Working in IT, specifically in a production support role, can really suck. Sure, the pay tends to be higher than the national average and on occasion you get to attend conferences and play with new technologies, but for the most part it’s a career of frustration and disrupted sleep cycles. Like a Pavlovian dog, my stomach churns whenever my pager goes off at 2:00 AM. Will this be a 5 minute fix or a 5 hour debacle?
For me, this past work week gave me only one day in which I managed more than 4 hours of sleep on a given night. So it was with great reluctance that I decided to stay up on Sunday morning and watch the men’s gold medal basketball game. Boy, am I sure glad I did!
In the course of these Olympics, I haven’t watched more than one half of any game. Primarily a result of the time difference, I’ve relied on SportsCenter and the Internet to keep me updated on the progress of the men’s basketball team in Beijing. The story had been pretty much the same. “Team USA should not underestimate their international opponent. Team USA wins by 35 points.” So as I woke up from my mini-nap just in time for tip off, I sat in front of my TV with the expectation of watching our national team cruise to a gold medal.
Anyone who knows me knows I can be a passionate sports fan. With football season around the corner, I’ve already stocked up on extra bottles of Tums and throat lozenges. So as I sat – and stood and jumped and cheered and clapped and yelled – I had to remind myself it was four in the morning on a Sunday! I never would have expected this game to have been so exciting, not to mention frustrating at times, to watch.
It began early with Spain jumping out to a very quick five point lead on Team USA. Add to that the tightly officiated, almost ticky-tack nature with which the referees were blowing the whistle and the ugly sense of ‘upset in the making’ starting creeping into my gut. The two best players in the world, Kobe Bryant and LeBron James, each picked up two fouls in the first ten minutes. “Uh oh! Not good.” The nail biting began.
It was then that coach Mike Krzyzewski made the first of his many astute coaching moves and went to his reserves. With James and Bryant sitting, Dwyane Wade came off the bench and was simply electrifying scoring over 20 points in the first half. When you consider the passion and toughness with which the Spanish players played, those were critical points that allowed the US to enter the half with the slimmest lead of these Games.
Spain’s un-intimidated intensity, team play and chippiness carried over into the second half, and they managed to linger against a team full of NBA all-stars. In the fourth quarter, Spain closed the gap to two points. Not twenty-two. TWO! As I peeled off the seal on my first bottle of Tums, Coach K called a much needed time-out to regroup the team. What followed was an exciting display of basketball, highlighted by Kobe Bryant taking over the game and responding to every big shot Spain had to offer.
As time expired, the United States secured gold and reclaimed its spot atop the international basketball community. For as much as I hated the moniker applied to this group of athletes – The Redeem Team – there was something to be said about watching Team USA do what they have not done in my son’s lifetime: win a gold medal in international play.
I’m glad I stayed up to watch this game and experience the excitement and passion that defines the Olympics. I’m sure I will be paying for it later on in the day, but as a sports fan it was completely worth it. All that’s left for me to do now is trudge off to bed with a smile on my face and the hope my pager doesn’t go off anytime soon.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Misty Eyed
With a pass to the center of the net and a lightning fast, second hit spike by her partner, Misty May-Treanor watched her dream come true yet again. Capturing their second consecutive gold medal in Olympic beach volleyball, the tandem of Walsh and May-Treanor solidified their place in the pantheon of volleyball greatness.
Not only did this dynamic duo fail to lose a match on their quest for repeat gold, the two queens of the beach were so dominating, they did not even lose a set in the Olympic tournament. In fact, Thursday morning’s victory marked the 108th consecutive win for Walsh and May-Treanor. Michael Phelps, with his eight gold medals, may be the face so far of the 2008 summer games, but 108 is the mark of true domination in a sport that is the quintessential combination of individual and team athleticism.
It is during her moment at the top of the volleyball world that Misty May-Treanor sheds tears of both joy and sorrow. It was six years ago this Olympic champion lost her mother Barbara to cancer, and it was in the culmination of May-Treanor and Walsh winning their first gold medal in Athens in 2004 that Misty shared that victory with her mom. Standing in the middle of the Olympic Beach Volleyball Center in Faliro, Greece, Misty opened a medicine bottle containing the ashes of her deceased mother and spread her remains across the sand. As she celebrated her historic win in Chaoyang Park, Misty made her way courtside to her gear and found the camera film canister that carried more of Barbara’s ashes. In a bit of a rush, Misty managed to empty the contents of the canister on the sand in China and completed the promise she made to herself four years ago in Greece.
I can’t even begin to understand what it means to be a world class athlete, let alone an Olympic champion. Watching these and every Olympics, I am often left fascinated with the realization that I am watching so many individuals do so many things I could never do. Sure I can run on a track, but I can’t come remotely close to running as fast as an Olympian. I can kick it around in the sand, but I’d get smoked in any type of competitive beach volleyball tournament. Still, if there is one thing I have in common with a certain gold medalist, it’s the understanding of what it’s like to lose a parent to cancer.
Death is never something that’s easy to accept. The pain and the loss, like the tattoo Misty wears of Barbara’s initials surrounded by angel’s wings, will be a permanent part of who she is. Still, it’s often in the depths and emptiness of life’s tragic moments where we find our greatest source of inspiration and strength. I am not sure if the passing of her mother was the turning point that drove Misty to accomplish back-to-back Olympic gold, but one would think her outlook on volleyball and life itself had to change in 2002.
For me, losing my dad will always resonate with the time in my life when I felt most lost. Like a beach volleyball player, my path forward since that moment has been made possible by both individual effort and the help and support of others. I know I will never listen to the Star Spangled Banner as a gold medal drapes around my neck, but in watching Misty May-Treanor do exactly that, it was wonderful to know the spirit of Barbara May was with her just as I know my father’s is with me in everything I do.
Not only did this dynamic duo fail to lose a match on their quest for repeat gold, the two queens of the beach were so dominating, they did not even lose a set in the Olympic tournament. In fact, Thursday morning’s victory marked the 108th consecutive win for Walsh and May-Treanor. Michael Phelps, with his eight gold medals, may be the face so far of the 2008 summer games, but 108 is the mark of true domination in a sport that is the quintessential combination of individual and team athleticism.
It is during her moment at the top of the volleyball world that Misty May-Treanor sheds tears of both joy and sorrow. It was six years ago this Olympic champion lost her mother Barbara to cancer, and it was in the culmination of May-Treanor and Walsh winning their first gold medal in Athens in 2004 that Misty shared that victory with her mom. Standing in the middle of the Olympic Beach Volleyball Center in Faliro, Greece, Misty opened a medicine bottle containing the ashes of her deceased mother and spread her remains across the sand. As she celebrated her historic win in Chaoyang Park, Misty made her way courtside to her gear and found the camera film canister that carried more of Barbara’s ashes. In a bit of a rush, Misty managed to empty the contents of the canister on the sand in China and completed the promise she made to herself four years ago in Greece.
I can’t even begin to understand what it means to be a world class athlete, let alone an Olympic champion. Watching these and every Olympics, I am often left fascinated with the realization that I am watching so many individuals do so many things I could never do. Sure I can run on a track, but I can’t come remotely close to running as fast as an Olympian. I can kick it around in the sand, but I’d get smoked in any type of competitive beach volleyball tournament. Still, if there is one thing I have in common with a certain gold medalist, it’s the understanding of what it’s like to lose a parent to cancer.
Death is never something that’s easy to accept. The pain and the loss, like the tattoo Misty wears of Barbara’s initials surrounded by angel’s wings, will be a permanent part of who she is. Still, it’s often in the depths and emptiness of life’s tragic moments where we find our greatest source of inspiration and strength. I am not sure if the passing of her mother was the turning point that drove Misty to accomplish back-to-back Olympic gold, but one would think her outlook on volleyball and life itself had to change in 2002.
For me, losing my dad will always resonate with the time in my life when I felt most lost. Like a beach volleyball player, my path forward since that moment has been made possible by both individual effort and the help and support of others. I know I will never listen to the Star Spangled Banner as a gold medal drapes around my neck, but in watching Misty May-Treanor do exactly that, it was wonderful to know the spirit of Barbara May was with her just as I know my father’s is with me in everything I do.
Friday, August 15, 2008
Facing the Facts
I have a problem. It’s not something that’s easy to admit, but it’s there. I can’t go more than five minutes without scratching that itch that burns inside of me until it’s satisfied. I wake up in the middle of the night and I need some. I’m on a conference call at work and I need a taste. If I had an iPhone, I am sure I would hit rock bottom.
I am a Facebook addict.
There. I said it. As much as it shames me to admit it, I am. From super pokes to friend requests, I crave the next notification I receive in Facebook. Someone wrote on my Wall? I’m like a kid at Christmas scrambling to see who and what. And I can’t even begin to explain the rush when two people become friends on Facebook …….. as I suggested.
It’s intoxicating, reconnecting with long-lost classmates and keeping tabs on my friends who live around the corner. Sure there are other social networks (this blog will be posted on my MySpace account), but none have the right combination of cool and mature like Facebook. If for no other reason, you have to admire the fact Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg walked away from a $1 Billion offer (yes, with a ‘B’) in order to keep his vision for his creation intact. Now that’s the brass balls kinda’ cool I want to be a part of.
So I diligently keep my browser open all day, periodically refreshing to see if anything new has come in. I will admit the avalanche of application add-ons can get annoying and frustrating. By the same token, I am sure heroin addicts get tired of the track marks, too. Still, the rush makes it all worthwhile. I scope other people’s pages to see what they’ve been up to and with whom they’ve been communicating. It’s a little dirty and creepy, but then again aren’t all addictions?
I look at my Friends list and I feel like I’m building a little empire. “Just hit 200 friends. Next stop, 500!” There’s an eerie appeal to creating a group in FB and watching as other people join it. I send out e-mail invitations to people who would not otherwise take part in a social network and they sign up. Can you hear the ego – and the addiction – being fed?
I’m also rediscovering my past. Thanks for Facebook, my Friends list has exploded with individuals I’ve known since childhood. High school classmates and grade school acquaintances, visiting their FB pages is like taking a trip to the past. Like the virtual magic shroom that it is, Facebook is opening up areas of my mind I had forgotten were there. Trip indeed.
So I wrap up this blogosphere confessional knowing that through admission I have taken my first step in facing my problem, and knowing it’s been more than 10 minutes since I’ve checked my page. Gotta’ go.
I am a Facebook addict.
There. I said it. As much as it shames me to admit it, I am. From super pokes to friend requests, I crave the next notification I receive in Facebook. Someone wrote on my Wall? I’m like a kid at Christmas scrambling to see who and what. And I can’t even begin to explain the rush when two people become friends on Facebook …….. as I suggested.
It’s intoxicating, reconnecting with long-lost classmates and keeping tabs on my friends who live around the corner. Sure there are other social networks (this blog will be posted on my MySpace account), but none have the right combination of cool and mature like Facebook. If for no other reason, you have to admire the fact Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg walked away from a $1 Billion offer (yes, with a ‘B’) in order to keep his vision for his creation intact. Now that’s the brass balls kinda’ cool I want to be a part of.
So I diligently keep my browser open all day, periodically refreshing to see if anything new has come in. I will admit the avalanche of application add-ons can get annoying and frustrating. By the same token, I am sure heroin addicts get tired of the track marks, too. Still, the rush makes it all worthwhile. I scope other people’s pages to see what they’ve been up to and with whom they’ve been communicating. It’s a little dirty and creepy, but then again aren’t all addictions?
I look at my Friends list and I feel like I’m building a little empire. “Just hit 200 friends. Next stop, 500!” There’s an eerie appeal to creating a group in FB and watching as other people join it. I send out e-mail invitations to people who would not otherwise take part in a social network and they sign up. Can you hear the ego – and the addiction – being fed?
I’m also rediscovering my past. Thanks for Facebook, my Friends list has exploded with individuals I’ve known since childhood. High school classmates and grade school acquaintances, visiting their FB pages is like taking a trip to the past. Like the virtual magic shroom that it is, Facebook is opening up areas of my mind I had forgotten were there. Trip indeed.
So I wrap up this blogosphere confessional knowing that through admission I have taken my first step in facing my problem, and knowing it’s been more than 10 minutes since I’ve checked my page. Gotta’ go.
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