The Long Road back to the Middle

From the desk and mind of M.P. Braget

The following is partially true, two-thirds fictitious, a bit sarcastic, but mostly honest and in places brutally so. Our memories are a bit like that, though lacking a bit in honesty I wager. Larry Woiwode wrote a book called What I Think I Did and in it he discusses the reconstruction of memory. Memories, after all, aren't real, they don't exist in the here and now. That book is also about the North Dakota winter of 1996 which some may remember gave us the flood of '97, both of which were quite brutal. You should read it, it's good. But don't take my word for it. "Take a look/in a book.."

I've been walking in circles which is to say I've been busy, busy, busy living. But I've also been literally walking in circles, breathing in the musty cool air that only a concrete structure can flavor, listing to the click-clack echo of my hard sole boots bounce rhythmically through the automobile hotel, marching me along as I hold a book, of some color or another, up to my nose. This is my lunch hour, or 40 minutes of it, walking in circles reading a book for the physical and mental exercise. Walking and reading. I'm no doctor, so I won't tell you what Americans need but more walking and more reading surely couldn't hurt. I'm not here to tell you that though, I'm just setting the scene.

In this parking structure where I spend my lunch hour, book held to my nose, relying on my peripheral vision to guide me around the metal guests, my hearing to warn me of the occasional arriving/departing metal-soul, I occasionally stop reading long enough to notice the particular breed of the automobiles. This is my temporary escape from the office-rat cubes of corporate America. The cubes where all our dreams comes true.

I'm walking, click-clack, click-clack, and noticing on down the line: Toyota Prius, Lexus, BMW, Prius, Mercedes, non-Prius Toyota, Prius, Nissan Wannabe Prius, Lexus, BMW, Mercedes, Mazda, Prius, Prius, Prius. Californians, myself excluded, don't buy American Metal Souls. They either guzzle too much gas, or just do so unreliably. Either way, "made in America" is too far below the average, and certainly the above-average Californian-American. Thirty-five Million people live in California with 30 Million registered vehicles which have better health care and bathe more often than I do, drought be damned. Life is irony. Irony is God's sense of humor alive and well.

Because aliens will first visit North America and North America has just as many cars as people, and cars can be seen more from space than people, the first alien contacts will attempt communication with a Prius, I'm certain of it. I'm also certain they'll get all the information they came for from the Prius, forgoing the whole "take me to your leader" bit. We don't really have any left, and if we did, Gravitas is dead anyway. One of the old gods discarded like so many others.

Click-clack. I walk in laps, book to my face, surrounded by metal-persons, all with their backs turned to me unless their organic master parks knowing the satisfaction of pulling out of a parking space driving forward. An indifferent audience to an indifferent event, in an indifferent place, of indistinguishable time.

But, maybe not so indifferent to the actor.
I've read, click-clack, in circles:
The Mistborn Trilogy - Brandon Sanderson
The Wisdom of Insecurity - Alan Watts
Cat's Cradle - Kurt Vonnegut
Player Piano - Kurt Vonnegut

Vonnegut fans might notice I'm stealing from him here. So it goes.

Click-clack.

Misty cool, walk the circle, read the book, I reflect on America via it's cultural masterpiece: the automobile. The new gods holding concrete court. They've judged me indifferent but what is the point? A question, you, my reader, might be asking. I think I have one but an attempt to make it obvious will kill it. So I can't. I can't because I drank heavily from the Alan Watts kool-aid:

"Only words and conventions can isolate us from the entirely undefinable something which is everything" (The Wisdom of Insecurity, page 49).

You should read this book, experience it. It's teaching me to let go, to be in the now, to stop regretting the past and fearing the future. To Live. Tom Petty said the waiting is the hardest part, I say it's letting go. But I don't have the time, space, or desire to flesh this out more. Watts is part the point.

Click-clack.

Walk the circle, listen the world inside the concrete metal-soul hotel, listen to life outside it, feel the ground, the slight breeze breaking in easily for metal souls require no windows and little for walls.

Click-clack. Here. Now.

What is the meaning?

Some way our's is a short life, or a long road. Shakespeare lamented it's meaningless: all that sound and fury. Again from Watts: "...for they are but men huddling together and shouting to give themselves courage in the dark" (The Wisdom of Insecurity, page 19).

Click-clack.

Life is a long, or short, road back to the middle. Watts' point, or really the jumping off point, is that we fear meaningless so we ascribe meaning to it all which ultimately makes us unhappy by constantly being worried about being happy. Storing up stuff  now to make sure our future is good.

Click-clack.

From Vonnegut's Cat's Cradle, his religious prophet, Bokonon, describes the creation:

"In the beginning, God created the earth, and he looked upon it in His cosmic loneliness. And God said, 'let Us make living creatures out of mud, so the mud can see what We have done.' And God created every living creature that now moveth, and one was man. Mud as mad alone could speak. God leaned close as mud as man sat up, looked around, and spoke. Man blinked, 'what is the purpose of all this?' he asked politely.
'Everything must have a purpose?' asked God.
'Certainly,' said man.
'Then I leave it to you to think of one for all this,' said God. And He went away."

Some of you might not like this much. Maybe there isn't much to like about it. Watts, I imagine, would say that's his point but without actually saying so. Vonnegut, I imagine, would look upon us with a wry smile and a twinkle in his eye. The only man I can imagine who would be laughing in the face of the apocalypse.

But here I am.

Click-clack.

Walking in circles.

Here you are.

Click-clack.

Reading this in circles.

What is the meaning? I can't say. But hey, fuck it, at least we're getting our exercise.

Basketball and Resiliency...

As I continue to grow older I seem to spend less and less time learning my life lessons at the bars and more just in my everyday life.

The thing about getting older is that things we were once able to accomplish without much effort now seem like they take a lot out of us, or at least can’t be accomplished with as much ease as they once did. One of the largest areas where this seems to come into play is with exercise and keeping in shape. Things we did when we were in our teens, or even early twenties, such as eat or drink ridiculous amounts and have no trouble keeping the pounds off, or even getting the motivation to do some exercise afterwards.

#4 Dusty Neibauer...still has it.

While I was attending college at MSU-Moorhead, a group of friends and me would spend at least four hours every night at Nemzek Hall playing basketball. Once we finished we would either go and get some homework done, or a lot of nights we would head over to my place, play some cards and spend most of the rest of the evening drinking and harassing my poor roommates (Two to Deuce), sorry guys! But the next day most of us (not always me) would get up and go to class, then hit the gym, and start the process all over again.

Not only were we able to put forth a good effort academically, but we also ended up being pretty good basketball players, putting forth a great showing in our pick-up games at Nemzek as well as winning several adult basketball tournaments.

In those days people were always trying to join our team or were worried anytime they saw that they were facing us in a tournament. We didn’t always have the same name, but they could pick us out by looking for the most ridiculous team name on the bracket (such as, That’s a lot of Potatoes), and when they faced us they brought their A-games. Once in all of our glory, we even beat a team comprised of most of the MSU-Moorhead college team. They always put together an intramural basketball team (cheap bastards) and in front of a surprisingly large makeshift crowd, we beat them when Dan Nyberg knocked down a three from about six feet behind the line…a story I will no doubt tell my (or at least someone’s) grandchildren someday, and embellish the hell out of the whole ordeal.

But my life lesson today doesn’t center on how good we were , or how pitiful it is that at 32 I’m already talking about the glory days, no, today’s lesson is centered upon resilience.

#13, Kurt Philion showing off his ball skills.

Back while we were actually a force to be reckoned with people would ask us what we were up to that weekend and we would state that we were going to be playing in a basketball tournament. The standard reply generally went something along the lines of: “Well you boys have fun, and don’t get into too much trouble!”

Fast forward a few years.

We’re now around that 26 – 28 age range, and people ask us, what are you up to this weekend? To which we reply, we’re getting together with our college buddies and playing in a basketball tournament! The puzzled looks on their faces speak more than words can say…but they say them anyway…

     “Friend”: Are you coaching?

     Me: Nope, we’re playing! It’s an adult basketball tournament!

     “Friend”: Aren’t you guys a little old for that stuff, don’t you think it’s time to give up the ghost?

     Me: Are you kidding?! I love basketball, and what better excuse to get together with the guys?!

     “Friend”: OK, well have fun I guess…

It should be noted that at this point we are also starting to lose members of the team, not necessarily because they want to be done playing, just that other things have started to take precedent in their lives, such as work, wives, and kids. We generally only play in about two to three tournaments a year, but the girls who used to join us for these adventures have now become mom’s and have become much more responsible, in many cases either forgetting the amount of fun they used to have, or remembering and worrying what kind of trouble their husband may still get into! Some of my greatest memories of these basketball tournaments are the amount of fun our whole group used to have together, not just the guys, but the girls that would one day become their wives and the mother of their children. I truly knew the brides when they used to rock n’ roll.

TJ Super taking it to the hole, while Jason, Ryan, Kyle, and Pat just watch.

So now we recruit new members or scrap together the guys we can in order to form a team. Some friends get the green light to partake in a weekend of basketball and debauchery, some don’t. We gather up a few younger guys to fill the gaps and still put forth a pretty respectable team. We’re not the feared force we once were, but we’re still having a good time playing the sport we love, getting some exercise and still finishing about the middle of the pack.

Notable changes include; forfeiting games because we can’t get out of bed, losing by 20+ points, having our ankles actually broken, and a noticeable decline in our popularity at the night clubs…

Fast forward to today, or at least this past weekend…

After trying for several years (7 or 8) we were finally able to put back together a good portion of our old team, as well as some guys we’ve been playing basketball with for a few years who are our same age. How do we accomplish this? One of our friends is having a birthday party for his two year old at a Holiday Inn in Fargo, which happens to be happening the same weekend as our basketball tournament! This means that not only will the husbands be allowed to come hang out and play some basketball, but the wives (and kids) will also be in attendance! But in these few years (we’re now 32-34 years old) a few other changes have occurred, starting with that same old conversation…

     Friend: What are you up to this weekend?

     Me: I’m going to play in an adult basketball tournament with my college buddies!

     Friend: Oh really, where’s that at?

     Me: Fargo.

     Friend: Good for you. I’m glad you’re still playing!

The last statement is said with some sadness and is also stated as almost a backward compliment. Just hearing the words come out of their mouth I can hear both that they are kind of sad that they aren’t able to do things like this anymore but they are also impressed that at my age I still can. Society has beat them down to the point where if someone is still doing things such playing in adult basketball tournaments at 32, they should be commended…but when did I get soooo old?

Granted it takes me far longer to heal from an injury now, and even just playing sparingly I usually end up sore the next day, but I find that if I continue to exercise I’m actually a lot better off now than I was a few years ago. I’m generally a lot healthier, drinking less and exercising more than I did in my late twenties. I’m no picture of health but when I do play basketball or go for a run, it really makes me feel pretty darn good. I need to do more of it and eat healthier now than I used to, but I also still play at open gyms where I play with guys in their 50’s who still play against kids who are 18…and they’re still very good.

The saddest part to me is that I’m now at a point where it’s a badge of honor that I’m still playing at all, whereas it seemed like only a few years ago we were at the top of the game.

So we put together this team, and in the build up to the tournament I kept thinking to myself, and telling anyone that would listen, that we should have a really good team for the first time in a long time. That it was actually one of the best teams I’ve put together in years…and then we proceeded to lose every game in our tournament.

Dan Nyberg getting ready to audition for the AND1 Mixed Tape tour.

It turns out that none of us are afforded the opportunity to play four hours of basketball everyday still and we’re playing against people who can. We’re craftier now that we’re older and can still put points up on the board, just not with as much consistency as we once did. We’re getting older, there’s no doubt about that…but I truly hope we all keep playing and getting together to act as if we are still as good as we once were.

Even if we can’t hang on the basketball court, the group was all back together (for the most part, except for the ones without babysitters) at the bars…and once or twice a year, we can still hang with the best of them there!

Basketball and sports in general, aren’t something reserved for the young. Recently our sports teams from my little town all ended their seasons and for some of them their high school careers. These are kids who I remember from being the little tag-alongs who would accompany their parents to our Sunday night open gym and we would let them shoot shots over us to make them feel special. These same kids are now making us all look like old men out there, but it’s safe to say that they have great parents who introduced them to an activity that they can do for a very long time. Sports are something that can bring us together, young and old alike and that’s certainly something we should all fight to try and hold onto.

Don’t expect this to be the last blog centered on basketball, it’s taught me many lessons in my life and I look forward to continuing to play and learn. For all of those high school seniors who are now moving on from their organized sports, as long as you love the sport and are passionate about playing, keep it up. Someday it’ll be your kids who learn to love the sport by watching their parents out there, and they’ll learn a ton of life lessons along the way. It’s a great way to teach them how to be passionate about something and how life can always be fun.