Regarding Marty

I was on the sideline that day at the Bingham Cup in June 2006.  In fact I had just returned to the sidelines after having been removed by a teammate a few minutes earlier for getting a little too chippy with the opposition players and supporters.  The game had been back and forth with each team holding slim leads for short intervals.  My boys were losing by two in the final minutes to a team we had beaten handily just a few months before.  As the game went into stoppage time my club put on a furious attack, one that gained a few meters at a time but which constantly threatened to be stopped by a penalty, or a lost ruck, or any other number of things.  There was desperation in the air on both sides as the next whistle would certainly be the end of the game.

What happened next is far and away the greatest moment I’ve ever been a part of as an athlete.  With our attack stalled just shy of the half way line our scrum half Marty stood back from the ruck and called for another player, any other player to throw him the ball.  Somehow one of our flankers was able to toss the ball out Marty who stood approximately fifty-five meters out from the posts.  In one fluid motion Marty caught the pass and drop kicked the ball, it seemed, directly into the sun. 

Two years later I was on the sideline again.  I had missed most of the tournament due to my brother’s high school graduation, a ceremony I wasn’t going to miss as it was a bit of a miracle itself.  Still, I had managed to play in parts of two games that day.  Our boys had lost to our rivals from New York in the quarterfinals.  It was a bitter defeat.  As we watched the final Marty, our little Irish fireplug who’d be showing us around Dublin later that night, remarked, “Y’know Berto, I don't know if I can keep doin' this.  Every year we get close, but we never get over the hump like. I’m tired of just showin' up and playin' well.  I want to win the damn thing and I just don't know if we can do it.”

Another two years go by, it's 2010 and I’m no longer a player.  Instead I’m back at Bingham as a referee.  It’s different, but I’m thrilled to be involved.  The top four teams roll through pool play leaving no doubt who the class of the tournament are.  The quarterfinals are also unsurprising as all four of the top seeds advance.  Then, in the semis, Marty and the boys are set to face their old rivals from New York.  Again, even though our boys had beaten them easily earlier in the year, New York, as they do every two years, is putting up a tremendous fight.  Some time in the last five minutes Marty gets his bell rung and is forced to come off the field to have bleeding controlled.  At this point his team, our team, is down by seven.  Again they mount a furious charge and with no time left they punch one across dead center between the posts. 

As I come back to the referee’s tent after my match another ref, also a former teammate tells me, “The Renegades are about to go to overtime against Gotham.”  The implication is that the conversion is a given.  It’s directly in front of the posts and Marty is coming back on to take the kick.  It’s a done deal.  Marty is one of the most accurate and strong legged kickers I’ve ever seen on a pitch at any level.  Hell, his nick-name is “Miracle Marty,” so named for how many games he’s won the club with his boot.  I figure I have plenty of time to report my score then go over and quietly, perhaps from a distance, watch the end of the match.

I remember Scott Norwood.  If the name doesn’t ring a bell he’s the kicker for the Buffalo Bills who missed a game winning field goal in the Super Bowl.  The Bills went to four consecutive Super Bowls in the early 1990s, an NFL record, and didn’t win any of them. The closest they came was a forty-seven yard field goal attempt with eight seconds left that went wide right.  The kicker, Scott Norwood is usually associated with only that one kick.  It was part of the plots of the films “Ace Ventura” and “Buffalo 66.”  People blame Scott Norwood.  I feel for him.  I’ve done some kicking in my career.  I would describe my kicking ability as serviceable, sometimes even useful, but I was never great.  I was never Marty, or Scott Norwood.  At the time Norwood lined up for his kick against the Giants in January of 1991 he was the Buffalo Bills all time leading scorer, the next year he would kick the winning field goal in the AFC title game to send Buffalo back to the Super Bowl, but most people don’t remember that.  Most people remember “wide right.”  It’s not fair.  As a kicker I know what it’s like to line up a ball, set your self, approach and strike.  A lot of the time you know as you hit it if it has a chance.  As a kicker I have a particular empathy for the job and the people who do it.  Often disregarded as not being real players, kickers are thought to be nearly interchangeable, until you really need one.  One problem with kicking is that until you miss an important one people don’t really notice you. And because they don’t notice they don’t understand what goes into it, how any one of million different things can go wrong.  A slightly misplaced plant foot, a small difference in your strike point, a sudden gust of wind, tall grass that tilts the tee, ground that’s softer than it seems, any of a million things that can go wrong.  Certainly getting hit in the head and leaving the field for blood can have an effect on a kicker.

I didn’t see Marty’s kick.  I didn’t think I had to.  I was going to report my scores and then go quietly, and perhaps from a distance, watch the rest of the match.  When I got near the fields I heard what had happened.  Marty had missed.  The boys had lost to their rivals 15-13, just two points from a tie.  Not just a tie, but a tie with momentum!  A tie where they had just shown that they could win!  But it wasn’t a tie.  They couldn’t win.  Marty’s kick had sailed wide.  By the time I found him the game had only been over for a few minutes. His eyes were red and swollen.  I embraced him and held him for a good long time.  “Berto,” he said to me, “I fucked it up man.  I really fucked it up.  I cost us the chance and it was an easy one man.  How many times have you seen me make that kick Berto?  How many times?”  A million times.  I’ve seen him make that kick in just about every game I’ve seen him play.  I tried to remind him that even making that kick didn’t promise anything but another few minutes, that the other team could have taken the next kickoff back for a score, that ultimately it didn’t matter.  I knew it rang hollow.  What can you say to ease the pain of player who’s just missed the biggest kick of his life?  What did they say to Scott Norwood?  “You see Berto man, Becky and I are gonna be wantin' to start a family now. Y’see, I know this is my last Bingham Cup.  I wanted to win it.  I wanted my chance and I had it, and I fucked it up.”  All I could think to say was, "I love you Marty, don’t dwell on it, this doesn’t define you," and then go out and make sure we drank safely that night.

Back in 2006 the fields on Randall’s Island in New York are more dirt and needles than grass.  Throughout the three days of the tournament the British and European teams were incredulous about the condition of the fields they were being forced to play on.  The field for this game was especially sparse on vegetation and the dust clouds lingered in the air as strong men fell violently to the ground.  It was though this haze, staring into the setting sun that we watched Marty’s kick sail through air.  It too seemed to hang forever as if gravity was aware of the moment and wanted us to savor it.  I remember following the path of the ball, losing sight of it in the glare and haze, then finding it again just as it descended over the crossbar.  For a moment everything was still.  When the referee’s whistle split the air between what was inevitable and what was possible I remember thinking “Please let it be over.  Please don’t let there be another kickoff.”  The first whistle meant the kick was good, the second meant the game was over.  We had won.  The New York fans ignorant and arrogant began to cheer and rush the field clanging they’re infernal cow bells.  One of them ran up to me and screamed “Yeah! Yeah! How do you like that?”  “I like it just fine.” I replied, “We just won.”  As our sideline rushed out to pay tribute to the fifteen lads on the field the reality set in for the home side supporters.  They had just been beaten by a fantastic play, a 55 meter drop goal with no time left.  We ended up third out of twenty-nine teams.  It was the club’s highest finish in three appearances in the Bingham Cup.  The legend of “Miracle Marty” was now firmly established, and nothing could ever take it away.

Don't Phase Me Bro

 I think my views on use of force by law enforcement would surprise a lot of people.  Contrary to what some people may assume I’m pretty supportive of it in many situations.  My basic view is this, if you don’t want get tased, beat up, or killed just do whatever the cops tell you to do.  Even better, don’t get in a position where the cops are telling you to do something.  I say this as someone who’s had run ins with law enforcement.  I’ve had guns drawn on me, been in lock up, hidden from the police, been beat up by cops over a misunderstanding, been stopped for “fitting a description,” etc.  My experiences, cases that have come to my attention, and conversations and training with law enforcement have shaped my view on use of force.  It seems like the person getting hammered on is almost always in a position to avoid it if they could just keep their heads.  Also, public perception is skewed way out of line (often from watching too much fiction) from what I understand to be police training.  I bring this up now because this idiot who ran on the field at a baseball game and got tased provided a nice counter point to this guy who got tased when just about anything else could have worked instead.

First let me briefly relay my own experiences with law enforcement: 

When I was thirteen some friends and I were playing hide-and-seek (manhunt) in a neighborhood at night.  Naturally someone thought we were burglars and called the cops.  The cops showed up with guns drawn.  We avoided being killed by complying with their directions and everything got sorted out.  I was scary but OK.

When I was sixteen I was walking down the street one evening when two squad cars drove the wrong way down a one way street because I looked “just like someone who escaped from prison a few hours” before.  I sat on the curb for a while, they cleared it up, and I was on my way.

When I was seventeen I was stopped for skateboarding on UC Berkeley property.  The “cop” asked us about some graffiti nearby but couldn’t pin it on us.  He then asked for ID.  When I turned around to go to my backpack where my ID was he assumed I was running and proceeded to call four other guys to come help beat the crap out of me since with him being 6’2” and all muscled he clearly couldn’t handle my 5’10 120lb frame all by himself.  I’m still pissed about it but time and maturity have taught me that if I’d said, “Sure officer, it’s in my bag right over there. Can I go get it?” then none of that would probably have happened.  But I was young and trying to do what I was told, I just didn’t understand what it is that cops look for and more importantly, what they fear.

Cops are often constantly on high alert.  How many times does a routine traffic stop turn into a shoot out?  OK well, not very often but often enough that it has to be in the back of your mind every time you pull someone over.  How often do people run from the police?  Pretty often.  Certainly enough that it’s probably annoying and you feel like beating someone up over it.  The point is, understanding what cops are thinking and what they go through and what they’re looking for can help you avoid getting beat up. 

But where do you start?  It’s pretty simple.  The first thing to remember is it doesn’t matter if you’re “right.”  If you are right you will likely be vindicated in the end.  However, you are not going to get a chance to show that you’re right unless you first do whatever the cop is telling you to do.  Once the officer sees that you are compliant and not a threat they are less likely to beat the crap out of you and more likely to listen.  People more worried about being right than not getting tased have gotten themselves in more trouble than we can ever know.  In my experience if you get through the first few minutes of doing what the cop says and being respectful they can actually be pretty reasonable.  If you start off with how you know your rights and you didn’t do anything and fuck them then you’re probably going to jail or getting smacked around whether or not you actually deserve it.

This is not to say that cops don’t need to dial it down and learn to better assess a situation.  Clearly some cops are out of control and out to do harm for whatever fucked up reason.  The guy who shot a defenseless young man on a BART platform is an example of cops who go too far with little provocation.  A few years ago there was a case where the police, responding to a domestic disturbance, killed a deaf man in his own driveway because he was holding a rake and he did not understand their command to lay it down.  Soon after another deaf man was severely beaten by police in a parking garage because police attributed his “aggressive” gesturing and “babbling” to being on drugs.  Police officers need to be accountable for being able to read and react appropriately to different situations.  We can help them.  If we can stay calm and show that we’re not a threat it allows the officer time to assess without pressure.

Of course not everyone has the chances I’ve had to go to their trainings and discuss these things with law enforcement.  I do think a little common sense and empathy can help.  For example, do you perform better or worse at your job if someone is angry and contradicting you and being derisive just because you wanted to talk to them?  Does anyone you work with have a chance of killing you?  Would this add to your stress level? There have been a few high profile cases coupled with my own experiences that have shown me that the public in general just doesn’t understand police training.  One case that exemplifies this is the Rosebud shooting in Berkeley several years ago.  People I talked to were outraged that a woman who broke into the UCB Chancellor’s home with a knife, who then rushed at police with the knife, was killed.  Many people at the time expressed to me that “They should have shot her in the leg or something.”  This shows a basic lack of understanding borne of too much TV and to little knowledge of firearms.  In my dealings with law enforcement I’ve learned that cops are taught to avoid firing their weapons if at all possible but if they feel they have to fire to empty their weapon and shoot to kill.  Think about it, it’s hard enough to come to a decision to shoot someone (something I think many of us assume is taken lightly by police officers) but if you are in a situation where you feel like your life is in danger, your scared, stressed, and you have to make a quick decision are you also going to have the time and concentration to “just shoot them in the leg or something?”  No.  There is no nonchalance when it comes to firing a weapon.  If there were people would be getting shot in the leg a lot more often.  If you have to shoot someone you shoot to kill. There is no other option, there is no other reason.  You shoot because you believe if you do not shoot someone else may die.  Isn’t that how we want it?  Don’t we want shooting to be the last resort?  Don’t we want guns to only be used in life or death situations?  Isn’t anything else just a slippery slope towards shooting jaywalkers in the leg?  Besides there’s a simple way to avoid being shot by the police.  Don’t break into anywhere and don’t rush at them with a knife. If you can do those two things your chances of being shot fall dramatically.  But there’s a solution for you “shoot ‘em in the leg” types, a middle ground. It’s called the Taser. 

The Taser allows an officer to subdue a suspect from a distance in a non-lethal but effective manner.  There is clearly a time and place for a Taser to be used.  For example, if you are a moron who wants to run onto a baseball diamond during a game you should expect to be tased.  If you are somewhat peacefully speaking into a microphone at a meeting on your college campus you should not expect to be tased.  What’s the difference?  In some ways it’s a matter of time, proximity, and probability.  For the famous “Don’t tase me bro” guy the cops had plenty of time to assess the threat, plenty of bodies to physically take the offender away, they were close enough to subdue him by hand, he did not appear to be any sort of threat, and he wasn’t trying to flee.  He also had some reasonable reason for being where he was.  In other words the Taser use here was completely out of line.  Now look at the other guy.  Here’s a dumbass running around attempting to elude capture, delaying the game, with no reasonable cause to be where he was, in a context where fans have assaulted players, coaches, and umpires in recent years.  Also, I think it’s reasonable to have a strong deterrent to people doing something like jumping on a baseball field as opposed to having a strong deterrent to people peacefully expressing an opinion.  Expressing an opinion is a right, criminal trespass is not.  Again, it’s easy to avoid being tased at a baseball game, stay in your seat.  I applaud the moron’s parents for basically siding with the police on this one.  Conversely one should be able to assume that they can speak in an open public forum without being electrocuted. 

So what’s the take away?  It’s this, cops are people too.  They are people who work in a dangerous and high stress job for too little pay.  Yes, some of them are complete assholes.  A smaller number are dangerous bordering on psychotic.  Most of them can be completely reasonable and even helpful if you give them a chance and put them at ease.  The citizen bears some responsibility in how cops react to them.  It may suck to have to swallow your pride, forget that you’re “right,” and submit for a short period of time but it can be worth it.  If you are able to do what it takes to set a cop at ease you may even be able to have a conversation and help change their perspective a little bit.  I know it sucks to think, “I shouldn’t have to kowtow to these assholes just to avoid getting shot.” but that’s the reality.  Would you rather be right, or dead?  If you live you can always be right later on.  You can sue someone or write angry letters, or try to get a cop fired or whatever recourse is available after the fact.  But remember, even if it’s annoying, even if you’re sure you’re the subject of discrimination, if you  keep your cool initially you can get what you want when interacting with police officers. There’s no other viable path.  If you run, fight, or just act like an ass you will lose that interaction in that moment. You just have to remember that most of them are just honest people trying to do an honest job.  If you ignore that and then you get tased, you have to look at your own culpability.

Wherever You Go, There You Are

LA isn’t fake. It’s not. Really. I mean it. I’m pretty sick of the whole So-Cal/Nor-Cal rivalry. To start with, I don’t really see the point. Beyond that the complaint I hear most up here in the wild hippie north is that people in LA are “fake.” Well, they’re not any more fake than people anywhere else. It’s kind of like “bad drivers” and traffic, people everywhere are bad drivers and traffic sucks anywhere you have an actual population of people who are, by definition, bad drivers.

I lived in LA and I’ll let you in on a little secret, there are “real” people there. There are, but there’s a trick to finding them. Now I’ll preface this by saying it’s a gross generalization, and I’m sure there’s good people in the industry, but this is good rule of thumb: If you want to avoid “fake” people don’t try to get into “the scene.” I think that’s the big mistake people make when they go to LA. No matter what they’re there for too many people go to LA and try to go to the cool clubs, meet stars, and try to live the life they see on “Entourage.” That is your ticket to fake. Here’s the truth, famous people have to be wary of you, and everyone like you sees you as competition. This doesn’t mean you can’t make real friends but if you’re trying to break in to the inner circle of LA cool and you’re a normal schlub with no connections you’re going to have a very frustrating time. It’s tough at the other end of the scale too. If you’re famous for some reason you’re going to have a lot of people trying to glom on which leads to dealing with a lot of “fake.”

Here’s the key to enjoying LA as a Nor-Cal, don’t give a crap. If you go to LA and don’t give a thought to trying to be something you are not you can have a great time. LA has museums and dive bars and theater and everything else you think you love about the bay area. If you want to have a good time in LA don’t try to figure out where Vinnie Chase hangs out, find out where his gardener hangs out. Don’t stand in line for some place with a $40 cover, find the place that has no doorman and no buzz but is crowded anyway. Make friends with people before finding out what they do or who they know. Basically, keep doing the things you did and being the person you were before you got to LA and you’ll have a great time. Because the real reason so many people are disappointed or unhappy with So-Cal is because they’re being fake. They go down there expecting to become something other than what they were before they arrived. Basically a lot of people get frustrated because their fake persona isn’t fooling anyone else either.

Of course Nor-Cal has its share of fake people too. The difference is that here you’re more likely to encounter fakeness in your everyday life and not even know it. Seriously, people act all kumbaya like they love everyone and are all about peace but a lot of the time it’s a front. Most hippies are out for themselves just like everyone else. Even worse, they’re usually more intolerant of opposing viewpoints than Tea Baggers and right wing whackos. Have you ever seen an indignant hippy? Let me give you an example, one year my wife asked my brother-in-law why he didn’t want to wrap his Christmas presents, because she thought is would be nice, he stormed out ranting that he clearly cares more about the environment that she does. Y’know, because not using wrapping paper that’s already been through several Christmases is going to save the world, it’s not because he’s a lazy hippy. The people ranting about the immigration law in Arizona are often the same people who don’t want to send home school information in Spanish or provide interpreters for PTA meetings. Because the fact is that intolerant tree huggers are still intolerant. At least in LA fake people who don’t think you can get them ahead have the decency to treat you like crap or ignore you to your face. Here in the “genuine” north it’s more likely that they’ll just pretend to be interested in you and then avoid your calls.

In a way I think I like the LA fakeness better than the San Fran fakeness. I’d rather be able to gauge people based on what they think of my clothes or my sunglasses than whether I only use locally farmed toilet paper. I’d rather be judged for my car being too cheap than for not being electric enough. The scenesters in SF are far more annoying than the ones in LA because the ones in SF act like they’re a part of something so real and so important and so different that no one else could ever possibly understand how real it is. The ones in LA are far more honest about their existence. I had a great time in LA because I never tried to get “in.” I loved LA because I ran into so many interesting people who were either on top, or on their way up, or on their way down, or who weren’t going anywhere ever. I had a great time going to weird places and meeting real people. LA, in my experience, is way more real than SF. I’d rather hang out in LA than in SF. I’d rather drive in LA than in SF. Of course I’d rather be in Berkeley than anywhere else but that goes without saying; even with all the fake kumbies running around.

Today’s point: There’s fake people everywhere. Fake southern hospitality. Fake Capitol Hill freaks. Fake mid-western modesty. Fake Wall Street D-bags. Fake ivory tower academics. The key to enjoying wherever you are is to stop trying to get “in.” If being “in” is who you are or what you’re working towards then you should know from the jump that you’re going to have to deal with some kind of fake so don’t be surprised, throw on your mask and have fun.

Who's it For?

I have a new hobby. More on this in a minute.

Isn’t the internet great? It’s great. It is probably the greatest media invention ever. Well, maybe not. It’s more like mortar. I mean bricks were a great invention. They were better than building with rocks, but they didn’t become way better than rocks until the invention of mortar. Hell, mortar was such a great invention it even made rocks better for people who couldn’t afford bricks. The internet is the mortar of media. It takes all the other bits we use to build our understanding of the world and not only connects them and holds them together, but forges them into a stronger cohesive whole. Damn I love the internet.

Which brings me to my new hobby; as soon as I finish watching a movie I head to the computer and look it up a wikipedia to learn more about it. I was looking up “The Hurt Locker” recently and the thing that stood out for me was the section detailing Iraq War veterans’ impressions of the film. Unsurprisingly they basically panned it. They also seemed to feel it was the best movie about the war to date. So there it is, it’s unrealistic to the point of being absurd, but it’s also the best one yet. What struck me about this perspective is how familiar it felt. It’s the exact same sentiment the rugby community had about “Invictus.” It’s roughly the same reaction people from Berkeley have towards NBC’s “Parenthood.”

This is when I had this month’s “aha” moment. These works aren’t made for “us” they are made for “them.” Who the “us” and “them” are depends on what who we are and what we do. Confused? I didn’t think so. For “The Hurt Locker” “us” is Iraq war veterans and embedded journalists. For “Invictus” “us” is the rugby community and South Africans. For “Parenthood” “us” is people from Berkeley. See where I’m going? It thought you would. The thing is, making movies and TV shows that resonate with the demographic depicted is almost impossible. The people who are the real people who are being fictionalized and depicted in popular media are too close to the subject matter to ever really be satisfied.

Even “reality” can leave a bad taste in the mouths of the “us.” In 1994 PBS spent a year at my high school filming a documentary about race relations called “School Colors.” Whiff. It was terrible. The filmmakers clearly had an agenda and ignored anything that didn’t fit the narrative they wanted before they arrived. The documentary depicted Berkeley High as completely racially segregated in every way resulting in a powder keg of race related tension and violence. I don’t know anyone who attended BHS at that time who had the experience depicted in “School Colors.” Yet everything in the film actually happened so I guess in a way it was real. It just wasn’t real enough for “us.” (For a much more resonant depiction of BHS in the mid-1990s check out “Yellow Jackets” by Itamar Moses.)

Here’s the truth that the “us” has to embrace, if these works were made with an eye towards resonating with “us” they wouldn’t appeal to “them” or anyone else. And there’s a lot more of “them” than there are of “us.” Media made for “us” is so specific and has so much potential to get caught up in little details while making assumptions about shared knowledge that the vast “them” would feel lost and left out. Besides, the “us” is already in. We’re already invested. We get it. The goal of the creators isn’t to draw us in, it’s to draw everyone else in. The goal is to provide a glimpse of our world to the masses. In doing so it’s going to change, sometimes to the point of seeming foreign to “us.” But if “Invictus” got a few people interested in rugby, or social justice then the film will have accomplished the goals of both the filmmakers and the rugby community. If “The Hurt Locker” helps people understand the stress and chaos of war then it’s served its purpose. Even “School Colors” was right in that Berkeley is not the race relations nirvana people dreamed it would become back in the 1960s. The point is that the “us” need to be satisfied with the details. The Bravermans from “Parenthood” are A’s fans, it’s a nice touch. The show is still pretty detached from the Berkeley I know, but they have drinks from Peet’s so I tolerate the inaccuracies. I think that’s the most we can hope for in service of the greater goal of bringing our passions exposure to a wider audience. So maybe it’s time for “us” to take a new tack and appreciate these works for what they are and what they bring to “them.”

Talkin A's Baseball 2010 Opening Day Edition

Concept and original lyrics by Terry Cashman, 2010 lyrics by Berto
(Need help with the tune? The song was featured in the video accompanying this post.)

The Mac Men were dominant
when derby hats were prominent
legends filled Athletic uniforms

Homerun Baker and The Chief
Double X brought pitchers grief
They broke up the A's and thenthe darkest days were born

I'm talkin baseball
Simmons, Grove, and Dykes
A's baseball
Pete Sutter and Black Mike
Ferris Fein and Chance both had their day
Then a stop in Kansas City along the way
I'm talking baseball
baseball and the A's

They were scrappers, they were tusslers
And Finley was a hustler
Three series in a row for Charlie O

A perfect game by the 'Cat
Reggie Jackson at the bat
Williams and Dark just came to the park and let 'em go

I'm talking baseball
Sal Bando, Vida Blue
A's baseball
Campy, Gene, Alou

Rick Monday and Rudy had their say
Darrell Knowles and Rolly saved the day
I'm talking baseball
baseball and the A's

Hey when you're talkin Oakland baseball
there's Rickey and Billy the Kid
Eckersley, and Welch and Dave
Tim Hudson he was once the rave
Those brothers bashed it over the wall
Now we're playing moneyball

2006 was another year
the Athletics had their game in gear
streaking towards the classic in the fall

Mark and Crosby both were gone
but Scutaro carried on.
The Big Hurt was on fire and we had Loieza so we played ball

I'm talkin baseball
Nick Chavez and Street
Oakland baseball
Dan and Zito brought the heat.
Kendell, Joe, and Bradley and Kotsay
There's DeAngelo, The Duke, and Rich and Jay
Talkin baseball
baseball and the A's

Well twenty ten is finally here
Forget about the last three years
The team is young since Taylor got the call

Ben Sheets is on the mound
There's new grass on the ground
Cust got the boot but we still got the Duke so let's play ball

I'm talkin baseball
Barton, Zuke, and Cliff
Oakland baseball
Mark Ellis is no stiff
Davis and Coco run all day
Ziggy's underhanded but OK
Talking baseball
Baseball and the A's

Happy Opening Day!

The Puppy Phase

Ruff!

I can’t believe I haven’t read about this somewhere else.  I mean really, with all the parenting stuff out in the world I can’t believe no one has mentioned the “Puppy Phase.”  Perhaps I am the first to have the perfect storm of Chihuahuas and child under one roof but it’s so clear to me I can’t believe it’s not already a thing.

Sorry, what the hell am I talking about?  I’m talking about the never ending need to dissect every phase of a baby’s development and give it a cute name.  I seem to remember that when my brother was a baby he was a “baby,” then a “toddler, “ then a “kid.”  The third phase lasted until he was a “teenager.”  Nice, simple, four steps to adulthood.  Not anymore.  It seems my son has been a “newborn”, an “infant”, a “pre-crawler”, a “crawler”, and a “cruiser.”  Soon he will be a "waddler," then a "toddler.”  I’m sure I’m missing some intermediate labels from that list.  Still, there’s seven stages before he can eat with utensils.  It’s madness.  And, as one who sees madness and endeavors to heighten it to a truly absurd levels I am now identifying, codifying, and proposing a new developmental stage, the “Puppy Phase,” which slots between “crawler” and “cruiser.”

As you may be able to guess the Puppy Phase is based on a child’s similarity, at this phase, to a dog.  During the puppy phase the child exhibits many dog-like qualities.  For example, many babies this age do not have the lip dexterity to smooch the way most humans are used to.  Instead they show affection with a type of open mouthed slobbering, much like being licked by a small St. Bernard.  This, along with babies tendency to chew everything they see, is probably the least noticeable aspect of the puppy phase, which is largely centered around mobility.

When my son learned to crawl it was a joyous occasion for all of us.  For him he was now relieved of the frustration he had found when he learned to throw his toys weeks earlier than he was able to retrieve them.  For me it meant we could now play fetch, which was way more fun than playing sit still.  Usually fetch involved my son or I throwing a ball or other toy and my son crawling off to fetch it and then either throw it again himself or bring it back to me; in his mouth.  The puppy phase started to show when he decided he wanted go visit his mother in the dining room, clamped a small novelty Frisbee between his teeth and headed off. 

Children this age also display other mobility related puppy behaviors.  For example a pre-lingual child in the puppy phase will careen off towards the door emitting shrieks whenever he hears the mail slot open or the lock turn.  The child will sit dutifully at the feet of anyone who seems to be eating.  If they are not fed (or if they just want attention) they will then raise up on their hind legs (like a little Rory Calhoun) and emote until they are fed, pet, or cuddled.

Other behaviors associated with the puppy phase include following you around the house, the afore mentioned desire to chew everything, and the need to curb occasional biting.  The puppy phase generally lasts a few weeks, can overlap with the “cruising” phase, and ends when the child starts standing or walking.

GRRRRRRRR!!!!

Your Mom Has Taken Over My Life

Photo by Tenysa Santiago

Sorry. That should read "Your Mom" has taken over my life. "What's that Sir Rantalot? What do you mean?"

Well as you may have heard (but probably not, I do have illusions about my reach in the world) I'm getting my fifteen minutes of fame. Back in July I decided to poke fun at a coworker by making up some "Yo momma" jokes. Specifically jokes that started with, "Your mom is so Berkeley..." We thought it was all pretty funny so I posted some of the good ones as a note on my facebook page. In the note I encouraged my friends to add their own "Your mom is so Berkeley" jokes.

After a while, as the note was shared around, I created a facebook group so we could reach a wider group of people. I figured this would be something we'd giggle about for a week or so and then it would fade away. But a funny thing happened. People I didn't even know started joining the group and posting jokes. When the group got to 50 members I was astounded. When it got to 300 members I sent out a message to the members thanking them for making the group "the most successful thing I've ever done on the internet." After that I didn't look at it for a long time because I figured that was that.

Then we got mentioned on what I thought of as "some guy's blog." It turns out it was on Berkeleyside which is a Berkeley news blog founded by some pretty serious journalists. This marked the first time someone mentioned a potential book from the material on the group. Since I didn't know who Berkeleyside was at the time I thanked them, posted a link on the group and again pretty much forgot about it. I checked in now and then to read the new posts, a couple more people suggested a book, but I really didn't think much of it.

Until about three weeks ago. That's when I went back to check it out and found that we had over 950 members. I watched it like a hawk for the next few days waiting for it to hit 1,000. When we hit that nice round number I sent out another facebook message thanking the members for their contributions. That message led to our second appearance on Berkeleyide.

What I said in the 1,000 members message is true. I really do see the concept as a way of honoring my mom through humor and community connection. I can't believe something I thought of as a way to kill time at work has touched so many people. There's something there that helps us Berkeley kids see our common bonds after growing up looking at the rest of the country and feeling like freaks.

Anyway, two Fridays back I received a facebook message from a reporter for the New York Times asking if I wouldn't mind being interviewed about the group. Sure, why not? The article came out in the Bay Area section of the New York Times on Friday, March 18th, 2010. I have to say, it was a pretty cool thing to see. When the interview was done the reporter mentioned that a lot more people might see the group after the article was published. Just as before I thought, "Sure, how many people read the NYT online?" Well it turns out it's a lot. But the article didn't just show up there. It was in the print edition (which I didn't expect). The other thing I didn't know was that when something appears in the NYT online it gets picked up and re-posted in a million places. Well, around 2,640 places according to Google. But that's a lot and includes NPR. NPR! I started thinking, "Maybe this book idea isn't so crazy after all."

In the past week and a half since the article we've added 580 members. It's crazy. In order to keep up the momentum I've added a blog and a Twitter account. These two endevors have taken up a lot of time. Today I read a post by a group member who mentioned that he saw a teaser on our local NBC affiliate's eleven o'clock new cast about a story on the group. Today I waited for two hours before they rescheduled to Friday. So now I might be on TV. For this thing that started on facebook. It's crazy.

I've been Sir Rantalot for six years, pounding out opinions for a readership of roughly six people. Now, in nine months I'm getting fifteen minutes of minor local attention for something that took me six minutes to come up with. Maybe this is my "Java Jacket." The simple idea that starts without fanfare that turns into something bigger than the creator expected. I know I never expected this. But now with the blog going, and the group growing, I'm trying to get this book out there. If it comes to fruition I'll be pretty stoked. I guess you never know what will come of your ideas.