Tennis, Anyone?

Tennis is fun, tennis is cool.

We Americans don't always show huge interest, but it is great drama. Great theatre. Great sport.

Perhaps I was lucky as a young guy in the late 1970s and early 1980s, my dad would watch Jimmy Connors and John McEnroe and that one blonde Swede, what was his name?

We had one T.V. and it was in the family room.

And I was family.

Tennis and its play and personalities and drama and history and acclaim grew on me.

And I played it, too.

Bjorn Borg!

The original gangster BORG!

The Swedish influence back then was formidable: Abba, the BeeGees (OK, maybe not Scandinavian but their hair was like Borg's locks) and Volvo, not to mention Ingrid in my elementary school. Her dad studied at IU for a while. Great folks, members of my church...

Then there was Yanich Noah from France (his son plays for the Bulls now) and Ivan Lendl of Sweden and Boris Becker of Germany and Michael Chang of the US...

Australia, France, England and the USA...The big four championships. Every February, May, June and September...

And now other parts have cool championships, too, even the Persian Gulf...

The women are fun to watch too.

And doubles? Maybe not as much, but when you get Kournikova playing well with a partner...

GREAT DRAMA.

And the Red Wings are in the playoffs.

Tennis is great.

And who is this new "fall on your face and knees" guy who won that match?

Wow.

Federer and Nadal are kings.

The kings are dead.

Long live the kings and queens of tennis.

So, whether you play or watch:

Enjoy the game!

It's a great racket.

Get it?

PapaClinch

Institutions of Higher Learning---The Key to Life

College basketball, and all the other sports that the NCAA supports and administrates help individuals succeed.

Some people who might never have a reason to go college do so. Some who would go but struggle with debts and loans get scholarships.

Millions are entertained and excited about their alma maters or their favorite schools...Basketball, football, and the "lesser" attended sports.

To many, maybe organized sports don't matter at all.

Some only like the college game rather than professional sports, where the motivation is less mercenary.

The passion is more pure in college, apparently.

Sure.

I grew up in a sports enthusiastic town.

When my parents went through a divorce when I was a young adolescent, the Indiana basketball team helped motivate me, focus on a healthier alternative. Bob Knight was a boor but he was steadfast. You could count on him to win, to surprise people and make it a good show.

The football team also inspired me. Coach Mallory had a son at my high school and not only was he a hardhitting linebacker on my football team but his son Curt was a good guy.

Sports promotes good guys.

Colleges promotes collaborative learning.

Reading.

Writing.

Research.

Experiments.

Art.

History.

Life.

Colleges and universities train us and mold us to be who we should be, or might be, or what we may dream to be:

Champions.

PapaClinch

Baseball, baseball, beisbol

Wake up in the morning.

What do you think about?

How to score runs. How to do your job well. Did you remember all the notes? Did you take notes? Mental or on paper. Online?

What are your priorities? Should you pray? Meditate? Look at or touch your loved ones while lying in bed? Get your feet and mind geared up, it should be a long day.

Are you on time?

You review a few concepts in your mind. You open and close your eyes. Maybe you hear music on the radio, or people informing you on the world, or maybe it is simple silence of the early day.

Collect yourself, envision your next move.

Plan and prepare.

How to approach the first pitch. What to expect your first at bat. Your goals and tactics on how to get on base. Give your team a chance.

Zone out the fans, the sun, the music, the cheers and jeers. The expectations. The pressure.

What pressure?

You can do it. You have produced in the past.

There have been accolades and words of hope and promise, uttered in dark hallways and dugouts and late nights of practice.

Anticpate the excitement and the emotion.

Feel the motivation

How to get out of bed, and when.

Get ready. Get something to eat? Not if you run first, per se. Take a shower. Shave your face. Or not. Brush your teeth.

Get dressed. Say your goodbyes if anyone is awake.

Get in your car. Catch a ride. Catch the bus, the train.

Go to work. Meet your co-workers. Or work by yourself.

Maybe you lead off. Take the first pitch. If you like it, swing.

Maybe you bat second. If so, you observed your colleague and how he was pitched to.

If you are third, you are good.

Do your job.

Coming up fourth, you got power. Pick a good toss. Be patient.

Coming up fifth, you got brains and skills. Use them.

Sixth, you may have the bases loaded. Calm down.

If you two outs and two on, just relax. Do your best. It is the first inning, after all.

There is good damage to initiate early, but it is still early.

But really try to capitalize. This is a good pitcher. You can hurt him and his psyche, and the game may be yours.

Your hurler may be shaky. He needs this.

You strike out.

No problem: you tried. Pats on the back, they say, there are another 8 innings for redemption. Your cohorts and bosses are behind you still.

Learn from the mistake.

Don't do it next at bat.

Hope it doesn't rain--or lightning.

And stayed focused, mentally and professionally.

And so the morning, or the work day, has begun.

Good luck, slugger.

Do your best.

Stay in the game. Play out every play, and play hard and enjoy yourself and the efforts of others and support and encourage them.

Have fun. Be serious but flexible and real. Be intense or relaxed as the game (the job) requires.

Concentrate on the opponent, and how they do things. Learn from everything, the verbal comments and advice of those who have been there before, and those who are currently competing that you rightfully admire.

Absorb the necessary lessons. Internalize them.

Study all and incorporate the good.

Emulate those who are great.

Dream.

And play ball.

And come home, and hug your loved ones before you go to sleep.

Sing.

Pray.

Rest.

And I'll see you next morning, next game, ready to put on the glove again.

Let's play another.

And love it.

PapaClinch

Does Lebron have a Girl? Just Wondering

The time of King James is nigh.

I think that Kobe is the current king of the NBA, don't get me wrong. We know about his social/economic commitment to his woman, we see her on television. Very nice.

Even though Tim Duncan doesn't have that much glamour to his game, he DOES have four rings, but he is still not sleek (see Michael) or funny enough (see Shaq) to get our attention as to his social circumstances.

Lebron is.

Forget, New York and the Knicks, after the championship this year or next, who is the honey?

Show me the honey!

(A little Cuba gooding, Jr., anyone?)

Anyway, I am happily married, we have beautiful children (one of them pictured in the avatar) and I am not the biggest sports/social/marriage butterfly.

But who does Lebron call his dame?

Inquiring basketball minds want to know.

The King James Bible revival continues: Is there a Delilah to this Samson?

papaClinch

PS: Is Yao Ming married? How tall would she be?

But if Lebron does get his first ring

And then there were Eight! '09 Playoffs

Cleveland, Orlando, Miami and Boston. (Okay, maybe Atlanta instead of Miami. But my money is on Wade).

Los Angeles, Denver, Dallas and Houston.

Most pundits (how many fit on the head of a pin?) say it will be Lakers and the Cavs.

I agree.

However, crazier things have happened.

Boston is limited by those KG/Powe injuries. Garnett is a bad enough loss, but will Perkins and Big Baby and Moore make up for both him and Leon Powe? Doubtful. Orlando is still missing Jameer Nelson, but Rafer "Skip to my Lou" Alston (apparently a NYC legend) is attemptimg to take up the slack. And maybe Mr. Dukie can play some ball with Lewis and Turkoglu.

I wish Houston could beat LA. Or Denver, or Dallas. Beat LA!

Wouldn't that be a kick in the pants?

Anyway, it's King James Bible Revival time.

Enjoy.

PapaClinch