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Sneakers, September, and Springsteen
by John Funaro
Before every young basketball player wanted to be like Mike, I wanted to be like Dan. Back in the '70's when Nike and Converse were the popular sneakers of choice for most basketball players around town, Danny Trant was the only one I could see who was wearing adidas. And if the best basketball player around was going to buck the popular trend, then so was I. To this day, adidas remains my sneaker of choice. And to this day, each time I pick up a new pair of adidas, images of Danny tearing up the court in those white sneakers with the three red stripes flood my mind.
September has always been one of those defining months of the calender year. It lets us know that the summer days are coming to an end and our vacationing days are over for awhile. September tells us that school is back in session and trips to the beach are long gone until next year. Whether it's you as a teenager or as a parent, early mornings bring with it the traffic of school buses and cooler temperatures. And at the risk of exposing myself as someone who has watched a "chick-flick" or two over the years, I can't help but feel similar to Tom Hanks' character in You've Got Mail when he says that still, as an adult, "the fall makes me want to go out and buy school supplies."
But over the last ten years, the month of September has come to mean a lot more than just the end of summer and the start of football season. Almost as if a starting horn sounds the moment every calender in America turns from August to September, so begins the 9/11 reminders and commemorative tributes, on television, in print, and in conversation.
September 11, 2001 will forever be a date of infamy for every American. But for the town of Westfield, every September 11th of every year is an especially sad day because of the losses of Danny, Tara Shea Creamer, and Brian Murphy. The words "We Will Never Forget" may at times ring a little hallow when read on a sign on television once a year, or on a faded bumper sticker of a car you see drive by on occasion. For the town of Westfield, though, Danny, Tara, and Brian's names and stories are heard and told about again and again, many times throughout the year, because each was simply a wonderful person. But also because Westfield is the kind of town that embodies how these three so passionately lived: with a lively spirit and with pride for family and community.
September is also the month when Westfield lacrosse players of yesterday and today get together for one last game of the extended summer season. That's when I know that before the colder and darker days of fall and winter make their way, one more game still needs to be played before I can officially consider summer to be over. One more game, between old friends and old teammates, where the tradition of Westfield lacrosse once again solidifies itself as second to none in western Massachusetts. Where guys can reconnect, to play, tell stories, and recount and certainly exaggerate past glory days of achievement.
Will Pierce, who will again be making the trip from his home in San Francisco, sums up the day:
"Players come from all over just to play one game one day in September. Nowhere else do you find that kind of loyalty or respect amongst players of all ages from one town. That's what keeps our Westfield lacrosse tradition alive."
When I make a much shorter drive to the alumni game, Bruce Springsteen will of course be blasting from my car stereo. That is certainly no surprise--listening to Springsteen before a game is as much a part of my mandatory pregame preparation as stretching, popping ibuprofen, and applying gobs of Icy Hot. But like that flip of the calender, Bruce's album The Rising is the album that I always listen to throughout the month of September, and will certainly on this day.
Written in the aftermath of 9/11, Bruce masterfully was able to take the overwhelming emotional complexity and hurt of the 9/11 events and transform it into a wonderful work of emotional and spiritual catharsis through his words and music. And amongst the themes of loss, faith, hope, heroism, and transformation, The Rising always returns to what is central and essential to the human spirit: the bond of community, friendship, and admiration amongst friends and family. From the continuance of individual friendship in "Further On Up The Road", to the connection to hometown roots in "My City's In Ruin", to the celebration of fun and laughter in "Mary's Place", Bruce manages always to offer up hope and strength through our personal and human connections to others, and to our community.
After our alumni game on September 17, and after our "Mary's Place" type party, the summer will officially then come to an close. The warm weather sport of lacrosse will end and all our sports-related focus will be on the New England Patriots. The tenth anniversary of 9/11 will be over with, and guys like Will, Jeff Beach, and Anthony Spagnoli will return to their homes hundreds and thousands of miles away. But what September will bring back again next year and every year after that, are continuing memories and connections that began long ago growing up in a town that embraces and cultivates a special pride in community and lifelong friendships .
Mike Flynn put it best when after last year's game he said, "Westfield is like one of those towns out of a Springsteen song. the only thing guys like more than leaving is going back again." Poignant words from a best friend and fellow Springsteen fan. Too bad for him that our friendship will be put on hold for a couple hours during the game. That's when I'll be embarrassing him on the field once again like I've been doing repeatedly for the last thirty years.
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Bryan Duggan: Unmasked
by John Funaro
It must not be easy for Bryan Duggan. Certainly from the outside looking in, the life of the Cranx defenseman seems rather Rockwell-esque. Raised by wonderful parents in a family-comes-first home, Bryan was encouraged and supported in every phase of life: academic, athletic, social. At Danvers High School the handsome and popular student-athlete excelled as a three sport star in football, hockey, and lacrosse. Coupled with his high honor roll status, Bryan continued his lacrosse career at Bowdoin University where he became an All-American and All-Academic defenseman before graduating in 2006.
These days, Bryan is climbing the corporate ladder at a prestigious insurance company by day, and terrorizing Cranx opponents on the lacrosse field at night. He and his college sweetheart, Kate, are engaged to be married soon. A still handsome and athletic 28 year old, Bryan is admired for his intelligence and good-natured personality as well as his continued athletic talents. His teammates voice nothing but praise for him. His colleagues admire his smarts and work ethic. And his beautiful bride-to-be adores him like Aphrodite adored Adonis.
But taking a much closer and keener look at the man behind the lacrosse mask, and it seems the mask can only hide so much. You see, Bryan has a younger sister named Meghan. And as much as a Norman Rockwell painting can illustrate a perfect picture filled with wonderment and joy, there's usually always some indication of internal angst and struggle when peering in a little deeper. For as long as 24 year old Meghan has been around, she seems to have always been unintentionally the cause to Bryan's affect of angst. Kid sister in her own right, has quite an impressive resume herself. How impressive? Well let's just say that compared to Bryan's accomplishments, Meghan is a redwood tree next to big brother's miniature bonsai. Also a three sport star in prep school, Meghan took her ice hockey talents to perennial powerhouse University of Wisconsin. There the awards and hardware came at such a rate that back at the Duggan house in Danvers, Bob and Mary had to turn Bryan's room into a showroom for their daughter's plaques and trophies:
(Patty Kazmaier Memorial Award winner (2010-11) RBK Hockey/AHCA Division I first-team All-American (2010-11) ... WCHA Player of the Year (2010-11) ... WCHA Scoring Champion (2010-11) ... WCHA Final Face-off All-Tournament Team (2010-11) ... NCAA Frozen Four Co-MVP and All-Tournament Team (2010-11) ... All-WCHA First Team (2007-08, 2010-11) ... All-WCHA Second Team (2006-07) ... All-WCHA Third Team (2008-09) ... All-WCHA Rookie Team (2006-07) ... WCHA Rookie of the Year (2006-07) ... team captain (2010-11) ... assistant captain (2008-09) ... three-time WCHA Offensive Player of the Week (Dec. 2, 2008; Jan. 26, 2011; Feb. 16, 2011) ... five-time WCHA Rookie of the Week (2006-07) ... USCHO.com Offensive Player of the Week (Oct. 23, 2006) ... Team's Jeff Sauer Most Dedicated Player award recipient (2010-11) ... two-time Team's Offensive Player of the Year (2010-11, 2007-08) ... Team's Rookie of the Year (2006-07)
In her senior season at UW, Meghan led the nation in points (87) and was second on the team and in the nation in goals (39). She also tied for the national lead in assists (48). But it was obvious to Meghan and the rest of the hockey world that the collegiate stage simply wasn't big enough for her talents. So Meghan also starred on the U.S. Women's National Team for four years, and ho-hum...helped lead the 2010 Olympic team to the silver medal. And while awaiting to play in the 2014 Olympics, Meghan will occupy her free time by going to medical school.
Growing up Bryan was well taught early on about the values of family. Of unconditional love and support. Of what it means to share and be unselfish. When Bryan would play hockey as a 10 year old, he'd let his baby sister tag along on her own hockey skates. As the years passed on, and Bryan's passion for playing hockey grew and grew, his sister's did as well. But it was Meghan's talent that caught up to and eventually surpassed Bryan's. In spades (and hearts, and diamonds...) Bryan's childhood dreams of playing in the NHL became as probable as Kim Kardashian being accepted into Harvard. All the while, little Meghan was primed, locked and loaded for hockey stardom.
When asked about her start in hockey, Meghan invariably brings up the memories and images of her big brother allowing her to play with him and the boys way back when. She speaks with admiration about her brother, and credits him for much of her success. And Bryan reciprocates the feelings he has for Meghan. She's his hero he says. He couldn't be prouder.
But when Bryan takes the lacrosse field for the Westfield Cranx, the sense is that he may not carry with him the confidence or the joys of playing the sport equal to the talent and accomplishments of which he possesses. It seems something is lacking from within. A hint of inadequacy. Or maybe a feeling of failure. Or maybe disappointment of wanting but not achieving all that his sister has. Of craving recognition maybe, that seems to be monopolized upon Meghan. Behind that lacrosse helmet and mask, Bryan is that uplifting Rockwell illustration of the proud yet humble All-American athlete splashed on the cover of The Saturday Evening Post. He's got that magnetic smile that's accompanied by a countenance of toughness embedded within a chiseled jawline. But upon further inspection, there are but a few scrapes and bruises barely noticeable within the picture's thrill of victory. And one that appears to have already begun to leave a scar. Right across the heart of Mr. All-American.
It must not be easy for Bryan Duggan. Being out-performed, out-accomplished, and out-recognized by your kid sister. A kid sister who you love dearly, who you continue to counsel, and offer both unconditional support and protective, brotherly advise.
But even with all that, being Meghan Duggan's brother can be a tough gig. But for someone as kind, smart, and talented as Bryan, it shouldn't be a burden to carry—this tinge of failure, of jealousy, of never being good enough. Because he has in his own right, much to be proud of. A terrific job, a wonderful family and future family, a great former athletic career. All that is something upon which Bryan can and should hold his head up high. Even if his thwarted, pain-staking, and broken lifelong dreams are now being lived vicariously through another person's hockey skates. Even if those skates are a woman's size 8.
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A Bronx Slap Shot
by John Funaro
After a recent game, I was chided by Ben McCarthy and Andy Liptak when I admitted that I had never seen the movie Slap Shot. At least not from start to finish, and only in a version edited for television. The reaction from my two teammates ranged from disbelief to palpable indignation.
"Are you kidding me? What's wrong with You?!" Ben says.
"What are you, some kind of fascist, sacrilegious, anti-American, troglodyte (or words to that effect)?" Lippy asks.
The topic came up during discussions on everyday things, like nuclear physics and the role of cultural differences upon modern global ethics.
"I've got a lot of talent" Ben says to me. "And I'm not talking about lacrosse, either. You have no idea the talents I possess." I nodded in a "I don't doubt it" fashion, and asked if he had ever seen the movie A Bronx Tale. Both he and Lippy said no, and now I'm the one making accusations of fascism and sacrilege. I explain how Ben's comments reminded me of the theme behind this classic movie's repeated mantra, Robert Deniro claiming "The saddest thing in life is wasted talent".
Now certainly, I'm a huge fan of sports comedies. White Men Can't Jump, Caddyshack, and Bull Durham--I give those movies six enthusiastic thumbs up. But when my two friends suggested that not only is Slap Shot the best sports movie ever made, but quite possibly the best movie ever made, then a debate on that claim is warranted. Hysterical one-liners and goofy characters can make for a hilarious movie, but can only carry it so far into the "classic" category. But a movie like A Bronx Tale, with a impeccable blend of comedic, moral, cultural, and sociological substance, and with its many memorable scenes, definitely carries such a distinction:
The unforgettable barroom scene where the unruly biker gang met its match. Or when the neighborhood boys were doing their imitations of the local street corner Wise Guys. And who can forget the classic "door test" dialogue between mob boss Sonny and teenager Cologero in determining whether or not a girl is girlfriend material.
And of course, there's also plenty of quotable quotes:
"JoJo the Whale...legend has it his own shadow once killed a dog."
"Put him in the bathroom."
"Now you's can't leave."
But the reigning message of the movie was Deniro's character repeatedly telling his son that the saddest thing in life is wasted talent.
Ben and Lippy spouted off a few scenes and quotes from Slap Shot in an effort to convince me of its status in great American theater. I recall something about putting on the foil, and something else about deliberately getting penalties during a game for some odd and unique reason. I tried to visualize what was so funny about a Hanson brother getting gypped out of a quarter by a soda machine. I failed.
I promised the boys I'd revisit this Slap Shot movie, if only to prove to my two friends that I'm not too young to appreciate a movie from the 70's. And also to prove that I'm not an anti-American troglodyte (whatever that is). I recommended they watch A Bronx Tale, and pay close attention to the layers of life lessons espoused therein.
Our pact was sealed, our invitations accepted. And Ben, with all his self-proclaimed talents, drives off and into the night. I wished for him that these talents of his flourish and go unwasted. I also hoped, that whatever they are, they don't have anything to do with tassels or zebra skin jockstraps.
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What the F*#@!?
by John Funaro
I believe that there is an inverse correlation between the use of profanity and level of intelligence. The more frequent someone curses while speaking, chances are that the lower their I.Q. is. Of course I have zero empirical evidence to support my hypothesis on this claim, other than only a few decades worth of personal observation. Nonetheless, my experience and keen Seinfeld-like sociological perception says that all signs point to yes.
It's been said that "profanity is the common crutch of the conversational cripple", and I tend to agree. There are few things more vexatious to me than overhearing a conversation between two or more people who have trouble conjugating the verb to be, but have no trouble liberally using the F-word as a noun, verb, adjective, and dangling participle. This style of dialogue and the use of what I call "conversational profanity", is about as revealing about the participants as admiring the Kardashian sisters or cast members of The Jersey Shore. There's no rational or intelligent justification for it, and it more than likely proves that the subject at hand prefers reading People magazine over Time or Newsweek.
My contentions are certainly not without criticism, however. Especially so from anyone who has ever shared a sideline with me, and can easily attest to the fact that I can curse as prolifically and creatively as a drunken sailor. (No offense intended to any actual sailors, mariners, or members of the U.S. Navy. A knock on my door and a punch in the face isn't something I welcome). But my defense, or what some may consider a hypocritical excuse, is that I consider my usage of profanity to be "conditional", not "conversational". And conditional profanity is, if not okay, then at least at times certainly justifiable.
When I use the F-bomb or any other similar type of bomb, the condition or situation lends itself to justifiably doing so. In other words, instead of spouting off four-letter words simply while engaging in everyday casual dialogue, my use of said words are the result of a specific consequence: When you stub your toe on the coffee table. Or when you swerve at the last second to avoid an oncoming car drifting into your lane. Or when a bad shot on the lacrosse field or basketball court results in a fastbreak goal or basket for the opposing team. If while reading People magazine, you find out that that big-nosed, fake-tanned, no talent, greaseball from The Jersey Shore made $5 million last year--that may even understandably emit a cursory word or two.
Mark Twain once said, "Under certain circumstances, profanity provides a relief denied even to prayer." My guess is that Twain understood that an occasional profane word or string of words may not only be understandable, but also beneficial. I doubt Twain was a lacrosse player, so I don't think he came off the field throwing his helmet to the ground and lambasting his teammates for not running the fastbreak offense correctly. But I'm sure if he were around today and perusing the New York Times bestsellers list, he'd utter a few swear words, seeing books authored by the likes of Dan Brown and Sarah Palin.
So, does the type and amount of profanity used by someone offer a barometer of insight into that person's intelligence? I certainly think so. But who the f*#@ knows?
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There's No "I" In Nowitzki
by John Funaro
A funny thing happened on the way to the NBA championship title. The less athletic and less talented team walked away with the Larry O'Brien Trophy. Dallas Mavericks star Dirk Nowitzki and a supporting cast of past-their-prime players outplayed, outcompeted, and outclassed the overhyped and overconfident Lebron James and the Miami Heat. The win for the Mavs epitomized the adage that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts, and that disciplined play, teamwork, and fundamentals will usually outlast showtime and showboating. Or in this case, the self-proclaimed "King" James and "The Big Three".
Beyond the on-court differences in strategy and personel between the two teams, what I found quite interesting was the post game press conferences afterward. A few sample quotes:
Nowitzki: "This is a win for team basketball. This is a win for playing as a team on both ends of the floor. For sharing and passing the ball. We worked so hard and for so long. The team had an unbelievable ride. No one can take this away from us."
James: "I was able to do things the last two series. I won two more games than I did in '07. And hopefully next time I get here I'll win two more games than I did in '11."
"There's no 'I' in team" may be an overused cliche, but it's certainly a cliche that rings true time and time again, with Nowitzki and the Mavericks its latest example, and James and his egocentric personality the losing beneficiary of its opposite. Whether his comments were made unconsciously or not, the number of times he speaks of "I" is quite telling. Compare that to the perspective of Nowitzki and his use of the words "we" and "us".
Way too often in sports, from youth ages all the way up to the professional level, the "I" has replaced the "we". Success it seems, is defined as much if not more by individual accomplishments and statistics than by games or championships won by the collective effort of the entire team.
Recently I watched a proud parent of a high school lacrosse player congratulate his wide-smiling son after his team had just suffered an embarrassing loss. The player and his father exchanged jubilant hi-fives because Junior had scored a couple of goals in the game. That the team's success, or lack thereof on this day, should be the primary determinant of accomplishment is obviously lost on these two.
When a player's individual stats, or his amount of playing time, or his recognition and name in the newspaper is as important or more important to that player than the team winning, then the whole concept of playing a team sport is reduced to a meaningless oxymoron. I've even witnessed players (and parents) actually root for the failure of their own teammates with the hope it would mean more playing time or attention placed upon them.
Only when the "I", "me", and "my" are replaced with "we", "us", and "our", and not only in words but in philosophy, will success in a team sport truly be achieved. And when substance overrides style, teamwork supercedes individualism, and wins trump stats, only then is when the team places itself in the best position to win. Dirk Nowitzki understands that. Lebron James, with his ever-so-telling "Chosen 1" and "King James" tattoos, does not.
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