I grew up in Texas. The driving force in my family was my grandmother, Granny. When I was 10 years old, I had to attend ‘Charm School’. My Granny always impressed upon me that it wasn’t “Lady-like” to swear and whenever I felt the need to do so, I should spit it out of my mouth. So, when I get upset about something that warrants a good swear word, I simply say “Oh spit”. I never say the bad word and I have a clean conscience. I know that I’m honoring my grandmother by keeping to her word. I feel better for it as well.

- Lisa C.

It was a busy clinic day and with high school football in full swing I had a steady stream of mostly minor injuries from the previous week’s contests. I’ve done sports medicine for nearly 20 years and I’ve seen the highs and lows of athletes at all levels. This one experience, though seemingly small, stands out as a prime example as to why there is hope for the future.

This particular kid, an 18-year-old starting senior linebacker with likely a future at the next level, came in accompanied by his mother with a knee injury. He had all the markings of the pretty rough kid. Though no tattoos he wore a tight black shirt that displayed bulging muscles. His hair was short but it seemed to go in numerous directions giving a bit of a wild look. I did notice that he was polite to his mother, courteous to me and was not at all intimidated by the doctor’s office setting. After a short visit I asked him get up on the exam table so I could check his knee. While getting up on the table I noticed he was uncomfortable as he sat because of the bulge of a worn book planted in his rear pocket. He reached in, pulled it out, and gently threw it across the room to the chair next to his mother. I couldn’t help but notice the book was a hymnal from his church. I was a little surprised that a kid I had pegged to be a pretty rough character would be carrying a hymn book in his back pocket. When I questioned him about that he just grinned and replied “sometimes you just gotta sing”. He further explained that any time he is tempted to use foul language or think bad thoughts he reaches to his back pocket. He doesn’t realize this but the lesson he taught me that day will forever be with me and I thank him for that.

A Paragon Rising Above The Madness
Rick Reilly – Sports Illustrated

On Tuesday the best man I know will do what he always does on the 21st of the month. He’ll sit down and pen a love letter to his best girl. He’ll say how much he misses her and loves her and can’t wait to see her again. Then he’ll fold it once, slide it in a little envelope and walk into his bedroom. He’ll go to the stack of love letters sitting there on her pillow, untie the yellow ribbon, place the new one on top and tie the ribbon again.

The stack will be 180 letters high then, because Tuesday is 15 years to the day since Nellie, his beloved wife of 53 years, died. In her memory, he sleeps only on his half of the bed, only on his pillow, only on top of the sheets, never between, with just the old bedspread they shared to keep him warm.

There’s never been a finer man in American sports than John Wooden, or a finer coach. He won 10 NCAA basketball championships at UCLA, the last in 1975. Nobody has ever come within six of him. He won 88 straight games between Jan. 30, 1971, and Jan. 17, 1974. Nobody has come within 42 since.

So, sometimes, when the Madness of March gets to be too much—too many players trying to make SportsCenter, too few players trying to make assists, too many coaches trying to be homeys, too few coaches willing to be mentors, too many freshmen with out-of-wedlock kids, too few freshmen who will stay in school long enough to become men—I like to go see Coach Wooden. I visit him in his little condo in Encino, 20 minutes northwest of L.A., and hear him say things like “Gracious sakes alive!” and tell stories about teaching “Lewis” the hook shot. Lewis Alcindor, that is. Kareem Abdul-Jabbar.

There has never been another coach like Wooden, quiet as an April snow and square as a game of checkers; loyal to one woman, one school, one way; walking around campus in his sensible shoes and Jimmy Stewart morals. He’d spend a half hour the first day of practice teaching his men how to put on a sock. “Wrinkles can lead to blisters,” he’d warn. These huge players would sneak looks at one another and roll their eyes. Eventually, they’d do it right. “Good,” he’d say. “And now for the other foot.”

Of the 180 players who played for him, Wooden knows the whereabouts of 172. Of course, it’s not hard when most of them call, checking on his health, secretly hoping to hear some of his simple life lessons so that they can write them on the lunch bags of their kids, who will roll their eyes. “Discipline yourself, and others won’t need to,” Coach would say. “Never lie, never cheat, never steal,” Coach would say. “Earn the right to be proud and confident.”

You played for him, you played by his rules: Never score without acknowledging a teammate. One word of profanity, and you’re done for the day. Treat your opponent with respect.

He believed in hopelessly out-of-date stuff that never did anything but win championships. No dribbling behind the back or through the legs. “There’s no need,” he’d say. No UCLA basketball number was retired under his watch. “What about the fellows who wore that number before? Didn’t they contribute to the team?” he’d say. No long hair, no facial hair. “They take too long to dry, and you could catch cold leaving the gym,” he’d say.

That one drove his players bonkers. One day, All-America center Bill Walton showed up with a full beard. “It’s my right,” he insisted. Wooden asked if he believed that strongly. Walton said he did. “That’s good, Bill,” Coach said. “I admire people who have strong beliefs and stick by them, I really do. We’re going to miss you.” Walton shaved it right then and there. Now Walton calls once a week to tell Coach he loves him.

It’s always too soon when you have to leave the condo and go back out into the real world, where the rules are so much grayer and the teams so much worse. As Wooden shows you to the door, you take one last look around. The framed report cards of the great-grandkids. The boxes of jelly beans peeking out from under the favorite wooden chair. The dozens of pictures of Nellie.

He’s almost 90 now, you think. A little more hunched over than last time. Steps a little smaller. You hope it’s not the last time you see him. He smiles. “I’m not afraid to die,” he says. “Death is my only chance to be with her again.”

Problem is, we still need him here.
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This article was written 10 years ago when Coach Wooden was approaching 90. He is now almost 100 years old. I’m not sure just how he is doing but I do know his influence is still being felt. Thanks Coach!

My personal battle with pornagraphy.
I am 51 years old but this battle started long ago as a teenager when my buddies brought pictures that would be classified as “soft porn” today. Sometimes I would find myself losing track of time as I viewed or read pornographic material.  I had been raised by good parents that taught me what was right and wrong. I cleaned up my act after a while and led a good life. I married in my 20s to a good woman. You would think that would be the end of the story right? If you thought that you would be wrong.

Like most people we had differences and we did have some difficulty in resolving some of them. At the time I also was called away from home on business. Cable channels at motels many times offered porn and I found myself pulled back into losing track of time until the wee hours of the morning. Problems in our marriage worsened over time which seemed to give me more excuses to delve into my “problem”.  I would have periods where I would do well and then have periods where I would fall back into the “problem”.

The internet offered the ability to have access to things that I used to have to go to the video store to get, which means I didn’t have to look the clerk in the eye when I was checking out stuff that I should not. That worsened the problem. I then started having even more problems at home, which seemed to cause me to really get caught in a very destructive cycle. I kept trying to change and used a variety of methods to change my behavior. Nothing worked. I began to believe that I was too broken to fix. I still believed in God but believed He was too disappointed in me to ever want me back.

Finally, I cried out to God that if he would just get me out of this mess I would do anything He asked me to do. Almost immediately  I started to feel some relief. My daughter had offered me a book called, The Peacegiver By James Ferrell. It was about how a couple on the edge of divorce, caught in the deadly cycle of emotionally hurting each other, learned to turn to Christ and ask for His help. If anyone needed help it was me. I then picked up another book called Clean Hands, Pure Heart by Phillip Harrison. This was a book about how to use the 12 steps used by Alcoholics Anonymous to get rid of pornography addiction. I used this book and others to gain hope back into my life about leading  a life free of the devastating effects of Porn. It has taken time, but it has been worth the effort. Most of the credit goes to my Savior Jesus Christ. I will make no apologies for mentioning His name in my recovery. Four years ago if you would tell me I would be singing His praises I would have said you were nuts. But it is only through His power that I stand where I do today.

I hope as you read this if you have had any struggles with porn that you take hope in my message. I cannot give you recovery, but I can point out the way for deliverance from the enemy of our souls. If people want  to blog about this I would be willing to give my input.

A number of years ago Nike produced a television commercial in which Sir Charles Barkley looks directly into the camera and states very clearly, “I am not a role model.” An interesting choice for Nike since the unprofessional antics of a very professional NBA player have made him an icon for the sport.

I was so put off by that 60 second spot that I wrote Nike a letter and voiced my objection questioning the use of that message to sell athletic shoes to the young people who watch so closely and look up to Sir Charles.  As promised in my letter I have not purchased Nike shoes since.

Not long after the Nike commercial, Terrell Owens, an amazing wide receiver at the time, for the Dallas Cowboys was fined ‘pocket change’ for spitting in the face of an opposing player.  Apparently his behavior was not a big enough deal to suspend him from play.  A week or two before TO’s incident Michael Vick, then the gifted Atlanta Falcons QB, while walking off the field made a middle finger obscene gesture with both hands to the booing crowd.

I’m sorry Mr. Barkley (and Nike Shoe Company), Terrell, Michael etc…like it or not you are role models.  You have a responsibility to all within the field of your influence.  If you have been awarded the status of celebrity athlete you also assume a certain amount of accountability.  You are in a powerful position and we expect more of you.

We too are partly to blame for when we pay to watch, keep quiet and tolerate that kind of bad behavior we validate and justify your actions.  We do have a voice. We can make a difference.

Some of the greatest conflicts in rural America occur between rival high schools during football season. In my hometown, as five high schools vie for playoff positions in the state tournament, it is easy to see how rivalries form and how heated they can become.

This past year, Hurricane High School Tigers played perennial powerhouse and local rival Pine View High School Panthers to overtime, losing a heartbreaker. At the conclusion of the game, it was readily apparent that emotions were raw on both sides. The Pine View players and their supporters were raucous and overjoyed, having pulled out the narrowest of victories, while the Hurricane crowd was nothing short of devastated and hurt from the loss. As one might expect following a close contest between rivals, there were some jeers and insults hurled back and forth between the two camps as they made their way out of the stadium, but before the night was over, the drama and passion of the game had dissipated, and thoughts on both sides were directed to the following week’s opponents. In the coming weeks, both teams continued to do well and qualified for the state playoffs, though in different classes.

This is where the story begins. The Pine View Panthers traveled north to the University of Utah Stadium to play in the semifinals against Cottonwood High School, an urban force that from the start of the season was expected to play in the 4A state final. The game was close, and were it not for a pass interference call on 4th and goal in the end zone against the free safety, who also happened to be the Pine View Student Body President, the Panthers may well have won the game. As it was, Pine View was knocked out of the tournament. On the long, subdued bus ride home, the Student Body President penned the following letter to his rival cross-town high school. The next morning, he faxed it to the Hurricane High School main office.

November 17, 2008

Dear Hurricane High School,

Southern Utah has been represented well with two of the best high school football teams making it to the state playoffs. Sorry to say, we left the tournament a little early when we lost a close one to Cottonwood High School. That leaves the Hurricane Tigers as the sole representative from Southern Utah. We would like to wish you good luck, letting you know that Panther Pride is now behind the Hurricane Tigers. Go Tigers! Make Southern Utah proud and ground the Soaring Eagles! This is your year!

Pine View High School

The unexpected fax from archrival Pine View High School created quite a commotion in the Hurricane principal’s office. “What is this? Is it a joke?” When it was finally deemed legitimate, the feeling and mood changed, and there was genuine heartfelt appreciation, so much so that it was read over the intercom to the Hurricane student body.

The next morning at Pine View High School, when the student body president was reading the routine daily announcements, the door to the office opened, and three Hurricane student body officers and their advisors, having driven across the county, walked in and personally thanked Pine View for their gesture of confidence and support for the Hurricane Tigers as the latter prepared to play in the state championship football game.

On that day—and, perhaps, until they meet again as rivals in next year’s big game—the bitterest of rivals came together in the realization that what they had in common, namely the pride they both felt in the local heritage they shared, was infinitely more important than any arbitrary school boundaries or temporary high school loyalties. For just a few moments during that weekend’s championship game, the high school world seemed to stand still as all from Southern Utah including Panthers were pulling for the Hurricane Tigers.