4 Seasons Down, One Month To Go

It wasn't hard to notice that the Red Sox finished their season on Sunday, playing the last game of the regular season, and missing the playoffs. The day was made extra special because it was the last game of Derek Jeter's professional baseball career, at least as a player. But it was even more special for me, and for The Off Season, as it represents the culmination of my sabbatical from supporting the local teams. I have now abstained from watching an entire season of the Celtics, Bruins and Red Sox, along with the vast majority of the Patriots from last year and this.

Folks who know me, and have spent any time with me in the last, say, 30 years, know how unlikely a statement that is. I always loved the way sports could bring a disparate group of people together. Throughout my life I haven't really cared to picture a life without "fandom" in it. Now that I am approaching the end of a sports free year, I have to say, it's been nice.

Not that it's a challenge to be unimpressed with what the sports world has to offer us these days. Like someone who has correctly guessed the fast moving checkout line on a Sunday afternoon at the grocery store, I've had a secret sense of self-satisfaction with every headline about criminal behavior from a player or coach or any number of other kinds of controversies that have hit pro-sports in recent weeks. Time away from the wonder of the games themselves has helped me to realize that being a fan really is endorsement of the industry that fosters this kind of behavior. Paying money for tickets or merchandise, or even paying attention to ads during games with your eyes or ears is what makes the machine go. And the machine just seems to be headed somewhere ugly, doesn't it?

The pro-sports industry is perhaps the biggest diversion in America today. Football, I've noticed, is now on three days a week, instead of just Sundays. Basketball and Hockey have regular seasons that go on for months, just to eliminate half the teams before another long stretch of playoff games. Baseball is called the National Pass-time. Think about that word: Pass. Time. I hate to sound like an old fogey, but with all the massive issues facing our society, issues that involve the safety and well-being of massive swaths of our population (like women, or minorities, or people who need jobs to live) why exactly do we need to pass the time? From where I am sitting, it sure seems like we have a lot to do.

Human attention is not a zero sum game, but I have to imagine that if any one of the festering issues in American or global culture was given the kind of attention that Derek Jeter's last season, or LeBron James' next season gets in our collective consciousness, solutions might actually start to present themselves. If the divisions that exist in our government and news media got the kind of scrutiny that Kevin Love's offseason got, maybe some actual progress could be made.

Now, I'm no fool. No part of me thinks that some massive cultural shift like what I described above will ever actually come to pass. But what these thoughts have made me realize is that I have to actually make a choice for myself. I have to have the fortitude to ask myself as often as possible, do I want to base the personal connections I make with others on the accomplishments, mistakes, and exploits of tertiary people neither of us know, or do I want to really connect with my fellow man. Do I have enough room in my life to move past asking "How about that game" and replace it with "How are you"?

Some days I do, and some days I don't. But I'm hopeful that I will at least be able to acknowledge to myself in an active manner just which kind of day I am having.

U2, Brute?

I've spent a weird amount of time in the last couple of weeks defending four multibillionaires whom I have never met. The Biggest Band in the World, U2, managed to surprise all but the most die-hard Apple fanatics by releasing a new album seemingly out of the blue. Not only that, but they flat out gave it away to anyone with an active iTunes account. Back when I was in college, the thought of something like this happening would be insane. I remember the guy in the dorm room next to me paying something like $200 for bootleg CDs of rough recordings of rehearsal sessions for the Zooropa and Pop albums. There were lines down the hall just to give it a listen!

By that time, U2 had long cemented themselves as one of the all-time great rock bands. They sold out stadiums wherever and whenever they wanted to, and they had released arguably the album of both the 80's and the 90's. Add to that the longevity, stability, and almost total lack of controversy among their band members, and their willingness to get deeply involved in humanitarian and social issues, and it's tough to find their equal. In the intervening years, their popularity has not waned, even if their cred may have. Their last tour, three years ago, was only the highest grossing of all time. No big deal.

So why is everyone so pissed off at them?

I suppose it's not U2 people are mad at right now. The anger is mostly directed at Apple, and for good reason. They took what we all considered to be a one way street and brazenly drove right down it in the wrong direction. Apple used its iTunes infrastructure not just to make the surprise U2 album free to anyone who wanted it, but to actually push the album out to every. single. iTunes. user. It was a major misstep. Two things you do not mess with are peoples' computers, and their music collections. In a microsecond, Apple did both, and it's going to take a while for them to gain back some folks' trust.

As people were understandably griping about this invasion, they would casually add some offhand insult to the album on question. When a band has won more Grammys than any other, and has released at least three world class albums, it's hard to make friends with new music. It's easy to say, "It's not as good as their old stuff,"  and in this case it's likely true, to some extent. But there's a long way between saying that, and saying something sucks.

A band like U2 seems to be in a tough spot. You can't just recycle your sound or you will be accused of sitting on your past success. But at the same time, if you stray from the formula that brought you to where you are, you have betrayed your true fan base. So what is it we want from them anyway? To simply stop? Have they reached a level of accomplishment that we deem to be sufficient, so that's all they get? Absurd. So they have only one real option, which is to continue to explore their medium.

Madonna gets more credit for constantly reinventing herself, but I think U2 have done a similarly masterful job of it over the years. The Joshua Tree was such a powerful album, it really felt like they perfected something with it. After a quick postcard to music, they set out to try something new. Achtung Baby is an equally brilliant collection of songs that has very little in common with Joshua Tree. The creative arc of this version of U2 was the reverse of the previous one though, as Zooropa and Pop were less coherent explorations of the same sound.

In 2000, with the entire world feeling the pressure and joy of an entirely new century beginning, the quartet did it again, settling in to the current phase of their sound with yet another album-of-the-decade. All That You Can't Leave Behind was a strong leadoff and the subsequent albums have again been slightly lesser explorations, but it's hard for me to call these albums "bad."

Through it all, the core ethos of the sound has never wavered. Soaring, iconic guitar riffs matched with vocals slathered in relatable emotion, driving bass lines and grounded, raucous drums in lock step behind them. U2 songs are always instantly identifiable. And it's been that way for almost 40 years. No scandals. No ODs. Social activism. Political involvement. Amazing videos and concerts with the audience in mind, even if they are making a killing. Why the hell shouldn't they? And they gave away their latest album.

What, exactly, more do we want from a band?

New York state of Mine

There is a topic that has been gnawing at me for some time. I've been wanting to write about it, but just haven't been able to come up with the right angle to attack it from. I've been lenient with myself, but it's become a bit of a wall in this project, so I'm just going to hunker down and do my best to bust through here. I hope you'll indulge me. You see, I've been wanting to write about New York City, or as I like to refer to it, The Center Of The World.

A few weeks back, my wife and I took a quick trip there for the weekend. One might think that as a die-hard Boston sports fan, I have little regard for Gotham, but that's far from the case. One might also assume that being born in Philly would turn me against a place a mere 90 miles away which is often referred to as "The City", but somehow it just didn't. In truth, I've always had a bit of a love affair with New York. It's never been the kind of place I wanted to live in, but there's a certain kind of itch I get that only a visit to New York can scratch.

Like most of us, I first heard about NYC from Billy Joel. He certainly painted a lovely picture and it only took a few times through my Dad's records before I wanted to walk 52nd St, see the lights go out on Broadway, and visit Chinatown or Riverside. The first concert I ever saw was the Jackson 5 Victory tour in Philly, but the first one I ever chose myself was George Thorogood and the Delaware Destroyers at Madison Square Garden which went a long way toward defining my taste in music. It was a fantastic introduction to a building I would frequent many times over the next ten years or so. From monster truck pulls to Knick games, to the Big East tournament, I became very comfortable in the World's Greatest Arena. For a long time, that’s kind of what I thought New York was all about.

As I got older, I found myself enjoying different kinds of experiences in The City. Like most of us, I saw Cats and Phantom. I caught Paul Simon in Central Park. Made it out to Shea, Giants, and Yankee stadiums. Got my first whiff of pot at The Beacon, where I also met my favorite band, The Black Crowes. I always loved taking a trip to the Hard Rock back when it was on 57th St, with that gorgeous Caddy hanging off the wall. Museums, libraries, toy stores and monuments. NYC had it all.

I remember one of the first field trips I took in school was to the South St seaport area. I was blown away by the sheer scale of the ships and the history in the buildings. I was also changed utterly when the teachers told us we could do what we wanted for the next hour before the buses would take us home. We were set free in the city, and I think right then and there I became a city kid. That feeling would repeat itself a few years later in the Faneuil Hall area here in Boston on another field trip, confirming my initial gut feeling that city life was the life for me.

A few years later, I would learn enough about driving to get my license in CT, where I grew up, but it wasn't until a few weeks later when I drove into Manhattan that I truly became a driver. To drive without incident in New York takes a lot of lessons that are incredibly valuable in life. You have to know where you are going, but be willing to get creative in how you get there. You can't let the people behind you push you around, either. As long as you know the rules, you go as fast or as slow as you need to at any given moment. Let 'em honk if they don't like it.

Last weekend my wife and I went with some friends to watch Ghostbusters in the theatre for the first time since '84. It was great to see the New York of back then, when I was 10. The one I fell for. That movie still holds up, and part of the reason why is New York City is one of the main characters. Just as the lead role in The Wire was Baltimore, New York is the star of the show in Ghostbusters. The movie takes us on a tour of iconic locations, and completely nails the attitude of the town. They tried to build on this in the sequel, but missed the mark somehow, but Ghostbusters is hardly alone. To walk in NYC is to constantly be reminded of characters and scenes from real life and fiction, and the fabricated memories blend in and enhance the things that have really happened to you. Life is hyper real in New York.

These days, however, it doesn't take a blockbuster film, or a massive concert in the park, or even courtside seats to get me excited about being in New York. My favorite spot in town right now is Bryant Park, with its ring of majestic trees swaying in the wind, providing comforting rustle and shade. Like most outdoor spaces in The City these days, Bryant Park is well stocked with chairs, and has plenty of options for refreshment nearby. Next time you are in town, spend an hour there. If you don't enjoy yourself immensely, I'll personally give you your admission fee back.

A staggering number of things have been written and said about The Big Apple. Part of what held me back from writing this piece was the idea that there seemed to be no point in saying something else. What could I really contribute that was worth your while to read? Finally, I realized that by taking that attitude I was missing the entire point of what New York City is all about. The heights that city has risen to can never be topped, and you can never hope to do everything there is to do in that town. Instead, New York invites you to make your own tour. Pick your own favorite routes and stops, and write your own story through its infinite streets. Even better, once you have done it that story is yours forever. And New York City is big enough and strong enough to hang on to it for you whenever you want to return.

Robbed

I am 5. I don't know much about how my parents make our little world go around, but I can tell that they like it when he is on TV. We stop doing other things and gather together to watch him. He says things that make no sense, but they seem to love it. They laugh. I notice.

I am 6. That same man from the show I love is playing Popeye in a movie. We go to see it together. He is kind to strangers, he stands up for people who have been wronged, and he has a difficult relationship with his Dad. He sings and dances, and everything turns out ok.

I am 9. I have a tape player that I listen to every night as I am falling asleep. It's never music, only stand up. A Night at the Met gets flipped two, three times a night. I listen fiercely, desperate to envision what I am hearing. Trying to comprehend the energy and stamina it takes to release that much, that fast, that perfectly. The laughter is a roar, and it's at an opera house. This feels amazing.

I am 13. Vietnam is one of the hardest things for me to process and understand. I am fearful of it and confused as to how we could have allowed it to happen. He makes a movie that holds my hand, and helps me to understand what it was like. Helps me see that people tried. 

I am 15. Things are hard and my faith in adults is shaken. I can't connect to literature, and I can't connect to school. He shows me that there is value in the connection you make yourself. To art, and to each other. He helps me reassess my values, and find some pride in my view of the world.

I am 17. I am worried about how to become an adult. He shows me that it's ok if a part of you never does. He teaches me how to hang on to the wonder of youth. I realize that what I was, I am, and always will be, no matter what else I also become.

I am 22. He has been more of a Shepard for people younger than I for the last several years, but I still smile when I see or hear him. In one of his most beautiful roles, he teaches me that love is love, and family is family, no matter what. I vow not to forget those lessons ever again.

I am 23. In 2 hours, he teaches me everything I need to know about how to be a man.

I am 38. He appears, out of nowhere, in a role that no other person on the planet could have ever played. His acting in it reminds me of the simple greatness of Abbey Road. A true master deftly practicing his craft. I think on how glad I am to have grown up along with his gifts.

He's had many many other lessons for many many other people. Movies and shows that others connected we more, or needed more. And there were times when he was far too much for me. But there was always something special about him. His smile and his laugh seemed to have it all over us. Part of me is simply hollow at the manner and timing of his loss.

I work near the Public Gardens in Boston, and I often take lunch there. Today I had to get somewhere, but decided to head in to the park to sit for a spell. I can never remember which bench his iconic scene with young Matt Damon was, but I always think of it when I am there. The park holds a lot of real memories for me, and I spend time with most of them when I visit, but that one has sneaked in to the cannon. The real memories all involve friends of mine from various stages of life. Maybe that's why he was able to elbow his way in. He has always been around. Like many friends, sometimes we were close, and sometimes we were distant, but I managed to learn something from him.

Now, I'm 40. Depression is something I have struggled with, and helped others with. I know people who have felt shame, or embarrassment about asking for help with it. If you are one of those people please remember that this man, this man who was known the world over for sharing the joys and depths of the human experience with us all, he was unable to beat depression alone. Get help. Stay here. We need you.   

Time to Reflect

Last night, for a brief moment, I travelled right through time. This particular kind of time travel was very specific, and quite real. Every few years, it seems, a movie or TV show will come along and slightly redefine time travel. They'll add a rule, or treat time travel consequences a bit differently than before. This was nothing like all that, though. Last night I looked at my wife's digital alarm clock display, staring not at the numbers represented, but the glowing LED bars themselves, and I was instantly transported back to a younger version of myself, staring at a similar display many years ago.

These days, I can hardly think of a decent stretch of hours that I am not keenly aware of what time it is. Occasionally I can get lost in my work for a couple of hours, but mostly I know how much time I have before this meeting, or that appointment. I know how much time there is before the store closes, or until I need to start on dinner if we want to eat at a halfway decent hour. Even my sleep is steeped in a measure of awareness. Ever since college, I've had the ability to wake up at a predesignated time simply by thinking about it as I go to sleep. I rarely go without the safety net of an alarm, but if push came to shove, I'd rarely be late.

Of course, like all of us, there was a blissful time in my life where I couldn't even read a digital clock, much less a traditional one. More is to the point, I didn't care to. I had no need to worry about time. My parents and other relatives or sitters handled all that for me. They told me where to be and when like some real time acting gig. They even costumed me. I didn't bother to tell time and it didn't bother me a bit.

Somehow, eventually, I had gotten it in my head that what I needed most was a clock radio. The one I had in mind was a pretty serious machine in my estimation. Dual alarms, sleep timer, wood finish, red LED display, AM/FM radio. I believe it was a Panasonic, and I am willing to bet that quite a few of you, dear readers, can picture the exact one I coveted (and eventually got) just from reading that passage. Suddenly, with this new machine present, my room was a place where things happened at certain times. I had alarms, which would serve to ensure that I was ready to go wherever I was supposed to be taken the next day. I was on a schedule, and it felt great. I remember feeling especially close to the machine at night, when I would employ the sleep timer to its fullest, sometime resetting it just before it shut off after 60 minutes. Staring at those red numbers, listening to talk radio or music, I felt warmth and connection. A primitive version of what we all do all day now with our phones and pads.

I hadn't thought of that feeling in years and years but last night, as I glanced across the bed to see what time it was like I do most nights, it all came rushing back. There I was once again not caring what numbers were being shown to me, but being entranced by the glow of the display. Amazed to think that what now requires blogs, news feeds, and videos was once accomplished by a simple set of three or four digits and a DJ in the middle of the night.

I'm the last person to advocate for any sort of rollback on general technology dependence. I love the iPad I am writing this on and the phone I will post it from. I love Garmins and Sirius radio and iBeacons and EZPasses. The number of things in my life I can do through my phone is exactly what I dreamed of as a little boy. But the lesson that time taught me last night is the same lesson I got from spending time abroad earlier this summer. While we were in Spain, my wife and I were constantly looking up. Robbed of our non-stop cell service and the wealth or resources that come with it, we made plans in the comfort of the hotel wifi and then simply ventured out. Sometimes the plans worked, and other times changes were made by us or forced on us. Either way, it didn't matter.

The point is this: this stuff is wonderful. It's full of wonder. I saw a quote from Ray Kurzweil recently that really stretched my head. He said that a kid with a smartphone in his hand today has access to more information than the President of the United States did just 20 years ago. The effect that fact will have on the planet is hard to measure, or even to conceive of. I don't know how it will impact us, but I know that the impact will be less rich if facts like that are taken for granted. If we can't look back through the years and remember where we came from, we could easily lose track of who we are. If we lose our sense of wonder, it'll happen in no time.

The Choice is Yours

Less than 100 days to go, and I've never been happier to not be paying attention to sports. I still miss watching sports, but The Offseason has shown me that watching and paying attention are two very different things. When my year is up, I will have to make a decision about watching sports, but you can count on me to budget my actual attention elsewhere.

You don't need an amateur blog to tell you that there is a lot going on in the world right now. Still, it seems like there are some major things happening that could determine what the next couple of decades will look and feel like. Many of these things are in the headlines. Climate change is manifesting in more and more concrete ways, offering up tornados in CT and MA on consecutive days (I was in each state at the time, btw). The lives of refugee children who have come to America are being debated, putting them at even more risk. And, there is a major piece of legislation that could change the Internet in very profound ways which few people seem to be showing much interest in.

Despite all these huge problems which are directly relevant to our day to day lives, and a whole host of others that could easily have huge effects on the world in the long term (Gaza, Ukraine, etc.), the Boston media are obsessed with one story above all else - some asinine comments that a daytime radio host made about a sportscaster on ESPN. Think about that for a second. Does any part of that sentence involve someone scoring a touchdown? Or hitting a home run? Does it even have to do with something tangentially involved with sports, like a coaching move, or a free agent signing? Clearly not. This is a person who makes their living off the attention we pay to sports talking about another person who does the same thing. Now the story is about them! How is that possibly worth a modicum of your valuable attention?

I will concede that the controversy in question is steeped in misogyny and slander and the consequences of one's actions, but honestly, this is a conversation that belongs in an HR office. Not on the air, and certainly not on the front page of the Globe. Right now, there is a headline on boston.com that asks when a responsible male sports media voice will come forward. I would offer this advice to the author and any concerned readers; don't hold your breath. I used to be a devout listener of sports radio. Morning, noon, and night I had it on, fearful of missing a good argument or of being the last to find out about a big trade. At a certain point, I let it all go, and I can't tell you how much it improved my enjoyment of sports. I was finally free from having to worry about all the gnashing of teeth around a pitcher imploding or a missed shot. A win was a win and a loss was a loss. Truly, as long as I kept "you can't win ’em all" on my mind, I was covered.

Maybe I should have learned this lesson right then and there, but it took me until now to realize that sports really isn't worth the attention it sometimes costs. It should be about the games, and the plays, not about the announcers, or even the contracts. Even back before The Offseason, the surest way to get me to leave a sports discussion was to start bringing up contracts and trades. It's secondary filler. It's spam. The games are where it's at. And that ought to be enough.

I'm excited to see the Patriots play again soon. I'm excited to watch a Lakers Celtics game. I'm hopeful that the World Series goes to Halloween so I can catch a baseball game before next season, but if it doesn't, I'll be fine. But I envy you all. You have a choice right now. You can take your attention and budget and spend it as you wish. You can try and have an impact on the world around you, or you can look to sports media for lessons on morality. It's entirely up to you.