Imagine a World...

 

I’ve got to admit something. I can be a pretty emotional guy. Keep in mind that I grew up in an era where men didn’t show their emotions. Men never cried. Not in public anyway.

But I found myself really getting misty-eyed over so many moments during the Olympics. The joy. The sadness. The jubilation. The disappointment. The dreams fulfilled.  The dreams dashed.

I’m thankful to have been able to watch so much of the events from Paris. Thank you Covid (I guess). Actually, Covid didn’t hit me that hard—just chest congestion and lack of energy.

I’m fortunate that I have a really great live-in caregiver (my wife) and colleagues at work that I knew were taking good care of my patients. I have a latitude not enjoyed by everyone. I didn’t have to worry about my next meal or paying the rent.

So, I was able to enjoy these Olympics.  I watched Steph Curry single-handedly guarantee victory for the US men’s basketball team. With the US team behind much of the game, the team from France was poised for a huge upset when Steph hit four straight threes to seal the win for the US.

His fourth, coming while double-teamed from well beyond the arc, with a third player from France stepping over to help, will go down as one of the greatest shots in Olympic basketball history.

The US women’s basketball team was also pushed to the precipice by a team from France but somehow pulled it out. Same with the US women’s soccer team. A new set of soccer stars were born on that pitch.

When Sha’Carri Richardson glanced over on the final stretch of the women’s 4x100m race, it was a moment for the ages. She had taken the baton in fourth place but left no question who that race belonged to.

When Tara Davis-Woodhall ran to her husband’s hug after clinching the long jump gold, their shared joy was pure bliss. If you didn’t know it, he’s a Paralympic athlete himself.

Athletes from tiny places winning their country’s first medal of any kind simply must be celebrated. The purity of the effort and the dedication it took to get there made so many moments memorable.

But my favorite moment in all these Olympics had nothing to do with what was happening in the competition. Late in the women’s gold medal Beach Volleyball match between Canada and Brazil, words were exchanged between the competitors. It appeared to be quite heated, with an official stepping in to separate the two.

Then the crowd, prompted by the stadium DJ, started singing “Imagine,” John Lennon’s 1971 hit.

“Imagine all the people, living for today. Imagine there’s no countries, it isn’t hard to do. Nothing to kill or die for and no religion too. Imagine all the people, living in peace.”

The Olympics help us realize that we are all part of the human race. Through these athletes, we can hopefully grasp that people all around the world want the same things. Love. Family. Happiness.

When they lose and their family cries with them, we feel that. It doesn’t matter what country they are from. When they overcome huge odds and realize their dreams, we celebrate with them, regardless of the flag on their uniform. When they run over, seeking a face in the crowd, maybe a spouse or their mama or daddy, we realize just how very human they are.

With the hate and divisiveness, with war and hunger and poverty, it does us good to realize how profoundly we are all alike. There is hope.

…and the world will be as one.

Paris Olympics

 

I’ve been stuck at home most of this week. Covid struck again.  After almost four years of no Covid for me, I’ve had it twice this year. No idea where it came from but I’m in contact with a lot of people on any given day.

But with self-isolation and Paxlovid, I’m on the mend. The silver lining is that I have been able to watch a lot of the Paris Olympics this week.  And it has been an exciting week.

Watching Gabby Thomas run is watching grace and power in motion.  Noah Lyles, same thing. Julien Alfred, winning St. Lucia’s first medal ever, is poetry when she runs. Grant Holloway on the hurdles-he makes it look easy.

What Simone Biles is able to do is amazing. Did you see how high she got on her vault? Unreal. Alice D’Amato of Italy on the balance beam? Magical! Katie Ledecky. The most medals for any woman in Olympic history, yet, she seems like every girl next door.

Cole Hocker was not on anyone’s radar in the men’s 1500 m race yet took that inside route to gold. All the pre-race conversation was about British runner Josh Kerr and Norway’s Jakob Ingebrigtsen. No one gave much thought to the diminutive Hocker from Indianapolis.

And here’s the really cool part—there is a Blount County connection to Cole. Marty Sonnefeldt, who lives here, was an All-American and National Champion cross country runner at UT in the 70’s. His son Matt is Cole Hocker’s agent and was in Paris for that race.

The overall athleticism demonstrated in volleyball is quite something to behold, especially beach volleyball. Just imagine two people to a side, covering the entire court. Amazing!

There are stories everywhere. Sacrifices made. Disappointments redeemed. Athletes that pay the price, whatever the price may be.

The Olympics are also an opportunity for us to watch sports that we only witness at the Olympics. Team Handball. Slalom canoeing. Fencing. Track cycling.  Synchronized swimming. Even gymnastics gets the attention it deserves only once every four years.

The Olympic Games also expose us to the people of the award. If we open our eyes, we will realize that there are human beings just like us all around the world. Athletes from Senegal, Algeria, Bahrain, Iraq, and Kazakhstan.  From Estonia, Slovenia, and Ukraine. Places you have to look up on a map to even know where they are. Incredible athletes from Jamaica.

People that look like we do, love like we do, hurt like we do. People that face the struggles that we face and strive for the success that we chase every day.

Put Cuban Mijain Lopez, winner of five Olympic gold medals in wrestling, in a USA uniform and he’s a national hero for us. Same thing for Polish volleyballer Tomasz Fornal. And you have to pull for Brazil’s Rebeca Andrade--even the US team did.

The Olympics can humanize people that we might not understand, that might even be considered our “enemies.” Chinese divers. Oh, so divine. North Korean athletes have families that love them too. The Olympics give us the opportunity to celebrate everyone, nationalities aside.

Congratulations to ALL the athletes.  Getting there is an incredible feat. And thank you for the opportunity to see the world, if just for a little while.

9 Coaches/1 Dad

 

“I’ve got nine coaches and one dad.”  Those words, spoken by my son when he was a high school sophomore, changed my parenting techniques forever. 

That comment came on the heels of what was probably a post-practice lecture on what he had done at football practice. I was the Athletic Trainer for his high school football team, so I was always around his practices and games.

I’ve been around football pretty much my whole life. I played. I coached. And for most of my adult life, I’ve served on the sidelines for high school and college football. I do think that I know a little bit about the game. I’m sure the ride home after practice every day was just one more coaching session.

I recall the exact circumstances of that comment. He was sitting in my recliner in our den and I’m sure he had just listened to me trying to coach him up. Before that, he had always listened, tolerating me, I guess.

I was one of those dads that coached every youth sport team that my kids were involved in. I remember when they were little, before youth sports days, I always swore that I was not going to be “that” dad. I was going to let others coach my kids.

But some bad experiences with youth sports coaches early on drove me to volunteer to coach. My first team was my son’s t-ball team, and then I never looked back.

I coached baseball, softball, basketball, and football. I re-started the Blount Stars AAU basketball program that had been dormant around here for years. I ran that program and held a variety of offices at Maryville Little League for years.

My buddy John Theriot ran the softball program (where I coached) and I ran the baseball program (where he coached). We practically lived at the little league park.  There was the little league softball team that I coached where I had 7 adorable little 12 year old girls that all reached puberty the same day. That was fun.

I can remember traveling with AAU basketball teams.  Again, I ran the program and coached both boys and girls teams. In Memphis for a state tournament, I took a dozen 12 year old boys for ribs at The Rendezvous, where the waiters, usually not apt to put up with much, seemed to relish taking care of this bunch of hungry boys.

A year later, I took the same bunch of boys to Middlesboro, Kentucky for a tournament only to get stranded there by the Blizzard of ’93. We knew snow was predicted but we went anyway. We figured that this worst case would be we would get to play.  We didn’t Everything closed down.

I remember the kids and the parents and a lot about the travel, but most of the memories about the games themselves have faded. Oh, I remember Adam Daves, one of the best shooters I have ever seen at a young age, lighting up a real good team at a Chattanooga tournament. I think he got 40.

I remember thinking that Ricky Upton would surely make a great football player while playing basketball in the state tournament in Memphis. He did. And Robert Penson was super talented but wouldn’t keep his shirttail in.

So, it’s time to get to the point. Parents, enjoy the games your children play. You’re not going to make them great athletes. When you can, let someone else coach them. Dad/Mom coaches can be OK, but someone that has been coaching a long time and who doesn’t have a kid on the team is most often a better scenario.

And take it from me, don’t coach them on the ride home. Be their parent. Be their support system. Don’t talk about how the coach is an idiot because they aren’t starting.  Ever.

Help them learn to love the game, whatever the game. That’s your best chance for success, on the field and off.

Olympic Moment

 

The year was 1996 and the Summer Olympics were in Atlanta. For several years leading up to ’96, I had pursued a spot on the Sports Medicine Team for the Atlanta Olympics.

That included a couple of stints working at the Olympic Training Center in Colorado Springs and serving on the sports medicine staff for the Pan-American games and the World University Games.

I was fortunate enough to be a part of the sports medicine team for those ’96 Olympic Games in Atlanta, serving primarily at a basketball practice facility with time at the Poly-Clinic in the Olympic Village.

Along this path I did some really cool stuff that was a bit out of my wheelhouse. I worked the National Flat Track Inline Skating Championship and the Taekwando National Championships.  I spent some time with the US Olympic Weightlifting Team.

At the tryouts for the World University Games men’s basketball team, I watched in awe as 15 men, all 6’10” or taller took the floor. It was quite the spectacle. An 18 year old Luke Walton was there as was Coach Roy Williams who was at Kansas at the time.

I sat on a couch eating burned hotdogs with Georgetown legend John Thompson, at the home of the Director of USA Basketball. I have sat on the mat while the Romanian women’s gymnastic team practiced. I saw the Dream Team play, watching from the nosebleed section. I saw Tinker Juarez race mountain bikes.

I made friends with the athletic trainers for the Tunisian men’s volleyball team and for the Yugoslavian basketball team. I met Dikembe Mutombo who sat with men while the Congolese women’s basketball team practice. He had bought them practice uniforms when they arrived in Atlanta with none.

Along the way, I met Bonnie Blair, Evander Holyfield, and Nitro from the original American Gladiator show.  But one of the most impressive athletes I ever met was never famous and never in the Olympics

Her name escapes me but I met her in 1995 at the Olympic Training Center. She had switched to cycling after conquering snow skiing as a several time World Champion. She was in Colorado Springs training for the ’96 Paralympics when she and her riding partner wrecked on the tandem bicycle they were riding.

Completely blind since she was a child, this young lady was stoic as I spent a couple of hours cleaning out her many wounds from the wreck, with her German Shepherd guide dog watching my every move. 

She didn’t flinch as I cleaned out gravel and debris. Her dog made me nervous despite her assurances that he likely would leave me alone unless he thought I was hurting her.

She was the “pusher” on a tandem bicycle, riding with a sighted “driver” who was in front. Can you imagine how terrifying it must be to be in that kind of wreck while totally blind?  She was amazing.

Her snow skiing record was legendary at that time. Under the tutelage of her dad (who was also there watching every move I made as I cleaned her wounds), she became famous for skiing in front of a sighted skier, responding to verbal cues about when to turn.

Prior to her, most blind skiers followed their sighted guide. With her father skiing behind her, she revolutionized the sport before switching to cycling. Oh, and she had a Harvard Ph.D. already and was attending law school at UCLA.

From Indianapolis to Colorado Springs to Atlanta, my own Olympic journey has been amazing, taking this country boy from Loudon, Tennessee to places and experiences he could never have dreamed of—not even in his wildest dreams.

When watching the Olympics in Paris, I will think about the people more than anything, knowing that we share just a little bit of the Olympic history.

What is an athlete?

 

I live on a small farm where I grow a lot of things. Blueberries, blackberries, cherries, apples, pears. Tomatoes, peppers, squash, asparagus, cucumbers, pumpkins. I love it.

I have raised beds, trough beds, and open rows. I grow far more than my family can consume. Come blueberry picking time, I can put headphones on and pick until dark-thirty. It is a place of peace for me.

My son seems to have inherited that love of growing things. In a couple of small raised beds, he raises a bounty of vegetables and seems to have a green thumb.

I didn’t grow up on a farm, but I did grow up farming. We lived out in the “country” and from a very young age, I helped surrounding farmers with their hay. “Hauling hay” might even have been a career aspiration for me if there was an option there.

My dad always had a big garden—our family depended on it. We had cherry trees and strawberries and honey bees. From about 10 on, it was my responsibility to “rob” the bees of their honey and then sell it out our front door on Highway 11, a busy thoroughfare for those going south through Tennessee before the days of the interstates.

I’ve helped slaughter hogs, render lard, prep hams for curing, gathered eggs, built fence, and inoculated cattle.  (Actually, my job was to tackle them and hold them down for the real farmer to give them their shots and ear tags.)

Does that make me a farmer? I don’t know. Maybe. Does growing things make one a farmer? Do you have to gather and sell crops or raise stock to be a real farmer? I’m not sure. But I think so. And if someone wants to call me a farmer, I’ll be proud of it.

Just this week, I saw a 43 year old with some knee issues that wanted to know what to do about them. That’s not unusual—my day is filled with that sort of thing. But what made this one a little different is that he wanted help to make him a better basketball player.

Basketball isn’t a job for him, it’s just something he loves to do. And it sounds like he’s pretty good at it.

He almost apologized for being 43 and still playing, competing against people 20 years younger than himself. I assured him it was OK, as I had played until I was 59, and would still be playing if I had the knees for it.

Does that make him an athlete? Absolutely. You don’t have to be a teenager and on a team to be an athlete. You don’t have to get paid for playing a sport to be considered an athlete.

You don’t have to keep score, pursue a championship, or be in a league to be considered an athlete. All you have to do is to pursue a physical activity to be considered an athlete.

“Pursue a physical activity.” That’s my final answer. You jog the Greenbelt for your health? You’re an athlete. You’re 70 and ride a bicycle? You’re an athlete.

There are no age limits on who can be an athlete. Sure, our first exposure to the world of sports is on a team, maybe a T Ball team at the local little league park or the swim team at the country club, but that alone is not what makes someone an athlete.

An active lifestyle is an essential component to good health. And to pursue good health, you’ve got to exercise, eat healthy foods, and avoid sedentary activities.

And if you’re pursuing good health, whether it’s walking in the park of hiking to Mount LeConte, You’re an athlete. Plain and simple.

So, make no apologies for basketball at 43 or tennis at 50 or pickleball at 75. You’re an athlete and can chase whatever dream you want to, whether it is to dunk again, win at doubles, or enjoy a long rally.

You’re an athlete.

Growing Old with Grace

 

I had a nice chat with a couple the other day.  I’m not going to mention names because one of them might be a patient and, well, I wouldn’t want to run the risk of breaking any federal laws. 

But this is the absolute cutest couple ever!  They’ve been dating for about nine years (he said 8, she said 9—I’m going with what she said) and really don’t seem to have any intention of marrying.

They’re just spending their lives together. They do everything together.

I’m not going to pull a Paul Harvey and wait to the end to tell you “the rest of the story.” The story is this—he’s 92 and she will be 93 next month.

They’re healthy, happy, and have no problem sharing their lives together, and their story with me.

So I asked them, what their secret was. Like any long-term couple, their answers completed each other. One would offer something and the other would nod in agreement. One would think of something and the other would heartily agree.

They quickly agreed that you’ve got to keep moving.  Newton declared that “a body in motion tends to stay in motion—a body at rest tends to stay at rest.”

Sir Isaac was talking about physics but I believe that it pertains to the human experience as well. If we stay active, we will be active.  

They said that doing things together was a big part of it. I’ve been married 48 years and my wife will tell you that I don’t do “alone” well at all. She and I enjoy lots of things together. Hiking. Travel. Good restaurants. And of course, those blessed creatures that we share called grandchildren.

This couple also noted that simply being around people is important in staying young. I’ve spent a good part of my career around teenagers, particularly teenage athletes. I think I understand that creature pretty well.

I don’t always embrace their music but I can tolerate most of it (most of the time). I don’t always get their fashion trends but then I’m reminded that it was my generation that wore dickies and bangs. Our parents didn’t like our music either.

Going to church together is important to this couple. A church community can be a wonderful thing and I can tell you that some of the best friends we have today were from a Sunday School class we joined when we first moved to Maryville in 1977.

Although not gainfully employed, this couple in their 10^th decade of life still works. Housework.  Yard work. Helping others. Making a garden. Fixing whatever needs to be fixed.

You might not expect them to be spontaneous sorts of people, but they find that taking opportunities to just pick up and go is part of what keeps them young. 

So here’s the formula:  Keep moving, be around people, build a community, never stop, be spontaneous. Sounds like a good plan to me.

Reunions

I had a college reunion of sorts a couple of weeks ago.  A bunch of guys that lived in Reese Hall on UT’s campus in the early 70’s got together for a couple of days of food and fellowship.

You can do the math—that was roughly 50 years ago. Goodness gracious, I don’t even think that I should be 50 years old, much less 50 years from early college days.

It all started when one of my buddies lost his wife. Leesa was really one of the old Reese Hall gang, and everyone’s favorite. Unfortunately, she got Glioblastoma and died shortly after diagnosis, almost two years ago. At her funeral, a group of us decided a reunion was long overdue.

I’ve never been one much for reunions. High school reunions don’t interest me although I did join a small group of high school classmates last month for dinner back in my hometown. It was nice.

I guess part of it is that I’m not the same person I was back then. In high school, I was interested only in football and one girl. My best friend about as far back as I can remember was Ronnie McNabb and we’ve stayed close to this day.

In a culture that didn’t seem to favor higher education, I left and went off to college. And I guess I never looked back. I made friends with the most diverse bunch of people you can imagine.

Polish, Jewish, Irish, Californian, Yankee. Straight, gay, hippies, ROTC guys.  Long hair, short hair, every color imaginable. Worked for the first Pakistani I ever met. Wrestled with Freddie from Iraq. Met professors who didn’t care if you were there or not and professors that might call you if you missed class.

People from all around the globe. People with very different ideas about the world than I had, growing up in a tiny, rural town in East Tennessee.

Don’t get me wrong—I love where I grew up and loved the people. But I wouldn’t be the person I am today if I had never left.

We’ve got a lot of kids that are about to head out to college and careers, maybe the military. I would tell them all to not be afraid. Embrace the change. See the world. And keep an open mind about everything you encounter.

But keep what you picked up while you were here.

From your teachers, take the ability to learn. If a subject seems a waste of time to you, that’s OK. In learning something that you don’t like, you learn how to learn. Believe me—that will come in handy one day.

From your parents, take your character with you. Maybe you didn’t grow up in the best of circumstances. Maybe family life was hard. That’s OK. You can learn from that too. Hopefully, your parents were great role models, showing you what integrity is all about. Maybe they weren’t, and you learned how you didn’t want to be.

Learn from your coaches how to compete. And work as a team. You will be competing the rest of your life. Competing for a great job. Competing to be the best you can be. Sometimes competing just to survive. And, at some time, you will be part of a team. Maybe that team is your family. You have to learn how to work together as a family too.

It won’t be easy. You have a lot more to learn. But you are well equipped to take on the world, to live your dreams.