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Kickball Recap 2: Crank That 2-0

Halfway through what turned out to be a 17-5 win for “Big Black Balls,” the team formerly known as “Free Kicks” (Yeah, I don’t know either. We batted around the idea of “Stranger Danger,” which I liked a lot more), “Crank That (Soulja Boy)” by none other than Soulja Boy blared over the Bluetooth speaker set at home plate.

For a moment, everything else — like kickball — became secondary. We just wanted to dance.

For those ‘older’ players like myself on the rosters, we were taken back to our senior years of college or right after we graduated (me). Slightly younger players probably remembered the song from their freshman or sophomore years in college or possibly the senior years in high school. The folks who JUST graduated college were probably in diapers when that song came out back in 2007.

Anyway, after the second verse — which is probably all anybody can hear of that song any longer — we got back to business with me at pitcher (wanted to try my hand at it after playing third base for a while) and someone other than me (of course) at-bat.

Other songs played throughout the night, but none really stood out to where the game came to a halt and everybody either danced or rapped along to the lyrics.

We needed some levity in the game since it was a rout from the start. We led 7-0 after the first inning and 11-0 after the second. We debated on putting up the max number of runs available (35, or seven per inning), but decided against it.

Another good game for the team as we are still undefeated at 2-0.

AB H R 1B 2B 3B HR RBI BB
Game Stats 3 3 2 1 1 1 0 3 0
Season Stats 5 5 5 2 2 1 0 4 1

Kickball Recap 1: Coming Through In The Clutch

Right before I stepped to the plate for my final at-bat of my team’s season opener in kickball on Wednesday, I felt a tap on my shoulder.

It was the umpire assigned to officiate our game.

“Look, I don’t want to put any additional pressure on you right now, but look at your team.”

He pointed in the direction of my teammates. Moments before, I guess they all took a knee like Tim Tebow before a game. It might have been four years late, but my team — “Free Kicks” — was definitely “Tebowing.”

“Thanks, guys,” I yelled over. “I need all the prayers I can get.”

Pressure, though? What pressure?

  • There were two outs in the bottom of the seventh.
  • My team, down 5-2, staged a rally and the tying run was on third.
  • I worked the count full (3-2) and already fouled off one kick, so as the rules state, my next kick has to be in fair territory or it’s an out. Plus, if the ball clipped the strike zone and I let it go, I’d be punched out on strikes — and the game would be over.

Oh. That pressure.

The opposing pitcher rolled the yellow sphere in my direction and it took a hop just as it was about to cross the plate. Earlier in the game I saw another pitch bounce and I let it go — but that one was ruled a strike, so I had a decision to make. Let it go and leave it to the umpire’s discretion or pound it into the outfield. I let it go.

A few seconds passed before the umpire called “Ball” and I took my base. While I stood on first, the pitcher looked over at me and said, “Really? I put that one right down the middle for you. How did you take that?” I smirked and said, “I guess I have a good eye” — but deep down I know I should have whaled it. I was 2 for 2 with a single, RBI double and two runs scored before that, so I had the “hot foot.”

Oh well.

Two plays later I scored the winning run.

We should have lost, but the breaks went our way.

On the ensuing play, the pitcher and third baseman collided trying to make a play on a pop-up. The ball dropped and I got to second. Then the next kick should have been caught as well, but the second baseman botched it and I kept motoring around the bases until I touched home.

We celebrated like we won the World Series and made plans to meet up at a local bar to continue the festivities.

Throughout the entire night, everything felt normal. The camaraderie was there and nothing felt forced. I attribute it to the fact that we were a team full of free agents (hence ‘Free Kicks’) and most of us weren’t from New Orleans to begin with.

All in all, it was a great debut.

Tyler Tracker: 2 for 2, 3 R, 1 1B, 1 2B, 1 RBI, 1 BB.

Who Dat: The Story of My First Saints Game

Who Dat!?

Am I doing that right?

Good.

So I went to my first Saints game tonight. It was a religious experience.

Seriously, I saw the Pope. All right, not that pope — but it was one of four or five “Saints Popes,” who are mainstays in the Superdome and sit in the same section.

Whenever I meet someone new, one of their first questions is, “Are you a Saints fan?” I tell them I just moved down here not too long ago, but am not adverse to it.

Overall, I don’t think I could have been to a  better sermon than I did on Sunday.

From start (a Better Than Ezra benefit concert for their charity, in which I got in for free) to finish (Drew Brees’ game-winning 80-yard touchdown pass to C.J. Spiller in overtime), the experience was top-notch. Heck, even our seats — which were at the very top row of the upper deck — allowed us our own private “suite” area (OK. OK. There was a legit metal bar in front of us and a landing behind us, so we could stand).

There were two things that really stood out to me the most Sunday night as I took in the whole experience: Saints fans are unlike any others I’ve been around (and that includes my trip to the CONCACAF Gold Cup in Atlanta) and as much as this topic has been belabored about ad nauseam, New Orleans pulls together in those hours.

An incredible sense of camaraderie surrounded the tailgate and permeated inside the stadium. People of all walks of life love their Saints and just want to see a win. I heard the spirits of New Orleans residents are on high the day following a win and there is just a new aura about the city. So far I hadn’t experienced that, since there were nothing but losses before Sunday night. Then Brees found Spiller on a wheel route and the running back slipped one tackle and was off to the races to pay dirt.

As we filed down the ramps of the Superdome, cheers of “Who Dat” rang through the corridors. Then they got louder as we left the stadium. I couldn’t help but join in as I made my way through the crowd and walked back to my downtown apartment.

Addendums

There was definitely a different energy around the city today. As I walked to work, there were some people saying “Who Dat” to each other. Certain restaurants offered lunchtime specials thanks to the win.

And just to be clear: My No. 1 team is stil the Philadelphia Eagles. I had some great memories watching their games. And while I’m a fan of the Baltimore Ravens because of Joe Flacco (University of Delaware connection), No. 2 team is still up for grabs. Just might be the Saints now.

An Unforgettable Experience at the CONCACAF Gold Cup

Bucket List items, by definition, should blow your socks off.

No one says, “I really want to go to  the grocery store before I die.” I mean, if that person was starving to death, sure, but in general they are more along the lines of going sky diving or traveling to an exotic country. It’s a “Bucket List” for a reason.

While I don’t have a Bucket List for my entire life, there are some things I’d love to see when it comes to sporting events. Going to an international soccer match was on that list. Whether it was inside the United States or outside of the borders, it didn’t matter. I just wanted to be in the atmosphere and feel the thrill of it all.

Consider that item crossed off as I went to the semifinals of the CONCACAF Gold Cup in Atlanta last Wednesday. Two matches for the price of one. Can’t beat that.

In an effort to flesh this experience out fully, I’ll break this post into two sections. In the first, I’ll discuss the atmosphere (tailgate, crowd, etc) and the second, the game.

Walking into the Gold Cup

Everything I Could Have Imagined

As soon as we parked and stepped outside the car, we became immersed in a wild, multicultural party outside the Georgia Dome. Everywhere you looked you saw a group of Americans next to Mexicans next to Panamanians and some Jamaicans. Country blended into rap, which blended into Tejano and salsa and steel drums. I probably don’t have to mention the mix of languages, since it’s easy to figure out.

Inside the stadium, the demographic was more pronounced. I’d say 70 percent of the crowd was Mexican, 25 percent was American and the rest were a mixture of Jamaicans and Panamanians. For as boisterous as the American Outlaws say they are, Mexicans fans put them to shame. Even when Mexico trailed Panama late in the second half, the Mexicans were in full voice. The same couldn’t be said for the U.S. contingent as soon as Jamaica scored its first goal off an inexplicably missed header.

Where the Mexican fans lose points, however, is the lack of class it showed most of the game. Either with pointed chants and especially throwing trash on the pitch. It wasn’t every fan in attendance doing these things, but it left a sour impression.

Overall, the atmosphere rocked. It was exactly what I imagined it to be.

So About Those Matches…

Where do I possibly start?

By the time we reached our seats, the United States Men’s National Team was on its heels. A short time later, Jamaica scored on that lousy throw-in and there was no energy left in the Georgia Dome at all from the American side. It was eerily silent.

From talking to the supporters around us, it was evident the USMNT didn’t come out with much emotion or urgency and we saw it with our own eyes. Their attacks were one step behind and Jamaica intercepted each pass over the middle. If there was a back line out there for the USMNT, I didn’t see them. Wait, there was one?

Then there was that beautiful free kick from Jamaica that descended the American faithful deeper into a sense of shock. Just take a look at this goal. Truly unstoppable.

There was a glimmer of hope early in the second half when Michael Bradley scored to bring the USMNT within 2-1. It wasn’t a gorgeous goal, but gave them some life.

From there, however, the USMNT had other chances but couldn’t capitalize. Such was the story of the USMNT against an average goalkeeper in net for Jamaica.

That’s where the night ended, right? I mean nothing notable happened in the second game. The referees were fair and allowed Mexico and Panama to play a clean game.

You could tell the fix was in from early in the first half and it was incredible to watch Panama fight through all of that adversity and come within seconds of the upset.

That’s really all I’ll say about the second match, but here are some videos from it.

Wrapping It Up

All in all, I had a blast. It was an unforgettable experience and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Maybe next time the United States could win. That would be dandy.

CONCACAF Gold Cup And My Sports Bucket List

By the time you read this, I’ll already be on my way — or already have been — to the Georgia Dome to watch the semifinals of the CONCACAF Gold Cup. The first game pits the United States against Jamaica; Mexico takes on Panama in the second clash.

Tickets have been sold out for more than a week. Prices on second-hand sites rose $15 or more across the board in the day it took me to decide to go. It’s going to be mayhem inside the Georgia Dome as more than 70,000 fans will be chanting back and forth throughout both games, trying to will their nations into the title match.

To be honest, it didn’t take me that long to know I wanted to go. Soccer, more so international soccer, had my heart since I went to summer camp in New Hampshire.

There was such an international influence at William Lawrence Camp each summer that you heard counselors argue and debate about their favorite club teams. When the World Cup happened — and I think I was there for one or two — chaos reigned.

Near the end of each summer, counselors would trade personal tokens, which often would included soccer jerseys being swapped for regional items from the U.S. There were two summers in a row where I brought home a Portugal national team jersey and one from Hertha BSC Berlin (Yeah, I don’t really know either, but go with it).

After I quit going back to William Lawrence Camp, I bought a new jersey every year from an online store. One spring my sister went abroad to England and brought me a reversible national jersey, which was absolutely one of my favorites to show off.

Through those purchases and trades, I grew to like soccer more. I don’t mind kicking the ball around — even though I still toe it when I shoot — and even served as goalie for the camp’s counselor team in our annual grudge match against Belknap. Yet, the true joy comes from watching soccer being played at the highest level — Premier League, UEFA Champions League, CONCACAF Gold Cup and the highest of them all, the World Cup. Last year I think I watched every game the United States played in Brazil and caught a majority of the other matches. The camaraderie that comes from cheering for your nation is second to none and one of the best memories was when I was in the St. Louis airport coming back from my interview in Athens and we huddled around this one bar that had one TV to watch the game against Belgium.

Today I’ll watch many of those same players from the United States Men’s National Team try to reach a sixth consecutive CONCACAF Gold Cup final. From what I’ve read about Jamaica, this game won’t be easy for the Yanks. Jamaica hasn’t allowed a goal in 287 minutes or something crazy like that and they always play them tough.

Win or lose, I’m really excited to see an international soccer game. I’m fired up to be in that atmosphere and will cross off yet another item from my sports bucket list.

P.S. — You should read the game story I wrote on a soccer match earlier this year.

P.P.S. — I know it’s Wednesday night, but I got a team member holding trivia down.

Nothing more American than the Wimberley VFW Rodeo

Nearly one year has passed since I moved to Georgia and in that time, I began to reflect on what I covered while in Texas and how it shaped me during that time.

With the Fourth of July recently skipping by, I found it tough not to think back to the past five years when I spent that day — or weekend before then, depending on when it fell — covering the Wimberley Veterans of Foreign Wars (VFW) Rodeo.

At first I balked at the assignment, just because it was the rodeo. Then I learned the first night of the rodeo featured a regional stop for the Professional Bull Riders and I had watched enough of that on TV over the years to pique my interest a bit more.

The best stories I found on those Friday nights belonged to the rodeo protection athletes — or clowns, as many like to call them. I wish I could locate my first feature from the Wimberley VFW Rodeo, because I loved it. Turns out those RPAs don’t get paid unless they work, so if they break a bone, tough luck — they get back out there. Tough way to live, for sure, but those guys love what they do and keep riders safe.

Mutton Bustin’ always made for a good laugh and an award-winning photo. That photo was by Gerald Castillo, but I honed my photo skills over the years (at top).

When it comes down to it, I have this to say about the Wimberley VFW Rodeo: Nothing — and I mean, nothing — is more American than covering, watching it.

Fireworks, patriotic music and rodeo: Can anything top that display of Murica?

I mean, you could strap George Washington to a bald eagle and have him wave the 50 stars and 13 stripes, but you’d just be getting greedy. Plus, that would be crazy.

Anyway, happy belated Fourth of July to you all and happy belated birthday, USA!

What UDXC/TF Really Meant To Me

I never expected to be a Division I athlete.

Heck, as a high school freshman I was 5-foot-1, 105 pounds. If that.

During freshman orientation at Mount Pleasant High School (Go Green Knights), they had tables set up in the library manned by various sports coaches.Scrawny me went up to the football table and got laughed away. Seriously, what was I thinking? Then I walked across the room to the cross country table and they welcomed me with open arms. I’m sure they never turned someone away, probably for the better.

And after one failed attempt at playing baseball my freshman year, I turned my full attention toward running (cross country and track). Funny story: The football coach was also the track coach, like many are, and chuckled when he saw me come out.

Over the next four years I grew physically (Thank God) and athletically. By the time I was a junior, I became a decent runner. Then my senior year it all came together.

I placed fourth at the state cross country meet, seventh in the 1,600-meter run of the state track and field meet and third in the 3,200-meter run at the same event. I capped my prep career at the Meet of Champions, where I ran 10:06 in the 3,200.

Fast forward nine months and I toed the starting line as a varsity member of the University of Delaware track and field team. What happened between May 2003 and March 2004 isn’t really important. I ended up at UD, mainly because of the in-state tuition, went out for cross country/track and field because I knew I loved to run and before I knew it, I ran the 10,000 meters at the Monmouth Invitational.

Over the next four years I ran in plenty more races, lettered three times in cross country as well as indoor and outdoor track, but that’s not what sticks with me.

Eight years after my last race, I still feel as if I have the confidence that becoming a Division I athlete gave me. I worked hard for that. While I ostracized (or vilified) myself from the team — and today that remains as one of my biggest regrets — the feeling of being a part of something and the accomplishment of putting myself in that position to succeed urges me on not only in my athletic endeavors, but life.

There I am! And boy, am I white. (Photo courtesy DelawareOnline.com)

Today, no other guys can embark on that road since the University of Delaware axed the varsity cross country and track teams back in 2011. Our coach since left for greener pastures and only remnants remain in the form of two club teams.

Recently, an effort has been made to restore the program. According to that story from The News Journal in Wilmington, Delaware, a father of a runner who was on the team when it was cut filed a complaint to the Delaware Division of Human Relations that states the University of Delaware violated a state law in doing so.

Who knows how far it will go — if it gains any traction at all. I hope it creates some kind of ripple that will end the same way the recent fiasco involving the University of Alabama at Birmingham football program did — with it being fully reinstated.

I’m not going to get my hopes up, but I’ll keep my fingers crossed there’s good news.

——————————-

Now’s probably one of the best time to post that clip of me nearly killing myself (not really) during the 3,000-meter steeplechase. Even made America’s Funniest Videos.

Georgia’s loss triggers flood of past sports memories

While watching Michigan State dispatch Georgia last weekend in the “second round” of the NCAA Tournament, I thought back to a few years ago when I went to the Round of 32 on a whim with my roommate. It was held at the AT&T Center in San Antonio, a 45-minute drive from where we lived in San Marcos.

We tried to go the previous year when Austin’s Frank Erwin Center played host, but tickets were hard to come by. My roommate was (and probably still is) a huge Florida fan and the Gators ended winning two games in Texas (beating Northwestern State and Minnesota) en route to the Elite Eight.

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