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Embrace the good inside your own history in the here and now

January 19, 2018

Tracks of my tears - I was looking through a Rubbermaid bin at some old lax jerseys figuring maybe I could pass one down to grandson Magic Mikey. I came upon these plaques (see photo) earned by son Tom when he was in high school. I share here now not to brag on who he was, but rather that others don’t forget who they are in the here and now. I think I’ve been guilty of underestimating team and school awards given out at banquets, but in historical retrospect, they tell a story of who you were at a very formative stop in your personal history. There are so many stories of those who have gone off the rails, but at some point you were a train on the tracks steaming toward a life of promise but future uncertain. Maybe plaques, trophies and awards earned should be prominently displayed as a reminder – “That was me. I did that. And I was pretty good.” Confidence and self-esteem go a long way toward making good decisions and a happy life.

God and country - Laurel is “God and country” small-town America, and they have always run their own show – you don’t run “lame game” on them. I posted a photo of a flag on Facebook, inside their new middle school’s Margo Morris Gymnasium, and told a story about the 1970s and how an announcement was made inside the gym prior to the national anthem. The message was, “Stand and remove your hat and show respect or you will be escorted from the premises.” And that “rule” (be it outside First Amendment rights or not) was immediately enforced. Not too many ACLU pro bono lawyers running loose on Central Avenue in downtown Laurel in the 1970s. Some of the fan behavior during the anthem back in the ’70s was just low-down slovenly and disrespectful, and it had nothing to do with making a political statement. I remember writing a column, “Don’t set up the entire gym for a solemn moment of reflection, then allow it to be trashed.” I did my part though education. Others did their part by throwing people out of gyms.

Simmering and smiling in the city - I asked granddaughter Lizzie, a Temple University sophomore, “What’s the feeling in Philly on the runup to the Eagles’ Sunday championship game?” She said, “Everybody is just so happy. It’s really amazing.” Philly is the fourth-largest media market in the country. If you’re a fan, you are inside that demographic. The Minnesota Miracle is not the Music City Miracle of the Titans in the year 2000. That luckiest play in the history of NFL playoffs counts for nothing this Sunday. There is no carryover in South Philly. No single player is being dominated or exploited. This is Rocky fighting Rocky, and sadly one Rocky is going down for the count. I’m not sure how much jumping and clicking heels together happy Philly people can take without falling back into being just generally annoyed with each other.

Snippets - I saw at the recent Station 82 banquet that Wally Evans was given the title Lewes fire chief emeritus. I’m sports editor emeritus at the Cape Gazette. At least Wally got his own license plate. The title simply means we are allowed to hang around our jobs and not do anything. Same as it ever was, at least for me. The great point guard of the Boston Celtics Jo Jo White passed away last week from cancer at the age of 71. White was a revered sports figure in the city of Boston. The application period is closed for the position of Cape football coach. I’m guessing there are about a dozen qualified applicants. Now a committee must be formed and interviews set up. This is an imperfect process, and I’m happy to not be a part of it. Practice has started for college lacrosse – allegedly a spring sport. I know the Temple women open Saturday, Feb. 10 at home versus Rutgers and play five games in February. Cape spring sports begin practicing Thursday, March 1. I watched the Eagles play home games at Franklin Field, Veterans Stadium and Lincoln Financial Field. How many walking-around fans can say that? I prefer to watch meaningful games at home so I can pay attention and not be inside some bonus room filled with partisan fans gnawing on chicken wings, so I’m glad I’m not invited. OK, one year I was between Gilbert Maull and John Bamforth, and I couldn’t understand either one of them and didn’t know what was going on. Go on now, git!

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