SHOOT LIKE A GIRL

I NEED TO WRITE THIS NOW while things are good. The OKC Thunder won the NBA Western Conference regular-season crown, the youngest team to do so, then went on to sweep the New Orleans Pelicans in four games.

The last game was close all the way. At one point one of the Thunder players shot a long, long three-point attempt, and the clock wasn't even running out. I shouted at him through the TV, "Who do you think you are? Caitlin Clark?!"

Maybe it's just me, but I feel like since the women's NCAA tournament, men, both college and pro, have been attempting shots from farther out, almost like there's a subliminal dare to try to do what the girls are doing.

I like boys. I really do. I have two sons and two one-of-a-kind grandsons. I like watching the NBA, the NFL, the NHL, and MLB. But I really like watching women's sports like college softball and basketball. There's just a certain finesse and smartness to their games that make them fascinating and compelling.

My college journey started at Oklahoma Baptist University in Shawnee, Oklahoma, in the Fall of 1969. After my freshman year there, (surely we're past the statute of limitations) I transferred to Tulsa University. I wouldn't have imagined at the time that five decades later I would somehow end up living in Shawnee, but here we are.

Although I was at OBU for only two semesters, the experiences there were varied and significant, stong enough to create memories that percolate up when I'm on the campus these days.

A lot has changed. For example, while walking on campus one morning I noticed something; there were young women on the track, and on the tennis courts. Hanging on the walls outside the sports complex were huge banners with the pictures of the women's volleyball team and basketball team. Back in the day, there was none of that, except maybe in a casual, "Hey want to play some tennis?" kind of way. At the time I thought nothing of it.

One day I ran across my yearbook for my freshman year. Thumbing and strolling through, I noticed there were photos of men's basketball, baseball, golf , tennis and track and field, but NO women's sports at all. Today, according to sports listed on OBUBison.com, women have more offerings than men: basketball, volleyball, cross country, golf, soccer, track & field, softball, and stunt. I'm not sure what stunt is but I think it has something to do with hurling smaller girls into the air. I may have been on the stunt team back in 69-70. I'm pretty sure I remember the Dean asking, "Just what kind of stunts are you trying to pull here Mr. Fuller?!"

BREAKING NEWS (April 29, 2024): THE OBU STUNT TEAM JUST WON THE 2024 NCAA D2 NATIONAL CHAMPIONSHIP.

I should mention that for those who advocate for cheerleading being a sport [and as the proud Pops of a high school "Pommie" count me in that group], there is a picture of the cheerleaders in that old yearbook.

If this blog was about hard-hitting journalism or something written in pursuit of a Pulitzer I would probably do the research to write about the evolution of women's sports at OBU. But a quick read of any of the nonsense I write and post here will quickly reveal this blog is really about fluff and stuff. A quick note: as we're learning there is apparently money to be made in the area of seedy/sleazy "journalism" and something called catch & kill... Let's just say, I'm open to making a little extra cash.

Maybe the paradigm shifted a bit with the passing of Title IX in the summer of 1972. Not sure. Maybe I should do the research. Nevertheless, I'm celebrating the rise of women's sports both at OBU and beyond.

BREAKING NEWS (April 29, 2024): OBU's 4x800 relay squad: Zoee Weaver, Shayna Hendrix, Kaylen King and Mekenzie Connell ran the fastest time (9:01.56) in NCAA Division II this season to win the Drake Relays title in the event.

While progress is obvious in the field and on the courts of women's sports, regress is still too heavy and real in too many areas of our culture and life for women. There is so much more I would like to say, but I'm trying to be civil and constrained until I can find a way to be useful. At this point, my best attempts would be a long shot. What would I do if someone yelled, "Who do you think you are? Caitlin Clark?"

With a Little Help

“You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, all your strength, and all your mind. And, love your neighbor as yourself.”

“And who is my neighbor?”

Jesus tells the story we call "The Good Samaritan", recorded in Luke 10, then asks this:

36 “Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?”
37 The expert in the law replied, “The one who had mercy on him.”

Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.”

But, from whose perspective? I've always heard this "Good Samaritan" story told as if our neighbor is the guy that got mugged and lies along the road. He's the guy that we're supposed to be neighborly toward--loving him as we would love ourselves.

But wait a minute. Look at Jesus' question: "Which of these was a neighbor to the man?" Imagine for a second that you are the one left banged up and broken in the ditch. Along comes a guy, let's call him Mr. Rogers. You're surprised that he has humbly stopped to help. You say, "Won't you be my neighbor?"

My point is that maybe, just maybe, what Jesus is saying is that our neighbor is the person(s) we allow to help us, the one we become very vulnerable to. Seems to me that can be pretty challenging. I find it easier to be the helper than the helpee.

If you're still with me on this circuitous path of Pops' strange logic, let's take the next step. Let's assume I'm reading Jesus correctly and my neighbor is the person that I allow to offer me aid, then to love myself in that neighborly way means letting my inner Mr. Rogers be kind to myself, to give myself an occasional break, to lay a cold rag on my forehead, to bandage up even the occasional emotional booboo. It takes being a bit vulnerable.

That last sentence was so hard to type. I don't like the idea of vulnerability, of people seeing me in need of aid. I don't like admitting that sometimes I'm not okay, that maybe I need a little help from my friends, trusting the ones who wouldn't stand up and walk out on me even if I sang out of tune.

I just bought an e-bike. It costs more than my used VW Bus did back in 1970. The hardest part of buying an e-bike though wasn't the cost. It was admitting I need help. I've tried riding my single-speed cruiser bike around town, but there are some hills that I just can't make it up. Sometimes (almost all the time) the winds are too stout for me to peddle against.

With e-bikes there are two varieties: peddle-assist or throttle. If you choose the throttle model, you can actually ride with no assist at all, like a moped or scooter. Just get on and twist the throttle and off you go. With peddle-assist, you have to actually pedal, the motor just helps a little, sort of flattens out the hills a bit.

Salesman: "Do you want a throttle model?"

Me: "Who do you think you're talking to? I'm only 70-something. I just need a little help."

Still, I imagine that when people see me riding they may think, "Look at the old man go. He must be in excellent shape. Wait a minute! That thing has a motor!"

This post isn't an endorsement for e-bikes. It's a metaphor.

I read a column in the New York Times written by a young lady who, along with her husband, had suffered a horrible tragedy. They lost their little girl, Lucy, shortly after her birth. In the article she talked about her lifelong love of bicycling and how in the trauma after their loss she never rode. She also talked about their grief and the people who, with all good intentions, sought to offer aid. The article ends with this paragraph:

"Now with spring in like a lion, I’m back out riding. When hills come up on the horizon, I don’t let pride stand in the way. I crank up the electric-powered motor a couple of notches and allow it to give me a boost. Slowly, through every swerve and switchback, grief has given way to gratitude. But only because I have help moving through it."
-- By Jess Mayhugh April 18, 2024. New York Times.

for Old Men

Wendell: That's very linear Sheriff.
Sheriff Ed Tom Bell: Well, age will flatten a man.

― Cormac McCarthy, No Country for Old Men

Old Joe Biden is working to overcome the fact that he's old. The guy that's highlighting the fact that Joe's no spring chicken is none other than old TrumpleOrangeSkin himself, arguably the most un-selfaware person on the planet.

I'm old too. Not as old as either of them, but I'm not running for president. In fact, I'm not running much at all; unless you count running from old age. It's not that I'm in denial (would I know it if I wasn't?), I just enjoy living in the past.

Past. Present. Future. Your most basic timeline of life. I'm not a fan of a linear view of life, however. Maybe it's because the Past part of my timeline takes up the most space by far these days and expands by the minute. Our youngest Grand-Guy, "J", spent the night with us recently along with his older brother. J's Past section is very short, only four years. In his mind it's even shorter. For the most part, any time he is telling you a story from the past, he starts with, "Last night..." As in: "Last night my sister broke my arm." "Last night I caught a little fish and my Daddy wanted me to kiss it."

Using that little time trick to shorten my Past section wouldn't work for me. I tend to remember 1968 better than I remember Last Night. I should begin my reminiscenses with, "Back in the 1900s...

Sometimes I worry that I'm wasting the Present section worrying about the Future section. A sample: What if Trump is elected to a second term? What if he's not? Will he incite a civil war? Have I saved enough to get us through our retirement years with a little something left for the kids? Will there be a church, a church grounded in the love and grace and seeking the example of Christ, instead of one that's tied to politics where people believe that our Hope rests in filling government with people who call themselves Republican, mistakenly assuming that brand is synonymous with integrity, good judgement, good character and Christ-following. A church where my grandkids learn the value of honesty, honor and humility, where they will be able to raise their kids and grow old. Will the transfer portal and sports betting ruin college sports? Will I get hit by a car while riding my bicycle? etc.

A straight timeline is not really how I view life. I have vivid memories and enjoy recounting events of my life, both big and little, but I don't think of them as happening along a line. There are set backs, detours, u-turns. I do remember a few dates along a line: my birthday, the year I graduated from high school, our anniversary and My Amazing-Missus' birthday. I know Christmas Day is 12/25, New Years Day is 1/1, The Fourth of July is the fourth of July and Cinco de Mayo is May 5. Other than that I just don't remember dates. It's not a cognitive deficiency, that's just not the way I recount life. Now, My Amazing-Missus on the other hand remembers the date of every significant event. She can tell you the birthday of our entire extended family and if she knows you at all she knows your birthday too. I don't have that gift, and since June 16,1972, she has questioned just why on God's green and warming earth I've never been able to remember my own mother's birthday.

Here at seventy-something on the timeline, I guess I shouldn't be surprised that I'm feeling non-youth-like. I hate to type this out loud for fear of bringing karma down on myself, but so far: I have my own teeth (cleaned and checked every 6 months), no hearing aids, although some may think I'm not listening sometimes. I can still sort and fill my own pill case. The vision isn't what it once was, but I can still see down the future side of the timeline a bit. Still; I have to go to way too many doctor's appointments--the routine follow-up kinds of stuff. I think the situation is that they have my Medicare number and they're not afraid to use it to send a big bill through for these check ups. I know I'm old because I get hugely annoyed when I have to sit for an hour or so in a waiting room, to go in a little room to be poked around on for three or four minutes and told to see the lady on the way out, "Make sure she has your medicare and supplement card and make a follow-up appointment for next year's poking and prodding session."

I was going to write a particularly pithy sentence, but I've lost my train of thought. More often not, the train goes into a tunnel and comes out on a different track. But, I could still beat a "very stable genius" on a cognitive test any day of the week or at any point along the timeline.

RESOLUTIONS the 2024 VERSION

#1. ACT MY AGE. I'm pretty sure that when we hear this phrase we usually assume that the person is acting immaturely or pretending to be younger than they are. For me, with this resolution, I'm shooting for not acting older than I am. In a few days I'll be 73. When I have aches and pains, when I walk into a room and can't remember why, when my first instinct is to complain, I'll try to remember that I'm not 74 or more.

I'm not sure when the switch flipped for me--the change from a borderline Peter Pan Syndrome kind of guy to the stereotypical cranky curmudgeon. The point is I'm not sure I am, ever have been, or ever will be, self-aware enough to find reality, but if I ever do I'm going to get a firm grip on it. (If I like what I see that is. If not, I'll make something up,)

#2. MAKE A NEW FRIEND. Can we all agree that friendship is on a scale sort of like air temperature and humidity? There are those friendships that are long and intimate. There are those that if we met on the street we would recognize each other and maybe reminisce about shared experiences. I heard a radio program recently about the decline in friendships among men. There was a lot of speculation and presciptions, but the one thing that seemed to be true was that you have to make the effort. Friendships, like all relationships, seem to need some nurture, care and effort. Is this resolution worthy of being a resolution? For me it is, not because I don't value friendships, I'm just so strongly introverted (not shy) that friending is a challenge.

What am I looking for in a friend besides possible future pall bearer material? I suppose if I were posting something in a publication or app designed for friend-finding my list might look something like this:

• Good storyteller with good stories to tell.

• Has more than a passing interest in some form of the arts.

• Able to talk for more than an hour without getting into current politics. (Unless you agree with my worldview of course.)

• Has at some point in their past owned a turntable and a collection of albums that included at least two of the following:

The Beatles
Miles Davis
Blood Sweat and Tears
Bob Dylan
Crosby, Stills, and Nash, and/or Neil Young or The Byrds or Buffalo Springfield or The Kinks
Marvin Gaye
The Beach Boys
Led Zeppelin
Eva Cassidy

• Has at some point shot a few rolls of B&W film.

• Regularly asks to see photos of my Grand Kids.

• Doesn't complain about the cost of the cup of coffee we're visiting over.

• Is near equal parts excited and afraid of AI.

And that's pretty much it.

#3. DEFY THE MAGNETIC PULL OF LETHARGY. In all areas. Intellectually. Spiritually. Emotionally. Socially. Physically. Of course each of those are in the fabric of all of us and impact the other in a Newtonian way. Picture that little pendulum thing with the line up of steel balls hanging in a perfect row. Pull one back let it go and somehow the energy--both kinetic and potential--unleashed, transfers through each and sends the last in line swinging. I'm glad. Sometimes that first ball may be the Spiritual one. When I pull it back it impacts all the others, hopefully making me a better friend, steward, husband, dad and Pops.

I'm a full year into retirement now. We've done some traveling. We've been to basketball games, piano recitals, dance recitals, gymnastics meets, school programs, a wonderful vacation with all the kids. So far, so good. I had a friend named Grady Nutt who wrote a book where he turned that little phrase around and used it for the title, "So Good, So Far". I would rather use that version to describe this year. I had another friend named Gladys Lewis. She titled one of her books, "On Earth As It Is", obviously borrowing just enough of a phrase from the Lord's Prayer to invite us to take a realist view of life.

In that spirit, in this retirement thing, there's still been a lot of time that I haven't really known what to do with. That's fine with me. I can always read or write, listen to great music, watch an old movie, or take a nap. I start the day with peanut butter and strawberry spread, coffee and puzzles. Then I move to my little den with a second cup of coffee and read the New York Times online along with a few of my favorite writers. Often there will something there that will push me into a rabbit hole, clicking links, watching YouTube. Then, before you know it, it's time to ask My Amazing Missus, "What sounds good for lunch?" carefully avoiding a stupid question like, "What are you fixing for lunch?"

Back in the days leading up to retirement she would tell people that when I retired she planned to retire from cooking. I have actually done a good bit of that. I like to find a new recipe or spice up an old favorite.

Still. There are times when I'm like a lazy old dog just lying in the way. When my Apple Watch buzzs and tells me it's time to stand up and move around, I usually do. I meander around the house. Sometimes I'll stand in the doorway of her sewing room and ask her how it's going. For the first time in 50 years, we're here, together. I'm loving it. But I've crashed on her couch so to speak, and I'm here to stay.

Our taste in TV programming doesn't overlap much. The other day she came in and asked, "What in the world are you watching?" I explained that I was now eight episodes into something the kids call "Gilmore girls". I told her I was discovering much to my skepticism that it is some of the best writing of any series I remember. "Sit down and I'll start at the beginning." For a week now we've been watching a few episodes each night. Last night we watched Season 2, Episode 14, the one where Richard, the husband, father and grandfather to the Gilmore girls has just retired. Emily, the mother, is telling Lorelai, the daughter, how it's going so far.

"We've never really been home at the same time. He's always here. Watching me, and noticing when I move a vase."

My Amazing-Missus laughed too hard and too knowingly at that. I think I may have heard her whisper, "Amen, sister."

Later in the episode, after Richard has made himself a nuisance to each of the Gilmore girls, Lorilei, his daughter tells him to back off; he says,

"You know I never thought about retirement. I never thought about what I'd do or what I'd be once I wasn't working. I never once thought that I would go from being a productive member of the human race to a decrepit old drone sitting at the club at 3:00 PM drinking brandy and playing cards. I'm an annoyance to my wife and a burden to my daughter. Suddenly I realize what it feels like to be obsolete. I hope that you never have to learn what that feels like."

Here's my plan: when someone asks me what I'm doing in retirement I'm going to tell them that I'm defying lethargy. I'm gaining energy--both potential and kinetic: In all areas. Intellectually. Spiritually. Emotionally. Socially. Physically. Then I will quote Whitman, and that should end the discussion.

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O Me! O Life!
Walt Whitman
1819 – 1892

O Me! O life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,
Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,

The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.

That you are here—that life exists and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.

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