Okay guys, here's how you win

Okay Caps fans, because I'm so brilliant (not!) and have won so many hockey games (not!), here's another stab at it.

Coach Bruce Boudreau once likened coaching to parenting. You try to give them all the tools, but then they've got to do it themselves. And they're not going to do it until they're good and ready. And like the poor Arlington, Virginia, 3-year old who was kicked out of preschool because she wasn't fully potty trained, the Caps will keep losing until they're ready to win.

I'll call her Little Suzy, because I don't know her name. (It was probably withheld so that this unfortunate episode doesn't keep her from being admitted to Harvard someday.) Usually Little Suzy can tell that she has to go potty, but she needs the muscular coordination to hold it in, the will to stop digging that hole in the sandbox, the poise to approach her teacher and say "I need to go potty," the courage to climb onto the step-stool, the dedication to pull down her pants, the will to sit down on that icy cold seat...

No, I'm NOT belittling Little Suzy or the Caps. Not at all. I'm counseling patience. Not easy for us Washington-area type-A fans. We want the Stanley Cup now!

"Sidney got it; why can't I have it too?"

Patience! Defense is good. Offense is good. Having the control and the wherewithal to utilize them both at the appropriate times, having them both clicking at the same time is really good. Sure as Suzy will some day be potty trained, the Caps will be able to put these pieces together.

But they have to really want to win.  They have to be desperate to win. Could it be that they're just not developmentally ready?

Yes,they need the tools and they need the discipline - they also need the experience to take those, in a poised way, into a tough game situation and employ them at will. Hopefully this period of pain is giving them some practice in that regard.

But then they have to grasp that stick and hop out onto the ice. They have to muscle that opponent, command that puck, wrench the game out of the other guys' hands. They have to will themselves to see, to take advantage, to improvise and, ultimately, to control the action.

That's the magic part. It's when, all of a sudden, Little Suzy can go all by herself!

That's when the Caps begin to choreograph - creating a dance with puck as partner. It's not enough to wait for her, to hope for her, to dream of her like a lovesick schoolboy. But like a jealous lover you must control where she goes, who she's with.  You must command her, control her and then send her smashing into the net

 

 

Unleash the sprinklers!

One of my favorite movies is Bull Durham. I just love the thick, ungainly rookie pitcher "Nuke" Laloosh. He's the Natural Man: unfiltered, unabridged, uncensored, unexamined, unzipped. Hilarious! And somehow he ended up with the million-dollar arm. (I guess in today's dollars it would be 100 million.)

One of my favorite scenes in Bull Durham is when the Durham Bulls - a minor league baseball team - turn the sprinkler system on at the field they're scheduled to play on the next day, and slip-n-slide into the wee hours in the resulting mud, causing an artificial "rain out." For some reason that scene popped into my head last spring while the Caps were in the process of blowing it in the playoffs. It's recently returned.

I came across a reader's comment on a website a couple of days ago. Something to this effect: the Caps should have stuck to their old (pre-losing streak) style of play because they don't have the personnel to be good enough on defense, and the new system is too difficult for the offensively-minded stars to master. Play to your strengths! the reader admonished.

It's easy enough to dispute the first part of this; it seems the lads can play defense; the team's GAA is down, the PK has been very effective, and even an non-expert like myself can see that they've got a new, more aggressively defensive style going. Even when they don't have the puck, they are, by and large, skating purposefully and working hard. Those things are good.

But - too true! - they haven't been scoring goals. Monday night they scored only one goal - and that was on "a depleted Rangers squad" (check out my awesome sportscaster lingo!) - and they can't even blame it on a "hot goalie," because ours was way hotter than theirs. On Saturday they scored 4 against the Maple Leafs, but that was first time they've scored more than 3 in a game since who knows when.

Obviously I'm not alone in worrying that the new system has irrevocably sucked the life out of this team - and sucked the life out of, specifically, Alex Ovechkin, Captain.

Let's talk about Ovie for a moment, shall we? (I love to talk about Ovie!)

Of course, I don't actually know him, I only admire him from afar.  And it's not only for his hockey skills, either, or his good looks (thank you, Gillette), his ability to pick up the tab, or even the fact that he wears his mother's number (bless his heart). No, what finally bumped me over the edge and caused me to plunk down my $24 to purchase that Winter Classic t-shirt with the "C" and the "8" and OVECHKIN on the back was my feeling for the guy himself. It's clear that he's been having a tough time this year, and I wanted to show my support. I won't go into all the gory details, because we all know them.  But I do want to point out that before, during and (probably) after his current tribulations, expectations are heaped upon him by the dozen, by friend and foe alike, while at the same time he's all too often put down, vilified, or pointedly ignored by the North American hockey powers-that-be.  

At the risk of sounding too maternal, let me remind you how young he was when he first came to this country (20 years), and how young he still is even now. And while some may envy the acclaim that has come his way, the celebrity, and the salary (heck, with that kind of money I could have bought the damn jersey instead of the lousy t-shirt!), those things don't necessarily make it easier to adjust to a new country, a new language, a different style of play, and a different hockey culture. (How well would Crosby have done in Krasnojarsk? Or Novosibirsk? I can't be sure, but, it's safe to say, it would have been a challenge.)

So maybe Ovie's hit a rough spot. Development - physical, mental, emotional - is not a constant upward slope. There are plateaus, and there are setbacks. But what I think we see now is someone who is growing up. Willing to risk change. Taking on new responsibility. Playing a new role on this hockey team. The role of captain. He is, as they say, buying in - not only to the new more defense-oriented system of play, but to the system writ large. Both are adjustments.

And, generally, I think, that's what the whole team is doing, or trying to do. It has to be tough, it has to be scary to make changes in mid-stream. To change the way you think of yourself. It takes intelligence, work, confidence, and a leap of faith. It takes mental toughness to stare down the naysayers.  

So what does this have to do with sprinklers? "Crash" Davis - the veteran catcher assigned to grow Nuke up - sort of a Jeeves to Nuke's Wooster - switched on the sprinklers to punctuate an interminable, losing road trip that was just oozing demoralization and misery. Why? It wasn't to avoid losing the next game; rather, he manufactured the rain-out in an attempt to take control of an out-of-control situation.  

But of course, it's only in the movies that "taking control" is as easy as flicking a switch and sliding around in the mud, or breathing through your eyelids, or wearing a woman's garter belt, or pulling the head off of a live chicken. Or a goat. But the Caps are doing it in real life, they're taking control again, little by little, with every battle won, every pass completed, every shot blocked, and every goal scored, even if they are few and far between at this point.

The other part of the sprinkler scene, though, is the mud-sliding part. That's the fun part, the letting loose. That's key, and I hope Ovechkin and the Caps are still having fun - on the ice as well as off. They're young guys, playing a game, and they need to find a way to relax and - in the words of my favorite color commentator - enjoy the journey.  

To hell with the playoffs, to hell with the Cup (I know, I know - blasphemy), and to hell with critics and cynics and, yes, to hell with fans who want it all right now. Don't be afraid! You're still you, the Washington Capitals! Work hard! Take control! Play your game! And don't forget to unleash the sprinklers!   

 

 

The Viking Ship Museum, Roskilde, Denmark

The picturesque town of Roskilde was the center of the Danish kingdom at the end of the Viking Age.  Today busy shops line the cobblestone streets filled with pedestrians and cyclists, all centered around the Domkirche, (Les look up history) the cathedral where all the Danish monarchs since Sven Estridssen (dates) are buried.  The Domkirche sits at the highest point in the town, overlooking the head of the fjord which was the site of the royal harbor in viking times.

According to the Roskilde chronicles, recorded by the monks at the cathedral, in the year ___the harbor was in danger of attack by the Swedes or the Norwegians, and so the (soldiers?) took drastic measures, blocking the major shipping channels here with five sunken ships. In (year) they were recovered and their remains rest now in the main building of the Viking ship museum on the shore of the fjord. 

Unlike the Oseberg, gokstad and Tune Viking ships, which have been dramatically restored now reside in the Viking Ship Museum in Oslo, these five so-called Skuldelev ships (named for the location up the fjord from Roskilde where they rested for nearly 1000 years) are still in fragments, displayed on beautiful iron frames, giving them the impressions of ghosts.  In the words of curator Louise Henriksen,...they should be displayed as they were, the ones at Roskilde displayed how they are.  Philosophies of how to exhibit such things has changed over the years.  We can certainly imagine how they looked, now they are ghostly in their iron frames.  Louise showed us the bars on which the shields rested on the smaller longship, the distinctively Danish "staircase stem" and the 

Like sugar frosting, it's snowing tonight in Copenhagen

...but only after a wet, gray day.  Even in the middle of the day the winter sky here is as dark as I have seen, thick and wooly.  You've got to admire the Danes, though.  They have stuck it out here for millenia - more than stuck it out; they have made a home for themselves, marked by their strength and their sensitivities, and a very artistic sense of how to live.  Their antique buildings are grand but human in proportion and character, painted in the hopeful hues of apricot and peach and sunshine, roofed with terracotta, lovingly ornamented in stone and plaster, and topped by bronze statuary and soaring copper spires.  These architectural gems seem to look out onto the cobbles and canals through their brightened windows, gazing thoughtfully at their people who throng the sidewalks and squares despite the spitting wind.   Yes, the Danes have made a home for themselves here in the dark and cold, their shops strung with lights and their outdoor cafes boasting huge umbrellas, heaters, and a blankets hung on the back of every chair.  

Even on the wide thoroughfares, overseen only by sharp-angled modern buildings, the Danes bicycle fearlessly into the wind, present-day Vikings astride the small spit of windswept land that guards the gentle Baltic from the cold North Sea.

Dear Caps: On the occasion of your first reality show

Dear Caps,

So far I've been a pretty uncynical fan.  Which is something, considering my demographic profile.  And although this year ticket prices at the Verizon Center have become so very steep that I can no longer justify the expense (Hershey, here I come), I still love you.  I still watch your practices sometimes, and I was very excited when, last week, I had the opportunity to hold the door open for rookie prospect (since sent to the AHL Hershey Bears) Jake Hauswirth.  (He said, "thank you."  I said, "you're welcome.") 

And guys, technically I'm probably not qualified to judge on this matter because, although I aspire to reality in my everyday life, I've never actually watched a reality show.  I look forward to the time when a couple of TV writers might get together and write a show about a hockey team and their off-the-ice experiences. It wouldn't claim to be real, but if it was really good, it would show a heightened reality; it would show something of the humanity of the players and of the game.  My father served in the Army in Korea.  We'd always ask him if M*A*S*H was a realistic portrayal.  He'd say, no, M*A*S*H was actually more real than the real thing.  That's because it concerned itself with showing not the things, but the essence of things.  

Okay, sports fans.  If that's too Platonic (with a capital 'P') and, well, weird, for you, consider George Plimpton.  Did he just plant some cameras in those dressing rooms?  Hell, no.  He put something of himself on the line.  You might say, "wow, the ego of that guy!"  And you might say, "that wasn't a real look at the locker room, at the guys, because Plimpton interacted with them; he violated the prime directive!"  But if you really think about it, isn't that at least as natural a scenario as setting up cameras to record people's necessarily self-censored conversations?  After all, people have always interacted with one another.  Cameras - not so much.  We have far less experience deconstructing camera play than word play.  You can read Plimpton's accounts and decide for yourself what was what.  You know it is his perspective, and you know it is subjective.  And from a player's point of view, there was just one guy, and he was accountable.  If you didn't like him, you could fire the puck at him.  Hard.

In this case, I'm not sure what your recourse is, or mine.

Because the camera lens is a filter that is, paradoxically, much less transparent, much harder to explicate than George Plimpton's persona, or the writers of M*A*S*H and their socio-political/humanistic agendas.  The lens filters not only light, but also a bunch of other less tangible things that are tough to enumerate or describe.  In the hands of a master, it might be masterful.  But, last I heard, Ingmar Bergman is not working on this shoot.

And this is me, the uncynical fan speaking again:  Even though, I know, professional sports is a business, and yada yada yada, I like to believe, I want to believe, I have the god-given right to believe that there remains something primal and sacred in that locker room.  I don't know what it is exactly, but I imagine it's partly guys blowing steam and partly reporters asking dumb questions and partly jockstraps hanging from pegs in the wall and partly bloody birthplace of creativity.  What it is I'll probably never know for sure, but I'm pretty sure I prefer my own imagined version to the one on HBO.

But what's done is done and there's nothing you or I can do about it.  The cameras will be on you, boys.  I'm not sure whether I get HBO; if I do, I may be watching - unless actual reality intrudes.  But in any case I will surely be watching the real you - no, I'll be watching the you that's more real than you - the Washington Capitals on the ice.

Sincerely,

Your 4-ever uncynical fan

Go Caps!

 

 

Madeline Island

Here we are after many days of travel at the historical museum on Madeline Island, one of the Apostle Islands in Lake Superior. The museum is fantastic, with gorgeous Ojibwe beadwork among many other things. We had a wet night at our campsite but now it's clearing...after a delicious fish fry lunch on Lake Superior shore we're ready for action!

Stay tuned for more as I sort through the pictures and the thoughts!

Playoffs 2010: It's all a fan can do; or, a review of some favorite hockey clichés

So what's up with my home team?  What's up with my Capitals?

It's like this:  On a sunny day you think it'll never rain again.  The sky is the definition of blue from
horizon to horizon.  The sun is pulsing
with warmth and light, lavishing its love on the lush green earth.   But then the very next day you
wake up and the sun is gone. The sky is flat and gray, the rain is hard and drenching,
and sogginess permeates every molecule of the material world. 

That's the way it is with those guys.  Some games are ugly.  But I don't want to think about them
anymore.

I'm thinking about this instead:  They're moving their legs.  The ice is tilting and they're skating downhill, they're
playing THEIR game, they feel the power. 

Their hard work is being rewarded.  The hits, the grit, the battles, the board-smashing, the net-crashing, the teeth-bashing mingle with the sublime.

This most-creative-of-teams merges into the flowing creative
force of the universe.  Now they're rolling!

They're seeing the puck well. They're seizing every
chance.  They're at the right place
at the right time.  They are
CREATING SPACE. 

And it doesn't matter HOW many guys the other team has on
the ice!

There's a blind drop pass between the legs, or a nifty one
threaded through a pair of defenders, or a chippy one from behind the net, or
the long one traveling two-thirds the length of the ice, puck arriving, adhering
to the stick of our brave captain on a breakaway, deking, beating the goaltender, going top-shelf…

Visualize, visualize, visualize!

It's all a fan can do.