Attention American soccer lovers: The arrival of David Beckham to the United States is a great thing. It is the steal of one of Europe’s greatest stars to America’s most star studded city. It doesn’t get any bigger for the MLS. It marks the first time other than the World Cup that I can recall major sports websites and television stations having soccer as the number one story. Beckham has it all; the good looks, athletic prowess, and pop star wife. He is as can’t miss as it gets.
His arrival to the states though does not matter.
Basketball, baseball, and football are the backbone of American athletics.
Despite this monumental day in United States soccer, do not expect to see the world’s most popular game take center stage in America. American sports fans are creatures of habit and routine. We are what we’re taught. And just as our dads grew up watching baseball, so did their dads. Soccer in America has merely been a slow heartbeat for a few years. Some would say it started when Pele arrived in New York to play a few seasons with the Cosmos in the mid 70’s, or perhaps when the U.S. hosted the World Cup in 1994 and the Americans advanced to the second round. Kids in Washington D.C. grow up with the Redskins, not D.C. United, just as kids in Denver grow up with the Broncos, not the Rapids. The fact remains simple. Kids will follow the team passed down to them. Unfortunately for the MLS, the arrival of Beck’s – although celebrated – is not enough to spark nationwide interest and support for soccer. Until the day comes where American sports fans are willing to conform and accept the world’s game as one of its own, its fate will remain the same.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Class-Time
I sit here amongst my peers in class listening to my professor for an hour and a half blabber on about women’s movements and the role of feminism in America today. I listen faithfully to him, bored but still intent. Looking around the class of nine, I begin to wonder what my peers are thinking. Is the girl with the turquoise tank top sitting to my left really listening or is she simply pretending? I wonder is the tiny Asian girl across from me really taking notes or merely doodling? I wonder what the tall black kid at the head of the table thinks about this lecture. Did he tune out when the prof compared women’s struggles in the past 50 years to black’s struggles in America? Or did he appreciate his honesty? I wonder why the brunette in the corner with the push up bra keeps pulling her shirt up every five seconds as she passionately debates the difference between radical and liberal feminists. I wonder if the professor thinks the kid to my right with the Mohawk is actually typing notes or searching Facebook viewing useless photos and wall posts.
I wonder if the pretty girl wearing the UCLA sweatshirt three seats down is listening or simply nodding her head to appease the prof. I wonder if the freshman blonde girl from Miami sitting next to the prof is purposely playing with the pen in her mouth – thus fulfilling the fantasies of every guy in class, or if she is simply too innocent to even know the effect she’s having. I wonder if the shorter Latino kid wearing an Oxy v-neck actually cares about this class, or if he is scripting out his homework plan in the weekly planner hidden under his notebook. I wonder if the other eight kids in this class understand anything this professor is saying about the book, or if they just use free Sparknotes online to dissect this ridiculously hard novel that we would never read outside of class. Probably so.
I wonder if the pretty girl wearing the UCLA sweatshirt three seats down is listening or simply nodding her head to appease the prof. I wonder if the freshman blonde girl from Miami sitting next to the prof is purposely playing with the pen in her mouth – thus fulfilling the fantasies of every guy in class, or if she is simply too innocent to even know the effect she’s having. I wonder if the shorter Latino kid wearing an Oxy v-neck actually cares about this class, or if he is scripting out his homework plan in the weekly planner hidden under his notebook. I wonder if the other eight kids in this class understand anything this professor is saying about the book, or if they just use free Sparknotes online to dissect this ridiculously hard novel that we would never read outside of class. Probably so.
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Night Hoop
When we completed dinner, dad and I would take the half mile walk to the school yard, often in near freezing temperatures. Basketball in hand, pop only let me dribble with my left hand as we made our way there. When we did arrive, I’d begin our workout by shooting 100 shots around the five spots of the perimeter to warm up. Anything above 75 makes was a plus, anything below a negative. Every shot was charted, every spot noted. Upon its completion, I began a variety of ball handling drills, going between my legs, around the back, cross over left to right and right to left. Ball handling never elapsed more than 20 minutes, because the colder it got the harder it was to shoot. Pop then had me start from mid court to work on fast break situations. I’d dribble three times to the right or left elbow (16’) and pull up. 50 of these; I needed to hit 40 of them for a plus sign in the book. We’d then move beyond the arc to work on my range. I’d shoot 150 three pointers from all around the arc. I needed 115 for that elusive plus sign. After threes, I shot 75 free throws, with my dad trying everything possible to distract me. “You suck Schultz,” he’d yell. “Booooooo, down 1 with zero seconds on the clock, ohhhhhhhh!” I needed 68 out of 75 for the plus sign.
Once free throws were complete, came the best part of every night. It was 10:00, sometimes snow flakes were falling, often times we had rain coming down, but it didn’t matter. It was time for one-on-one for dad and I. First to 5 baskets, all ones, winner’s out. He didn’t have the first step he once had, so pop has to use that “old man strength” to have a chance. He backs me down to the block; turn around jumper over the left shoulder, buckets; 1-0. Again and again, and then more time; 4-0 dad. Finally a miss; I get the ball back. I blow by him and finish with the left hand; 4-1. I nail two outside jumpers; 4-3. I cross over left to right, but he meets me. I counter with a step back, buckets; tie ball game.
Another outside jumper if off the mark, dad rebounds. It’s game point and I know he’s going down to the block. He backs me down to his favorite spot on the left block. I know what’s coming. Turn-around jumper, this time I block it. I clear the ball. Dad in full defensive stance, arms up, I jab step with the right foot, but he barely moves. I do it again, this time he drops back. Bingo! I head fake, cross back to the left, now I got him on my right hip as I drive to the tin. Two dribbles and I jump off my right foot to use my body to shield him away. I hold the ball with the left hand so he can’t strip it away and soar to the hoop. I release the ball with the left off the glass and in. Game over, I win. “Yesssss,” I yell. “Great game dad,” “great game Jordie. Getting better young man, getting better.” In a night full of pluses and minuses, reassurance from dad is the biggest plus of all.
Once free throws were complete, came the best part of every night. It was 10:00, sometimes snow flakes were falling, often times we had rain coming down, but it didn’t matter. It was time for one-on-one for dad and I. First to 5 baskets, all ones, winner’s out. He didn’t have the first step he once had, so pop has to use that “old man strength” to have a chance. He backs me down to the block; turn around jumper over the left shoulder, buckets; 1-0. Again and again, and then more time; 4-0 dad. Finally a miss; I get the ball back. I blow by him and finish with the left hand; 4-1. I nail two outside jumpers; 4-3. I cross over left to right, but he meets me. I counter with a step back, buckets; tie ball game.
Another outside jumper if off the mark, dad rebounds. It’s game point and I know he’s going down to the block. He backs me down to his favorite spot on the left block. I know what’s coming. Turn-around jumper, this time I block it. I clear the ball. Dad in full defensive stance, arms up, I jab step with the right foot, but he barely moves. I do it again, this time he drops back. Bingo! I head fake, cross back to the left, now I got him on my right hip as I drive to the tin. Two dribbles and I jump off my right foot to use my body to shield him away. I hold the ball with the left hand so he can’t strip it away and soar to the hoop. I release the ball with the left off the glass and in. Game over, I win. “Yesssss,” I yell. “Great game dad,” “great game Jordie. Getting better young man, getting better.” In a night full of pluses and minuses, reassurance from dad is the biggest plus of all.
Big River
Culture is an ongoing debate. It’s like the Mississippi river flowing powerfully in one direction. Conflicting powers and currents flowing in all different directions. Undemocratic sentiments must be broken down. Some women believe women contained in the confines of a house all day subordinates women, thus making culture a struggle rather than a rigid and concrete notion. Anybody of this generation who believes in participatory democracy will thus appreciate the nature of culture. We need an electoral campaign that focuses on the issues at hand, both in America and in foreign affairs and policies. Notion of debate allows everyone to enter, participate in this debate! But somehow I find it hard to pursue.
Given the upcoming presidential election, the topic of politics will be at an all time high. Who can lead our nation the best? Can a black man really gain the respect of white traditionalists in the Deep South? And can a woman capture the respect of men across a nation that until now has never known a president to be anything but a Caucasian man? With all of these questions surrounding a country knee high in a war most of its people don’t even support anymore, questions of concern and angst fill surround all three prospective candidates. Democratic, Republican, or Libertarian, it doesn’t matter. A vital key to a successful government is the participation of people in American culture. Whether it’s a positive or negative contribution doesn’t matter. Hence is the beauty of American politics. Participatory democracy remains at the height of a successful Mississippi River.
Given the upcoming presidential election, the topic of politics will be at an all time high. Who can lead our nation the best? Can a black man really gain the respect of white traditionalists in the Deep South? And can a woman capture the respect of men across a nation that until now has never known a president to be anything but a Caucasian man? With all of these questions surrounding a country knee high in a war most of its people don’t even support anymore, questions of concern and angst fill surround all three prospective candidates. Democratic, Republican, or Libertarian, it doesn’t matter. A vital key to a successful government is the participation of people in American culture. Whether it’s a positive or negative contribution doesn’t matter. Hence is the beauty of American politics. Participatory democracy remains at the height of a successful Mississippi River.
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Heel-Time
The Final Four is one of the premier sporting events in the world. Bringing together the four best college basketball teams in the land, the Final Four represents the culmination of a wondrous three weeks of March Madness. It signifies the end of tournament darlings and cinderallas, small schools who gained national prominence during their 15 minutes of fame. For the college basketball traditonalist, this year's final four boasts the classic powers of UCLA, Kansas, Memphis, and North Carolina, four number one seeds in the Final Four for the first time in the tournament's history.
Personally, I think Carolina is the most complete team. Admittedly, I picked the Bruins of Westwood to take the title before the toumost tournament started. I thought they possessed the most depth and overall talent. But as I've watched the last set of games, I've learned that Carolina is by far the most gifted and athletic team of the bunch. The Heels have the player of the year in Tyler Hansborough, a dynamic point guard in Ty Lawson, and two very gifted wing players in Danny Green and Wayne Ellington, not to mention a Hall of Fame coach in Roy Williams. Ultimately, I think Carloina beats a tough Bruins team in the national final Monday evening, 78-74. One thing's for sure, I can't wait.
Personally, I think Carolina is the most complete team. Admittedly, I picked the Bruins of Westwood to take the title before the toumost tournament started. I thought they possessed the most depth and overall talent. But as I've watched the last set of games, I've learned that Carolina is by far the most gifted and athletic team of the bunch. The Heels have the player of the year in Tyler Hansborough, a dynamic point guard in Ty Lawson, and two very gifted wing players in Danny Green and Wayne Ellington, not to mention a Hall of Fame coach in Roy Williams. Ultimately, I think Carloina beats a tough Bruins team in the national final Monday evening, 78-74. One thing's for sure, I can't wait.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Opening Day
The Mariners are looking very good. We are one game into the 2008 season and I'm already predicting a pennant. This is the beauty of opening day. Hopes and dreams aren't yet squashed, and perennial losers like the Tampa Bay Rays and Cincinatti Reds have hopes of October magic.
But back to my precious Mariners. In our first game of the season yesterday against the rival Texas Rangers, the M's used their largest offseason acqusition - pitcher Erik Badard from the Baltimore Orioles - to shut down the praised bats of the Rangers. On a chilly opening day on the final day of March, the Mariners failed to cross the plate until the 7th inning when thier young and talented 2B Jose Lopez perfectly executed a called hit and run to advance Ichiro to 3B. This is surely a sign of things to come. With young and live legs, the Mariners finally have to opportunity to play aggressive baseball. They now have the ability to push their opponents into feeling uncomfortable wuth double steals and suicide squeezes in the 9th. All of this came to fruition in the later frames yesterday st Safeco Field, when the M's turned around a 1-0 deficit late in the game and took advantage of their speed and power, rallying in front of a racous sellout to win 5-2.
It is a brand of baseball we as Mariners fans have been waiting for far too long. It is a brand of the game this team can play, and play well. Maybe I am an optimist. Maybe I am a naive fan who lets my desire for success convolute the actual image of my team. But it's April in the major leagues, and right now, everyone has a shot. Everyone is in first place. Everyone wakes up in the morning to see their club at the top of the standings. And I don't know about you, but I'm sure as hell going to enjoy it. God I love this game.
But back to my precious Mariners. In our first game of the season yesterday against the rival Texas Rangers, the M's used their largest offseason acqusition - pitcher Erik Badard from the Baltimore Orioles - to shut down the praised bats of the Rangers. On a chilly opening day on the final day of March, the Mariners failed to cross the plate until the 7th inning when thier young and talented 2B Jose Lopez perfectly executed a called hit and run to advance Ichiro to 3B. This is surely a sign of things to come. With young and live legs, the Mariners finally have to opportunity to play aggressive baseball. They now have the ability to push their opponents into feeling uncomfortable wuth double steals and suicide squeezes in the 9th. All of this came to fruition in the later frames yesterday st Safeco Field, when the M's turned around a 1-0 deficit late in the game and took advantage of their speed and power, rallying in front of a racous sellout to win 5-2.
It is a brand of baseball we as Mariners fans have been waiting for far too long. It is a brand of the game this team can play, and play well. Maybe I am an optimist. Maybe I am a naive fan who lets my desire for success convolute the actual image of my team. But it's April in the major leagues, and right now, everyone has a shot. Everyone is in first place. Everyone wakes up in the morning to see their club at the top of the standings. And I don't know about you, but I'm sure as hell going to enjoy it. God I love this game.
A Trend
As my junior year of college nears its end, there is a recurring trend I have noticed about myself. A trend I do not know whether to be proud of, or ashamed of. A trend I do not know if I should be bothered by or appreciate about myself. But one thing is for sure, I hate it. The trend is simple. I am cheap.
When I go to the grocery store and need gum, I won't buy the 12 pack of Orbit if its $2.47 because I know I can get a 24 pack at Target for $3.02. When I go to a decent restaurant and prepare to leave the tip, I often struggle with whether or not to leave an additional dollar. Seriously, I will sit at the table for three minutes and consider the service I got from the waitress to determine whether or not she deserves an extra buck. Are you kidding me? This trend has been an ongoing one for several years now, but lately its seemed to gain steam.
I'm not sure why this has happened, or how it's developed. Growing up an in upper-class family, my parents have always stressed to me the importance of appreciating money. They have taught me the importance of respecting money. I think I have taken this respect too far. I think when they taught me as a thirteen-year-old to respect money they wanted for me to not spulrge on unnecessary materialistic possessions, not spend five minutes at he gas pump debating whether or not to fill up my tank with unleaded or premium. But hey, in the era of high gas prices and an unhealthy American economy, maybe my biggest pet peeve will serve some good.
When I go to the grocery store and need gum, I won't buy the 12 pack of Orbit if its $2.47 because I know I can get a 24 pack at Target for $3.02. When I go to a decent restaurant and prepare to leave the tip, I often struggle with whether or not to leave an additional dollar. Seriously, I will sit at the table for three minutes and consider the service I got from the waitress to determine whether or not she deserves an extra buck. Are you kidding me? This trend has been an ongoing one for several years now, but lately its seemed to gain steam.
I'm not sure why this has happened, or how it's developed. Growing up an in upper-class family, my parents have always stressed to me the importance of appreciating money. They have taught me the importance of respecting money. I think I have taken this respect too far. I think when they taught me as a thirteen-year-old to respect money they wanted for me to not spulrge on unnecessary materialistic possessions, not spend five minutes at he gas pump debating whether or not to fill up my tank with unleaded or premium. But hey, in the era of high gas prices and an unhealthy American economy, maybe my biggest pet peeve will serve some good.
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