Mayhem in the Bronx

I'm an Angels fan, let me lay that out there before anything else is said. When the Angels and Yanks met in the ALCS, I wore my Angel hat with pride, dealing with the dirty looks and pissy comments. Once the Yanks took the series, my interest in the playoffs waned. I tuned into a few games because it's the World Series, but since I was no longer emotionally invested, it didn't matter much.

But when the Phillies took Game 5, and the Yankees had the chance to close it out at home (come on, we all knew they weren't losing Game 6), I figured I should consider going up to the scene to take it all in. I was at my apartment working on some reading, debating whether I wanted to venture out, in the case that they lost. But Matsui hit the second-inning bomb and I knew it was over. So I jumped on the subway and ventured up to the new, over-priced, cracked-concreted House that The Boss (or Jeter or Rivera or Matsui) built. And I'm glad I did, because it was madness.

And I'm glad I left the Angel hat at home, because the fans were rowdy.

The bars across the street were jammed, with crowds peering through the windows just to keep track of the score. A bigger crowd was gathered outside Gate 6 of the stadium, watching the jumbo screen inside through the splits in the stadium exterior. Signs were present, flags were waving and chanting was non-stop ("Who's your da-ddy?" "De-rek Je-ter!" "Hip, Hip, Jor-ge!" "Phil-lies Su-uck!").

Once Mariano Rivera got Shane Victorino to ground out to Robinson Cano at second base, chaos ensued. I was outside Billy's and the plate-glass windows were immediately streaked with beer and cocktails as drinks flew. The gathering outside roared. I made my way back to the stadium and the crowds were pouring out, spilling into the blocked streets to start the celebration. No fires. No flipped cars. No fights. Just a ton of screaming, photos, chanting, dancing, congo drums, pots and pans clanging, light post climbing, hand slapping, hugs and bootleg merchandise.

It was a good time. Glad I went. Here's the photographic evidence:

GO ANGELS!

So Fresh and So Clean!

After being plagued by an active Pacific storm system that kept our suits stinky but our wits intact and the elves working too slow to reproduce copies, the third edition of morSURF Magazine is finally available to its legions (yes, legions!) of followers! Once again, readers can find comfort in the well-versed prose, carefully selected images and an interview with the coolest cat on the scene, Mr. Christian Wach. And there's beer. And iconic shapers. Some high-performance sliders. Super SUPer Candice Appleby. And understanding how surfing keeps thriving in the recession.

Pick up a copy. Read it. Stroke it. Love it. And maybe pass it on to a friend.

You can also find it here. (Hopefully. Be patient.)

The Debate Continues

From ffffound.com.

Tolk(ien) on This

"It's a dangerous business, going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no telling where you might be swept off to."

–J.R.R. Tolkien

This spoke to me. It's kind of the story of my life these days. Day to day, week to week, I never know where the road (or the subway) will take me.

Bouncing Back From the Steroid Era – Already?

If history is in fact written by the victors, it’s safe to assume baseball’s Steroid Era will endure a fair bit of revisionist history. Why? The guilty keep winning and the powers-that-be in Major League Baseball don’t seem to care to take any drastic action.

Then again, why would they? They’ve got a multi-billion dollar enterprise. Besides, they’re a business, not a platform for higher moral standards.

The next generation of baseball fans be damned.

With a new World Series champion to be crowned in a months’ time, four teams remain in contention. In listening to and reading the critics, there’s one match-up that many are hoping for: New York Yankees vs. Los Angeles Dodgers.

And why wouldn’t they? From a media standpoint, the story lines abound:

• Tradition – They’re two iconic clubs, among the oldest and most storied in the game, and also have two of the largest fan bases.

• History – The teams once shared city borders when the Dodgers were based in Brooklyn. The team relocated across the country in 1958.

• The Torre Factor – Estranged Yankees manager Joe Torre traded pinstripes for Dodger blue after not being resigned by the club he led for 12 seasons. Despite four World Series titles, six American League pennants and a playoff appearance each season, he was allowed to walk.

Then there’s that other issue that somehow seems to get swept aside when ratings and ad dollars are at stake: Performance Enhancing Drugs. Along with the host of story lines, the two teams also have two of the most recognizable known performance enhancement users on their rosters: the Yankees’ Alex Rodriguez and the Dodgers’ Manny Ramirez.

According to some, one of the validating factors of a Yankees-Dodgers series is that it will signal the beginning phase of closure to the Steroid Era.

What?

The cloud of uncertainty surrounding the past 15 years of baseball is nowhere near dissipating as names continue to be leaked from the infamous 2003 survey testing list, and yet, there are already talks of closure? Both Rodriguez and Ramirez were outed in the past six months, and both continue to collect hefty salaries and play for postseason accolades. And yet, there are talks of progress?

The only certainly to date is that an entire generation of fans of this country’s national pastime has been exposed to a tainted slate of broken records, champions and high-profile stars. And it’s a period that is irrevocably lost to court proceedings and lies.

What does a dad say to a son who dreams of one day playing in the big leagues? To whom do they point as an example of what’s right with baseball? Most every big name that has had a period of success has been assigned the scarlet letter ‘C’, for cheater.

Stringent drug testing procedures are now in place, and seem to be having an effect, reflected in those players who’ve undergone a makeover in statistical matter. But what message does that send to the fans and their lingering feelings of being deceived?

Get over it.

The message sent to the future millionaires of MLB, on the other hand, is this: “Run and hide. Change your ways. We won’t ask, we won’t tell. Just don’t do it again or we’ll suspend you for a little while and you can go off and enjoy the millions of dollars that you’ve unethically earned to the dismay of millions of viewers.”

No doubt that the MLB playoffs bring a heightened sense of drama and enjoyment to sports fans across the country, but that shouldn’t be enough to hide what’s really going on. If enough people say steroids are a thing of the past, hopefully we’ll get over it, right?

Wrong.

A common happening in the ebb and flow of professional sports teams is rise and fall, success and failure, dominance and rebuilding. Following the height of the Mark McGwire-Sammy Sosa duel of 1998 in breaking Rogis Maris’ revered home run record – which resulted in returning baseball to national sports prominence – the mighty have since fallen.

And so baseball enters a collective era of rebuilding. Rebuilding legitimacy. Rebuilding a fanbase. Rebuilding faith in its product. Baseball has long stood as sacred ground in the annals of American sports, but the luster is long gone. Now it’s on the MLB to right its wrongs and do so in a way that treats its paying customers in a way they deserve.

Written for my Personal & Professional Style class at JSchool at Columbia University.

Change is in the Trees

Beautiful time of year for a walk in Central Park as the leaves begin their annual color shift. This'll be my first year of experiencing real seasons. Looking forward to it.

Extreme Fan-demonium

I'm all for supporting your team. The rivalries and passion that come out during the playoffs are part of what make it such a great time year. When the Angels met the Red Sox in the division series, the back and forth banter was almost as enjoyable as seeing the looks on Red Sox fans' faces following the 9th inning meltdown by their much-loved, baby-faced, previously invincible closer Jonathan Papelbon.

But now that the stakes are higher in the ALCS and I'm in the town of the opposition, it's quite a different situation. Yankee fans are everywhere. They gloat. They talk shit. They're bitter. And yet, I get the impression that they're just Yankee fans for the same reason there are USC fans across the country – it's trendy. I don't know how many of them endorse the boys in pinstripes by default; they live here or moved here, and therefore hop on the high-priced bandwagon. The Yanks are a great franchise mainly because their owner, Mr. George Steinbrenner has bottomless pockets ideal for poaching top talent from less spend-happy teams. There's barely a lick of farm-fed talent on that lineup, aside from Derek Jeter and Mariano Rivera. For the sake of balance, I will point out that the Angels also have one of the top payrolls in MLB, but a number of those guys were unknowns that were handpicked by scouts and allowed to grow in the Angels system.

So, when Yankee fans start boasting about the superiority of the Yankee franchise, it makes it clear that they don't know crap about what they're talking about. They buy success. They let other clubs turn potential into well-rounded veterans, then they outbid the rest of the field. From a purist's point of view, it's tasteless. In fact, I'd argue that the Yankees are one of the most underachieving franchises over the past several years – at least since their back-to-back-to-back stretch from 1998 to 2000. Zero World Series titles since (in two appearances).

With that in mind, when a non Yankee fan goes into a bar or to a game – and I did – and has to endure the brainless abuse by some illiterate a-hole who dumped $30 for a hat that he believes gives him allegiance, I have to look at that and laugh. It's just so absurd. Come on man, get a life, a job, an education ... or even just some teeth whiteners.

I know it's already a embedded in sports culture, but threats and insults have no place in being a fan. It's pathetic. It does nothing but reflect negatively on the team and the individual. So have a beer, exchange a few steroid jokes, make fun of the Disney-designed stadium and raise your hands in triumph if your team comes out on top. But leave it at that.

Paint & Free Space

Posted something similar by the same crew a while back. Absolutely nuts-o. Probably best not to be on drugs when you watch this. Enjoy.

Coolness Across the Bridge

Manhattan gets a lot of credit for being the center of the universe. Everyone who is anyone has an apartment here. Most every major magazine has its headquarters or an office somewhere downtown. Tourists flock by the double-decker busload and people looking to live their dream come here without enough in their bank account to pay two months' rent for a studio in south Harlem. But it's Manhattan. In the minds of many, Manhattan is New York City.

I was one of those people until a few weeks ago.

Then I started venturing out to see all that this city has to offer. I wandered across Manhattan, saw the things the tour books tell you to see and even some that it didn't. Tons to see and do. Rarely a dull moment. But one thing about Manhattan struck me as odd: No one seems to be from Manhattan. They come here for work, entertainment, spare change, but for the most part, you don't cross too many born and raised Manhattanians. Not necessarily a bad thing, just makes for an interesting dynamic. No home town pride. Everyone from anywhere is a Yankees fan, but what did the people of Manhattan boast as their own? I still don't know the answer.

I found a strikingly different dynamic just across the Brooklyn, Williamsburg or Washington Bridge. B-R-O-O-K-L-Y-N. After a few trips (and an intent to continue to return), it's my contention that it's the most eclectic and interesting of the five boroughs. No, Brooklyn doesn't have the sights that Manhattan boasts or the Yankees like the Bronx or the, uh ... um ... I'm not yet sure what Staten Island or Queens have as claims to fame, but Brooklyn offers a lot in charm and personality. As reflected in its rowdy borough president, Marty Markowitz (see him in action here), the array of vintage shops along Bedford Avenue, and the self-starting Brooklynites who've retaken the way their food is grown and distributed (here, here and here), from subway stop to subway stop, neighborhood to neighborhood, it's really quite a unique melting pot of what's really happening in the world. And soooooo much hometown pride. Based on the people I've met, people do tend to leave, but there tends to be a compulsion to return.

Brooklyn isn't nearly the burgeoning area of industry that you have in Manhattan, but there does seem to be an increased sense of sustainable living, art and innovation. As one person put it: "There seems to be something about the people in Brooklyn, something about people who are used to having less money, having to figure out how to get by and becoming designers. They design their whole lives, their food, their house, everything."

Supposedly Brooklyn is experiencing a renaissance of notable proportions as more and more people are realizing that surviving in Manhattan is a bit farfetched in this economy. So, to Brooklyn they go. Rents are cheaper, space is easier to come by and a can of soup doesn't go for $3. Plus, there's a Target. Pretty much everything one could need.

Take this tid-bit for what it's worth: get shiny lights and overpriced knick-knacks in Manhattan, find some of real/new New York in Brooklyn.

And someone please let me know about Queens and Staten Island. Thanks.

Image taken from ffffound.com.

Life in the Cage

Life behind the cage at West 4th Street in NYC is an adventure. The guys play hard and talk big. If you're going to try to get a game, you better know what you're getting yourself into. On that court, it's more than basketball. It's a proving ground, not necessarily to scouts and recruiters, but to the other guys on the court and to yourself.

Put together this audio slideshow about my time at the court for a skills class. First attempt working with Final Cut Pro. Some mistakes, a few redundancies and the images could use some editing, but overall, I was pretty happy with how it turned out.

An Insatiable Desire

“It seems that the more places I see and experience, the bigger I realize the world to be. The more I become aware of, the more I realize how relatively little I know of it, how many places I have still to go, how much more there is to learn. Maybe, that’s enlightenment enough—to know there is no final resting place of the mind, no moment of smug clarity. Perhaps wisdom, such as it is, for me means realizing how small I am. And unwise. And how far I have left to go.”

— Anthony Bourdain, Chef/Writer/World Traveler

I share in Mr. Bourdain's musings on the world, and our place in it. It's a blessing and a curse. It's a mindset that offers limitless interest in continuing to explore and learn and live and laugh, but it also sets in a place an insatiable desire to keep it going. It's a problem I foresee for myself looking into the future. But it's a lifestyle I've craved since I started giving a damn about what I did with my life. So, the question becomes: How do I ever find balance? A desire never to settle but a hope that I'll one day have stability, security and a family. A conscience that tells me to save, plan and play it safe; a devil on my shoulder that says travel, eat and be merry.

This internal dilemma is also a compelling element of my chosen career as a journalist. The constant unpredictability of it all. Never know who I'll meet, where I'll be going, what new idea I'll stumble upon and what effect it'll have on me. I like that. I thrive on it. It's what keeps me motivated to make it all work. It's why I was willing to pick up and hop across the country for a year of school that doesn't guarantee anything, but in a way offers everything. It's a whole new world. Of course there are those people and places that I miss, but it's hard to dwell when your mind is constantly stimulated by what's new and shiny.

I doubt I'll ever have the limitless travel budget that Mr. Bourdain enjoys, but I intend to get back out there, wherever it may be. Peru. South Africa. Denmark. All the travel and cultural exposure changes you. It doesn't happen until you learn to and begin to notice the little things: Cobblestone streets. Ornate cathedrals windows. A perfectly thatched palm frond roof. Waves washing on the shore. Farmers markets. A homemade meal. A town shutting down for a midday nap.

I haven't had my moment of "smug clarity," but I have come to learn that I'm compulsively unsatisfied with predictability. So I'll keep searching and hope that I find the answers along the way.

Saying Goodbye

I'm supposed to be reading Melvin Mencher's "News Reporting and Writing" right now for class in the morning. When this thought came into my mind, it became all I could think about. I couldn't make it through the first paragraph of the reading without reflecting sadly, so, here it is ...

It's really hard to say goodbye to a childhood pet.

It's probably one of the worst feelings in the world.

For me, it's been harder than losing most loved ones that have passed away during my lifetime. That seems terrible, I know, but if you have a dog or cat for years and suddenly that day comes, it's worse than breaking up with a girlfriend. Or getting rejected from college. Or getting in your first auto accident. Hearts will heal, new opportunities will arise, bones will mend, but replacing one of your best childhood friends? Not possible.

Pets play a special role in the life of a child. For me, Congo, my Australian Shepherd of 14 years, was many things: my friend, when no one else was around; my alarm clock, wandering about my room when it was time for him to eat; my confidant, when I was learning to understand women; my workout partner, when I was training to make the college soccer team; my photo subject, when I wanted to practice portraits; and my welcoming party, standing at the gate with his tongue hanging and tail wagging when I'd come home from a trip. And quite a bit more.

We never fought, he never held a grudge, he was always willing to go for a walk when I needed to clear my mind, he was willing to lick my plate clean, no matter what was on it, he watched whatever I wanted on TV, and damn, did he give the best head rubs when I'd let him lick my hair (a bit gross, I know, but he loved that Herbal Essences).

So when I heard that my dad had made "an appointment with the vet," I was heartbroken. I knew Congo wasn't well. His hips were bad, he was losing weight, he couldn't jump and torment the neighbors the way he used to. I knew it was a matter of time. But the look on his face when he stood in the front yard, a breeze in his face, his mouth slightly open, a look of contentment in his eyes, made me hope I'd never have to say goodbye. But I did. When I was packed and ready to fly off to NYC for a year, it was when I got down on my knee and hugged him that I shed the first tear. I knew there was a good possibility it was the last time I'd feel his fur and kiss his head. It's times like those that you wished you shared a common language. I wished I could thank him and express my appreciation for all he'd brought to my life. But all we could do was lock eyes and I hoped he knew how I felt.

I'll have another dog someday. He'll have a different temperament, probably be an adorable puppy and make me smile. But it won't be the same. That first (or most memorable) childhood pet gets a special place in our heart. One that can never be covered up or forgotten.

Congo Marshall
1995-2009

Yikes.

This thing needs some serious love. New postings soon to come. Here's a teaser:

"Life in the Cage" - The courts at West 4th Street in New York City is a breeding ground for top street ball talent, loud mouths and quality free entertainment. Based on talking to the guys on the court, it's more than showboating and putting a ball through a hoop.

Street Art in Soho

Always intrigued when I stumble upon this type of stuff.

Little Bit of This, Some of That

It's Monday afternoon. The last Monday of my freedom in New York City. On Wednesday, my time at Columbia commences. It's only orientation, but from that time on, my time will be officially be back on a school-induced schedule. For the first time in 3 years. Odd, very odd.

With that lurking on the horizon, there are a few things to do. Hey, I haven't been completely inactive in my two weeks here:

• I'm pretty certain that my walking muscles are fully functional and that my adaptation to the heat and humidity is nearly complete. (NOTE: I've been told it's been a mild summer, so part of it has been luck.)
• The Christian Wach interview is transcribed (the worst task in journalism), but the tough part is determining what to cut. The guy really is rather interesting. A lot going on, and wasn't shy to divulge. So much nicer than having to squeeze more than five-word responses out of the interviewee.
• I'm still a dresser shy of a complete bedroom, but I'm all over the Craigslist listings. And my walls can still use some life. White does not really excite.

My makeshift dresser.

• I'm also yet to do any real sight-seeing. I've wandered a bit down Broadway, and along and through Central Park, but nothing with the main sights. I've been to NYC four times and I've never seen the Statue of Liberty. I figure I'm in position to finally knock that one off the list.
• Two weeks in, and I'm yet to buy beer. In bars, yes. For my apartment, no. Something about paying $12 for a six-pack just doesn't sit right, even if it is the norm. I've done quite a bit of pricing, but am yet to settle on a dealer of choice.
• Yesterday was pretty interesting. I took another walk south to get out of the apartment and see what I stumbled on. I got down to Columbus Circle (the south end of Central Park, I'm on the north end) and the area appeared quite a bit more packed than your run-of-the-mill tourist bombardment. I started seeing red, white and blue flags, face paint, and I <3 DR shirts the closer I came. Turns out it was Dominican Pride Day. There was a parade running along the south end of Central Park, and the NYPD seemed to have a sneaking suspicion that the event would get rowdy. The boys in blue started arriving by the van load. The crowd descended into the subway station and proceeded to chant, blown whistles, clog up traffic and cause enough of a raucous that the riot squad was called in to calm the uprising. Nothing really came of the gathering, but it was interesting to watch. Once the excitement appeared to be over I started making my way back to my area. I was walking along Central Park when I spotted a fairly large gathering along one of the walkways. I wandered over and Blackberry's, digital cameras and video cameras were out in full force to capture a moment of Ashton Kutcher filming a segment for "Good Morning America". It was my first celeb sighting. Rather exciting. It was enough to make my friend, Kristen, jealous. That alone validated my paparazzi moment.