sports | The Casual Blog

October 23, 2010

Golf guilt and gratitude

It feels delicious but somehow wrong to play golf on a regular workday. Even when the event is a company tournament, even when there’s been a sign-off from management, it still seems illicit. Particularly when the temperature’s in the mid-70s, there’s not a cloud in the sky, and the greens are healthy, it seems like it can’t be permissible. The blood of my hard-working, self-denying Calvinist forebears resists — and then capitulates.

And so it was that I played in the first Red Hat invitational golf event with colleagues and assorted Red Hat vendors last week. The event was at Crooked Creek, a pretty course in southern Wake County. I took my first adult golfing lessons there about ten years ago, and so it has a special place in my golfing heart. Although the overall yardage is on the short side, the fairways are narrow, and the course in general punishes imprecision. Considering the dry conditions of the past months, it was in good shape.

My golfing has recently been in a threshold state — possibly close to a new plateau. From time to time I get a foretaste of the golfing promised land, where a long smooth swing connects the dimpled white ball to a high parabolic arc, which settles in the center of the fairway an easy short-iron from the green. Other times I endure the bitterness of inexplicable shanks, gouges, and gaffes. But this is part of the extraordinary demands and attractions of golf: at any given moment the next shot could be a hopeless, round-destroying disaster, or it could be perfect beyond all reasonable hope.

We played a best ball format, in which the best of four balls off the tee is used for the next shot forward. It keeps things from getting too heavy. The foursome shares the joy of a well-played hole and divides up the guilty misery of one that is played poorly. I enjoyed my golfing colleagues, and particularly Steve G, who drove our cart and hit the ball a ton. We were proud when he won the long drive contest. On the other hand, the pace of play was painfully slow. I also struggled with an odd pain in my right leg. But we filled the time with pleasant chat and enjoyed the beautiful fall day.

I thought of my father’s attempt to introduce me to golf when I was a young teenager, and regretted that I rejected his offering. It would have been a good thing to share, when we couldn’t find much in common. I also thought of my father-in-law, who gave me the gift of a set of Callaway clubs and encouraged me to have a go at learning the game in mid-life when my own kids were adolescents. He helped me see that my resistance to the game was based on prejudices (too Republican, too fat, too white, too snobby) that were somewhat (though not completely) unfair. And he pointed me towards the undeniable beauty of game: courses that are in essence gardens, the grace of skilled play, and the gift of golfing friendships. It was an excellent gift. I’m sorry we didn’t have more chances to play.

Leave a comment

October 10, 2010

Soccer and football

I really enjoy reading the newspaper on Sunday. When I lived in New York, sometimes I’d actually buy the Times from a newstand on Saturday night and get an early start reading the Week in Review. When I don’t have a Sunday morning golf game, as happened this Sunday, I devote a good chunk of the morning to current events. The events may be unsettling, be they natural disasters, wars, or political strife, but the orderly presentation, with morning coffee, is pleasantly soothing. This is not, of course, reality, but rather a highly scrubbed and edited simulation. But everyone knows that.

However, I was disappointed that today the Sunday News and Observer failed to cover the playoff victory last night of the Carolina Railhawks, our local professional soccer team. Sally and I were there for the event, with midfield seats close to the field, and saw them defeat the Minnesota Stars 4-0 to advance to the semifinal round. The team is part of the USSF D-2 Pro League, which is surely a candidate for the worst sports league name ever. But apart from the name problem, this is a good team and a good sport.

This was the third game we got to this season, and with each game I found myself seeing more of the nuances, both of the athletes’ incredible individual skills and of the team tactics. I’m developing more knowledge of the rules and more confident opinions about bad calls by the referees and faked injuries. I’m starting to like certain players. In short, I’m getting to be sort of a fan.

It was a beautiful evening, just cool enough for a light jacket. We’d previously learned that the concession stands had not evolved any vegetarian options, so we brought a couple of Jersey Mike’s veggie subs with us, and split a chocolate chip cookie. The stands were far from crowded, but there were enough people to make some noise. Sally noted that the field seemed very large, and I said I believed it was the same length as a football field — 100 yards. (I later checked with Google and learned the official length may be between 100 and 130 yards, and the Cary field is 120 yards.) Sally hadn’t known the length of a football field. As a former American football participant, that distance is one that is seared into my mind and body.

I played Pop Warner football in Winston-Salem for the Tiny Demons beginning at age 12, and finished my football career at defensive end for the Wiley Junior High team at age 15. Even back then, football seemed physically punishing and usually far from beautiful. But I liked being part of a team and liked some of the guys. It was challenging. I was in no way outstanding, but every now and again I exceeded expectations and make a good play.

And I still enjoy football at some level. But more and more I’ve found it seriously disturbing. It’s just too dangerous, and the high risk is part of its essence. For professionals, certainly, but even for students and kids, there’s just too great a risk of brain injury or other serious accidents. I’d like to think that if I were a Roman citizen, I’d object to holding gladiatorial fights to the death for entertainment. Our football games aren’t quite that bad, but there’s an uncomfortable resemblance. We should disfavor games that risk destroying lives.

I admit, I can’t help being glad when the N.C. State Wolfpack wins. But soccer is much more in line with my values, and more to my taste. I do worry that heading balls can cause brain injury, and I’d favor protective headgear to mitigate that. And I realize soccer players can break their necks. But the sport itself is not designed to cause high speed collisions of humans. It’s about speed and agility, as well as power.

Anyway, hurray for the Railhawks. Nuts to the News and Observer sports page. The team played with heart and skill, and defeated a worthy opponent. Good luck in the next round. You guys are awesome.

Leave a comment

October 9, 2010

Starting the weekend with some exercise and music

Late Friday afternoon I returned some phone calls, cleaned out my e-mail queue, checked my to-do list one last time, jammed some weekend work in my book bag, and did the short drive home. Sally had left for a tennis tournament, but had first fed the animals, so they were sleepy. I played the piano for a few minutes and moved to a different mind zone — a Chopin nocturne (D flat major), a Debussy prelude (La cathedrale engloutie), Liszt’s Sonneto del Petrarca 47. I also played J. Strauss’s Blue Danube waltzes in honor of the poor Danube, currently under assault by toxic sludge. I filled a small plate with some leftover pepper casserole and brown rice, warmed it in the microwave, poured a glass of pinot gris, and had a quiet, delicious dinner.

Then I walked over to hear the N.C. Symphony do the first fall concert of our series. It was a lovely fall evening, mild and clear, and I savored the walk. This is one of the pleasant things about living in downtown Raleigh. There were two new buildings going up along the way, and people on Fayetteville Street eating dinner at sidewalk tables or walking about.

I had an unusually strong sense of physical well being. It was a good week for exercising — no travel or serious time crunches at work — so I’d gotten up at 5:30 a.m. every day to either swim a freestyle mile (2x), do a yoga class, or take a spinning class (2x). Spinning is still new to me, and I’m still enthusiastic — it’s an amazing aerobic workout. The basic idea of stationary bike plus music, rhythmic movement, group activity, and a cheerleading coach previously struck me as not at all my style, but it is remarkably effective in (a) raising my heartrate, (b) making me sweat, and (c) leaving me feeling pleasantly endorphinized.

With fall in the air, I’m looking forward to winter, and skiing in Colorado, and I’m using ski thoughts for extra workout motivation. Last year the hour-long climb in the snow at over 12,000 feet up the narrow ridge to Highlands Bowl at Aspen Highlands taught my body a brutal lesson it won’t soon forget. I was, in truth, too whipped to attack the long double black diamond run from the top, but there was no alternative way down. I survived, but next year I hope to do more than merely survive such situations — to exult! That may be too much to hope for. It will always be difficult to go from a few hundred feet above sea level one day to vigorous activity at several thousand feet the next, but I’m looking to be in better shape next season and bettering my odds.

At a leisurely pace, it took 23 minutes to walk to the concert hall. (Afterwards I picked up the pace and got home in under 20.) I was interested to hear Rachmaninoff’s first piano concerto. The composer was still a student when he made it, but it has the seeds of the more familiar and almost too gorgeous second concerto. It is certainly a virtuoso showpiece, and Jean-Philippe Collard played it with power and authority. I was mainly interested in the second half of the concert, a performance of Sibelius’s Fifth Symphony, a piece I was not familiar with. It was strange and beautiful, with novel and varied textures, and diverging moods. It approached the richness of Mahler. There were good loud places, where the brass expressed themselves fully, and a fine solo for the bassoon. I plan to get a recording and listen to it some more.

Leave a comment

July 25, 2010

Water skiing and fun, healthy, ethical food

My shoulders are aching from the fun we had yesterday skiing on Falls Lake. Ken and Carol took us out, along with their friends Ken and Kristen, on their plush and powerful ski boat. Moving over the water at relatively high speed may be the ideal way to enjoy the outdoors in the middle of a massive heat wave. I hadn’t water skied since I was twelve or so, but had vivid memories — the smell of gasoline, the anxiety as the boat worked into position, the sudden roar of the engine, the jerk of the rope, and the thrill of a transformation — water going soft to hard, something on which you can travel upright.

Ken encouraged us to try his wake board, which he said was easier than skis. I decided to give it a shot, based on my rule of thumb to always accept an offer to try something new if it looks like it could be fun and isn’t illegal, immoral, or seriously dangerous. Of five tries, I crashed and burned in the first three, came close to getting up on four, and bombed again on number five. At that point, I decided to revert to skis. I hated to admit defeat with the wake board, but it was unclear whether I was on the verge of success or still far from it, and I did not feel good claiming any bigger share of boat time.

Happily, I could still manage to ski. The attempt was a learning experience: I learned that for me it isn’t easier than skis, and that to get securely out of the water I need to do something different from what I was doing. Later, while Carol drove, Ken demonstrated a hydrofoil device, a board with a seat above and a metal extension below so that the board came two or three feet above the water. It looked both bizarre and fun, but Carol said it took many tries to get the hang of it.

Sally and I got back to the apartment shortly before eight and discovered we had a yen for Thai food within walking distance, so we had dinner at Thai Phoon on Glenwood. We ordered two different spicy garlic tofu dishes from a good array of vegetarian options. Just as we were starting to wonder why the food hadn’t arrived, our server showed up to apologize for the delay. To make up for it, she said the soup was on her. A nice gesture.

We continued our discussion of the mystery of unhealthy eating and resistance to vegetarianism. Why do so many people put so much of so many things in their bodies that make them fat and shorten their lives? Could it be lack of knowledge, when good information is so readily available? Most of us would never consider fueling our cars with anything other than standard quality gasoline, so how can we stand to put any old thing in our irreplaceable bodies? It can’t be explained based simply on calculated pleasure-seeking, since there are so many wonderful and interesting plant-based foods.

And how can so many thoughtful, decent, well-meaning people tolerate the massive cruelty of industrialized slaughter houses that turn living animals into dead meat? Surely most of us respect the integrity of individual members of other animal species and would never consider intentionally torturing them. So how can we stand the cruelty? I do not know. But I know each individual is capable of change for the better, because of my own journey. There’s still hope for a healthier, more ethical society. If it comes, it will be through many small, thoughtful, individual choices. Like spicy garlic tofu.

Leave a comment

July 10, 2010

Dropping some weight and hitting some golf balls

I came back from the long weekend in St. Croix five pounds heavier than when I left. It’s difficult to account for the sudden gain, since I was reasonably careful about not over eating and held the veggie line against temptation. Perhaps our very pleasant seaside daiquiris, pina coladas, and pain killers had something to do with it. In any case, I managed to shed all the extra weight this week with some vigorous early morning workouts, and as of this morning was at my fighting weight of 160.

Earlier this week the NY Times published a piece by Gretchen Reynolds on the positive effects of exercise on the brain. http://tiny.cc/deokh Studies with rats show the exercising rats with much superior brain functioning (“little rat geniuses”), and the apparent interaction of BMP and Noggin leading to increased production of neurons. I can believe it. When I first began regular exercise in my college years, I viewed it as primarily benefitting the cardiovascular system, but especially in recent times, I find that I feel duller if I can’t find time for a workout.

We’ve had a record-setting heat wave this week. This Saturday morning, I was hoping to get an outdoor swim at Lifetime Fitness, but unfortunately the outdoor lanes were all taken when I got there at 6:40. I made do with the indoor pool for 60 laps, then 15 minutes of yoga in the sauna, then 5 minutes in the steam room (whew!). Then I headed over to Lake Jordan to drive my sports car on some backwoods roads.

I ended up at the end of a gravel road off US 64 at a down-on-its-luck golf range with a old barn on one side. There was no one there when I showed up, but a guy emerged from a small adjacent house and got me a bucket of golf balls. He couldn’t take a credit card, and couldn’t break a $20, but he agreed to let me have a $9 bucket for all the smaller bills I had ($7). Then he drove off, and left me alone to practice. The grass was very long, and so I was effectively working on shots from the rough. A good thing to practice, though not so fun. I got sweaty and tired, and was happy to get to the bottom of the bucket and see the last ball fly away.

Leave a comment

May 30, 2010

A beach trip, with a note on failure

For Memorial Day, we took Clara on her first road trip out to Jane and Keith’s beach place. I enjoyed the drive. We came over the bridge towards Nags Head just as the sun was setting. The Outer Banks are not Monte Carlo. It’s not about glamor. But the area can induce serenity and happiness. Traffic on the island moved slowly, and we sampled the local radio stations — a fundamentalist preacher, 80s rock, country, and my favorite, hip hop. It was good at last to see Corolla again.

Keith is a grill chef extraordinaire, and for our benefit volunteered to go all vegetarian for the weekend. Having recently mastered gluten-free cooking, he seemed to appreciate the challenge, like a high jumper who wants to go higher. He made waffles with fruit and honey whip cream for breakfast. Delicious! A tomato cucumber soup with hot cheese pie for lunch. Scrumptious! Stuffed peppers and corn flan. Extraordinary! He tried a rich chocolate torte, which he judged too dry and threw out. The second effort was a great success.

We went to the beach in the afternoon, Sally donned a wet suit and swam with my niece Kylie and nephew David. I piloted a kite for a bit before it crashed, and I reread a bit of Endurance, by Alfred Lansing, the incredible story of Ernest Shackleton’s 1914 expedition to cross Antarctica, which was a failure in terms of its original mission, but a success in terms of its plan B — survival. It’s nice to a frigid, desperate story and a sunny beach.

David, 10, is mad for lacrosse, and insisted while we were on the beach I learn something about it. He let me use the shorter stick. Under his intense coaching, I managed to make some catches and throws, and was pleased. I also missed some catches and made some bad throws, which was less fun. But I persisted for a while, even with little expectation of ever being any good, partly to humor David, and partly to continue road testing my theory of failure.

It’s this: greater acceptance of failure increases the possibilities for happiness. Part of the reason is that we learn from failure. In any new endeavor, we start out incompetent, so we make mistakes, and if we persist we gradually work out how to make fewer mistakes. Every significant accomplishment (apart from the occasional stroke of pure luck) is the result of many failures.

But there’s a broader reason for greater tolerance for failure. Clearly, failure does not always lead to success. Most of the things we could try will not turn out well, because no one can be good at everything. But if we decline to accept our own failure, we narrow our range of experience. I might have missed lacrosse, or skiing, or Liszt. If we give ourselves permission to fail, we can try new things, and be happier.

Leave a comment

May 28, 2010

Clara, a car, goes to the track and does what she was born to do

My car, Clara, had her coming out event this week — a track day at Virginia International Raceway. After several weeks together, I knew she had many virtues — beauty, sophistication, and awesome power. Clara is the ultimate product of generations of German engineering genius a 2006 Porsche 911 S,in a particularly lovely color, lapis blue. Is this just a car? You could say so, and certainly, it serves as transportation. But viewing her that way seems overly crude. She’s a work of art.

But calling her art suggests stasis, and her nature is kinetic. She was bred for speed and agility. She is a sports car. It would be a waste to treat such a machine like any old car. Thus I felt a certain responsibility, as her new owner, to get her to the track and let her do what she was born to do. I was happy to sign up for the PCA event at VIR, near Danville, Va.

VIR is a world -class road course. 3.2 miles, 180 feet of elevation change, curves of every description, surrounded by forest and countryside . As a driver in the novice class, I was assigned an experienced teacher, Glenn Mead. There were a few rules about such matters as passing and emergencies. But no speed limit.

We did four half-hour all-out sessions. Like all drivers, Glen and I wore helmets, and we communicated via a wireless system. Soon Glenn found a few things he liked about my driving, and several that could stand improvement. At each of the turns, he was looking for the perfect turn. I hit a few, and he effusively praised these efforts. Others were not so great, and he made sure I knew it. The point of the perfect turn, I eventually realized, was to carry and keep as much speed as possible. Glenn encouraged greater and greater speed. It occurred to me that he was not only a good guy, but also a brave one.

After a few imperfect turns, I realized that there was an aspect of Clara that was frightening. I could not sense the limits of her power, and could not tell where I would lose control. At each turn, the margin of error was thin. And I didn’t really yet know Clara’s characteristics of balance and handling. At one point, Glenn reassured me. “This car is a ballerina,” he said. “She’ll do what you tell her to do.”

She was, and she did. We had a few squeals and skids, but we worked on technique. It got better and better. I got a big dose of adrenaline, and also the aesthetic pleasure of some beautifully shaped turns. Clara did what she was born to do.

Leave a comment

May 15, 2010

Soccer news — a non-fan’s notes

Last night Sally and I went out to see some professional soccer by our local team, the Raleigh Railhawks, who opposed the Tampa Bay Rowdies. We had excellent seats (second row, midfield), and could see how young the players were, how skilled, and also how rough.

For me, the point was some refreshment after an intense work week. In my days at the New Yorker, one of my friends who worked as a proofreader described going to the City Ballet after a hard day of catching tiny printing mistakes as a cool drink for the eyes. My work also involves close focus on details and constant decision making. I get that sort of release from ballet, and also from a close-up, live view of professional athletes. Minor league baseball by our local Bulls and Mudcats usually has this refreshing effect, too. TV sports doesn’t work the same for me.

Jocelyn was home from Colorado for a visit this week, and we all went out Thursday for some Thai food at Sawasdee. When the conversation turned to sports, I asked Jocelyn what she thought was important about big time college sports, including those at her alma mater, NC State. For her, sports and especially football were a fantastic part of the college experience. She loved tailgating, loved the drama of a come-from-behind victory. She enjoyed being part of moments when people united in support of a single cause. And for her, the Wolfpack was definitely special.

I’ve never been a deeply committed fan of a sports team, so I thought this was both sweet and interestingly strange. For me, being a part of a sports crowd involves occasional moments of transcendence, so I know generally what Jocelyn meant. But being in a crowd also usually involves stretches of wishing the people around me were better behaved. I don’t get heckling, trying to distract players, or yelling when nothing particularly exciting is happening. I always choose a team to pull for, but the choice seems basically arbitrary. It’s hard for me to believe that one team is really more virtuous than another.

So, I was excited when the Railhawks scored the first goal, glad when the goalie made a diving save, and outraged when the referee missed a flagrant foul. I was also annoyed at a young fellow who incessantly heckled the opposing coach. I was anxious when the Rowdies tied it up late in the game, and disappointed when we lost, 2-1. Then we went home, and I read for a while, and was moved by some poetry of Wallace Stevens.

1 Comment

February 14, 2010

Olympic Victory and Luck

Sally and I went to an early Valentine’s day party at David and Kelly Beatty’s last night. It was our first visit to their North Raleigh place, which was not as far out as we expected, and sits on the edge of an old deep forest. The house is spacious and beautiful in the transitional style, and Kelly has used color and form to make it lively and personal. She also made a great lemon vodka martini and fantastic hors d’oeuvres. It was good talking with Kelly and David, and meeting a few of their friends. Because my car lease end date is in sight, I had some car questions for David, who proved, as always, a font of knowledge. Kelly said little Reid was resistant to bedtime without parental attention, and so we headed out.

The winter olympics, which we enjoy, got started this week, so after the party we picked up some food from Royal India and came back to watch. The commercials were ridiculously frequent and dumb. But the competitions drew us in to some intense drama. For years now, Sally has had a lively interest in speed-skater Apolo Anton Ohno. Though I also find him interesting, she seems to have a different kind of absorption. (I’ve noted this same absorption as to Brad Pitt.) It so happened that Ohno was featured as the American hope in the short track speed skating 1500 meter semi-finals and finals. The network showed a short documentary about him, emphasizing his extraordinary work ethic — four two-hour workouts per day. He said, at one point, that at the end of every day he asks himself whether he’s done everything he can to be his best. I was impressed.

In the 1500-meter race final, he quickly passed five or so competitors to claim the lead. In the last three laps, though, the lead changed repeatedly, with passing maneuvers that looked impossible. In the last lap, three South Koreans went to the front, and Ohno was in fourth place coming into the last turn. Then one of the Koreans lost his edge and went over, taking one of his countrymen with him. Ohno took second place, rather than nothing.

At the party I told David about The Drunkard’s Walk: How Randomness Rules Our Lives, which I also posted about yesterday. The Ohno race illustrates it nicely. His years of effort put him in position to compete for another olympic medal. But the South Koreans were stronger. There was nothing he could do to stop them. They were unfortunate in falling at the final turn, and he was fortunate. That’s a typical success story: hard work plus amazing luck.

Leave a comment

Category: sports