Soccer Parents

I couldn't find a good soccer song, so I settled on this slightly cheesy tune that can make even the most masculine father choke up a little. Apparently, Darius Rucker, former lead singer of Hootie and the Blowfish, is now considered a country singer.

We just had a strange weekend. My younger daughter’s first ever soccer team was in an end-of-the-year tournament, so we were guaranteed to have two games on Saturday and at least one on Sunday. If her team did well and advanced to the semifinals, we might end up playing two additional games on Sunday. I had some conflicting feelings. My rational self wanted her team – and especially her personally - to do well, but not well enough to advance. After all, I did not want the entire weekend eaten up with soccer games. But then the games started, and my emotional self took over. So as I found myself yelling, jumping up and down, and exhorting her team to victory, it became clear that it is impossible to root against your child. This episode, then, can be added to a long list of irrational behavior carried out on behalf of my kids. It was more evidence that the state of parenthood can be classified as a mild form of insanity.

After winning two of the first three games, we advanced to the semifinals on Sunday afternoon. Her team outplayed the opponent, but the game ended in a one-one tie. The game then proceeded to one of the most unjust procedures in sports: penalty kicks. Five different players per team get one shot each, and most goals wins. For the first time, my wife got to experience what I feel when watching a Laker playoff game. Luckily for us, the other team relied heavily on a couple of great players. So after those two made their goals, the rest of their team missed. Three of our kids scored, so it was on to the finals.

My daughter would now have a chance to play a night game under the lights. And to make things more interesting, it rained pretty heavily off and on throughout the game. In the first half, there were a few close calls, but neither team was able to score. Then, in the third quarter, the other team managed to punch one through. I figured that this was the beginning of the end. Our girls were looking tired. It was, after all, their third game of the day and fifth of the weekend. But then, halfway through the fourth quarter, one of our best players managed to get a ball past the goalie from an almost impossible angle. Suddenly, there was hope again, but that would be the last goal of the day. Believe it or not, it was another one-one tie. This time, because it was the championship game, they decided to play a sudden death overtime period. Five minutes were played, and it was still a tie. Now if this was earlier in the day, it wasn’t raining, and there wasn’t another team waiting to play their championship game, then they might have played more overtimes with various scenarios that would make a goal more likely. But time had run out, so it was time for more penalty kicks. Believe it or not, each team made four of their five shots. So now it was sudden death penalty kicks involving the players who were not as good. Our sixth kicker barely missed, and the other team’s made it, and it was finally over.

So as this epic battle raged, I could not help standing there in the rain wondering what the hell we were doing. I was cold, wet, and my feet hurt from a whole day of standing and screaming. The kids, of course, had to be in more pain than I was. And yet, at the same time, as I watched those little girls playing their hearts out in the mud, I couldn’t help thinking, “It doesn’t get any better than this.” This was clearly a game – and a day - that we will remember for the rest of our lives. And hopefully, both of our daughters will have fond memories of their parents standing and yelling, hour after hour, rain or shine.

 
After a game and weekend like this, it was hard to see any player in this game as a loser. In sports, however, even with seven and eight-year olds, there can be only one official winner. But even the most chronically hyper-competitive parent had to take pride in the performance of everyone involved. After the game, there was a little ceremony where everyone received her first and second-place medals. And as my daughter carefully clutched her little medal under her jacket in order to make sure that it didn’t get wet, I knew that she would be looking forward to the next soccer season. Hopefully, she doesn’t expect to play in a championship game every year. Games like that don’t come along very often. That is probably a good thing. I don’t know if I could take it.

Necessary Drudgery

Here's a song about the difficulties faced by a rock star, one of the most common "dream jobs." 

 

In the past week or so, I have given out six tests, with four of them requiring students to write two essays each. It is only during these grading binges that a slight part of me wishes that I had either chosen a different career or was a firm believer in multiple-choice exams. After reading more than three hundred essays in a short period of time, and then punching in the scores on the Excel spreadsheet, the job can feel a bit like drudgery.

Now don’t get me wrong. I like just about every aspect of teaching. But like everyone else, I imagine, I grew up with more romantic notions regarding my future career. Truth be told, my dream job is still to be a player in the NBA. I started shooting baskets from practically the day that I could walk, and after countless hours of shooting on my driveway over the course of many years, I was pretty damn good.  I was also very good at inventing scenarios while shooting in which I was the dominant player in an imaginary basketball league. The only problem was that there was not a big market for five foot seven inch white guys in the NBA. So my dream of being a famous basketball player or athlete of any kind was dead by high school.

Of course, when I stop and think about it, there are probably moments when Kobe Bryant or Lebron James has doubts about his career choice. Sure, they get to play a game that they love for a living, are paid obscene amounts of money, and experience amazing moments of glory in front of a live, worldwide audience. Their job, however, is not all fun and games. To maintain their skills, they have to spend countless hours practicing repetitive drills and working out. But the hard work of improving their skills is only one difficulty that they face. They also have to spend countless hours traveling on buses and airplanes, answering questions from annoying reporters, and being away from friends and family. And if you become famous enough, it is difficult to go out in public like a normal person without being mobbed by admirers. In some ways, modern day celebrities are trapped by their fame.

There may be a dream job out there that is nothing but big money, international fame, interesting activities, and/or adventure. But I can’t think of any offhand. Virtually every famous writer, actor, athlete, doctor, CEO, spy, fireman, or any person living someone’s “dream job” had to put up with many hours of drudgery to get to where they wanted to be. Then, even after reaching their goal, they must continue doing some things that they would prefer to avoid. Failure generally results from more than a lack of talent. It comes from an unwillingness to put up with some necessary drudgery. 

So during those moments when I cannot imagine reading even one more essay about Andrew Jackson, I try to remember a few things. First, doing any job well requires the performance of a certain amount of mundane activities. Second, I try to remember why I give essay questions. If I want to teach something that is more than a memorization class, I need to ask the types of questions that do not work in a multiple-choice format. And finally, I think of all the things that I like about my job: the chance to perform, share what I have learned, be creative, have flexible hours, and get the sense of satisfaction that can only come from reading a really good essay response.

NBA Championships and Buddhist Philosophy

This is my favorite song from the album "All That You Can't Leave Behind" by U2.



So the Los Angeles Lakers won another championship after one of the roughest, hardest played, most intense games that I have ever seen. I felt like I was watching something in between a football game and a wrestling match (with some basketball thrown in). This game, along with the entire season, seemed so important when it was taking place, with the stakes particularly high because the Lakers were facing their ultimate rival, the Boston Celtics. This was a competition over future bragging rights as the greatest NBA franchise in history. Even Kobe Bryant, a guy known for being calm under pressure, would later admit that this game made him nervous. (He sure looked it; although it is hard to score when guys are constantly hanging all over you.)

You would think, therefore, that when the buzzer finally sounded, I would feel a sense of jubilation. After sweating through another wild season, and seeing those hated Celtics finally go down, I should have been overjoyed. Experiencing this moment was what it was all about, right? Strangely, what I felt was mostly a sense of relief. Some joy did begin to appear as the championship sunk in, but the thrill of ultimate victory was nowhere near as intense as some of the emotions experienced during the course of the season. So what is my problem? Have I been spoiled by the many previous Lakers championships over the years? Are negative emotions, particularly the fear of defeat, more powerful than the positive feelings of victory?

Like another recent post that mentioned basketball, this is not merely a self-analysis of Paul Swendson: psychotic sports fan. Believe it or not, there is a life lesson here. At many times in the past, when I have looked forward with great anticipation toward getting some object or having some experience, it turned out that finally possessing that item or achieving that goal was not quite as gratifying as I had expected. When I was a kid, there were times where I just had to have a certain toy, video game, electronic device, or some other thing. If I could just get my hands on it, then I would be forever satisfied. Then, if I finally got that special item, it was awesome (for a while). Of course, eventually it would be clear that possessing that ultimate object did not make life perfect. Therefore, only one logical course of action remained: get that next perfect thing. Then, as you have already figured out, the cycle of desiring and ultimate disappointment would continue.

I have also had similar experiences when traveling to different places, watching the latest blockbuster movie, or even getting married. Now I am not saying that these have been negative experiences. (So don’t go running to my wife to tell on me.) Like NBA championships and cool toys for Christmas, these are all parts of a long list of great memories. Still, no single acquisition or experience has ever been completely fulfilling, in itself, for any extended period of time. Somehow, I always fall back into day-to-day life, and I continue to be the same guy with all of his typical flaws and desires. I can guarantee you that when the next NBA season rolls around, even though the Lakers have won back-to-back championships (again), I will get pissed off every time that they lose a game. “What has anyone or anything done for me lately?” This could probably be written as an epitaph for the entire human race.

I do not remotely pretend to be an expert on Buddhism. My understanding, however, is that its original founder taught that all suffering ultimately comes from human desire. Human beings want things, and in some cases they do not get what they want, creating pain and suffering. The big problem, however, is that even when we get what we want, we will still be unsatisfied. Buddhism, like Hinduism, teaches that the world we experience is essentially an illusion, so the things that we become attached to in this illusory world can never satisfy us. The only thing that we can do, therefore, is to work toward eliminating desire. “The Eightfold Path” is the original self-help program, laying out a clear process toward the promotion of self-discipline with the ultimate goal of eliminating all desire.

Buddhism in its original form, however, is very hard, and most of us don’t have the time or the temperament to detach ourselves from the world and become a monk. What we can do, however, is grow a bit wiser as we age and stop looking for that amazing object, event, or person that is going to make everything just right. In other words, we have to stop behaving like children who are looking for that next perfect toy. Real joy comes from finding moments of fulfillment in everyday existence; from not being too attached or expecting too much from people, objects, and events; from looking beyond our selfish desires; and from realizing that life is about the journey, not just the destination. As I know from learning and re-learning these lessons hundreds of times, it is easier said than done.

Why do I Care About The Lakers (and Sports in General)?

This is still the catchiest sports song that I know.



Wow! Tonight’s NCAA tournament final between Duke and Butler was a hell of a game. When I feel no affiliation toward either team, I always root for the underdog. The problem with this tendency is that I am often disappointed, just as I was tonight when a Butler player’s last second prayer barely missed banking in and giving them a one-point victory. This was the only game that I watched in this year’s NCAA tournament, an annual billion-dollar event that has historically been one of the greatest in American sports. In the past, I would have watched many more.

Some of my earliest memories revolve around sports. I was dribbling and shooting a basketball on a miniature little rim before I could write. When basketball was not in season, I would shift to baseball, football, soccer, or whatever game was going on at school or in the neighborhood. Sports were always activities that came pretty naturally for me. I also have early memories of listening to Chick Hearn announce Laker games, of my parents explaining the concept of the Olympic Games, and of following baseball statistics as if they held vital information to explain the meaning of existence. I can still remember exactly where I was when some of the greatest sports moments of the last thirty-five years took place in front of me on the TV screen. Sometimes, I remember exactly when events in my life occurred by associating them with the sporting events of that time.

I still enjoy playing sports whenever I get the chance. It has become a tradition on my birthday to spend most of the day playing volleyball, softball, and sometimes soccer, for old time’s sake, at a local park. I stopped playing basketball, my first love, shortly after our first daughter was born. I badly injured my thumb for about the twentieth time in my life one day, and when I got home, I realized that I could not pick her up. After years of minor and occasionally major injuries that seemed to get more common as I aged, I decided that it was time to pick a new sport. I eventually settled on racquetball, which has proved to be much safer so far. Racquetball is also one of the greatest vehicles for stress relief known to humankind. Running around like a lunatic and wailing on a ball as hard as possible can definitely make you feel relaxed for the remainder of the day. For me, playing sports, along with listening to music, is the closest that I get to a spiritual experience. These are the two things (along with sex) that put me into a state where I am not thinking about anything else. It will be a sad day if my body eventually gives out and I can’t get around the court any more. (Of course, I can then take up golf, or maybe bowling.)

I also still enjoy watching sports, although I don’t follow them nearly as closely as I once did. I lost interest in baseball many years ago. The players seemed to change so much every year, and a few teams, who get to go out and buy the best players, seem to always win. Football is still fun, although the Rams and Raiders abandoned Los Angeles many years ago. (These days, that is definitely a blessing.) But the only sport that I really follow with any passion is my old first love, basketball, and our local powerhouse of a team, the Los Angeles Lakers. I run into a major problem, however, when I watch them, a problem that will only increase when the playoffs begin shortly. I am so emotionally attached to the outcome that I am unable to enjoy watching them. This stress that I experience makes me ask a simple question: Why do I care so much? If these guys that I have never met lose a game, will it have any measurable impact on my life? Of course, I am not alone in getting so emotionally involved in sporting events. I live in a country (and world) where people go into incredible states of ecstasy or blind rage over the results of sporting events. For many people, life would virtually end without “Sportscenter” and Fantasy Baseball. How can this behavior be explained?

The truth is that I don’t have any rational explanations for my emotions and my closely related crazy behavior. Being entertained by sports, however, makes some sense. Live sports may be the earliest example of reality TV. It has all the drama of TV shows, the movies, and literature, but the ending is not scripted. The strategies and statistics involved with sports can also be fascinating to those who understand them. This level of analysis is not much different from the type of studies done by economists, political scientists, or military historians. The players and teams can also become like characters in any play or novel, and sports fans can become as attached to the saga of their heroes as a person wrapped up in his or her mystery novel or soap opera. Any great entertainment, after all, has the power to emotionally connect with its audience.

Sports also have the power to create a tremendous sense of camaraderie. When the New Orleans Saints reached the Super Bowl this year, it was hard to root against them when you saw how passionately this battered city rallied around its team. Some saw this as a great moment of redemption for a city still struggling to recover from Katrina. Any time that you become a fan of the local team, there is a good chance that you will find many others to discuss the latest sports happenings. This is particularly helpful for men, a gender that is not known for emotionally connecting to others. We may not be able to share feelings, but we sure the hell can talk sports. I have personally experienced several moments where the shared love for a sports team has created an instant bond, if only temporarily, between total strangers and myself.

But still, caring so much about the Lakers does not make any sense. Why did I choose this particular team to care about? Is it because they happen to play their home games in the local vicinity? When they win, does it truly benefit me or my local community? Also, since the faces on the team constantly change, why do I root for people with whom I have not had the time to develop any personal “relationship.” The players that I grew up watching are long gone. They have now become coaches and announcers, and some of them are even the parents of current players. Am I really just rooting for the uniform? Last year, Ron Artest was the enemy, but now that he has changed uniforms, I find myself rooting for a guy that I was calling a punk and a thug just a few months ago. I guess that the purple and gold jersey cleanses all past sins.

I could ramble about sports for a long time and continue making fun of myself and other sports fans, but instead, I will make one last point. We human beings are not a particularly rational species. Sometimes, it is appropriate to resist our irrational natures. But there are also times when you should just allow yourself to be silly. Does it make any sense for me to care so much about the outcome of Laker games? Of course it doesn’t. The only problem is that I do care, so maybe I should stop thinking so much and allow a little irrationality in my life. As long as you maintain a certain amount of perspective, it is sometimes fun to just join the mob.