The Incredible Importance of Saying Nice Things

I had a very Mark Twain-esque moment today.  It was one of those moments that is not really that funny, unless you think about it in a certain way.  (My way, that is.)  But no matter how you look at it, at the time it was hysterical, and no one is ever there to share the laugh with.  Let’s just say that Matt or Mike would have pooped on themselves had they been there.

Twain once said, “I can live for two months on a good compliment.”  I can certainly attest to that, and I think you’ll all agree.  A real and true compliment from someone - friend, foe, or complete stranger - is a game changer.  It’s a sad fact that in today’s culture a sincere compliment is a very rare thing, I think because most everybody is so incredibly self-centered.  Because of this, I find that when someone says something nice to me (i.e. “You are extremely handsome and talented.”) the rest of the day is about 5 degrees warmer, so to speak.  A sincere compliment can change someone’s week, and it costs nothing.  And it doesn’t even have to be intentional praise, as I discovered today at the laundromat.

First, a word about my laundromat, Sudzees.  It’s clean.  It’s warm.  It’s close to my house.  It has free wireless internet (so slow as to be unusable, but it’s the thought that counts.)  And it is generally not inundated with large, smelly trailer dwelling folk.  And (very) occasionally there is a lovely lady there, also cleansing her unmentionables.  Sudzees is the Peter Luger’s of laundromat’s.  

So Saturday is laundry day in rossnation..., a tradition that dates back all the way to last year.  Occasionally it has to happen on Sundays, depending on the level of apathy in the water.  But it must be done, as rossnation... lays claim to only 6 work shirts, and would prefer not to be known the world over as “the stinky cable guy.”  Thus, I found myself there today, cleaning my whatnots, when two older women approached me near the change machine with a pointed question: “Do you have a knife?”

The women were trying to open their detergent package, and being old, did not have teeth sharp enough to bite it open as I would probably have done.  Not to worry, though, as I just happened to have a pocket knife gifted to me from my sister and brother in law not one day before.  The timing could not have been more perfect, which leads me to believe that my density has bought me to you.  (Back to the Future reference.)

I know you’re in suspense, so I’ll allay that by telling you that I did open their detergent.  After all, I am a gentleman and a scholar, with many gentlemanly and scholarly things to do.  But it was the few seconds afterward that changed my day for the better, when out of the wind, one of the women said to me, “You didn’t strike us as a knife kind of man.”  Oh, be still my racing heart.

Her comment was so offhand that I almost didn’t catch it, and she clearly didn’t intend it as a compliment, but I couldn’t help but smile.  For some reason, it was very comforting to me to know that I don’t look like a person who carries a knife.  On the other hand, she might have meant, “You look like a person who can’t help.”  I think I’ll take it either way, because if I look useless, perhaps I won’t be bothered with the trivial.  But I opened the detergent, bowed deeply, and walked off into the sunset (and by sunset I mean the dryer section.)

The key here is that it made my day, and a compliment is such an easy thing to give.  And imagine how big a difference it can make if it’s thought out and intentional.  It can change the world, like Eric Clapton, except without the British-ness.  And it’s better that way.

rossnation... out.

The Incredible Importance of Loyalty

The Vandals need us.  They’ve never needed us more.  

We’re beyond the point of being able to call any loss “crushing,” simply because there have been so many losses in the last fifteen years.  But after today’s one-sided defeat against Nevada, I can feel the passion draining from Vandal fan’s souls, and I think we might be at a crossroads.  Now, far be it from me to suggest that I have any pull in the Vandal universe, so forgive me if I overstep my authority.  I am but a lowly alumnus with an opinion: Idaho is a hair away from returning to the dark ages of Vandal football, and if that happens it will be partly our fault - and mine - as fans.

When I say the dark ages, I am referring to my own experience, the dismal years following 1998 when the Vandal football team posted a record of 30-86 (1999-2008).  1999 was a better year than most people may realize, especially when you consider that an 8-5 record is merely above average, and a bowl win is cool, but not earth shaking.  Imagine the best meal you’ve ever eaten at Applebee’s, followed by a cone at Baskin Robbins.  (You’re not gonna write a column about it, is my point.)  But 1999 delivered something that I actually cherish more than wins: a head coach that I’m proud of.

I missed the salad days of Idaho coaches.  John L. Smith, Dennis Erickson (the first time), and Keith Gilbertson helmed Vandal teams of note, but what I got was Chris Tormey (interviewed him once: kinda of a jerk), Tom Cable (terrible coach, keeps getting better jobs somehow), Nick Holt (leaves for a better gig every two years), and Dennis Erickson (the liar).  Then comes along Robb Akey.  I was skeptical to the max, as the kids say.  After all, the man was a coach on one of the worst PacTen teams in history.  But Senor Akey is infectious.  He’s gotten under my skin with his passion and his perfect soundbites.  He makes me want to believe in Vandal football, that there are better days ahead, that mediocrity isn’t everything.  And now that I have that feeling I’m scared of losing him (insert weird comment here.)

But the awful truth is this: I wouldn’t stay if I was him either.  Not with the support that we give him.  I know Moscow’s a small town, but the Kibbie Dome is a small building, and filling it can be done.  (In related news, I’ve heard an inordinate amount of complaints about the way ticketing was handled for next week’s “game” against Boise State, but I don’t think anybody gets to complain if we don’t sell out every game against top 25 teams.)  Why would Coach Akey stay if we don’t show him that he’s wanted?  Yes, that probably includes a significant pay raise, but money is less of a concern than showing up.  Playing for a half-full dome can’t be uplifting.  

On the flip side, how incredible would it be if in 25 years, we were Penn State.  I know that Joe Paterno’s teams have not been dominant recently, but the man has won 400 football games, 24 bowl games, and two national championships.  He has been the head coach at Pennsylvania State University for sixty one years.  He is 84 years old, and still stalks the sidelines of Happy Valley as often as his legs will allow him.  This is loyalty at its finest.  Over the last year I have realized that loyalty (aka, commitment) may be the most important human quality that we possess.  Or not possess, sadly.  And that’s why, speaking only for myself, Joe Paterno is a hero.  He’s a man with a passion for his work, for his employers, for his students and for his supporters, and doesn’t exhibit an ounce of selfishness.  I sense the same aura from Robb Akey, and I want (perhaps naively) to see it even more in a quarter century.  That kind of loyalty from him, and from us as fans and alumni, is what turns a mediocre program into a juggernaut.  It can be done, but it isn’t easy and it doesn’t come cheap, and it won’t happen overnight.  It will happen when we decide that being there for the team is important, every week, for every snap, for every rendition of Go Vandals.  When we tell them they’re important by staying for the last whistle, even though it means getting stuck in traffic leaving the parking lot.  When we do that, Coach will have good reason to think twice when the University of Whatnot comes calling with a bigger program and bigger wallet and a bigger...well, you know.  When, not if, that happens we’ve got to make a stand for our coach, and be able to tell him, without a hint of inconsistency, that we are behind him to the end.

These principles apply to so many more parts of life, but that’s material for a different rant.  The nuts of this column are a call to arms for all Vandal fans, alums, or Moscow indifferants.  Let’s stop acting like football is just a game (even though it is), and treat our Vandals as a student that we’re trying to raise to be the President of the United States.  It takes all of us to make that happen, by showing up, always, even if the game doesn’t matter.  It takes all of us telling Coach Akey that we believe in his talent as a coach, and that we want him here.  It takes all of us yelling ourselves hoarse, even if we’re down by double digits, to tell the players that we believe in their talent and drive, and that win or lose we will be with them next week, and next season, and the season after that.  If we do that, they’ll talk about Idaho football on SportsCenter with the reverence they used to reserve for Notre Dame.  

And in ten years (or so), Idaho will beat Boise State again.  And this is my prayer, that we’ll prove them wrong.  BSU will want to play in the Dome, because they have a worthy opponent there, or they will fear the Dome, because they have a butt-whooping waiting for them inside.  I want to be part of that.

Until next time then.  rossnation... out.

The Incredible Importance of Next Year

    The refrain of Cub’s fans everywhere has always been, “Well, there’s always next season.”  I don’t know what it is about Cub’s fans that makes them so innately optimistic and pessimistic at the same time, but whatever it is I seem to have contracted it, and it is a most displeasing feeling. 
    It’s a phrase that reeks of sadness and resignation.  There’s a comparable phrase outside of the baseball world that has the same feel to it: “Tis’ better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.”  Borrowing from the great George Will, this is nonsense on stilts.  Anyone who has lost knows that ignorance would have been preferable to pain.  And it turns out, this is just as true in baseball.  I once stated that I fell in love with a team that would never be good enough to break my heart.  But then the sky fell in, and the Texas Rangers were just good enough (and just lucky enough) to get to the World Series.  All of a sudden, life isn’t so simple anymore.
    I thought I wanted the Rangers to go to the World Series.  And I knew, from my teeth to my toenails, that they were going to win.  They had won on the road in Tampa.  They’d beaten - nay, torched! - the hated Yankees.  They were as hot as a Texas PWI in August (but less humid.)  The Rangers were unstoppable, and my spirits were indomitable (forgive me if this writing is abominable.)  What could go wrong?
    Here’s what: life does what it wants.  I have no control over it, and thus no control over the happenings of baseball.  And then the Rangers lost the World Series in five games, behind mediocre pitching and truly sad hitting.  It was so one-sided, I am convinced that there was a conspiracy.  Here’s what rossnation... thinks.
    I think you can draw your own conclusion from this factoid: Giants outfielder Jose Guillen has been tied to performance enhancing drugs.  Even though he wasn’t on their postseason roster, this clearly implicates every Giant.  Plus, this is the team that tolerated Barry Bonds for all those years.  You do the algebra...
    Actually, that’s all I’ve got, and now that it’s in print it looks a little bit flimsy.  Ah, never mind.  Let’s face it, the Rangers got worked.  And I think from now I’d be just fine with going back to the old ways.  It was easier when they led the division at the all-star break and then lost 16 in a row because the bullpen had an ERA of 12.6.  When they didn’t make the playoffs, I could move on to other things in September.  It was a simpler time.  But now I’ve tasted the forbidden fruit that is the World Series, and now October won’t matter unless Texas is in the hunt.  And this makes me as bad as the Scott Mahurin’s of the world, with their Red Sox Fever and whatnot. 
    Sighhhhhhhh... I’m already tired.  But, hey, there's always next season!

rossnation... down and out.