If you miss a legend of the past they are bound to find you
TIRED EYEBALLS - Last week I listed first team All-State players of local interest going back to 1949. I was squinting, messing with small print, but couldn’t find any dork glasses.
But if you miss a legend of the past they are bound to find you. Like Jim Brittingham, Lewes class of 1951, who played before the face mask - so how come his nose is so straight? Jim made first team and so did his teammate Sammy Paynter. I also missed Al Baker, 1960 first team center from Georgetown, Herky Billings from Middletown in 1969 and I guess I missed Joe Shockley of Sussex Central, which is amazing because I owe him thousands of dollars well, not him actually - County Bank. I was subprime before that was cool.
DEPRESSED WITH SUCCESS I had just heard a “Brokeback Mountain II” joke that afternoon at the gym with T.O. and Romo playing the part of the cowboys; in fact, there was already an internet photo of their faces superimposed over those of Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal that promoted the actual movie.
I was slightly shocked and saddened to get home and learn Ledger, just 28 and by all accounts a good guy, had died, most likely by an accidental overdose of sleeping pills and anti-anxiety medication. He was renting a loft apartment in Soho for $24,000 a month. His death, the prescription pills and the monthly rent all got my attention.
I do know that when fame and fortune and talent are all rolled together, the risk of depression is high, because what is left to strive for besides that elusive and can-never-be-bought personal happiness?
SUBBING OFF MISTAKINGS - Years ago I spoke to a real African soccer player from Cameroon who was enjoying two years in the United States as an exchange student at The Westtown School in Pennsylvania founded by Quakers - known in Sussex County as Quackers.
“I like to become one with the ball,” the young man told me in an African-British accent. “I immerse myself in the moment as the game and the ball and I become intertwined and inseparable.”
Basketball is also becoming one with the moment; if set to music it would be improvisational jazz. Have you ever heard a musician so good on the sax that he must spiral and take it somewhere else because the rules of rhythm and melody are just too constricting? Basketball as learned on the playground is just like that until taken to the restrictive and rules-based organized side.
I remember being a sophomore sixth man and inserted into a state tournament game at the St. Joe’s fieldhouse in front of 5,000 fans. I was a shooter - a zone buster. I got a clean look - I’m still looking - adrenaline sent me lunar gravity high on my jump shot. I was one with the ball and basket and lost in the moment and I missed. Coach John Clark yelled, “Why do you think you’re out there?”
I then became lost in that question, but figured I’m not only out here to shoot but actually make shots. I watch too many games where players are taken out of games for missed shots or errant passes, which is negative reinforcement and counterproductive to where you want the athlete to live, which is in the moment.
MORE LOST IN MOMENTS - Grade school aged Fredboy was at a Pennsylvania state tournament game with my sportswriting mentor and friend, Dick Dougherty, way before civil rights activism and integration, but I knew nothing of these things. Like everyone else I was just living my life.
I remember a white team in white uniforms and a colored team in purple. (Be cool - the word black was years in the future.) The game went past double overtime into sudden death. The house was rocking in an old school gym that had a balcony behind one of the baskets with people just hanging off the edge going crazy. The white team ran a break off the sudden death jump ball and some kid streaked to the basket for an uncontested layup. He released the ball with no one around him and it just kept going up over the backboard and into the balcony. The crowd of color laughed and clapped embracing that moment for all its slapstick hilarity.
And then the point guard for the purple team came over half court and let go a 43-foot shot and just walked to the bench without looking, knowing it had to go in; there was no other way for that game to end. I am still back there outside myself looking at myself lost in the moment that remains my favorite.
SNIPPETS - The sports media has become as unimaginative as the news media with everyone following the same stories. Back in my day there were no high ankle sprains or stretched ACLs and MCLs. Ankles and knees were twisted, and if you were really hurt they were wrenched. There were no “stingers,” just nerve damage so weird it felt like yellow jackets were hiving in your spinal column.
I am sick of Tom Brady and I know he’s sick of us. Seriously, have you ever seen Brady do anything but walk to the line of scrimmage with his hands in his pants? He doesn’t run; it just isn’t cool.
Props to Cape teacher Dan Hultz, who lives in Dover but last Tuesday night was in the Cave in Bridgeville to watch his Cape team. Hultz man was limping at halftime, carrying his left shoe and I was the only media person interested in his condition, wanting to know if I should downgrade him to doubtful or upgrade him to questionable. Seriously, I love “Hultzie,” a great guy and cool like a single shoe among friends.
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Sports Editor Emeritus
Email Fredman at fredman@capegazette.com
