Category Archives: Sports

Do Better

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Normally, I’m pretty chill. Just don’t survey me, or drive into me in downtown Olympia, or call me Slip twenty plus years after one fall and hella athletic recovery on wet grass.

Oh and one more thing. If you’re going to build a lap pool make it 25 or 50 yards or even better 25 or 50 meters. Don’t make it slightly less than any of these four standards unless you want me to turn completely chilly.

Today I found myself at the Skamania Lodge in Stevenson, WA. First things first, check out the pool and fitness center. Decent pool, but looks a little short. Pace it off, 23 golf steps times 3 feet equals 69 feet. Let’s call it 70. FIVE FEET SHORT of the bare minimum! Code Red! Blood pressure check!

Trying to contain my rage, I double check with the attendant, a middle aged woman who has no idea who she’s dealing with. “Do you know how long the pool is?” I inquire. “Yeah,” looking at her desktop computer for help, “60 feet? 64 feet?” Looking more intently at her monitor, she says more confidently, “It’s 84 degrees.” Which, of course, is too warm, but I digress.

There should be a severe penalty for anyone involved with building short pools. No trial by jury. Just me issuing a final judgement. Something less than life in prison, but not by much.

A Novel Idea—Have Some Fun

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Slate notes that Erling Haaland, the Striking Viking, is having hella fun while on a Scandinavian run of a lifetime.

“The Norway national team striker scored two goals to send soccer royalty Brazil home. After the game, he’s chuckling to himself, telling reporters that even he’s surprised he won that game. Haaland has spent most of this World Cup looking like two completely different people. On the field, he is still the ‘Striking Viking,’ a terrifying 6-foot-4 goal machine who runs at defenders like a marauding berserker. Off the pitch, he’s posting selfies with Shrek, trying on a Southern accent, and generally behaving less like one of the most accomplished athletes on Earth than a very tall guy having the best summer of his life.”

And then this.

“There’s a clip of him in Dallas trying on a cowboy hat and cowboy boots, and then with Team Norway, doing the Viking Row after games with a huge smile on his face. It’s clear: The dude is having so much fun out there doing something that you’d think an 8- or 9-U soccer team would do.”

That Viking Row clip is so great. Everyone, unabashed joy.

Brad Stulberg with another paragraph to ponder:

“Imagine Michael Jordan and the Bulls in the middle of the NBA playoffs—not after winning it all, mind you, just after winning a playoff game—going to half-court and doing a celebration. They’re not doing that. They’re all business. They’re going back to the locker room. The Michael Jordan thing is: You’ve got to suffer for greatness, everything needs to be serious, you always need to be angry.”

Further into the piece, Stulberg shares how he approaches his teens’ athletic endeavors.

“I don’t pretend that winning doesn’t matter, because I think that’s dumb. Competitive kids are going to be like: ‘Dad, that’s dumb. Winning matters. Why else do we keep score?’ So I say: ‘Winning matters. Winning is part of the game. We’re trying to win. And you know how you’re going to have the best chance of winning? By having fun. If you’re not having fun, I can almost guarantee that you’re not going to win over the long haul.”

Then, prob without realizing it, he sprinkles some Stoic “trichotonomy of control” on top.

“Then I tell them that there are things we can’t control. We can’t control the points, because we don’t know how the other team is going to play. We don’t know what the weather is going to be like. All we can control are these two things: What’s our effort—are we trying hard? And are we appreciating the moment and having fun? If we do those things, then we’ve already kind of won the internal game. And if you play sports for long enough—which is the goal, because you’re having fun—you’re going to lose a lot and you’re going to win a lot.”

There’s a lot of ink being spilled about the exorbitant costs of US junior soccer travel teams. And how that is an impediment to the USMNT being among the best in world. This Slate conversation makes me think it’s probably the raised expectations that come with all the $. More specifically, having fun gets lost in parents’ emphasis on some sort of return for their investment. Like winning each match, increased social status, and college scholarships. Again, that combo drowning out Viking Striking-like fun.

Dear Belgium

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Of course I coulda/shoulda titled this “Dear Europe” or “Dear World”, but it’s you I’m thinking about most today.

I’m sorry. If it’s any comfort, many of us are counting down to January, 2029. Of course that is no consolation for you right now. If the (dis)United States wins, there will always be an asterisk attached. If you win, I will celebrate your overcoming the double whammy of FIFA and DJT corruption.

And if it’s any consolation, I will be in Belgium with my bike and several friends in September. At which time I can apologize in person on behalf of many, many of my fellow citizens.

Backgrounder.

Postscript. Nevermind.

Positively Positive

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I want an executive assistant like Trump’s “human printer”, Natalie Harp.

From Harp’s Wikipedia entry:

“She (Harp) often accompanied Trump when he played golf, bringing a printer and a laptop to show him articles; Harp’s use of a printer, which began from Trump’s preference for paper news, led to her being given the nickname of the ‘human printer’.”

What this excerpt doesn’t explain is that Harp only feeds Trump a steady diet of the best news coverage available at the time.

Yeah, I want someone just like Harp who would follow me around everywhere and provide a constant flow of unrelenting praise. Offloading self-compassion if you will. How great would that be?! Truly, this is an idea that only a stable genius could come up with.

Ironically, I played nine holes of golf for the first time in forever the other night. I somehow started out on fire but missed a short one for par on the par-5 fifth hole. How great would it be for my Natalie Harp to be sitting in a cart greenside at the ready to lift my spirits after a boneheaded bogey. Maybe handing me a printout that documents just how great my drive and five-wood were before the weak sand wedge and failed up and down that would soon be forgotten in all the praise for my amazing long game. And then, on the way to the next tee, she would whisper, “Many people are saying Ron, that was the best drive/five-wood combo this hole has ever seen. I know you’re going to make birdie on the next hole, so I’m just writing it in now.”

Yesterday, after an excellent group ride, I was day dreaming about my own Natalie Harp when I had an epiphany. I already have one in the form of my Strava AI assistant! Strava is a personal fitness app where people upload their workouts and applaud one another’s efforts. Think of it as a pseudo, cloud-sourced executive assistant/cheerleader of sorts.

But with an AI overlay, distinguished by its toxic positivity, it’s even more. Dig this recap of my ride.

“Crushed it.” “You’re clearly dialed in.” “What’s really impressive. . . ” I’m blushing. Never mind that it’s only the fifth day of the month.

Now, if we press pause for just a little bit and reflect on a very real possible downside to continuous over the top praise, there’s ample evidence that one could become a narcissistic sociopath.

But that’s a risk I’m willing to take.

Who Knew?

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Inertia is a bitch. After six months, I’ve finally started culling Lynn’s files. Yesterday, the first file I mindlessly grabbed was her “adoption” file. Which details her search for her birth mother, a couple of phone calls with her, and lots and lots of journaling about her feelings about her birth mom’s inability to embrace her. Most of the journaling was from Lynn’s 30s and 40s, her beautiful penmanship a reminder of her healthy pre-MSA self.

Despite the beautiful penmanship, the writing was sometimes blurry, since I was reading it through tears.

File two was a much needed relief. Labeled, “Swimming records”, I thought to myself, what the hell? I did not know my wife of 38 years kept a detailed list of all her personal records, some set alone “off the wall” while lap swimming at the Briggs Y and some in events Mel Smith organized at the Briggs Y, and some in a sprint triathlon or two she entered. She even had researched sprint tris in the area and notated them with things like “hilly run”. Mind blown.

My athletic experience with her was dusting her when we worked out together at the Y. Because, of course, I had to let her know who was the bossman. But in fairness, she did beat me in HORSE once and she routinely beat me when we wrestled. She’d brag about how strong her legs were and make such a serious funny face that I would laugh so hard that she would easily get me in a leg wrap and pin me.

Dig this artifact from the “Swimming records” archive. And remember what “they” say. No one remembers who came in second.

Lynn for the winn.

If Only Women Weren’t So Delicate

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Yesterday a large contingent of elite endurance athletes competed in the Western States 100 in Northern California’s mountains, the most prestigious ultra running event in the (dis)United States.

If the 101 miles seems doable, don’t forget to save something for the 17,000′ of elevation. Those numbers would make for a very, very difficult day on a road bike.

This snippet, about the runner up female, is bonkers.

“Third time’s a charm for American Riley Brady with a second-place finish. After a 14th-place finish in 2023 and a DNF last year, Brady stormed back to run at the front back and forth all day, battling through losing vision in one eye for a large chunk of the race due to a lack of salt and projectile vomiting in the final third of the race.”

Prior to 1984, the International Olympic Committee and medical establishments argued that the marathon distance was too physically demanding for women.

I’m here for badass women saying to “the establishment”, here, hold my beer, while I run four consecutive marathons up and down mountains. LOL.

Footnote: The women’s winner, Jenn Lichter, is from Missoula, Montana by way of Colombia.

Resubmit

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Hot damn, yes, the sports streak continues. Kind of.

A sports royalty coupling is no more. Sue Bird and Megan Rapinoe have called it quits. When processing this news, be very careful not to mispronounce “Rah peen oh” in front of Alison.

Like you, I desperately need to know why.

Sue Bird explains:

“It’s like anything. It’s like, you grow, you change, you start having conversations about that in your relationship, and it just got to a point where we realized it might not be working anymore.”

AIRBALL! The least informative explanation of an uncoupling of all time by the WNBA leader in assists and games played. The first thing I taught my writing students was to avoid vague words and phrases. Words like “anything”, “change”, “that”, “it”, “anymore”.

Of course, Sue Bird doesn’t owe anyone an explanation, but since she attempted to provide one, she’s going to have to resubmit it. No exceptions, even for 13 time All-Stars.

Sports Sunday

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What on earth has happened to the eclectic humble blog? I know what you’re thinking, you didn’t sign up for this. DM for subscription refunds. Oh wait, the humble blog is free, so complain accordingly.

Today you had a smorgasbord of sports viewing options. Always a thrill, you coulda stood anywhere on Delphi, Waddell Creek, or Chein Hill and watched the boys and me go uphill at superhuman speeds. At least that’s how I remember today’s ride. Or you coulda watched the M’s lose in the 9th to the Tigers. Or Zverev finally break through in a major. Or, if truly enlightened, you coulda watched the pro golf playoff at Jack’s course.

Or you coulda watched the correct thing. Women’s professional golf. Specifically, the U.S. Women’s Open at Riviera, won by 27 year old Nelly Korda after her 2’10” final putt circled the entire cup before disappearing.

Korda is kool and I was very happy to see her win, but there were at least two other noteworthy stories you may have easily missed. But I got you.

Since time immemorial, women professional golfers have been playing for approximately 15% of what their male counterparts do because it’s been hard for the women’s tour to attract nearly as many eyeballs, and therefore, television sponsors. Today’s purse was a record, a whopping $12.5 million. On Wednesday, Korda will continuously check her checking account until her $2.5 million dollar wire hits. By the time she pays her caddy, other team members, federal, and CA taxes, it might be half of that, but I digress. The good news is that today the women played for more than the men do during a regular tournament week and for 62.5% of the fewer in number PGA Signature Events. That constitutes serious progress.

Second, dig this very short Gaby Lopez clip. Lopez is Mexican and finished one stroke back, tied for second. These days, when it comes to both cultural diversity and immigration, it’s easy to get overwhelmed by depressing news and to lose hope that we’ll ever thoughtfully and peacefully figure either one out. We would all be a lot better off if we just pressed pause and channeled Gaby Lopez’s attitude.

Postscript. Forgot this . . .