Category: A Very Short Story

When I was very young I wanted to be a proctologist. I thought that being an asshole was a good way to go.  But, as you can imagine, my parents and my friends were somewhat dismayed.  “Where on earth did that dumb ass thought come from?” they said?  

As it turned out I joined the Navy and spent my entire working life devoted to the maritime profession.  And while I loved the Navy life dearly some of my colleagues would say that either way I got the shaft.  Perhaps I did but it did take me awhile to glob on to the military life as I had a plethora of civvie jobs when I was young but with paucity of ambition and get up and go to go along with it.  In that regard the Navy’s routine addressed a restless nature, which seemed to be a perfect fit for me, somewhat like a proctologist’s glove.

How I love those two words: plethora and paucity. To me they sound like adjectives for the evil Roman twins Romulus and Remus.  Or perhaps more like the words flora and fauna.  And I took Latin in high school for 5 years. I was… veritably good at it.  Then again I wanted to be a proctologist too: the Latin word for asshole.  Somewhat like the word organic: also a Latin derivative meaning grown in pig shit.  But I digress.  

When I first heard the words “plethora” and “paucity” I thought, “What on earth. Speak clearly man.” It brought my mind back to my elementary school days, grade eight to be exact, where a classmate of mine by the name of Big Maxx loved to show off his literary skills with those flowery descriptive essays that we had to write from time to time and read to the entire class.  He didn’t realize just how funny he could be ranting off to the class, proud of his literary skills with words of art that reflected anything but those big flowery descriptive texts for his words were always in the wrong context or with the wrong meaning.  He would write: “I had a flora of jobs when I was young but with not a fauna of ambition or get up and go.” Big Maxx wasn’t too smart back then but he did try very, very hard. And those were the days when one could fail a grade. I think Big Max had to repeat Grade 9 a plethora of times. 

The writing of those words, flora and fauna, plethora and paucity, Romulus and Remus got me to thinking and brought me to the following train of thought with respect to words: 

Words!  What is in a word?  My kingdom for a word!  A horse it may be but a horse is only a word that by any other name is still a word. Words declare wars, they garner peace. Words can be hurtful, they can be playful. Words describe words as in spiteful words, hurtful words, insightful words. We can have a war of words, crosswords or them’s fightin words. Words can be theatrical: we can have a play on words. Word is the law.  It is the word. Words are prophetic. Words can be the gospel truth.  So sayeth the word of the Lord. Words inspire, they transpire. Words transcribe: you have my word on that. Failing that, can I have a word with you? But words are not enough. That’s why we have lawyers. Words can also be despotic, or chaotic.  A single word can inspire poetry, lyricism. 

And when a few words are taken together, we have a phrase.  And when a couple of phrases are linked together we have, in a word, a “sentence.” And when a group of sentences are grouped together we have, in another word, a “paragraph.”  And to describe or summarize a paragraph we can go right back to the beginning of this word-train of thought – to “paraphrase!” 

We can combine words to make quotable quotes: some profound, some sublime, some simplistic, some stupidly clear:

“To be or not to be – that is the question.” That may be but on Jeopardy it is the answer!;

“If things are good in moderation then they must be great in excess.”  My favourite;

“If something is worth doing, then it is worth overdoing.”  My other favourite;

“Baseball is 100% physical. The rest is mental.” (adapted from Berra);

“A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.  A woman does what she wants;”

“A consultant is someone who is adept at making the simple… complex;”

“The problem with theory is that it’s just not practical enough!;”

“A wise fool is an oxy moron;”

“Those lefties are so darn righteous!;”

“Militancy is great…for pacifists;”

“She was at a loss for words.” a paradox for sure;

or paradoxically:

“Words cannot describe what she said.” Huh?

 

Words….yes!

 

I guess I have to root for Ottawa Red / Blacks or Rouge/ Noir.

Eskimos showed up but refused to play Ottawa and the Lions were outclassed completely by Calgary.

Looking forward to next Sunday’s Grey Cup or Coupe de Gris at BMO Field in TO.  It will be interesting to see if they get a sellout or have to give tickets away, like they do every year……sad!

Football all day tomorrow. From 1000 till 1630 Pacific time. No post.

I love the CFL. Always have. I know it isn’t the NFL, what with their athletic prowess, money and hype. One of my sons is an ardent Sea-Hawks fan and there is nothing I like better than to roost him with the: “C’mon, tell me son, how can any team not get ten yards in 4 downs.” He just shrugs now. Then again the Grey Cup or Coupe de Gris is over 100 years old. Vince Lombardi? 51 years now I do believe. 

                                                                                

Earl Grey donated the Cup in 1909 – for Rugby initially (pics by Wikimedia)

I am an Argos fan but they sucked this year and missed the playoffs. So, being a wet coaster I have to cheer for the BC Lions – to win the west. If they lose tomorrow, I’ll have to switch allegiance to the East representative because I hate the Stampeders – they have the ugliest uniforms in the CFL, except of course for the Al’s ferry like star-dust fluttering light grey uniforms that they sometimes wore this year. And only in the CFL could one possibly see a western team – Edmonton Eskimos (my apologies to SJWs) – win the East Division and represent that region in the Grey Cup or Coupe de Gris. This year there is a remote possibility that the Edmonton Eskimos (my apologies again to those SJWs out there) could meet Calgary in the final. Something about a cross over rule I do believe.

Enjoy your Sunday.

I know where I’ll be. 

Go Lions Go!

Cheers 

SJ

Between Sidney, BC and Ottawa On, I have been actively involved in coaching minor hockey and Little League baseball for over 13 years.  Yet, the Sidney experience was unique and one that I doubt I will ever be part of again.

Volunteerism is essential for the fabric of any small community and especially minor sports.  Even larger cities such as Toronto and Ottawa depend a great deal on the selfless acts of its citizens to build a sense of community and neighborhood pride within the monolithic confines of a metropolis.  Yet sometimes the best intentions fail. Why? Why were we successful when many other associations that I have been part of bicker and fight to their own self-destruction?  Is it poor leadership? Jealousy? Self-gratification? Power? Who knows. Perhaps they lose sight of the reasons they are part of a team in the first place.  Perhaps they have lost their peripheral vision and are blind to the enormous talent and knowledge pool that a group of individuals can bring to the table.  Perhaps they have lost sight of their goals.

I feel that this experience is analogous to the business model of the “coach and the high performance team”.  Here we had a group of individuals who were all professionals in their chosen fields.  Yet privately we were all inconspicuous, shy; unsure of ourselves; the only common thread was being involved in the personal well-being and development of our sons’ and daughter’s through athletics.   No one knew one another very well, none of us were part of the league’s inner sanctum.  Yet most of us were actively involved as volunteer coaches and managers and understood the value and merits of effective teamwork.  We also believed in our community and in having fun.

In this case there was no one individual who assumed a leadership role.  Our dream, our vision was an intangible. It was our coach.  The “Field of Dreams” was our collective goal, our only goal.  No one person had to articulate it for us.  It was omnipresent; the functional side of the triangle and cohesive glue that held us together and kept us on target.  In effect our coach encapsulated all that was good about this endeavor and about us as individuals.  We, as individual I’s became a collective “we” and as a result became a high performance team.  Our individual knowledge was pooled, and managed, and focused to make our dream a reality.

I never gave the concept of a knowledge base much thought during this endeavour. No one asked me if I was practicing knowledge transfer or understood complexity theory, or high performance teamwork, as I was digging out the septic field for our new clubhouse.  In some respects the fundamental baseline of knowledge sharing is an intangible in itself.  But by understanding its principals and enormous potential can one fully grasp the considerable talent out there waiting to be tapped and harvested.  The only thing missing may be a vision or a good coach or the external forces necessitating change.

Being less pragmatic and hierarchical in dealing with people has captured my imagination and holds great promise. I can see its merits and potential in coaching, in running a league executive, in business or in any endeavour involving a diverse group of individuals.  The huge bureaucracy that I was part of at National Defence was anathema to a knowledge sharing environment as that experienced in Sidney. Things run at a snail’s pace.  Nevertheless even in my own small directorate there was a bevy of talent waiting to be tapped.  A group of individuals with tacit knowledge as varied and as rich as the knowledge base in our “Field of Dreams project.  All one had to do was to be cognizant that it exists.   Then create a knowledge rich environment that feeds high performance teamwork.  Establish the vision, the coach.  Enthusiasm, motivation, self confidence and commitment will follow suit.  Morale will increase, an upsurge in innovation will occur and ……………………..Life will be good.

 

We had addressed the political side of the equation.  Next we held a number of informal meetings at our local pub to pool our resources.  Besides beer, we had a number of things in common.  We shared the same vision, we were focused and we were committed.  Shared values were essential traits if we were going to fulfill our dream.  We were pumped, invigorated and willing to sacrifice our time no matter how long it took.  And, surprisingly, we all got along.  Little did we know at the time just how much commitment and grunt work it was going to take.   As it turned out we had an enormous wealth of talent and knowledge within our group.  Tom, the master carpenter, had many friends in the trades.  Wayne, who managed the local home improvement center, was willing to assume the role of project manager.  Peter, a landscape architect volunteered to come up with conceptual drawings and plans; and Len, who practiced civil law, agreed to examine all of the local statutes and governance issues.  I was responsible for fund raising and general all round scrounger.  But everyone had a role to play – from finances, accounting, and sponsorship, to volunteer coordinator and public awareness.  In reality, we had formed a knowledge rich, high performance team – a “community of practice”.

Leadership among us was never an issue.   If anything the vision assumed a lifelike presence of its own accord.  In essence, an intangible became our leader, our driving force, steering us down a common path.  Our “Field of Dreams” had forged a bond between ten individuals, transforming us from a single entity; a group of  “I’s , into a collective “We”.  In our personal lives at least, the group dynamic that had been created by our collective sense of community and the strength of strong inter-personal relationships had stroked our self awareness and reinforced our sense of well being – of being alive.  We were in a process of “becoming” part of a larger picture that instilled a sense of “belonging” to something much bigger than ourselves – the community in which we lived.  In essenence what we had was a “Knowledge Base”.  We were able to link our individual talents together as we were focused toward one underlying goal – our “Field of Dreams”

Word of our predicament spread quickly around the small community.  A casual conversation between Ted, Wayne and an old man sitting beside a cop at a local donut shop revealed that a 10-acre parcel of land adjacent to the airport buffer zone might be available for a sub lease arrangement.  It turned out that the land was hardly used. The aircraft landing spooked the Guernsey’s that grazed the fields.  They were having great difficulty milking.  Our lawyer checked it out.  It was a credible arrangement.  Ted, with two other councilors sympathetic to our plight, passed a resolution at city hall and a 25 year lease was arranged with the owner.  Things were beginning to take on a life of their own.   Peter the architect came up with professional drawings based upon the 10 acre parcel of land.  Lo and behold our vision of a two diamond facility suddenly became five – enough room to accommodate Little League, a Babe Ruth senior ball park, as well as the girl’s softball.  “Go big or go home” as the saying goes – why not.  Peter came up with a “hub and spoke” configuration, the centerpiece being a two-story clubhouse, canteen, offices, washrooms and an equipment storage area.   Each diamond would branch out from the center.  Between the fences, picnic, playground and “Jungle Jim” areas were planned for the families.  A batting cage, pitching mounds, trees, bushes etc were all accounted for.  Without going into all the dirty details, suffice to say, Wayne’s project management skills became engaged very quickly.  His experience as a contractor and his knowledge of the various building suppliers around Victoria, proved invaluable.  And the cows started milking again!

Expenses were formidable.  Peter knew of a golf course designer who was willing to do all of the grading irrigation and fencing work for us but at a cost of $25,000, plus materials.   We knew it wasn’t going to be cheap.   Although many of the contractors that were hired used volunteer labour,- us – we were on the hook for all of the materials. These costs were significant.  But we applied for and received a Sports BC grant worth over $300,000.

A plan was developed to raise additional cash.  At our monthly pub-fests, imagination ran rampant.  Booze in moderation can be a wonderful creative stimulant.  The ideas that came out of our group were innovative to say the least.  We sold singles, doubles, triples and home runs with the promise of having the donator’s statistics permanently posted of the clubhouse wall.  That raised about $10,000.  We designed and sold advertisement space on the outside fences for $1500 apiece with a five-season exposure contract.  Over 105 signs were sold to various small businesses and corporations around the Capital Region District.  Bruce, our resident sign maker, charged $250.00 per sign that garnered another $130,000.00.  Scoreboard advertising was sold.  The Sidney Rotary Club donated $50,000.00 with an agreement that the facility be named “Rotary Park”.  Our biggest private donor was Trev Deeley, who owned the Harley Davidson rights for Canada.  He gave us $50,000.  Unbelievable, with the Sports BC grant, we had raised over $540,000.00.

There were a thousand good ideas and a thousand bad ones.  The clubhouse? Well we built it ourselves under the supervision of Tom and other tradesmen.   The trade’s programme at Camosun College was approached and they agreed to do all of the plumbing work for us at no cost if we paid for the materials. A retired stonemason, who just happened to be at the site looking around one Saturday afternoon, volunteered to build 10 cinderblock dugouts, if we supplied the blocks.  It was that kind of situation.  And the playing fields themselves were an enormous challenge.  Relentless raking, rock picking, and countless hours of backbreaking work taxed our patience and calloused our hands.  But with a bit of humour, beer and a barbeque, we got through it.

Wayne was a busy man. We all were.  We had organized an army of volunteers. We generated interest in all the papers and local TV.  But we finished it and had our official opening 01 May 1993. Almost three years of work – every weekend, many weeknights.  Our spouses were not amused.  Over time some of our core members lost interest and bowed out but a small cadre of men and women remained committed.  We had many arguments and fights that were fuelled by jealousy and innuendo.  Our local “wicked witch of the west”, one of many antagonists, and fuelled by jealousy and spite, tried every trick in the book to scuttle our efforts.  Even pulling a full-page ad in the local newspaper alleging fraudulent bookkeeping practices.  That alone held us back for a few months.  Not to be deterred, the strength lay in our numbers, our confidence and trust in one another and in our commitment to stay on track and on target.  There were many pitfalls to overcome and hurdles to jump however collectively we supported each other and forged ahead.  In the end we had a first class facility that was rated by Sports BC as one of the best baseball facilities in the province for minor sports.  The complex’s value, other than the land, was assessed at over $2.7M. We spent approximately $600,000.00.  Success!  William Patrick Kinsella, the author of “Shoeless Joe” presented all of us with autographed copies of his book.   In 1994, Sports BC, awarded Ted and the team the honour of “Sportsman of the Year”.

 

Final tomorrow…..SJ