i was a big dallas cowboys fan when i was a kid. i mean, come on - they were america's team. i was easy to shop for, always begging for more cowboys gear. i used to run around the neighborhood with my paper bag slung over my shoulder, stick a copy of the creston news advertiser into a door handle, leap off that old guy's front porch and put a crazy tony dorsett spin move on the invisible defensive back while i made my away across their yard to the next house.
dwight clark and his moment in the sun nearly killed me. i later became a bears fan (and am the proud owner of the super bowl shuffle on lp). once they began to stink, i kinda gave up on pro football. chris carter and randy moss sparked my interest again while we lived in minneapolis, and i have toughed it out with my vikings through thick and thin ever since (pretty thin as of late, even with adrian peterson).
i casually watch football during the playoffs. i don't have a dog in the fight, but am still drawn to the action on the gridiron. the play-by-play guys are great. i like joe buck, son of the man who narrated my childhood summers. his broadcast partner is cowboy superstar, hall of fame quarterback, and rent-a-center pitchman troy aikman. the rapport between these two guys is great. i'm continuously impressed with troy's style and content, concussions and all.
he had a great line during his interview the other day on the dan patrick show. paraphrased, he said that every parent thinks their kid is the best player out there. their son should be the qb, the one with the ball when it counts, the boy taking the shot downfield with the game on the line.
both of my boys play basketball, and we are in the throws of it this time of year. the testosterone inside these noisy gyms flows heavier than the hot fudge river in those old school dairy queen commercials. parents bark at their kids to knock down that jumper with three defenders in their face, yell at the refs when a foul is called on their child, and choke back the profanities when their son gets hacked taking the ball to the rack. the anxiety that i feel while perched on those uncomfortable bleachers runs down the faces of most of these middle school ballers. quite the social study.
i like to defer to other players when doing a gig. the music doesn't always benefit from me taking some long solo. i have had the luxury of being both in front of a group as a saxophonist and part of the trio as a jazz pianist. i understand the ego that goes with being the horn player, and have also shared some eye-rolling with fellow rhythm section guys. my teacher back in college told me to think compositionally. i'm always trying to assess on a gig where we are at musically, and how i can best contribute. a band i was in back in the twin cities did a live recording at this cool place in chicago. the best tune of the set was a free improvisation at the end of the night. man, it sounded so cool. the guitarist was in top form, the electronics guy was pulling out all the stops, and the drummer was accentuating all the right things. when the tune was over and the applause died down, i realized that i hadn't played one note.
i'm trying hard to not get in the way of creative space. another teacher from college always preached "serve the music". my kid's basketball coach harps to his squad about taking our shot, not your shot. i understand that, at times, it's probably best if i take a solo, and that often lines up with my desire to create with my friends. however, i try to stay dialed in to the instantaneous development of the flow of ideas and quickly decide how best to participate.
and for the record, simon is getting all ball on those blocks. that other kid falls over because he's a sissy. and while we're at it, kale is getting hacked every time he drives the lane. you jokers just won't call it. he's only in 6th grade, but i won't hesitate to put on his uniform. again...
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