the final exam- first half

In Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs, Chuck Klosterman details a ridiculous hypothetical scenario. As I remember it today, it went something like this:

Suppose you have no interest in Canadian football. One day, you are shown a vision which, in this hypothetical, represents the unchangeable future. In this vision, you are clearly many years older. You are alone and mumbling to yourself with pure delight. Surrounding you is all kinds of Canadian football memorabilia. A game is on TV, which you watch intently. Clearly, sometime between the present and this point in the future, you have become a massive fan of Canadian football.

The next day, you are flipping channels when you see the final of the Canadian Football League on TV. 

What do you do?

When I first read this hypothetical, I was likely around eighteen years old. I probably laughed it off- what a weird concept! I was a diehard helmet football fan who was committed to Boston's teams- some might have argued that I should have been committed, such was my level of fandom.

To me, the idea that someone's sporting tastes would change in just a handful of years seemed crazy, even by the standard set by Klosterman in his hypotheticals. (And the standard was pretty low, or high, or maybe you judge: one hypothetical asks if a cat who read at a twelfth-grade level would find Garfield offensive). It seemed obvious that, in a decade, I would watch Patriots football, Celtics basketball, and Red Sox baseball, as always. If I ever watched soccer, it would mean the New England Revolution made some sort of leap to national relevance (editor's note: ha ha ha).

Well, at 2:45pm EST on Saturday, June 3, Real Madrid of Spain will line up against Juventus of Italy in the final of the UEFA Champions League. This game, which crowns the club soccer champion of Europe, is the final of the sport's most prestigious club competition. The winner on Saturday will be widely considered the best club side in the world.

And I will likely be sitting alone in my room, gleefully muttering to myself, and completely locked in for those two hours.

What the hell happened in the last twelve years?

Let's examine each final in turn and see if we can't figure it out. Things surprisingly (editor's note: ha ha ha) ran a bit long so we'll do it in multiple parts- not too many but more than two- over the next few weeks.

Thanks for reading- and good luck enjoy.

Tim

1988-2004: Blissful (?) ignorance (???)

It's hard to recall what I thought 'world football' looked like in these dark days. I remember the USA losing to Brazil in 1994 on my first Fourth of July in America. In 1998, I knew there was something 'political' about the USA playing Iran in the World Cup- unfortunately, I knew less about politics than I did soccer, so this was a non-event as well.

I did a little better four years later. I recall watching the 2002 USA-Germany World Cup quarterfinal on the Spanish channel. The picture was as fuzzy as my understanding- but even I knew Frings handled. At this point, let's say I was 'dimly aware' of international soccer.

But club football was a different story. I knew of the J-League (Japan's cleverly named national soccer league) and occasionally watched the MLS (America's idiotically named national soccer league). I was, however, definitely unaware of the European Cup or its successor, the UEFA Champions League. To say 'I knew next to nothing' about club football in Europe would be a lie- at this point, I knew exactly nothing about club football in Europe.

It goes without saying that I missed each of the finals during this time period.

2005: Liverpool 3, AC Milan 3 (Liverpool won on penalties)

I do not count this among the eleven finals I watched because I only saw two minutes of the game- it seems like at least a half is required to count it as a full viewing. The minutes in question were the third and fourth, seen by accident when I wandered into a friend's house. We left moments later to make our way to the cemetery to work on a history project (something to do with local veterans) (1).

2006: Barcelona 2, Arsenal 1

I got access to cable TV in the winter of 2006. I'm hooked, but only briefly, for I quickly learned the little secret kept from me by friends throughout my childhood- cable TV sucks.

I might have stopped watching TV entirely at this point. However, one night I stumbled across the Fox Soccer Channel. I developed my new awareness of the sport by watching replays of games late at night on this now-defunct station. In between games, I researched the sport's history on Wikipedia. In just a couple of months, I was conversationally fluent in all aspects of the game.

My new passion for the game reflected (though 'outpaced' might be a better word here) an increasing interest in the sport among my friends. A group of us got together at my friend Rob's house to watch this match.

We finalized the 'venue' based on the size of the TV. Back then, HD flatscreens were rare, so his massive set that took up about twenty five square feet of space was considered the Best Available TV.

In 2006, the game kicked off at 2:45pm on a Wednesday. The switch to Saturday was years away. We agreed to watch the match via tape delay due to commitments with school or sports.

I took on the critical role of videotaping the game on a VCR. Somehow, only one of the group found out the score of the game beforehand (though he did not know the winner). It is hard to imagine that happening now. In those days, we had cell phones but cell phones didn't have internet.

It worked out about as well as it could for him, I suppose, as the 1-1 deadlock was broken just ten minutes from full time.

2007: Milan 2, Liverpool 1

This viewing took place two blocks away from the prior year's. I cannot remember why since nothing about TV size had changed in the previous year. In any event, all of us were out of high school at this point and so we watched this game live.

A full year at college proved significant in terms of developing my interest in the sport. For the first time, people I interacted with on a daily basis considered the results from Europe's leagues as 'news'. Advances in technology also contributed- though games appeared on US TV every now and then, the internet offered plenty of options for those seeking a live stream.

Many of my hometown friends continued the progression from 'non-soccer viewers' to 'soccer viewers' that I noted the prior year. We were at the age where free time remained plentiful and athletic activity the preferred boredom killer. A lot of time the prior summer was spent playing pickup games at my former elementary school; the intent was for 'Oldham FC', as our Facebook group was called, to resume informal action once again in the weeks after the final (2). 

My full immersion in the sport remained somewhat unusual among these friends. It was odd to come home and have my changing sports interests viewed with a degree of suspicion. Wasn't the point of college to get into new surroundings, learn a little bit about different people, and try some new things? And yet there I was, having accomplished an irrelevant version of it, and all I saw was a crack, the first hint of separation, appearing between me and those I used to see everyday.

All of that fled my mind at the time of kickoff. I was too excited- by this time, I was a full-speed Liverpool supporter and eagerly anticipating their upcoming victory.

Liverpool coped effectively with Milan's threat for most of the first half. The game turned on a farcical moment just before halftime, however. Milan took a free-kick that deflected off a player's back and into the goal. Liverpool were forced to abandon their strategy of using defensive midfielder Mascherano to track the unstoppable Kaka. Instead of probing carefully for a goal, they chased the game in the second half.

Benitez eventually substituted Mascherano for an attacker and, though well-intended, the result of the sacrifice was predictable: Kaka, freed from his shackles, danced around Reina and netted a decisive second just a minute later.

In hindsight, perhaps a Liverpool victory was not the foregone conclusion as I hoped it to be. The team was good, not elite. They finished seven victories behind Manchester United in the league standings. Milan, on the other hand, were considered among the continent's best. But since Liverpool had a knack for taking on better opponents and were among the toughest teams to beat in any single game during this season, I was understandably confident about their chances (3).

In the end, the result was disappointing but nothing to worry about. Liverpool was a dominant European force. It was their second final in three seasons. They would be back.

2008: Manchester United 1, Chelsea 1 (United won on penalties)

This was the height of English club superiority on the continent and the battle between London-based Chelsea and Manchester United accurately reflected this reality. Unfortunately for neutral fans, these great English teams were built around organized defending, loathsome personnel, and a reliance on physical superiority. A 'tug of war' match would have been more entertaining than this game.

England's fortunes at club level contrasted with the state of chaos in their national team. Just months prior to the final, the national team fell, 2-1, against Russia during the qualification tournament for the 2008 European Championship. It was a hugely damaging loss in a campaign that ended with England's surprising failure to qualify.

Rather than acknowledge the flaws in their national team or pin responsibility on the players for a series of listless performances, the ridiculous English press blamed the artificial turf (also 'plastic pitch', also 'synthetic surface') of the Luzhniki Stadium in Moscow. I suppose the English hallmarks of wild slide tackles, booting the ball thirty yards over the goal, and picking up yellow cards for dissent were all more easily accomplished on grass.

There was also righteous outrage about the Russians 'watering the field' before kickoff. Apparently, irrigation favored the home side. I assume this was due to their proclivity to pass and shoot, skills that a slicker surface tends to enhance.

With the memory of that game lingering in the minds of the English press, the two clubs kicked off at the Luzhniki. It seemed appropriate that this game was contested during a driving rainstorm. And though an imported grass surface was overlaid on the widely ridiculed 'plastic pitch' for the final, no amount of cosmetics improved the entertainment value of this game.

The highlight was a minor brawl taking place after some whining about acceptable behavior following a throw-in. It culminated with Drogba's red card for slapping someone. I recognized the scene- selfish me-first 'stars' flopping all over the place, referees with no control over the game, and off-court 'storylines' having nothing to do with the process of the game itself. It was the NBA.

Did I really look forward to this nonsense all year? And what was the point of watching soccer if it was just another American sport in disguise? Looking back, it seems a minor miracle that I kept watching (4).

As it tends to go in these cases, the Game That Nobody Asked For went first into extra time, then to a penalty shootout. Both Ronaldo and Terry missed, a small victory for the neutrals. But unfortunately, the structure of the shootout meant one of these loathsome teams eventually won. I think it was United.

Exercises in tedium like the 2008 final were my initial exposure to the value soccer fans placed on style of play. Teams described as playing a 'free flowing' or 'attractive' style were lauded whether they won or lost. Players who could 'express themselves' were favored to their earnest but functional colleagues.

Winning mattered to these fans, of course, but the style of play came into consideration at a degree I was not used to. From my experience following sports, winning mattered first and style, in theory, was nice to have. But in soccer conversations, the idea of 'attractive football' was an important discussion point. Managers who played a better style were sometimes preferred to those who consistently won with blunter tactics.

This final was the first time I really started relating to the idea. Both sides were pragmatic at the cost of style. And the result was two-hour rock fight. Who would spend any time watching this? Life, like any match, is too short.

2009: Barcelona 2, Manchester United 0

Ah, more like it.

The big story going into this one was about United's Ronaldo being some kind of choke-artist, a semi-unfair label that he unfortunately contributed to with the prior season's penalty shootout miss. It was also the start of the whole 'Messi v Ronaldo' debate. As usual, looking back on these things makes me wonder why anyone ever watches the news.

On a broader level, the game represented a litmus test for what represented winning tactics. The English, so dominant in the mid-to-late 2000s, sat at home and watched as Spain won the 2008 European Championship. The kicker, so to speak, was that the Spanish triumphed while displaying none of the hallmarks of the dominant English club sides.

Spain accomplished that little trick English teams outside of Arsenal could not quite get the hang of- passing to each other- and confirmed the somewhat starry-eyed era of short passing football was in full swing. (The style was officially known as 'tiki-taka', a Spanish expression that I believe means 'short passing football'.) Many teams in the world would fail to imitate this effectively in the next few years, mostly because many teams lacked the very specific types of players (short, skilled, and Spanish) required to do this properly.

Barcelona was the club embodiment of the Spanish national team's philosophy. Watching them win this game was a revelation. As Barcelona dinked, dribbled, and danced their way past a stationary United, I realized what I missed every time I rolled my eyes at the idea of 'attractive football'- to put together anything truly worth building, function must follow form (5).

The highlight of this game was Messi heading in the second goal. One concession even the most ardent Messi supporter gave to the Ronaldo camp was the Portuguese's superior aerial ability. Well, game on, seemed the message from the Argentine as he wheeled away from the rippling net, the scoreboard recording his contribution to the eventual final scoreline.

2010: Internazionale 2, Bayern Munich 0

The tide continued to shift in Europe as England's stranglehold on the competition loosened. Unfortunately, I knew English teams better than I did others and perhaps that contributed to this match's forgettable nature. So though Milan's crosstown rival and Germany's biggest club were two of Europe's biggest names, to me they remained only ideas I was vaguely aware of.

What hurts this final in retrospect was that the most interesting aspect of the season came during the semi-finals. Internazionale, or Inter, knocked out the defending champions, Barcelona. Since semi-finals happen over two legs (a leg being another word for match) the scores are added together to determine the winner. Each team hosts one leg. If the scores are tied, the team who scored more goals as the away team advances. If that does not break the tie, thirty additional minutes are played. If it remains tied (with the away-goals idea reapplied) a penalty shootout settles the matter.

Got it? Good.

In the first leg, Inter hosted Barcelona. In the days before the match, a volcano erupted in Iceland, covering Europe in smoke, ash, and (not too much) lava. Air travel ground to a halt. So, instead of flying, the champions rode a train to Italy and lost, 3-1. In the second leg, Inter flew to Spain and famously protected their lead by basically having the entire team stand inside the goal. They held on and, though losing 1-0 on the night, progressed to the final thanks to a 3-2 aggregate advantage.

This semi-final reminds me of three things. First, in soccer, goals are scored one at a time (glad I'm here to clear this up). This means that teams never score a goal that brings them from a losing position into a winning position. Teams can tie OR take the lead- but never both- with one goal.

The away goals rule changes this. In the second leg of the semi-final, a Barcelona goal that gave them a 2-0 win would also have tied the series, 3-3. But since they scored in Italy, Barcelona would also hold the away-goals tiebreaker, 1-0. When the score was 1-0, Barcelona was winning on the night but losing the series. Had they scored one more goal, they would have been winning the series.

I think this phenomenon contributes to the wild popularity of the tournament. In this sport, there is no other time when a single goal can propel a team from a losing to a winning position. And although learning to appreciate the 'value' of a draw is a major step in learning how to appreciate soccer, the draw is usually relevant only in a larger league or tournament context. When the situation is win or go home, nothing beats the drama of a losing team fighting desperately to score a go-ahead goal.

The second thing is this video of Inter's manager, Jose Mourinho, 'celebrating' after 'masterminding' his team's 'tactics' throughout the 1-0 loss. The opposing goalkeeper, Valdes, is trying to keep Mourinho away from the Barcelona fans. But Mourinho, despite the evidence in the video, is an adult. He taunts who he wants. This clip makes me laugh every time I watch it.

The reaction to Mourinho contributes to my growing understanding of the sport's very un-American obsession with style. Many criticized his tactics in the post-match and accused him of playing 'anti-football'- a hilarious expression that explains itself- instead of applauding his genius in finding a way to stop the great Barcelona team. It's process over results at its finest.

The last thing of note takes me back to my final college basketball game. We left campus for a vital conference tournament game expecting to be on the bus for three hours. Eleven hours later, we arrived at our destination thanks to the road-clogging efforts of a snowstorm. Such is the nature of New England weather.

The next morning's game tipped off at noon. Though the team's morale was high entering the game, the aftereffects of arriving at the hotel so late the prior night (or perhaps so early the same morning) proved too much. We had no chance.

I usually would have had little sympathy for a Barcelona side blaming its first-leg loss on a train trip. Many would consider such a trip across Western Europe an integral part of a relaxing vacation.

But in this case, I understood the feeling. With some things in life, you get one chance. And although one chance might be all you need- any great goal scorer would agree- in those circumstances, you best not miss.

Footnotes / imagined complaints

1. A microcosm of how new things start?

I suppose I eased my way into being a soccer fan in a fashion similar to how young players start their playing careers. At first, they make substitute appearances, coming in for a few minutes here, a half-hour there. As they develop their understanding of the game and build familiarity with their team, they begin playing entire games. I was, in a sense, no different- this first cameo appearance started a slow progression of viewing that eventually became a full decade of consistent Champions League final viewing.

Missing this game, in hindsight, was tough timing for me. Liverpool's comeback win after trailing 3-0 at halftime is considered one of the sport's most memorable games. A year after this game, I become a full-fledged Liverpool fan, the timing akin to that of someone hitting the lottery on the first drawing after the record setting jackpot- it worked out just fine...but still.

2. Oldham FC

Using social media to track yellow card totals and describe embarrassing missed goals for posterity caught the attention of True Football Fans abroad. Our group was contacted by supporters of Oldham Athletic AFC, a third-tier club located just outside of Manchester, England, UK, (back then) Europe.

These folks thought it would be a fine idea for us to serve as an unofficial fan club for their side. To help us better understand our mission, they related the history of the club, compared our misfiring wannabe goal-scorers to their prolific forwards, and posted pictures of glamour models wearing Oldham kits (uniforms) to our page.

The interaction with these earnest supporters was a lot of fun and I made an honest effort to follow the team's results in the following years.

3. Liverpool 2006-2007

The round of sixteen win at Barcelona and the semi-final shootout win at home over Chelsea remain among my favorite Liverpool memories. Both results were surprising at the time. The key was manager Rafa Benitez, a tactical mastermind who consistently crafted teams that punched above its weight in European competition. The question entering the final was- how would Benitez stop Kaka, Milan's all-world attacking midfielder?

I talked about the possibilities for the entire month of May with anyone who would listen (which was no one). When the game kicked off, the plan to use Mascherano (the great defensive midfielder and perhaps my first true favorite player) to track Kaka all over the field became immediately apparent.

4. Or maybe I conveniently 'forgot' this game happened...

It is possible that watching 'elite' English clubs show off their agricultural tactics left me with concussion-like symptoms for days after the final whistle, causing me to forget any resolutions made during the 2008 final like 'give cricket a try in 2009'.

5. Japan tangent

The 2009 final was my first exposure to the tiki-taka style. Though Spain famously played in a similar fashion during their triumph in 2008, I missed most of their continental triumph the previous summer thanks to my trip to Japan.

The trip was my first to Japan since I moved to the USA in 1994. At that time, each country was just initiating major, near-parallel efforts to create interest in the sport. Japan's first season of its current top professional league, the J-League, kicked off in 1993, while America's MLS began play just a year later. The leagues picked up significant momentum on the back of successful World Cup hosting duties (America in 1994, Japan in 2002). Ideally, these efforts would aid the development of players that could compete internationally against the top talent from Europe and South America. Over time, the logic went that producing top players would equip the national teams to compete for World Cups.

Almost a decade and a half after my move, it struck me how much further along the sport seemed in Japan than back in the USA. The American approach to cultivating talent was, in one sense, too American to compete with the rest of the world. Budding talents often played in high school and college systems that were better suited to developing basketball or helmet football players- sports where the critical development years came late in adolescence. MLS was structured like other American professional leagues- with an imbalanced regular season schedule, a post-season playoff tournament, and a draft system to distribute new players- and this rewarded teams who were poor at identifying and developing talent with the best young players instead of putting them out of business (as was the case in Europe).

When the American team failed at international level, fans at home fantasized about hypothetical teams featuring top athletes from other sports and crowned these squads champions-elect, often failing to note that American teams were already among the fittest teams at World Cup tournaments. The US team needed better players, not better athletes.

On the other hand, Japan's development setup closely imitated the methods of established powerhouses. Young players trained with clubs before reaching puberty and there was no suggestion that academic institutions were responsible for cultivating the potential of the next generation of star players. The J-League was structured like their European counterparts and aligned the incentives of teams with those of both the players and the national team- to become the best footballing nation on the planet.

When Japanese teams failed at international level, efforts were redoubled on developing skills, importing the best coaches, and identifying best practices from successful nations around the globe.

6. Is this why I don't remember a ton of hockey highlights?

When I think of the great highlights from other sports, the buzzer-beaters or last minute scoring that comes to mind almost always involves a helmet football, basketball, or baseball team going from a trailing position to a winning one.

prop admin, december 2016 reading review, part 4- sports edition

Hi,

Goodness, how much did I read in December??? Bet some of you thought I forgot about these, am I right?

I am finally posting this because I discuss Benitez a little bit in my next post. I figured you could read this today and get a little extra background info before that post goes up on Wednesday.

We all know the drill by now so let's just jump right into it.

Tim

*Champions League Dreams by Rafa Benitez (12/27)

Benitez, manager of Liverpool Football Club from 2004 until 2010, guides the reader through his six seasons in charge of the English giant. His focus is on the club's participation in Europe's top club competition, the UEFA Champions League. Intertwined with his tactical breakdowns are accounts of the club's domestic performance, transfer dealings, and disarray caused by a takeover from foreign (American) ownership in his final years as manager.

Sports books written by players and coaches tend to produce a lot of rubbish. No surprise there- who would have time to develop writing skills while also participating in professional sports? But I suspected that Benitez might do well given his brief stint as a columnist during one of his sabbaticals from management. My instincts proved sound with every page I savored of this excellent book.

As expected, each tactical breakdown fascinated in its own way. Some of his notes are simple (such as the observation that teams prefer to press along the sidelines due to the pressured player having one less direction in which to pass). He also details his basic yet decisive penalty kick research prior to shootout wins over AC Milan and Chelsea. He did not consider his tireless preparation complete until he established contingency plans for situations where his team took the lead, fell behind, or saw Steven Gerrard a player sent off.

Other notes are subtler, such as his observation that each solution in a game creates a new problem. In one example, he describes the chain reaction after a left back steps out to meet an opposing winger. First, the closest center back or the deepest central midfielder must drop in and cover the vacated left back space. Then, because the player who stepped in must have vacated his own space, a third defender must account for this opening before an opponent can step in and exploit it. Benitez resolved these impossible puzzles by prioritizing the openings to cede to opponents rather than try to ask his players to exhaust themselves by covering every blade of grass on the pitch. This ability to ignore trivial problems set Benitez apart from his contemporaries.

I found most rewarding the descriptions of his management techniques. Benitez considered it vital to balance the mood of his squad with his team talks. Thus, a team too confident prior to a match would be treated to an in-depth discussion of the opponent's strengths. However, a tense team would quickly learn about the opponent's every weakness. In acquiring players, he targeted those with position versatility because he knew over the course of a season that he would use a variety of strategies to counteract opponents.

One up: Benitez exemplifies an ideal I used to lean on in my days as a hiring manager- clear writing is a strong indicator of clear thinking. This book is superb in its clarity of explanation and reinforces the feeling of many associated with the club during his tenure- when it came to the task of analyzing an opponent and preparing the perfect plan, there were few managers preferred to Benitez.

One down: I loved this book but I cannot say with any certainty that someone with little interest in the sport will find this readable. It lacks the expansive life perspective of Ken Dryden's The Game and it does not guide the reader in the way Jonathan Wilson's Inverting The Pyramid does to make the tactical discussions friendly for the casual observer.

Just saying: I started following top-flight European football in the winter of 2006. Sitting around at home with nothing to do in the fortnight after the end of my high school basketball career, I came across a replay of an English Premier League game one night and got hooked over a series of late night viewings.

The games and seasons covered by this book overlap almost exactly with my start as a Liverpool supporter. So, in addition to enjoying the tactical analysis and the detailed look at a manager's thought process, there was also an undeniable nostalgia in simply reliving some of the great matches from those early days as I read this book.

*Belichick and Brady by Michael Holley (12/30)

This book, somewhat contrary to the expectations set by the title, was more about the New England Patriots in general than it was a focused study of the head coach and his quarterback. Since the starting point of the book was Bill Belichick's hiring as head coach, though, we readers were still treated to a healthy dose of the two men.

Of the two, it is the coach that generally occupied the narrative's focus. This was perhaps logical. Belichick, after all, still decides if Brady will play or if he will sit. Such a focus, though, did drive much of the book off the field and into the meeting rooms or offices where the coach deliberates, analyzes, and finalizes his strategy.

My favorite parts of this book were about the coach's team building philosophies. Belichick's ideal coaching hire was a young assistant to teach and promote. He encouraged his coaches to withhold a decision until they were finished gathering the required information but, once fully prepared, to be thorough, clear, and decisive in making determinations.

This process applied to player evaluations as well. For each position on the team, Belichick and his staff wrote out a full description of the ideal player. They then gathered as much information as possible about the player before making a decisive determination. Though economics prevented his staff from always signing the perfect fit, it fully prepared them to recognize the real thing.

The coaches processed a staggering amount of information prior to each game. However, transferring all of it to the players was unreasonable lest they overload their team with too much information. Thus, game plans were limited to just two or three heavily emphasized ideas. Any more information and the player's ability to concentrate fully would be challenged. Like with Benitez, Belichick set himself apart from his rivals by understanding how to prioritize problems rather than exhaust his resources by trying to solve them all at once.

The book's wider focus brought occasional commentary about Belichick from others in the football world. One observer noted that players on the downside of their careers generally got a lot of attention from the fans and the media. He saw it as the coach's job to ease them out of the organization, generally by slowly transferring responsibilities to a younger, rapidly improving player. This observer thought Belichick did an outstanding job at this task.

Not all of these observations were compliments. One significant league executive noted that leading an organization through multiples phases required understanding the feelings, loyalties, and relationships that people have with each other. This comment's positioning within the book implied that Belichick lacked this capability early on in his career.

One up: My freshman football coach once said that football games are determined by just a few plays. The reason why players must go all-out on each play is because no one knows if a given play will be among those crucial few until the play is over.

This book reminded me of that quote. It is surprisingly insightful given what seems its intention to cover as much as possible without digging too deep into any one moment from this period. But, these insights would come out of nowhere, causing me to scurry for a pen while reinforcing my desire to keep reading.

One down: If you are not a New England Patriots fan, I would suggest skipping this one. The book is a classic 'mile wide, inch deep' type of read. A Patriots fan can do a lot with that inch.

Another way to put it- I would not read this book if it were written about any other NFL team (and especially those pathetic Buffalo Bills).

Just saying: Reading this book after Benitez's work led me to consider way I watch sports today and compare it to what I enjoyed in the past. These days, I enjoy digging into the on-field strategy while keeping an eye on the team building aspects. This is a big shift from the past when I basically just would Root, Root, Root for the Home Team and dig into the sensational story lines produced by the national media hype machine.

I could oversimplify it and say that I prefer to think about process rather than results, a disease no doubt transmitted to me by that bestselling vector known as Moneyball!

life changing books? maybe put together...

Just over half a year ago, I detailed my ideal reading month- somewhere between five and seven books. No, not necessarily six, even if that is true on average (!). And then I get a month like December 2016 and I end up reading thirteen (13) books!

The problem is that I enjoy reading books. It's not so easy to sit there, jot down the notes for books I've just finished, and then go write up a quick little blog post about it when there is a more exciting new book to read sitting on the windowsill. To ignore a new book is often a pop quiz of my willpower- and sometimes I flunk.

The struggle to delay the gratification of reading reminds me of a book I considered writing about as 'life changing' back in the spring. Like the (approximately) three thousand sports books I read as a kid, I do not remember the name of this book. All I recall is a delayed gratification problem that the main character, just barely a teenager, struggled with every single day.

The thing about the kid is that he really wanted to be a pitcher. This meant daily practice. But pitching is an unnatural motion that takes a toll on the arm. Practicing too often almost guarantees an elbow or shoulder injury, especially for young players.

If it were up to this kid, though, he would throw fastballs from dawn to dusk (when he would presumably switch over to curves and change-ups). He was smart enough to understand the consequences of such a plan, though, so he maintained an uneasy equilibrium with his practice schedule and sought other ways to relieve his boredom.

The thing I remember from the book is that, as much as he enjoyed practicing, he looked forward to practicing even more. Just the mere idea of an upcoming pitching session was good enough to see him through a dull summer day. The earlier he practiced each day, the earlier he would lose the ability to look forward to practicing. Once his practice session ended, there was little left to look forward to the rest of day.

This effectively divided his day into three sections- looking forward to pitching, pitching, and misery.

Looking back, this book was perhaps my first true example of delayed gratification. As a kid, what is often framed as 'delayed gratification' is really just disguised cause-and-effect. Eating your vegetables before dessert isn't delayed gratification, it's a trade you make- one carrot for a bowl of ice cream. I wish someone offered me that trade today. Doing your homework before watching TV isn't delayed gratification, it's a math problem. If x = faster performance, y = an early reward.

Ultimately, I decided not to consider this particular book life changing. The reason should be obvious- nothing changed! Healthy people don't just buy vegetables, they eat their salads. And knowledge remains useless (and therefore not life changing) without application. Today, every time I open a new book before I've completed the note taking and blogging process for the previous one, I'm reminded that I still fail to apply the basic concept.

Now, the idea of taking notes for future reference brings me to a second book. This book's title is, no surprise, forgotten. But I know the basic mechanics of the plot.

The story was very straightforward. The main character was an athletically overwhelmed quarterback with a brain for the sport. Desiring to one day become a coach, he joins a powerhouse college football team as a practice-only player. Throughout his four years, he meticulously observes the methods of his legendary head coach and catalogs everything he learns in a giant binder. The idea was for this binder to serve as the foundation- a playbook- for his future coaching philosophies.

About halfway into my first job, I started doing this. I would show up on a Monday morning, print out a few of these book notes that I (eventually) wrote up, and circle anything I thought might be of use on the job. I combined the ideas that related across notes documents into reference material for the more common challenges that I faced on the job- integrating new people, teaching a skill, running a meeting, organizing a job interview.

This habit proved immensely valuable for any tasks I handled outside a set schedule. That way, I could return to something a few months later without losing my past insights about a specific function or project. You could say that these documents were my own managerial playbook.

I'm not quite sure what my next role will be at the time of writing (March 2017). But I'm almost certain to continue the approach. Having accumulated wisdom on hand is tremendously valuable. Although I regret a little bit that I did not start doing this as soon as I finished reading this particular book, I am glad that I eventually got around to it. I cannot think of a better way to retain and apply what I learn from the books that I read.

the final exam- preview

In Slouching Towards Bethlehem, Joan Didion makes a remark about the importance of being on nodding terms with our past selves. Without maintaining at least a polite friendliness to those we once were, we run the risk of seeing ghosts return to the present in the most unexpected ways or at the most unwelcome times.

Next week, I'm going to post the first of a series titled 'The Final Exam'. The idea is to look at one of these past selves and try to better understand one of the stranger things that's happened to me in the past decade: I became a soccer fan. It's certainly a result my seventeen year old self wasn't expecting.

Now, I didn't write these posts out of some fear that this 'ghost' would come to haunt me during some unforeseen future. It was more out of curiosity- I wanted to better comprehend something I never set out to do and, perhaps, see if there were any lessons or insights to take away from it today.

As I started fitting my various experiences into the framework of the series, I noticed another unexplored truth emerging: that by the end of the same decade, my interest in soccer was declining. I never intended to write about this loss of interest but I recognized the general idea when I saw it. Most sports fans work through a vaguely similar progression at some point. As they get older, their involvement in or passion for sports decreases. The role that sports once filled in life slowly gives way to something else.

That's not to suggest that sports fans walk away from their fandom as soon as they get a driver's license, find a job, or start having kids. Far from it- I still watch games, track results, and generally try to keep up with the latest news. I don't know anyone who was once a big sports fan that no longer keeps an eye on things in some manner. But I acknowledge that the role sports plays for me today is vastly different to what it was in the past.

When I moved to the USA in 1994, I was a six year old with no useful people skills. Playing sports was a great way to compensate for these developing abilities- especially those required to make friends and establish a sense of community.

I managed to cultivate the friend-making skill by the time I graduated from high school. Most of my friends in elementary school were teammates of one kind or another. As the town's various smaller elementary schools combined to form single junior high and high schools, the process repeated itself- I found myself making friends with teammates instead of those I shared classes or activities with.

I recognize today that during this time playing sports became a direct substitute for the still-developing skill of making friends. Having no ability to relate to others on a personal level, I leaned on sports to help make friends until I could do so without sports. This was probably at its peak early in high school when my social circle was notably missing anyone who did not play on the same teams as me.

The change happened, whether by coincidence or not, when I became serious about basketball. Suddenly, the way I approached sports changed. Instead of hanging out before practice like it was after-school 'social club', I showed up early to get some extra practice. Even though the coaches weren't handing out grades, I had the same mentality I applied to AP-level math classes- somehow, I would find a way to get an 'A'.

This meant I lost a bit of common ground with my teammates who were not as driven as I was. Luckily, my social skills were developing and I was starting to understand how to relate across my differences with others. Today, many of my friends from high school are people who I never played sports with at all. The same applies to those I've become friends with since.

The second skill of community building took longer to develop. I think the evidence shows that, although the way I played sports had undergone a transformation by the time I reached college, the way I watched sports remained like it did in second grade. Emotional is the best way to describe my approach- if the team won, I was elated, if the team lost, I was devastated.

The thing about those emotions is how strongly they were linked to a larger concept I had of the community around me. I was happy with a win, for sure, but I was happiest to share that with others equally excited about the victory. That's how being happy in a community works- you walk around with a big grin, laugh off minor trivialities, and appreciate the morning sunlight reflecting off living room windows, right?

And it remains true, in reverse, with the agony of defeat- carrot cake tastes like carrot sticks and the teachers all understand why the Red Sox fans are responding in dull monotones.

I didn't think of it quite that way at the time, of course. But I was definitely aware of how I was participating in some form of community. Growing up in Norwood, a suburb of Boston, meant the specific idea was the 'Boston sports' community. With each Celtics or Bruins win, the joy was shared among us fans like residents of a small town gathering to sing and dance at the annual festival. A loss by the Patriots or Red Sox would bring such a complete gloom that, like at a well-attended funeral, any sign of happiness seemed out of place.

And though it probably sounds silly to an outsider, I can confirm that these sports-fan communities are a very real thing. Like any community, they are defined internally ('we like our team') and externally ('they hate our team'). The first thing I remember finding out about my new college roommate, Charlie, was that he was a New York Yankees fan. 'Oh, that won't be good,' I thought, which sounds preposterous in hindsight given how how little baseball has to do with us being great friends today.

As I settled into my freshman year, it was easy for peers to point and say 'Oh, there's Timmy, the Boston guy' and I would extend my finger right back and go 'Hey, there's Paddy, the New York guy'. The first blog I ever read grew out of this concept- the two authors, both Colby upperclassmen, alternated posts about the Red Sox and the Yankees. There is no other way to describe that blog and its robust comments section as anything but one of the truest communities I will ever be in.

I started to notice changes when I returned home for summers. The closeness I had with some friends, based on shared mutual interest and emotional investment in the outcomes of games, was starting to fray. Part of this was due to changing interests. As it is with all friendships, in some cases the foundation of the relationship shifted to accommodate these changes; in other cases, we slowly grew apart, like branches extending in opposite directions from shared roots.

It's hard to pinpoint a specific moment when I stopped relying on my interest in sports as a community building tool. Those summers I reference might be the point- but those could just as easily be symptoms stemming from a different cause. It could have been a natural progression from my first change of no longer using sports to make friends- over time, making friends in new contexts would have forced me to build my sense of community in those new ways, as well.

If forced to guess one thing, I would go with my general reduction in busyness. Communities are often built around a shared pillar but those pillars are hard to establish when a calendar is fully booked and each moment of time is accounted for weeks in advance. Outside of geography, the number one thing I find in common among the friends I see most often now is busyness- the ones who've busied themselves sometimes seem on the verge of disappearing entirely from my life. And even though it follows as a matter of definition, I think it is worth pointing out that I do see my less busy friends more often.

Now, this busyness thing is no problem on its own. The things that make people busy are often community-building activities in their own right. Family time is an obvious one. A strong workplace often exists as some form of community. Those who regularly share an activity, exercise, or volunteer with the same people are building community. Maybe a better way to put it is that people are busy in a healthy way when they are busy building communities.

The role of sporting-related community is clearly diminished, though. It's not entirely gone; I still play on a basketball team once a week and the fantasy football league I'm in charge of is almost twenty years old. Those activities keep me in touch with some friends I would otherwise lose sight of; with the rest, these serve as one among many topics of discussion.

And yet, on an overall level, I notice the loss of sports as a community building tool. In my last job, for example, I never participated in our office 'March Madness' pool. That's a big change from just a few years when I organized the same among my friends at school. But despite my failure to diligently fill out a bracket and pontificate about who would win the Final Four, I would say that the sense of community I built and shared with the others in that office was a real and significant thing. It's notable to me that I didn't need a shared interest in sports with my colleagues to do it.

But though I experience sports differently today than I did when I was younger, I wouldn't trade the time I spent on it for anything else. I was hopeless socially at age six and didn't get much better for a decade or so. Without participating in or understanding sports, I would have had a really difficult time connecting with my peers while I was growing up.

Today, the skills that sports seemed to help cultivate are flourishing on their own. It leaves open the question of what role remains for something that was once so vital to me.

At this point I'm reminded again of that quote from Slouching Towards Bethlehem. To stay on nodding terms with ourselves is vital, of course, for reasons Didion (who I acknowledge is a tiny bit more accomplished a writer than I) articulated in her essay collection. It's important to recognize those who return unexpectedly, especially if they are uninvited.

But there is this other angle I see when I consider my past self, The Huge Sports Fan. That self is the one who got to know so many people. He might help me connect with people I've yet to meet. Maintaining some basic familiarity with him is vital- without it, those skills I've developed in my more recent years might never get put to use. So though there are some aspects of my past that I might best remain merely on nodding terms with, there are others that I should probably give more attention to. When it comes to my past as a sports fan, perhaps the equivalent of a cup of coffee makes sense, just to catch up and maintain a sense of where I came from.

This season, I didn't watch a single minute of the Champions League. But I'm still looking forward to the final on June 3, regardless of my interest level. It's a match I've watched for the last eleven years, an unimaginable streak to my seventeen year old self. That kid would be equally bewildered by my absence from much of the latest Celtics playoff run. He might not agree that its good enough for me to just keep an eye on the scores or ask other fans what they think. He might cringe when I share what I do know because it's so much less informed than what it was in the past.

One day, he'll figure out that community building is all about accepting differences and working with others to find shared roots. It's important work because unacknowledged roots are the ones that trip us up most unexpectedly. How we find these roots isn't so important- all that matter is finding a way to do it.

reading review: letters from a self-made merchant to his son

Letters From A Self-made Merchant to His Son by George Lorimer (April 2017)

This is one of those books whose title perfectly describes the content- a self made merchant writes a few letters to his son. Most of the letters follow a pattern: John Graham writes about some recent event or observation, makes a couple of funny remarks, and shares a related anecdote or two. Occasionally, he drops in a racial slur (1). His son, Pierrepont, does not respond (at least in the context of the book- the correspondence Lorimer collects is one-way) but Graham's constant references to their lives maintains a narrative flow that could have easily been lost in this format.

I enjoyed the book immensely. The advice is simple and timeless. Graham effectively mixes different delivery methods- at times, he leans on metaphors or anecdotes (such as when suggesting that the spoon is played with after taking the medicine). But he's not afraid of the direct approach either (evidenced in observations like for each mistake, there is an excuse- but just one).

As the head of a business, Graham does not lack for leadership wisdom. I liked the idea that a clerk has one boss- the boss- but the boss has as many bosses as he has clerks. Bosses cannot ask for more than they give; because of this reality, the boss who transgresses is not so much breaking a rule as he or she is undoing it.

Graham's thoughts on feedback rung true to me. Rather than criticize too harshly, he recommends showing people the path to a truth. If the recipients become 'aware' of their own faults or shortcomings, perhaps the realization will motivate an attempt at reform before anyone else is able to find out.

In fact, this 'show rather than tell' approach ties up the entire book. Graham does tell, of course- he's restricted by the letter-writing form- but he prefers to show whenever possible. His example highlights the effectiveness of advisers who limit their advice-giving. Instead of issuing dictum after dictum or demanding a rigid path be followed, Graham highlights the benefits of the 'adviser' style by showing possibilities, encouraging self-awareness, and being the first to get out of the way.

One up: When Graham encounters a situation where his expertise does not extend far enough, he admits his ignorance. That does not stop him from stating what he does know, however, and I found on a number of occasions that his tendency to do this helped him navigate situations where a lack of knowledge would have tripped up others.

A good example comes in a comment about his son's college education. Graham, like just about anyone, does not really know what the best courses are for his son to take. He decides to approach it like he does with his diet- since its easier to know what does a person harm rather than good, he advises his son to worry about avoiding distractions and bad classes instead of trying to pick out the best quality coursework.

He also employs this approach when commenting on behaviors or phenomena he disagrees with. Regarding popularity, Graham concedes that there is nothing inherently bad about it. However, he points out that to become popular takes a great deal of time that could be spent doing something else.

Graham's prescient comments about the stock market have remained with me in the weeks after this reading. To buy or sell on margin is to buy or sell on a foundation of nothing- and the profit on nothing tends to average out to nothing (or less). Though I am sure Graham was no math wiz, he understood a characteristic about speculators that proved more significant knowledge than any banker, stockbroker, or accountant of his time- winning speculators will keep playing until they lose and losing speculators will keep playing until they win.

The greed cultivated by this infinite appetite for victory remained unchecked until everyone lost so much that they could not afford to play again. I believe that moment was known as the Great Depression.

One down: Graham routinely wrote that it is better to know how to apply a few basic truths than it is to study a lot of complex yet inapplicable ideas. As Graham put it, education broadens a narrow mind but there is no known cure for the big head. Applied to a work context, he observes that learning more about a job than is required is like saving money to move into a bigger house- at some point, the accumulation of all that investment gets put to good use.

The advice is a little repetitive. Now, I did not tire of Graham's repeated counsel to prefer slow and steady progress to quick fixes or fast solutions. But that's just me.

I think the ability to stick to his principles as he advises says something important about his success. For Graham, a millionaire is made one dollar at a time. An advice seeker might prefer to hear something different but that understanding won't change Graham's approach.

Just saying: Graham did not buy into the idea that people could effectively do for a business what they could not do for themselves. In this book, the point is reinforced countless times through his observations about how behavior in personal finance often reflected itself in an employee's decisions with company money.

One idea he commonly cites is how a bad business often runs operating expenses up before increasing revenue high enough to justify it. He compares these bookkeepers to those who overdraw on personal accounts to spend on purchases that do not generate some form of financial return. Graham avoids handing these people financial responsibilities within his firm for they have traded 'the virtues of the poor for the vices of the rich'.

He also thought the best way to predict breakdown in performance was to understand an employee's habits during off-hours. He acknowledges overwork as a potential issue, of course, but from his own experience observes 'worries and whiskey' as the more common explanations for a once-effective employee's loss of production.

Footnotes / imagined complaints

1. To remind readers that this collection was first published in 1902, I guess? 

The pattern I describe is a lot like a TOA post. Minus the racial slur, of course.

reading review: february 2017 clearout

The Setting Sun by Osamu Dazai

This novel follows a once-aristocratic family's adjustment to poverty and irrelevance in post World War II Japan. Though I understand that work is well-regarded as a portrait of those times, I did not draw much from this read.

Many of the characters here deal with an imperceptible sort of irrelevancy. The manner that each character addresses the feeling differs- some turn to drugs or alcohol, others to principled ideas of aristocratic living- but no character seems able to shake the malaise of the low-grade post-war depression that influences every moment. In failing to confront the ever-present question of 'what's the use?', the characters never make that step forward to redefine their lives during this uncertain period of Japanese history.

Pastoralia by George Saunders

A collection of mostly satirical stories accompanies the title novella. Saunders always writes with great empathy for his characters and these enjoyable works are no exception.

One quip from a corporate-type memo serves as an excellent example of what he brings to his readers. In addressing rumors about possible 'mass firings', the memo urges solidarity and commitment to the organizational mission, reminding workers "...let's remember that we are a family and you are the children..." before going on to explain why the firings would not affect upper management.

Dance, Dance, Dance by Haruki Murakami

Much to my surprise, it turned out this book was a sequel to A Wild Sheep Chase. I looked this up, just to make sure, and learned that it is actually book #4 in a series. Huh. I know I read at least #1 and #3. It is written in a way, though, that it easily stands on its own.

What I liked about this work is the way his characters express their worldviews and philosophies without it seeming unnatural to the rhythm of the story. It's constructed logically because each character lacks something they desperately want yet are tortured by their ability to get almost anything else. From that starting point, these worldviews and philosophies are framed as longings and desires which, to me, made quite a bit of sense.

prop admin- (still) winter 2017

Hi all,

Welcome to 'proper admin', my bi-monthly cleanup of everything I can't quite work into its own post.

Blog Admin- (Still) Winter 2017

The usual list of administrative details:

1. Email subscriptions ('subscriptions') officially exceeded page views in April. I don't know if that has any deeper meaning- but thank you all for signing up!

2. The two-month trial of 'News and Notes' will end around June 1st. I just did not get around to updating it often enough to justify its position. For now, I am moving the section to the bottom of the main page.

2a. Starting in June, I might try a monthly 'state of the blog' newsletter. Who knows? I've always liked newsletters. As the idea currently stands in my head, it would be a short off-schedule post (so not on Wed/Fri/Sun). In terms of content, it would combine (read: replace) the 'News and Notes' and this section.

3. Other construction news: I'm currently considering a 'random post' button, a blog-only search feature, and a section to highlight old posts. Get in touch if you have suggestions or recommendations!

4. I am going to skip June's 'Talking Shits' post. Starting in late July or early August, this feature is going to a bi-monthly schedule. The reason is simple- collecting quotes is much easier than arranging them. This change effectively cuts my work in half for what I think will be similar results.

5. I'm separating the usual 'post summaries' in these 'Proper Admins' into its own post. Again, a simple reason- the little entries and observations I accumulate over two month periods grew to the point where I needed to let them sit in their own post. I'll put the post summaries up as a 'leftover' post in the second week of June.

The word from the peanut gallery...

'How did true on average email me this morning at 646am???''

I may live in the 20th century but TOA runs on advanced technology. This appears to confuse folks. On average, that makes me a smartphone-wielding modern man of sorts...

'This book reminds me of your blog...'

Seems like the cause and effect got mixed up there...in any event, I'm honored (and a proper author is insulted).

'Day 1 big fan.'

The TOA readership is growing...it is possible that next month I will boast of having TENS of readers...

OK, what's happening?

According to a recent episode of More Or Less, squirrels chewing through power lines pose a greater threat to the electric grid than a terror attack involving an EMP.

Hubway is back!

The bikes returned to Boston far earlier than last year. Let's...credit...global warming?

Introducing the 'Hello Ladies Index' for 2017

In honor of my 'Hello Ladies' post, I am starting a temporary feature to keep track of my progress toward the '50/50' goal. As I mentioned in the original post, things got off to a solid start but I stumbled badly in the latter winter months.

Here is where things stand, by month.

January: 4 male authors / 6 female authors
February: 9 / 1
March: 9 / 0
April: 2 / 2

I'm tracking authors, not books- so poor George Saunders will have to make do with one mention, not eight.

2017 to-date: 15 / 8

What? I know I'm full of it...

One of my goals for the coming year is to pick up some new long sleeve t-shirts. (This is a less interesting story than usual. I've worked out for the past seven years or so in old t-shirts, most of which are starting to wear out, so I'm moving some of my regular t-shirts into the workout pile. The resulting gap in my wardrobe ('wardrobe') is slowly filling back up with long sleeve t-shirts.)

A perfect opportunity arose at the end of February- MGH offered a free long sleeve t-shirt to blood donors. Great! I went over, got poked with a needle, and now I have a useful navy t-shirt. They also had unlimited Fig Newtons, a food ('food') I literally have never purchased but was more than happy to eat a handful of. I felt well compensated for my exertions.

I remain amused by the fear of paying blood donors. It appears like one of those 'just because' things- the best explanation against it is apparently so self-evident that many opt against explaining their position. My guess is the policy came into effect when the process of extracting blood was dangerous. All I hear from the blood donor center is how much they need it (though what else would these bloodthirsty (!) folks say?) and all I know about markets is that offering money for something tends to increase the odds of getting it...so...

Stop begging for money.

One last note- apparently, 'Fig Newtons' are now just 'Newtons'.

What?

It's a slow news month.

TOA presents Calculus 101: Chuck Klosterman = a small pile of high-end candy

The George Saunders author reading I attended in February was hosted by the Harvard Book Store. This was a ticketed event (unlike most events where people wander in off the street and scramble for seats in the back of the bookstore). Each ticket for the off-site event cost $5 but in return for the ticket the bookstore gave attendees a $5 in-store voucher. You do the math...

The Chuck Klosterman event I attended last summer had the exact same structure- $5 dollars returned a ticket and a voucher for the same amount. He made a joke during his appearance about getting nervous before 'ticketed' events because he must now at least return the same value as the ticket price. If the price was $5, he said, it meant he must 'be better than a pile of candy'. Klosterman's teeth did not appear to be rotting away from where I sat (but I did sit way in the back).

What Klosterman did not know is that the Harvard Book Store DOES sell candy. Unfortunately, it seems only to come in the form of high-end dark chocolate (read: crunchy/stale/rock-hard Hershey bars in colorful wrapping). I guess independent bookstores do that sort of thing. Poor Chuck- at the minimum, he is as good as a small pile of overpriced candy.

Finally, I see the point of Boston Calling...

Boston Calling, the area's music festival ('festival'), is back at the end of May. It's being moved from City Hall Plaza to Harvard's athletic complex (which until now I thought was a mental thing). The venue change means I will need to cook up a new excuse for not going (up until last year: "City Hall Plaza's layout makes me feel like I'm about to get assassinated").

The Red Line usually posts advertisements for the festival several months in advance. The headliners are at the top in large print and the other performers are listed in order of prestige below them. As the list goes on, the print gets smaller, perhaps to emphasize the diminishing popularity of each performer.

I realized last month that the design of these signs are perfectly suited for unofficial vision tests. Just stand about twenty feet away and see how many acts you can read.

Moments later, I realized my vision had deteriorated since my last eye exam- I got to about row three. Time for new contacts, I guess.

Spring is...well, spring is stuck in traffic...

A sure sign of impending spring is when the pond in the Public Garden is drained. I think the idea is to clear out all the accumulated trash and brush from the pond before the swan boats are launched. The process turns the pond into a giant muddy puddle for about three weeks. Every year, dog owners mark the occasion by acting surprised when their pets jump into this mess, start flopping around, and, upon returning to solid ground, shake their muddy selves dry all over passing tourists.

It's strange to me how the transition of winter to spring is so sudden. The other seasonal transitions seem more gradual in comparison. With spring it appears to happen overnight. I wonder if this is one reason why people like spring so much- it's like getting a perfect surprise gift.

I got published!

Well, sort of.

The Men In Blazers is a soccer podcast hosted by two hilarious English guys. They also release a weekly newsletter called 'The Raven' that is filled with irrelevant soccer crap. In fact, their constant referencing of their own material as 'crap' is a feature I've borrowed liberally here at TOA. Thanks, guys.

In a recent newsletter, they asked readers to submit fake yearbook quotes about soccer. I believe the theme was words of wisdom for new fans of the game.

I went with a classic- "Away goals count double"- and it got included in a later edition of the newsletter. What a moment!

The quote itself is a reference to a lazy description of the first tiebreaker used in knockout cup competitions- if the two-game series ends in a tie on total goals, the team who scored more goals as the away team advances. So, in the event of a tie, away goals sort of count double- the math is off but the appropriate team is declared the winner by the tiebreaker. For some reason, the lazy explanation took hold and confused fans everywhere.

Sports seems to produce a lot of these lazy little truisms. A good one is that 'Americans like scoring'- that one fails each time a football team kicks a field goal. Michael Lewis's Moneyball was an entire book about how one baseball team took advantage of such ideas- that a baseball player has a certain 'look', that RBIs and batting average are strong measures of batting performance, etc- to build a winning team on the cheap.

For me, the most valuable thing about following various sports closely is the moment when I realize that these little accepted examples of conventional wisdom are wrong. It's proven a useful starting point to break down similar BS in other fields- that a strong job candidate has a certain 'look', that certain traditional metrics are the best measures of a successful person, etc. Eventually, thinking clearly about assumptions becomes an unbreakable habit.

Lieutenant Dan...ICE CREAM!!!

Last summer, I published a list of foodie-type recommendations. If I were to do a similar list this year (which I will not) an early front-runner is the Salted Crack Caramel ice cream at the Ample Hills Creamery in New York City. I ended up there by accident on a Sunday afternoon and immediately noticed the huge line snaking its way out the door.

I've always believed in standing in at least one line while out of town. Surely, the long line indicates high quality. My decision was vindicated by the best ice cream I've had in quite some time. I think they have multiple locations in the city so check it out if you are ever in or around the Big Apple.

This idea seems so obvious it must already exist...

An apartment realtor who included a mover in the broker's fee would surely gain a major edge on those who did not (which, currently, is everyone)?

Maybe a Sweet Sixteen for me this time next year?

Around this time last year, I finally admitted that my feet hurt an awful lot while running. I did some snooping around The Old Interwebs and diagnosed myself with 'Morton's Neuroma', a pinched-toes type of condition that apparently afflicts women who wear high-heels too often. So, uh, so that was fun to learn...

On that day, I was still wearing size twelve running sneakers. I responded to my research findings by upping the same brand to size thirteen. That worked for a short while but I still sensed room for improvement (though in the case of sneakers, this means I felt no room). My next shoe came from Altra Running, a new brand I found that boasted of a 'larger toe box' which would afford my toes a more natural experience during running (which I wrote about here).

The Altra size thirteen shoes were a minor improvement. But I was still having a little trouble with my feet. So, I recently went for the gold and bought a size fourteen sneaker, again from Altra, capping off a series of purchases that still strikes me as ridiculous. It's a little over-cushioned and perhaps I'll switch to a new brand for next time. But I think the size is right.

The more important question has less to do with sole than soul- in how many other ways am I unknowingly restraining my full potential? Maybe I will write about those a year from now.

How's the job hunt going?

If I can't find a job in the next ten years, I think I am going to run for mayor. I have some experience- I played a lot of SimCity2000 as a kid. Back then, my insistence on building cricket stadiums usually doomed my city's finances. I'm smarter now- I understand this is a baseball town.

It's never too early to prepare for a mayoral bid. Here are my first three campaign promises, each of which I intend to break as soon as I take office:

1. Major crackdown on cyclists running red lights

I think by 2027 computers and such will have progressed to where smart ('smaht') intersections can closely police trivial traffic violations. I'll start by implementing a new system called 'Big Bother' where any cyclist who runs a red light is immediately given a $50 ticket.

We'll borrow phrasing from soccer's rules for this one- all of the bike must cross all of the stop line. With the increased revenue, I'll buy everyone a helmet.

2. Close Newbury Street to automobile traffic

This one actually happens once a year already. I'll just make it a permanent feature. Who needs all those cars on Newbury? Not this mayor. Take the T, ride the Hubway, or (maybe) get dropped off in an automated Uber.

Converting the street into a six-block walking plaza would be a huge boost for the city's coolness. Food trucks could park there on weekends and a Denver-style central trolley line could be added to zip shoppers up and down the street. A stage or two for tunes? The possibilities are endless.

And I think the businesses there would do better, though I have yet to crunch the numbers. If it turns out not to be the case, I'll just cook up a nice-sounding slogan instead- 'Read my lips: no more cars' or 'Make Newbury Street great again' or whatever is hot at the time to push this one through.

3. No running in Boston on Marathon Monday

Unless you are in the Boston Marathon, duh. This is a hard-ass stance, no doubt, but its a classic negotiation strategy- bid high, then 'concede' and settle for a lesser agreement (I read about it in a business book). I'm thinking I would settle for no running within one mile of the marathon course with the Charles River Esplanade as an 'exception zone'.

Why bother with such heavy handed legislation? Marathon Monday is a great day for the city and anyone who loves Boston should support their fellow runners. So, no need for any showboats to take the spotlight away. Unless you are chasing after those Kenyans, go jog in Cambridge.

This is getting out of hand...wait, is that Moya? I thought- I hoped- he went home...

"Sit, Moya, sit, have another drink...my landlord just called, Moya, or my building manager, really, a manger, all he manages to do is bungle up the simplest things, Moya, never give your phone number to the landlord, all he does is call with bad news, never 'oh, how are you, good news, the rent is going down, effective two months ago' or 'everyone is getting a hot tub, where would you like yours' or even just 'thank you for being a good tenant', always negative, always 'we had to change the locks because of some crazy stalker' or 'hey, its going to be noisy for the rest of your lease because the jackhammer olympics are coming to our block' or 'sorry, no hot water tomorrow', it's ridiculous, Moya, ridiculous, 2017 and no hot water, you would think we lived in an igloo, imagine that, a building manager for an igloo, global warming and the water is cold, never give a landlord your number, all he'll call with is bad news, you get a call from him when you are out and you think 'what could it be' and run through every possible negative thing in your head, and you want to check the voicemail or call back but you don't want to be rude so you sit and smile and worry, worry that the apartment collapsed or you forgot to turn off the stove or a skunk is loose in the walls, and then you call back and he says 'bad news, no hot water' and you say 'oh wow, I knew that already, it runs out every time I shower' and you realize, you are a sucker, Moya, a sucker, we are suckers, paying rent in the most expensive neighborhood in world history, Moya, history sucking our wallets dry, did you know that, you learn all this stuff in school but they never point out, here, we are making history, we are the richest place ever to exist, and I can't even take a warm shower tomorrow..."

Did you leave the apartment at all?

A friend of mine recently moved to Brookline. As a result, I've started to spend some time out there. It reminds me a little bit of Cambridge, only wealthier.

Or maybe just 'wealthy'.

This early impression would imply that folks in Brookline possess an inherent talent with money. My last Brookline trip of April, though, provided compelling evidence against this idea.

I was sitting at a bar with said friend when someone came up beside us and asked the bartender for change. He needed a quarter, for some reason I could not fathom, since everything in Brookline costs at least ten bucks, including Bud Light.

He offered a dollar bill to make the exchange. The bartender checked the register but said she only had three quarters.

"That's OK- I'll give you the dollar."

The bartender mulled over the offer. Three quarters for a dollar? A discussion ensued with another staff member.

She returned with the verdict: no deal!

"We can't give away our last quarters."

I almost fell off my barstool.

Can we wrap this up? I'm tired. Anything else?

I went to my first art gallery opening at the end of April. It was kind of an unplanned thing but, given my recent trips to look at art in museums and such, the experience was probably a long time coming.

The gallery, as I assume all are, was much smaller than a room in a typical art museum. A lazy 360-degree turn and I had seen it all. This forced me to take extra time to look at each painting (or leave after two revolutions). Perhaps as a result, I ended up thinking a little more about how I view art than I normally do in museums.

One thing I realized I enjoy is how artwork invites me to see what the artist notices. It works a little bit like reading in this way. Writers describe what they see and the reader is invited to notice- so it is with artists and their work.

But I did note a difference in approach. A writer works a little bit like a tour guide. The reader gets a sense of places unseen through the description provided. But the writer must find the right rooms and open each door as it comes.

Artists work more like custodians. They unlock as many doors as they can. After that, they leave it to the viewer to turn the knob and step into the room.

Thanks again for reading over these past couple of months. Back on Friday with some quick thoughts on my February reading.

Tim

reading review: maniac magee

Maniac Magee by Jerry Spinelli (April 2017)

Several years ago, I started a tradition of reading this book every year on Marathon Monday (1). As it worked out this year, I happened to be on the last train out of New York. So, as the clock struck midnight, somewhere just past New Haven (typical Amtrak delay), I pulled the book out of my bag and started my annual read.

I know the opening chapter more or less by heart ('They say...'). Spinelli opens Maniac Magee through the framework of a legend told long after the title character passed through Two Mills, the fictional town where the novel takes place. But this year, the edition I checked out of the library contained a pleasant surprise- a foreword from Katherine Applegate, the author of my beloved Animorphs series. Apparently, she considers Jerry Spinelli's Newbury Award winner one of her favorite books as well.

The book ended with an additional bonus feature- a short interview with the author. In this section, Applegate played the role of interviewer and asked Spinelli some thoughtful questions about his book.

I hoped these new sections might illuminate my appreciation of the book. But it did not work out that way. Applegate said she liked the writing- in her foreword, she highlights specific lines of her favorite prose. Spinelli spoke to that point in the Q&A, adding that he usually read rough drafts aloud as part of his revision process. This way, he knew the words 'sounded' right. There was not much I could do with those comments, though- I always thought the writing was fine but it was never something I got excited about in the buildup to my annual read (2).

I noticed something new about Maniac this year that I am struggling to phrase. The broad idea is that he seems to prefer hurting others over letting them down. Or, it might be that in his desire to avoid letting others down, he inevitably hurts them. It's an evolution of last year's idea that he is 'running to stand still' but I think this angle hits a little closer to his motivations. Having been constantly let down by the approximations of home since the accident that killed his parents, it's possible Maniac has simply chosen not to inflict the pain of letdown on others.

One up: Maniac Magee encounters the great power of the narrative throughout and he deals with this in various ways. He harnesses the narrative power at times for benevolent purposes, like when he performs feats on-demand as a bribe to keep two little kids from running away from home. In order to build up these 'accomplishments', he relies on local legends- like that of Finsterwald, a mysterious tenant in a dark house whose steps no kid would ever dare sit on, lest those kids get sucked into the darkness within (or something like that). When Finsterwald's mysterious evil is sufficiently puffed up, Maniac knocks on the front door.

At other times, he is swept up helplessly in the wake of the larger stories that govern life in his segregated town. In Two Mills, race division is the only constant. Maniac wakes up one morning to see the home of his black foster family vandalized by a neighbor who objects to his sleeping in the 'wrong' neighborhood. Traumatized- and in another example of preferring to hurt rather than let down- Maniac soon leaves the house and resumes his homeless existence.

I realized I liked how Maniac handled the narrative power when he made- wrote- his Christmas gift for Grayson. The scene describing how the old man receives this gift, The Man Who Struck Out Willie Mays, is among the kindest I've ever read. This is a gift that goes beyond just a thoughtful book for the holidays- it validates another's existence by arranging the hurt, regret, and disappointment of a difficult lifetime into a story about that person's best times (3).

One down: Longtime readers of the blog will recall that in April 2016 I wrote a post about this book. I do not advise re-reading it but here is a link anyway if interested (4).

My thought last year was to write about why I liked this book so much. It made sense- given that I read it once per year, it seemed like the type of thing a blogger would try to explain. But I think I wrote about what I liked from it instead of why I liked it.

In hindsight, I realize that why I like something and what I like about it are very different. A year on and I'm no closer to an explanation. But this realization- the what or the why, if you will- has made my lack of understanding acceptable to me. When I'm ready to understand why I like it, I'm sure it will come to me.

Until then, expect a new post each year about some new 'what' I liked from this read (5).

Just saying: A short Q&A with Spinelli was included at the end of the book. He raised an interesting point: the stories people tell about their childhoods often resemble legends. From this one basic premise, he reconsidered much of his own experience to craft Maniac Magee- one part truth, two parts fiction, three parts snowball.

The idea brought to mind the many instances where my memory proved fallible in recalling singular events, faces, or conversations from my own history. It's hard to keep all the facts straight in the process of preserving a memory or recollection. A well-told story is helpful by providing a durable framework around which to fit the fleeting details.

I'm a little curious why Spinelli limited his response to childhood. I see no need to do so- people continue to tell plenty of stories deep into adulthood about their own legend.

Footnotes / imagined complaints

1. Marathon Monday, A History

For those outside the area, Marathon Monday is the unofficial moniker for the day of the Boston Marathon. As far as I (and pretty much anyone living in or around Boston) is concerned, that's the name of the holiday. It falls on the third Monday of April.

The proper name is Patriots' Day. It's a state holiday in Massachusetts but one of those ones that does not lead to everything being closed. I used to work in Woburn, an over-paved town about twenty minutes north, and I never had (or took) the day off. Such holidays- where you are required to come in and work- seem absurd (because they are) but in 2013 it may have worked out to my benefit- the friend I would have most likely hung out with to watch the marathon was at the site of the bombing just ten minutes before the explosion. Who knows how my presence could have altered our walking path?

Patriots' Day is celebrated in Maine. This makes sense because Maine was a part of Massachusetts before becoming its own state. However, in Maine the spelling is Patriot's Day. Just one guy, huh? It's a sparsely populated place. Or maybe the state will always insist on being different, as perhaps the silent 'e' in 'Maine' suggests.

For whatever reason, the holiday is also celebrated in Wisconsin (and spelled 'correctly', assuming that the state is counting the number of patriots). I like Wisconsin. The holiday is 'encouraged' in Florida, a policy I chose not to investigate further.

In New England, the third Monday in April was originally a holiday called 'Fast Day'. A day of public fasting and prayer mostly observed in New England, the importance of Fast Day faded slowly. Boston started its observation of the day in the 17th century before becoming the first to replace it with Patriots' Day. New Hampshire hung on the longest, last celebrating it in 1991.

The fall of Fast Day implies something about religion's diminishing role in the area, I'm sure. But I suspect it says more about farming. The day traditionally marked the start of the spring planting season but its relevance probably shrunk over time as fewer and fewer people farmed for a living.

2. Prose and cons...

All that said, I did notice in editing this post that I pay some attention to how the words sound. This came with the challenge of writing about a book whose title is the name of the protagonist. In writing, its easy to work this out- italics means the book, no italics means the kid. Maniac Magee starring Maniac Magee.

But I still occasionally caught myself working out sentences that clarified the distinction when spoken. Who knows? Time wasted, lesson learned. Maybe I am subconsciously anticipating the day this goes up on Audible.

3. Maniac's bullshit detector...

Maniac dismisses stories when it is appropriate to do so. He doesn't accept the story of blacks vs. whites, refuses to step back from 'impossible problems' like untying Cobble's Knot, and goes right up to Finsterwald's front door. I've always related to the character through his insistence on running and reading all day- this 'bullshit detector' of his is something I only noticed in my most recent read. 

4. Reading my own work is strange...

At best, it's a great book report. If you like book reports, go ahead and read it. But keep in mind- there is a good reason adults don't write book reports. So...

If I decided to continue last year's gimmick of comparing the book to a U2 song, what song would it be for 2017? I might give it a shot with 'One', a song about the obligation of love and the inevitability of hurting those closest to a person. 'City of Blinding Lights' might work, too, because of how it gracefully balances the confusion and clarity brought on by experience.

5. 2018 preview?

I suspect there are hints buried within the lines I remember- maybe I'll dig into those this time next year with a 'quote board' type of post. In no particular order, some (approximated) quotes that I can recite off the top of my head...

'You can't get a library card without an address...'

'Running in the morning and reading in the afternoon gave Maniac just enough stability....'

'How could he (Maniac) be a father to these boys when he longed so much to be somebody's son?'

'He had done everything with one hand. He had to because his other hand was a book.'