Do You Suffer from Public Embarrassment Syndrome?

I can't remember the last time I was embarrassed in public. But here's what I do remember. The year was 1992 and I was a junior in high school. I was a varsity basketball player at West Covina High School but  about 10 months earlier in the spring of 1991 I was trying to make the jump from junior varsity. Most of the spring consisted of blacktop scrimmaging, some gym drill work and weight lifting. I barely played on junior varsity so I was lookin' at a long shot 'cause that's just the way it is when you're invisible and there's practically a full roster returning the following season. Long story short, I played like I was runnin' from gun fire...with freakish adrenaline. I even dunked on one of the returning players to which coach said, "You just dunked on the best 4-man in the league." Yo, that guy could've been Blake Griffin in King Kong's body for all I cared. I wanted to play Varsity.

Fast forward to winter of 1992 though and I'm getting garbage time minutes - the ones you get when the game is decided and you can't cost your team the game. One game in particular the clock probably wound down to about 30 seconds or so. Coach calls, "Coulter..." and I sprint to the table to check in. Ball hit my hands with about 7 seconds left and I'm so nervous my body does kind of this snake-like motion as I catapulted an ill-fated 3-pointer toward the rim. I BRICKED!

I was a proper victim of Public Embarrassment Syndrome (P.E.S.), not so much because my shot attempt looked like reptile venom being spewed forth but rather because all my hard work the year before had been met with a fecal reward. And isn't that much of life? Have you ever given all you had and gotten something back that didn't appear equal to your output? It's easy to build expectations in your mind and sell those expectations to the world. And it's only a problem if the image you've created has poor resolution. Could it be that embarrassment is a product of our own illuminations? When we bring attention and spotlight to things that haven't yet occurred in our lives, we build reputations on credit. We promise people we'll "play big minutes" because we believe we've earned them. And what are loved ones supposed to do? Of Course they'll buy what you're selling. But the proper way to avoid P.E.S. is simply to walk humbly in all your pursuits. I sat the freakin' bench my junior year but I started the next year and made a college basketball team after that. Timing and the resolve to get up and fight is more valuable than we know.

Norman the IMMATURE

What's funny? Advertising Wisdom and modeling stupidity. LOL

Yesterday I was at a stop light ready to turn right on red when I saw pedestrians. You know how they stand on the edge of the curb practically leaning into the street and you don't know if they see you or not? So I waited. And the car behind me began to tap his horn. I hate that. So me being the king of "Petty Behavior" decided I wasn't going to turn after all. I'm gonna let this "guy" behind me honk in frustration, which he did.

Finally, he turns right with me as the light turns green and whips onto my left to look at me. That's the second thing I hate, drivers who make everything personal. So he shook his head in disdain, maligning and berating me with looks that kill. But yo, did I mention already how petty I am? We arrived in tandem to the next stoplight and I looked at him. I thought that's what he wanted right? So I rolled my window down and asked him if he had something he'd like to say. He didn't. Now there were two people in my car taller than 6'5" and black. He was one person, smaller in stature who nearly hit a pedestrian as he made his ensuing left turn.

Little things always have implications don't they. I watched the Los Angeles "On-a-roll" Clippers play the second game of a back-to-back in Utah after destroying Boston the night before. It's been said that the possibility of failure is greatest after the elation of victory. But if small things and seemingly insignificant reactions are a sign of poise and professional pedigree, Chris Paul and the gang are the epitome and I am a budding novice. The Clippers overcame a 19-point deficit in the thin air of Utah one night after a nice comfortable home win. I on the other hand responded like a child because someone tried to dictate my actions with his car horn. I am the driver I hate. 6ixth Man = Wisdom? Last night I sat my wisdom on the bench but there will be another game soon enough. Ain't no shame in a rematch with pride. Time to start a streak of humility.

THE ISO PLAY

In basketball an isolation play (the "ISO") is me takin' you straight to the cup (basket) and embarrassing you in front of your family. But roundball purists would say the individual skill to beat a guy one-on-one is overdone. Realists who live by modern assessments of the game would say, "Ain't no team game without a couple of really good one-on-one players." Who's right?

Isolation is an art form if you've watched how some of these NBA hoopers evade their human obstacles. I mean, that's what a defender is right? An obstacle? There's 30 teams in the NBA and they hold onto about 12-13 players who actually suit up. That's just under 400 jobs for some of the best athletes in the world. And yet of the 400 of them how many are Kevin Durant-like and can get off any shot at will. You've got to consider the ingredients of the rarest players currently in the league. Durant is 6'11" with, I'm told, a 7'10" wing span and guard ball handling skills. Lebron James is 6'9" and 250 pounds and Kobe Bryant has the coordination of a European soccer player. My point being that the isolation game requires either thousands of hours of rigorous practice, not ironically, in isolation or freakish physical advantages a la Shaquille O'neal's mountainous frame. Either you isolate yourself in preparation so you can destroy your opponent when you get him one-on-one or you punish foes because you have natural ability to do it.

I guess what I'm saying is that the ability to thrive in isolated situations is not common, even among the elite athletes of the world. Most people rarely encounter confrontation and so combat is both foreign and grossly intimidating. Most aren't prepared for a one-on-one and don't have the inherent skills to triumph in a one-on-one. And yet what do we see in the NBA and in life? I see lot of people attempting one-on-one exploits with one-on-none skills. And is life not similar as we battle various addictions, fears and insecurities with prideful hearts? There's a handful of people in sports who can do what they want when they want, again because of the countless hours of prep and /or physical prowess. So how do we become good in life's isolation play you ask? It's starts with humility and respect. Are we humble enough to admit weakness and risk being vulnerable? And do we respect the opponent (i.e. life's challenges) enough to prepare spiritually?

Far Below Basic

Can a person be taught not to hate, taught to value others, taught to live with integrity? A person can be taught to do just about anything but in reflecting on Newtown, Connecticut and Sandy Hook Elementary, I'm reduced back to the minimum of what it means to be human and how to teach that. 

Suddenly there's ample discussion of legislation because law is where we go when we're so disturbed, so afraid that we fear character development is too methodical. It takes too long to teach a person to value truth, introspection, responsibility, respect, etc. It's easier to turn all attention toward mandating which firearms are acceptable in civil society. That's not to say this is futile discourse but yo, there's still the reality of evil tendencies being a result of some other deficit. It seems like evil is always relegated to the realm of insanity. If someone shoots, maims, runs over another human being, they must be crazy. I submit thought that decay in any community is always possible even among the sane and coherent. Fundamentally, you don't have to be inherently evil to act in heinous ways. All you need to be is...desperate without the virtue of tenacity and resolve.

A person who hasn't had a mentor, hasn't been coached through adversity to find the resilience that resides inside them, will resort to horrific ploys to find significance. The problem is that the proof of this theory is almost completely anecdotal - based on accounts of experiences and interactions we've all had with people who throw temper tantrums. Today's meltdown could result in a loss-of-life in 10-15 years. That's our reality. So what's the solution?

Respect the interior life. Understand that no matter your religious leanings, we are more than body and mind. We have a spirit that entails emotional health. We can't thrive in duplicity and hypocrisy. Think back. How much of your formal education was devoted to development of your personhood? Who addressed your character outside of citing you for cheating (if you ever even got caught). How many hours did you spend studying for Standardized tests, cramming for finals, writing as much as you could on 4x6 index cards because the professor granted you a legal cheat sheet? What about curriculum invites students to truly explore the meaning of their lives, their purposes/destinies beyond income and their role in the lives of others? Since we like rules so much, why don't we make character development a truer school & parental partnership that is as intentional as California Standardized Test preparation. We have an Academic Performance Index but no metric for the social development of students. Seem awkward?

6ixthman.com

Thank you to those of you who have been reading, leaving comments and provoking yourself toward deep reflection. Keep playin' your 6ixth Man by participating in blog posts on this blog or at 6ixthman.com.

0 Wins 3 Losses at Spokane Hoopfest

I had been looking forward to my first time participating in Spokane's colossal annual event known as Hoopfest for about 3 months. 6700 players, $36 million in revenue for a 2-day 3-on-3 basketball tournament that shuts down the streets of downtown Spokane (a city in Eastern Washington). I was to play with 3 guys I'd never met, introduced to me by a friend who lives in Washington. But then I arrived, the competition ensued and my team lost. Our only win the weekend of June 27-28 was because a team forfeited. Facts can be misleading though. Each game we lost was by 3 points or less with the last one on Sunday being a narrow one-point defeat.

As I soaked in the experience and the thick culture on Saturday morning, I was enamored by the basketball enthusiasm but more so a sense of community. Ex-players, current players, wheelchair players, kid players, co-ed players, elderly players, etc. were all united in a common interest. Hoopfest is 20 years old but before 2004, I'd never heard of it. In the age of Wie and PS3 people still get outdoors in plus 90-degree heat and enjoy a game played on asphalt streets concave for drainage instead of flat for pull-up jumpers. Any number of variables makes the basketball aspect of this less than desirable for a gym wimp like myself. I hate playing outdoors. But I did it this time and can't wait for 2010. I strained my back the last game and played on Advil, something I almost never do.

I was sick to my stomach on the first day from losing. After all, I didn't fly standby just to lose in a 3-on-3 tourney. But therein lies the lesson and spirit of this blog. Did my team "Walking Tall" compete? CHECK. Did we pray that we'd be a witness of Christ's love and truth to other athletes? CHECK (Before every game). Did we blame the referees for our losses? CHECK, but only the first two. See, I discovered a couple of things that weekend. #1 The competitive juices still ebb profusely through my veins. #2 The embarrassment of losing was short lived because of the camaraderie of my team members who happen to share my faith.

Being flanked by real men who love to compete, hate losing but possess an allegiance to something bigger than basketball was enlivening. Sunday was so much different that the first part of Saturday when our hopes of winning the tournament faded and we were relegated to consolation bracket play. My team members and I played together, ate together, bunked at the same home. We absorbed, I felt, the essence of a "Hoop" "Fest". Basketball as in ...Basketball. Fest as in festival or celebration. It's as if the tournament helped me to honor the notion that my athleticism, fervor and endorphin rush from basketball is a gift. We celebrated the gift at Hoopfest and it was the anti-septic I needed in the face of 3 infectiously toxic close losses. THE LESSON: When the shots just don't fall and thousands are watching, be right there in the moment. It took a couple of losses but once I was in the moment, the festival became less "Me-Fest" and more "HoopFest".

FANS Between a Rock and a Hard Place

You know what's hard? Time's up. It's hard to be stunned by the death of your hero and then find out he wasn't exactly hero material, I mean...that he had pronounced shortcomings. I'll preface by ackowledging the "Nobody's perfect" preamble without actually stating it. It goes without saying. But I remember being 16 and finding out that Magic Johnson had contracted the HIV virus through promiscuous escapades during the Showtime era of Lakerdom.

He was the basketball icon who, for me transcended limitations of poverty and circumstance. I wanted to be Magic but despite the tragedy that befell him on that day in November 1991, I couldn't help but ponder the means by which my hero had fallen from grace.

At any rate, here we are 18 years and one sport removed from the demise of my idol. Today we mourn the untimely death...homicide of Steve McNair. He was loved by so many, more than we Californians can even fathom because sports in Tennessee is larger than life and sports figures, I've been told, assume a much more signifcant persona than we're used to. But what's the appropriate line of conversation at this point? McNair was once 1 yard from taking the St. Louis Rams to overtime, he vanquished naysaying critics who said a D-1AA quarterback would never make a career in the NFL and he played through injuries most wouldn't tolerate at a desk job. But when he was found dead, he lay next to a woman who wasn't his wife and very likely his mistress. She was 16 years younger than him and McNair's wife Michelle was at home taking care of their four children when the news broke that the neighborhood gridiron legend had been found dead. So many questions come with stories like these and they fit like soaking wet puzzle pieces. Get it? They don't fit at all actually because real life seldom fits neatly with romanticized iconoclasm. We all have heroes. But once their humanity is revealed, then what?