Great song, better stunt. He is focused and feels badass.
Showing posts with label skill. Show all posts
Showing posts with label skill. Show all posts
Day of Advent
Everyone loves an underdog. What makes it so inspirational is that they beat the odds despite their inadequacies. The underdog never quite matches up. On paper they don't even compare. Think George Mason in 2006, Matt Saracen, Susan Boyle, Lone Survivor, Jesse Ventura, the Utah Jazz, Justin Bieber, Ricky Martin, Kanye, Channing Tatum, David and Goliath, and of course Rudy. We all can relate. I'm not telling you anything new, but one thing that has become a revelation to me as of late, was realization that I was the underdog.
Statistically, I am average. Numbers don't lie, but somehow, I've been tricking myself into believing that I was somewhat of the exception. I should have realized this when I was in High School. My basketball coach pulled me aside and told me to not shoot in games. Ever. Only lay-ups. (Coach Williams, I blame this post on you, and every failure I have ever had! You shot a young mans confidence down like the Hindenburg.) Or maybe I should have know when I tried out for a JC football team and got cut.
My day of reckoning came in the form of saved legged, sleeveless shirt, pretty boy. It was just a simple three and three game the other afternoon, but it soon turned into a school for the under privileged, that being me. It didn't matter what I did, this kid carved me up like a thanksgiving turkey. What made it worse is that he had his girlfriend watching... and cheering. Here I was, on an island, with some random dude humiliating me in front of my buddies, The People and Mowgli, and his smoking hot girlfriend clapping. It was a tortuous hell. To some degree, I now know what water boarding feels like*. After we lost the third game 15 - 5**, he walked off, hand in hand with his girl, and didn't even look back. My head was still reeling when I had an epiphany. I am just average. Simply put, I am sub par. I was so bothered, that I debated whether or not to burn every piece of basketball gear when I got home. That bitter taste didn't ebb away until the sun rose, my wounds were healing, and I realized that there is obviously much more to life than sports. I went from one paradigm shift to another in a matter of hours.
For every success there are a thousand failures. I am sure glad that my future doesn't rely on playing basketball. That being said, I sure hope it isn't indicative of what is to come - being washed-up. So, in a way, I've accepted that I suck and will no longer try hard at things that I am not an expert at***.
* No. No I do not. I have no clue.
** I didn't win a single game that afternoon. 0-4.
***Any suggestions?
Statistically, I am average. Numbers don't lie, but somehow, I've been tricking myself into believing that I was somewhat of the exception. I should have realized this when I was in High School. My basketball coach pulled me aside and told me to not shoot in games. Ever. Only lay-ups. (Coach Williams, I blame this post on you, and every failure I have ever had! You shot a young mans confidence down like the Hindenburg.) Or maybe I should have know when I tried out for a JC football team and got cut.
My day of reckoning came in the form of saved legged, sleeveless shirt, pretty boy. It was just a simple three and three game the other afternoon, but it soon turned into a school for the under privileged, that being me. It didn't matter what I did, this kid carved me up like a thanksgiving turkey. What made it worse is that he had his girlfriend watching... and cheering. Here I was, on an island, with some random dude humiliating me in front of my buddies, The People and Mowgli, and his smoking hot girlfriend clapping. It was a tortuous hell. To some degree, I now know what water boarding feels like*. After we lost the third game 15 - 5**, he walked off, hand in hand with his girl, and didn't even look back. My head was still reeling when I had an epiphany. I am just average. Simply put, I am sub par. I was so bothered, that I debated whether or not to burn every piece of basketball gear when I got home. That bitter taste didn't ebb away until the sun rose, my wounds were healing, and I realized that there is obviously much more to life than sports. I went from one paradigm shift to another in a matter of hours.For every success there are a thousand failures. I am sure glad that my future doesn't rely on playing basketball. That being said, I sure hope it isn't indicative of what is to come - being washed-up. So, in a way, I've accepted that I suck and will no longer try hard at things that I am not an expert at***.
* No. No I do not. I have no clue.
** I didn't win a single game that afternoon. 0-4.
***Any suggestions?
What do you do?
This is insane. French people are insane.
"So, what do you do?"
"I live on the edge of a blade everyday."
"What do you mean?"
"I, uh, try to fly..."
Uncle Dave-O
I have a nephew, Ethan, who I call E-O. Without anyone telling him, he called me Dave-O right back. He is maybe four or five? Super smart kid, naturally funny, and he likes me-- a perfect candidate to become just like me. Puuurrfect.We were on a family hike near Provo, going to some falls, when I realized that I could help E-O get ahead of the curve. We were racing against his older, and much more competitive brother Ezra and his friend, when they started to insult each other.
"Hey, slow-man..." "What? bumble berry bottom!" "Don't fall off the cliff."
You get the idea. A nun could have done better. I nudged E-O. "Tell them that they will never be successful in life." He did, without hesitation, and they couldn't respond. After a few minutes of silence, trying to process this prophetic message, they threw out "Yeah, well, you can't eat breakfast, cause your teeth are rotten." E-O knew better, he looked at me, eager to learn from a fountain of never ending knowledge. "Say, good luck on your 401K. Oh wait, you'll be unemployed for the rest of your life!" His delivery was sublime. I gave him an approving nod. It was over their heads. E-O was getting excited about the results of these statements. I was too, for he was learning art. I gave him another one to put the nail on the coffin, "Good luck finding happiness with your personality."
I am a good uncle. I am preparing my nieces and nephews for the real world. Gotta know how to throw sticks and stones so they can crush opponents. This is a world of ever increasing competition. Is your posterity going to be left behind?
He's not a lad, brother; he's a man!
A few months ago, a dear friend, Mr. Pack, asked me to write about one skill that every man should possess. Initially, I thought, "easy, no problem," (I said those words, in my head, like Brian Regan; around the one minute mark). Then, I thought of all of the skills that Asians have to have, that I will never need to have. So, I narrowed it down, to Americans living on the west coast, who have never had to save another humans life by administering an adrenaline shot.
But even that search yielded too many variables, so I refined it some more. They cannot have a felony or have served time in jail. Finally, I had found my perfect sample size, but what skill should every man, who has never had to give an adrenaline shot or served time, need to know?
Changing a tire was too obvious. I had to go with something original, yet classy. Something classy like a wrestling singlet. Spitting wasn't classy enough. This skill couldn't be too simple either. Yelling? C'mon. Every demographic had to be able as well... East Indians can not throw a football. See the dilemma?! In some way or another, I couldn't relate to every single man out there. One would say, in really dumb voice, "that doesn't apply to me." But just like every man, it is bred into me that I don't have to please anyone. Selfish pig.
After hours, days, and weeks of thinking about what skill I should select, I realized that I was making this far too complex. I looked at man and asked, what sets man apart from all of the other beasts? When does a boy know he is a man? What is it that man does that makes him so manly? At mans basic form, the roots his existence, man has always needed to know how to do one thing, peeing straight.
Seriously, this is a skill. This is something that we are not born with.
But even that search yielded too many variables, so I refined it some more. They cannot have a felony or have served time in jail. Finally, I had found my perfect sample size, but what skill should every man, who has never had to give an adrenaline shot or served time, need to know?
Changing a tire was too obvious. I had to go with something original, yet classy. Something classy like a wrestling singlet. Spitting wasn't classy enough. This skill couldn't be too simple either. Yelling? C'mon. Every demographic had to be able as well... East Indians can not throw a football. See the dilemma?! In some way or another, I couldn't relate to every single man out there. One would say, in really dumb voice, "that doesn't apply to me." But just like every man, it is bred into me that I don't have to please anyone. Selfish pig.
After hours, days, and weeks of thinking about what skill I should select, I realized that I was making this far too complex. I looked at man and asked, what sets man apart from all of the other beasts? When does a boy know he is a man? What is it that man does that makes him so manly? At mans basic form, the roots his existence, man has always needed to know how to do one thing, peeing straight.
Seriously, this is a skill. This is something that we are not born with.
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