"The GAME Doesn't Know Who's Supposed to Win"

I was watching the NCAA Softball World Series when I heard the quote in the title.  A coach was preparing her team to take the field against the top ranked team.  Hers was considered "lucky" to be there.  She didn't do anything theatrical.  She simply stood in front of her players, and said-

"Just go out and do your best, and play the game  because you love it.  And play with your maximal effort.  It doesn't matter if no one  picks us to win.  It doesn't matter if our opponent has more talent.  The game doesn't know who's supposed to win.  That's why we play it.   We play it to find out."    

Last night the Aptos Varsity Football Team found out where they stand:  As CCS Division 3 Champions, and SI knows it.  

It's easy to identify talent.  We told both groups, during their freshman seasons, they had the talent to win a Title.  That's a no-brainer  (When you win with the future "Junior of the Year", and Championship Quarterback at guard talent isn't the issue).

You need to convince the individual who 'get's by on it' that doing so isn't enough.

You invest in effort, and turn your back on talent, until those who hold it do the same.

Talent is common.  It's boring, and ordinary.  Accepting responsibility for it, and its development, is rare.

Sacrificing a dozen 'easy, sure things' for one that demands maximal effort without guarantee is gutsy.

Being witness to 50 young men who agreed to it together, is extraordinary.

My investment in coaching is uncomfortably related to the indifference I hold toward myself.   I know my talents, and I know how to employ them for benefit.  I also know that my effort to see them ripen has been average, at best.   I use them to get by.  I've found some solace in that admittance.

I coach for penance, and it's granted me some.  When a player tells me I said something inspiring, I know what I've done.  I've named the lie in them, the one they use, to keep pain, and truth, at a distance.

I've shown how it disfigures spirit into something unrecognizable.  I've provided consideration for what they do with their own.

Title

I watched two events last night.  I watched a a high school football game with a Title at stake.  Two teams representing clashing beliefs. I watched as they  used the other's to confirm the value of their own.

I also watched a group of boys  I knew as tentative, or afraid, or unaccountable, or vain, when we had them as freshman. I watched them present themselves to the world as something different, as who they will be.

I watched the game alone, leaning on a rail, behind one of the goal posts.  I watched boys I barely recognized make a statement to eliminate the doubts of others.  I finally saw what I've waited decades to see.

I saw that despite stoic appearances, we still have a need for Heroes. And I saw young men willing to consent to it's call.

Football, like many things, is theater of the spirit.  It's objective has been the same since it began.  You step on the field, and face your opponent in a contest of strength, and will.  Strength can be developed as long as there's will.  Will is the unknown.  You can't determine it's depth with a report card.  You can't teach it in a class.  You have to demand it.  If it appears, you challenge it.  If it refuses to dim, you Honor it.

I've seen thousands of football games.  I've seen  a handful that are still worth reflecting upon. I've  only seen one reassuring my belief that the life a man lives inside himself is the real one, and the outer appearance of life is a tool we use to uncover its truth.  It doesn't matter that I never culminated in the manner I had hoped.  I needed to see that someone could.   I needed someone to show me that we're within reach of ourselves. Without that, I'd be gone.

Congratulations Aptos Varsity.

That one will be in me forever.

Thank you....

Championship Game Highlights 

Photos on Sportswurlz

Santa Cruz Sentinel Article

SF Examiner Article

Semi-finals Highlights

Prep2Prep Site/Article

  

  

LAST GAME

This year's Seniors made up our first freshman team.  They are the first group to complete the four year program implemented by Coach Blankenship.  A program that requires dedication, and sacrifice.  A program that asks for your deepest commitment.  Coach Blankenship's program asks players to believe that the depth of pain, effort, and preparation they're capable of, exceeds the vision they hold.  

Those seniors play their last high school football game tonight.  For many, it will be their last football game, ever. The last.   When they step on the field against Saint Ignatius for the Division 3, CCS Title, they'll have the opportunity to achieve what every Aptos Football Player has tried to, and only one team has.

Tonight, when you're down on the field, take a glance up into the stands.  Look past the people you expect to see, like your family, and friends.  Look past the people you recognize like the families, and friends, of a teammate.   Look past the 10 year-old boys wanting to be you, and the teenage girls waiting to claim you.  

Instead, look for the faces of men you've never seen.  Look for men you've seen in the same place, at every game, standing alone.  They'll be there, you can count on it.  Those men are the regrets of boys who didn't play for a championship, but know they could have.  Those men are the shadows of boys who finally confessed  their arrogance, as fear.   Those men are the ones who come back, year after year, with one hope, and a prayer.

They come with the hope that this team of boys will be different, that they'll play with desperation, and purpose.  They come hoping this team of boys will play like their lives depend on it, as if the only way to become a man is to leave the boy on the field.  They come with the hope of seeing themselves resurrected through you.

They come with a prayer for you to finish your past while it's still in front of you.

They come with a prayer that your effort, and commitment, will be rewarded.

They come praying that the depth of your commitment will forgive the refusal in theirs.

They come to get their championship through you.

You don't need a trophy to prove anything to yourself.  

You don't need one to prove it to the people who know you.

You need one if you want the world to remember who you were, and what you accomplished in your time, together.

Tonight, leave everything on the field.

A Few Statistics for Saint Iggy

Aptos plays Saint Ignatius (hereafter referred to as "SI") for the Division 3 CCS title on Friday. It's well known that Aptos is a public school, and SI is private.  There has been a lot of press serving a public debate about whether it's fair that God's schools plays down a division.  I'm going to throw a little gas on the flames.  Stand back.

Before I continue I want to say this:  none of what I'm saying reflects the belief that Aptos will lose to SI.  The seniors mark the first class to play all four years with Coach Blankenship.  And the junior group, to put it plainly, Bad Ass.  They have been since they were freshman.

And it's not about a belief that SI, or Bellarmine, or Valley Christian has more, or better talent than Aptos.  Our freshman team proved this year that they don't.  Our boys played their boys head-to-head with the talent each program will develop.  They played teams they won't see again until the CCS playoffs of varsity year.

And they kicked the snot out of them.  Head-to-head, based on raw talent, we beat them down.  Not 'close' games. Beatings.

Out of the 10 schools we played, 8 qualified for CCS playoffs. They're good programs, and the frosh tore through them.  Here are the 8 teams and how they were ranked going in:  

Terra Nova #1/Open Div.

Archbishop Mitty #5/Open Div.

Alvarez #1/D-1

Los Gatos #2/D-2

North Salinas #7/D-2

Christopher #4/D-3

Sacred Heart Prep #1/D-4

Monterey #7/D-4

The difference between the present, and the past, is we have program now.  They have a plan that will develop that talent over the next four years, and leave a mark.

Here's my issue with private schools, and public schools competing for titles:

Once again, those who make the rules, change the rules, when they're faced with them. This is about what the Declaration of Independence promised, but failed to deliver.

"We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness. That to secure these rights, Governments are instituted among Men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed"

No, I'm not saying it's unconstitutional to allow public schools to play private schools.  I'm suggesting that those who have money have power, and they use that power to manipulate  who is created more equal than the others, or who has a bigger pile of unalienable rights, or deciding that those who are governed, and have money, ARE the consent.

• Saint Ignatius finished 2-5 in league, and finished 6th out of 8.  They are a losing football team, yet they're allowed to slip through the back door, and into a championship game.
• Aptos had to fight each opponent, and spill their sweat and their blood, and DEFEAT them, and be the last one standing to get in.

I don't know of any other institution, business, or competition that is given a free pass around the requirement of winning to get there, or that makes such a mockery of the principles in the Declaration. Even the sport's parent program, the NFL, puts equality as the primary objective.  

• Each team has the same salary cap of $123 million.  The Dallas Cowboys and New England Patriots don't get more because they have larger revenues.
• Every year, the teams with the worst records, get the first selections in the draft.  The weakest teams add strength before the others.
• There isn't one group of teams who can only pick Pac-12 players, or one who picks exclusively from D-2, and another who lucked out with the SEC. It's equal.  It's fair.  Like we were promised.  
• The changes to overtime are a recent example.
• And the teams in their playoff brackets get in by going in descending order, from most wins, to fewer, until the bracket is full.  No one waves their wallet and says "you don't know how difficult it is to be 2 and 5 every year..."       

The people toward the top can't keep quoting the Declaration of Independence to those toward the bottom, like it means something, if you're going to step on our fingers each time we reach the top rung of the ladder.  We're not stupid. We see what's going on.

ALL men means everyone.  Not just those with money.  Not just those with shared ideologies.  Not just those who are Saints.  Everyone.  You WCAL teams remind me of that big, awkward 6th grader who got whomped on everyday by his peers, so he'd hang out on the 3rd grade side of the playground, and boss kids around.

I'm tired of it, even if you are nice people.  Aptos is coming for you the same way they've come at everyone. With fury.

We know that our effort, and determination to fight through every opponent, and winning, is the lie we were told while you got entrenched.

 

If we were "2 and 5", I like to believe we'd refuse the invitation, and request it be given to a team that earned it.

Don't kid yourselves.  Men may be created equal, but they're not treated equal. You only need to spend a couple days at the bottom end to know that.  

And the people with the most aren't more valuable than the ones with the least, like Saints.  

I know you private schools who are out-manned in your own divisions, get it.  I think it's why you agree to hold your finger in the air yelling "We're number one!" when everyone knows you finished in sixth place, and this is only the 3rd game you've won all year.  

You do it because you also know men are far from equal.  You know that because you've seen what those at the bottom are willing to endure to have a shot at the top.  You've seen the tenacity, maybe you even knew it once.  If you're at the top you took some one down to get there, so the fear of it happening to you is real. That's how it's supposed to be.  

The more people who know the experience of both extremes means less fear of either, and more compassion for both.  Man, what does that Saint teach you, anyway?

To SI's credit, on the varsity football section of their website they have a 2013 schedule, and playoff projections.  This is what it says, typo's or not:

• "semi-finals vs. Christopher
• finals vs. Burlingame
• CIF State vs. Aptos

A look at CCS 2012-2013: (public schools in red)

Last Years CCS Finals: (ALL divisions with a private school team, were won by a private school)

Open Div

St. Ignatius   (5-2) 13/Bellarmine  (7-0)  10

Div 1 (no privates schools in division)

San Benito 35/Milpitas 28

Div 2

Los Gatos 0/St. Francis 17

Div 3

Valley Christian  51/Aptos 20

Div 4

Sacred Heart Prep13/Menlo 7

This year, 2013

Open: Serra/Mitty (both private)

D-1:  Milpitas/San Benito (No WCAL teams)

D-2   St. Francis/Los Gatos

D-3  Aptos/SI

D-4  SacHeart Prep/PG  

So, this years finals are set up to replicate last years. No public school in the Open final, all others pit Public vs. Private. Last year, 

EVERY DIVISION WITH A PRIVATE SCHOOL IN IT, WAS WON BY A PRIVATE SCHOOL, EVEN IF THEIR RECORDS WOULD'NT HAVE QUALIFIED THEM TO GET IN.

"WE HOLD THESE TRUTHS TO BE SELF-EVIDENT...."

"F to the U, Old Man"

I've coached freshman football for four years, and like every other experience that forced me to reconcile myself with the world, it wasn't sought.  This year, in particular, forced me to acknowledge my entry to the final decade, or decades, of my life.  I've been forced to acknowledge that fear is still an excuse to hide what's beautiful in me.  Fear still preserves the solitude that insulates me from Love, and the fulfillment of genuine connection I deserve.   

I have had eight of these critical "decisions" intrude upon my adult life.  None were considered with sincerity before their appearance.  All have forced the acknowledgement of "truths" upon me that my intended path was designed to avoid.  Here's my list of them:

1. Getting married.
2. Fatherhood.
3. Choosing to be a Stay-at-Home-Dad for the 12 years generally considered one's "prime earning years".
4. Commuting from Long Beach to Santa Cruz on a frequent, and consistent, basis (with Aaron during his first year of life), so I could be present in my mother's cancer-imposed, last year of life.
5. The death of my mother.
6. Getting divorced.
7. Finally refusing to accept my siblings perceptions of the person I am as "The Absolute Truth", and leaving all of them, and their ultimatums, when they banned together in the habitual McAnerney dysfunction of dismissing an individual (either physically, emotionally, or both) who threatens the denial their identities were built upon.  We all did it. No shame around it, no judgment.  It's what rises organically in families like ours, and you see it replicated in family after family with a shared dynamic.  
8. Coaching freshman football, and participating in building a new community paradigm for evaluating relationships between limitations/achievements, and failure/success.  This years freshmen owe part of what they achieved to the expectation of it, that's woven itself through the fabric of our community.  And they owe the rest to themselves for doing the required work, and adding their link to the chain.

Each of those events forced me to choose between the fictional self-perception written by my birth family, or the authentic self-perceptions I've fought my whole life to preserve.  My whole family knows which is true.  Ironically, the knowledge of what's true perpetuates what's false.  I know this because one of my brothers broke rank, and told me, three years ago.  

We were at Winchell's, and I asked if he was aware that Dad used to beat me.  He said he did, and that he actually saw one happen through the space of a not-quite, closed door.  I asked him what he did after witnessing it. The honesty in his response healed a lifetime of seeking validation from people too weak to give it. 

 He said, "Pat, when I saw what he did to you I told myself I'd never allow it to happen to me."

So, I asked him how he did that.

"I did what everyone else in our family did.  I blamed everything on you."

And why'd you do that?

"Because you were the only one who wasn't afraid of him, Pat.  Because I knew no matter how badly he beat you, you'd still get up and tell him to f#*# off."

I thanked him for allowing me to keep my truth for once, and then to ease the pain he carried, I said, "You did the right thing."

He looked at me in shock, and told me the guilt of never talking to me about it literally made him ill,  and using me to protect himself, had damaged him to the core. He thanked me, sincerely, for not 'getting mad'.

I said if we had had this conversation a few years earlier I probably would have.  But I'd already had a couple of those accidental decisions made for me, and excavated the lessons buried within them. 

I said, Dude, when you're in a war zone you do whatever you can to survive it.  I said he was right about me being able to take what he gave.  He was right that I'd still get the last word in with "F You!!"  

And then I thanked him again.  I told him those beatings ate a hole in me for 40 years.  They left me confused, and eliminated a lot of what was accessible to me, in the world.  When they happened, all I felt was fear.  When they stopped, confusion. 

See, I felt like I was a good person, a beautiful person.  But then he'd come in and do that.  You don't do something like that unless the person deserves it.  I mean, how else can you find permission to do it?  And since no one who knew of it intervened, they must have thought I deserved it too. 

The whole thing was a set-up.

"What?  What was a set-up."

My childhood.  The whole f#*$ing thing was setting the awareness I had of myself against what the people who loved me were saying, and setting up the battle I'd have my entire life.

"Until this exact moment," I said.

"I was confused about a lot of things growing up.  But I never doubted how much I could handle, or that I'd have to die before I'd let you take what I KNEW was good in me."  

And if every thing I took kept you unscathed, I can feel like it was worth it.  

The entire conversation took about 15 minutes to have.  The preparation to have it, took 40 years.

So, you do the math: 

I've had family voices in my head for 50 years, reminding me I'm nothing special. 

And life keeps intervening with suggestions about what to do next, the most recent, of which, brought me here, to help build a football program on the philosophy that there are no limitations except the ones you agree to, or impose.  It brought me to a place where the philosophy is the exact opposite of the messages in my head, and gave me a role to play in developing it.

Then it brings in the best freshman class we've seen, and removes my job, so I'm right back where I started, battling my conflict.

But,

I have support.

I have time.

I have a group of boys who stand up to everyone who stands across from them, 

a group of boys who support each other.

And I have this ache in me that I've had FOREVER,

to just write everything down.

For the first time ever, I do.

And the same thing that always happens,

happens.

Words come out effortlessly, 

and in order, like what they're here to say

has been prearranged.

I just need to punch keys.

And re-examine my life,

and the fear in charge of it.

I need to examine the limitations in my life, and ask if I put them there.

I need to make a choice between alleviating insecurity with a traditional life trajectory,

Or waking up excited about the possibilities inside of me again.

If I don't, life will.

 

 

A Platypus is What's Leftover

                 Out of the 65 kids who came out for freshman football, only about 25 made sense.  You know, the boys who ran faster, jumped higher, smiled wider, talked cooler, got voted most likely to succeed, spoke Latin, and had three testicles.  The ones leftover from the Neanderthals.  The ones with surplus testosterone. 

The others, not so much.  Football is a difficult sport.  You practice 4 days for every 1 day you play.  You push your body past its physical limits, then place it in front of an opponent to have the stuffing removed.  You ask your brain to run at red line for ten weeks straight, and you ignore the injuries and aches.  There's really no reason to play football if you don't start, or see game time.  It's like 'Running with the Bulls' in their holding pen, after the rodeo has ended.

• Why play a sport that requires one  hundred hours of being used as a tackling dummy, and no 'stat' to prove you were good at it?
• Why play a sport that doesn't guarantee game time regardless of the sacrifice, or effort?
• Why play a sport where you're the underdog to everyone you line up against, and you know you'll never touch the ball, or hear your name announced? 
• Why play a sport you don't have any physical aptitude for?

I don't know.  I've struggled with those questions for years.  Every season brings a small, misguided group of boys to the sideline, where they stand for ten weeks.  They jump at any opportunity to be knocked around on Scout 'O' or Scout 'D', without ever really getting better.  They volunteer to stay late without expectations of being rewarded.  They don't ask to be put in when you're three scores ahead, and you're looking right at them.  Instead, they smile and say "I'm okay Coach.  I understand".

Why accept the discarded features of 'real' creatures to make a composite you call your own?  Why take the ducks bill, and the beaver tail, and the webbed feet, and the overgrown claws, and reptilian egg laying, and claim it's who you are?  What the hell's a platypus, anyway?

What do you understand?

And how can it be okay?

Maybe you understand that we're not created equal, despite the claim of our Constitution.

Maybe you understand that you don't have to be a star to have fun at this.

Maybe you understand that you're not real fast or real tough, and you don't need to be, if you're going to be a Neurologist.

Maybe you understand that even little, less talented bodies are fun to play in.

Maybe you understand that just being here with the guys, is pretty cool.

Maybe you understand it's not my fault that I can't see you, because you see me, perfectly.

Maybe you understand there's another position you play off the field, and you're all-county in it.

Maybe you understand that the only measurement of ability is the one you use to measure your own,

 against what it was when you started.

Maybe that's why it's okay.

And at least your not a platypus.  

  

            

Two Minute Warning

I'll be shutting this down soon.  After the CCS run. I anticipate 2 or 3 more posts.
Before I do I want to say thank you.

I'm still not sure why I started this, or what compelled me to write about this team, or season.  It was just clear I had to.  There is no rhyme or reason to a lot of what shapes the world, or who is granted a position of influence.  It's obvious, however, that certain people, or groups, attract attention through their ability to achieve what's been historically difficult, and do so in a manner that's inclusive of their audience.  

• It's the difference between Tom Cruise and every other 18 year-old of his generation as they graduate high school, and he rockets to stardom.  
• It's the difference between every wholesome, beautiful news reporter holding a microphone, and Katie Couric. 
•  It's the difference between every burnt out teacher and Christa McCauliffe just before we watch the space shuttle she's in explode.  Some lives are selected to teach, or provide example.  

The freshman football team of 2013, or specific individuals on it, seem to be on that path.

_________________________

When this began I had no plans to share it.  Then I decided to share it with the boys on the team.  No one else.  As I near the end, and my final words, this blog's been looked at almost 3,000 times.  I know the 45 adolescent boys who inspired it aren't interested in my observations of them.  So this blog has found an audience.  It's found an audience of anonymous readers.  

I have sought connection my entire life, and have failed to find it.  I've failed because I've been afraid to be honest.  I've had company, and acquaintance, when I've agreed to avoid being honest, and I've agreed to that to insure the comfort of others.  I've agreed to it to insure a place of belonging.  I've agreed to it because it was safe.  Watching this group of boys challenged my compromises.  Curbing my passion was the biggest.

  Life is so beautiful it hurts.

_____________________________

When Scott Russo asked me to help coach we barely knew each other.  I told him I would, as long as he understood "I'd never play to win".  I'd put the kids first.  I'll never forget his answer.  He said,

"That's exactly why I want you".

Scott Russo was the first Man who gave me permission to become the man I wanted.  He gave me permission to explore the aspects within me that went against what our culture traditionally valued in it's Fathers, and Husbands, and Hero's.  He gave me permission to heal.

Scott Russo is a good football coach.      He's a great man.        He leads with a perfect combination of Drill Instructor, and Mr. Rogers.  He leads you, and loves you, at once.  He also admits to needing help, and selects individuals who he trusts to provide it.  The success of our freshman program isn't due to a single person, it's due to a perfect compilation of a group of individuals.  Scott assembled his staff to fill in the vacancies of others, compliment what he values, stand against what he abhors, and always Love first.  He is the first to acknowledge when he acts out of character, and he's the first to request an end to it.  He did that frequently this year, while he found the balance this group required.  He found a way to redirect talent, and mend sensitive ego's, into a unified objective, and general respect.  That's not easy, ever.

_____________________________________________________________

My last few posts have been read by 350 individuals.  Each post has been met with a spike in readership.  That's a remarkable thing.  

I don't know who you are, but your interest in what I observe validated what I love inside me.  You told me, in an indirect way, that what I've protected, holds value.  If you read my words, you told me you could see past the frightened man I AM in the world, and into the truth of my original heart.  You told me what it contains is welcome.  

I don't need to hide what I'm most proud of  because you confirmed it in you.  That's a gift.  And I received it from strangers.  That's the best part.  One lady, who I don't know, sent me an email that said,  "I hope you keep writing, and that you keep me informed about where to find it.  You speak everything I feel.  PLEASE write a book." 

That's the connection I've sought.  That's the exposure.  I'm not the long hair, or the smile, or the fear, or the failure.  I'm the part that wants to be known, the part that sees a miracle in every life, and courage in every heart.  

I'm just a dude, trying to live his truth, before it's lost.  Thank you for letting me........