Sentimentality and Nostalgia

I may be younger than most nostalgia nuts but my nostalgia consists of the 1990’s. I miss this era of sports because it was when I discovered sports for the glory and wonderment that they were. Yes, I was dressed in Packer green and gold from a young age and knew who Paul Molitor was before I knew who Ronald Reagan was but my love for sports blossomed in the 1990’s.
My first love was baseball. The need for a connection to my father is one which every boy can relate to. My father’s life revolved around baseball because it was his career. I grew up in ballparks and club houses. The game was filled with fun mascots (thats my pops with the San Diego chicken) and good people. I however wouldn’t be a true fan of the game until the 1990’s. My mother and I were living in Denver and, as far as pro sports were considered, Denver was a veritable ghost town. Though Denver had the AAA Denver Zephyrs, I longed for a major league team to arrive so I could see the teams I only witnessed on WGN telecasts and in my extensive baseball card collection.

In 1993, The Colorado Rockies came to town as an expansion team and it is the first moment I can remember being excited about a local sports team. I paid close attention to the players that were being drafted and signed. I couldn’t wait to attend a game. I can still name the entire opening day lineup from that first team. Players that probably had no right being in “the show” were on that team. They were young, they wore plain black and white uniforms. Simple with no striping, piping or names on the backs of jerseys. They were a thing of beauty. Freddie Benavides played shortstop, Alex Cole with his bug eyed rec specs in centerfield and “EY” Eric Young at second. David Nied was our ace and David Neid would only ever be called “ace” on an expansion team. Not too mention our other characters like our manager Don Baylor (the most beaned player in history) and Don Zimmer (two words: Pay-Dro!).

The ballpark they played in was no ballpark at all. They would play their first few seasons in Mile High Stadium, home of the Denver Broncos. This is part of the reason that the Rockies set attendance records like crazy for those first few seasons. The allure of a professional baseball franchise and the wealth of seating of an NFL stadium made it possible. Those first few teams were absolutely terrible but I didn’t care. I remember falling asleep listening to night games being broadcast over the radio. I could see the sky above Mile high from outside my bedroom window and on the fireworks games, could take in the same fireworks that “my team” was enjoying (albeit from a distance). My mother, bless her heart, did the best she could on a limited income to allow me to experience the Rockies as much as possible.

She purchased a membership for me into the Rockies Rookies Club. The club wasn’t much. We received an occasional t-shirt, some reading material on the team and a few rights and privileges to meet some players. I don’t know if she remembers it but that club meant so much to me. I remember one sunny spring Saturday she woke me up and went to Mile High Stadium for an autograph signing on the field. I had two favorite players at that time. The first was Joe Girardi. Joe was a tough nut kind of guy. Was the stockiest guy on the field outside of “Fat Elvis” Dante Bichette and for some reason, spoke to me. My other player which I loved was Walt Weiss. Walt did everything for the Rox. He played second base, shortstop, some third base. Never heralded as a member of the Rockies but he was tough in his own sort of way (which he would demonstrate to the world later). I don’t know where Joe Girardi was that day but Walt Weiss was there signing autographs and surrounded by a mob of people. I couldn’t get near him and my mom, sensing that I would be crushed if I couldn’t get an autograph from him, snapped the baseball out of my hand and forced her way through the crowd. She returned a minute later with a fresh black signature on the ball. And people wonder why I have an affinity for tough players… need just look at the tough one I was raised by.

Later in the 90’s, Denver would host the All Star Game and my family attended it. Walt Weiss was with the Braves then and was experiencing the best season of his career and made it on the roster. His 3 year old son was stricken with, at the time, an unknown illness but Walt made it to the game nonetheless. Upon his being introduced, I along with everyone else stood and cheered for him because he was a truly great member of our franchise, because of everything he had gone through and because of one autograph.

I have never turned my back on the Rockies. These past few years have been the best in franchise history but I still remember and love those “lean years.” In a way, I have my mother to thank for my affinity for the team. And I have the team to thank for those memories with my mom.

Adventure Time! (make sure to enjoy the links)

It has been entirely too long since I posted anything so here it goes. I am a football coach which means that you would assume that football is my favorite sport as a fan. This would be a fallacy. Most coaches love the game but due to time restraints, can’t follow the game the way a fan would. For this reason, and the general feeling by coaches that fans are fairly moronic, means that football is relegated to the middle of my favorite sports. My favorite sport to be a fan of is not what you might think. I love NASCAR. It has all of the appeal that I require. It has fast speeds, teamwork, rivalry, strategy and even an occasional fistfight.

I was talking with my mother not too long ago when she not only suggested that I go to the race in Richmond, Virginia. In fact, she demanded it. I think it was a little bit of living vicariously through her son, as she is more of a fan than I am, and also her desire to know I have some semblance of a life away from work. Richmond is only about an hour away from Murfreesboro so the travel expenses were extremely minimal and tickets were only $45 so I really had no excuse whatsoever.

The mission was on to find someone, anyone who wanted to attend it with me. Don’t get me wrong, I am a loner by nature (only child syndrome) but a race is something to share and experience with others because it truly is a spectacle. After canvassing the campus, with lots of prodding and bribery, I finally convinced a coworker to attend the race with me. She had never been to a race despite growing up in NASCAR heaven her entire life. I saw this as a great opportunity to potentially expand the sports fan base even if it was just by a little bit.

The race was on Saturday night so we hitched up the wagons and headed out at noon on Saturday. If you are wondering why we left so early, you have never been to a race. We arrived and found parking behind a liquor store about a mile from the track and took in all the festivities. NASCAR races are like traveling carnivals. Tons of activities, booths, shops, shirtless fat men drinking beer and equally fat women also drinking beer. I threatened to take off my shirt but at the insistence of my guest, I refrained. I did however take in a few beers as we wandered around. After a couple of marines who clearly had nothing better to do than skip out of their volunteer trash duty and hit on my friend, we found our way to our seats (long story). I soon realized why our seats were priced lower than most. They were amazing and you could see the entire track but it was a smoking section. I am not bothered by a little cigarette smoke considering that I have lived around it since my earliest memories but our section was one big cloud of tobacco haze. I felt like I was at a damn Dave Matthews concert but the Sweet smell was replaced by ash.

The pre race festivities went on with everything that is standard. Driver introductions, invocation, national anthem, fly over, the greatest four words in motorsports “Gentlemen Start Your Engines!”. Like I said, NASCAR is an event.

The race was probably boring to the viewers at home but in person, there was always something to keep you enthralled. My guest cheered for Jeff Gordon, for no other reason than the number 24 was her old number for the Tar Heels (or as I like to call it, “The Other UNC”). I of course was decked out in black to show that I was a follower of my man “Rocketman” Ryan Newman. Gordon lead about 100 laps and Newman struggled through most of the race but finished with a top 10. Kyle Busch emerged with the victory which left everyone who follows NASCAR pissed. Kyle Busch is the ultimate villain. If you watched wrestling and cheered for the Undertaker instead of Hulk, or cheered for Miami instead of Notre Dame, Kyle Busch is your man. For that reason, people were pretty angry.

We ventured back to the car and said that the first place we find still serving food, we would stop. It turns out that due to traffic, we wouldn’t see anywhere to eat until around 1 am. Low and behold, Waffle House beckoned us. It was the perfect place to eat after a NASCAR event. No two institutions hold as much southern nostalgia as NASCAR and WoHo. After gorging ourselves a little too much, we found our way back to “the Boro” and I slept for the next day and a half. All in all, I am glad my mother demanded I go.

Dixieland Delight...

For those of you unaware as to where I have been, I figured an update was well overdue. I just moved to a quiet hamlet of Murfreesboro, North Carolina. It is peaceful here. The town is not much more than a main street and the campus. I am a football coach by trade and the nasty truth about the profession is that you are constantly moving early on in your career. I think I have found somewhere, however, that I could spend some time in and be perfectly comfortable. Though it is winter and the chill is not quite how I envisioned the American South, the grass and trees are still green. This is foreign for a guy who has lived his entire life in various frigid climates.

There is a sort of romanticism to the town. There has always been a level of romanticism to the American South as it is. Whether it is the easy-going way of it’s inhabitants, the rich history, or even Daisy Duke and the ‘General Lee’ the American South can be very captivating and alluring. I had experienced this element of southern living while visiting my parents in Arkansas but they live in a tourist and retirement community and, though it is a great place, lacks the authenticity of the area I am in now.

Murfreesboro’s demographics are something I was prepared for but did not truly comprehend. As a child, the only association I could make to the American South was it’s association with the abomination of slavery. Perhaps that is why "The Boro", with a population of exactly 50% White and 50% African Americans would seem to be difficult to grasp. Shouldn’t there be racial tension? Shouldn’t there be resentment on the part of the Black population towards the White population? Out of shear naivete, I asked these questions of a few trustworthy coworkers and they explained that the perceptions of the hostility were formed a hundred years ago and that Selma, Alabama does not speak for the rest of the South. I have been greeted with smiles, open doors, and even on a few occasions, a hug. Southern hospitality at it’s finest.

I have read the work of William Faulkner and see how he could cherish his home here in the South. I am 2 hours away from the mountains, an hour from the Atlantic Ocean, I have a driving range a mere 20 yards from the door to my office and somewhere, someone is shoveling snow. Will I be in the South for the rest of my life? I doubt it, but if that were the case, I wouldn’t complain.