Not Every Tradition Endures

About this...



The Broncos are back in the Super Bowl and I'm excited.  It isn't the same, but it's fun.  It isn't the same because something is missing and you can never duplicate a first-time win.  The awe of it and the wonder is different.  Mostly, my dad isn't here to watch anymore, and that stinks.  Don't get me wrong, I have plenty of wonderful people to watch with, and I will have a blast.  

We watched Super Bowl 32 at my parents' home in January of 1998.  I remember refusing to consider watching it without him.  We didn't miss those games and we celebrated together.  We had too long a history with the Denver Broncos and games in general overall to do anything else.

We went to baseball games when I was five and never left early.  I had a strict no-leaving-early policy and it had absolutely no bend to it.  

I remember going out to dinner and dad bringing his radio to listen to the game (it was never on TV in Virginia).  I remember peanuts, hot dogs, and game programs (I used to save them from every game). We hit the jackpot with Bronco season tickets when we moved to Colorado.   I mean, this stuff goes deep. 

We went to UVa games when they were terrible and watched them become something.  He let me buy one of those annoying horns people blow at games with the promise that I not blow it unless UVa scored.  He finally relented when UVa blocked an extra point in a 55-0 defeat at the hands of hated Clemson.  I got to blow my horn during one of the most embarrassing losses in UVa history!

We were there for the first victory over Clemson in school history (link is on the side) and I can still hear the screams when UVa broke a punt return that broke the game open and removed the doubt.  We watched at home, we watched with friends, but we watched no matter what.

But, although we liked other teams, we LOVED the Broncos.  I remember being upset I had to miss a particularly famous game (on television... we still lived in Virginia) to attend basketball practice and coming home to dad beaming about this...



We were at Mile High when Elway won an AFC title game and we were there when he beat Houston in 1992 in one of the most dramatic wins I've ever seen.  He used to remind me how lucky we were to watch a quarterback like John Elway.  We got there early every week to watch him warm up.  

It's hard to explain what it's like to lose your entire mind at a stadium with someone.  It is a blast.

Jacob isn't interested.  Not really interested at all.  In fact, he gets bored even though Denver shattered the record for points scored in a season and registered the most exciting offense I have ever seen.  There are times when that fact really stinks.  But, there are more occasions when it does not, and I think he and I are the better for it.  We did share one fantastic moment when Tim Tebow won a playoff game in overtime, but that required bribes of ice cream and soda.  He enjoyed it, but didn't seem to need that again.

Jacob likes Tae Kwon Do.  He loves it.  We do it together.  We are learning together and working together.  It may not be the same, but it is ours and it is special.  We don't lose our minds together, but I can't wait until he gets his next belt so he can unleash that smile and I can show him how proud it makes me.  Really, my dad and I did that through a different medium. 

Meanwhile, I read League of Denial, which chipped away at the game for me.  I find myself very happy Jacob is not interested.  I won't have to sweat him getting hurt or using his wonderful brain for ball-advancement.  I hated when my dad tried to talk me out of playing football, but I will do that, too, now.  I just can't explain how precious his brain is to me.  I understand better now. 

My expectation of football with Jacob took the form of an entitlement, and that was my fault and led to some initial disappointment.  Somehow, this has all worked better, and it worked perfectly despite my best efforts.  I get to watch the Broncos with less zeal and certainly less heartbreak and to enjoy it with friends and family.  I take it in stride.  If they lose this Super Bowl, I won't be thrilled, but I won't be heartbroken.

If I miss anything it will be watching with dad.  And, even though we have the best scenario I could imagine, it does remind me about who is missing.

An Unforgettable Journey

I want to chronicle an unforgettable journey.
 
It finished with the birth of my daughter under a halo of joy.  But the turning point - the point when everything came full circle - happened during a lonely lunch downtown a week earlier.  The lone-diner must have made some impression giving several fist-pumps in a dusty lounge area.

I hope to explain why those fist-pumps hung a "halo" onto my joy a week or so later.

This is not a book review of Infinite Jest.  Rather, I want to tell about reading that book in a crazy year and how it all led to a cheerful welcome to my daughter, Amalia, with the help of a British Bulldog.  The process included vigorous intellectual challenges to worldview, inescapable illustrations of a farcical and flawed world through a "post-modern" lens (and the worries associated therewith), and, finally, an anchor-drop back to a more "modern" philosophical safe haven that literally parted storm clouds after a flood.

It was a long and brutal battle through serious introspection and macro contemplation shaded with an unsettling skeptical tint... until Winston Churchill reminded me to welcome Amalia to the good in our world as well.

Infinitely Impactful

Infinite Jest will eventually invade any reader.  If you stick with this book (and I realize that is asking a lot), there will be a point when David Foster Wallace will infiltrate your being.

That moment came for me when a drug addict gave birth to a faceless baby.  I received a warning, so I braced myself, but DFW had a talent for invasion of personal space.  This scene impacted me personally based on two cases of mine, and, much like his manipulative quiz/essay/mind-f#@k from Brief Interviews with Hideous Men, I felt abused afterward.

Trayvon Martin and the Gray Muck of Reality

I love that clip, and I wish things were so simple.

We like to think of things either "are" or "are not" legal.  Only the legal world can create the need for me to quote simple forms of the verb "to be."  

But, I learned early in law school that there is only ever one answer... "it depends."  I want to write about my feelings on the Trayvon Martin murder case.

The only certain answer is that there will be no winners in this case.  After listening to some of the trial and hearing both closing arguments in the background while working, I believe that anyone who claims this case is "clear" or "simple" serves a preconceived notion, philosophy, or preference.  I have opinions, but I see nothing as clear.

George Zimmerman either murdered Trayvon Martin or he killed him for the lawful purpose of saving his own life.  Lesser-included-offenses aside (and that is a post for another day), it seems like one or the other. 

I have been glued to this case precisely because it illustrates the muddy gray between "legal" and "illegal."  It shows us just how chaotic our world is and how difficult simple truth can be. We have seen dueling mothers, a gun-control debate by proxy, and impassioned pleas on both sides for and against "stand your ground" laws.  In other words, we made it another battleground for the usual things even though it is simply a murder trial with interesting dynamics.

This is not easy.  This is a very tough case.  And it reflects so much about humanity.  It reflects how we all act and contrasts it with how we think we would act when faced with danger.  It shows how important it is to so many to fit this case into our own preferences (political, social, etc.).

This is one of those uncomfortable moments in front of the unflattering image of ourselves in a full-length mirror with bright fluorescent lights.  The lights bring it all to bear.  This case tells us so much about "us."

I don't know what I think about the truth from the evidence presented and I do not seek to influence anyone's opinion.  Rather, I have been ruminating about the nuances and I prefer to wade through the gray muck. 

No matter what happens in this case, people will be upset.  And that may tell us more about us than anything else.

Monte Cristo IV - Power of the Dark Side

I have finally finished The Count of Monte Cristo.  It sinks in slowly like metal-tank-tread resting on a wood block.  It eases its way into the very core of a reader and lingers with its simple reminder to "wait and hope."

It also leaves almost no witnesses.

The part that lingers for me tonight is the notion of removed action, but there are so many fascinating elements that I don't know where to start.  Nothing done by the Count of Monte Cristo himself would ever lead to conviction, much as with his rivals.  And, yet, he remains guilty and  purposeful in his deeds.  He may not pull triggers or open veins, but he orchestrates the opportunistic actions as purposefully as if he had done it all personally.

When I watched the 2002 movie of the same title, I left the theater impressed by the coldness and intensity of the vengeance portrayed.  My memory recorded an intense experience.  I watched that movie again tonight and came away with a different feeling: The movie is tame.

My Drug of Choice

I am reading Infinite Jest and only Infinite Jest. Well, at least until I need a break.  And that will happen.  But it will pull at me and call to me even when it repulses me.  

David Foster Wallace is apparently my drug of choice.  He makes me think too much.  His writing is a frustrating fixation, the intake of which I promise myself I can control (denial? Is it a river?).  I love his Vulcan-like intellect, but it wears me out and impacts my sleep.  I love everything about his style, but it can be infuriating at times and makes me see too much behind my eyelids.  I find truths of human psychology and gallows humor scattered in a field of tar and sap.

Dave brought up an analogy of DFW as my "crazy bitch" and I can't shout that down.  I just read Of Human Bondage, by W. Summerset Maugham, which featured a classic terrible girlfriend in American literature.  And, as Dave so well explained, I may have found my "Mildred."

Before I subject the internet to a basic text conversation that led to the analogy, I offer a bit of background.  I read The Pale King early in 2013 and loved it despite its trudging pace. (you can read that Here).  I started IJ shortly thereafter. It was good, but I had other book obligations and decided that IJ requires a certain level of concentration.  So, I proceeded to devour other books, assigned books, and my final book club book to clear the path for my one true fix.  

I have enjoyed my other books, but my peripheral has never lost sight of Infinite Jest.  And, for me, it isn't just about DFW the writer (OK, it is, but not quite 100%), but the subject matter itself as well.  I have written before that the farcical view is often therapeutic and there are parts of my day-to-day life that require a certain level of gallows humor for survival. I'll just say I often see the worst of many parts of life, and a systematically farcical look at a serious world is extremely appealing to me as an intellectual journey and exercise.  

Last week, I finally zeroed in on IJ exclusively.

Miller Time!

I keep crossing paths with Andre Miller.

When I worked as an intern at NBA Inside Stuff Magazine (then the official teen magazine of the NBA), I got to interview Andre Miller, then of the University of Utah, for one of the few mini-articles that included my own name.  I spoke to the late Rick Majerus, former Utah head coach, for the blurb.  Majerus spoke glowingly about Andre Miller.

'Dre took the Utes to the finals against a very talented Kentucky team and came up short.  I remember him playing brilliantly and I rooted for his underdog team to shock the world.  It did not hurt that I had interviewed him and found him to be kind and respectful.  Without getting into details, I'll just say that interviewing athletes isn't always like that.

I remember how important it was to coach Majerus that I understand how good a rebounder Miller was.  I remember my editor explaining to me how unimportant it was that I emphasize that when writing about a point guard.  My article was small and simple, but it was my first national publication credit.

I am just short of three months younger than 'Dre and I have followed his career since Utah.  That got easier when he became a Denver Nugget in 2003.  My friends and I shared 10-game Nuggets ticket packages back then and we followed the Nuggets closely.  I have always been impressed with Miller.  I know George Karl has only ever sung his praises.  He sounded exactly like Rick Majerus.

Miller was an alley-oop master and created some vicious dunks by Melo, K-Mart, Camby and J.R. Smith.  Then, in 2006, Miller was traded as part of the deal that brought Allen Iverson to Denver. I still remember George Karl talking about how disappointed he was to lose Miller.  Karl brought that up many times over the years.  I hated losing 'Dre.

In 2008, I came face-to-face with Miller at Mile High Stadium in Denver for the DNC nomination of Barrack Obama.  I remember seeing him, being certain it was him, and deciding not to invade his privacy.  He's such a low-key guy and I didn't want to intrude.

In 2011, Miller re-signed with Denver, only he is now known as "the Professor" and has survived on savvy in a young-man's game at age 37.  As you can see in the highlights, Miller can still throw a long oop, and he can still create with the ball.

Flash to this Saturday.  I took Jacob to see Game 1 of the playoffs.  The team was in a funk.  Miller took over in the fourth when no one else would.  He scored 28 points and made every shot when it was needed.  He did so many "professor" type things and dragged this team to an improbable victory.

I loved it.  That patented flat jumper, the passing, the up-and-under scoop shots...  It was all like it was when he was here from 2003-2006.

The Denver Nuggets cleared out for the final shot of the game for 37-year old Andre Miller to put the team's fate in his hands.  The way he played this game, I could not have felt better about the team's chances even if Melo were still available for late-game heroics.   Miller went left, cut right and went up and under the rim to take the lead with 1.3 seconds left.

I lost my voice at the game and could not have asked for a better experience.  It's nice to have 'Dre back around.