Steph and SmartLess: Endlessly Fascinating

Always eager for a new show or bio-pic, I decided to take on Jeffrey Epstein: Filthy Rich. I thought I should know the back story. This mini-series released on Netflix in 2020, offered testimonies from survivors—revealing the manipulation, abuse and emotional scars suffered at the hands of Jeffrey Epstein and Ghislaine Maxwell. The stories expose a sex trafficking ring of powerful enablers leading up to his 2019 arrest. I started to watch the first episode: Hunting Grounds and I felt supremely uncomfortable.  The longer I watched the sadder and angrier I felt. I asked myself how much more I could stomach. And then I asked: Should I?  It's important not to be naive; I believe it's good to know how and why evil works, but I couldn't bare to spend three hours and 47 minutes focusing on the anti-hero. And I wasn't able to change my mind.

They say "we are what we eat." Fruits, vegetables, a diet high in fiber and rich in nutrients are good for our comprehensive health and well-being. Our intake of media just isn't that different. While some might find it hard to turn away from Epstein's story—in the sense it's just so bad it's good...even though it's not good. I said "enough." I wasn't going to waste my time. I haven't looked back.

If there were any doubt about this decision however, here's a counterpoint: The podcast Smartless featuring Stephen Curry. Shared with me on Thanksgiving Day by my dear friend Jimmy—a long time Celtics fan, recent Nuggets fan and certifiable Steph fan, I have listened to it three times. Not once, not twice...yes, thrice. It's that good

For those not familiar with its format, "SmartLess," hosted by Jason Bateman, Sean Hayes, and Will Arnett, it "is a podcast that connects and unites people from all walks of life to learn about shared experiences through thoughtful dialogue and organic hilarity. A nice surprise: in each episode of SmartLess, one of the hosts reveals his mystery guest to the other two. What ensues is a genuinely improvised and authentic conversation filled with laughter and newfound knowledge to feed the SmartLess mind." Securing Stephen Curry was a big get. The session description said, "It’s all-net this week: sleep secrets, tall guys, and maybe even a BLT on white bread. You need not worry… we’ve got Stephen Curry." Indeed: Nothing But Net.

I found myself eager to talk to anyone I could about the show and about Steph. The two words I used to describe him are: endlessly fascinating—in the best way possible. 

The into says it all: He is equally successful in personal accomplishments as he is in teamwork. He is as rich as he is philanthropic. He is as famous as he is soft-spoken. This man was the first to have been voted MVP unanimously in NBA history. He has nine NBA All-Star selections. He had four NBA championships. He is the first player to hit 100 3-pointers in the NBA finals. He is widely regarded as the best shooter in NBA history and he's not a bad golfer, either. Wardell Stephen Curry

What a life! If it's not plays to a +2 in golf, it's winning the American Century Classic Celebrity Tourney in Tahoe on the same day he had a hole in one. Who does that??!  When asked if there's a sport he is not good at, Steph admits, "maybe lacrosse. I picked up a stick once." His tennis game however is solid. Pickle ball? He's even stronger. He believes he is playing better basketball now, at the age of 35, than he ever has. Listening to his stories, learning more about his family, career and approach to athletics is supremely up lifting. He laughs a lot—at himself and with others. No wonder he led the Dubs' Silly Fines Kitty.

Stephen Curry should be the subject of a podcast. He has a healthy perspective about his upbringing, is honest about the demands of his career and that he gets the best sleep on the road. Thanks to Steph, I found an appreciation for the NBA in-season tournament that started this year. He loves it—I had no idea! While I regret looking up the worst fight he ever got into (shown on YouTube....it's just so much better to leave it to your imagination), I appreciate the swing thought/what he seeks to maintain for the perfect shot...in basketball and in golf: balance!

I could go on and on and on...and I'd be happy to do that in a conversation with you, but I'll let Stephen, Jason, Sean and Will do that instead. Give this a listen. You'll be uplifted. Your cortisol levels will decrease, your serotonin and dopamine levels will rise and if you're like me, you might begin to wonder and imagine how you too, can be endlessly fascinating.. in the best way possible.

Photo Credits
SmartLess
Steph
Golf

A Case for Kangaroo Court

Reading and writing about the Golden State Warriors "Silly Fines Committee" got me thinking. It's time for the faculty and staff of Saint Ignatius College Prep (and many other high schools for that matter) to implement our own. We need to laugh and laugh at ourselves. I truly believe humor is an important ingredient for creating community and boosting morale. Believe you me, I take myself as a teacher too seriously. Yet great teaching is both an art and a science, and both demand quite a bit, especially laughter. All the more reason for self deprecation, embracing our humanity, celebrating our falls and foibles. 

At last year's faculty retreat, I shared a Doppleganger slide show. My colleagues and I loved it. We talked about the dead ringers, indirect matches, and quirky connections for weeks. What some people came up with was surprising. Among others, it was a stretch to see the similarity!  Quite a few were nothing short of hilarious. I stared thinking about what we could do this year and the Dubs' came to mind. I realized the only way this comes to fruition is from the buy in, support and participation from a colleague or two. There's no way I could do this alone.

I turned to my co-worker—a veteran teacher, a man with an outstanding sense of humor who others trust and revere and shared the idea. "Ah Kangaroo Court" he cried. He added, "I love it. We could never do it--are you kidding me? People have thin skin today? I'm sure I would lose my job."

He wouldn't, but he's right—a thick skin is rare these days. And that's a shame. Here's why

For those unfamiliar with the term, Kangaroo court an unofficial court held by a group of people in order to try someone regarded, especially without good evidence, as guilty of a crime or misdemeanor. It's best when it organically grows from within a community, self regulates and is an equal opportunity offender. Similar to the "silly fines committee" people are assessed a penalty based on the degree of misconduct. And, by misconduct the court calls out an act that elicits an eye roll, points to a person's shortcomings in a silly way, and speaks the truth about who we are good, bad or otherwise. Fines are arbitrary and that is part of the fun.

Kangaroo Court in its many iterations and is not uncommon among sports teams. It's not surprising to me that those communities come together in this way or that we hear their stories. But "Intangibles: Unlocking the Science and Soul of Team Chemistry

" shares how something like Kangaroo Court can help new comers and outsiders feel included—not excluded. Joan Ryan writes,

“Kevin Mitchell (“ Mitch”) was not your average American ballplayer.” He spent five uneven, sometimes tumultuous years in the minors before landing in the big leagues during the Mets’ run to the 1986 World Series. Mets star Gary Carter nicknamed him “World” because he could play six different positions. Mitch had never felt anything like the joy and love in the clubhouse the night the Mets beat the Red Sox in Game 7. He and his teammates wrapped their arms around each other like brothers. He thought he’d be with them forever. A couple of months later, however, he was traded to the Padres. And then to the Giants.”

Mitch’s head still churned with plans to quit baseball when he arrived at the visitors’ clubhouse at Wrigley Field. He watched his Padres teammates throw their arms around Giants players they knew from previous teams. Mitch knew no one. He didn’t want to be there in any case. As Mitch hunted for his locker, Craig summoned the new player into his office. Of course, Mitch thought. The manager had just lost his All-Star third baseman for a twice-traded reject with a bad rep. Not wasting any time to grill me. Craig rose from his desk and grasped Mitch’s hand with his big paw.

“Glad you’re here,” the manager said. “I know you can play the game. That’s why we got you. Just go out there and play and have fun. Enjoy what we got going on here. We got us a great bunch of guys.” 

Mitch emerged to find Krukow waiting for him. “Glad I don’t have to see your mug at the plate anymore,” Kruke said, smiling. Mitch undressed and pulled his new Giants jersey off the hanger. No name on the back. He looked over at Dravecky and Lefferts. Their jerseys had their names. See? he thought. I don’t matter. 

One day, after the team returned to San Francisco, Mitchell noticed Krukow and other veterans shooing reporters out of the clubhouse. “Kangaroo court!” someone yelled. Players pulled their stools together to face a panel of judges that included Krukow. Bob Brenly served as the keeper of the infractions book, in which any player could register charges”against any other player—or coach, clubbie, or trainer. Back then, most teams had kangaroo courts. In some clubhouses, judges wore mops as wigs like clownish barristers. The best courts were both hilarious and merciless. It was open season on complainers, who drew the most outrageous charges and biggest fines. The message was clear: either stop whining or continue to be mocked and fined. 

Brenly opened the notebook and began reading the charges. No court could operate without Jesters, and Brenly and Krukow were among the funniest in baseball. 

A player might get fined simply for not getting fined in the previous court. Mitch watched from the back of the clubhouse and found himself giggling despite understanding almost none of the inside jokes. Then he heard his name. He’d been with the team barely a week. How could he have landed in the book already? Brenly read off the infractions: 

• No name on his jersey. 
• Showing off by hitting two home runs in his first game as a Giant.
• Having a bulletproof tooth. 
• Putting fourteen animals on the endangered-species list with one outfit.

Mitch laughed harder with each charge until he was stomping his feet. “We buried him,” Krukow recalled later, “and he loved it.”

It worked because someone took notice and wrote it down/passed it on. Someone paid attention to details—quirky, unique, personal and real of teammates new and old. All were subject to the friendly fire and the mystery fines associated with it. The result? Community. Identity. Understanding. Humanity.

I'm still working on what a faculty Kangaroo Court will look like. If you have one that works in your community in this day and age, please share. The in meantime, just enjoy thinking of what you can charge others...and what might get you convicted.

Photo Credits
Kangaroo Court
Kevin Mitchell
Giants Dugout

— Intangibles: Unlocking the Science and Soul of Team Chemistry by Joan Ryan

Icon, Legend and a Land Line: Remembering Leo LaRocca

The world bid farewell to a living legend, a icon of the St. Ignatius community—Leo LaRocca '53. The black and white photo posted front and center of a tribute email from SI President, Father Eddie Reese says it all. Sitting with a phone in hand—a secure land line if you will—Leo gifted SI with his presence and the ability to "make things happen." This sentiment is confirmed in Spiritus Magis—a chronicle of the first 150 years of St. Ignatius College Preparatory.

Paul Totah writes,

Leo La Rocca, who served as SI’s Athletic Director for 34 years, first came to SI as a teacher in 1965 and quickly became known as “The Godfather.” It’s not just because this towering man’s grandparents came from Sicily. Leo is the least threatening man you could meet. He was, however, the man to go to if you wanted a favor done. He gained a reputation as someone who could provide help with just one phone call, whether it was finding a donor for a scholarship for a senior whose father had just died or finding a job around campus for a freshman who had a hard time fitting in.

Although I never officially worked with Leo—I came to SI two year after he retired—I got to know him because of that gift of presence. He never missed the end of the year coaching banquets at the House of Prime Rib. Why should he? He hired so many of the men and women in that room. He attended his granddaughter's regattas at Lake Merced and did not fail to greet me: "Good morning Coach." I loved that he was in attendance throughout the winter break basketball tourney named in his honor: The Leo LaRocca Sand Dune Classic. He was forever respectful in his acknowledgment of me as a teacher and coach of his alma mater. Thank you, Leo.

I will never forget sitting one row behind him for a varsity boys' basketball game. We were both watching one of my favorite high school players, #22 Paul Toboni warm up. A great shooter, I said to Leo, "as they say, practice makes perfect." He remained quiet. He nodded and said "no, perfect practice makes perfect." I took note.

I know there are many, but my favorite Leo LaRocca story took place at a crab feed on campus for faculty and staff. This San Francisco tradition was gifted to us by A. LaRocca Seaford, founded by Leo's grandparents in 1906. The crab feast took place in the faculty dining room on a Friday—because back in the day, we ended school at 1:10 p.m. TGIF! 

Teachers were sitting at tables with their bibs on tight, buckets for crab shells were out and filling up. The sourdough was plentiful and the volume in the room was getting louder by the minute. I turned to see Leo walk in. He pointed two fingers to someone on the kitchen staff and the next thing I know, a bottle of red found its way to every table. No words were exchanged. He did put some teacher/coach into a headlock hug before he sat down to eat. I felt like I was living  what I had seen in "A Bronx Tale." Amazing.

Long before John Lynch made things happen for the Niners, Leo was doing that for SI. And reading that he was the fourth AD, and SI has only had six to this day—makes me think SI:WCAL :: the Pittsburgh Steelers: NFL (they have had four head coaches). The biggest difference however is the bottom line Leo chose to meet. Spiritus Magis says.

LaRocca never judged his success by whether his teams won or lost. “Driving home after a basketball game, I couldn’t tell you the final score. I get the most satisfaction not from watching a team win, but from watching kids play as hard as they could, win or lose. Championships are nice, but it’s far more gratifying watching kids grow into men and women, have families, be happy and do well professionally. I only hope that I’ve been a little part of their success.”

I am certain the tributes to will be plentiful—Jim Dekker's citation in Genesis is a must read. In remembering Leo, celebrating his life and sharing stories, I can only hope we will reflect on Leo's legacy and model his values, dedication and service. 

I would like his family to know how grateful for what I learned from their father/ grandfather/etc from his presence and sure example. When we meet again, I expect him to point two fingers. Can we get a bottle of white the heavenly banquet? Please and thank you.

Eternal rest grant unto him oh Lord—and may perpetual light shine upon him.

Photo Credits
A. LaRocca Seafood

Did Tennyson Have It Right? Stories a la Murph and Mac and Klay Thompson

I began class today bidding farewell to my beloved sports talk show: Murph and Mac. For 18 years now, my work days starts with Brian Murphy and Paul McCaffrey on KNBR. Paulie Mac was one of two on-air personalities let go due to budget cuts. What becomes of Murph and this a.m. time slot is TBD. I love the show because it highlights local teams—Niners, Giants and Dubs. The coaches, franchise leaders, former greats and local fans call in/weigh in on the daily. I get stats, scores, recalls and recaps. But what I cherish the most, are the stories. The stories these radio hosts impart are the fuel to my fire. A good one feeds my soul. And some of them are so good I have to give them away.

Barry Lopez had it right. He wrote "If stories come to you, care for them. And learn to give them away where they are needed. Sometimes a person needs a story more than food to stay alive. That is why we put these stories in each other's memories. This is how people care for themselves." Thanks to Murph and Mac, I've received more stories than I can count. I would like for them to know—I care about them and their stories. And, more often than not, I give their stories away. I never would have thought on Monday, I got one from Murph and Mac for the last time. Here's that story.

Every morning at 7:30 a.m. I drive from Pacific Heights across town to the Outer Sunset. Back from a week off for Thanksgiving break, my morning commute flew by because Murph and Mac unpacked a story highlighting Travis Kelce's outstanding peripheral vision. 

In New York for the filming of Saturday Night Live, the Chief's tight end caught sight of the Niners running standing on a street corner. Kelce rolls down the window of his Lincoln town car to catch the attention of "C-Mac! C-Mac!" Christian McCaffrey tells the story so well. My students loved it.

As mentioned on this blog, in Sports and Spirituality we emphasize the importance of vision. In this lesson, I had my seniors discuss why peripheral vision is important. Is it? I asked them how it is different than "plain sight." Can we improve our peripheral vision? Do they want to?  

I inquired if anyone had any bona fide celebrity sightings of their own (using criteria already posted on this blog). To what degree was peripheral vision involved? One student shared an entertaining encounter with Klay Thompson at an In and Out Burger restaurant. 

I have never seen Klay in or around the Bay Area. However, about five years ago the younger Splash Brother and his girlfriend bought this incredible house on Washington Street, about seven buildings west of mine (I am at Fillmore and Washington). Given that I do not have parking in my unit, I was ready to park my car in front of that house on a regular basis. I told them I had visions of running into Klay on my early morning walks near Alta Vista Park, at the end of our street. I figured he would bring his bulldog Rocco in tow. I was committed to keeping things cool, "What's up Klay?" would be my low key greeting.  This dream however, never materialized. Klay and his lady broke up. He moved to Tiburon and has probably never looked back. I got a few smiles, but no reaction to my story. I moved on with the lesson.

The question about peripheral vision was  the first of seven prompts related to spirituality we addressed that day. Another one was "Did Tennyson have it right? Is it better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all? The results showed a mix of responses. I force them to choose—there is no "not sure" or "yes and no." They are called to make a stand. Most said yes; but a few said no. I found myself to be not so sure it is...or was. Conflicted, I asked for more input.

One of my students bravely raised his hand. He opined, "isn't this like your story about Klay Thompson? Even though he never moved in, is it better to have that story than no story at all?" I heard his words. I processed his insight. I couldn't believe the connection he made. He was right...so was Alfred, Lord Tennyson. Thank you, Chris.

And how true it is of something like a radio show. Two men, two dynamic personalities, two great storytellers—no two days the same. Thank you, Paulie Mac. I loved meeting you in Philly in 2011 before the Giants vs Phillies rematch. I loved your songs, your ditties, you Springsteen commentary, your love of Rock n Roll and all things Bay Area Sports. You are loved. You will be missed. Murph, this is a loss but I know the stories to come will be well cared for...and given away.

Photo Credits
Klay and Rocco
Murph and Mac

"The Tennis Bag is A Lot Like Your Heart...." Lesson from Andre Agassi

One of my all time favorite reads is "Open," Andre Agassi's autobiography. I quote the  American tennis legend in Sports and Spirituality on a regular basis. Here's the best one: The tennis bag is a lot like your heart – you have to know what’s in it all times. 

Tennis was my first (sports) love. As much time and thought as I've given to the game, I never thought of my tennis bag and my heart having much, if anything in common. And yet, that image has stayed with me. 

Practically speaking, I know exactly what is in my heart. Just last week, I made my annual visit to my electrophysiologist. Following an EKG, they ran a diagnostic of my heart health and a routine transmission report from my Abbott device. Reviewing that summary is always a little jarring. It reminds me of the medical technology that makes my heart work effectively. I don't really feel it and although I barely see it, I carry it— two wire leads which remain in normal limits. They are connected an ICD with a battery that has 4.4-5.1 years remaining longevity. Fortunately, there were no abnormal fast heart rates detected over the last monitoring period. A good report.

But Agassi is not speaking of the biological heart. This heart—it too, has size and shape.  The spark of life, fount of emotion, house of the soul – the heart lies at the center of every facet of our existence.  And yet, I think it's tough to pinpoint what it carries. On any given day, my heart holds hundreds of emotions, desires, feelings, and concerns. Some are heavy, others are confusing. However, when I think of my heart like a tennis bag, I get somewhere. For one, it's never empty. It's usually pretty full. I think of the standing items my heart, like those inside a bag—practical considerations, planning items, understandings, and more. 

Agassi writes,

No one but me … can pack the [water] bottles into my bag, along with my clothes and towels and books and shades and wristbands. (My rackets, as always, go in later.) No one but me touches my tennis bag, and when it’s finally packed, it stands by the door, like an assassin’s kit, a sign that the day has lurched that much closer to the witching hour.

“I obsess about my bag. I keep it meticulously organized, and I make no apologies for this anal retentiveness. The bag is my briefcase, suitcase, toolbox, lunchbox, and palette. I need it just right, always. The bag is what I carry onto the court, and what I carry off, two moments when all my senses are extra acute, so I can feel every ounce of its weight. If someone were to slip a pair of argyle socks into my tennis bag, I’d feel it. The tennis bag is a lot like your heart – you have to know what’s in it all times."

How fitting. Be careful with what you pack. You're in charge. If there's something to obsess over, maybe that's it. Keep your heart organized—desire is a powerful force. The heart, like his bag, provides sustenance, nourishment, it carries provisions and allows us to create something new. We bring our heart into the workplace and we take it home. It is worth its weight, even when its heavy. Keep close to it. Take inventory. And hold on tight.

Photo Credits
Inside the bag
Andre

See a former posting related to this topic: What's in your backpack? tennis bag? heart?