LoC #35: Embrace Yestalgia

Yestalgia [yes-stal-juh] noun. A positive and healthy appreciation for past experiences.

I live in a wonderful part of the world. I don't have to lock my doors at night, I know both of my neighbours, and the police are respected, not feared (they don't even carry guns). The weather will never be tropical, but all in all, I feel pretty lucky to live where I do. Every once in a while, though, I get real pangs to be back in the Pacific Northwest, or even just on American soil. Here are five of the things that I miss most (in no particular order)…

1.    Mt. Rainer. When I show people pictures of where I come from, with The Mountain watching over us, most of them reply with, 'And you came here, WHY…?'. It's only when I show it to someone else that it hits me how majestic, how powerful that mountain is.

2.    Mongolian Beef from Tea Leaf II. I have even written them to ask them for their recipe. I can make it here, but not nearly as good as it is there. Me love it long time!

3.    Outdoor basketball. Where I went to college, there were no fewer than 29 outdoor basketball courts, and we played on them rain, shine, or finals. You could go alone, or with some friends, and either way you'd be playing a game in minutes. If you did happen to go alone, you were sure to add someone who was just walking by, looking for a game. Hours, days, weeks. Endless summers.

4.    Seasons. Traditionally, Wales has two seasons: Spring and Fall. It never gets too hot, it never gets too cold. There's never a drought, but it can go weeks without a break in the rain. When it's nice (like it has been this week), it's glorious. But I miss being really hot. I miss being tanned, and the contrast of an ice-cold Coke as it fizzles down my dry throat. Crazy as it seems, I miss dust.

5.    A common past. I was home over the summer for a 20-year high school reunion, and saw people I hadn't seen in decades. A lot of conversations started with 'do you remember when…', and, to be honest, until that moment I hadn't. But the memories were warm; they were lovely. They reminded me that I am FROM somewhere, and that my life is so much more than what it's become here in Wales. I have embraced Wales as my present and future, and everything pre 1996 seems an eternity ago. But when I'm home, or speaking with someone from home, I remember. A simpler time, a simpler me. Good times, hard times, times when I thought I'd die of a broken heart or die from laughter. I am thankful for those connections.

Is there a lesson here, other than 'take care to appreciate what you have ', or 'you don't' know what you got 'til it's gone'? Probably not, but those sayings are famous for a reason: they are true, and we'd all do well to remember them. Look around, look behind, look inside… be aware, and be grateful.

LoC #73: Keep It Simple, Stupid (KISS)

Bloggoal for today, #1:    Find a funky new blog template. Check.

Bloggoal for today, #2:    Write shorter blogs. Check.



Unintentional word invention, 'bloggoal' (rhymes with 'foggoal' or 'smoggoal'): Check.

LoC #51: Stay Forever Young

Off an on (mostly on) over the past 14 years, I've been playing and/or coaching American football here in Wales. It's been a great experience, and I have the UK AF scene to thank for the majority of my social network, as well as a large stockpile of 'do as I say, not as I do' stories for my daughter when she's older. It's a tough sport to get supported… money and resources are tight. There is in-fighting and, especially at the moment – there is a real lack of faith that the people in charge of the sport on a national level have the best interests of AF at heart. On the positive side, however, it's the kind of football most Americans can only dream about after high school. Being involved over here is an opportunity that I think only we ex-pats can appreciate. Not being nearly big (or good) enough, I – like 99% of the rest of high school players – thought that my last game in 1988 was going to be my last kitted game.

We were not a good side. At Olympia's Capital High School, Wayne Sortun had broken new ground as a first-year head coach. They'd eventually bear fruit, but during the summer of 1988, surrounded by old-school assistant coaches and players too young to know better, his progressive methods earned him only cynicism and scorn. What radical changes did Sortun make to Black Hills prep football…? Unthinkably, he cut players, More than that, he cut STARTERS for breaking the rules. He let younger players challenge for spots traditionally reserved for Seniors. He introduced Sports Psychology to the team. As a formal coaching tool, this was unheard of at the time. Instead of running 'The Gauntlet' and screaming 'You're slower than the second coming' at struggling players, Sortun had the team meet off the field, to participate in trust circles and motivational visualisation. When the word got out that the football team was playing games and daydreaming, parents and boosters were up in arms. Players didn't understand his methods, parents didn't trust his credentials. The result of all of these factors was a 1-7 season that put Sortun and his innovative approach to coaching on the chopping block. Luckily for him and for the programme, he was able to convince the school and the boosters that there was a method to his madness and, over the next ten years took the Cougars to two 3A State Championships.

So, when I left Capital, I thought my gridiron days were over for good. That all changed when I arrived in the tiny town of Aberystwyth, Wales, in 1992 to find the fledging Tarannau Aberystwyth squad. 1992 was their first season – well, with pads anyway. They'd played the entire 1991 season (full contact) without a shoulder pad or helmet between them, but a lucrative sponsorship deal with a local beer distributer meant that in '92 they could play in shoulder pads and helmets. As an exchange student visiting for only a year, I declined the opportunity to play, opting to join the less dangerous basketball team instead. That was no less of an adventure, but that's the stuff for another blog. It wasn't until 1996 that I decided to join Tarannau, and I haven't really looked back. I've been lucky enough to play for (and lose) two UK championships. I've earned a few awards along the way, not the least of which is having two numbers retired for the South Wales Warriors. But playing football has really only been half of the story, and it's the other half that I'd like to share with you.

Being part of the British sporting community has been a real challenge. And please know that when I say 'sporting community', I mean a very small, very amateurish group of quasi-athletes playing a minority sport in the UK. It takes a different breed of Brit to become interested in AF, especially in West Wales. For starters, this is die-hard rugby country. Even though Wales, as a national side, hasn't been at the top of the world rankings for almost 30 years, they still consider themselves the heart and home of international rugby. As a result, every big, athletic young man is steered towards 'the egg', and funnelled through an elaborate, well-funded, but ultimately ill-advised 'system' of getting them noticed for representative squads. What we tend to get, then, are the left-overs – the guys that were either not good enough, or not interested enough in rugby to compete at the highest levels. At university (college) here, the AF teams struggle to lure big, athletic guys away from the rugby team – who normally have a lot more money, a lot more prestige, and a lot more groupies. Once we've got them, we have to keep them. And that means teaching them Football 101, Day One. As in… show them the ball (some for the first time), try to explain the basics of the rules (there are a lot of them!), show them how to tackle differently than in rugby, and, most awkwardly of all, show them how and why we wear all the 'kit'. The kit is the biggest and most obvious barrier to the game's popularity. In a country where grown men bash each other about for fun, the idea of wearing a helmet and shoulder pads is akin to putting on slippers and a tutu; you might as well dress them up in pink taffeta and put ribbons in their hair. Our only – and most effective – reply is: come and see for yourself. Come and have one session in kit, and you'll see a) how much fun it is to hit people and have it not hurt and b) how the game itself demands that the kit is worn. On one hand, it's a coach's worst nightmare – at college, we have five weeks, training twice a week, to go from 'never seen a football' to our first game. The first few sessions are bound to be frustrating, and move at a very, very slow pace. On the other hand, to go from 'never seen a football' to 'actually quite a good player' is very rewarding as a coach. You have a blank canvas to work with, and as the player grows and matures, you take some pride in knowing that you are partially responsible for his love of the game.

And, if it's one thing I've noticed about AF players in the UK – once they get the bug, they are hooked. It isn't available to them without a great deal of effort, and those that take the time to get involved at some level develop a real passion for the game. There are over 60 teams in the UK over the course of the year, with about 5000 players involved in some form of football. The annual NFL game in Wembley sells out its 75,000 seats in minutes, as the whole British football community gathers for its annual social event. The Brits, once they find football, love football. And that is what keeps me coming back. Don't get me wrong, there are still egos and, more and more, the 'rah-rah' attitude that defines American sport. And player commitment isn't exactly what you get back home. Then again, when players are paying £200 a season (twice a year) to play the sport, it's hard then to tell them that they aren't good enough to play, or to get angry when they miss practice. It's a hard balance to strike and has driven more than a few coaches from the game.

But for those of us who have stuck with it, the rewards are immense. I imagine it will be like when my daughter says her first word, or takes her first step. When a LB makes a good tackle, or a DB picks off a pass… the look of joy and accomplishment in their face makes all of the frustration disappear. Yes, there's also the part of me that thinks 'I had something to do with that', which is fulfilling in a selfish kind of way… but the majority of what you feel as a coach is empathetic joy in knowing that a few years ago, that guy who just sacked the QB had never put on a helmet before, or that guy who just returned a kick-off to the house used to run with the ball like a loaf of bread, and the work they've put in has allowed them to be successful. It reminds me of my first touchdown, as a freshman fullback against Aberdeen, and I know that, at that moment, everything in their world is OK. I wonder if they had their eyes closed, too…?