The Existentialism of Sports

Most people are good at some sport. It might be a team sport such as football, rugby, or ice hockey. It might be an individual sport such as running or cycling (although these sports also have teams.) My sport is long distance running. I enjoy it. In a more remote time I ran competitively. Not so much now as I am almost 44 years old and prone to injuries. In fact, as I write this post I am recuperating from a calf strain in my right leg. Thankfully it is a minor one and will only put me out for a few days. I was doing speed work at the track. My first half mile was finished in 3:06. but than I felt the pain in my leg and knew it was over. Oh well...such as it is...I will probably be doing more cycling as I get better. I have always wondered why people get into sports even if it is merely as a spectator and not a particapant. I believe that it has to do with the competitive nature of people. The nature of human kind is to succeed and triumph. No one wants to lose, however, the reality is that all of us will lose at some point in their lives...and all of us will one day become victimized by times linear journey.

                                                       Coseley Cricket Club

      My great-great grandfather W.S. Hipkins was a professional cricket player. He played for the Dudley club, and later was a manager for the Coseley Cricket Club. This was back in the 1880s when England was involved in a brutal war in the Sudan and jingoism was the flavor of the day. One day during the summer of 1884 a challenge was made and The Dudley club met Wolverhampton on it's own turf and spanked the visiting team 94-55. At the time, this match was probably the talk of the day... heroes were elevated to worship-like status (at least as far as the Dudley team was concerned) but what about now? Does anyone remember this match today? All of the particapants along with all of the spectators have been mouldering in their graves for decades...All the hype before and after the match has been disseminated with the wind. What is left? A few stats in the record books...A few lingering photographs of people clinging to immortality the only way that they possibly can? There is an existential aspect of sports that when one ponders over it makes the whole concept of competition a moot point. What difference does it make if Lance Armstrong and his little yellow jersey wins 7 Tour de France'? or the Boston Red Sox win this years World Series? Someone else will come along next year and make last years results a thing of the past. I guess that this is the way things work...todays winner is tomorrows loser. Today...I am a loser...a lame man...yesterdays winner seeking immortality...a concept never to be gained... through a competitive spirit.

A Certain Encounter: Beetle Man

A few years ago I crossed paths with a stranger that I have never forgotten. It was a torrid summer day probably close to 100 degrees. It was one of those summer days that when a person emerges from within a place where the air has been conditioned to make them feel clean, healthy, and plastic The person is then suddenly exposed to the reality of climate and a sudden shock ensues. The shock, however can be gradual, and before the person knows it, the clean, healthy, and plastic individual is suddenly rendered to its true stinking human form. This form finds itself sweating profusely even with very little activity. Hair becomes wet and plastered, garments stick to the skin, and the salt from dripping sweat burns the eyes. This is how it is in the southern United States in the summertime. Hot, Humid and Lethargic...Anyway...it was miserable, and I was working. In fact, I was working outside, on the railroad tracks... where, of course...it was miserable. I was on foot and could see nearly a mile down the tracks. The heat rising from the rails caused the air in front of me to become wavy and distorted as if I were walking through a great airborne sea. I am familiar with the anomaly of a mirage. When I was in the Marine Corps I saw a great river out in the desert where no river should have been. So when I saw a bright flash of light like a great beacon on the tracks about a half a mile in front of me I thought "am I really seeing that?" After a few seconds the light disappeared only to reappear a few seconds later. OK...so I wasn't seeing things, there was something on the tracks...was it stationary? or was it moving? As I came closer to it I could make out a shadow underneath the object and I quickly determined that it was in motion, and that whatever it was that was causing the bright light  was reflecting the rays of the sun like some death ray from a sci-fi movie. Soon, I was able to ascertain that the shadow under this object was human, and that this human was carrying something on his back that reflected sunlight. From the distance that I now observed this oddity it reminded me of a large beetle coming toward me down the track. The scissor legs visible underneath, swaying with methodical rhythm made it look alien as if it had just emerged from it's spacecraft which took the form of a large green water tower in the distance. I was thoroughly perplexed as to what comprised the beetle's shell. Indeed, however, I was soon upon it and not surprisingly the beetle's shell transformed into a very large, very cumbersome, highly reflective piece of sheet metal while the scissor legs underneath it were attached to a lean, muscular, and sweaty body. I hailed the beetle man.
"How is it with you?"
"Good!...Good!" was the response. "I'ma takin this here piece of metal to the scrap yard."
"Really" I said.
"That's right...Isu got me some moe back there in the woods."

                                                                
     I recall asking him about the price of metals, and he gave me quite a long lesson in the current and former prices along with a future forecast. I can remember asking myself "why was this man out here scavenging for metal when he might be better employed as a speculator of iron and other ores in the marketplace. I soon found myself engaging in a lengthy discussion with this trader of metals. Although he obviously lacked any kind of formal education, and was quite possibly illiterate, he exhibited  an air of intelligence that was quite extraordinary given his humble circumstances. He was probably about 60 years of age, claimed to own a small house not far distant, and had no debt. "I owe no man" I recall him saying "cept the tax man" he said with a grin. Why he felt compelled to tell me all these personal things I cannot say. A lot of times i come across people on the railroad tracks who attempt to justify why they are at that certain location...perhaps believing that I am some arm of the law...or at least someone who might snitch on them. I am none of these things. Unless someone is engaging in outright thievery or plunder I perform as a good gentleman would and tend to mind my own business. i did not ask the beetle man where he found his sheet of metal...nor did i care. As far as I was concerned it was lost property.

     As I took my leave of beetle man I could not help but to notice the cheery disposition and confidence of this man. He seemed truly happy and content with his situation in life. To me it was a lesson in humility, almost as if the beetle man was a messenger sent my way to teach me a lesson. We all could learn a lesson from the beetle man...perhaps the world would be a better place if we all were comfortable with possessing just the Necessities of life. As I continued my journey down the tracks I stole a glance behind me. In the distance...a small speck...moving onward...I could see the shell...and the spidery legs continuing on his humble journey.

Modern Television: Reality TV & the Dumbing Down of Society

Since I started using a Keurig one-cup coffee maker I have begun to experiment with different types of coffee. I have even tried different flavors. In this modern age we have become spoiled with the number of products that are available to us. When I was a child there were three television networks that we could receive: ABC, NBC and CBS, sometimes we were able to get PBS. We had a small black and white television with rabbit ears. The dial had broken off at some point, so that in order to switch the station we had to use a pair of pliers that conveniently sat next to the television set...sort of like an early remote control. These days there is no limit as to how many television stations are out there...although...insidiously... one must pay for them now...like one must pay top dollar for their water...and soon ...we will be paying for air. I quit paying for cable television since I never watch TV anyway. The only thing that you can find on television these days is Reality TV. Usually this involves some inane plot like two families swapping spouses or some other nonsensical thing. Other shows that the dumbed down American populace enjoy are cop shows; NYPD...LAPD....CSIPD... BULLSHITPD...These shows usually involve some would be hero, square jawed, dark haired, male cop, and his ass kicking, judo champion, skinny, female partner spreading their obnoxious morality onto everyone else. Watching crap like this makes me want to smoke a cigarette...and I have never smoked before. Remember...after watching one of these shows, you will never get that hour of your life back. I use to enjoy the History Channel back when I had cable TV. That was until they started filling up their prime time slots with stuff like Ice Road Truckers...no thanks!...I'll go read a book. But hey, if cop shows and reality TV is your thing that is fine. I get enough reality every day without watching Dog the Bounty Hunter kick down somebody's front door and deliver some crack-head a dose of pathetic, hypocritical American justice. Oh well...Enough of this rant...almost written in a stream of consiousness...I'll sign off for now.

Gettysburg: 20th Maine's Colonel Chamberlain or KFC's Colonel Sanders?

Recently I visited the Gettysburg battlefield with my wife and son. We drove up there on a Friday and spent the day Saturday, returning home on Sunday. It was a short visit. We live 466 miles from the battlefield. I have drove by the battlefield numerous times over the years, but have never had the time to stop. We checked into a decent hotel, ate a decent meal, and got a decent nights rest. We represented the epitome of the seasonal tourist. The next morning we awoke early and decided to take a bus tour of the battlefield. Although I had never been to Gettysburg before I had read numerous books and magazine articles about the battle and had seen many photographs so that I recognized certain features of the landscape. Our tour guide was a middle aged fellow of Scotch-Irish and German ancestry. He was well read on the topic, and proved to be something of a comedian to boot.

     The battle of Gettysburg took place over a period of three days; July 1-3, 1863. The Confederate army of Northern Virginia under the command of General Robert E. Lee had left the Shenandoah valley only a few weeks earlier. To this day it remains unclear exactly what Lee hoped to accomplish by invading Pennsylvania. We do know that he was attempting to relieve some of the burden put on Virginia farmers by having two large armies living off the land in that state. He also believed that if he took the war into the north, the northern people would not have the stomach for it any longer and would eventually sue for peace. Unfortunately, for him, it had the opposite effect. Lee may have also held out hope that by invading northern soil and winning a great battle there, it might be possible to bring the great European powers to recognize the legitimacy of the Confederacy. The objective, however, was uncertain. How far north would his army go? He hinted to one of his subordinate Generals, one legged Richard Ewell that Harrisburg might be captured. General Hooker, Lee's northern counterpart had heard a rumour that Pittsburgh was Lee's objective. Whatever the intent the two armies met quite by accident at the crossroads of Gettysburg on July 1, 1863. The Confederates, outnumbering the Federals pushed them back to a defensive position. Both sides had numerous casualties on this first day of the battle, but the confederate army held the field at days end. The Union losses included a highly esteemed corps commander, Major General John Reynolds who was shot off of his horse early on in the battle. The Confederate army was poised to strike a decisive blow against their northern foe, but darkness set in.

     Day two saw both armies swell with reinforcements. The army of the Potomac was now commanded by Major General George Meade, a West Pointer whom Lee believed would be somewhat cautious. Meade's army took up positions along a line of hills and ridges in what has been described as a fish hook. It was a comfortable but dangerous position for the left flank of the army was exposed and vulnerable at a couple of hills known as the Round Tops. Also, one of the Corps commanders Major General Daniel Sickles, a political General, decided without orders to move his men out in front of the rest of the army in the belief that securing the hill in front of him would give his men a better position to place their artillery. however, this left a gaping hole in the center of the union line that the Confederates could possibly use to split Meade's army in two.  The fighting was fierce on this second day. Despite Sickles errant use of military tactics the confederates were unable to take advantage of this blunder. They were also stopped in their tracks by fierce resistance on the Union left on Little Round Top which was being defended by Vincent's Brigade. A bayonet charge led by Colonel Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain of the 20th Maine Infantry Regiment basically ended the Confederate attack on that side of the battlefield.

     

                                  Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain (1828-1914)

                                                           Colonel Sanders    
   
Day three of the action at Gettysburg culminated in a desperate frontal attack ordered by General Lee on the Union center at a place known as "The Angle" This has come down in history as the infamous "Pickett's Charge" named after the Confederate General George Pickett who led one of the three Divisions against the Union lines. The assault failed miserably. This ended any chance that Lee's army would have to claim victory in the battle. The next day, Lee's army started their move south toward Virginia. They would never again have the chance to invade the north.


     Gettysburg today is nothing like it was back in 1863. It is now a destination for tourists. it is unlike any other battlefield that I have ever been to. Most battlefields that have been designated as National Parks, or State Parks are located in areas that are far from the burgeoning influence and corruption of Corporatism. To be sure, there are visitor centers that sell books and other souvenirs, but these are part of the National Park Service. There are also battlefields located in places that are now metropolis' like the Revolutionary War battlefields of Long Island, Savannah, and Trenton. Suburbia has inevitably encroached on these places. However, Gettysburg is different...This is, for instance, a Kentucky Fried Chicken standing in no man's land where thousands of soldiers charged across the field during Pickett's charge. Where is the respect? Do big chain Corporatists have any? Not when it comes to money I would guess. I suppose that it could be worse...At least it is a KFC with an image of a Colonel...even if he is a fraudulent one...It could be a McDonald's...with a clown and a hamburgler running across the battlefield! Or... worse yet... a Subway... with an image of Jared in his little green Subway shorts charging across the field along with thousands of Confederate ghosts toward the Union lines. I guess Colonel Sanders isn't so bad after all.

The Transit of Venus

Tomorrow will be a special day in the annals of Astronomy. It will be the last Transit of Venus until the year 2117. In case some of you out there reading this post are like me and not good with numbers, that is 105 years from now. I will be long dead, probably resting comfortably, grinning as skeletons do in some forgotten corner of an old cemetery. You, who read this, unless you are real young wil also have given up your mortal cares for that eternal state in which we all must pass. So...If you want to see Venus pass across the solar disk, June 05, 2012 will be your last opportunity. Captain James Cook observed the Transit of Venus in 1769 from Tahiti. since that Transit there have only been three more; in 1874, 1882 and 2004. For a brief history of the Transit of Venus I have posted an article on my website written by my twin brother Jay. To read it go here: http://www.fireballhistory.com/TRANSIT-OF-VENUS.html

Hopefully the sky will be cloudless!

                                         Postage Stamp Commemorating the 1769 Transit of Venus

The Fate of Ozymandias

I am not much of a poet. I have never really found the knack for it. I took a creative writing class in high school. I enjoyed it, but I was not that good, although one of my poems was chosen to be included in the school poetry magazine. Some people can memorize poetry. I am not one of those people, however, there is one poem that has always stuck in my head. The poem is Ozymandias written by the early 19th century British poet Percy Shelley. It goes like this:

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert...Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
'My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and Despair!'
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Vanity is a characteristic found only in the human species. This poem shows the inevitable conclusion of one man's immense ego. It also shows the futility and relative little impact that one individual retains over the years...regardless of the lives that individual might have destroyed during the time of that persons existence, for it is merely on a chessboard that we humans dwell. Ozymandias dreamed of being remembered throughout time as some figure of great importance. Instead he became a relic of something that once was...a forgotten...solitary figure lost through indifference and the passing of time. Shelley creates in Ozymandias, a superficial king, obsessed with shaping his own destiny. He takes the reader back to a different period in time to show the futility of power and glory. He explains how the ego can become lost in its own illusion of self importance. It is assumed that Ozymandias created great cities and monuments, perhaps great works of art which he believed would preserve his identity forever. Shelly, however, shows that nothing is forever. Ozymandias suffered the same fate as other great rulers and despots of the past who believed that they were somehow shaping the destiny of this small, insignificant planet (at least as it relates to the cosmos as a whole) Didn't Caesar, Bonaparte, and Alexander build great empires only to eventually lose them? In the end it is time and distance that destroys Ozymandias and those like him. As Shelley said best "The lone and level sands stretch far away."

                                               Percy Shelley (1792-1822)

Milkman Joe Smith

I am a runner. 25 years ago I was pretty good. In the Marine Corps I ran a 5k in 17:44. That was in 1987. I was 19...not 44. Although I have continued to run in the intervening years I have not run competitively. I run to stay in shape. Sometimes, like most people, I tend to slack off and I might go a few weeks without running, but I always find myself on the road again. To run competitively you have to do speed work, strengthening, and interval runs, something that I have never bothered to do. I just get out there and run. Maybe I am just lazy, or stupid, because I have a natural talent. I entered my first 5k in nearly a quarter of a century last Saturday. I finished in 25:22 and felt pretty good at the end finishing 6th in my age group, and 35th overall. I can do better. Running is in my blood. My twin brother is a runner. He wins races. When we were kids we would go to our grandmother's house in Natick, Massachusetts and walk around the block to the 10 mile mark of the Boston Marathon. We would wait to catch a glimpse of the legendary Bill Rogers in his little red shorts, or old two time winner Johnny Kelley in his blue tights as they ran by. We memorized all the marathon winners including the Milkman.

                                  "Milkman" Joe Smith 1942 Boston Marathon Winner
    
      Joe Smith of Medford, Massachusetts was a milkman. In a day before professional runners with their power bars and electrolyte drinks runners actually had jobs. Clarence Demar, a seven time winner of the Boston Marathon was a printer. Les Pawson, a three time winner worked in the mills. Joe Smith delivered milk in a very unique way, he would get out of his truck and run to the houses...up flights of stairs, and back down. He was a big man, nearly 6 feet 2 inches tall. Curious to see how far he could run Smith went for a run and ended up running 19 miles in his work shoes! He then began to train for marathons. In 1942 Milkman Joe Smith entered the Boston Marathon. He was considered a longshot.  On the morning of the race Smith was recuperating from the flu and did not want to run. His wife convinced him to give it a go. For most of the race the milkman was a non-factor. He did not expect to even finish the race, however, something clicked within him. For some reason he became stronger as the race went on. By the 20 mile mark it was obvious that nobody was going to beat the milkman on this cool April day. He finished the race at such a great speed that he barreled into some news reporters at the finish line. His winning time of 2:26:51 had set a course record. Milkman Joe had defied the odds and won. As World War II was raging, the milkman enlisted in the Coast Guard where he served for the remainder of the war. He returned to racing after the war, but his better years were behind him. He died in 1993.

     Competitive running is very different these days. More is known about the human body and how it reacts to certain stresses, diets and training. There is a methodology that is present that was not there during the days of the milkman. The milkman was a natural. This years winner at Boston would have come in 14 minutes ahead of the milkman and that was a slow time. However, I can't relate to these elite runners...For some reason I can relate to Demar, running and hitchhiking his way to work, Pawson...jogging to the mill every morning and jogging home...and of course the milkman, running in his white uniform and work shoes. The milkman has inspired me...like him, a humble worker caught in the cogs of the American corporatist machine...to see what I can do....run.