Jeremy Lin’s Magic Week and Why I Like Him

Jeremy Lin and the Knicks finally lost a game.  Look for some of the “Linsanity” to fade.  Expect a second wave of rumLination to follow, as the bandwagon backs over the kid from Harvard.  I don’t even watch the NBA anymore, and

Superman downed by New Orleans' Kryptonite unis

basketball was my sport.  I don’t know what it was, but after Jordan, Magic and Larry and their supporting casts went away, it sometimes seemed like the NBA turned into the athletic version of the Kardashians.  LeBron is still hated for leaving Cleveland.  Truth is, if the NBA game has changed a lot in recent years, so have games in general.

We can recite the litany of why’s: 

  • Win no matter what.
  • It’s about the money, the mansions, the bling and the babes, no matter what you say.
  • Agents.
  • Shame has lost its identity in our world—no publicity is the only shameful state.
  • Tradition, love of the game, team: why do they sound “quaint”?
  • If you want an indicator, consider that staying for your junior year in college is considered “noble”.  Since when did education become a liability and being rich a necessity?

Maybe that’s why “March madness,” the NCAA’s annual “survival of the fittest” is so much more attractive to me than the NBA.  I was a high school basketball player.  I wasn’t great, just okay.  Co-captain of my high school team as a senior and all that.  But years after I graduated, I kept playing—intermural in college, even playing with the high school kids as a pastor until my joints wore out.  All because there was something FUN about the physical test of shooting, dribbling, passing, playing.  Most of all, trying to win together.

I like Jeremy Lin.  Nothing to do with being “Asian” (why do we always go there?), Harvard-educated (okay, he can get a job when he retires), third-string sub who makes good, but just because he reminds me of a time in my life when I’d rather shoot hoops in forty degree weather than play guitar—and that was saying something.

There are still plenty of great NBA players and people who are about winning.  Shaq, Tim Duncan, last year’s Mavs and the largely unheralded bench guys who lay it on the line. But fame and fortune have crowded “team” into a tie for third at best.  Watching an NBA game just ain’t Lakers-Celtics in the 80s.  Where are you, Bill Russell, Magic, Larry?  And maybe today’s games just reflect us in general.

So I like Jeremy Lin.  Nothing to do with Asia, Harvard or world peace.  Linsation is just about doing your best.  Call it excelLINce—character, quality, and love of the game.  He’s an amateur (from the Latin word for “love,” thus one who does something purely for the love of it) in a game long ruined by money.   Ultimately, if the human soul is to survive, there has to be something in us that we do for the sheer pleasure and value of doing it and the joy of watching.

Hey, kid, pick yourself up.  You’re gonna lose now and then.  Get ‘em tomorrow.

The author as Northmont Thunderbolt, ca. 1971. At least uniforms HAVE improved

Gene Bartow’s Biggest Win

Gene Bartow doing what he loved--coaching

How do you measure a life?  Gene Bartow is a legend now, having passed long ago from active coaching to the place where no one else can reach you—retired success.  But since he passed away, Birmingham, Memphis and the college basketball world have been filled with remembering.  He is a college basketball Hall of Fame coach who coached 1000 games in his career.  He finished with a 647-353 record over 34-seasons.  He [i]was a success at Memphis State, leading the Tigers to a remarkable championship game appearance in 1973, where they lost to UCLA and John Wooden.  He was national coach of the year that year.   In all, his teams appeared in the NCAA tournament 14 times.[ii]

He is too often only remembered in the national press for one thing– for a time when he was successful but it wasn’t enough.  He was chosen to succeed the legendary John Wooden at UCLA, the greatest coach of all time, who had a reign of ten titles in twelve seasons, the tenth in his retiring year, and seven in a row during that time.

So in 1975 Gene Bartow came to UCLA to replace the legendary Wooden when he retired.  He stayed only two turbulent years.  He was 52-9 record and took them to the NCAA tournament both years and was in the Final Four one of those.  But it wasn’t good enough.  The Washington Post quotes one of his players, Marques Johnson from that team.  “He was a

John Wooden and Gene Bartow

sensitive person,” Johnson said in an interview. “He was used to being totally embraced as a coach and a person, and he was just not ready for the kind of vitriol thrown at him when he took Coach Wooden’s place. He never came to grips with it, and it bothered him more than anything.  After two years, he was gaunt and pale, and he refused to read the Los Angeles newspapers or listen to the radio because there was so much negativity. But he was a wonderful human being, a super nice guy and a great coach.”[iii]

As a coach, Gene Bartow touched the edge of the big prize twice, but never won it all.  He left the dream job that became a nightmare.  He decided instead to come to Birmingham, Alabama and help build an athletic program and basketball team for a then-fledgling university at UAB.  He did reach great success, including seven NCAA tournament appearances.  But he never won the “big dance,” as they say.

But another event, the dramatic run to the edge of a championship with the Memphis Tigers in 1973, may have been his real greatest moment.  “I don’t think this community ever had better race relations than when Gene coached at Memphis,” a friend said.  “He had the way of bringing everybody together to support his team and the entire university.”[iv]  It hadn’t been long since the painful memory of the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.  Times were tense in the entire country.  Then the city of Memphis was unified for a time around the glorious run of a Cinderella team that almost did it.

They lost, as I mentioned, in the championship game, to the juggernaut UCLA, coached by Wooden and led by future

One game short, 1973

NBA stars Bill Walton and Keith Wilkes.  So his highest career points were two Final Fours, a lot of tournaments, being the sacrificial lamb at UCLA, and then to rebuilding himself as well as building UAB in Birmingham.

So how do you measure a life?  While we’re measuring, it might also be worth mentioning that he ended his life with the nickname, “Clean Gene,” a moniker few carry in college sports these days of rogue fans, agents and corruption, for the way he ran things.  He gave a race-divided city in Memphis something else to rally around and focus on in a painful historical moment.  He started a great program in the city where we live that has had some really great moments.  He battled stomach cancer to the very end with humor and grace.

I think it is fitting that Gene Bartow passed from this earth in the time in which one weekend carried the UAB-Memphis game and will be followed next weekend by Martin Luther King day.  I’d say, all in all, he did the right things.  The rest is just wins and losses.

It always matters how you play the game.  John Wooden and Gene Bartow would agree, and maybe now they get to talk about it.  All the rest is just wins and losses and what other people think.   Rest in Peace, Coach.  You went out on top.

Labels

Q. How many bluegrass musicians does it take to screw in a lightbulb?..:

A. Three. One to screw it in, and two to complain that Bill Monroe never did it that way.

I take Bluegrass Unlimited, and by far the most interesting part is the “letters to the editor.” Bluegrass fans are unusually obsessive about their music. I have pondered this, and perhaps it is in part because it is the living memory of a time and a way of life that is passing away, and in part because when we find something and love it we want to hold onto it forever

I am a Baptist minister, and reading those letters made me happier about the craziness of institutional religion. I told my staff, “Hey, there are fundamentalists and liberals everywhere. Month after month, the argument rages: “What is REAL bluegrass music and what isn’t?” Well, I think, “Who cares?” Obviously the purists.

I write songs, and sometimes when people say, “What kind of songs do you write?” I have to scratch my head and say, “I dunno.  Mine, I guess.”  Some are country, some are folk, some are whatever.  But once you record them and start fooling with them, and listen, you even wind up turning them into something else.  You just want to see where they will go.

I ran across this not long ago when I stumbled across (Okay, I was straying from what I was supposed to be doing) a Wikipedia article about pop classical entertainer Andre Rieu, who plays those  happy concerts on PBS that apparently purists in classical music call “Schlagermusic.”   One critic said this, according to Wikipedia:  “Boyd assesses the low points of the concert as the “Three Tenors-style” rendition of “Nessun dorma” which he finds was an “abomination”, while saying the concert’s highlights included “a sugar-shock sweet rendition” of “O mio babbino caro” as well as Strauss’s Emperor Waltz and Blue Danube, Clarke’s Trumpet Voluntary and the Boléro.”

My response to this is to recall one of my favorite conversations in the movie “Napoleon Dynamite,” when Napolean goes to work at a chicken farm for a local farmer to earn some money.  He is hired to go into the chicken houses and is worried about getting hurt and asks,

Napoleon Dynamite: Do the chickens have large talons?

Farmer: Do they have what?

Napoleon Dynamite: Large talons.

Farmer: I don’t understand a word you just said.


I have the same reaction.  I enjoy the classics, but don’t know enough to get indignant.  Sometimes we all need to stand down about our tastes.   There are legitimate arguments about good, better, and best, but it isn’t all that hard for one’s own ego to slip in unannounced.  That said, snobbery is not limited to elitists.  Plenty of snobs in low places who sneer at anything they don’t understand.

Music, like authentic religion, is LIVING and dynamic. So let there be experiments and fusions. Labels are something for catalogs and libraries, but not for creative work. Music is nothing more or less than trying to get to that place where we say, “Wow, I love the way that sounds!” And something in the heart is stirred. There’s a place for honoring tradition and a place for breaking it all to pieces. And the world is big enough for all of it. If you don’t like it, don’t buy it and don’t worry about it…