eight back surgeries and is with his wife and 15-year-old son, . . . never mind), “what else ya got?”

Ignoring my frustration, he continued, “The next best thing I can get you is a flight from  Denver that leaves at 9 and gets to Chicago at about one in the morning, then a flight at 8 am that gets into St. Louis at 9:20 am.”  As completely absurd as it sounds, I was actually considering this.  I mean, what other choice did I have?  I told him to reserve three seats on the Las Vegas-Denver, Denver-Chicago and Chicago-St. Louis flights.  Then, I called my buddy, Dave Severns (the assistant coach for player development for the Chicago Bulls and the guy who worked out Alex numerous times when he still lived in Fresno) to tell him of this SNAFU. 

He had mentioned, depending on his schedule, he might be coming down to watch a day of camp.  “How long a drive is it from Chicago to St. Louis?” I asked.

“About five hours.  Why, is that what you’re thinking of doing?  Driving?”

The more I thought about it, the more sense it made - which I now realize that, even thinking for a moment it made sense (flying from Fresno-Las Vegas, Las Vegas-Denver, Denver-Chicago and then, on whatever sleep I got on the plane, renting a car and driving five hours to St. Louis) showed how screwed up my reasoning was.  Yet, I called the St. Louis Courtyard Marriott (one of the hotels Nike had recommended because of its proximity to SLU) and told them we’d not be coming in that night, but would be there as early as 6-7 am the following morning and we’d need a room, so please do not cancel it, we’d pay for the night but would need immediate check-in that next morning. 

I next made my way to the counter to tell the gate agent my plans and that I needed to have my ticket terminated in Chicago so I could retrieve my bags.  He told me that wouldn’t be a problem, to tell them in Denver.  He was getting less helpful by the request.

 My next call was to Alamo Rent-a-Car to cancel the car in St. Louis (4 days with AAA discount was to cost $109.50) and reserve a car in Chicago that I’d need for the same time, but dropping at the same place (St. Louis airport).  Did they have a car that possibly had been driven from St. Louis and dropped in Chicago?

“Let’s see,” the Alamo salesperson (speaking to me from India or some place “overseas,” which he told me when I asked what his location was), “I can get you one for $185″ (I’m thinking, “OK, that’s not too bad”) per day, for a total of …” and then all I remember is a number that started with eight hundred.  This whole trip was beginning to have a major impact on my blood pressure.  My yoga instructor would be so thrilled at how much practice I was getting using my breathing techniques. 

We decided to get something to eat and when we got back to the gate, our new flight to Denver had been delayed so we were going to miss our connection to Chicago anyway.  Of course, the gate agent who had “helped” me with this new flight itinerary had gone home (by car, bus, bike or longboard) and I went to a new face and tried a different tactic.

“Do you have any kids?”  I asked the gentleman, who I was certain, did.

“Yes, I do,” he replied.

“My son over there” (by this time, Alex was sprawled out on the floor, against the wall) “was selected as one of the Top 100 freshmen and sophomore basketball players in the country.”

“Wow, that’s quite an honor.”

“Yeah, it sure is, thanks.  Let me ask you, if he were your son, wouldn’t you try your best to get him there and give him the best possible opportunity to succeed?”  By now, I was close to, if not actually, begging.

“Look,” he said.  “We’re trying to get everybody on your flight” (the first one to Denver) “on the flight over there” (he pointed a couple gates away where a line of about 100 people were standing).  “I’ll get you three tickets on that one.”

“What about these boarding passes to Denver, Chicago and St. Louis?”  I asked, not sure why, since this guy was doing us the biggest favor we’d asked for in Vegas (including, “no bacon” on my turkey sandwich).  He told us that we might need them in Denver.

So, we got on the Denver flight and made it there about an hour later (9:35) than we were supposed to originally arrive (8:31).  We checked the “Departures” and saw the flight for Chicago was delayed until 10:36.  Wait!!!  The flight to St. Louis was scheduled to leave at 10:04.  Next to the departure time were the words “delayed - weather.”  Uh-oh.  Major problem!  We didn’t have tickets on that flight anymore.  I remembered how the Vegas gate agent had assured me there was no way we could make the connection because the plane originated out of Denver.  It turned out the plane did originate in Denver but the pilot and crew were delayed on their way to Denver.

The Chicago flight was to depart from Gate 27 (sure enough, we had arrived at Gate 33) and I used the “Do you have any kids?” routine again.  The gate agent did (aren’t children wonderful?) and said, although he couldn’t call Gate 71, that Jane and Alex ought to start heading that way - pronto! because they were boarding - while he printed out new tickets.  I did the best I could to “run” (something I haven’t done since I had a morphine pump implanted in my abdomen) - with my over-the-shoulder brief case, James Patterson novel and purse (man bag, for those who don’t like to use the term “purse” for something a male carries). 

Out of breath and experiencing a pain level of, on a scale from 1-10 (which nurses and doctors are fond of asking people who are hurting) - infinity, I made it to Gate 71.  No one, other than Jane, Alex and a solitary agent, were there.  Turns out they boarded downstairs and they were holding the door for us.  Hallelujah! 

We got on the plane and got into St. Louis at 1:30 am (exactly one hour later than the itinerary said).  All that angst, worry and stress for - an hour!  It’s like Mark Twain said:

“I’ve had many problems in my life - most of which never happened.”

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