Tag Archives: football

Bounce

Bounce: (v) to move quickly up, back, or away from a surface after hitting it; to rebound

Junior high football had just finished. I was trying to figure out if I should try out for the basketball team.Dictionary B

I looked horrible stuffed into shorts.

But I loved basketball–at least, I thought I did.

Being very accomplished at playing the classic games, PIG and HORSE, I was pretty sure I could be stunning on the court and score many points, granting my team victory and acquiring the attention of all the cheerleaders.

So I took the leap (although I have to tell you that leaping has little to do with it.)

I found that basketball has a lot to do with bouncing.

  • First, bouncing the ball, which is referred to as dribbling–because it really doesn’t matter how well you shoot at the basket if you can’t bounce the ball to the location where shooting is practical.
  • Then there’s the running–back and forth, with little rest in between.
  • The shooting, now being accomplished with lungs only half-full of air.
  • Then there’s jumping to get the ball back and rebound it on those numerous occasions when the goal is missed.
  • Finally, running again–or is it bouncing?

Well, in basketball you can’t do one without the other.

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Ball

Ball: (n) a solid or hollow sphere or ovoid, especially one that is kicked, thrown, or hit in a game.Dictionary B

Thirteen years old is such a fussy, giggly time.

I was at church camp and one of the counselors had forgotten to bring balls for us to play.

First of all, being thirteen years of age, when the counselor announced that we didn’t have balls for us to play with, we all had to giggle uncontrollably. (You see, that’s the problem with the word “ball.” It has so many meanings that it’s nearly meaningless.)

But anyway, back to my story.

So when it was announced that we were “balless” (hee-hee) we thought that this adult standing in front of us was going to go out and acquire us … balls. (This article is doubling over with double-entendres…)

Anyway, he didn’t.

I don’t know whether he was lazy, or figured there would be some sort of other entertainment for us that wouldn’t require balls. (Oh, my God…)

So in frustration we began a great search across the campgrounds. After about an hour and a half, in a ditch outside of the cafeteria, we found an old basketball that obviously had been discarded, which was about halfway filled with air.

In other words, it was still round, but did not bounce. When we tried to bounce it, it more or less splatted.

But this became our ball for the week.

Since no other circular objects of play were afforded us, we changed the rules of every sport to use what was provided.

So our basketball game, rather than being a dribbling affair, became more like football, where one would run toward the goal, knocking people over, and then shoot it and try to rebound and catch it before it haplessly squatted to the earth.

So by the end of the week, we had discovered that the most logical way to use our hampered ball was to play game after game of kickball.

I cannot tell you how sad we were on Day Four, when the kicked and abused sphere sported a gash and lost its remaining air of life.

As important as it is to have a ball, it is much more important to have air in it.

Somewhere within, there’s a lesson for life, but since I am desperately trying to get out of this awkward column … I will let you draw your own conclusions.

 

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Badly

Badly: (adv) in an unsatisfactory, inadequate or unsuccessful wayDictionary B

As a young man, I recall walking off a football field, having just been trounced by our opponent, 64-nothing. Even though I was fully aware that the idea was totally mythical, I still yearned for the earth to open up and swallow me.

The following Monday at football practice, the coach came in with a smile and said, “I’ve been thinking about Saturday’s game, and truthfully, boys, you didn’t do that badly.”

He then began to recite four or five general areas wherein we had stumbled along, culminating with the idea, “Well, at least no one got hurt.”

I know he meant well, but it was the worst thing he could have done. Because the word “badly” is good if it’s used by itself to connote that we’re fully aware that what just transpired should be taken out behind the barn and shot.

When you add onto it “not too…” it transforms it into a horrible excuse for an excuse.

Which, by the way, is inexcusable.

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Avalanche

Avalanche: (n) a mass of snow, ice, and rocks falling rapidly down a mountainside.dictionary with letter A

Every once in a while, I catch myself thinking about it: preferable ways to die. Or maybe better stated, worst ways to die. Since I’ve never died before, all of this is mere casual speculation.

I guess I’ve had a couple of near-death experiences, but never where my heart stopped, though I can relate times when it seemed like I was brain-dead.

But I certainly would not like to be buried under an avalanche, even though a lot of people actually do survive the process.

I don’t like the sensation of feeling crowded or smothered.

As a kid when I played football, it really bothered me to get to the bottom of a pile-up. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think and I wanted to scream.

Matter of fact, one time in the midst of a celebration after a game, all the guys ended up jumping on top of each other and I was on the bottom and became so frantic that I physically threw all of them to the side, scaring the hell out of most of the team because I was screaming and ranting.

Whenever I find myself in close quarters or have something laying on top of my chest, I have to go inside myself and speak to my raging bull to keep from flailing at the air and spewing obscenities.

If I suddenly found myself covered by snow and there was still enough air to breathe, well…I don’t know.

I’m just afraid that I would strike out at the surrounding frozen environment…in a losing effort.

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Autumn

Autumn: (n) the third season of the year

I hear people say it all the time: “I love the four seasons.”dictionary with letter A

I assume they’re referring to spring, summer, autumn and winter.

Every time I overhear the words, I ask myself, do you agree with that? And I realize I don’t.

I actually like two seasons. Unfortunately, there is no climate in the world that allows for the exclusive pair I prefer.

I like summer and autumn.

Spring has too much rain, buzzing bees and sneezes.

Winter…well, it’s cold.

But summer is warm and autumn gives me the tremendous sensation of flashing back to boyhood.

Magnificent things happen in the autumn when you’re a kid.

  • You go back to school.

At first you hate it, but then you realize that your friends are there and they make great jail mates.

  • Football.

Yes, autumn is the best season for football. Growing up in Ohio, there was just enough chill in the air that you had to wear a sweater or a hoodie, and could almost see your breath in the air.

  • Halloween.

Even if you didn’t dress up in a costume, the holiday afforded donuts and candy and all the things forbidden for rest of the year, but for some reason were sugar- and calorie-free on All Hallow’s Eve.

  • And of course, autumn showcases the beautiful gathering for Thanksgiving.

To me, Thanksgiving is the definition of family–even more than Christmas, when we’re busy buying and receiving presents. It’s a time when we actually have to sit together, over-consume food and converse. Although dangerous, it is a blessing.

I was kind of saddened when autumn became fall.

It must have been a similar reaction that God felt when love was only defined as sex.

There’s nothing “fall”en about autumn.

It is a beautiful season which confirms that the things that bloom must eventually die … to make room for a new possibility.

 

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August

August (n): the eighth month of the year, in the northern hemisphere usually considered the last month of summer.

dictionary with letter A

It would be a toss-up between August and January.

These are the two months that are desperately in need of a good public relations agent, January being the let-down month after Christmas and the New Year, when the weather is miserable and people begin to get their credit card bills from Nativity celebrations.

But I still would have to say that August is the odd month out.

  • It foretells of the winding down of summer.
  • It’s when all swimsuits and inner tubes are discounted at your local Wal-Mart.
  • It’s also proclaimed to be the hottest month of the year, so therefore utility bills go up, fostering cranky consumers.
  • It also dangles on the precipice of the fall, which is full of the promise of football, whereas the month of August only offers a few measly exhibition games.

August is supposed to be august with regality but ends up producing the whining of young kids, complaining about the forthcoming of another school year, as they already begin to pine for better months with better holidays, like Halloween and Thanksgiving.

I don’t know whether you could promote August.

I have a dear friend who was born in August, so that makes it a little more pleasant.

But other than that, it’s kind of a let-down after July 4th, waiting for Saturday Game Day … for college football.

 

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Archer

dictionary with letter A

Archer: (n) a person who shoots with a bow and arrows, especially at a target for sport.

When I was growing up, the pursuit of sports in my home was very seasonal–not in the sense of baseball in the summer and football in the fall, but rather, attention span.

My father and brothers developed interests in activities, and always would find a “good deal” on equipment relating to this endeavor, which they would purchase, only to discover that the materials were inferior, which made it impossible to adequately perform the task.

  • We bought a canoe that leaked.
  • We had some water skis that were cracked and fell apart the first time someone got on them in the water.
  • We had a basketball hoop that was supposed to be easy to set up in your driveway which never got higher than four feet.

Likewise, while watching Robin Hood one day on the television set, my older brother wanted to purchase a bow and arrows. My father thought it was “a champion idea.”

So with no understanding whatsoever of archery, they set out to the local hardware store, where the proprietor sold them one of his old bows and six arrows for “a really good deal.”

Without exaggerating, I will tell you that it took them two weeks to learn how to string the bow. The amount of energy it took to bend the bow for stringing nearly crippled their comprehension. The power required to pull the bow back, to shoot the arrow even two feet, was also extraordinarily daunting.

But after a couple of months, they convinced themselves they were experts on the subject and took me out to the woods to try my hand at shooting at a target.

I hated it immediately.

It took too much energy to pull the string, and because the bow was bent from the numerous attempts to manipulate it to our will, the arrows flew crooked, more resembling boomerangs.

After about the sixth attempt, they were ready to have a competition, to see who could hit the target the most often.

My dad stood ten feet to the side, away from the target, so he could give instruction to my brother and myself to make the competition more interesting.

I pulled back the bow and was ready to shoot it when my dad piped up and said, “No, Jonathan! Use more of your thumb!”

Not understanding what he said, I turned towards him in order to be respectful to his instruction, and as I did I slipped and released the arrow, which flew through the air, knocking his hat off.

It was William Tell without the apple.

My dad never said anything about it, but we quickly packed up the gear and it was stored from that point on, in the garage … next to the half-water ski.

 

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Ann Arbor

dictionary with letter A

Ann Arbor: a city in southeastern Michigan; home of the University of Michigan.

It was a gray, overcast day–a bit of chill in the air, threatening some sort of storm, whether the precipitation would be merely wet or partially frozen.

But I was sweating.

I had literally broken a surface sweat around my temples and under my armpits. I was nineteen years old, and for the first time in my life, I was about to cross the border into Michigan.

I know it sounds ridiculous, but being from Central Ohio and a fan of the Buckeyes since birth, I had not only been infused with a competitive spirit toward the University of Michigan, but had basically been convinced that north of Toledo lay the barbarian horde.

So intense was this training that upon entering the state, a mere forty miles from the seat of hell in Ann Arbor, I not only found fault with the scenery, but in my mind, generated sinister proportions to every ditch and tree.

There were things I knew about Michigan just from the passing conversations of my friends and family:

  1. They were all mean and hated their children.
  2. They wanted to do harm to all Ohio women.
  3. They weren’t really Americans.
  4. They despised God.
  5. And of course, they cheated at football.

My problem was that I was on my way to Ann Arbor to do a gig, and somehow or another, I would have to muster the courage and professionalism to treat them as humans instead of creatures from the Black Lagoon, the source of their power.

What was particularly annoying was that the concert where I performed was very enjoyable, the audience generous, and I walked out with more money than I had made in weeks.

Damn those tricky Wolverines–trying to seduce me with filthy lucre.

But I maintained my loyalty to the great Ohio, and as I retreated back to the safe haven of my home, on those forty miles to the border, I held my breath half the time … so as to make sure that I didn’t inhale the Michigan spirit.

 

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Anima

dictionary with letter A

Anima: (adj) Jung’s term for the female part of a man’s personality; the part of a person that is directed inward and is in touch with the subconscious.

I grow bored with a culture that gyrates between religious conviction and the pursuit of science.

Recently when I suggested to a friend that God, Science and Nature were the same living Creator, he became vehement at the assertion that his deity of intellect could be permeated by any sort of religious terminology whatsoever.

But if you just look at it logically, whether from a Biblical perspective or a scientific one, both of them agree that men and women are not really that different.

We focus on subtleties and we tout the cultural conflicts that are created by our own miserable manifestations, but when you get right down to it and you’re looking across the room at a man and a woman, it isn’t exactly the typical vision of the Great Hunter carrying his spear with his woman trailing two steps behind, hauling the papoose.

Actually, we’re so much alike.

I remember the first time I went on the road with two women in a music group and we ate at a Mexican buffet and came back to lounge and watch television. One of the young ladies ripped off one of the longest, most intense farts I had ever heard in my life.

I was startled–and not just by the volume and change of odor in the atmosphere. The fact that it came from a female body was foreign to me, against all the training I had received about the delicacy of the female form.

Likewise, when I was in a locker room with a friend who had broken his toe during football practice, they took off his sock, and when he saw the bent digit pointing eastward instead of north, he started to cry, worrying about what his mom would say and whether he would be able to put on his shoe to go to the dance on Friday night. This was our rough and tumble fullback, who suddenly, right in front of my eyes, turned into Cinderella.

Yes, I feel that the more we try to be male or female instead of embracing our humanity, the more ridiculous we become. I think in future generations they will laugh at our insistence on roll-playing.

Do I have a woman living inside me? God, I sure hope so. There is so much I like about women–so even to have a few ounces of their poundage of personality would be terrific.

Do I believe there is manliness living inside the women I know?

Absolutely.

So I don’t know whether these attributes are really male and female, but rather, just human qualities that are earth-friendly.

Therefore, whatever Jung came up with is okay with me as long as it’s not portrayed as an aberration, but rather, a true discovery of how much we honor one another by possessing portions of one another.

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Angel

dictionary with letter A

 

Angel: (n.) a spiritual being believed to act as an attendant, agent, or messenger from God, typically represented in human form with wings and a long robe.

Perhaps the accusation could be made that I am a soul who is susceptible to suggestion.

  • For if I watch a television show about weight loss, I become determined to pursue at least twelve hours of frugal eating.
  • Viewing a football game makes me want to toss the old pigskin.
  • And going to church makes me want to believe in a God of love, a Jesus of compassion and angels of mercy.

While others debate the existence of divine creatures, or even become vehement in their attacks or defense, I find this boring. Here’s what I think:

If there are no such things as angels, then we should pretend to be them.

If there is no Jesus who loves children and touches the lepers, why not impersonate him?

And for some reason, if God does not exist–a Father which is in heaven for the human race–then maybe it might be nice, in a small way, to comfort the fatherless.

Religion, to me, is not believing in the supernatural, but instead, taking the natural world around me and trying to do something super with it.

Will I be disappointed if I find out there are no angels? Not really–because I’ve read enough about them that I can steal their profile and try, in my miniscule way, to be angelic to my fellow humans.

Wouldn’t it be interesting if it turns out that the key to life is how well we imitate good things, and that our little performances actually become the only representation of the heavenly tale? Weird, huh?

Anyway, I think angels are cool–proclaiming messages of hope, helping out folks who are hungry, having a good word for those in despair, and arriving at just the right moment to do the right thing.

Since angels are cool and I like to be cool, I will continue to take on the role to the best of my stumbling ability.

Likewise, I will be a big, fat bald Jesus to those I meet.

And if necessary, I will come down from a theological perch of understanding and offer my shoulder to those who are crying … just like any good god should.

 

 

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