Jan 1st is nigh!

Fodder for outstanding resolution making!

Only a fool would not heed the requisite respect for the evils that one may fall prey to when utilizing the Internet, but this old fart has found that there are some real gems of enlightenment mixed in with the scary stuff. Case in point, I did not write the following section in italics, and I’m not sure who did, but WOW does it speak to my heart!!!

Absolutely well worth the read! Don’t wait to read it later!

Barely the day started, and it's already six in the evening.
Barely arrived on Monday, and it's already Friday.
... and the month is already over.
... and the year is almost over.
... and already 40, 50 or 60 years of our lives have passed.
... and we realize that we lost our parents, friends, family.
... and we realize it's too late to go back.

So ... despite everything, 

Let's try, despite everything, to enjoy the remaining time...
Let's keep looking for activities that we like...
Let's put some colour in our grey...
Let's smile at the little things in life that put balm in our hearts.
Let's continue to enjoy with serenity this time we have left. 

Let's try to eliminate the afters...

I'm doing it after...
I'll say it after...
I'll think about it after...
We leave everything for later like ′′after ′′ is ours.

Because what we don't understand is that:
Afterwards, the coffee gets cold...
Afterwards, priorities change...
Afterwards, the charm is broken...
Afterwards, health passes...
Afterwards, the kids grow up...
Afterwards parents get old...
Afterwards, promises are forgotten...
Afterwards, the day becomes the night...
Afterwards life ends...

And then it's often too late....

So, let's leave nothing for later!
Because waiting to see you later, we can lose the best moments, the best experiences, our best friends, our best family ... The day is today... The moment is now!

Most of my friends and I are no longer at an age where we can afford to postpone that which needs to be done right away. 

My New Year's resolution for 2024 just got easier!

Unexpected pathways

When you supply these days, you have to not only be flexible with your assignment expectations, but also with your presumptions about the physical tools of the trade and preparedness of the lesson. Many a time I have accepted a position for a friend or colleague under the presumption of subject X, only to discover on arrival that it has changed to subject Y, more often than not well exceeding my scope of expertise. If one wishes to survive in today's classrooms, Uber flexibility in anticipated behavioural norms, resource access, and motivation levels are par for the course.

Case in point, I returned to my little country school to help out in a senior science class that I've previously visited numerous times this fall, fully expecting a period of exam review as per the teacher's supply notes ... YES, they still write exams in this class but they take place in December under today's structure ... but the class discussion circuitously segued into a debate about the ethics surrounding the proper cooking technique of lobster, the mouth-watering holiday anticipations of a student in the class.

Author's Note: The overwhelming favourite manner of preparation for whole, live lobster is steaming, for a few reasons: you're less likely to overcook lobsters when steaming, the entire cook time is shorter and the process of cooking and removing the lobsters from the pot is a lot easier. Lobsters and other shellfish have harmful bacteria naturally present in their flesh. Once the lobster is dead, these bacteria can rapidly multiply and release toxins that may not be destroyed by cooking. You therefore minimize the chance of food poisoning by cooking the lobster alive, but it is generally agreed that electrical stunning before killing of lobsters is the most humane and effective method as it renders them immediately insensible before death which then occurs within seconds. Plunging them into boiling water, freezing them or 'drowning' them in fresh water would be considered inhumane to many.

Not to be out done by the Great Lobster Debate, the conversation astoundingly leap-frogged into the oft postulated mountain plane crash scenario, with its ethical conundrum surrounding the consequences of survival if the crash didn't cause your demise. Of course, it makes perfect sense to leap from the delicacy of lobster to the horrors of cannibalism, doesn't it? Want to take a deep dive into the consciousness of today's teen? Get them talking about a subject that will quickly form dissension in the ranks and let them have at it. Bearing in mind that most of the class is yet to reach their "I can vote now" age, they have some profoundly deep and passionate opinions about ethical issues, and some profoundly brilliant arguments revealed themselves.

In case you're wondering, the straw vote tallied on the side of doing something unpalatable in order to survive long enough for help to arrive ... easy to say when you're sitting in a warm classroom in Ontario!

In the end, I'm not naive enough to think that this was all thanks to my pedagogical brilliance bringing out their divergent thinking skills, but rather their thinly veiled attempt to avoid doing that exam review their teacher left. Rest easy, that didn't stop me from having an enjoyable afternoon with kids that I've come to enjoy. 

As I've stated so many times since retiring, "I truly love teaching, but I simply can no longer stand education, and supply teaching lets me do exactly what I love!"

#ieducate #lifeisgood #nuffsaid

Worth a 2nd thought

I've written previously about returning to "the Stripes" after an almost 20 year vacation, so it won't come as a surprise when I say that I officiate basketball because I dearly LOVE the sport, and feel really good about myself when I give back to the game that has treated me so fondly. I have literally hundreds of acquaintances from my many years involved in the game, be it as a player, coach or official, so it's not uncommon to arrive at a gym to find the upcoming game will involve a long time friend, a parent or a former player. 

It makes the energy, time and commitment all well worth the effort. 

At a recent local gym visit, I was blessed with a Sr Boys' high school double header that was passionate, energetic, aggressive, and just plain fun thanks to the challenge of being the best I could be in ensuring that the players remained safe, had a great experience, and showcased their skills. After the games were "in the books", I found an empty spot in the front row of the stands to change my shoes in preparation for the trip back home, when my silence was interrupted by a good friend who was running the tournament the games were a part of. When he prefaced the conversation with, "We've known each other for a really long time, eh?" 

I thought, erroneously, that some form of criticism was coming. Considering how often we officials are subjected to loud and hostile criticism, it becomes a knee-jerk reaction when approached after a game. The next sentence caused a stir of emotion that I was ill prepared for ... "I just wanted to tell you face to face that I sincerely feel that you've become one of the best officials in this area in a really short space of time." (I may have paraphrased this) To say I was first shocked, then emotional, then extremely humbled, goes without saying, and I tried my very best to shake his hand, look him straight in the eye, and attempted to find the right words to thank him for going out of his way to say something. 

What a wonderful early Christmas gift!

TBH, you can't be a competent official if you don't have great self-belief. Even though I can hear the comments often hurled my direction, I choose to let them slide off my awareness like so much water off a duck's back because I know that I've put in the work, am confident in my abilities, and am proud of the service I can offer back to the game. Having said all of that, it's really, really nice to get a compliment once in a while.

As if the universe was paying attention, after arriving home, getting settled, and catching up with my wife, I was scrolling through social media when I stumbled across the following words from a different longtime friend, his friendship also forged in the fires of education. Considering my day's events, it hit pretty close to home.

Sadly, I copied the message but not where he grabbed it from, but it was a post of a post of a post. If anyone reading these words knows who the author is/was, feel free to send me a message so I can give credit where credit is due.

Many people look at this shirt and just see a referee/official’s uniform. Very few people look at this shirt and see what it really is - pure dedication, strength, and nerve.

They don’t see what goes on behind the scenes. Days away from families and one’s home, countless hours of studying, analyzing and reanalyzing one’s own calls, reading and re-reading the rule book, countless hours on the phones with other officials to ask questions and mentor each other, hours and their own money dedicated to associations and trying to make the world of officiating a better place.

What people think they see: “a horrible official”, “someone who doesn’t know the rules”, “a biased official who “clearly” has it out for their team”, “someone who should never be able to be an official”.

To those people who sit in the stands or sit behind their computer screens or phones making these comments – I encourage you to try it. Sitting in the stands or on the couch and making the calls is the easy route. Because you have the ability to be right or wrong with no consequences. The official out there on the mat, field, or court has to be right all the time (which is subjective to your eyes, your team, and your desired outcome, instead of the rules). I encourage you take the official’s test. Take it and you will see that you didn’t pass because you don’t know as much about the sport as you thought you did. And when you do fail, use it as motivation to join an association, read and study the rule book, and then take the test again. After taking the test (probably multiple times), maybe just maybe you will pass. And if you do pass, then go ahead and put on the uniform, muscle up the nerve and strength to actually become an official and step out into the center mat, court, or field.

Every sport is in need of more officials. The number of officials and number of younger people wanting to be officials has greatly decreased. Why? Probably because it is an extremely difficult position to be put in, and all you get in return is constant hate.

To the fans – I am not asking you not to root for your team. Root and scream for your team! If you don’t like a call, boo it, and then move on! What I am asking, is please be more respectful in person or online.

Officials walk out to a game or match knowing that by the end of it they will have one side hating and degrading them. They are required to make the tough calls over and over again, calls that will upset one side or the other. It is a lose-lose situation regardless of the outcome. So why do they do it? My guess would be for the love of the sport.

Officials are humans, with families (wives, husbands, and children), with friends, with homes, other careers, and feelings. They are people. Real people. Who, after everything that they do, still have to listen and read horrible comments from people who wouldn’t dare or have enough courage or knowledge to step out into the fire. Yet these officials have enough dedication and nerve to continuously step out onto the mat, court, field, etc… over and over and over again because they love what they do and they love the sport. They are truly relentless. Are they always perfect? Probably not. They are humans, in a world of sports where rules are ever changing and evolving. They are dedicated, and every official that I know uses every call, match, game, and outcome as a learning experience, whether good or bad.

Officiating is one of the most difficult and thankless jobs that I can think of. So to every official out there – THANK YOU. Thank you for doing everything that you do so that the world can enjoy the thrill and excitement of sports. Thank you for the brotherhood and sisterhood that you provide each other, and for becoming each other’s lifelong friends and family. Thank you for giving up countless hours and days away from your families. Thank you for continuing to put yourself out there over and over again regardless of all of the negative feedback and comments/posts from spectators. Thank you for the time and energy that you dedicate into your craft, so that we, as spectators, can sit, watch, and enjoy the sports that we love.

What a great day it turned out to be!

#lifeisgood

Post Covid woes

I think that we can all agree that this post-Covid world is significantly different with profound impairments effected on the most vulnerable of youth thanks in part to the lack of development opportunities at pivotal periods in their mental and social growth. While I'm no expert in child development, nor do I wish to be seen as such, I do have 30+ years of interaction with kids ranging from age 6 (Gr 1) to 19 (Gr 12 Victory lappers). In fact, the only grade I don't have extensive experience with is age 9 (Gr 4), other than the coaching I've done.

Covid's impact was front and center a little while ago when I was refereeing the Intermediate Girls County Basketball championships up in Midland. Although I had also refereed a few of the regional tournaments, and it was not a surprise that a few of the schools competing in them displayed profoundly weak skill progression and game sense abilities, I reasoned that were a school to earn a spot at the county championships, it would be expected that a certain level of ability would be on display.

Sadly, not so much in general, or at least the games I was involved in, and that's no shot at their kids or coaches.

If you've been around school athletics in Simcoe County, you'll be well aware that some elementary schools have volunteer coaches that get the job done with regularity. When you look at the schools involved in any county championship, regardless of the year, it would raise eyebrows if familiar names weren't on the draw sheet. Sure, there's always the potential for a small blip of athletes to go through any one school, spurring that school's success rate for the season, but even if they were playing in mismatched tees, anyone with experience in this area would immediately recognize the skills, game sense, team work, and game strategy directly linked to a handful of the area's competent coaches.

Sadly, despite their effort and influence, the overall level that was on display in front of me was significantly lower than I would have expected, and I feel strongly that can be attributed to the 2 year shut down thanks to the anti-Covid effort. 

Basketball is a game that requires significant skill development to be able to play at a speed that would be considered proficient. The act of dribbling a ball while looking up the court PLUS making appropriate decisions with corresponding actions is not a natural ability. While any half-way coordinated individual can occasionally have movements and strength line up to be able to propel the ball through the air and successfully through that orange ring, to youngsters do it with regularity, under duress, in an exhausted state, with elevated expectations of a county championship is a skillset that requires time and perseverance. Whether it was a 2 year delay to the start of a player's basketball journey, or a pause on the already initiated preliminary development, it goes without saying that the time lost has a significant impact on today's execution.

What was on display before me, even by those traditionally strong programs, was indicative of younger athlete development in a pre-Covid world, resulting in this old fart being prompted to intervene with whistle tweets of increased regularity for violations and foul play. IMHO. This would be largely due to the action's speed being beyond the performance abilities of the participants. Let's put it another way; if you've been involved with athletics, perhaps even at an elite level, it's a generally accepted concept that the 'game slows down' as the skills and decision making accuracy increases. The proficiency on display was indicative of athletes in grades 5 or 6, not 7 or 8, and I'd wager the game was happening quickly from their perspective!

This is NOT because the coaching level has dropped!

I can attest to their competency firsthand, based on the messages they broadcasted to their players as the game unfolded, and that coupled with the look of frustration crossing their brow, I could surmise their side of the equation remained consistent. I also want to make it clear that I don't fault the athletes! The efforts being expended were obviously at the outer edges of their conditioning, the look of exertion and exhaustion evident on their sweaty faces. For me, the only explanation has to be the missing portion of that fabled "10 000 hours mastery" lost to the Covid shutdown. Having said all of that, in the end somebody had to win. 

Or, more appropriately, somebodies had to win. 

Those programs that survived the pool play demonstrated they had the 'right stuff' to seek the cup, and they weren't unfamiliar with county championships.

The 4 standouts to qualify for the semifinals were Barrie's Algonquin Ridge, Minesing Central, Collingwood's St Marys, and Guthrie. In what I am told were 2 hotly contested games, Algonquin Ridge captured the 2023 crown over Minesing Central in the final by a slim 5 points. Not to be outdone, Guthrie outlasted St Marys to win by 3 in the consolation final. My friends that officiated the final games felt that all four teams were to be commended for their efforts and execution.

Congratulations to those players and their coaches for a terrific season!

Fortunately, young athletes are the epitome of resilient! Be it an injury, a disappointment, or an obstacle, I've seen hundreds of examples of athletes who overcame the adversity they faced. Those affected by the Covid stoppage that are TRULY passionate about their sport will make up the ground and excel, but that nasty little virus has thrown the proverbial wrench in the gears of our global village, forcing us to make some changes that will require efforts out of the ordinary. 

After it's all said and done, it was a pretty awesome way to spend a Tuesday morning!

Just some thoughts ...

It's been a super busy stretch lately with supply teaching, refereeing, travelling, and just simple living, but there have also been ample opportunities to sit a ponder the 'state of the union', as it were. Thanks to a steady stream of thought-starters from social media, I have entertained my grey matter with a wide variety of subjects, each an impetus to take stock in where I am, and where I'm hoping to go. 

As I travel slowly down my path of Life, it's inevitable that I'll encounter bumps, potholes, detours, and closures that prompt a change in mindset ... or attitude ... or beliefs ... that will alter the course by influencing the choices made thanks to each of the aforementioned obstacles. 

The Slow Goodbye
They say, "A mind is terrible thing to waste", but I'll go on the record that I hold a different meaning of the word waste from others because I have, rather unfortunately, had some experience with dementia in its various forms. As the sparkles of a personality slowly dim, the things that made them special also slowly wither, and I wonder out loud if the consciousness also fades. That notion would certainly be preferable to me because if the biological machine fails and the consciousness is trapped inside, that would be a purgatory that scares the bejeezus out of me.

My aunt Merle, my mother's sister, eventually succumbed to vascular dementia over more than a decade of slow steady decline in her short term memory and accompanying decreasing cognitive function. Merle had a quick wit, a twinkle in her eye, and a well developed sense of sarcasm, making her a pretty awesome aunt IMHO. I spent a significant amount of time with her growing up because as sisters who had 7 kids between them, my mom and my aunt chose the 'divide and conquer' route. It was certainly depressing to watch her twinkle slowly lose its shine.

One of my parent's best friends are Don and Bev Pringle. Don and my dad met in university when they were in Med School at Queen's. They often came to visit us in Barrie and we visited them at their farm in Hatley, a quiet hamlet in the eastern townships of Quebec. While this may seem fairly ordinary, you have to also know that Don and Bev moved to Mississippi in the 1970's so this was a friendship that was forged over a distance. Even after my dad's passing, they would come up from the farm when they were visiting their Canadian paradise during the summer, and I personally always loved to spend some time with them, catch up with the news of their two boys Scott and Steve. Don was always such a pleasant guy to chat with!

Unfortunately, Don has been afflicted with Alzheimer's, his slow goodbye taking a toll on Bev and the family, eventually leading to the decision to opt for around the clock care. While they aren't always front and center in my thoughts, one of Bev's recent social media posts hit a little too close to the bullseye, and it got me thinking about how we really still don't understand the human brain and how it makes us who we are. This commercial might just make the 2023 top 3 list ... get yourself some tissues if you choose to watch this!

You, Me, and the Big C:
Another of Life's challenges so many of us are forced to deal with is our own mortality, or the mortality of those who we feel have had a profound influence on who we have become. It will come as no surprise that these days our sense of mortality is impacted by cancer, and I've chosen to write about this on a number of occasions in past pieces.

  

A sharing of one person's opinion ... Mindset: It's NOT a battle! 

A piece about some people I knew that had been afflicted ... The Big C

An appreciation of the talents of a good friend ... Mr McCrone, you have my respect!

Hitting way too close to home are the journeys that my father and my brother Rob have taken since their first diagnoses, and while a ominous sense of impending doom accompanies the discovery of mutated cells growing unchecked inside a body, our family has come to realize that it is the treatment that irrevocably changes one's quality of life by throwing a wrench into the gears of 'normal' day to day. In my father's case, the treatment proved ineffective, and we were burdened with the reality of watching the end play out before us, one horrible day at a time. In my brother's case, while the treatments achieved the anticipated goal, they left behind a train wreck of implications that continue to this day, a year and a bit later. The notion that cancer treatments are designed to kill everything, often including the patient, is a stark reality for our family, leaving both physical and chemical impairments that are ultimately maddeningly frustrating and depressing.

While I can use up all of my fingers and toes counting off the close friends and acquaintances that have affected by cancer, one of the more recent ones is an old Queen's Football team mate Jeff Kyle. Although he's a couple of years older than me, we forged a tight friendship through our escapades both on and off Richardson Field, a bond that has endured some 40 years since we parted ways to sow our Life's oats after graduation. Over a year ago, Jeff and his family got the shocking news of a Glioblastoma tumour growth that resulted in some impairments prompting medical advice. Two brain surgeries, a host of both radiation and chemo treatments, and a lot of heartache later, and Jeff has become the epitome of his adopted mantra #getbusyliving with a steeled determination and 'never say quit' attitude. 

Very recently, a small group of our band of brothers were able to support Jeff as he was recognized by the Ottawa Senators at a recent home game for the 20+ years he invested as VP of Marketing on their #hockeyfightscancer night. Click the link for the Twitter feed and video about Jeff. To say that I am in awe of Jeff's courage in the face of a tremendously difficult journey would be the grossest understatement of the decade! 

https://twitter.com/senators/status/1729305701778850096?s=12&t=vZRbBBFn7hjx9JXet3nTaA. 

In case you can't get the link to work, or you just don't do Twitter, you'll simply have to take my word that Jeff is one seriously amazing guy, and our entire team is sending as much positive energy his way as we can muster. I am continually astonished by the love, support, and camaraderie that our group shows each other as we collectively navigate the bumps in Life's road. We lost a few of our mates along the way; we been there for the UPs and the DOWNs of carving out a place in this world; we make a concerted effort to get together regularly and recharge our friendship's batteries.

Just some thoughts I've had recently.

Thanks for reading.

Shangri-FLA

As I began to write this, the sun was rising, the humidity was up, the whir of a busy day had begun, and the unique birdsong of southwestern Florida signals that, for me anyway, winter has begun. Yes, that's a different set of signals than most Canadians are used to, but that's the blessed life I lead right now. 

I was in Naples, Florida, because I had helped my mother get to her winter home-away-from-home recently, and I'm stayed for a handful of days to open up the condo, solve any issues from its long dormancy over the spring/summer, and to enjoyed the climate before jetting home mid week. The long trek from Barrie where she lives to her condo in Naples would be 23.5 hours if you drive it without stopping, but not being made of long-haul trucking fibre, she and I agreed to break it up into 2 portions with a quick sleep in Rock Hill, South Carolina. As it was, it was still a LONG haul racking up 2523.5 km (1568 miles) on her CRV. 

Being on the road 2 days in a row for more 11+ hours means that much-needed sustenance is an important decision, one solved for us by a chain of restaurants that screams the stereotypic visage of 'Murica'! The restaurant chain called Cracker Barrel is an American iconic happening that is oh-so-much-more than simply a place to quiet the traveller's stomach growls. We choose to stop there for meals because (a) the food is ALWAYS consistently delicious, well prepared, and unique (see below) and (b) the well designed safari to the dining room is a journey that takes patrons through a marketing brainstorm the besieges the eyes and nose with all manner of American opulence and extravagance. 

The franchisers of Cracker Barrel are no fools!

That pathway in is ingeniously designed to 'plant the seed' of extraneous spending, lubricating the shackles on your wallet with glorious comfort food quite unlike anything that exists in Canada ... in my experience anyway ... in an effort to coax an additional few dollars from your budget in exchange for bits 'n bobbles that seem specifically created in a down-home, rustic themed Americana. If these places existed in Canada, I would not only be significantly poorer and fatter, but my condo would be filled to the hilt with little signs, knick knacks, and decorations. The only thing that saves me from spontaneous purchasing is that long trip, be it south to FLA or north to CAN, and transporting said purchases. 

I mean, where else could you find giant 24 inch by 24 inch Rice Kripies, Kit Kats, or Tootsie Rolls? How about all manner of Christmas themed snow globes or a Santa that climbs up and down a ladder ad infinitum?

Case in point ... on one of our stops this trip, I chose CB's offering of breakfast tacos thanks largely to both an oversized sense of curiousity and a well honed affinity for Mexican delicacies. While I was in no way disappointed with the choice, the plate resembled tacos in only in construction with a fried egg + bacon + melted cheddar stuffed into a folded pancake with maple syrup on the side. The greasy, sugary goodness assaults the tastebuds with a dopamine kick of magnanimous proportions! Top it off with a side of hash brown casserole and wash it down with a steaming cuppa, and you have a rip-roaring traveller's experience sure to calm the gastric gurgles for many an hour.

And there are more Christmas based things on display than Santa's Workshop!

If you've never been to Naples, it would be difficult to paint a mental photo accurate enough to truly give you a sense of the place. Suffice it to say that the sights, sounds, and smells of the area are nothing like ol' Wasaga Beach, despite the obvious similarities of beach-side living. Yes, one is temperate while the other is tropical separated by almost 2600 km of latitude, and while I would never choose (nor afford) to live here full time, it offers a most appreciated respite from Canada's winter blast. A sunny and warm morning walk revealed a cornucopia of flora and fauna radically different than back home, bringing a refreshing fascination and enjoyment. Long time readers of this blog will recall a post about my fascination with the Banyan trees that appear with regularity on walks around the area, and this trips recon walks affirmed my beloved Banyans are alive and well.

The flight back was uneventful despite the doom 'n gloom warnings of it being the busiest travel day of the year. The Southwest Regional Airport (Fort Myers) is comparatively small so I buzzed through security, even getting a smile from one particularly animated officer, Got up and down with no hiccoughs ... flying at night is tremendously beautiful as one descends into TO ... and made the long haul home to the Beach from Pearson International arriving home at an unaccustomed 2:00 am. I don't mind admitting that snuggling up with my bestie was a welcomed comfort, but as wonderful as that was, we were both sawing logs PDQ. 

HaHaHa!

The little lady and I will be heading back down to FLA in midway through December for our newly established habit of escaping Onterrible's wintery grip so I'm sure there'll be some blog-worthy experiences that will be posted for your reading pleasure. Please accept my apologies ahead of time for any jealousy that those posts my incur. It is not my intention to come across as a braggadocio!

Manana amigos!

The Gold Standard!

Some of what you're about to read will be things regular readers already know, but the rest are new thoughts born out of something pretty damned terrific that happened on a recent visit to JC Massie Field, the home of the Georgian Men's Rugby program, with the culmination of the 2023 OCAA Men's Rugby Championships.

Photo Credit: Georgian College

Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present the 2023 Champion Georgian Grizzlies and their head coach, Mr John Daggett, the pitbull-looking fine gentleman with the proud chest, chiselled good looks, and mirrored sunglasses on the extreme left. 

To say that I'm thrilled for John (and his management team of Josh Morgan, Mike Alcombrack, and Mike Sabourin) is the most grossest of understatements possible. My GC blue heart was bursting with pride as the final minutes played out, the joy of a long awaited championship evident on John's grey whiskered visage shining with a twinkle in his eyes as bright as the sun (see below).

Photo Credit: Georgian College

While I claim zero responsibility for this year's successes, I feel a kindred spirit with those who have either been long time friends (the management team and some of the players), players that I coached (at Barrie North or GC State), or players I have recently spent some time with (SH Matty B). Having shared the heartache of multiple final's losses with a sizeable number of this year's squad, a stupid grin of the victory lasted the entire trip home to the Beach.

The beginning of this story starts on the sidewalks of Dunlop Street in 1998.

When I made the jump from elementary to secondary, getting hired by Mary Ellen Smith at my alma mater Barrie Central, one of the first friends I made while walking the picket lines ... it was September 1998 after all ... would turn out to be one of my more cherished friendships, a relationship forged in the heat of numerous battles in the classrooms of the school, the storied gymnasium, and the infamous Red Storey Field. Ron Andrews and I hit it off right away, and at the conclusion of our coaching careers, an action-packed 21 years later, we shared a hug, a beverage, and an incredulous shake of the head at Ron's assertion that during that time, we never had a disagreement, let alone an argument.

During our shared successes throughout those years, Georgian College was going through its own growing pains, both in its classrooms and gymnasiums. As Central's rugby program grew in notoriety, so did the general public's curiousity over the lack of connection with the struggling rugby program at Georgian. While we never dissuaded our players from choosing GC State as a post-secondary option, we admittedly never trumpeted it either. A few of our star players landed there in the early 2000's, bringing their Central toolbox of skills and knowledge, but the program leadership at that time felt strongly that they had things under control. 

Things changed in 2011.

GC State was growing by leaps and bounds, building on a solid foundation of successes in the classrooms, quickly becoming the jewell of cooperative education, and the resulting swell in student numbers created a desire to enhance the extra-curricular successes. As a direct response to that mindset, those in charge made the decision to hire coop coordinator John Daggett as head coach, a Toronto born, Thunder Bay schooled, Orillia seasoned local rugby fanatic who would shake the foundations of the program with his boundless commitment, energy, and enthusiasm. Oh, and he was a pretty solid coach, to boot.

Looking back through the time portal, Georgian surely feels pretty gosh darned good about its decision!

How does this all connect? John reached out to both Ron and I inquire if we would be willing to share some of our secrets for success with the Georgian program. At the time, Ron's many commitments prompted a polite decline. I agreed to a trial period because although my plate was pretty full too, John's brilliance drew me in like a moth to the flame. An endearing friendship was born, the successes making the sacrifices well worth the investment. Once I retired and moved away from Barrie, John insisted that I remain 'on the docket' as it were in a consultant role, and I have not regretted the arrangement for one second.

Fast forward to November 2023, and a BUNCH of things have transpired thanks to John's influence:

1. John invited me along for the ride from 2013 to 2019, an honour that I am forever indebted. 
2. John's leadership as resulted in GC medalling in the OCAA championships multiple times amassing 2 Gold, 5 Silver, and Bronze in a streak that legends are made of, of course taking into account the 'Stupid Years' of Covid.
3. John has been recognized as OCAA west division Coach of the Year 4 times, Winning the OCAA Coach of the Year in 2016.
4. John has forged an unbreakable alliance with the Barrie Rugby Club, one of the cornerstones of the granite foundation for the college's incredible program.
5. John's allure as a leader has produced dozens of OCAA All Stars, Players of the Year, and Rookies of the Year, but the feather in the cap has to be the number of players who choose to exhaust their OCAA eligibility with the program, often starting a 2nd program to use up all of their eligibility.
6. John has been recognized for his tireless impacts in the rugby community with his Rugby Canada Coach of the Year award in 2016.
7. John is the pinnacle of all a leader should be, and I am deeply honoured to call him my friend.

Photo credit: Dave McCulla

It behooves me to complete this brag session with a shout out to the other members of the management team. As with any company of troops, the successes of the general are often directly linked to those under his command. As long time assistants, JMo, Alky, and Sabs are salt-of-earth humans whose vested interest is to give back to the game they hold so dear. Each brings a subtle flair of his own, a boatload of experience, boundless enthusiasm, and sterling proficiency.

They are all also friends that I cherish, and I offer my congratulations to them as well.

To the players I have had the privilege of establishing friendships, you all have done yourselves proud. There are some who I have shared a longer time with, and at the risk of missing someone, I'll simply nod my head in approval of them all! 

There'll be a wee cheeky wink to Donny, Dunc, Twiggy, Rahal and Ryan though.

What a great day it was indeed! A Gold Standard of a day!

Lifelong learning

You're never too old to learn new things, even despite the old adage, "You can't teach an old dog new tricks." 

Having celebrated my 60th birthday just the other day, I was given pause to reflect on what I used to consider was a "ripe old age" back in my 20's. With no shots taken at anyone in my life who is well ripened, I can vividly recall being unable to wrap my head around what life would look like at that magic time of life. Well, as I was reminded, no one can stop the Wheel of Time and the face looking back at me in the mirror shows the wheel's grinding effects. 

Considering I spent a 30 year career in education, I would be a rich man indeed if I had a a dollar for every time I spoke to young 'uns about becoming, and relishing in, being lifelong learners. From my perch atop the ol' soap box, I extolled the virtues of seeking a life filled with unceasing enlightenment, praising the emotional rush of learning, proving my point with benefits like increased earning potential and mental acuity. 

I'd like to unequivocally state that I have 'walked the talk' throughout my life, each day featuring a conscious effort to discover something previously unknown. Being a Baby Boomer, it is easy to refer to the various generations as 'other folk', and at the risk of sounding my age, it has been a darn sight easier to be a lifelong learner in the age of the Internet. Yes, I admit that there's a lot of false facts (a previous post CLICK) that can easily charter an errant course, but that's half the fun, to me at least. As Sherlock Holmes is credited, "The game is afoot!" The finding is almost as entertaining as the proving in most cases.

Here's a sample of some recent efforts at enlightenment:

Find #1: Michelin ratings of restaurants
The original Michelin Man became a brand ambassador in 1894.⁣ He was white because the rubber used in tires was naturally white. It was not until 1912 that carbon chemicals were mixed into the white tires, turning them black. The change was structural, not aesthetic. By adding carbon, tires became more durable, staving off the considerable investment in replacement.⁣ In a stroke of some marketer's genius, and prior to the carbon addition, the Michelin brothers began reviewing restaurants so that more people would travel further distances in their cars to eat at these restaurants, which prior to the chemical wizardry previously mentioned, would wear down their tires faster, and force them to buy more.⁣ 

The first Michelin Guide was compiled in 1900 by Michelin Tire founders and French industrialist brothers Andre and Edouard Michelin. The aim of the guide was to create a demand for automobiles, and therefore, Michelin tires. Since there were only a few hundred cars in all of France, the guide was given away for free in hopes of creating demand for cars. Within its first decade of existence, the Michelin Guide expanded rapidly and became available throughout Europe, as well as Northern Africa. Although the guides contained valuable information about restaurants, the ultimate end goal for the Michelin brothers was to generate sales and profit for their tire business. (CLICK)

The star system that Michelin created went up to three and was broken down by whether or not it's worth driving to the restaurant.
One star: "A very good restaurant in its category"
Two star: "Excellent cooking, worth a detour"
Three star: "Exceptional cuisine, worth a special journey"

A Michelin inspector's 5 restaurant rating criteria

Quality of products
Mastery of flavor and cooking techniques
The personality of the chef represented in the dining experience
Value for money
Consistency between inspectors’ visits

Find #2: Homegrown facts (CLICK)
Toronto is home to the longest street in the world – Yonge Street, which originated in Toronto, goes almost all the way to Lake Simcoe, clocking in at 1,896 km (1,178 mi) in length. 

Making personal connections, I can still vividly recall my childhood trips to 'The Big Smoke' and being fascinated by the glitz and glitter of downtown Yonge Street. When my Papa used to rent a cottage in Woodland Beach for the summer, he used to drive up Yonge St from their Parkdale home, stop in Holland Landing for veggies, and arrive simply staying the weekend before retracing his route back to work on Monday. Imagine travelling TO to WB using only Yonge St now?

The beer named after Canada is called Molson Canadian. Founded in Montreal in 1786, Molson Coors Canada is the oldest brewery in North America and continues to produce beer on the site of the original brewery.
Fun factoid about Molson's: I actually attended Queen's University with one of the Molson grandkids but I can't remember (or find) his name. I do recall that he was a really nice guy, friendly, happy, big smile ... Hey, if you stood to inherit millions and had access to as much beer as you could drink, his happy disposition is not at all surprising!

Moosehead Breweries Limited is Canada’s oldest independent brewery, located in Saint John, New Brunswick. The brewery was founded in 1867 and is still privately owned and operated by the Oland family. The company is now in the sixth generation of family ownership and turns out 1,642 bottles of beer per minute.
I actually never tried Moosehead beer until I was in Uni, and even then, only because we qualified for the Atlantic Bowl in FB playoffs. We travelled to NS to play UNB at St Mary's, a game that had a rather unhappy ending, I might add, and we drowned our sorrow using Moosehead. The little I can recall ... I said it was unhappy, didn't I ... was that it was pretty good beer.

Poutine has become a famous dish here in Canada and was created in Montreal, Quebec back in the 1950s. It consists of french fries and cheese curds melted in gravy.
There are two things that make me a pretty odd Canuk ... I'm not a huge hockey fan and I don't really care for poutine. I am, however, a HUGE butter tart fan so I guess things have a way of balancing out. The little lady LOVES poutine so our household does its best at keeping up the patriotic spirit!

Butter Tarts were created in Barrie, Ontario in 1900. 

Like I already confessed, HUGE butter tart fan! So much so that I can rank those offered within a healthy bike ride from me with relative accuracy. Now, healthy is open to interpretation, since 200 km is not out of the realm of possible, especially for something as delicious as a great BT. Just to cure your itch, the best in this area by a very narrow margin are from the Maid's Cottage in downtown Newmarket, but more local fare includes Cheeky Mama's in Victoria Harbour for overall taste (although I think they closed recently), and Harris Farms in Minesing for best value. Honourable mentions go to the Bank Cafe in Creemore and the Belwood Farmer's Market.

Ginger Ale was invented in Toronto back in 1907. Canada Dry is famous around the world. 

I don't really lean toward soda. If I do yearn for its fizzy nose burning, however, it is more often than not a Ginger Ale, so the fact that is was born in Toronto is a pure bred Canadian win.

Peanut Butter was created in Montreal back in 1884.

I will forever be indebted to Marcellus Gilmore Edson's for his patented peanut paste, the finished product from milling roasted peanuts between two heated surfaces. (CLICK) While some credit is due to the ancient Aztecs who enjoyed a mash of roasted peanuts, the first patented process was granted to Edson in 1884. American naysayers who claim Dr John Harvey Kellogg (of Kellogg's cereals fame) as the inventor need be aware that Kellogg's patent was for making PB from raw peanuts while Edson's processing started with roasted goobers. Nice try Yankee Doodle!

Find #3: The story behind Bohemian Rhapsody

The following essay has been making the rounds on Social Media lately, and its so interesting, I couldn't let a post about lifelong learning slide by without including it. I had no idea that the song I've been air-guitaring for so many years was so intricate in its design. I looked and couldn't find an author credit, so I'll simply stand and applaud with the hopes that he/she gets credit at some point.

Why is the song called 'Bohemian Rhapsody'?
Why does it last exactly 5 minutes and 55 seconds?
What is this song really about?
Why did the Queen movie premiere on October 31?

The video premiered on October 31 because the single was first heard on October 31, 1975. It's titled that way because a 'Rhapsody' is a free-form musical piece composed of different parts and themes that seem unrelated to each other. The word 'rhapsody' comes from Greek and means 'assembled parts of a song.' The word 'bohemian' refers to a region in the Czech Republic called Bohemia, where Faust, the protagonist of Goethe's work of the same name, was born. In Goethe's work, Faust was an elderly and intelligent man who knew everything except the mystery of life. Unable to comprehend it, he decides to poison himself. At that moment, church bells ring, and he goes outside. When he returns to his room, he finds a dog that transforms into a kind of man. It's the devil, Mephistopheles. He promises Faust a full life without misery in exchange for his soul. Faust agrees, rejuvenates, and becomes arrogant. He meets Gretchen and has a child. His wife and child die. Faust travels through time and space and feels powerful. When he becomes old again, he feels miserable once more. Since he didn't break the pact with the devil, angels contend for his soul.

This work is essential to understanding 'Bohemian Rhapsody.'

The song is about Freddie Mercury himself. Being a rhapsody, it has 7 different parts:
1st and 2nd acts - A Capella
3rd act - Ballad
4th act - Guitar solo
5th act - Opera
6th act - Rock
7th act - 'Coda' or final act

The song talks about a poor boy questioning if this life is real or if his distorted imagination is living another reality. He says that even if he stops living, the wind will keep blowing without his existence. So, he makes a deal with the devil and sells his soul. Upon making this decision, he rushes to tell his mother and says, "Mama, I just killed a man, put a gun against his head, pulled my trigger, now he's dead. Threw my life away. If I'm not back again this time tomorrow, carry on, carry on as if nothing really matters..."

The man he kills is himself, Freddie Mercury. If he doesn't fulfill the pact with the devil, he will die immediately. He says goodbye to his loved ones, and his mother breaks into tears, tears and desperate crying that comes from Brian May's guitar notes. Freddie, terrified, cries out, "Mama, I don't want to die," and the operatic part begins. 

Freddie finds himself in an astral plane where he sees himself: "I see a little silhouetto of a man"... "Scaramouche, will you do the Fandango?" Scaramouche is an "escaramuza," a skirmish between armies with horseback riders (4 horsemen of the Apocalypse of evil fighting against the forces of good for Freddie's soul), and he continues, saying, "Thunderbolt and lightning, very, very frightening me." This phrase appears in the Bible, specifically in Job 37 when it says, "the thunder and lightning frighten me: my heart pounds in my chest." Seeing his son so scared by the decision he has made, Freddie's mother begs to save him from the pact with Mephistopheles. "He's just a poor boy..." "Spare him his life from this monstrosity." "Easy come, easy go, will you let me go?" Her pleas are heard, and angels descend to battle the forces of evil. "Bismillah" (an Arabic word meaning "In the name of God") is the first word in the holy book of Muslims, the Quran. So, God Himself appears and shouts, "We will not let you go."

In the face of such a confrontation between good and evil, Freddie fears for his mother's life and says, "Mama mia, mama mia, let me go." They shout again from the sky that they won't abandon him, and Freddie cries, "No, no, no, no, no," and says, "Beelzebub (the Lord of Darkness) has a devil put aside for me." Freddie pays homage here to Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and Johann Sebastian Bach when he sings... "Figaro, Magnifico," referring to Mozart's "The Marriage of Figaro," considered the greatest opera of all time, and to Bach's "Magnificat."

The operatic part ends, and the rockier part bursts in. The devil, angry and betrayed by Freddie not keeping the pact, says, "So you think you can stone me and spit in my eye? So you think you can love me and leave me to die?" It's chilling how the Lord of Evil feels powerless against a human being, against repentance and love.

Having lost the battle, the devil departs, and we reach the final act or 'coda' where Freddie is free, and that feeling comforts him. The gong that closes the song sounds. The gong is an instrument used in China and East Asian cultures to heal people under the influence of evil spirits.

It lasts for 5:55 minutes. Freddie liked astrology, and in numerology, 555 is associated with death, not physical but spiritual, the end of something where angels will safeguard you. 555 is related to God and the divine, an ending that will lead to a new beginning. And the song plays on Halloween eve for the first time. A holiday called 'Samhain' by the Celts to celebrate the transition and opening to the other world. The Celts believed that the world of the living and the dead were closely connected, and on the Day of the Dead, both worlds would unite, allowing spirits to cross over.

Nothing in 'Bohemian Rhapsody' is coincidental. 

Everything is carefully crafted.

Everything has a meaning that goes beyond being just a song.

It has been voted worldwide as the greatest song of all time.

If you've reached the end of this post, CONGRATULATIONS!

I sincerely apologize for its considerable length, but as the saying goes, "Good things come to those that wait!" All of these fairly useless facts ... in the grand scheme of Life ... are well worth the patience required to complete this task, and certainly left me with a profound sense of, "Huh. Who'd a thunk."

#classdismissed

#lifelonglearning

#ieducate

Zebras!

One of the many duties of being a youth sports official is being directly involved with the grassroots of skill and game IQ development. NOTHING could be more grassroots than a gr 4/5/6 elementary school tournament and I was blessed (??) with an opportunity to be involved in as part of my referee board's responsibilities to cover the vast majority of games that happen in this area.

The mini-tournament was in my own backyard at the school not far from my place in Wasaga. I really had no idea of the talent level in 'The Beach' but I did know that there was an absence of club presence prompting my assumption that many of the players would be school-trained ... NOT a bad thing, but often exemplifies a lower level of skill. As it would turn out, the proficiency was higher than anticipated making the entertainment value quite high. The icing on the cake, as it were, was a couple of friend's children were playing, so the overall evaluation of the experience was amusingly impressive.

Refereeing elementary basketball is always challenging because:
(a) the gyms are usually poorly designed for the activity, the boundary lines often under the feet of the parents and spectators,
(b) the coaches ... Lord bless them ... are, more often than not, good natured volunteers filled to the brim with love and enthusiasm yet low on in-depth knowledge of higher level development, and
(c) the parents LOVE seeing Johnny or Susy in competition but reveal their lack of understanding when they take exception with a perceived (operative word) lack of proficiency on the referee's part.

Regarding the gyms, there's obviously not much that can be done. Whenever I visit a school I've previously never been, I make a quick assessment of the safety implications like mats on the wall under the baskets, structures sticking out into the playing area, or the aforementioned boundary lines. The gym on this occasion was a pleasant surprise, albeit quite small in overall dimensions.

Regarding the coaches, it needs to be acknowledged that regardless of prowess, without their direct input the opportunity would not exist for kids to have some fun and stay active. We already have too many sedentary activities to occupy free time so let's not condemn or disparage those that are doing their best to change that. As a person who's been involved in the game for a really long time, and in all hubris, experienced success at an elite level, I applaud those incredible humans for donating their limited free time to provide such valuable opportunities. If they can do that AND have some proficiency, that's just gravy on the mashed! 

You should know that there are some genuine superstars teaching/coaching in Simcoe County schools!

The crux of today's diatribe comes at the expense of parents and their misguided enthusiasm for 'assisting' the referees involved in the child's game.

This may be a revelation to some, but the primary objective of a referee is NOT to enforce the rules, but to ensure that the game is a safe and fair competition. Referees will sometimes choose not to make a call if it either won't impact the game (in his or her opinion) or would make a mockery of the activity by stopping and starting play every few seconds.

Yes, sir or madam, that was very likely out of bounds, but with only one referee amongst 10 over-excited littles, in a confined space, with parent's feet straddling the boundary line, the calls that happen on the other side of the court are sometimes ignored so that the play can go on, likely a conscious decision so that some semblance of flow can be maintained in the game.

Yes, sir or madam, Johnny or Susy was indeed in the key for more than 3 seconds, but the referee tried to talk them out so the game didn't have to be stopped. The rule actually entails a sense of advantage/disadvantage when being enforced, so it's very likely it wasn't called as a conscious decision. Additionally, once a shot for goal is released, the count stops because team control of the ball ends and won't restart until clear team control is established. It stands to reason that a player could occupy the lane for 30+ seconds as long as his/her team keeps shooting and successfully rebounds the miss.

Yes, sir or madam, there was contact on that play, but not all parents choose to recall that basketball is a contact game, and as such, every time bodies collide is not a rules infringement. The reason for the contact is weighed equally with the establishment of legal guarding position, and if the shooter is not disadvantaged in any way, the no-call is the right call. Also, if there is illegal contact and the shooter successfully scores without significantly changing their shot, referees are coached (yes, we have coaches) to let play continue. That also explains why there are occasionally what are best deemed 'late' whistles because the successful outcome of the play can dictate whether or not the game needs to be stopped.

For every game, there's likely in the order of 20% of infractions that are ignored in the best interest of the flow of the action, and it behooves spectators to understand that no-calls are often done on purpose. Hey, I'll be the first one to admit that I miss a few calls each game, but I'd wager that my success rate is closer to 97 or 98%, which I'd unequivocally state is superlative.

Having said all of this, I absolutely LOVE still being involved in the game, and I very rarely take offense when an attempt is made to 'educate' me because I understand what more than likely led to the vocalization. IMHO, a referee that is focused on the player's best interest and safety will likely have parental input wash over that like so much white noise. When a situation explodes to a level that requires intervention, it will get dealt with, usually resulting in a removal from the pleasure of watching children have fun.

Did I mention how much I enjoy refereeing? 

My Board of Officials is perennially understaffed and would welcome new blood so if you think you've got the right stuff ...

or you'd love to give back to the game ... 

or are curious about being on the other side of the whistle ...
or would like to experience the grassroots level of development ...

then have I got an opportunity for you!

About fear and the future

"Never leave that till tomorrow which you can do today."

A couple of hundred years ago, Benjamin Franklin shared with the world this secret of his success. As the man who discovered electricity, among other pretty astounding accomplishments like inventing bifocals, the Franklin Stove, swim fins and not the least of which, drafting the Declaration of Independence, you'd think more people would pay heed to what he had to say. 

I don’t know why we put things off, but if I had to wager a guess, I’d propose it has a lot to do with fear. Fear of failure, fear of rejection, sometimes the fear of just of making a decision, because what if you’re wrong? What if you’re making a mistake you can’t undo? What if it costs you hard earned cash? What if it pisses someone off? Having said all that, as a civilized society we have embraced a plethora of idioms (sayings) warning of the evils of procrastination, lest we stray down that path.

The early bird catches the worm. 

A stitch in time saves nine. 

He who hesitates is lost.

You snooze, you lose.

A day late, a dollar short.

We’ve all heard the proverbs, heard the philosophers, heard our grandparents warning us about wasted time, and even poets urge us to seize the day (thank you Robin Williams). We still have to experience it for ourselves, at least most of the time, because we don't like to be told what to do. 

We have to make our own mistakes. 

We have to learn our own lessons.

Franklin wasn't alone in his thinking though, and a little detective work reveals a number of quotes made famous that are along the same vein of thinking:

"Procrastination is the art of keeping up with yesterday." 

Don Marquis, 1927
"Things dreaded require double time to accomplish them." 

James Lendall Basford, 1882

"Never put off till tomorrow what you can do to-day." 

Thomas Jefferson, 1825

Enlightenment arrives when we finally understand what ol' Ben really meant.

Knowing is better than wondering.

Waking is better than sleeping.

Even the biggest failure of the worst variety beats the hell out of never trying.

Take the bat off your shoulder!

You miss 100% of the shots you don't take!

Doubt kills more dreams than failure ever will!

The source of much of our hesitation comes from the fear generated by spending an exorbitant amount of time worrying about the future ... Planning for it ... Trying to predict it ... Praying that knowing will somehow cushion the blow of coming cringe-worthy events. 

The thing is, the future is always changing in response to our actions of today. The future is the home of our deepest fears, yet our wildest hopes. What we can be certain of, however, is that when it finally reveals itself, the future will never the way we imagined it, so the time for action is now.

“Indecisiveness and procrastination are the chosen ways of life for most people. They follow the course of least resistance, which is to do nothing. This provides a security blanket of never being wrong, never making mistakes, never being disappointed, and never failing. But they will also never succeed.”

David Peoples, Oscar nominated screen writer of "Unforgiven"

Thanks Ben! 

Class dismissed.

As always, I thank those far smarter than me for posting their thoughts in a place where their discovery prompts deeper reflection on my part. I have borrowed some of their words because I couldn't possibly have said it any better. Since the sources were multiple and varied, I respectfully offer them thanks and credit in a blanket statement.

A standing Ovation!

As many of you already know, I am actively pursuing a retirement side hustle in refereeing. I fell in love with basketball at an early age ... thank you Jimmy Stevenson ... and after 50+ years playing, coaching, and now officiating. I felt like I had pretty much seen it all.

That changed the other day when I witnessed an example of the true love of the game with my front row seat!

I travelled to the quaint city of Midland the other day for an assignment to officiate at Georgian Bay Secondary, a shining, beautiful newer high school that I had not previously been privileged to experience. The game featured a regular season clash between Barrie's Nouvelle Alliance Tournades and the host GB Bears. I had little to no previous knowledge of either's 2023 standings but I was astutely aware of historical trends siding with Nouvelle's proficiency on the hardcourt.

Watching the teams warm up, I immediately recognized that while enthusiasm was plentiful, the skill level was a work in progress, and I surmised that the teams would prove to be fairly equal, making for a potentially exciting game. As the first quarter played out, the visitor's side of the scoreboard built steadily, turning over with regularity thanks to some decent defensive pressure that produced a number of transition layups. The home team wasn't specifically outmatched, but try as they may, they couldn't turn quality scoring opportunities into points.

As the first quarter horn sounded, the game was already a lopsided affair, yet I found myself internally cheering for the hosts. I had been a part of games in my coaching career where despite superlative efforts, the success was a long time in coming, but I had rarely seen or been a part of a game with a goose egg. 

As the second quarter commenced, I had every confidence that GB would finally find the mark.

After all, their coach wore a huge grin as they employed his offensive systems, often resulting in point blank range shots with time to execute the skill without pressure, but despite his cheers and use of time outs to praise their efforts, the rim's aperture seemed to be shrinking with each passing minute.

As the GB players took to the court to start the second half, I fully expected to see some long faces and chins on chests, but to my delightful astonishment, their faces were adorned with wide grins and mouths chattering with excited energy, so I was hopeful that the bagel would be dealt with. Sadly, the proof was in the pudding, and the second half proved to be a continuance of the first, the Tornades steadily building their total while the Bears' shots careened off the rim. I will admit that my sense of internal professionalism was in serious jeopardy as I willed the ball with all of my might to find it's target, and even with the cheers of the partisan crowd to bolster their efforts, that cursed orange sphere would simply not cooperate for the home side. 

In the end, the final horn signalled the completion of my duties, and with it, any opportunity for redemption, the zero shining as bright as a dying star. I realized that I had witnessed something previously unseen. As the equipment was dismantled and I changed my gear for the trek back to the beach, I anticipated a few downtrodden souls to pass on the way out of the gym. 

The parental praise, the big smiles, and the laughter of self-critical replays of the game's action told a much different story.

Despite the lack of scoring success, the game proved to be an enjoyable, positive affair for the home side, and I came away with a new found appreciation for the saying, "For the love of the game". The easy thing to do would have been to complain about fairness, or coaching, or officiating, but these families were anything but sad.

Kudos to NA for their execution and effort, but also for the way they addressed the situation. It would have been easy to slip into making a mockery of the game, but they play with all possible integrity and sportsmanship. 

Kudos to GB for giving it everything they had.

I learned a valuable lesson that day. While I'll still admit that winning is waaaaaay better than losing, it begs the confession that if one plays as well as one can, the outcome truly doesn't matter.

I give the host players and coaches my personal standing ovation!