"i didn't care that you left and abandoned me. what hurts more is i would still die for you."


now, we are still a long way away from this, but not as long as we once were. that makes sense, right?

whatforeart do i speak of?

i speak of the meta-narrative that will hover above and through the 2010 college football season seen through my eyes. i speak of the impending departure of the supernova that is and forever will be julio jones from the university of alabama. that is what.

some of my favorite columns of any news cycle of any part of the year are the kind that started popping up yesterday afternoon. immediately after one nfl draft is in the books, the so-called draft "experts" move on from one group of no-longer prospects to the next year's class, ready to dissect their speed and skill-sets and destroy whatever favorable reputation (gained on the field, mind you) those prospects may have. there will be those that perform more than admirably on the highest level and keep their overrated teams in games that they shouldn't be in for the course of an entire season (cough, jimmy clausen, cough) that will drop like a rock on draft day(s) because the "experts" continue to call into question his "attitude". there will be those players that no one has ever heard of that rocket up draft boards because they can bench press 225 pounds five hundred and forty-six times in thirty seconds. the "experts" will like this prospect's "motor" and that prospect's "upside/potential". there will be next years version of legarrette blount, a black player with a "questionable" upbringing that punches some cocky/fratty white boy in the face, misses the season, goes undrafted and will make the pro bowl three years later (by the way, you can book that. i would take legarrette blount. today. and start him. he's a beast...in a manner of speaking.).

and then there are those prospects that, barring catastrophic injury, are can't miss. critic proof. "expert" proof. the kind of prospects that "experts" can try to pick apart their numbers but what you see on film tells you all you need to know (see: avatar. you may think the story's been done before, but avatar has never been done before. can't miss. critic proof. biggest movie ever.). prospects that will reside in the top 15 of the "2011 Mock Draft" columns from now until the 2011 NFL Draft comes and goes. it just so happens that, according to si.com, alabama has THREE of those guys. marcell dareus, mark ingram and, of course, julio.

i can't stand the thought of julio (or ingram or dareus or possibly mark barron) leaving, but i will understand when they do. with each game that is played (and won), we will be one game closer to that news conference where julio and saban stand shoulder to shoulder, acknowledging the inevitable has come to pass. it's tough to think about.

mark ingram will be remembered longer, but julio will always be my favorite alabama player of all time. we're still a long way away from him leaving, but not as long as we once were.

that makes sense, right?

being julio heyward
(part six)
((ask and you shall receive))


i won't waste too much time on julio here today, because he collected all of one hit against the phillies in three games. that his one hit sent me and ken and the rest of the folks that had not given up on the braves tuesday night into a bloody frenzy is not to be discounted. i just hate that the momentum couldn't carry over into a series win or a better effort against halladay and/or moyer.

such is the life of a rookie i guess, even one that will one day be immortal.

i did come across this quip from a deadspin commenter and it made me laugh. i'll let it close chapter april of the julio heyward series and look forward to more irrational nonsense come may.

the commented upon post was comparing heyward to other african-american stars, hence the griffey jr. reference.

"Ken Griffey, Jr has the sweetest swing -- it looks effortless. Heyward's swing looks like a methed-up Hells Angel busting some heads in a bar fight. He didn't hit the home run, he bashed its little skull in."

being julio heyward
(part five)
((seeing jesus in person))


through 12 games, he leads his team in rbi and homers (and strikeouts..d'oh!!! that's ok. every superman has his kryptonite.). second in walks and hits and total bases. for one game, on opening day, he ushered in a home crowd and atmosphere and buzz that transcended over and through what was already a special day in the life of any baseball fan. sunday, with the bases loaded, two outs and his team down one run, he sent a 97 mph fast ball the opposite way for his first walkoff hit. he's being talked about in the same sentences as mel ott and ted williams for his accomplishments through twelve games at such an early age. he's already been compared to hank aaron, willie mays, willie stargell and albert pujols. the greatest of the great.

he's TWENTY years old.

and he just doesn't seem to care about any of it. at all.

he looks relaxed. contrasted to my boy and would-be phenom last year, jordan schafer, he's not fidgety at the plate. he takes pitches. he's patient. everything a rookie is not supposed to be in his first two weeks of his career.

tonight, i will see him in person. from twenty rows above the field. as i told my brother, ken, who will be accompanying me to the game, we'll be close enough to heckle the phillies and bask in the glow of the next second-coming.

i cannot wait to see and catch up with ken.

and i cannot wait to see and observe "julio" up close. in his element. to be able to watch him and see how he carries himself when the cameras aren't focused in on his at-bat. how does he stretch? how does he walk? how does he warm-up? is his bp as mythical as everything that i've read?

will he do something crazy for me tonight that makes me jump up and down and act all stupid and childlike and giddy as i am wont to do when these "silly games" take me into my own "thin place"???

i hope so.

thin places can be hard to find sometimes. work, distractions, work, more distractions, church, distractions, work, distractions, the "work" of family and even more distractions take away vital time from us finding union with whatever in this life we connect to on higher and deeper personal and spiritual levels. i feel lucky that i can find such places, for better or worse...to your approval or not, in sports.

tonight, i am headed to turner field to see a brother than i haven't seen in way too long to watch a team that i love to hate and a player that i (and many others) have identified as special.

here's hoping i don't blow a tire on i-20.

this is not a political blog


let me be clear. i voted for obama.

i liked the platform of "change" that he ran on. i still like the change that he represents. i do not not believe he is channeling whomever you think satan may be.

but, this i know. he is very much a politician. and politicians must say things to engage their city, state, country in ways that might inspire their political lifespan to continue. and thus, rhetoric is born. promises are made. promises, most of which are never kept. promises that are intended to strike a nerve somewhere deep down inside the ideal part of all of us. something that says to us that "this guy" or "this girl" is my candidate. i'll vote for them. they will make my life better.

and then, of course, most of the time they don't. because the system is so broken that one man or woman, not even the president can change it all by himself.

we'll blame obama anyway.

and the next one.

and the next one.

all of that i say to say this, though. i was sent this video a couple days ago and thought that it was the most simplistic, short (1:38) and devastating deconstruction of political rhetoric that i had seen in a long time.

if you have a minute and a half, watch it. it will make you smile.

http://www.wimp.com/budgetcuts/

then cry.

GOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAALLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!
(hannah and caroline and me)
((part thirty-four))

(since two moms have called me out already (one of them, hannah and caroline's own) on the worry that the ultimate sentiment of this post may be lost in the first few paragraphs that seem to imply that girls, and therefore MY girls, are somehow second-rate, i am going to do something that i never do. edit myself. or rather, retroactively qualify a post in the hopes that, in ten or however many years down the line the first of my girls find or are given this website as my gift to them, the thirty-fourth installment of my ode within an ode to them does not make them think that i was somehow disappointed with their presence in my life.

what the below "digress"ion touches on is something that those that have known me for any period of time already were aware of. before we had hannah, i was very much infatuated with being the father to a son. not having any clue as to what, exactly, i wanted out of a boy other than to coach him in little league, hearing that hannah would be a girl was not a shock nor disappointment at all. i figured she would be the first of many children, and many of my friends and family told me they thought that a girl was exactly what i needed. and they were right. it took all of five seconds for me to tell sarah that i felt "my heart grow to make room" for her. since those first moments, she has had and will always have me wrapped around her finger. she can be infuriating of course. but i love her with every ounce of me and would give my life to make sure she had every chance at hers.

caroline is no different with one exception. the girls' mommy can attest to my tangible feeling of disappointment after we were told that caroline was a girl. sarah felt like things were different with the second pregnancy. she felt like she was having a boy. i got excited. "seth" would be here before we knew it! i wasn't so far behind kiker and andy that we wouldn't one day overlap at the ballpark. the boy would balance out the girl. the boy would annoy the girl. the boy would protect my dear, sweet hannah when they were both old enough to use each other in that fashion. it would be perfect. and then, of course, history wrote that we would have our second girl. the "1A" to my "1" in hannah. the (s) that would be added to "my muse" on the blog. the girl that is much more "like" me than hannah. the second girl that has me in every way. the second girl for whom i would give my life to make sure she had every chance at hers.

what you (and you, my girls) will read below is my always weak attempt at humor poking fun at what has now become a running joke within my circle of friends. that being that i wasn't rolling in the dirt or eating enough meat or doing something with a wrench enough to make sure my part of their creation was going to turn them out to be a dude. athletically, is turning out to be "the next mia hamm" or "the next serena williams" a dis? i should hope not. but, if the below is read as their being the next "any girl" would rank them as being of less worth than "any boy", well, i hope you (and you, my girls) know me well enough to know that's not the case.

by the time my girls end up reading this, they'll probably have a pretty good idea that their dad is stupid. and not beyond cracking jokes at their expense. and not beyond starting a blog that hopes to one day convey how much i have loved them ever since i have known OF them in a way that this stupid "boy" will never be able to say out loud.

thanks, sarah and kathy. who knows how much credit i would actually give you if you were guys. ;)

and now, back to the post...

i've held back on this post for a week longer than i usually would, because i wanted it to have a little more time to marinate. a week ago thursday, our six year-old hannah scored her first goal in what was her second ever soccer game.

that fact, in and of itself, was cause for celebration. much has been made and many times i have whined about my lack of ability in producing a boy. twice my seed has been planted. twice the fruit that harvested was born with nary a twig and most definitely no berries. does this make me less of a man? of course it does! if i was more of a man, like kiker or andy or aaron or every other buddy that i have who has stumbled into a son, i would make a boy. it's just as simple and genetically a fact as that. it has been written through my own actions and experiences that i am not worthy of offspring that might carry forward my name and legacy. my hands are not rough from work outdoors. in fact, i have been told they are quite smooth, much the same as a comely young lady's. i do not kill innocent creatures with guns. i do not wrestle. i do not fight. i do not carry a sword. i do not fancy myself a mixed martial artist. i now suck at sports. i am pretty sure i am going blind in at least one of my eyes. my elbows hurt (really??? my freaking elbows?). i bitch about headaches and neckaches and cancer all the time. i do not plumb, nor work with electricity. i can barely put gas in my car. i don't like bad smelling things. i would more than rather look for help around my house in a phonebook versus my lacking fortitude for fix-it-ness. i mean, look at this list!!! for god sakes, i am a WOMAN. when the queen mother earth blessed me and sarah with children, i had bound and determined the gender-specific fates of our offspring well before our very awkward first dance. it seems to be that i am, quite literally, a pansy.

i digress.

what the above does illustrate, though, is that i was never going to have a boy to rear. to pitch to. to teach how to swing a bat. to bodyslam. to bloody his nose. to race down hotel room halls in sockfeet. i just wasn't. so, when it comes to living vicariously through my children the athletic exploits i was never able to accomplish myself, the best i was going to be able to hope for was the next mia hamm or serena williams (without the sass). neither of those were bound to happen either, but they are girls and i have girls. it was going to be my only shot.

future-back to a week ago thursday. hannah's second soccer game. the ball squirts away from the bunch in the direction of the goal her team is scoring on, she touches it once with her right foot, swings every so mildly-wildly at the ball with her left, she makes solid-enough contact, and wouldn't you know it??? she scores!!! we are taping at the time and catch it all. i must have watched the video a hundred times over the last ten days. you can hear how excited i am. a proud daddy, indeed.

after several viewings and several days worth of reflection, though, it is no longer the goal, itself, that sticks out to me. during the last five to ten seconds of the tape, i catch a glimpse of how happy hannah is post-goal. she isn't really sure how to celebrate, so she goes over to her closest friend on the team and smiles with her. her coach leans over and gives her five, and then comes the most fantas-mic part. she loses herself for just a couple of seconds with a smile as wide as the sea fitting her face perfectly. she hops and skips elegantly towards the middle of the field, the toe of one of her cleats scraping very gracefully and purposefully across the top of the grass. in the moment, she seems utterly content. wonderful and happy. proud. of herself, which she had and has every right to be.

as that moment has baked in my brain the last several days, it has served me with many questions and one true answer. the questions have been ranging from "did she mean to do that?" to "what about that goal on that day and in that game made her react in such a happy way?" what forces in her life and what influences from me and her mother and television and school and daycare and church and friends and family led to, in that moment, the smile and the hop and the skip?

the one true answer is that i don't really know, because i am sure it is a combination of all of those influences, some amalgamation of hannah marie o'kelley's life that is already building a construct of who she is and what make her tick. what brings her joy. why she will ever be sad.

the only hope i can have, as her father, is to try and build her up through her daily routines and out of the ordinary experiences more and more chances for her to feel the euphoria that she so obviously exhibited after she scored her first goal in her second ever soccer game.

chances are, just like any solid to spectacular baseball player makes 7 outs for every 10 plate appearances, i will fail masterfully at being a father. what will be important will be what i make out of the teaching and/or celebration opportunities i am given, grooved down the middle of the plate if you will. being mindful of her likes and dislikes, emotions and anxieties, good moods and bad, maybe occasionally i'll be able to figuratively see the ball coming out of the pitcher of life's hand and put her in a position to be everything that she sees herself wanting to be.

until she is old enough to figure those things out for herself, that's all a mommy and daddy can really do, right? try to actively love very hard and put their children in as many opportunities to excel and be happy as we possibly can. to exaggerate every victory and downplay every defeat in an effort to balance their life in such a way that they have a fair and fighting chance when we hand over their keys to their adult world.

when we later watch this video with hannah, it won't be the goal that we celebrate nearly as much as the smile on her face. we'll ask her what made her so happy and help her understand "the why".

that's all we can really do, right?

being julio heyward
(part four)


for one day, at least, the fairy tale is still very much intact.

"AND THIS STADIUM IS UPSIDE DOWN!!!"

that was one of the many calls of jason heyward's first major-league at bat after he had stroked the home run that may end up defining the dawn of the new era.

over 53 thousand fans were in attendance at turner field yesterday and the reports read that the vast majority of them were chanting heyward's name as he walked into the batters box for his first at-bat.

think about that for a second. you are twenty years old. you are a top-level professional in the same organization that harvested one of the top two african-american baseball players ever. you take the ceremonial first pitch from that guy, hammerin' hank aaron. the moment drips with symbolism. the proverbial torch is already passed. and you haven't even played in your first real game yet!!! 53 thousand fans are in the stands on a perfect april afternoon. many of those thousands are only in the park because they've heard the buzz surrounding you. remember when i talked about transcendence a couple weeks ago? well, thousands of people taking off of work or school and paying money to come and watch you play baseball merely because they heard you might be the second coming of somebody their fathers used to pay to see play counts as "exhibit A".

you hear your name being chanted by 50 thousand fans but you are able to not listen to them. you are able to focus. you take a couple pitches to gauge velocity and get your timing. and with your first freaking swing, you make yourself the story of opening day.

your team wins. you knocked in four runs. you got the post-game interview. the shaving cream in the locker room. truckloads of news fans. you may have just awakened half a city's worth of fairweather braves followers. with one swing of a baseball bat.

for one day, the fairy tale is still very much intact.

i'll say.

being julio heyward
(part three)


"I believe in the Church of Baseball. I've tried all the major religions, and most of the minor ones. I've worshipped Buddha, Allah, Brahma, Vishnu, Siva, trees, mushrooms, and Isadora Duncan. I know things. For instance, there are 108 beads in a Catholic rosary and there are 108 stitches in a baseball. When I heard that, I gave Jesus a chance. But it just didn't work out between us. The Lord laid too much guilt on me. I prefer metaphysics to theology. You see, there's no guilt in baseball, and it's never boring... which makes it like sex. There's never been a ballplayer slept with me who didn't have the best year of his career. Making love is like hitting a baseball: you just gotta relax and concentrate. Besides, I'd never sleep with a player hitting under .250... not unless he had a lot of RBIs and was a great glove man up the middle. You see, there's a certain amount of life wisdom I give these boys. I can expand their minds. Sometimes when I've got a ballplayer alone, I'll just read Emily Dickinson or Walt Whitman to him, and the guys are so sweet, they always stay and listen. 'Course, a guy'll listen to anything if he thinks it's foreplay. I make them feel confident, and they make me feel safe, and pretty. 'Course, what I give them lasts a lifetime; what they give me lasts 142 games. Sometimes it seems like a bad trade. But bad trades are part of baseball - now who can forget Frank Robinson for Milt Pappas, for God's sake? It's a long season and you gotta trust. I've tried 'em all, I really have, and the only church that truly feeds the soul, day in, day out, is the Church of Baseball."

-bull durham

opening day.

you only get one chance to make a first impression.

go get 'em, julio.

the exception that proves the rule


"The Tenebrae service at Huffman United Methodist Church was the most moving Easter service I have ever been too. I wish you all could have been there."

"What a amazing Tenebrae Service we had tonight! It brought me to tears!!!"

"What a wonderful, moving service."

...the Tenebrae service tonight was one of the most moving things i've ever been apart of...

(quotes ripped from facebook, ...natch)


we whispered.

that's the answer to your question.

what was my question?

"what was it that made this good friday service different from other years? what was so moving, so affecting that most everyone involved would unanimously agree that it was a quality 45 minutes of worship?" that was it, right? your question(s)?

well, the answer is "we whispered."

let's rewind.

since the mimes hit the fan several years back, the tenebrae services i have been a part of at humc have been fairly tame. some readings. some songs full of melancholy. sometimes a sermon. sometimes a homily. sometimes a meditation. more readings. the lights go out. the candles go out. the christ candle exits stage left and we leave. all still effective, depending on the mindset of the worshipper, but still fairly basic. nothing out of the ordinary. not that it has to be, mind you. i am just saying.

the story of the crucifixion is an emotional one, obviously. for on that day, the characters in and around jesus were led to believe that the represented good in jesus was defeated by the represented evil. if this man of faith, doing nothing more than following in the footsteps of the will of his father in heaven can't escape the constraints of this crappy-ass world, what chance in hades do we have??? right?

let me digress for a second....

one thing that i don't think we pay enough attention to on good friday is how epic-ly devastated jesus' followers must have been that night, especially those just on the periphery of his inner circle. his disciples and his closest friends/family had been prepared as best as jesus could for what was about to happen. for those that had sold out for his story and weren't privy to last suppers and intimate one-on-one's, though, to see their accepted savior beaten, broken and crucified between two petty thieves must have destroyed every ounce of faith they could've ever hoped to have. (note to self: pay more intentional attention to the collateral psychological damage of the crucifixion next year. check.)

back to it. for all of the emotion of the story of that first "good friday", though, for seasoned christians, it still rings as a familiar one. it takes some concerted effort to try and live out holy week in a way that might "move one to tears". for me, i have a really hard time finding that place. i watched the passion of the christ. i saw the hollywood-ization of that day and can only imagine that it was actually worse that mel gibson's depiction. and yet, i don't usually respond to good friday with a prepared or planned day of mourning. more often than not, i am worried that the service will interrupt my plans to catch up on old episodes of 30 rock and the office.

that being said, i was happy as a lark to be a part of it this year. stephanie approached me and asked if anyone in limbo might be willing to help out. most of our available resources were working or indisposed, but a few of us and sarah were able to help and were glad to do it.

so, what did you do?

well, we read.

that doesn't sound very novel.

we read...from the balcony?

hasn't steve done that before?

shut up!

sorry, that guy in italics is a douche.

i and ten others read passages from "the passion" from the balcony. we were preceded by a welcome, a hymn and an anthem. in between the readings were the choruses of melancholy. interspersed into the reading were some mood-enhancing sound effects. the lights went out. the candles were extinguished. the christ-light removed from the room.

that was (almost) it.

that sounds dull.

and then came the whispers.

the what?

the choir whispered the lord's prayer. as they finished, the balcony readers whispered their response, the apostle's creed.

we exited in silence.

it. was. incredible. it was the twist ending that no one saw coming. it was the last two minutes of every episode of LOST that leaves you thirsting for more. it was, basically, the same good friday service that we always have, with one change, one creative and thoughtful change. and it made all the difference in the world. why were the authors of the above quotes so moved? maybe they were in tune with the emotion of the story. maybe not. i would bet money, though, if you asked them next year what they remember about friday night's service, it will not be the emotion. it will be the whispers. good show, harris and stephanie.

fast forward to today.

back to the same ole, same ole. and sadly, removing the emotion again from the service (which, admittedly, is unfair to the easter equation), everything was relatively the same as any other service. no balloons. no voice-over narration that might feel familiar to all the strange faces revisiting humc for the first time in forever. there were two anthems instead of one, that is something i guess. there was the sermon. some hymns. the service was, in a word, fine. but i wasn't moved, and no one after the service that i found was talking about how they had just worshipped. only minutes removed from the most highly attended service our church will have all year (contrasted to the 75-100 we had friday night), there was no buzz whatsoever. a collective "eh..." was the feeling i got, and it made me incredibly sad that we couldn't back up the effort and the twist of friday night with something equally fresh or new or traditionally loved. it was just a service. and there just happened to be a whole lot of people in the sanctuary that aren't usually there. and that's too bad.

what amount of time and energy went into preparing for the good friday service? the readers were there two hours ahead of time. who knows how much thought stephanie and harris put into the order or worship, the sound effects, the gathering of help, etc. it felt very prepared.

not that this morning didn't, feel prepared that is. but it didn't feel special. it didn't feel like something more than what we are used to and i hope that there is a lesson to be learned from that.

the story of easter tells itself. people will not exit any sanctuary having heard something new. we all know the mythology. but they could've exited our sanctuary thirsting for more, and i don't know that we gave ourselves a fighting chance for that to happen. maybe we can do it next year.

heck, what's to stop us from doing it next sunday? anything? is it the time? energy? resources?

please let us (humc) know. let us know what we can do to make services and experiences like friday night the rule and not the exception.

let us find a way to make our worship an event that i mind being late for. that i don't fear will be a serious letdown from the business we are attending to in limbo. let us be creative and fun. and not afraid to mix it up for the betterment of our congregation so that our congregation might be interested in bettering one of their friends by bringing them to church on sunday morning.

all we did was whisper.

...

what if we shouted?

being julio heyward
(part two)


from si.com and tom verducci's top ten things to watch in the 2010 baseball season...

"1. Jason Heyward

The Braves' right fielder created the most spring training buzz since Albert Pujols tore up Cardinals camp in 2001. Which would you rather have when it comes to the NL Rookie of the Year Award: Heyward or the field? I'm not taking the field, not even a field that includes Strasburg and Chapman. Heyward seems like a lock for 20 home runs. Not so impressed by that number? The dude is 20 years old. Only 13 players have ever hit 20 homers at or before their age 20 season, and that includes only two 20/20 Club members in the past 31 years: a couple of guys named Ken Griffey Jr. and Alex Rodriguez. Forget the Fred McGriff comparisons; Heyward is far more athletic. Forget the Willie McCovey comparisons; McCovey was only a .270 career hitter. Forget the Willie Stargell comparisons; Stargell never walked even 90 times. Just let Heyward be who he will be, and enjoy a very unique player."

monday can't get here soon enough.