My dad passed away more than five years ago, and I’ve finally gotten around to realizing that despite our differences he passed on to me many of his core values about hard work and family.

A century ago my dad’s father emigrated from Ukraine. He supported his family as a piece-work tailor in the sweatshops of New York in the early 1900’s.

I suspect that is why my father practiced diligently to become a professional musician by the time he was 18. No sweatshops for my dad, he worked hard to find his niche and master it and while I suspect he wasn’t a great student otherwise, he became an expert at playing the French Horn.

Not only did Dad earn his living from playing—he also wrote a book, “The Essentials of Brass Playing.”  It is still considered one of the best handbooks on brass fundamentals and I believe has been translated into thirteen different languages.

As with other families at that time, ours had certain subjects, such as sex, that we never discussed. That was just understood.  But unlike other families, we did talk about money and investment.  A lot. At one time Dad successfully invested in the stock market, and personally charted the price and volume information from several hundred publicly listed stocks. It took me twenty years, and significant financial losses, to learn that I do not have the talent or the patience that a successful stock investor must have. But what I learned from father about investing and finances has served me very well my entire life.

There are only two areas where I do not share my father’s views — I never spanked my children, though it was a common practice when I was growing up, and I never insisted that my children “finish everything on their plate,” which was undoubtedly Dad’s remnant from the Great Depression of 1929.

Dad, I just want you to know that I share your values, especially keeping the family together. You and Mom had two children, but now have eighteen descendants (eight grandchildren and ten great-grandchildren.)

Just like it’s never too late to have a happy childhood, it’s never too late to appreciate your parents and the values lessons they passed on to us.

And for the record, my mother was a Saint.

Alan

Thomas Hammock is a coach for a university football team I’d never heard of before last Saturday. Since 2019, he’s been the head coach of the Northern Illinois Huskies.

Last Saturday afternoon, on national TV, Coach Hummock cried.

Every year the top college football programs, including USC and Notre Dame, schedule a few early contests against what I think of as “fodder” teams – teams they can easily beat.
I graduated from USC, and I’m a big fan of their football team (so long as they don’t I lose more than two or three games in a season). As expected, on Saturday evening USC easily won their game against the Utah State Aggies 48-0.

But Notre Dame’s afternoon game against Northern Illinois played out a little differently.

For almost 100 years, USC has had a rivalry game against Notre Dame. So, I watched the Notre Dame game hoping that, even though Northern Illinois were the underdogs by 28-1/2 points, that somehow, they would beat the odds. Boy did they ever!

To my amazement, Northern Illinois was the better team, outplaying Notre Dame 16-14 in a stunning victory. Maybe the Notre Dame scholarship players had been studying their reviews rather than their playbooks. Maybe it was just one of those magic moments that the gutsy Northern Illinois players will remember, with pride, for the rest of their lives. Maybe it was a lesson for Notre Dame about hubris.

In any event, thank you Coach Hammock, and thanks to your team.  Since I’m 84 years old I’m sure you all will remember that one September afternoon of college football magic far longer than I will, but you and your team are heroes in my eyes.

And also, Coach, thanks for setting an excellent example for the rest of us. Thank you for teaching your team, and the rest of us “to believe,” and for being real, and crying on national TV.

Alan

Do I play golf?  Not since I tried “pitch and putt” once or twice when I was in my teens.  So, is it weird that I enjoy watching golf on Television and even have a favorite golfer I root for on the PGA tour?

My father, who played golf several times a month, typically scored in the mid-90s, which is about average for someone who plays recreationally. In golf, the lower your score the better. Professionals playing on the PGA tour average in the very low 70’s.

The golfer I personally root for is Colin Morikawa, an American who is 27 years old and lives in the Los Angeles area.  He’s won a few tournaments, and lately has finished in the top ten in many professional tournaments.  It’s a lucrative position for a young golfer. The winner’s purse is usually in the millions, but Morikawa can earn as much as $300,000 for just finishing in the top five.  And that doesn’t count additional income from sponsors.

But still – chasing a little round ball around a beautiful park to have it finally drop into a small hole while everyone is watching?  Does that sound like fun?  Not to me, especially when I consider that only three or four shots are often the difference between first place and third or fourth. I can’t imagine doing that for a living. Especially when it’s all so public. Talk about pressure!

When I mistakenly type the wrong date in an email no one knows but the recipients, and they might not even notice. But when Phil Mikelson misses a crucial shot in the final three holes and loses the lead in a big tournament, everyone in the world who cares about golf knows about it.

Tennis anyone? All that grunting and running around the court while trying to hit a ball travelling at 120 miles per hour. No thanks. The same goes for baseball and football and soccer and…

Am I weird because I prefer watching to playing? Writing about sports might just be the closest I’ll ever get to participating. Unless you consider poetry slams a sport.

Alan