Rabble-rousing.

Ah yes, grumbling for change. The “rabble rabble” is one of my favorite things I’ve ever seen on South Park. It is so unbelievably accurate to real life, I can’t help but shake my head and chortle (Yes, I said chortle). It’s always fun to see people getting their panties in a bundle without any legitimate expression. (Did someone say Tea Party? Oh.)

People rabble-rabble in new ways as technology evolves, namely on 24-hour TV news outlets and of course, the internet. Sometimes they really do come together to say something that someone or some entity has to take heed of.

Here’s an incredibly recent example. Basically (if you only skimmed or are refusing to click the link), the Gap (the US clothes retailer known for its catchy commercial ad campaigns and wide array of khakis), attempted to change its logo but had to completely scrap the idea just one week after introducing it to the public. Why? Rabble-rousing online! More than 2,000 angry comments were plastered on the Gap’s Facebook page, with many commenters outright demanding the old logo be reinstated.

I mean it is pretty lame.

In a statement released on the Gap’s website, Marka Hansen, president of Gap Brand North America, said “We’ve been listening to and watching all of the comments this past week. We heard them say over and over again they are passionate about our blue box logo, and they want it back … So we’ve made the decision to do just that – we will bring it back across all channels.”

Best line in that posted statement – The Gap “missed the opportunity to engage with the online community”.

Clearly!

The “online community”, what a very “now” term. But I have a bone to pick with said community. So yes, I think a lot of rabble-rousing and rabble-rabblers are full of horse shi… hot air, but I do think it’s phenomenal how stories can be called to the forefront of our every day lives if enough attention is paid or I suppose, if enough noise is made. The Gap’s logo drama is a perfect example of this, but I knew of a story in August that I thought for sure would have been completely torn apart online and eventually in the newsrooms that is only being addressed now.

Changing gears a bit, but this is where I read how much of a creep Brett Favre is.

Hey.. that's not your wife.. although she looks a lot like her..

This Favre-sent-naughty-text-photos story was posted on Deadspin (not a reputable news source per say, but certainly a high traffic site) in August, and yet this story is really only breaking to the public now. August to October is a lifetime when it comes to news. We forget about stories in mere days (something happened in Haiti?). I’m at a loss for how no one or no collective of online rabble-rousers capitalized or publicized a controversy like this. Maybe it’s just me, but it’s strange that no one was talking about Favre’s skeevy texts to a Jets-affiliated woman (Favre is married, remember) after all of Tiger Woods’s drama, but the Gap logo change is a call to arms.

Favre must have some magical PR workers. Or something. I don’t know. Rabble, rabble, rabble.

I can make a mess like nobody’s business.

intense.

On June 28, I signed up for NYC’s portion of the Merrell Down & Dirty Mud Run, an off-road mud run series with races across the country. At the time, October 3 (the date of the run) felt like a lifetime away. Sitting here on September 29 feels a little differently.

I had the option of choosing the 5K or the 10K course, and not being one to take the easy (perceived or otherwise) route for anything, I immediately chose 10K. Facebook confirms this, as my friends and I created an event in order to invite anyone we knew with an ounce of athleticism and/or an affinity for ruining clothing.

(June 28 at 11:58pm) Cait Knoll: 10K. BOOM.

From the official Mud Run site, the run is promised to include “Military-style Obstacles, Commanding cargo climbs, Wild water crossings, a post-race BBQ and awesome Tech Tee, and Mud, Mud and MORE MUD!”

mud butt.. similar to swamp ass

I’m wildly excited for this, and yet severely nervous. Running terrifies me because I can’t conquer it. While the calisthenics portion of this event will be right in my wheelhouse (refer to my liking to do push-ups until my arms go to mush), running has always been a thorny activity in my world.  Sprints? No problem. Getting my brain and breathing in the right place for 6+ miles? Yikes.

One of my favorite things about this whole event was finding out who in my life thinks the mud run sounds like an incredible time, as well as who “would literally rather do anything else in the world but that,” as one of my acquaintances so delicately put it.

she looks... happy.

At any rate, this endeavor is a real challenge, and I’m very much looking forward to testing myself, my body, and my willpower.

I am also looking forward to the BBQ.

Fading nostalgia for the near-recent past.

glorious.

I was able to trek back to Happy Valley this past weekend to tailgate,  catch a Penn State football game, and roar through some of my favorite local watering holes. A group of my friends and I were all able to finagle trains, planes and automobiles to get ourselves into town together for the first time in quite a while. It had been almost a year since I’d been to State College, and on my (alarmingly unsafe) return bus trip to NYC, I realized something personally shocking – State College doesn’t feel like home anymore.

I fell in love with State College in my second year of living there. I returned to my hometown of Pittsburgh only the summer after my freshman year. After that summer I moved myself permanently to Centre County. Without hesitation I can say I love Pittsburgh, but it’s a different kind of love, a familial kind almost. I was born and raised there, my family is still very much rooted there, and just driving through the city and surrounding suburbs is akin to putting on a favorite raggedy sweatshirt. Pittsburgh has always been a constant; State College was the first place I could call my own.

"united" doesn't do it justice.

The sports, the intensity, the sweeping willingness to always have a good time – those are only a few elements that make up my love for State College. In leaving my childhood home, I found a town in which I became me. Happy Valley embraced me, skidded my knee (in reality, tore my ACL, but that’s a story for a different time), built up my wind chill tolerance, and alternately forced me to sweat out thoughts and dreams over long, hazy summers.

During my PSU trip a year ago, my heart swelled to near burst when I stepped foot in downtown State College. I saw gaggles of friends and stayed on the couches of people who hadn’t yet graduated or moved on. It felt natural, it felt right. My trip this past weekend was altogether different – there were no impromptu reunions and no couches were available, as my friends finally did graduate and move on. I felt like a visitor; an alumni, not a resident.

Returning to NYC on Sunday night, I was simply excited. I’m not sure it felt like coming home, but it felt right all the same. I fell in and out of love with a small town in Pennsylvania, and now I’m flirting and dancing with a big city. There’s so much to learn, to try, to taste, to dig into, and I’m blown away by the prospect of it all.

hell of a view.

Refusing to go gently.

I’m sitting in my office, and sweat is running streams down my body. I’m trying not to move, but I can feel it trickling down my spine, semi-puddling under my forearms. Gross.

Sweating isn’t really my issue – it’s more of an overall sense of discontentment. I’ve hit a wall, and I despise this feeling, the feeling of burnout. I’m not sure where I read this so I can’t accredit the quote, but here’s the line: “Burnout is like a candle that once glowed brightly, began to flicker, and eventually extinguished.”

Word.

Burnout happens very notably to athletes (from tiny, overworked 11-year-old gymnasts to Hall of Fame-caliber ballplayers), but clearly burnout isn’t relegated only to the athletic arena. I think it’s particularly interesting that a kind of scale exists for measuring burnout (Maslach Burnout Inventory), as I’m not sure how you can quantify something so subjective. At any rate, the Maslach Burnout Inventory weighs the effects of emotional exhaustion and reduced sense of personal accomplishment based on ‘exhaustion’, ‘cynicism’, and ‘inefficacy’. Blah blah scientific terminology blah, but clearly people have been trying to get a handle on the mysterious, amorphous burnout for decades.

Why do we drift into apathy? How does it happen? When do people reach the point where their life force feels completely depleted?

For athletes, although it is not cut and dry, burnout is often more directly linked to physical exhaustion and whether the athlete is involved in a sport out of willingness or a feeling of entrapment. No surprise that athletes who feel like they have to be involved in a sport generally burnout quicker and/or more often than those who want to be involved.

Obligation versus choice. Maybe it’s a little more cut and dry than I first thought. I love a good fight, a tough assignment, a seemingly immovable object – but I want to willingly go after these things.

I think my favorite term I’ve come across in researching burnout is ‘flow’.  The opposite of apathy is flow. According to the world’s most respected online reference Wikipedia, “flow is completely focused motivation. It is a single-minded immersion and represents perhaps the ultimate in harnessing the emotions in the service of performing and learning. In flow the emotions are not just contained and channeled, but positive, energized, and aligned with the task at hand. To be caught in the ennui of depression or the agitation of anxiety is to be barred from flow. The hallmark of flow is a feeling of spontaneous joy, even rapture, while performing a task.” (Tip of the cap to whoever penned that entry, actually. )

Seriously. Never.

Flow is what I’m striving toward, what I yearn for. To hell with burnout. Get away from my candle.


Put me in, coach.

I thought it fitting to provide the world with ABC/ESPN’s Joe Paterno montage from 2008, as College Football slams back into action this weekend. JoePa has become not only synonymous with the Pennsylvania State University, but with College Football as well.  Paterno has held his position at PSU since 1966,  and in that time he has acquired the record for the most victories by an FBS football coach and has more bowl game victories than any other coach in collegiate football history. His numbers will certainly live on in dusty record books (or on dusty hard drives, I suppose), but it is his demeanor and his spirit that cannot be contained by simple statistics.

The best coaches are like that. They have the it factor, the ineffable thing that makes young men and women willing to follow and be shaped. How do we describe the ‘best’ coaches? Do we measure them by their records, or their effect on those who passed under them? Of course it is both when coaches are considered in historical perspective, but the true effect they imprint on the lives of men and women, from grasshopper soccer league to elite level competition, is where their greatness (or the genius) lies.

Here are two other examples:

PAT SUMMITT

She was offered the Tennessee men's head coaching job but turned it down, saying it would be a 'lateral move'. God, I love this woman.

Pat Summitt is currently the Tennessee Lady Vols Women’s Basketball head coach. Summitt is the all-time winningest coach in NCAA basketball history, men or women in any division. She is also one of only three collegiate coaches with 1,000 victories.

“She taught me that it’s OK to let down your guard and allow your players to get to know you. They don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care.” – Pat Summitt

JOHN WOODEN

RIP

John Wooden (1910-2010), was the first person ever to be enshrined in the Basketball Hall of Fame as both a player and a coach. While at the helm at UCLA, he led the Bruins to 10 national championships in 12 seasons – a feat unmatched by any other college basketball coach.

“The main ingredient of stardom is the rest of the team.” – John Wooden

—-

Coaches drum up the sometimes-dormant passion in all of us. They can coax out the last inch, the last breath – down to the last bead of sweat – athletes have within themselves. But I think a coach’s reach extends beyond the lines, out of the locker room and sweat-stinking weight rooms into the stands, the TV sets and, most importantly, the hearts and souls of the fans, who stand behind their leaders with as much vigor as any competitor.

Hurts so good.

I certainly hope so.

I woke up today with what felt like two grapefruit-sized knots in my back, sitting betwixt my shoulder blades (otherwise known as the trapezius muscles, for you kinesiology/anatomy nerds). This in and of itself isn’t strange. The strange thing is that I liked it.

Though I wrote about cracking a ball on the sweet spot of a bat, and though I was sore this morning from old school gymnastics exercises I foolishly decided to try, I no longer consider myself an athlete. I exist on the periphery of that world nowadays with what I’d call ‘athletic tendencies’, but I still think it’s incredibly interesting to consider how athletes vs. non-athletes view pain.

These are personal musings; I’m not backing this up with research studies or what have you, but here’s my perspective. From my experiences on and off the field, I have found that a large number of athletes (present and former) seek out and subsequently thrive on pain of some kind. Or at least they willingly accept that pain is a necessary constant in their lives. It’s just something else to battle through. Let’s take a look at some quotes you’re likely to find on the walls of locker rooms across the country:

“Pain is nothing compared to what it feels like to quit. ”

“Pain is temporary, pride is forever.”

“Suffer now and live the rest of your life a champion.”

Does the end justify the pain? Does the end even matter? I’m not sure it does. There is indeed a goal, but the process is what counts. The fight, the grind – the fact that it sucked and you still persevered – that is what athletes thrive on. I know I do.

This is not to say that all athletes feel this way, and I’m not lumping every human who didn’t happen to play an organized sport into one clump either. There is just a gap between the psyche of athletes and non-athletes when it comes to facing pain. Sometimes I think pain is taken too lightly in the athletic arena – there is generally a reason you feel pain, pain is there to tell you something, like maybe stop, you just tore your ACL. There are so many moments in sports history where an athlete has pushed through a legitimate injury just to finish, just to say that he or she did it. Therein lies the glory, and the feeling of being a champion.

Who could forget this... or hearing her voice for the first time.

All I know is I can’t shake the feeling that if I go home and do push-ups until my arms collapse, I’m going to enjoy every second of it.

The Sweet Spot

Legitimately me. Boom.

Nothing feels better than connecting with a pitch on the sweet spot of your bat. If you haven’t experienced it, I suggest you find your nearest batting cage and get to swingin’.

Hitting the sweet spot feels delicious – it’s almost indescribable. I think there are similar ‘sweet spots’ in life, but they certainly don’t appear or take place every day.

Today is a special day, though, because I have a fat pitch coming right down the pipe (in the form of a job I legitimately can’t wait to take part in), and I’m swinging away. The moment I step onto the set (where said gig is taking place), I know that satisfying feeling  I’ve been longing for will drape itself around me – the feeling of connecting with something in stride, at just the right moment, in just the right place.

I can’t wait.

I solemnly swear that I’m up to no good.

High five.

Roger Clemens. Where to start? I’m not a fan… I’ll just get that out of the way now.

Seven Cy Young Awards is one hell of an accomplishment in a career, but Clemens may have had some help along the way in the form of steroids and/or HGH. But that’s not what got him in the hot seat.

As the picture above depicts, Clemens swore to tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth, but a federal grand jury indicted Clemens yesterday for allegedly lying to Congress about his use of illegal performance-enhancing drugs.

In legal-ese, Clemens was charged with one count of obstruction of Congress, three counts of making false statements, and two counts of perjury – this coming from his sworn 2008 testimony in front of a House committee investigating steroid use in the MLB. The Rocket could legitimately face 15 to 21 months in prison if convicted. The maximum sentence would be 30 years and a $1.5 million fine.

Yikes. Might want to rethink that whole “Let me be clear, I have never taken steroids or HGH’’ statement. Especially since Clemens popped up in the now-infamous 2007 Mitchell Report calling out more than 80 professional ball players for testing positive for steroid use . Can you really continue to vehemently deny your (alleged) illegal behavior if drug testing proves you were in the wrong? The Rocket thinks he can.

In response to the indictment, Clemens took to the most respected news source there is – Twitter. “I never took HGH or steroids. And I never lied to Congress,’’ Clemens tweeted. “I look forward to challenging the government’s accusations, and hope people will keep an open mind until trial. I appreciate all the support I have been getting. I am happy to finally have my day in court. Rocket.’’

I, for one, can’t wait for his day in court either. I have an unflinchingly rigid stance on steroid use and users, and that is one of zero tolerance and/or compassion. The entire steroid era (including the most recent Barry Bonds debacle) has besmirched the sport of baseball, and that pains me to my core. Baseball is America’s sport (or so I’m told), but no matter what you call it, baseball is unifying, it’s ours, and it’s been casually pissed on by guys who thought they couldn’t progress, win, or whatever – without juicing.

The argument that ‘steroids were not illegal during this period of baseball’ is absurd and cheap.

I want the days of Roberto Clemente, a guy who would do all he physically could (to the point of shocking opposing infielders) just to beat out a slow grounder.

Instead, we get this:

I mean, I guess Barry kind of used to look like Clemente?

He ate a Backstreet Boy before the pic on the right was taken.

I can joke about this to a point, but I truly hope Clemens gets what’s coming to him, whatever that may be.

BREAKING PREDICTABLE NEWS – Brett Favre will return. Again.

Remember this?

Wah.

That was back on March 4, 2008, when Brett Favre announced he was retiring from the great American sport of football.  He was ending on a high note, with years of QB success to his name, and a fan following that spanned the country, not just the state of Wisconsin.

Look at that mean mug!

Young and hungry!

This is now…

Whoa... greybeard.

I’m tired of Favre taking up news space. The announcement of his return for the 2010 season is underwhelming at best. I’m not trying to take away from the fact that Favre actually had an incredible season last year with the Vikings (only to throw a costly interception in the final minutes of the NFC Championship game against the eventual Super Bowl Champion-New Orleans Saints). He had a laughable season in 2008 with the Jets, and leading the Vikes to and almost through the playoffs last year was a great turnaround – and what some thought would be the perfect opportunity for his exit.

It would have been a prime bow out opportunity, but Favre thinks he owes it to the Vikings to give it another go. Heavy, audible sigh. Haven’t we heard this before? Haven’t we heard this more than once?

We have. I just hope we don’t hear it again next year.