What Really Matters

Life is funny sometimes. Not always in that "haha I just farted during sex" kind of way, but more in the "how the fuck did that happen" kind of way. Maybe unpredictable is a better word.

As young adults we rarely take the appropriate time to step back and enjoy everything we've got. This time of our lives is fraught with anxiety about our college lives coming to an end, having to enter the dreaded "real world", relationships, money, any number of things.

The day that puberty turns us into awkward, sexually confused pimple poppers, we begin to slowly lose sight of whats really important. Year after year our consciousness becomes more clouded with frivolously inconsequential concerns. Will the guy I like ask me to the prom? Does that hot cheerleader think I'm cool? Do you think anyone knows that this isn't a real Lacoste shirt?

It takes a shock to the system to snap us out of our own petty self absorbed realities and take a look at the bigger picture. We get so caught up in trying to grow up so fast we forget to savor the moments as they pass. How many of us got to college, and on the first day of class had that feeling that this would never end. It's just an endless stream of papers and projects and group meetings. In the blink of an eye you are fighting a hang over and shuffling across that stage, looking out at your parents thinking "shit, college flew by".

You move on to the real world, and as you sit at your desk in the khaki's and a polo shirt that you were forced to buy because hoodies and capris don't cut it anymore, you finally start to reflect on the years past. You wonder where the days went, where the years went, why you haven't talked to your old teammates in while. But you put it off because I mean, we're in our 20s, we've got forever for that shit. 

But then something happens. That catalyzing moment that rips you feet first from your myopic day to day routine. Maybe it's you. Maybe it's a friend or a family member. You're immediately thrust into forced self awareness. You hate yourself for what you left unsaid, what you wish you had done that you didn't, maybe what you wish you didn't do that you did. You begin to finally realize that life isn't about the hand your dealt, it's about what you do with that hand. It's not about where you've been, but who you've been there with, and you can't fight the tears as you chuckle at all the childish mischief you caused with your best friends, even in a city as dull as Thrilliamsburg. You come to the realization that you aren't going to be friends with everyone, and not every body is going to like you, but you better damn well hold on to those closest to you. You begin to understand that in the blink of an eye the world can be turned upside down for no reason at all. That bad things do happen to people who absolutely don't deserve it, and somehow the shitbirds skate by day after day without consequence. You try and reconcile these facts with religion and faith, which sometimes only serves to make the issues more convoluted because you can't help but question why would God, or Allah, or whoever you believe in, let bad things happen to good people?... To my people.     

This cocktail of emotions is capable of reducing a grown man to tears. The volatile combination of helplessness, uncertainty, fear, and anger is overwhelming. Growing up as guys we are taught to be strong, it's ingrained in our psyche to "not be a pussy", but in that moment you couldn't give a shit because it finally dawns on you that you have no control. Sure you can play the percentages. Don't smoke, don't drink, don't walk your pale ass out into the sun without sunscreen, don't sit down in oncoming traffic. It all makes sense.

No shit Paula Dean is diabetic everything she eats is wrapped in bacon. And of course Uncle Herman died, he was 99, drank malt liquor like it was going out of style, and smoked unfiltered Marlboros for 55 years.

But how do you plan for the time it doesn't make sense? What do you tell every kid at every children's hospital who has been diagnosed with cancer? What do you tell their parents? Bad luck? Bad genes? What about the incredibly healthy 43 year old father of 2 who's heart just stops? What do you tell his family? It's these cosmic curveballs that ignite the introspective fuse necessary to make life worthwhile.

We've all been touched by it in some way, some closer than others, but it's there. Many of us are going through it now. You ask yourself why. Why now? Why him or her? And selfishly you ask why me? Why us? You try and wrap your head around the fact that there is absolutely nothing you can do except be there, and you underestimate just how powerful that is. You reflect on the nights you partied together, the nights you got in fist fights, the times you triumphed together and the times you came up just short. You recognize that in every instance you were with the people who had become your family. These guys who initially were just names on lockers, just pictures in a media guide became your brothers, and the universe should know better than to fuck with one of your own.

All of a sudden you're able to parse out the things that really matter. That C on your chemistry test isn't that important anymore because you've been given a crystal clear new perspective.

Don't waste a single day doing shit you don't want to do. Don't waste time with people you don't want to be with. Don't miss an opportunity to tell someone you love them, to tell someone how important they are to you.   

Alright Reg, Rupe Fiasco, you've both made your point. Logistically it would behoove the both of you to get healthy. Fuck your bad we can still make it to happy hour.

We're all thinking about you both. Right side strong side

When It's More Than Just A Game

So Mr. Price Krispy has been telling me to write something for his blog since he started this thing.  I’ve been content just being a pseudo editor and giving my input on ideas (most notably our Things Worse Than Work series) to help out the Blog – because let’s be honest, if Price was the only one giving input it would be filled with subpar written poems with good intentions (sorry PThom, your poem writing skills are as good as my 2 mile time).  We started a sweet Google Doc and made a list of the best/worst of 2011.  Time does their thing, at KSW we do our own thing. 

Don't Hate me 'Cuz I'm Beautiful

I started doing a bit of research and found a story that I felt compelled to actually right about.  I have a couple of disclaimers before I get into it though.  Yes, this story is about soccer.  You’re reading a blog written and edited by guys who played soccer for 87% of their lives, you shoulda expected it.  No I’m not writing about Sandusky or Fine, that story was beaten off… ummm… touched on…’scuse me...beaten down since it broke. I’m not writing about Bin Laden.  The Big 3? Meh.  Japan’s Women’s National Team? That’s later. No, no. What I’m presenting is a story I guarantee none of y’all have heard, and it comes right out of Haiti.

Patrice Millet was diagnosed with a rare form of bone cancer in 2006.  After undergoing aggressive treatment in the US – including a stem cell transplant - Millet returned to Haiti to carry out his dream of helping children from Haiti’s poorest slums.  For those of you who don’t know, Haiti is the poorest country in the Americas (GDP per capita at $673).  As with most underdeveloped countries you see political unrest, drug trafficking, and high crime rates.  Education? Sike. Future outside of Haiti? Sike. Millet made it his misson to change the lives of as many as he could through the teachings of soccer.

Soon thereafter Millet founded FONDAPS (Foundation of Our Lady of Perpetual Help) to keep kids out of trouble and to teach life skills.  His wife feared for his life as he entered dangerous areas of Port-au-Prince’s slums.  He was soon accepted and brought more than 600 children hope through soccer.  "I want the kids to be very good citizens," he said. "In soccer ... you need to give, you need to receive, you need team spirit, discipline, sportsmanship. ... It's not all about soccer, it's about life." Games and training (Millet ran practices 5 days a week and provided free equipment for the kids) were more than just winning and losing as the children learned the value of the lessons Millet taught.  In the ghetto, they knew nothing of the outside world.  Through FONDAPS, they were able to get a taste of more than just the crime and poverty they suffered with on a daily basis.

In 2010, the earthquake changed everything.  The program shrank from 600 kids to 200.  The 3 soccer fields they used to call home were reduced to one on the outskirts of Port-au-Prince as the other sites became tent cities.  Millet is now more than ever a father figure, role model, and mentor as kids in his program lost families, friends, and teammates as more than 300,000 were killed and another 1.6 million homeless in the aftermath.  FONDAPS now provides food for the families of some of the kids who participate.  Millet still has goals of working to establish his own school in Haiti to continue to build his message of hope.

As kids we’re taught many old adages, one of which is to do more for others than you do for yourself.  Patrice Millet personifies this credo and is one of the unsung heroes of 2011.  We’re taught from a young age to give, give, give and share, share, share.  But how many of us truly feel compelled to give back, to serve, to sacrifice?  That’s why this story is so inspiring. As 2012 kicks off and we contemplate our resolutions that we will undoubtedly fail to keep – make an exception for one that we should all work for and that I already have on my white board.  Let’s work to give back to our communities.  If you’re reading this, chances are you have the means to help in some way.  Whether it’s tutoring at middle school, donating time to a charity, or just dropping a couple bucks into the Salvation Army buckets during the holidays– let’s work to do more for others than we do for ourselves.  From KSW, Happy New Year.