Showing posts with label 2020. Show all posts
Showing posts with label 2020. Show all posts

Saturday, November 7, 2020

Hollow Victory — No Joy in Mudville

I suppose I should feel better about the 2020 presidential election outcome than I do. I really wish I could. After all, it was Trump who struck out (probably primarily because of his tendency to lash out).

As the process unfolded, I had one, and really only one, overriding concern – defeat the incumbent, a man so despicable that I’m repulsed to be lumped in the same gender category as him. 

He was, from my perspective, the worst president of my lifetime – 72 years, so, since Truman, although I obviously don’t have any real memories of HST other than his post-presidency, but I do read and know, have even taught, our nation’s history. In my view, no previous modern occupant of the White House comes even close.

While I think Trump was a bad president (again, the worst in my lifetime), he was a worse person, one who brought out the worst instincts in both his supporters and opponents, who enabled and encouraged white supremacists, who made even our friends abroad ask, “What the hell, America?” It will take a long time to rehabilitate our reputation abroad, to restore the trust and leadership that once was ours, to, pardon the expression, Make America Great Again. You can discount the opinions of your enemies, your rivals, but when friends and allies roll their eyes (Hello, Lincoln Project), you might want to rethink your choice. 

Donald.Trump.Is.A.Bad.Man.

Being anti-abortion doesn’t change that; he stands behind cruelty. Not that his supporters will likely believe them, but the revelations that will flow from the toxic waste dump that was his administration will probably surprise even me. To be clear, I don’t want to see him charged with any crimes (there’s little doubt in my mind that there are multiple legitimate possibilities). But then I also supported President Ford’s pardon of Richard Nixon. Because Ford put healing the country ahead of politics, he may have cost himself the election of 1976. I hope President-elect Biden pushes all the tempting revenge scenarios to the bottom of his (necessarily lengthy, thanks to his predecessor) agenda, and encourages states’ attorneys general and governors to do the same.

Nor does the failure of the mythical “Blue Wave” to materialize discourage me, although I would have welcomed it. And I have little hope that Mitch McConnell will be anything other than what he’s been for the past 10 years, a Machiavellian politician with a private agenda to recreate a 1950s America (which was probably pretty good for a straight, middle class, white male, considerably less so for most everyone else). So I am resigned to a miserable stretch of at least two years, maybe longer if the 2022 elections follow recent patterns,  but I’ve managed to survive charting new depths of despair for the past four years....

So what disturbs me most about this election? The one thing it absolutely proves is that 2016 wasn’t an aberration. I had hoped, a false hope it is now obvious, that 2016 was a visceral reaction to frustration with the state of the country, to feeling ignored and invisible, to feeling like a pawn to be sacrificed. I conjured up various explanations, based on my own observations, based on what I thought I knew about those who voted for him. You know, “fine people on both sides.” I worked to understand why some of those people, people I knew to be decent and honorable, voted for Despicable He. I excused, rationalized, tried to defend their decision. Most of the people I knew weren’t 5th Avenue Trumpists; they may have been fooled once, or were so antagonistic toward his opponent that they voted AGAINST her, but these were good people who would come to their senses after witnessing the bullying, lying, and aggressive ignorance that consistently characterized our 45th president.

2020 has made it obvious that, once again, I’m a hopeless optimist not grounded in reality. 2016 is who we are, because in 2020, HALF of the American voters wanted to return this not very bright, incompetent, vulgarian bully to the White House. The most (and, quite frankly, only) charitable explanation that I can come up with (but recognizing my own blinders) is partisan blindness, a belief that only one political party cares about the future (and only their vision of that future) of the country. Trump’s rejection by a majority of the voters is a small relief, but that so many wanted the opposite, that so many continue to defend him, does not make me hopeful in the slightest about the future USA in which my daughter and granddaughter will live.

What can I do? My first action: abandon any hope that maintaining even FB relationships with those outside my belief system might open their minds. That was a fruitless and frustrating 4-year endeavor. So I will leave them to their hyper-partisan echo chambers, their Fox News, PJ Media, Daily Caller, Daily Wire, Breitbart, InfoWars, etc., etc. If that’s where they choose to live, so be it, but I don’t have to visit or even walk past their house, because my presence clearly changes nothing except to make me feel worse. 2020 has been bad enough – I don’t need to get burned by adding fuel to a dumpster fire.

Even if I think I know, I will not ask about your vote. I am not actively looking to shed connections, but if you insist of posting stupid, insulting, political memes, repeating absurd conspiracy theories, or echoing Doomsday/End of the World prophecies, sheepling (bleating) the words of others instead of your own, well, I have better ways to waste my time and fill up my feed. Bye, Felicia.

Thursday, October 15, 2020

Another Chapter Ends

All good things must come to an end. If you’re lucky, you can choose your own ending. I chose my exit time when I left my classroom behind and now I’m choosing my time to exit the field. And that time is now.

Part of life is leaving it behind, and endings are always bittersweet. I will undoubtedly miss working with my friends and players. I have yet to address the nagging worry that with nothing to do that is exactly what I will get done. I’ll save the “inside softball” thinking about the decision and its timing for the end if you’re interested, but, if you know me at all, you know I espouse multiple causation and reject simplistic answers in favor of simply complicated. So it will not be a short section.

What I want to share today is simply a reflection on another aspect of my life where I have been blessed beyond what I deserve. I’ve detailed elsewhere the accidental/serendipitous path I took to becoming a coach, a path I’ve traveled for 35 years now, a path that has afforded me true, lifelong friendships, joy and purpose. 

And hope for the future of my community and nation. I’ve been touched by so many remarkable young women, been privileged to share a segment of their lives that reinforces my faith in humanity and the future. No matter what was happening in the world around me, I always had “my girls.” As politically incorrect as it may be, they will always be “my girls” no matter how successful and accomplished they have, or will, become.

Thank you ladies (and your parents), for allowing me to share with you this small part of your life journey. I love you all.

Why now? 

• Although not identical, the reasoning behind my departure from a regular classroom is parallel to my decision to give up my own classroom. (Click here to read that analogous piece.) 

• 2020 – For better and (maybe) worse, my style, such as it is, was up close and personal. I like to think my most effective coaching (softball and otherwise) came on the bus rides and conversations from the games. My girls tolerated sharing a seat as we talked about their game that day, and anything else that surfaced. Obviously, 2020 precluded that; we didn’t TAKE even a single bus. Close-in conversations were rare to non-existent. (I would be remiss if I didn’t offer a special note of thanks to my last squad for their compliance with masking; I took their care and concern personally and appreciated it accordingly.) While the thought of retiring had been percolating for some time, 2020 was certainly a disincentive to continuing.

• I was blessed to have been befriended by Tim Cerutti and to spend five years working together. Being in the same (age) cohort and sharing a philosophy of life and temperament made the relationship special. His death this spring created an unfillable void. Tim was actually the third coach/friend/mentor to die during my career, but I’m following his (and our shared) mantra of “Choose Happy” – my Rule #1: “You don’t get a discount on the Happy Meal just because you’re not.” But it just wasn’t as much fun without him. That was no surprise.

• Thanks to the leadership of our head coach, Bryan Gibson, and the commitment of many community leaders, Webster has built a softball program that expanded to 3 full teams even as other communities were and are struggling to field even a JV team. 2020 also shelved the WGBSL rec league this spring and the “Feeder” team that funneled girls into the program. I feel safe in predicting we won’t have sufficient numbers for three teams next year (I’d love to be wrong about that). We’ve recently added some new, young, female coaches who may represent the future of the program. It’s time for me to get out of the way and not block their development and connection with the program.

• My wife and I have things we want to do and places we want to go that are best done either during the Fall softball season or the Summer pre-season. Not that we didn’t know it before, but 2020 has reinforced doing what you can while you are still physically able. 

• We’ve been making a conscious effort to de-junk, even before the inspiration of the COVID-quarantine. I’ll be passing along most of my coaching wardrobe, thus freeing up significant closet/storage space, because Bryan Gibson and WG always reinforced the belief that looking good was part of good performance). 

• But mostly I’m tired, struggling to summon the energy the prepare for games and practices. To be clear, it was never the kids, never the parents, never the administration, never the varsity or JV coaching staff that wore me out; on the contrary, it was those groups that energized me to continue as long as I did. In many ways this was the longest short season, but even last year Tim and I both were forced to admit that our energies were not always sufficient to meet the demands to do the job in a way that would live up to our standards. As those who know me can attest, modesty is not a dominant quality for me. I know what I can bring to the party on any given day. While I might fool some people with my 80%, it’s not good enough, not good enough for me to be satisfied and continue. Even if I still have (or ever had) an “A Game,” I can’t always bring it. Time to move aside.

I may not have been all that mindful when I started the job, but the least I can do is make a mindful decision about when it’s time to go. So it’s time to say good-bye, and thank you, thank you for 35 years and close to 50 different teams in two school districts, Hancock Place and Webster Groves.

Apropos of nothing, as I typed this I realized that every school with which I have been regularly associated had at least two names.

#Blessed.

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