Bullying

I'm in the process of finishing editing my recent writing project a Young Adult novel about bullying. As an ex high school teacher, I know how wide-spread bullying is among young people. With the intro of social media, that kind of behavior has increased dramatically. Now we not only have physical bullying, we have cyber-bullying. There's bullying going on, not only in our schools, but on all levels of society. We just have different names for it: Hazing, sexual harassment, intimidation, etc. So, I wasn't surprised to read about the bullying going on with the Miami Dolphins of the NFL. I'm glad to read that Johnathan Martin is bringing charges against Richie Incognito. (incognito: disguised or concealed identity, according to Webster's) From my experience with bullies, all of them are at their core concealing they are COWARDS. By bullying, Richie has probably been concealing this part of his identity for a long time. Incognito is what he is. What else is he hiding? He may change, he may not. It is highly probably that he will remain a big bully for the rest of his life.

But what of Johnathon Martin? What is it about him that he attracts a bully like Incognito? Martin is by no means a small man, nor is he weak, nor does he lack intelligence, nor courage. It takes a good deal of courage to play in the NFL. Why, for goodness sake, has he put up with this behavior from Incognito and some of his teammates for this long? Weaker, smaller, vulnerable kids, I understand how they find it difficult, near to impossible to fight back, frightened to raise the issue with authorities. I understand the history of women being exploited by men (bosses) in the workplace, the military being one of those oft repeated workplaces. But in Martin's case, I'm having a problem understanding why he didn't kick the hell out of Incognito. Or, at least try. There's an old expression I learned a long time ago: He who gets the first punch in, has the first punch in. Okay, okay, Johnathon, you probably did it the right and legal way. But you missed out on another possible and very satisfying way to stop being bullied called the playground, down and dirty way.

And what about the coaching staff and administration. Miami has a head coach and numerous assistants, trainers, locker room personnel. Are you telling me that not one of them had any idea of what was going on?
Give me a break! If the GM didn't know, he should have. If the coach and his staff didn't know, they should have. The owner should fire the lot of them.

I'll probably take some flak for this blog, but I have no sympathy for bullies. In another history, they would have been recruited by the Nazi to run their death camps. I do not believe this is an exaggeration. There are people who love to hurt people. I wish it wasn't so.

On a lighter note in the NFL, aren't we all cheering for Alex Smith, a decent man and a damn good QB, as he leads the undefeated Kansas City Chiefs. The universe is rewarding him.

Here's a football poem from my upcoming book - Sweat: New and Selected Poems About Sports

Why I Never Played Football  by Tom Meschery

It's not that I lacked courage.
I was big and weighed enough to make
a decent tight end or with a little work
an offensive lineman or a fullback.
What I couldn't see myself doing
was getting dirty, playing in mud
or freezing in snow which back then,
when I was young, is what you had 
to endure. Perhaps these days
with covered stadiums I'd think
differently. Still, there was bound
to be more blood playing football,
yours or somebody else's, than
playing another sport. Golf
for example. See how clean
those guys are out on the links,
how civilized in their cardigans,
in their nestly pressed trousers?

Camaraderie

One of the certainties about life I've learned over the years - and there are not many - is that the world is governed by IRONY. The results of irony can be both good or bad. Recently, I've been experiencing one of the good ironies. For the last few months, I've been attending a gathering of ex California Bears athletes, mostly basketball players, many of whom were part of the Cal Bears team that won the 1959 NCAA Final Four and, here-in lies the irony, the same team that beat my team, the Saint Mary's Gaels in the Elite 8 ruining our chances for a crack at the championship.

Why am I breaking bread with many of my old rivals? Because I was invited by two of the players from that renowned Pete Newell team, Bill McClintock and Ned Averbuck. Tht too might be considered an irony. Just typing the name McClintock makes my ribs hurt with the honest pain of competition. I attended the first lunch with trepidation, not knowing what to expect, and drove away knowing I would be back. These men are my fellow Bay Area jocks. At each luncheon, we introduce ourselves and say a few words about our current lives. At our age, sometimes health problems are spoken of, but mostly, we talk about projects, about grandchildren, about sports in general, today's game sometimes. It's witty nostalgia and cogent observation. Smart guys all.

Recently, jocks from other colleges have been turning up. Mike Farmer (USF and NBA Hawks fame) has been coming. At the last lunch Kenny Flowers (Lowell High Prep Hall of Fame and USC starting guard) showed up. Flowers was my hero when I was in grade school. Dave Newhouse, legendary sports writer of the Oakland Tribune is a regular. Rene Hererias, the great Saint Ignatius High School and University of California Bears coach (he succeeded Newell) attends. After every lunch, I drive home feeling good that we celebrated our time as athletes, our camaraderie.

On another subject: the passing of Bill Sharman and Walter Bellamy. Bill was hired by the Warriors after Franklin Miuli, the Warrior owner, fired Alex Hannum. Hannum was a great coach and well-liked. Bill was not as well-liked, but he was an excellent coach. He took us to the NBA Finals against the Philadelphia 76er coached by? Think of irony and fill in the blank. If you said Alex Hannum, you are on your way to understanding how irony governs our lives. Alex and the 76ers beat us in the 6th game. As for Walt Bellamy, center for Chicago, he won Rookie of the Year in 1961, the year I also was drafted by the NBA. Walter never saw a shot he didn't like, often shooting jumpers from the corner - 3 pointers in today's game. He played D like a matador. He was a funny man. He talked to himself during games, always referring to himself by his first name. "Walter doesn't get a break." "Referees don't like Walter." "Walter's going to the free throw line." He should have been a fiction writer.

In honor of Bill Sharman, a short poem by Edward Hirsch

Coaches

". . . a constellation of players
Shinning under his favorite word,
Execution . . ."