Joining the Sea of Voices

So I wasn't going to say anything.  Too many people have already commented, and there's nothing more to say on the issue.  I was just going to let it all be said by them and keep quiet.  Except then I couldn't anymore, and it was all because I had to write a new receipt letter for work today.  In my researching, I came across an article that caused my blood to start boiling and let me know that I can't keep quiet any longer.

In an article for the Mail Tribune, Michael Rubinkam, Marc Levy, and Ralph D. Russo outline the NCAA and Big Ten sanctions against Penn State University.  I can only hope that they didn't dream up the title, because it is so assinine given everything that has happened.  Surely no human being could be so crazy as to think it's a fair assessment . . . or perhaps they just saw the irony in this whole situation:

"Dark Days Ahead for Penn State."

Really?  That is wrong on so many levels.  For starters, the dark days have been going on for the past several years.  Sexual abuse thrives in darkness and silence, so I'd say that now that it has been exposed, the dark days are finally over.  And there's the "Penn State" bit.  While dark days may be ahead of Penn State because of the sanctions and what that will mean for them, the dark days have been ongoing for the dozens of young men who were violated by Sandusky and betrayed by Joe Paterno and the other men who could have helped them.  Sorry, but I don't give a damn about the "dark days ahead for Penn State," because I can't quit thinking about the young men who have daily faced dark days.

I get that the NCAA sanctions will hurt the football program.  I get that the people who perpetuated this horrific abuse are no longer at Penn State (and one of them is even dead).  I get that the student athletes still at Penn State are the ones punished by these sanctions. 

But, seriously, isn't it just football? 

And isn't this problem because the people in leadership at Penn State believed that football was more important than the abuse of children?  So, hell yes.  Sanction the football right out of Penn State. 

Penn State football, a longtime powerhouse that was once one of the cleanest, most admired programs in college sports, escaped the so-called death penalty from the NCAA on Monday but was dealt a heavy blow that will cripple it for years to come. (Rubinkam, et al)

A heavy blow that will cripple it for years to come.  Interesting.  I can bore you with stats on what is likely happening--and has happened--to the victims.  If there were only 10 of them, 5 of them were likely involved in some sort of juvenile delinquency.  SEVEN of them were likely treated for problems with substance abuse and suicidal thoughts/attempts.  Most of them probably have failed marriages and/or have declared bankruptcy or have trouble holding down a job.  This is the reality of sexual abuse.  So now let's talk about being crippled for years to come.

It's not all a loss, though.  There was one wise voice to speak out in the midst of all of this craziness and people supporting Penn State and Joe Paterno.  And he played for Paterno and was on the 1986 National Championship team as a wide receiver.  What he had to say is something that this headline writer, these three journalists, Penn State fans, and Penn State haters should all keep in mind.  Really, it's something that all of us as human beings should keep in mind:

"Our heritage, our legacy has been tainted and damaged," said Troy Cromwell, a wide receiver on the 1986 team that won the second of Paterno's two national championships. Cromwell said he felt bad for current and incoming players, "but at the end of the day, there were still those kids, those poor kids, and those victims, and we have to think about them first in everything that we do."

It's All About the Money

As I was reading the most recent issue of Sports Illustrated, an item in the "Go Figure" section caught my eye.  I often skim or even skip that portion and head for the articles, but this time I had to stop.

$3.36
******
Amount--all that was in his piggy bank--that a six-year-old Giants fan mailed to 49ers RB Brandon Jacobs, after the boy had been told that the reason Jacobs left New York for San Francisco was because the Giants couldn't pay him enough.

Doesn't that jump out at you?  Sports has always been about the money in a big way.  The Los Angeles Angels of Anaheim set records for their off-season spending to get CJ Wilson ($77.5 million over five years) and Albert Pujols ($240 million over 10 years).  I can't even imagine that kind of money.  It's in the NBA, MLB, NFL--it's in all sports.  In fact, we almost lost our 2012 NFL season over millionaires fighting billionaires for millions.

Now Josh Hamilton is in the final year of his contract with the Texas Rangers.  He's playing a lights-out season--fielding things others can't and hitting more home runs in a single week than Pujols has hit all season (hmm . . .).  What kind of money is he going to get?  The baseball gurus say that we'll never see another contract like the one Pujols got in this off season.  And, with his history of substance abuse and its effects on his body unknown and with his age, a team would be foolish to sign Hamilton to a 10-year deal, but he's still going to command numbers we haven't seen before.

Hamilton has already stated that he doesn't feel he owes the Rangers anything as far as taking less money to stay with them.  Let the bidding begin!  That's basically what he was saying at the time.  And, in last week's issue of Sports Illustrated, his wife did all but confirm that they will go to the highest bidder.  I did appreciate that she phrased it by saying that just because they are Christians doesn't mean they should be expected to take less money.  After all, Josh's talent came from God, his second (third?) chance at baseball came from God, so he should take all the money he can get and use it for God.  I get that.  I respect that.

Obviously Rangers fans are hot over Hamilton's statements.  Didn't the Rangers take a chance on Josh?  Haven't they given grace after two relapses?  Haven't they employed an accountability partner to keep Josh on the straight and narrow path of sobriety?  Doesn't he owe it to them to take what they'll give him to retire as a Texas Ranger?

No.

He really doesn't.  I mean, really, hasn't he paid them back?  Hasn't he stayed off of drugs, given them immediate apologies for his two momentary lapses with alcohol, and worked to stay clean?  He's been a key part in getting his team to the World Series in two seasons and is leading the world (and all of history) in home runs at this point in the season.  He's paid the Rangers back for the chance they took and the salary they offered.  Let the bidding begin indeed.

Yes.  Athletes are grossly overpaid.  But if they can claim it, aren't they entitled to it?  Sorry, dear little Giants fan.  I wish we lived in a world where $3.36 was enough to keep your favorite player on your team.  But these days, $3.36 million isn't even enough to do it.

Have you heard?

"Have you heard of Africa? Bono invented it a few years ago." - Matt Wertz

That's witty.

A new baby for our best friends?

That's beauty. Congrats, dear Wetzels.

I think I'll go to Boston.

I think I'll start a new life.

I'll hand pick what I'll keep from this one . . . Beau. Ellie. Winnie the Pooh. Stitch. My handy dandy new computer. To Kill a Mockingbird. And the iPod I'm getting for my birthday. Let's just pretend I have it now.

Okay. Pack up, kids. We're going on a trip. To somewhere new. And this time we'll get it right. All on our own merit.

I'm glad I never lived next to the water, so I could never get used to the beach. And I'm glad I never grew up on a mountain, to figure out how high the world could reach . . . For some the world's a treasure to discover and your scenery should never stay the same. They're trading in their dreams for explanation, all in an attempt to entertain . . . The trick of love's to never let it find you. It's easy to get over missing out. I know the hows and whens, but now and then she's all I think about. I wonder how it feels to be famous. But wonder is as far as I will go. 'Cause I'd probably lose myself in all the pictures. And end up being someone I don't know. So it's probably best I stay in Indiana just dreaming of the world as it should be. Where every day is a battle to convince myself that I'm glad she never fell in love with me.

You're right, Jon. You're dead on. But he did fall in love with me, and so did She. So come on, dear family. Pack Pooh and Stitch, grab the computer, and make sure all your favorites are on the iPod. You and me and Harper Lee are going to head off on our own. It's a good life, but we have to leave it behind. We need to get out of Indiana, before we call it good enough.

See you tonight, Jon. You can be my muse. Or maybe my kick in the pants.

I'm not gonna drink that one.

There is a short girl dancing in my living room. She dances to even a few beats of music. She dances despite the fact that she is holding my unopened soda. It doesn't matter. She hears a few notes, and she dances.

She must know something I don't.

Loser Me.

I'm so lazy. The snow outside my window looks like rain. It's coming down that steadily. I blame the snain that's falling for my laziness. And I'm going on record stating that I prefer the winter we were having earlier this year.

What the heck is my problem? How am I not motivated?

Maybe I should just bag on the whole dream thing. It doesn't seem to be working out for me.

If I really gave a damn . . .

I would do something. I would be something. More than just talk. More than just printing articles off the internet or Tivoing a special on TV.

Happy World AIDS Day. Happy day to give a damn about something that is killing off whole populations. One child every minute. Too many women--mothers--to count. Women have no rights in Africa--

Wait a minute! Africa? Africa?! Who cares about them, right? They're not even people, are they? Not like we are, anyway. Besides, it's probably best for them to die, because they're nothing to us. Wipe out the whole continent, and let us just forget it ever existed.

Yeah. There's a solution. Except they are. They are something to us. They have to be. Because if they aren't, then we're dangerously close to being nothing ourselves. Besides, they must be something to someone.

Whole families are being wiped off the planet. There are too many funerals to properly mourn even one life lost. There are too many graves to mark. People are being forgotten. It's as if they never even existed. Imagine that.

But I know your name. I hear your pain. I desperately long to draw you into my arms and wake up with you in another world where this agony is just a long-distant nightmare. Where it isn't real. Where it doesn't exist. Oh, God . . . if you were mine.

So Happy World AIDS Day. Happy day to give a damn about people who are nothing to us but everything to someone. The world to someone.