Remembering Things

The past couple of days I have been pondering and remembering various things in my life. You know, a variety of experiences - some pleasant and some very complex. But all of it tugged at my heart. During this deep thought, I was asked by a friend to find a certain blog I had posted.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t find the specific blog requested. However, I did come across a blog that sort of sums up the way I am feeling. And it made me smile. Smiling is good.

For two years I had been writing a “My Turn” column for the Kenosha News every 13 weeks. January 16, 2014 was my last column. Here is that column:

Simple Gestures Remind Us Of What’s Really Important

Tonight No. 1 Florida State takes on No. 2 Auburn in the BCS National Championship game. I suppose this means the holidays are now officially behind us. Hopefully everyone had a wonderful and fulfilling holiday season. Mine was special for a reason that I never expected. I never saw it coming. The holidays and especially Christmas have never been the same since my dad passed away on February 3, 2010. For me, besides the obvious, there has been something missing since then. It was something that I just couldn’t put my finger on; an intangible if you will. That is, until this Christmas. The Saturday before Christmas, Kenosha Softball Hall of Famer Jack Zimmerman came bearing gifts. Along with a large poinsettia and a huge gift basket from Tenuta’s, he also brought a dozen red roses for my mother. Zim has always been a charmer and evidently has a little Eddie Haskell in him. And he wasn’t done. The best was yet to come. As unexpected and gracious as those presents were, Zim blew me away with one final act of kindness. As he reached into his pocket, he told me that he checked with his mother and received her blessing. He then handed me an old baseball that had the following inscription: “6-30-1961 — Roosevelt Road 23 Kwik Kafe 0 No Hit, No Run Game Pitched By Jack Zimmerman” Zim told me that he wanted me to have this treasured little league memento of his because of what I had done for him. He told me how important I had become in his life. Moved by this heartfelt gesture, I wiped away the tears that were streaming down my cheek long enough to ask if he would sign the ball. After Zim left three hours later, it hit me. I finally knew what had been missing from Christmas for me since Dad passed away. It was a gift that I didn’t ask for or even need. Yet it touched my heart dearly. That’s what my dad was all about. Whenever you asked him what he wanted for his birthday or for Christmas, you always got the same answer — “I don’t need anything.” Until Zim’s unselfish deed, I never quite understood what he meant. Now I do. You really don’t need “things.” My dad was the greatest man I ever knew. He bravely served our country in World War II from age 19 to 21. People like him are the reason his generation is referred to as “The Greatest Generation.” He never intended to be a hero, but he was. And the most important thing to him was his faith. It was always the most important thing in his life. I so dearly miss praying with him in the morning. That is why I keep his rosary next to my bed. If Dad wasn’t touching you with his actions, he was doing it with a corny joke or that silly look that he inherited from his pop, my Grandpa ’Noni. Dad had an exceptional ability to express his love without uttering a single word. You just knew he loved you. It was a wonderful thing. I started this column by mentioning a football game. Years ago, Dad would often tell me to calm down when I would start hollering and stressing out while watching a Packers game. He would tell me that it’s not worth getting sick over, and that it’s only a game. Was he kidding? At the time, I couldn’t grasp his lack of passion. After all, it was the Green Bay Packers! I knew Dad loved the Pack just like I did; he brought me up watching them. I just didn’t get why he never seemed to get as upset when they lost as I did. Well, now I finally do. Dad, after all these years, I now understand there are other things much more important in life. Yes, the holidays are finally over. Jack Zimmerman’s no-hit little league ball is now in a protective ball cube on the shelf in my bedroom. And Dad’s rosary is still beside my bed. I will always cherish both of these items for different reasons. Now I get it.

*  *  *  *  *

Since I wrote that column, Jack’s mother joined my Dad in heaven. I know they are smiling down on their respective sons. They always got it; they knew what was most important - making people smile. Until next time…from the booth.

Where Has Kenosha Softball Gone?

The other day on Facebook, my friend, Mary Uhlich, asked me why I thought softball wasn't as popular now in Kenosha as it once was. I thought about it for a bit and couldn’t really put my finger on it. However, I did recall this “My Turn” column that I wrote a couple of years ago. Maybe it will shed some light on the subject.

City League

Back in 1976, I managed the Sands softball team in the Continental league of the Department of Recreation of Kenosha Unified School District No. 1. A rather verbose title, don’t you think? That’s why it was more commonly referred to as “City” league.

During the 1980s, the Golden Age of Kenosha softball, the City league was active Monday through Friday. Men and women played 12”, 14” and 16” games at Lincoln 1 and 2, Red Arrow, Roosevelt, Petretti, Poerio, Petzke, Columbus and both Anderson diamonds.

With eight teams in a league and up to eight diamonds being used on a given night, there were enough spots for over 250 teams. With more than 170 of those spots being relegated for men’s 12” slow-pitch teams, you would think that there would be no problem getting your team into a league.

Well, you would be wrong.

Despite all of that availability, getting your team registered to play City league softball was a crapshoot. Spots were at a premium and there was no guarantee that your team was going to get one. The archaic system that the Recreation Department used to register teams in those days made things quite challenging.

Even if your team had played the previous season, it was first-come first-served each year. Your team might have been playing for ten straight years - your spot was still up for grabs, it didn’t matter.

The way you made sure your team got a coveted spot was to arrive at the Recreation Department bright and early the day registration opened. I had better clarify that. While It behooved you to get there early, there was no way it was going to be bright. Not at 2:00 a.m. in late February.

Looking back, I still remember standing in that small parking lot located at 2717 67th Street on those dark, bone-chilling winter mornings, freezing off my considerable backside. Joining me in this harebrained endeavor were numerous fellow softball zealots, all hoping to secure a treasured spot in one of Kenosha's City leagues.

We would stand in line, shuffling from one foot to the other, pretending not to be cold. We made small talk as we tried to figure how many teams were ahead of us. But mostly we were just shivering and feeling extremely miserable.

Around 7:30 a.m., the doors to the Rec Department would open and over 150 of us would appreciatively scramble to get into the warm building. Then we would wait some more. Depending on your place in line, you might not get to register your team until after 11 o'clock. But it was well worth it if you were able to acquire that seemingly priceless spot for your team.

If it’s any consolation, the Recreation Department finally changed their antiquated registration system, adapting a method that yours truly proposed. Rather than doing the first-come first-served routine, teams that played the year before had a designated date when they could register. After that, any openings that resulted from teams not returning were made available using the old process.

Ironically, while the Recreation Department had ultimately pulled their head out of the sand and updated their system, it no longer really matters. Along with the Golden Age of Kenosha softball, the demand for a spot to play is long gone.

A phone call to the Recreation Department reinforced this. I was informed that there are only 44 teams playing this year, thirty of which are men’s teams. The two Lincoln diamonds are the only parks used, with no games on Wednesdays.

When I mentioned to the person giving me the information that in the ‘80s there were over 250 teams registered, she responded, “There wasn’t a Rec Plex back then.” I told her maybe not, but there was the Bullpen, Bat ‘n’ Brew, Finney’s West, Furlan’s Dugout, Hooker Lake Inn, Louie’s Waterhole and Shane Rawley’s. She replied, “Oh. Well, then you have your information.”

Yes indeed, I had my information and it proved the ardent desire for Kenosha City league softball no longer exists. Too bad I am no longer managing a team. It would be so much easier to register my team over at 2717 67th Street. I wouldn’t even have to freeze off my considerable backside.

Until next time…from the booth.

My Last Turn

For the past two years I have been writing a “My Turn” column for the Kenosha News every 13 weeks. Today was my last column. Because of the brutal weather, I’m not sure if and when it will be delivered; I decided to post it here. Also, many of you simply don’t get the Kenosha News.

             Simple gestures remind us of what’s really important

Tonight No. 1 Florida State takes on No. 2 Auburn in the BCS National Championship game. I suppose this means the holidays are now officially behind us.

Hopefully everyone had a wonderful and fulfilling holiday season. Mine was special for a reason that I never expected. I never saw it coming.

The holidays and especially Christmas have never been the same since my dad passed away on Feb. 3, 2010. For me, besides the obvious, there has been something missing since then. It was something that I just couldn’t put my finger on; an intangible if you will.

That is, until this Christmas.

The Saturday before Christmas, Kenosha Softball Hall of Famer Jack Zimmerman came bearing gifts. Along with a large poinsettia and a huge gift basket from Tenuta’s, he also brought a dozen red roses for my mother. Zim has always been a charmer and evidently has a little Eddie Haskell in him. And he wasn’t done. The best was yet to come.

As unexpected and gracious as those presents were, Zim blew me away with one final act of kindness. As he reached into his pocket, he told me that he checked with his mother and received her blessing. He then handed me an old baseball that had the following inscription: 

“6-30-1961 — Roosevelt Road 23 Kwik Kafe 0 No Hit, No Run Game Pitched By Jack Zimmerman”

Zim told me that he wanted me to have this treasured little league memento of his because of what I had done for him. He told me how important I had become in his life. Moved by this heartfelt gesture, I wiped away the tears that were streaming down my cheek long enough to ask if he would sign the ball.

After Zim left three hours later, it hit me. I finally knew what had been missing from Christmas for me since Dad passed away. It was a gift that I didn’t ask for or even need. Yet it touched my heart dearly.

That’s what my dad was all about. Whenever you asked him what he wanted for his birthday or for Christmas, you always got the same answer — “I don’t need anything.” Until Zim’s unselfish deed, I never quite understood what he meant. Now I do. You really don’t need “things.”

My dad was the greatest man I ever knew. He bravely served our country in World War II from age 19 to 21. People like him are the reason his generation is referred to as “The Greatest Generation.” He never intended to be a hero, but he was. And the most important thing to him was his faith. It was always the most important thing in his life. I so dearly miss praying with him in the morning. That is why I keep his rosary next to my bed.

If Dad wasn’t touching you with his actions, he was doing it with a corny joke or that silly look that he inherited from his pop, my Grandpa ’Noni. Dad had an exceptional ability to express his love without uttering a single word. You just knew he loved you. It was a wonderful thing.

I started this column by mentioning a football game. Years ago, Dad would often tell me to calm down when I would start hollering and stressing out while watching a Packers game. He would tell me that it’s not worth getting sick over, and that it’s only a game. Was he kidding?

At the time, I couldn’t grasp his lack of passion. After all, it was the Green Bay Packers! I knew Dad loved the Pack just like I did; he brought me up watching them. I just didn’t get why he never seemed to get as upset when they lost as I did. Well, now I finally do. Dad, after all these years, I now understand there are other things much more important in life.

Yes, the holidays are finally over. Jack Zimmerman’s no-hit little league ball is now in a protective ball cube on the shelf in my bedroom. And Dad’s rosary is still beside my bed. I will always cherish both of these items for different reasons. Now I get it.

                                              *  *  *  *  *
 
Until next time…from the booth.

Casting the First Stone

So when they continued asking him, he lifted up himself, and said unto them, “He that is without sin among you let him cast a stone at her.” ~ John 8:7

I don’t know about you, but I’m in no position to cast a stone at anyone. I’m not trying to pontificate or anything, it’s just not my style. I’m always afraid if I start judging others, they will return the “favor” with me, and I don’t want that. I’m no Charles Manson, but I have done things of which I am not overly proud. That’s probably true for most of us if we’re honest and don’t suffer from false moral superiority.

The reason for the biblical reference is the recent developments at St. Peter Catholic Church and the subsequent reactions. At last Saturday’s Mass, Rev. Bill Hayward from Holy Rosary read a prepared statement saying that Rev. Ireneusz Chodakowski was being replaced for three weeks. This was due to an ongoing investigation for Chodakowski’s alleged “lack of good judgment” regarding use of social media, namely Facebook.

On Wednesday of this week, the Kenosha News ran a front-page article by Bill Guida that was titled, “St. Peter priest removed amid investigation.” The article explained that an anonymous parishioner told the paper about the purported situation with Chodakowski. Imagine that, anonymous. The nameless informant’s account was chock full of the words allegedly and apparently.

Kenosha News Photo by Sean Krajacic

So, based on this unidentified person’s allegations, the Kenosha News ran a front-page column, complete with a photo. Please don’t think that I’m singling out the local print media. I’m not. The Milwaukee TV stations swooped in for the kill as well. TMJ4 even had the smarmy Jonah Kaplan sticking his microphone in parishioner’s faces as they exited Mass last week looking for their reactions. I have always felt this was a classless move.

Of course this “story” set off a firestorm of controversy. The blue-haired old ladies, that don’t know Facebook from Redbook, raced to their phones to spread their viewpoints. The haters of organized religion, particularly the Catholic faith, had new ammo for their guns. The vitriol and venom was flying because of what an anonymous parishioner perceived as some inappropriate photographs on Facebook.

Before I go on, I need to say something.

COME ON!

Give me a break. If alleged impropriety on a Facebook account was a crime, 75% of the people using it should be arrested. At the top of that list would be the fools that allow their 12-year old children to have an account on Facebook.

Again, COME ON!

Okay, back to my original diatribe.

The Kenosha News ran another front-page story on Father Chodakowski this morning. This piece is again authored by Bill Guida and comes after three days of nasty accusations and numerous judgments. The new column is titled, “Police probe clears priest.”

Nice.

The first paragraph reads, “The pastor of St. Peter Catholic Church, 2224 30th Ave. – removed late last week amid allegations of impropriety with social media – was cleared Friday by Kenosha Police Department investigators of engaging in criminal activity.”

The article went on to say that Kenosha Police Department, Captain Eric Larsen said detectives, working with Wisconsin Department of Criminal Investigation investigators and conferring with the Kenosha County District Attorney’s office, determined that no crime occurred.

Again, nice.

Like I posted in Facebook earlier, I wonder if all the people that were “spreading the word” regarding the allegations of Father Chodakowski’s misuse of social media read this morning’s paper. I sure hope that they are just as eager to let everyone know how the investigation turned out. But I’ll bet not. Unfortunately, it doesn’t matter. The damage is done.

I better stop here, lest I start judging others. My only advice is, regardless of your personal feelings or beliefs, get the whole story and do some critical thinking before rushing to judgment. People can get hurt when stones are cast.

Until next time…from the booth.

What’s Wrong With This Picture?

Take a good look at the picture directly above. Bill Siel of the Kenosha News took it and it appeared in this past Wednesday’s paper. It shows Bradford players walking to football practice past a sign commemorating last year’s WIAA Division-1 state championship team. It lists Bradford’s sixteen conference championships, as well as their nine playoff performances. The school on the north side of town is obviously quite proud of their accomplishments and deservedly so.

So, what’s wrong with this picture?

The quote in the middle of the sign – “The more we sweat in peace, the less we bleed in war” immediately jumped out at me when I saw the photo. I read it several times to make sure I wasn’t mistaken.

After making sure I had read it correctly, I shook my head and said, “Wow.”

The genesis of the quote is from a Chines proverb. I have seen it credited to both Sun Tzu and Vijaya Lakshmi Pandit. Whichever of the two gets the credit; it is usually associated with a war. A real war. Like World War II, Korea, Viet Nam or Afghanistan.

Not high school football.

Evidently, someone from Bradford thought differently and felt it was appropriate to use it to inspire teenage boys playing football after school.

I carefully read the article by Mike Larsen that accompanied the picture to see if the words “soldier”, “warriors” or “battle” showed up in it. They did not.

First year head coach, Jim Camerota, showed little, if any, braggadocio and was somewhat cautious in his comments. Quotes like, “We’re going to work as hard as we can and accomplish as much as we can” and “We’ve got some shorter and intermediate goals we have to accomplish playing some of the tougher teams along the way” was about as bold as Camerota got in the write-up.

Whoever is responsible for plastering that quote across that otherwise wonderful sign should be ashamed. Equating preparation for war to football practice isn’t my idea of incentive. Not only is it a poor concept for motivation, it sends the wrong message to those kids.

Even worse, it does a great injustice to the young men and women who actually serve and protect our great country. The ones in a real war.

I spoke to a good friend of mine about what he thought about this. He was even more vehement about how wrong this message was. His son played football at Bradford.

He also served in Iraq.

I have watched a football game with my friend while his son played. We laughed, joked around and cheered for his son and the Bradford team. It was a good time.

It wasn’t such a good time when his boy was over in Iraq. There was very little laughing or joking and absolutely no cheering. When I would ask how his son was doing, it was usually “Okay” or “Not bad”, followed by, “I wish they would end that fucking war.”

I never once heard my friend wish they would end one of his son’s football games.

This soldier must not have sweat enough in peace.

I have to say it again. Whoever at Bradford is responsible for that quote being on that sign should be ashamed. It’s stuff like this that evolves into NFL coaches awarding bullets to players for big hits and putting up bounties as inspiration to injure their opponents.

Maybe I have lost my mythological Neanderthal gene, because that garbage does nothing for me anymore. And I’m glad it doesn’t.

A decorated veteran of World II, a man who has my everlasting respect, once told me something I will never forget. He told me that the people who talk about war all the time never fought in one. Thanks, Dad. I get it.

Until next time…from the booth.

C’mon! Really?

On page C3 of the Sunday morning edition of the Kenosha News there was a brief article titled “Ten teams alive at Rotary”. Something in the third paragraph immediately jumped out at me. Take a look and see if you can see what caught my eye. It was blatantly obvious to me.

DLB plays Coins/Jay Bee Auto in the semifinal 12:30 p.m. today at Lincoln No. 1. The winner advances to the championship round of the double-elimination tournament. The loser moves to the non-winners bracket and will need a victory to force a rematch in the title round.

Non-winners bracket. C’mon! Really?

I went back and read the entire article again. And again. And a fourth time. There it was – non-winners bracket. Not once, but twice. Non-winners bracket.

During roughly 20 years of softball, I was involved in close to 300 tournaments. Either I was managing the 400 Club in one or I was helping Sam “Finney” Perry and Leon Rosko run one at historic Finney’s West. Never once did I see or hear the phrase non-winners bracket.

Non-winners bracket. C’mon! Really?

People, it’s called the losers’ bracket. LOSERS’ BRACKET! Not the non-winners bracket. I must have drawn up over 200 bracket boards in my life and never once did I write the phrase non-winners bracket on one of those boards. Not once. It was always the losers’ bracket.

My 400 Club team played in tournaments all over southeastern Wisconsin. Not once in Kenosha, Racine, Salem, Kansasville, Whitewater, Elkhorn, Menomonee Falls or Milwaukee did we ever play in the non-winners bracket. Not once.

Over the years, we also played in Illinois and Minnesota. Each time we lost in one of those tournaments, we went into the losers’ bracket. It seemed appropriate enough. You lose, you go into the losers’ bracket. Not the non-winners bracket.

Non-winners bracket. C’mon! Really?

Here’s a blank 16-team double-elimination tournament bracket. Nowhere on it will you see the phrase non-winners bracket.

While the print is rather small, you may have noticed the phrase losers’ bracket. It’s on there, smack dab in the middle. Along with the word loser. In fact, the word loser is on there 33 times. That’s what happens when you don’t win. You lose. At least that’s what I thought until I read that article in the Kenosha News.

Now, evidently, when you do not win, you are declared to be a non-winner. As far as I can tell, based on the article, that’s what happens in the Rotary tournament now. Apparently, these are kinder, gentler times and feelings must be spared. We now have the non-winners bracket.

Non-winners bracket. C’mon! Really?

What’s next? It’s kind of unpleasant for an umpire to shout, “You’re out!” on a bang-bang play. The base runner might take it personally and require counseling. “You are non-safe” would be more suitable.

Not to offend pitchers, from now on, umpires should refer to balls as “non-strikes”. After all, the guys on the mound are sensitive and have feelings too.

Keeping in the spirit of things, perhaps the Kenosha News could change the name of its Sunday feature, Laurels and Darts. A dart is pointy and can hurt. I can see it now – “Laurels and Non-Laurels”. Much less hostile, don’t you think?

In all fairness, I’m not sure if it’s the Rotary Club that has coined the non-winner phrase or if the Kenosha News staff simply took it upon itself to be positive and upbeat. All I know is that before this morning I never saw the phrase non-winner.

Regardless of who came up with it, I think that from now on, the Rotary Club and the Kenosha News should co-sponsor orange slices for everyone playing in the tournament.

That’s right. Beginning next year, whether you’re a winner or a non-winner, all players at the end of a game would receive a sweet slice of orange. That way no one will have his or her feelings hurt.

Non-winners bracket. C’mon! Really?

Until next time…from the booth.