Celtic Pride
As we looked for our seats, we walked past a lot of pictures. There were the legends that I had never seen play – one of whom was a man I had just run into in the bathroom. I pointed him out to my Dad.
“It was a pleasure watching you play, Mr. White”, said my Dad.
“Thank you very much”, said Jo-Jo.
He looked refined. He was decked out in a black suit and had an elegance about him. He carried himself with a sense of dignity and class.
I think back to when I mailed away for Celtics stuff as a kid and received a bumper sticker that said, “Celtic Pride”.
“What does that mean?” I asked my Dad.
I can’t exactly remember his answer, but I think he said something about playing with heart and toughness and never quitting. If you take pride in something, you care. You care about your work. You give it all you have. And then, you keep giving.
I saw a picture of Reggie Lewis after he collapsed in the playoffs again Charlotte. The picture was in black and white. Black and white makes things look so old – like it never happened or was before my time. It wasn’t before my time, though. It was my time.
As a 14 year old kid, Reggie was my world. I loved Larry, but only caught the back end of his career. I was too young to remember the height of his glory days. But Reggie was an up and comer. I had seen his career progress. I loved the way he dunked. I liked his number. I loved his Reebok pump shoes.
Across from Reggie was a picture of Kevin McHale and Bill Walton. I remember waiting forever for Walton to return from his injury. When he finally did return, he wasn’t the same. Kevin was the guy with the long arms and great post moves. My Dad told me about how bigger he looked in person. He was 6’10”. I put Kevin in the “things I cannot fathom category” – kind of like the size of Dominique Wilkins shoes.
I remember listening to the games late at night on my walkman. I had dreams about being at the game cheering the team on. If I was there, I could cheer extra loud. If I cheered loud enough, maybe the team would feel inspired and play better. If the team played better, maybe I could play some kind of a role in helping them win.
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I’ve always loved the Celtics. I found a friend in seminary who knew as much about the Celtics as I did. We fondly recalled the days of Marty Conlon and Brett Szabo and I often couldn’t help myself from breaking out into the Walker Wiggle. Pitino was kind of a let down, but there was that year when O’Brien led the squad to the Conference Finals. It was someone else to see them in the playoffs again. I hadn’t seen them playing this hard since going down swinging to Shaq and Penny in 1995.
It was early 2001 and the Miami Heat were off to a dreadful start. We didn’t care. They were in town to play the C’s and my buddy said we could get tickets by calling the players. He said that a friend of his in New York had done so and had been able to watch a Knicks game. The Miami Heat were in town and he started calling some hotels to see if he could track down the players. He tried a bunch of hotels until I told him to call the Ritz. They had to be staying there.
The first guy he got on the phone was LaPhonso Ellis. LaPhonso was also a Christian, and we tried to use that to our advantage. My buddy told him our situation – that we were a couple of broke seminarians who loved basketball and really wanted to see a game.
“You are Christians? Praise the Lord!” said LaPhonso. Still, he had family in town and didn’t have any tickets remaining.
After Chris Gatling didn’t work out and Alonzo Mourning wasn’t available, I reasoned that our best chance was to find a rookie that nobody had ever heard of. After all, these unknown guys don’t get any attention. Nobody – not even hardcore fans – have any clue who they are. As I read through Miami’s roster, one name stood out. It stood out because it didn’t stand out. The guy was a total no-namer. So, we gave Eddie House a call.
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There were little things that stood out to me tonight. There was KG clapping for the basketball players with Down Syndrome in the “Heroes Among Us” segment. I’m sure they look up to KG. What they may not realize is that KG was looking up to them.
There was an older lady on the jumbotron who couldn’t have been any more excited or happy to be on there. She must’ve been about 75 years old. Still, she was waving her arms like she was a 12 year-old girl.
I remember my Dad repeatedly saying how great it was to see so many people having so much fun. I think about myself, and times I found myself smiling tonight. I wasn’t just making my lips wider, but smiling. I was really smiling. I can’t remember the last time I smiled with my whole body like that.
I kept texting my buddy who happened to be one section over and about 15 rows down. Every once in awhile he would look back to make eye contact. “Are you seeing this?”, he seemed to be saying. “Yes”, I nod. I am taking it all in.
There is my Dad next to me, getting so excited after each 3-point shot that went in. Just like I can’t remember the last time I really smiled, I can’t remember the last time I saw him so into something. Sometimes the world is full of people desperately in need of some fun.
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I think about the song, “Young Turks” by Rod Stewart. One of the lyrics say “Young hearts be free tonight, time is on your side”. I think often about feeling old and wishing I were younger. Time is not on my side anymore. For me, time is quietly slipping away like air through a tire you didn‘t realize had a hole. Time is fading away for Jo-Jo. Time is fading away for my parents. Time already passed for Reggie Lewis and many of the people whose picture on the wall I couldn‘t even recognize.
As we walked back to our car, I saw something on the side of the road that said, “The Best Neighborhood this Side of Heaven”. I thought this was kind of an outrageous claim. Still, when I think back on the joy and excitement, I wonder if it is that far off.
It’s sort of like when they used to play the “Boom, Boom, Boom” song at Fenway Park. Someone had just hit a home run and the home team was rolling right along. Everyone danced. Strangers gave each other high-fives. You could forget your troubles for a little while. Things were going good and everything was going to be alright. It was a taste of what we were meant for and all know is missing.
And then there was the game itself. You can read about it in the newspaper or watch the highlights on TV. You can see that Rondo had 12 assists in the first half or Eddie’s postseason career-high 31 points. Just know that what you read isn’t the whole picture. Some things can’t be captured in a box score or 30-second highlight clip.
I’m glad that there are things that I still care about. The Celtics are one of those few things.
I can’t really tell you why I care about them so much, just as you can’t always explain why or how you fall in love. All I can tell you is that the pride means something to me. I think it also means something to Eddie House – who went from being a stranger to having his name chanted long after the game ended by fans shuffling down the stairs. Or, Brian Scalabrine who went from being the team mascot to, by playing his heart out, becoming a valued and respected member of the team.
The pride isn’t just about winning over the fans, it’s about believing in yourself when nobody else does. It’s about being able to look at yourself in the mirror when you shave in the morning. It’s also about playing your heart out and, if you must go down, going down swinging.
There is so much more that I could say, but it is late and I am very tired. I leave you with one last thought. The 75 year-old lady having the time of her life on the jumbotron taught me something about age and youth.
Young hearts were free tonight.
A tribute to Sal
This note is loosely based on the career of Sal Fasano and the Jeff Pearlman article linked below.
http://www.rd.com/your-america-inspiring-people-and-stories/baseball-player-contemplates-steriod-use/article89787-1.html
He doesn’t know what to think anymore or how to act or what he’ll do in a few years. He scatters seed, but doesn’t see much fruit. You see, when you put in so much work, you need reassurance that the effort was worthwhile. It’s like growing rotten tomatoes or babies who never smile. It’s like fairy tales with unhappy endings or no ending at all. The promising star gets lost in the divine shuffle and struggles to find his way in a world that has long since moved on without him, without even giving him a second thought.
He was a promising young athlete 15 years ago. A catcher. Rated Rookie, Future Star – You name it. You might have even separated his card from your stack. “This one”, you said, “could be worth something”. You put it in a case or perhaps one of those glossy pages with the other standouts. “This guy”, you said, “has a future”. The sky was the limit for Sal.
Every year you realized that you were outgrowing your hobby. Cards were big in middle school, but you knew that people never brought them into high school. You knew it would be a survival of the fittest and you had to survive. There would be no more lunchtime trading sessions. Others moved on to cigarettes and parties and fast cars. You changed on the outside, but couldn’t grow up on the inside. Every morning you ran to get the newspaper to check for the box scores. Two hits for this guy – his value is sure to go up. An injury to that guy and we’ll never know what player he might have become. Neither will he.
He travels from ballpark to ballpark by bus now. He plays before small crowds. He’s 36. He knows when to call a slider and how to calm down a young pitcher. He looks old for his age. He’s run down and has $20 to spend each day on fast food. His knees don’t hold up as well as they did in his early days. He needs extra time to stretch before the game and takes extra time to sign autographs after the game. Of course, not nearly as many people are asking for that signature. He often wonders why anyone would even want it.
You started making teams. You started getting popular. You knew there was a strong link between the two. You even started drawing attention from the women. Things didn’t always go your way, but you were blessed. You really were. There were even younger fans who wanted your autograph. You wanted it so bad that you couldn’t relax. You showed flashes every now and then, but you knew you were better than others thought you were. You always had to prove yourself. Just knowing that you were good wasn’t enough. You wanted others to know. You needed others to know. But I know everything and I’m proud of you anyway.
He had a feeling things were headed south. He started getting bounced from team to team and could never seem to get his break. “If only I could have one more chance,” he thought to himself, “one more shot in the bigs to show what I can do”. Like coming indoors on a sunny day, he could still see the sun but he knew it was fading away. Management kept breaking their promise just as his peers kept breaking the rules. He thought about taking that stuff too, but he couldn’t go there. He couldn’t disrespect the game like that. He needed to be able to look in the mirror. Still, he saw bodies being transformed over the course of the offseason and those same guys being chosen over him.
You had a sense at orientation that you had picked the wrong college. “What becomes of the brokenhearted” was playing on the radio as you entered the city on that first trip to school in the fall. You had an eery feeling that the song would be closely tied to your fate over those next four years. You didn’t have much of a choice now, because it was the only place you could afford. It took years for the pieces to be put back together. They’re still not fully together. You’re still not sure if they ever will be. Sometimes, though, the fragments are worth more than the whole.
He’s not sure when exactly he knew that his dreams would never come true. Instead of his tire bursting, it was more like a slow leak. He alternates between feelings of anger and sadness and loneliness. When he’s back at the hotel room, sometimes he has to turn off the TV if the Royals are playing. It’s almost too much to watch. For the most part, he is empty inside. He tries to hold on to what little joy he has left and help his team. “It’s just not the same”, he thinks. “It’s just not the same.”
You played it safe for awhile and were content to stay under the radar. You finally started taking chances again. You knew you had to keep trying. And you did try. You tried and tried and tried. Even though your efforts didn’t seem to accomplish much, you gave it all you had.
He’s not sure how many more years of ball he has left in him. He’s played for 23 different teams and seen so many players come and go. Deep inside, though, he still loves the game. Maybe he just didn’t have the talent. One thing is for sure though, he always had the heart.
You were cleaning up the basement when you came across it. Though the world moved on without him, he still found a place separate from the pack. You thought about how you could deeply know a stranger, even though you didn’t know him at all.
He travels from minor league stadium to minor league stadium thinking that the game has passed him by. Maybe it has. But you know that despite his career .211 batting average, it wasn’t a waste. His idea of failure isn’t yours and even though he never got to fully show the world what he could do, you’re proud of him anyway.
As your lives intersect once more you think about hope and loneliness and doing the right thing and fairness and getting old and sunflower seeds and late nights on the road. There is something about him that you will always remember. Though the baseball card magazine says he is worth 3 cents, to you he is worth a whole lot more. And somewhere along the line he made a difference – to the young pitcher and old collector. At the end of the day, the difference means a lot more than the batting average. Somehow, you draw strength from that.
And you wonder what does become of the brokenhearted.
And you think about Sal.
Why I love the New Kids on the Block
I distinctly remember dancing and singing in my kitchen with all the gusto my 11-year old frame could muster. The rest of the family was doing the same thing. Even my mother was being put in a trance with their funky song. It was the first time I remember going crazy like that with the whole family together. We were, in a sense, lost in the music. I imagine it was like Adam and Even felt before they realized they were naked. I wasn’t thinking about whether I had a good or bad voice or if I was a good dancer. I wasn’t worried about doing the wrong thing or achieving personal goals or trying to keep everybody happy. I was just caught up in the moment. Having fun.
Like climbing a mountain, the Kids kept gaining more and more fans and popularity. Once you get to the top of the mountain, though, you can hang on for as long as you can, but the only place to go is down. They were able to last a lot longer than Vanilla Ice, but eventually people got tired of them and they needed a break from each other. In the eyes of many, it was no longer cool or acceptable to a fan. They were old news and it was time to get with the times and start liking Wilson Phillips.
They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. I think, though, that sometimes you don’t realize how much you miss something or someone until they come back into your life. I still followed the careers of the Kids. I loved Joey’s album “Stay the Same” and couldn’t help but serenade some of my female friends with they lyrics. I remember watching one of their videos with my friend Stephanie in college and getting excited all over again. About 5 years later I was thrilled when I saw Jon hanging out in his driveway as I went to a party that was at the house next door. Still, something that had been such a big part of my life had fizzled out over 10 years earlier and they were, for the most part, forgotten. I didn’t even realize it at the time, but when they went away, they took a piece of my heart with them.
When I heard they were getting back together, I was shocked. It was one of those times where something with personal significance and more meaning then you initially realize happens when you least expect it. I spent weekends watching videos on youtube of their old performances. Songs that I had forgotten about brought me back in time and space and I was flooded with memories from the past. I even posted the video for “Step by Step” on the facebook page of a girl I hardly knew but really liked and wanted to get to know for Valentine’s Day. It was something that was precious to me being given to someone who meant something to me. I couldn’t think of a higher compliment.
A lot of girls said that they cried when they saw the group back together again. A lot of them didn’t even know why they were crying. I think they were crying because they were remembering. They were remembering being in love for the first time or getting their heart broken. They were remembering a slow dance in school on a crush or a deep desire to find their own prince charming. They were remembering a time when they were fully alive and excited about living and looking forward to a better and brighter future. I was remembering staring out the window during my 7th grade history class every day as I looked at the grass and trees and mountains and daydreamed as I thought about my favorite girl. Some dreams get buried beneath the rubble, but can never die. Some music has a way of touching and stirring these desires and longings for the promise that life has something to offer and something wonderful is yet to come.
I had to smile as I soaked in the atmosphere at the concert tonight. As I looked around, others were smiling as well. A group that meant so much to me was back and doing it all over 15 years later. As I listened to forgotten but familiar songs that had awakened a desire for the eternal, I couldn’t help but get lost once again. And, for a brief moment, I was once again an 11 year-old kid letting loose in the kitchen.
Having fun.
Touched
I was visiting a church one day in Florida and was treated to a special performance by one of the parishioners. He got up there and was about to sing a special song that he had been working on. I was looking forward to listening because I like music and it would be a good way to pass the time and sometimes these performances are quite good. However, that was not the case with this man. As a matter of fact, he was terrible. His voice cracked and shook and was almost as out of tune as his guitar.
Sometimes you have to ask yourself why you remember something that is so forgettable. There is a reason his performance stuck with me for so long. He was the opposite of polished, but in many ways he was better than polished. He was raw. He was genuine. He sang from a lowly and unassuming heart that had been touched by someone who saw something in him that he couldn’t see in himself.
So much of our culture is predicated on being better than others. Whether it be having better stuff, being a better athlete, or being better looking – everyone seems to want to outdo everyone else. I think what it boils down to is a sense of worth. If I a better, I am worth more. I think that you can usually tell how much you are valued by another and I can’t think of many people who want to be passed over, ignored, and pushed aside.
As I think back on that performance, I can’t help but feel convicted for the ways I categorize people and place more value on some than others. The man who sang on that stage initially didn’t have a lot of worth in my eyes, but his words reminded me that there is a system of worth much different than the system I so often buy into.
I remember being in middle school when Arnold Schwarzenegger decided to come to my hometown of Goffstown, New Hampshire. Things like this don’t happen very often in Goffstown. Actually, things like this never happen in Goffstown. The streets were lined as we all waited to watch him waive as his limousine drove by. I was much shorter back then and was just hoping to catch a glimpse of the star when he passed.
Going much further back in history, there was another small man in a crowd as the King happened to be going through town and was about to pass by. Zaccheus was not well regarded by others and probably didn’t hold himself in too high esteem either. But the King saw the outcast, wanted to meet with him and called him out of the crowd by name. After his encounter with the King, Zaccheus was never the same.
It would have been like Arnold stopping the limousine and saying “hey, you, scrawny kid from nowhere, new hampshire way back there, I want you to train with me”. It would be harder to see yourself as worthless if Arnold believed in you. It would be harder to see yourself as not having value after knowing that the King had put everything on hold in order to spend time with you. In a moment, everything has changed.
The song the man performed was called “The Touch of The Master’s Hand” and was written by a wheelchair bound woman with severe arthritis. There is no doubt that the man in church picked this song because it resonated with something deep inside of him. Check out the lyrics and you’ll see why.
I imagine that he was picked on in school. I doubt many girls wanted to dance with him at the prom. My guess is that he is still waiting for his 15 minutes of fame. But sometimes the last become first, the poor have great wealth, the uninvited have the best celebration and the weak are in better shape than the strong. Things that are not are called as though they were and myself, Zaccheus, and the man singing the song off key join with the foolish, weak, ugly, lonely, forgotten, shameful and lost to eventually discover that we mean something to somebody and are priceless to the only one whose opinion truly matters.
Return to Glory
In the mid 80’s I was just becoming old enough to understand sports and I fell in love with basketball. More specifically, I fell in love with the Boston Celtics. They were just about to win their sixteenth championship and I couldn’t get enough of the oversized foam fingers, caricature cartoon t-shirts and stories of past and present legends. I remember coveting my cousin’s Celtics wastebasket. I got a Celtics calendar for Christmas one year and made drawing of the players and memorized the schedule. I wanted to learn everything I could about my team. I loved each of the players – especially the ones that didn’t get into the game much like Stojko Vrankovic and Charles Smith. I wanted to find out everything I could about them as well.
I am, for better or worse loyal. When I care about something or someone, I really can’t stop caring. I am terrible at moving on because it is against my nature. That is why, when the Celtics were no longer good, I couldn’t stop following them. They were my team and I loved my team. No amount of bad front office decisions or losing seasons could change that.
I remember hearing a story about how a husband cared for his handicapped wife the last 10 or so years of their marriage. She had gotten into an accident and had brain damage. She did not know who he was and was basically a vegetable. Still, he stood by her and took care of her with all his heart. They asked him why he still loved her so much and he responded, “She is my wife and when I promised I would love her in sickness and in health ‘til death do us part, I meant ‘till death do us part’”. Maybe that is why people like the movie The Notebook so much. It is easier to divorce and take the easy way out when the going gets tough. It is much harder to stay true and committed.
Some people look for any reason to party. They hop on the nearest bandwagon and start loud chants. They go from trend to trend latching on to whatever is cool and identifying themselves with the latest and greatest fashion. They have no identity and follow the crowd. They smash windows and throw cars. True fans are a little more grounded. They love the good times but are willing to accept the bad times as well. They don’t turn the game off when their team is being blown out at the end of another losing season because they care. When you really care about something it is really hard to stop caring about that thing. It’s not a light switch that you can flip on and off depending on how well things are faring. True fans never stop hoping, never stop believing and never stop dreaming.
I had a softball game in the north end last night. As I walked past the Boston Garden before game time I saw news trucks and Celtics jerseys and vendors. I thought about how good the team used to be. I thought about Larry Bird lining up 3-pointers and diving for loose balls with his bad back and Robert Parish hitting rainbow jumpers and throwing down tomahawk slams. I thought about Dennis Johnson hitting clutch jumpshots and how long I waited for Bill Walton’s injury to get better. I thought about Dee Browns leaping ability and my favorite point guards Jon Bagley and Sherman Douglas. I thought about Xavier McDaniel and Dominique Wilkins brief stints and when they finally made the playoffs again and almost beat Shaq and Penny in 1995. I thought about the joy that Antoine Walker and his wiggle and misguided thoughts as to how to play the game brought me. I thought about Rick Pitino and how sometimes things don’t always go as planned. I thought about how long it had been since the Celtics were relevant and how you can go your whole life hoping and believing and working for something and wonder if it will ever happen and be overwhelmed with joy when it finally does.
I walked around for a little bit and soaked in the atmosphere. At one point we were the best. Then we fell so far I wasn’t sure the present could ever equal the past. I thought about an event that was about to happen that required years of preparation and would be remembered for years to come. So much history boiled down into one place and one moment. Sometimes you wonder if hard work and effort will ever pay off. Still, sometimes underlying desire and passion win out and provide strength to carry on.
I thought about the deaths of Len Bias and Reggie Lewis. I thought about Kevin McHale, Kevin Garnett and Kevin Gamble. I thought about physical players who weren’t as talented but worked hard like Greg Kite and Kendrick Perkins. I thought about personalities and struggles and goals and battles and devoting your heart to something. I thought about stories and pain and hope. I thought about pride and tradition and victory and defeat. I thought about dreams coming true. I thought about life, love and loyalty. Most of all, though, I thought about heroes.
It’s a hard knock life
“I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you.” – John 14:18
Little orphan Annie has been a source of hope and inspiration to millions spanning across the world throughout time. Ushering words of wisdom, hope, and good cheer, she reminds us that there is, indeed, another day. As we find ourselves living lives of struggle in the midst of a winter that never seems to end, we can learn from her simple, childlike faith. Let us recall how we were once orphans who were bought with a price and have been adopted into a royal family. We look to a better and brighter day when our trials will be a distant memory.
Ok, I don’t really write like that but I thought it would be fun. Let’s take a look at this story using scriptures:
Annie was looking to and longing for a better day: “Instead, they werelonging for a better country—a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared a city for them.” -Hebrews 11:16
Annie believed that this day would come: “Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see… And without faith it is impossible to please God, because anyone who comes to him must believe that he exists and that he rewards those who earnestly seek him.” – Hebrews 11:1-6
Annie took comfort in thinking about how good the future will be: “He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” – Revelation 21:4
Annie had simple trust: “I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” – Matthew 18:3
Annie brought joy to others despite her circumstances: “A cheerful heart is a good medicine.” – Proverbs 17:22
Annie was rescued: “I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you.” – John 14:18
Annie was adopted: “He predestined us to be adopted as his sons through Jesus Christ, in accordance with his pleasure and will” – Ephesians 1:5
Annie was treated like royalty: “How great is the love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!” – 1 John 3:1
Someone (Jesus) cares a smidge if you’re in an orphanage. It’s a hardknock life, but that isn’t the complete story. Somehow, the hard knocks will be worth it in the end:
“Now if we are children, then we are heirs—heirs of God and co-heirswith Christ, if indeed we share in his sufferings in order that we may also share in his glory. I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. The creation waits in eager expectation for the sons of God to be revealed.” – Romans 8:17-18
Oh, and when you got ready this morning, I hope you didn’t forget something. You’re never fully dressed without a smile 
