2 Corinthians 1:8-11 - "For we do not want you to be ignorant, brethren, of our trouble which came to us in Asia: that we were burdened beyond measure, above strength, so that we despaired even of life. Yes, we had the sentence of death in ourselves, that we should not trust in ourselves but in God who raises the dead, who delivered us from so great a death, and does deliver us; in whom we trust that He will still deliver us, you also helping together in prayer for us, that thanks may be given by many persons on our behalf for the gift granted to us through many."
Just as he did in 1 Corinthians, Paul points to God's ability to raise the dead to create a foundation for our faith. In Paul's first letter to the church at Corinth, he is using Jesus' resurrection as a starting point for all other insights into human life. In his second letter, resurrection is used as a comfort to help us through our trials. Even when faced with death, Paul and his fellow travelers trusted in God, because God has the power to raise the dead. Death has no power! So, why fear it? Paul was able to face any trial, not because he is incredibly courageous or fearless, but because He trusted in God.
"Neither skill nor knowledge is needed to go to God, he added. All that is necessary is a heart dedicated entirely and solely to Him out of love for Him above all others."
"Our sanctification does not depend as much on changing our activities as it does on doing them for God rather than for ourselves."
I am reading through Brother Lawrence's "The Practice of the Presence of God" for the first time. I wish I had done so sooner, as I am already finding some impactful and challenging thoughts. The two quoted above are the starkest examples.
They both encapsulate an idea that is far too common. That is, that we need to learn how to do certain things or change certain things about our life before we are able to approach God. Too often we are scared to pray, scared to read the Bible, scared to worship, because we fear that we do not have the prerequisites for engaging in those activities. Brother Lawrence is dispelling that myth. God wants to meet us where we are and help us grow. He wants a sincere heart that is dedicated solely to Him. If we offer that, the rest of the work is done by God.
The second quote hits what is the main theme of the book: doing all--and he means all!--things for God. Brother Lawrence's theology of presence is encouraging. It comes from a heart that all things can be done for God. That is what we all ought to be aiming for.
Friday, June 19, 2015
Thursday, June 18, 2015
Interpersonal Utility Comparisons and Utilitarian Ethics
There has been a minor brouhaha amongst economic bloggers over the last couple weeks around the issue of interpersonal utility comparisons. I do not want to get stuck in the weeds of the whole discussion, but if you are interested I think Robert Murphy had the best summation of the important issues in the discussion. I want to touch on one part of Scott Sumner's post on EconLog from June 13, 2015. He titles it "Interpersonal utility comparisons are unavoidable."
Here is the portion of his writing that I want to address:
The conditional statement that he is asserting seems sensible, though there are reservations that one might have about it. Let us assume it is true. Instead of using modus ponens, let us use modus tollens. By negating the consequent, we can negate the antecedent. We have plenty of reasons to believe that interpersonal utility comparisons are not possible, namely by pointing out that utility is ordinal, not cardinal. Murphy gives a fuller account of these reasons in the link above.
Given these reasons, we can deny the consequent of Sumner's conditional and, thus, have a reason to deny that one ought to use pragmatic utilitarian grounds to argue for or against any public policy.
Here is the portion of his writing that I want to address:
If one is going to argue to for or against any public policy on pragmatic utilitarian grounds, then one has to make interpersonal utility comparisons. Of course you can also make non-utilitarian arguments, as when people oppose government intervention on "natural rights" grounds. But it is not easy to convince the broader public without some sort of utilitarian argument.Here, Sumner is using a sort of modus ponens argument. He states that if one is going to argue for or against any public policy on pragmatic utilitarian grounds, then one has to make interpersonal utility comparisons. He then goes on to show why these pragmatic utilitarian grounds are the best way to approach public policy and, thus, by affirmed the antecedent, he can assert the consequent.
The conditional statement that he is asserting seems sensible, though there are reservations that one might have about it. Let us assume it is true. Instead of using modus ponens, let us use modus tollens. By negating the consequent, we can negate the antecedent. We have plenty of reasons to believe that interpersonal utility comparisons are not possible, namely by pointing out that utility is ordinal, not cardinal. Murphy gives a fuller account of these reasons in the link above.
Given these reasons, we can deny the consequent of Sumner's conditional and, thus, have a reason to deny that one ought to use pragmatic utilitarian grounds to argue for or against any public policy.
Daily Reading: Proverbs 18
Proverbs 18:2 - "A fool has no delight in understanding, But in expressing his own heart."
The Proverbs have a knack for picking me out as a fool, which is not exactly the most enjoyable experience. It is an incredibly important one, though. This verse challenges me to examine how I communicate in two areas.
1) Relationships - Whether it is with my girlfriend, my brother, my parents, my friends or any other person that I come in contact with, it is important that I delight first in understanding them and their heart before expressing my own. Mutual understanding is the goal. It is important to get my thoughts and desires out into the open, but not at the cost of not being able to understand the person across from me. Not at the cost of being a fool.
2) Academics - I am about to enter into the PhD program in Philosophy at St Louis University this fall. One problem that is really easy to fall into, especially as a new entrant into the academic world, is to think that you have all the answers. This makes it incredibly easy to enter classrooms or philosophical discussions with an attitude towards expressing one's own thoughts rather than trying to gain understanding. The goal becomes not to learn more, but to impress your colleagues. The verse helps humble me to know that the best course of action is to seek understanding first and not to become a fool.
On a side note, I highly recommend reading through the Proverbs on a regular basis. There are 31 chapters, so read the chapter for that day of the month. For instance, I read Proverbs 18 today, because it is June 18th. It is super easy to keep track of. You never fall behind. Just read the chapter for that day. None of the chapters are that long, but they are packed full of practical advice for life. It is a great way to start the day.
The Proverbs have a knack for picking me out as a fool, which is not exactly the most enjoyable experience. It is an incredibly important one, though. This verse challenges me to examine how I communicate in two areas.
1) Relationships - Whether it is with my girlfriend, my brother, my parents, my friends or any other person that I come in contact with, it is important that I delight first in understanding them and their heart before expressing my own. Mutual understanding is the goal. It is important to get my thoughts and desires out into the open, but not at the cost of not being able to understand the person across from me. Not at the cost of being a fool.
2) Academics - I am about to enter into the PhD program in Philosophy at St Louis University this fall. One problem that is really easy to fall into, especially as a new entrant into the academic world, is to think that you have all the answers. This makes it incredibly easy to enter classrooms or philosophical discussions with an attitude towards expressing one's own thoughts rather than trying to gain understanding. The goal becomes not to learn more, but to impress your colleagues. The verse helps humble me to know that the best course of action is to seek understanding first and not to become a fool.
On a side note, I highly recommend reading through the Proverbs on a regular basis. There are 31 chapters, so read the chapter for that day of the month. For instance, I read Proverbs 18 today, because it is June 18th. It is super easy to keep track of. You never fall behind. Just read the chapter for that day. None of the chapters are that long, but they are packed full of practical advice for life. It is a great way to start the day.
Wednesday, June 17, 2015
Daily Reading: 1 Corinthians 15-16
1 Corinthians 15:12-19, 32
Paul is pointing out to us in a powerful way that our entire faith and our entire life is built upon one historical event, the resurrection of Jesus Christ. If He rose, we have eternal life. If He did not rise, then we are "of all men the most pitiable." We are living a life of lies and deceit.
The most important question for humanity: did Jesus Christ rise from the dead?
The most important question for each human: do you believe that Jesus Christ rose from the dead?
All other questions hinge on the answers to these two.
Friday, January 17, 2014
Who is the Most Important Wildcat? An Introduction to the Importance Index
When assessing the individuals on a team, we often discuss who the best player is on that team. Another, perhaps related question, is who the most important player is on that team. I was pondering over that second question when I thought of one way to solve this. Here is what I came up with:
The team you are wanting to assess just finished a game against some opponent. You have no information about the game other than who the two teams are. You are asked to guess who won the game, but before you do, you are allowed to look at one player's stat line. Which player do you pick? The player you would pick would seem to be the most important player, as their stats most relevantly show whether or not the team won.
That is a relatively imprecise notion of importance, so I wanted to try my hand at creating a rudimentary metric for defining importance. The discussion that I had begun with had been about basketball, so I started with looking at it for that sport. Here is my first crack at it.
Importance Index: the correlation coefficient between the point differential in a game and the number of points scored by an individual in that game.
Before assessing the merits of it, let's look at the stat in action. We will look at the men's basketball team for my beloved Kansas State Wildcats. Before running the numbers, my first thought was that I would pick either Shane Southwell's or Thomas Gipson's stat line in order to predict the result. Let us see what the numbers said.
Ok. So, that's a lot of numbers after the decimal. I like them, but I know they are obnoxious. Here are the list of the top three most important players according to this Importance Index:
It's a relatively simple statistic, which has its benefits and drawbacks. I think it captures the intuition behind that idea of picking one player's stat line in order to predict how a team did. What you are looking for is whose stat line best correlates with a team winning. This could easily be done with rebounds, assists, steals, or any other statistic under the sky. My thought is that there needs to be some way to add together all of a player's contribution without simply adding points, rebounds, and assists. These might want to be weighted to some extent. I'm still working through this, but I think there is something here. I'd be interested in any input.
The team you are wanting to assess just finished a game against some opponent. You have no information about the game other than who the two teams are. You are asked to guess who won the game, but before you do, you are allowed to look at one player's stat line. Which player do you pick? The player you would pick would seem to be the most important player, as their stats most relevantly show whether or not the team won.
That is a relatively imprecise notion of importance, so I wanted to try my hand at creating a rudimentary metric for defining importance. The discussion that I had begun with had been about basketball, so I started with looking at it for that sport. Here is my first crack at it.
Importance Index: the correlation coefficient between the point differential in a game and the number of points scored by an individual in that game.
Before assessing the merits of it, let's look at the stat in action. We will look at the men's basketball team for my beloved Kansas State Wildcats. Before running the numbers, my first thought was that I would pick either Shane Southwell's or Thomas Gipson's stat line in order to predict the result. Let us see what the numbers said.
| M. Foster | T. Gipson | S. Southwell | N. Williams | DJ Johnson |
|---|---|---|---|---|
| -0.033305617 | -0.002559529 | 0.491312263 | -0.044369949 | 0.243060373 |
| O. Lawrence | W. Spradling | W. Iwundu | N. Johnson | J. Thomas |
| 0.101570967 | -0.130066323 | 0.074126345 | 0.084532404 | -0.763105637 |
Ok. So, that's a lot of numbers after the decimal. I like them, but I know they are obnoxious. Here are the list of the top three most important players according to this Importance Index:
- Shane Southwell (0.491)
- DJ Johnson (0.243)
- Omari Lawrence (0.102)
My intuition about Southwell seems to be correct, but not so much with the one about Gipson. Jevon Thomas' numbers are skewed badly, because he has only played in 6 games so far and his highest score game (9 points) was at Allen Fieldhouse, where the Cats lost by 26. I was surprised a bit by the fact that Foster's and Gipson's numbers came up negative. It might just be noise or it might be that their importance to Wildcat victories are shown more by their other numbers, namely Gipson's rebounds. (I ran the index with just that; it came out to 0.299.)
It's a relatively simple statistic, which has its benefits and drawbacks. I think it captures the intuition behind that idea of picking one player's stat line in order to predict how a team did. What you are looking for is whose stat line best correlates with a team winning. This could easily be done with rebounds, assists, steals, or any other statistic under the sky. My thought is that there needs to be some way to add together all of a player's contribution without simply adding points, rebounds, and assists. These might want to be weighted to some extent. I'm still working through this, but I think there is something here. I'd be interested in any input.
This whole discussion began when talking to my future co-host of the Sneaky Fast Sports Show, Amar. Look out for us being on Wildcat 91.9 through the spring semester. This theme will certainly come up on the show.
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Falling for Die Schwarzgelb
"SANTANA! ... SANTANA! ... SANTANA!"
Tears were streaming down my red face as I screamed the last name of my new hero at the top of my lungs. I collapsed onto my coach, a heaving pile of emotion pondering over a single question: how in the world did I end up here?
-----
I have always been a bit of a sports nut. As a kid, I had entire depth charts of NFL teams memorized. Were you curious who the backup fullback was for the Jacksonville Jaguars was? Of course not! But, I could tell you. American Football is my first and greatest love. The magic of the gridiron pulled me towards the sports world in general. No matter how much the Chiefs and Royals tried to warn me away, I fell in love with KC sports.
Soccer was nowhere to be found in my sporting world until the 2010 World Cup. I had glanced at a couple of the games from the 2006 World Cup, but I honestly can't recall anything from those games. 2010 was my first real venture into the sport. It was that emotional injury time winner from Donovan against Algeria that left a seed of the beautiful game in my heart.
-----
It took about 5 months for that seed to really begin to blossom. College football was winding down and I needed something to fill my Saturdays. I thought to myself, "I loved that crazy World Cup. Why don't I watch some more of this soccer stuff?" And, boy, did I watch.
It came as a bit of a blur at first. I can be an incredibly obsessive person when it comes to my hobbies. I wasn't going to be content with just catching the weekly EPL match and knowing about the Big 4 in England. I needed to know if Rotherham United was going to be promoted this year into League One. I needed to know who the next Croatian superstar was to come out of Dinamo Zagreb. Most importantly, I needed to know everything that I needed to know about my home league, MLS, but it was out of season, so I had to look elsewhere.
After soaking up all the EPL that I could muster, I knew I needed to venture into some other leagues around the world. Enter the Bundesliga. It seemed the logical choice. The German national team was one of my favorite to watch at the World Cup and Muller and Klose were the only names I knew before venturing into the world of soccer on my own. Heck, my family even has German heritage. Why not try and tap into that a bit? It helped that ESPN3 were streaming a couple matches every week. Without that, I might not have gotten to where I am now.
The first two things I learned about the Bundesliga were this:
1. Muller and Klose played for Bayern Munich.
2. Don't become a fan of Bayern Munich. In fact, you should probably hate them.
I nodded approvingly and accepted that Bayern were not to become my team. After watching a couple of their matches and reading plenty about them, I was glad I didn't. The whole ethos of the team just was not appealing.
-----
One of my first memories of watching the Bundesliga involves a lot of confused questions. Who puts a goat on their team logo? Are Cologne and Köln supposed to be the same place? Why do we have different names for the city? Why is that coach running around like a madman in his tracksuit? Why do I love watching this team so much?
The commentator said that there had been a feisty international match prior to this club match. Turkey had played Germany and Lukas Podolski, who played for this goat team, had gotten into a bit of a scrap with Nuri Şahin, who played for this yellow and black team. Şahin's team just seemed to ooze controlled chaos and passion, and all of it seemed to unconsciously tug at my heart.
When this Podolski fellow scored late in the game to tie it up, I felt a bit crushed. Again: more questions. Why did I care? It's a soccer game on the other side of the world. I've never cared about soccer here, much less in Eur---then, suddenly, Şahin scored a winner.
He sprinted away with joy, aiming at a single person. As he hit the midfield line he slid on his knees in front of Podolski, wagging a single finger. Suddenly, the goalkeeper was up there with him, screaming and yelling in defense of his teammate.
And, I found myself doing the same.
-----
I soon discovered that this was Borussia Dortmund. BVB. Ballspielverien Borussia. Champions League winners in 1997. Die Schwarzgelb. I soaked up all the information that I could about the team. The history is rich; the players are legendary; the club is important. More than all of that, the fans are incredible.
I tuned in the next week to see the massive Yellow Wall in action. As Antônio da Silva scored a free kick equalizer in stoppage time right in front of the heaving mass of humanity, everything went crazy. I couldn't believe the insanity that was going on around the field. The seed that Şahin had planted with his goal against Cologne was being watered by da Silva and the glorious Südtribüne.
The sprinkling became a downpour as I began to connect with more Dortmund fans around the world, mainly through Twitter. The love and passion that they showed for this club was intoxicating and it pulled me in. As I got pulled closer, they welcomed me with open arms. No snobby complaints about Americans who knew nothing about the game; no disdain about a new fan finding his first love. It was welcoming and passionate. There was no way out for me.
When I started watching the Bundesliga, I figured I would probably pick a team for me to support. I'm typically a very logical analyzer when it comes to all sorts of problems. I had planned to read all I could, discover the pros and cons of each team and pick the one that would fit the best for me. It had to be a team that I could reliably trust wouldn't collapse in the near future; they needed to have some sort of a youth system; etc. I had a whole list of criteria to measure these clubs by in order to make my decision.
Borussia Dortmund threw all of that out the window. The club punched a whole through the spreadsheet and grabbed straight for my heart and refused to let go. Suddenly, sports, especially, soccer, became a romantic endeavor. A game full of passion and desire. Full on energy and love. And a massive family that called the Westfalenstadion home.
-----
The first game that I remember watching as a self-identified Dortmund fan was the derby against Schalke. I have grown up around some intense rivalries here. The Chiefs-Raiders in the NFL can be pretty rough and tumble. Missouri and Kansas played out some of the most passionate games I've ever seen on the football field and the basketball court. This was on a different level. The build-up was incredible and the songs that rang out all game long were ear-crushingly loud. The game ended up being less Dortmund v Schalke and more Dortmund v Neuer. Neuer played like a man possessed and managed to draw against a team with 10 more players. The sting I felt was the same sting that I feel when the Chiefs would suffer a big loss. I knew they had me. It's one thing to rejoice when they rejoice; it's another to mourn when they mourn.
There was not to be much mourning, though. My nerves built up like mad before the match in Munich. When Şahin scored the 2-1 and Hummels the 3-1, I was in ecstacy. What a team this was. Even the Mullers and Kloses that I had heard all about in the summer couldn't stop them!
-----
Over the next couple years, Borrusia Dortmund did every thing they could to turn me into an emotional wreck on a weekly basis. And, I loved it. Şahin and Dedê left and I felt sick. Dortmund crushed Hamburg to open the following season and I cheered as loud as I could while in my cubicle at work. Then they lost to Hoffenheim and I got all sickly again. Then, in October, the team decided that they didn't feel like losing anymore. Every game was a roller coaster ride. The Champions League was crushing, but fun.
Finally, in my dorm room in Prague, I made an absolute fool of myself as I watched die Schwarzgelb smack Bayern around and take the DFB-Pokal by winning 5-2.
-----
I did get to visit the Westfalenstadion last summer. I wasn't able to go to a match, but just being there was tremondous. The museum was full of amazing snipets of the huge history of Borussia Dortmund. I also managed to spend a boatload of money on a Leitner jersey (HE BETTER COME GOOD), a scarf, and some other nik-nacks.
-----
As the 2012-13 season rolled around, discussion began that Dortmund were going to focus on the Champions League, the biggest club competition in the world. As the draw came out, I was filled with a mix of dread and excitement. I was dreading the thought of bowing out in Europe again, but the prospect of putting ourselves up against the best in the world was thrilling.
The group stages ended up being all thrilling. The boys played out of their skin on those midweek nights and made the champions of Spain, England, and Holland look like lesser teams.
The Champions League knockout rounds brought a new sort of nervousness that I didn't think possible. As I sat in front of my television for the second leg of the tie against Malaga, I pondered the worst and hoped for the best. If we went out here, the whole season would be tinged with disappointment. Malaga's early goal was crushing, but Lewandowski's equalizer was a sublime work of art that lead to me sprinting around my house with glee.
As the game went later, and we needed a goal, I felt myself getting more and more emotional. If we didn't score soon, we would be in trouble. Worse, if they managed to snag a go--Then. Eliseu scored. Late. Like, really late. Like, "we need a miralce or this whole Champions League thing is done" late.
I had been used to losing and had felt some pain and anguish because of it, but this was the first time that I began to cry over a sports game. I slumped into my couch and began sobbing. I tried to dry my tears with my scarf, but they kept on coming. I tried to tell myself that there was still plenty of time, but I didn't really believe it. As I looked on the faces of the players, I noticed something. They did believe it.
As Reus slammed in the first goal of extra time, I thought only one thing: "Don't mess with me right now. Don't tease me like this." I screamed and begged for a winner. I wanted nothing more in the world. As the ball came into the box, and bounced around on the line, I felt like everything just stopped. Then, Santana was running away with the biggest grin on his face. The ball was in the net! The Südtribüne, oh! the Südtribüne, was going absolutely bonkers and I just couldn't handle it. My body couldn't take it. I collapsed onto my knees and just began sobbing, this time, tears of joy. I stood up as I heard Norbert Dickel, oh! Nobby, you beautiful man, you, accounce the goal. As he reached then end he yelled, "FELIPE!" and I answered, "SANTANA!"
"FELIPE!"
"SANTANA!"
"FELIPE!"
"SANTANA!!!"
The screaming was muffled my the mucus and tears that were filling my face, but I couldn't care in the slightest. I was just reveling in the most amazing sporting moment I had ever witnessed and I didn't want to do anything else. It took about 15 minutes for me to finally begin to settle down even a little bit. I spent the next hours just blaring Borussia Dortmund songs from my room and smiling like a mad fool. Like Jurgen Klopp.
-----
I had started writing this under the inane presumption that I could keep this short and sweet. There was no way I could. There is just too much that I could write about this club, its fans, its players, its coach, its staff, its everything. Ultimately, though, I want to say thank you. Firstly, to Zorc, Watzke, Klopp and all the people who helped make these last couple years so magical and will continue to do so. But, ultimately, I want to thank all the amazing fans of Borussia Dortmund. Those who I've only seen on television have given me a glimpse into the passion and drive for their club that is simply unparalled. Those who I have had the extreme fortune to meet and talk to, I thank all of you from the bottom of my heart, especially those of you from Dortmund. You have every right to keep this beautiful club for yourself and to push the rest of us away. You have everything you could want in a football club without us, yet you still welcome us in with open and loving arms. It's incredible and I love and thank all of you for doing that. All I can do is try to do the same for you. Come watch some Sporting Kansas City with me!
Looking back, I never thought a soccer game would bring me to tears. Even more, I never thought that writing a blog post about soccer would do the same. But, that's Borussia Dortmund. And, I wouldn't have it any other way.
Tears were streaming down my red face as I screamed the last name of my new hero at the top of my lungs. I collapsed onto my coach, a heaving pile of emotion pondering over a single question: how in the world did I end up here?
-----
I have always been a bit of a sports nut. As a kid, I had entire depth charts of NFL teams memorized. Were you curious who the backup fullback was for the Jacksonville Jaguars was? Of course not! But, I could tell you. American Football is my first and greatest love. The magic of the gridiron pulled me towards the sports world in general. No matter how much the Chiefs and Royals tried to warn me away, I fell in love with KC sports.
Soccer was nowhere to be found in my sporting world until the 2010 World Cup. I had glanced at a couple of the games from the 2006 World Cup, but I honestly can't recall anything from those games. 2010 was my first real venture into the sport. It was that emotional injury time winner from Donovan against Algeria that left a seed of the beautiful game in my heart.
-----
It took about 5 months for that seed to really begin to blossom. College football was winding down and I needed something to fill my Saturdays. I thought to myself, "I loved that crazy World Cup. Why don't I watch some more of this soccer stuff?" And, boy, did I watch.
It came as a bit of a blur at first. I can be an incredibly obsessive person when it comes to my hobbies. I wasn't going to be content with just catching the weekly EPL match and knowing about the Big 4 in England. I needed to know if Rotherham United was going to be promoted this year into League One. I needed to know who the next Croatian superstar was to come out of Dinamo Zagreb. Most importantly, I needed to know everything that I needed to know about my home league, MLS, but it was out of season, so I had to look elsewhere.
After soaking up all the EPL that I could muster, I knew I needed to venture into some other leagues around the world. Enter the Bundesliga. It seemed the logical choice. The German national team was one of my favorite to watch at the World Cup and Muller and Klose were the only names I knew before venturing into the world of soccer on my own. Heck, my family even has German heritage. Why not try and tap into that a bit? It helped that ESPN3 were streaming a couple matches every week. Without that, I might not have gotten to where I am now.
The first two things I learned about the Bundesliga were this:
1. Muller and Klose played for Bayern Munich.
2. Don't become a fan of Bayern Munich. In fact, you should probably hate them.
I nodded approvingly and accepted that Bayern were not to become my team. After watching a couple of their matches and reading plenty about them, I was glad I didn't. The whole ethos of the team just was not appealing.
-----
One of my first memories of watching the Bundesliga involves a lot of confused questions. Who puts a goat on their team logo? Are Cologne and Köln supposed to be the same place? Why do we have different names for the city? Why is that coach running around like a madman in his tracksuit? Why do I love watching this team so much?
The commentator said that there had been a feisty international match prior to this club match. Turkey had played Germany and Lukas Podolski, who played for this goat team, had gotten into a bit of a scrap with Nuri Şahin, who played for this yellow and black team. Şahin's team just seemed to ooze controlled chaos and passion, and all of it seemed to unconsciously tug at my heart.
When this Podolski fellow scored late in the game to tie it up, I felt a bit crushed. Again: more questions. Why did I care? It's a soccer game on the other side of the world. I've never cared about soccer here, much less in Eur---then, suddenly, Şahin scored a winner.
He sprinted away with joy, aiming at a single person. As he hit the midfield line he slid on his knees in front of Podolski, wagging a single finger. Suddenly, the goalkeeper was up there with him, screaming and yelling in defense of his teammate.
And, I found myself doing the same.
-----
I soon discovered that this was Borussia Dortmund. BVB. Ballspielverien Borussia. Champions League winners in 1997. Die Schwarzgelb. I soaked up all the information that I could about the team. The history is rich; the players are legendary; the club is important. More than all of that, the fans are incredible.
I tuned in the next week to see the massive Yellow Wall in action. As Antônio da Silva scored a free kick equalizer in stoppage time right in front of the heaving mass of humanity, everything went crazy. I couldn't believe the insanity that was going on around the field. The seed that Şahin had planted with his goal against Cologne was being watered by da Silva and the glorious Südtribüne.
The sprinkling became a downpour as I began to connect with more Dortmund fans around the world, mainly through Twitter. The love and passion that they showed for this club was intoxicating and it pulled me in. As I got pulled closer, they welcomed me with open arms. No snobby complaints about Americans who knew nothing about the game; no disdain about a new fan finding his first love. It was welcoming and passionate. There was no way out for me.
When I started watching the Bundesliga, I figured I would probably pick a team for me to support. I'm typically a very logical analyzer when it comes to all sorts of problems. I had planned to read all I could, discover the pros and cons of each team and pick the one that would fit the best for me. It had to be a team that I could reliably trust wouldn't collapse in the near future; they needed to have some sort of a youth system; etc. I had a whole list of criteria to measure these clubs by in order to make my decision.
Borussia Dortmund threw all of that out the window. The club punched a whole through the spreadsheet and grabbed straight for my heart and refused to let go. Suddenly, sports, especially, soccer, became a romantic endeavor. A game full of passion and desire. Full on energy and love. And a massive family that called the Westfalenstadion home.
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The first game that I remember watching as a self-identified Dortmund fan was the derby against Schalke. I have grown up around some intense rivalries here. The Chiefs-Raiders in the NFL can be pretty rough and tumble. Missouri and Kansas played out some of the most passionate games I've ever seen on the football field and the basketball court. This was on a different level. The build-up was incredible and the songs that rang out all game long were ear-crushingly loud. The game ended up being less Dortmund v Schalke and more Dortmund v Neuer. Neuer played like a man possessed and managed to draw against a team with 10 more players. The sting I felt was the same sting that I feel when the Chiefs would suffer a big loss. I knew they had me. It's one thing to rejoice when they rejoice; it's another to mourn when they mourn.
There was not to be much mourning, though. My nerves built up like mad before the match in Munich. When Şahin scored the 2-1 and Hummels the 3-1, I was in ecstacy. What a team this was. Even the Mullers and Kloses that I had heard all about in the summer couldn't stop them!
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Over the next couple years, Borrusia Dortmund did every thing they could to turn me into an emotional wreck on a weekly basis. And, I loved it. Şahin and Dedê left and I felt sick. Dortmund crushed Hamburg to open the following season and I cheered as loud as I could while in my cubicle at work. Then they lost to Hoffenheim and I got all sickly again. Then, in October, the team decided that they didn't feel like losing anymore. Every game was a roller coaster ride. The Champions League was crushing, but fun.
Finally, in my dorm room in Prague, I made an absolute fool of myself as I watched die Schwarzgelb smack Bayern around and take the DFB-Pokal by winning 5-2.
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I did get to visit the Westfalenstadion last summer. I wasn't able to go to a match, but just being there was tremondous. The museum was full of amazing snipets of the huge history of Borussia Dortmund. I also managed to spend a boatload of money on a Leitner jersey (HE BETTER COME GOOD), a scarf, and some other nik-nacks.
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As the 2012-13 season rolled around, discussion began that Dortmund were going to focus on the Champions League, the biggest club competition in the world. As the draw came out, I was filled with a mix of dread and excitement. I was dreading the thought of bowing out in Europe again, but the prospect of putting ourselves up against the best in the world was thrilling.
The group stages ended up being all thrilling. The boys played out of their skin on those midweek nights and made the champions of Spain, England, and Holland look like lesser teams.
The Champions League knockout rounds brought a new sort of nervousness that I didn't think possible. As I sat in front of my television for the second leg of the tie against Malaga, I pondered the worst and hoped for the best. If we went out here, the whole season would be tinged with disappointment. Malaga's early goal was crushing, but Lewandowski's equalizer was a sublime work of art that lead to me sprinting around my house with glee.
As the game went later, and we needed a goal, I felt myself getting more and more emotional. If we didn't score soon, we would be in trouble. Worse, if they managed to snag a go--Then. Eliseu scored. Late. Like, really late. Like, "we need a miralce or this whole Champions League thing is done" late.
I had been used to losing and had felt some pain and anguish because of it, but this was the first time that I began to cry over a sports game. I slumped into my couch and began sobbing. I tried to dry my tears with my scarf, but they kept on coming. I tried to tell myself that there was still plenty of time, but I didn't really believe it. As I looked on the faces of the players, I noticed something. They did believe it.
As Reus slammed in the first goal of extra time, I thought only one thing: "Don't mess with me right now. Don't tease me like this." I screamed and begged for a winner. I wanted nothing more in the world. As the ball came into the box, and bounced around on the line, I felt like everything just stopped. Then, Santana was running away with the biggest grin on his face. The ball was in the net! The Südtribüne, oh! the Südtribüne, was going absolutely bonkers and I just couldn't handle it. My body couldn't take it. I collapsed onto my knees and just began sobbing, this time, tears of joy. I stood up as I heard Norbert Dickel, oh! Nobby, you beautiful man, you, accounce the goal. As he reached then end he yelled, "FELIPE!" and I answered, "SANTANA!"
"FELIPE!"
"SANTANA!"
"FELIPE!"
"SANTANA!!!"
The screaming was muffled my the mucus and tears that were filling my face, but I couldn't care in the slightest. I was just reveling in the most amazing sporting moment I had ever witnessed and I didn't want to do anything else. It took about 15 minutes for me to finally begin to settle down even a little bit. I spent the next hours just blaring Borussia Dortmund songs from my room and smiling like a mad fool. Like Jurgen Klopp.
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I had started writing this under the inane presumption that I could keep this short and sweet. There was no way I could. There is just too much that I could write about this club, its fans, its players, its coach, its staff, its everything. Ultimately, though, I want to say thank you. Firstly, to Zorc, Watzke, Klopp and all the people who helped make these last couple years so magical and will continue to do so. But, ultimately, I want to thank all the amazing fans of Borussia Dortmund. Those who I've only seen on television have given me a glimpse into the passion and drive for their club that is simply unparalled. Those who I have had the extreme fortune to meet and talk to, I thank all of you from the bottom of my heart, especially those of you from Dortmund. You have every right to keep this beautiful club for yourself and to push the rest of us away. You have everything you could want in a football club without us, yet you still welcome us in with open and loving arms. It's incredible and I love and thank all of you for doing that. All I can do is try to do the same for you. Come watch some Sporting Kansas City with me!
Looking back, I never thought a soccer game would bring me to tears. Even more, I never thought that writing a blog post about soccer would do the same. But, that's Borussia Dortmund. And, I wouldn't have it any other way.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
The 2012 Home Run Derby
"Please tell me he didn't just say that."
I knew he had, but I really didn't want the moment to be ruined by such crassness. Mark Trumbo had just obliterated some poor sap of a baseball. The white speck flew farther and farther into left field, until it came to a sudden halt as it collided with the towering "Royals Hall of Fame" sign.
"Now, THAT is a Trum-bomb!" screamed the on-field hype-man/MC/sponser-dropper.
I scanned over the whole of the Kauffman Stadium diamond below me. I knew he was down there. He had to be. He was there earlier. Surely, he can't run! I muttered under my breath and between the spittle, "Say Trum-bomb one more time! Just one more time. Say it. Say it! SAY IT!" like it was the nickname I had been called through all of my formative years and now that I've finally hit my growth spurt, I think I can fight the whole world; I've just needed an excuse.1
With cheese pouring from his ears, Mr. Hype-man provided the excuse after a lull of smashes. "Come on, KC! He's needs some motivation for some more Trum-bombs!" Before his teeth could even close to make that terrible "s" sound, my mind cut to me leaping with a terrible roar, causing all the onlookers encircling our duel to gasp simultaneously. Each punch was dedicated to some terrible pain he had inflicted upon me this evening. "This is for trying to get me to yell 2 hours before the derby! And, this is for saying 'State Farm' every 5 seconds!" And, then completing it with a "trum-bomb" of my own straight to the nose, followed by nervously explaining that this was his fault; he knew what would happen if he used THAT word.
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The carnival style mad-man who refused to allow a moment's silence during the whole Home Run Derby was sadly fitting. He seemed to personify the whole joke that is the All-Star weekend. Except, he was in on the joke.
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Before the derby started, the official guy-who-yells-really-loud-between-the-innings-at-games-to-keep-everyone-entertained tried to do a simple interview with Robinson Cano. What I got from the interview was, "BOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Kauffman was already filling up and it seemed that the whole crowd was booing as loud as ever at the man. And, whenever the booing died down, the guy-who-yells, etc. would say something like, "booing is a sign of appreciation" or "we love having you here," which would instantly ratchet the boos back up.
For those who don't know, Robinson Cano had promised that he would pick one of the hometown Royals to be in the Home Run Derby. Fans were incredibly excited, and with Billy Butler selected to the All-Star Game, Royals fans waited anxiously to see the man banging dingers at the derby. But, he wasn't picked. Cano offered no explanation other than ceaselessly repeating that the decision was really hard. After a large amount of vitriol began heading Cano's way, there were rumors he would drop out to let Butler take his spot. When asked about it, he said he wouldn't do that, because he wanted to win. All this rubbed the local fans the wrong way.
The big New Yorker had come in promising big things, but had instead slapped us across the face and pretended he didn't care in the slightest.
When the batting order went up on the 105 foot tall Crown-topped screen, Cano's name was listed last. The anticipation built for what I knew would be a memorable moment.
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When I say it is the most fun I have ever had at Kauffman Stadium, I'm not kidding. My fondest memory of Kauffman prior was a walk-off home run from Ken Harvey in the 11th inning.3 Yes. I said Ken Harvey. During that exhiliratingly cruel 2003 season, the Royals were, well, royalty within the city. It finally seemed fun to be a Royals fan, rather than just an investment in the hope of future fun. But, when Cano came up to bat, the Royals community stood together again and created an even more beautiful moment.
Every sharply fouled ball was met with a roar of ironic cheers. It felt almost like an English Premier League match. We were the Manchester United supporters behind the goal and Cano played the role of Fernando Torres missing the gaping goal. Justice had been meted out. The big New Yorker had strode in KC and collapsed under the midwest lights. Decades of angst and flyover-country jabs suddenly seemed worth all the trouble.
As Cano, sulked from home plate with zero home runs to a standing ovation, for a few brief--but oh-so-wondrous--moments the crowd noise drowned out what that hidden hype man was trying to scream.
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1 The high schools depicted on the silver screen have always seemed like some strange foreign world compared to any of my high school experiences, but the fact that some version of this line comes up so often puzzles me more than any of the other oddities that Hollywood high schools seem to have come up with. Perhaps, my upper middle class2 high school missed out on all the fun.↩
2 Upper-middle class. Not upper class. Not middle class. I'm neither obnoxiously posh nor distigustingly average. I'm the perfect happy medium. Or, so we're told.↩
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3 That was Harvey's 2nd hit of the game. Other multi-hit Royals that day: Michael Tucker, Raul Ibanez and Angel Berroa. The homer took us to a 12-3 record and filled a whole city with the sort of hope that we all knew would crush our souls in just a couple short months, but we hadn't tasted it for so long, so on we screamed, "nosotros creemos!" We believe.↩
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