Friday column: Tragedy doesn’t always have the last word

In the last few days I’ve been thinking about healing.

The thoughts began with seeing photos of 6-year-old Cooper Stone visiting Rangers Ballpark in Arlington, Texas, where his father fell to his death July 7.

You remember: Cooper had watched as his father, Shannon, reached for a ball thrown into the stands by Cooper’s favorite player, Josh Hamilton, only to lose his balance and fall to concrete 20 feet below.

Shannon kept consciousness long enough to ask people to look out for his son; then he died.

Less than three months later, Cooper returned to the park to throw out the ceremonial first pitch before Texas’ playoff opener with Tampa Bay. He threw it, of course, to Hamilton.

Hamilton grappled with what to say to Cooper and his mother, Jenny, but the right words came — providentially.

“I’m not good with speeches,” Hamilton said. “Not good with knowing what I’m going to say before. Because I rehearse it too much and it don’t sound genuine.

“So I just kind of let it happen. It worked out good. … You could tell she was really emotional about coming back to the park,” Hamilton said about Jenny.

“The little one, he’s young enough where he understands but at the same time it’s not as emotional for him as it is mom.”

One has the feeling that Jenny went through the experience of visiting the place her husband died for Cooper’s sake.

“They have turned a difficult return to The Ballpark into a once-in-a-lifetime experience for Cooper,” she said in a statement. “Nothing could be more exciting for a boy than throwing out the first pitch to his favourite player.”

Healing is a process, a journey — often a long one — but from the look on Cooper’s face in The Associated Press photos of the day, it appears that at least that journey has begun.

To see the photos, go over to Newser.com, find the sports category (under “more”) and scroll down to the story. It’s worth your time.

And it’s worth your time to find a recent Religion News Service story about Terri Roberts.

If the name doesn’t ring a bell, try that of Charlie Roberts, her son.

If that doesn’t do it, try 10 Amish schoolgirls shot in Nickel Mines, Pa., in 2006.

Charlie was the shooter.

Three girls died at the scene, two more died the next day. Five were seriously injured. After shooting the girls, Charlie killed himself.

In a suicide note, the 32-year-old said he was angry at God for the miscarriage of his first child.

I bet you remember this: The response of the Amish community was exemplary, amazing, gracious — pick your adjective.

A grandfather of a murdered girl told his pastor, “We must not think evil of this man.”

Within hours of the tragedy, an Amish neighbor went to the home of Charlie’s parents to comfort Terri and her husband, Chuck. Dozens of Amish neighbors attended Charlie’s funeral.

The Religion News Service story tells of the Robertses’ response to that kindness.

Three months after the shooting, Charlie’s parents began visiting the victims and their families, and Terri started inviting the surviving girls and their mothers to picnics and tea parties at her home.

Think of that.

And they came. Think of that.

Then Terri found the nerve, the heart, the — pick your adjective — to begin visiting Rosanna King, the most damaged of the survivors of her son’s rampage.

Terri, the story says, bathes and talks to the paralyzed girl weekly, brushes her hair and sings hymns.

The story continues: “After the first few visits, Terri cried all the way home. ‘Lord, I can’t do this,’ she said. But she went back the next week, and the next.”

Pain — off-the-chart pain — all the way around.

I’m not naïve enough to think that emotional healing, let alone the beginning of emotional healing, takes away all pain. But with so many things, people, situations today appearing beyond healing, I find it healing to simply see it in progress.

Contact Jim Gordon at gjames43@msn.com.

Friday column: New York’s Reyes loses by the way he won

Ted Williams was a difficult character. Prideful and touchy.

Prickly, you could say.

This attitude — some of which probably stemmed from a childhood that was less than nurturing — resulted in a fractious relationship with reporters and columnists, whom he sneeringly referred to as “knights of the keyboard.”

That, in turn, cost him some major awards voted on by said “knights,” who questioned Williams’ commitment to the defensive side of the game and his commitment to team.

But no one — not even his press box prosecutors — questioned Williams’ courage, not after his service as a naval aviator in World War II and Korea.

Williams showed his guts on the baseball field, too, most notably on Sept. 28, 1941.

Williams entered the day with a batting average of .3996. As that would be rounded out to .400 and make Williams the first hitter to achieve that lofty mark since 1924, manager Joe Cronin suggested his left fielder sit out the season’s final day, a doubleheader against the Philadelphia Athletics.

“Teddy Ballgame” back into a .400 average? Not bloody likely.

“If I can’t hit .400 all the way,” Williams said, “I don’t deserve it.”

Williams played — both games — going 6-for-8 to finish at .406.
Fast forward precisely 70 years.

Going into the last day of the regular season, Mets shortstop Jose Reyes isn’t flirting with .400, but he does have a very slight lead over Ryan Braun in the National League batting race.

So he conceives a stratagem: Get a hit in his first at-bat, then leave the game for a pinch runner. That way, Braun will have to go 3-for-3 or 3-for-4 to beat him for the Silver Bat.

Reyes gets manager Terry Collins’ approval and executes his plan perfectly, dumping a bunt single down the third-base line in the first inning, then heading for the dugout — and infamy.

The first indication of the response Reyes would get came in the form of boos from his own fans, many of whom came to the game — meaningless in terms of the standings — to see the star shortstop play.

Reyes’ reaction to the hubbub was predictable for a professional athlete who’s just used very poor judgment: The fans have to understand the situation, he said, and, in any case, he “doesn’t care what anyone says.”

Which is good to know. That being the case, let me say the following: Reyes’ move was nothing short of gutless, and one that he will come to regret.

Furthermore, the move by necessity involved his manager’s cooperation, and now Collins, too, is tainted.

Yes, Collins could have told his 28-year-old star to man up, could even have told the story of Williams and .406, but it is a rare skipper who would question the cojones of a soon-to-be free agent whom he hopes will re-sign with his team.

It is said that comparisons are invidious; perhaps, but they certainly are inevitable. Reyes and Williams’ names are now inextricably linked.

Reyes will get his Silver Bat, but it will come with an asterisk. In baseball’s record book, the keystroke will be invisible — but perfectly readable all the same.

Contact Jim Gordon at gjames43@msn.com. The Anti-Fan will be moving to Sundays in November.

Shrug this

So.

Manny Ramirez wants to play winter ball in the Dominican Republic. And why?

The president of the Cibao Eagles said the steroid cheat wants to “play before the Dominican fans and to perhaps motivate other Major League stars to also play in the country.”

Yes, always thinking of others — that’s our Manny.

Unfortunately, being a steroid cheat, Manny still owes Major League Baseball a 50-game suspension. And now Manny’s ready to serve it, if only some big-league team will sign him.

“It would be really sad if I'm not allowed to play.” Manny said Wednesday.

Sad? It would be tragic.

Especially since Manny apparently needs to get out of town — thanks to a domestic-violence beef he’s facing.

His wife told police he slapped her. Manny says he just “shrugged her” and she hit her head on a headboard.

I have a feeling every team in Major League Baseball is going to “shrug” him.

Friday column: Conferences and money, money and conferences

So.

An audit shows the Department of Justice overspent just a smidge on food at conferences.

Like $16 per muffin overspend. Like $5 per meatball overspend.

Well, lawyers gotta eat, right?

The department’s inspector general reviewed 10 conferences held between October 2007 and September 2009. The conclusion:

“Some conferences featured costly meals, refreshments, and themed breaks that we believe were indicative of wasteful or extravagant spending.”

Like beef Wellington appetizers at $7.32 a pop. Speaking of pop, a “themed break” of popcorn, Cracker Jack and candy bars cost — you’re sitting down, yes? — 32 bucks a shot.

Surprised? Of course not. That’s what happens when people (in this case, bureaucrats) spend money that’s not theirs (in this case, ours).

But I don’t want to talk about money. I want to talk about college football.

No, about money.

No, about college football.

Wait? What am I thinking? Talking about college football is talking about money.

The 68 teams that comprise the six largest conferences made $1.1 billion in 2010, and many schools are looking to make more, mainly by establishing so-called mega-conferences.

Conferences are breaking up and re-forming, not unlike amoebas.

As you’ll recall from your high-school biology days, “the amoeba moves by continually changing its body shape, forming extensions called pseudopods [false feet] into which its body then flows. The pseudopods also are used to surround and capture food — mainly bacteria, algae, and other protozoa.” (Thank you, encyclopedia.com.)

But whereas amoebas move to capture food, football schools move to capture money, television money. Thus:

Nebraska to the Big 10, Colorado and Utah to the Pac-10, Boise State, Fresno State and Nevada to the Mountain West, Texas A&M to the SEC, Pittsburgh and Syracuse to the ACC, etc., etc. Texas and Oklahoma also may leave the Big 12 and, despite recent pronouncements to the contrary, perhaps to the Pac-whatever-integer-it-is-now.

That would be something: Texas in the same conference with Oregon, which is over 2,000 miles away. On the other hand, if Texas Christian can play in the Big East — which it will beginning next season — why not?

The losers in all this are the smaller football schools — the Kansas States and Iowas of the world, say — and fans who care about traditional rivalries, many of which date back to the early part of last century. (The rivalries, I mean … though some of the fans do, too.)

But while rivalries and tradition and, of course, concern over increased travel time for the student-athletes, surely count for something, that something can’t begin to compete with the lure of increased dollars.

Syracuse basketball coach Jim Boeheim put it this way:

“If conference commissioners were the founding fathers of this country, we would have Guatemala, Uruguay and Argentina in the United States,” he said during a speech to the Monday Morning Quarterback Club in Birmingham, Ala. “This audience knows why we are doing this. There’s two reasons: money and football.”

He’s right, of course, but also wrong. College football and money are the same thing.

Contact Jim Gordon at gjames43@msn.com.

The Anti-Fan will be moving to Sundays in November.

Instant perspective

Recommended reading (highly): Paul Daugherty's piece on a high school golfer named Ryan Korengel.

Here's the lead:

"In a persistent and healing rain, the 15-year-old golfer summons sunshine. He limps a little; he is legally blind. He plays one-handed, because the tree limb that fell three years ago crushed his skull and paralyzed his left side. It hasn’t affected his game much, though, or his spirit at all."

Later in the story, asked why he isn't depressed, Ryan answers,
“I can still go to school,” says Ryan. “I’m alive. I can play golf.”

The story's worth a read:

http://news.cincinnati.com/article/20110912/COL03/309120122/Doc-one-arm-nearly-blind-golfer-succeeds

Friday column: Money has nothing to do with it

Plaxico Burress doesn’t like New York Giants coach Tom Coughlin, which he made clear in a recent interview for Men’s Journal.

Burress discussed Coughlin’s reaction to the wide receiver accidentally shooting himself in a nightclub — a gun-law violation for which he would spend 20 months in prison.
“After my situation happened,” Burress said, “I turned on the TV and the first words out [Coughlin’s] mouth was ‘sad and disappointing.’

“I’m like, forget support — how about some concern? I did just have a bullet in my leg. And then I sat in his office, and he pushed back his chair and goes, “I’m glad you didn’t kill anybody!’ Man, we’re paid too much to be treated like kids. He doesn’t realize that we’re grown men and actually have kids of our own.”

As a Pittsburgh Steeler, this grown man was fined for not bothering to show up for practice. As a New York Giant, he sulked and reportedly feigned injury when unhappy with his contract and was suspended and fined for violating team rules.

This grown man twice has had temporary restraining orders issued against him after domestic disturbances. This grown man has been sued nine times since joining the NFL in 2000, including by a woman who claims Burress’ $140,000 Mercedes Benz hit the back of her car, causing her permanent injury. The accident occurred three days after the millionaire athlete’s insurance had been canceled for nonpayment of premium.

Burress is 34.

* * *

Kurt Busch doesn’t like the truth, an attitude he displayed in a couple of ways Saturday after a NASCAR race in which he tangled with Jimmie Johnson — again.

Joe Menzer’s mild questioning of Busch about his contentious relationship with Johnson resulted in the driver yelling expletives at Menzer and calling him names. Reportedly, Busch had to be physically restrained from going after the NASCAR.com reporter.

Later, Jenna Fryer of The Associated Press asked Busch a question about the driver claiming to be “in Johnson’s head” only to be cut off with “I didn’t say that.”

Shown the transcript, Busch grabbed it from Fryer and tore it up and threw it down.

Busch has a history of run-ins with other drivers and is no stranger to poor decisions — witness his 2005 arrest on charges of drunken driving and reckless driving.

Busch is 33.

* * *

The Williamses — Serena in particular — do not like facing up to facts.

Type in Serena’s name followed by the word “blame” and you’ll find “Williams blamed a headache,” “Williams blamed the tennis balls,” “Williams blames not tying her shoelaces right” and so on.

On Sunday, her mother, Oracene, took up Serena’s cause after her loss to Samantha Stosur in the finals of the U.S. Open, a loss low-lighted by Williams’ invective against the chair umpire that included the following:

“Aren’t you the one who screwed me over last time here? Do you have it out for me?

“You’re out of control.”

“You’re a hater, and you’re just unattractive inside.”

In 10 days Serena will be 30.

Serena, of course, also blew up in a 2009 U.S. Open semifinal when called for a foot fault against Kim Clijsters, her profanity-laced tirade at a line judge leading to a $10,000 fine from the U.S. Tennis Association and a record $82,500 fine from Grand Slam committee director Bill Babcock.

Oracene seemed to encapsulate the family attitude Sunday when she told reporters, “It’s just always something. And it seems to happen to us.”

Seems to happen to us.

It doesn’t happen to the Williams sisters; they create it. The same way they created their rise from the municipal courts of Compton, Calif., to centre court at Wimbledon.

That was their doing. Serena has won eight Grand Slam singles titles and is arguably the greatest female player in history. That’s her doing.

She’s also arguably the most boorish female player in history; that’s also her doing.

“Man,” Plaxico Burress complained, “we’re paid too much to be treated like kids.”

Really?

Friday column: The girl’s all right; the toddler, too

I think Michelle Wie had too much too soon.

Too much ability; too much publicity; certainly too much parental involvement in her golf career.

Now, according to Annika Sorenstam, she doesn’t have enough — enough interest in her sport.

“I think her focus, in my opinion, should be more on golf,” the retired champion said. “She’s very distracted with school, doesn’t really play as much full time as I thought she would. I think she needs to come out here and compete more regularly.”

Wie’s reply was spot-on.

“I think everyone’s entitled to their own opinion,” Wie said. “I’m making my own decisions, though, and going to Stanford was something I needed to do for myself. It was not a decision made for my golf career, it was really solely a decision I made. It’s been one of the first things in my life I did for myself.”

In other words, it wasn’t a golf career decision, Annika; it was a life decision.

“Growing up in the spotlight, playing tournaments when I was 12, I grew up a lot faster than maybe I had to,” Wie said. “Going to college helped me be a normal 18-year-old and that was something I needed. I could keep training, but I needed something more to help me be well-rounded.

“I dreamed all my life about going to Stanford. My grandpa was a visiting professor; both my aunt and uncle went to Stanford. My dad, he didn’t get into Stanford so that was kind of a competitive thing for me. I’ve been obsessing about going there since I was 4. It was never an option for me to not go to school.”

There were times I wondered about Wie; now I rather have the feeling that she’ll be OK — and she’ll probably win a few golf tournaments, too.

* * *

As a rule, I don’t root for teams, but I’ll make an exception for Western Missouri this season after two of its football players saved a toddler from death.

Following their Aug. 23 practice, on a day when temperatures hit 95 in St. Joseph, Mo., defensive backs Jack Long and Shane Simpson were driving away when they saw a woman desperately beating on the window of a car.

They could have kept driving — someone else’s problem, you know?

They didn’t.

“We thought she maybe had locked her keys in the car, but then thought that was kind of an extreme thing to do for keys,” said Long.

Well, Teresa Gall had locked her keys in the car — along with her 17-month-old grandson, Liam. The child, after crying and vomiting, now was beginning to lose consciousness.

“I was panicked and horrified,” Gall said. “He was crying and getting sick, and I couldn’t get to him.”

Gall couldn’t break the car window. No such problem for Simpson — one swing.

“I couldn’t believe it. We were hitting the glass as hard as we could and nothing,” Gall said. “All I could think was ‘God, please send somebody.’ ”

Prayer answered. Child saved.

The players refused any money for the rescue, appropriately enough (how much is your grandchild worth?)

In any case, Go Griffons.

Contact Jim Gordon at gjames43@msn.com.