Put me in, Coach... just somewhere else.

Monkey’s gone. What a relief, right? As charming as my bitter diatribes were (and I don’t need you all to tell me they were, I know), it will be nice to post a slightly more upbeat blog. Where to begin—hows about with our first win.  Try and keep up now.

Donau-Ries is a good team. We were down a starting post (my roommate who “mysteriously” got Mono) so we were  tinkering with a new line-up. Fortunately this included moving me to the wing. FINALLY. As fun as it was having that much control of the ball, the whole more turnovers than points fiasco sort of trounced the control. We weren’t perfect, but we were determined. And, I dare say, we finally gelled. We also damn near gave the game away at the end. Instead, we grasped tightly to a 3 point lead and celebrated our long awaited first victory. Our league has this victory tradition here where you do a series of bows as a team to thank the fans. Neat. I also did something that game that I had yet to do this season, and I know this will come as a monumental shock to a pair of coaches: I fouled out. Best believe I did it with all the flair and excitement any Whitcomb foul-outing brings (chasing opponents down after my missed shot or tackling girls to get my turnover back), except this time there was only 45 seconds remaining in the game and not 3 minutes left… in the 3^rd quarter. I’ve come a long way.

We had a short turn around after the Donau-Ries game—the following week we had two games starting Wednesday. This is where I tell you about my near fateful encounter with Dirk! Let me begin by saying that this week began “cup” games in Germany, which I will explain thoroughly later, but essentially it is just a mini play-off with every team (division 1-3) here…so not really mini at all. In fact, it is rather large and spans a few months. You understand though. Anyways, our first one was Wednesday in Wurzburg, Dirk’s hometown. Can you say fate? I can, but the only thing my teammates could pronounce was stalker. Tomato, tomahto.  Not only did we play in his hometown, but we practiced in the gym he uses when he is home!  I knoooooow. Things were looking reaaaaal promising (here comes the near part). Now, your appreciation and understanding of my “near encounter” experience is going to be based largely on your interpretation of the word near. If you prefer the more literal usage, like some educated bore, let me prepare you for disappointment now. However, if you are one of those people that confuses their, there and they’re and still can’t comprehend that special Effects Affect you, you will surely be satisfied with my hyperbolic misuse of near. Basically, that was as close as I got—poking around the gym he occasionally utilizes in the town he grew up in, a town he no doubt rarely visits since it’s dreadful. In this instance, I am using the very literal definition of dreadful. F. Y. I.

 

While I did not experience my first uncomfortable, clammy handshake (and inevitable phone number exchange, let’s be real) with Dirk in Wurzburg, it did give me a different first: a triple-double. Nope, I am not referring to the consumption of some obscenely gigantic burger. Child please, I accomplished that first YEARS ago. Wurzburg is an unfortunate division two team here, so 14 points, 14 rebounds and 10 assists become less impressive, all things considered. We won by 55 in a grossly inequitable game that perhaps we are the worse for participating in. But, if nothing else, it was an opportunity to practice our execution and prepare for our league game Friday at Saarlouis. I didn’t know this going in, but my coach had never beaten Saarlouis since he has been with the Chemcats the past five years; evidently, they have been dominant in our division. Incidentally, this year appears to be the end of said dominance, which worked out nicely for us. That being said, our win against them Friday was hardly easy. But we were resilient and battled. If you are counting like I am now, that makes us 3-0 with me NOT playing point guard. You know what that is? It’s proof positive that I should not be passing, but rather should be passed to. Hard to argue facts. Below is how I celebrate: I climb shit. Don't let my teammates boost mislead you, I got that high on my own, no thanks to my boots. They mighta been made for walking, but that is IT. Zero pole grip. 

My college teammate Heidi is visiting this week. She plays in Germany for a division two team now about 3 hours away and her teammate is engaged to one of the players on our men’s team in Chemnitz. Small world.  But, ya know, not really... cause it’s so big and all.

I hope everyone has a fantastic and safe Halloween. They don’t really celebrate it here like Americans do. Don’t get me wrong, girls still take advantage of the opportunity to transform an otherwise respectable profession into a slutty enterprise (nurse, doctor, fireman, house-keeper, cheerleader, teacher) but the whole trick or treating thing doesn’t really translate. I guess the idea of disguising their children, sending them out on the streets alone in the dark to knock on strangers’ doors demanding disgusting amounts of candy (sure to be contaminated by the seemingly harmless cat-lady that makes all her treats) doesn’t really appeal to people here. Weird. We did carve pumpkins though while watching Hocus Pocus. There are some things I will never be too old for. 

Monkey on my back.

I have learned a lot of important lessons since I have been in Germany: Seattle, as it turns out, doesn’t have the worst drivers; there are 2 kinds of cold and the difference between them is staggering; the “bird” is in fact a universal affront; beer is not magically better in a foreign country—it’s just gross everywhere; sportswriters are just as abhorrently ignorant and adverse here as in the states; time “flies” at the same rate whether or not I am having fun, it’s science, so zip it; and love… well, it’s a battlefield. I don’t know where I got that last one, just came to me. While those are all gems, little nuggets of wisdom I will store for the rare, and rather unlikely moments in my future when an applicable instant will arise affording me the opportunity to share said lessons, there is one more that has become more and more relevant in my life: you can be good at something you do not enjoy. Mind bottling, right? (Right). Andre Agassi taught me this the first month I was here. Okay fine, his book did as well as the ghostwriter that undoubtedly wrote it for him—autobiography my ass. You hit 2,000 tennis balls a day since you were 13 at some tennis prodigy “academy”, that thought letting you sleep through your classes so you had enough energy for practice was somehow in your best interest as a human, so let’s cut the crap Andre. Not that this book was Pulitzer worthy or anything; largely anecdotal, it was still above the capacity of a middle school education. Baby steps, Andre. Sure, maybe you came up with that clever, one word title. Maybe. Anyways. He taught me this lesson. His entire book is about how he HATED tennis, but still managed to be pretty good at it. This is the story of my life recently. How so? I’m glad you asked. Here’s how: I hate losing, as do my teammates, but man, we sure are really good at it lately. I mean, we are making a living out of it, which is sort of ironic if you think about it, since our jobs kind of entail winning. Not every time, no no, of course not, but surely once, that seems reasonable.

There is a poem I once read in a John Wooden book that I’ll never forget: For when the One Great Scorer comes to mark against your name, He writes—not that you won or lost—but how you played the game. I love this. Lately, this is what helps alleviate the pain and frustration of the losses, trusting that I did my best and gave the most I could give my team. And for a moment, I am settled by this thought that I did all I could. But then I remember I am not in 5^th grade anymore, this is not rec-league and I said good-bye to juice boxes and orange slices at half time years ago. (That last point is rather troublesome though, those oranges were always so fresh and juicy, seems like professional athletes would still benefit from a little vitamin C, no?) Likewise, this also means I said good-bye to those pandering participation trophies and last place medals. The only thing last place gets you now is burned by Jim Rome and a significant drop in season ticket holders. Now it’s win or go home, literally. No one cares how hard you tried. I experienced this in college too, not to the same degree of course, though I would argue that is only because of NCAA regulations safeguarding athletes from overbearing, win-starved sports administrations and coaching staffs who seem to lack an affinity for adhering to rules. “If you aren’t cheating, you aren’t trying”. Ah yes, what every mother hopes their daughter will learn the hard way in college. How did I get on this topic? Ugh, I digress. Let me see if I can string my ramblings together—losing blows. There, that was simple. I am so eloquent, mom aren’t you proud? It’s rhetorical, so don’t answer.

Since we still haven’t gotten that elusive first win (if up till now you didn’t get that we lost last weekend and are now 0-4, please never read my blog again) everyone is on edge, panicked. Now everything is about that. It has become the proverbial monkey on our backs. Speaking of monkeys on backs, what the hell does that even mean? Elephant in the room, that I get. Monkey on my back, I assume, is meant to mean a burden. Hello, has anyone seen Friends? Ross’s monkey Marcel… you are telling me you wouldn’t want that adorable monkey on your back? That’s a bold faced lie.

Alright, if you are still with me, we play this weekend at home, 8 am your time if you would like to catch it online. Donau-Ries is another tough team, but a team that is definitely beatable, and at this point, a must-win.

That is all.

OktoBEERfest, get it?

Basketball is basketball; I have always been a believer in this. Sure some people suck at it more than others, but the principles at any level are relatively the same. I found this to be true overseas as well. Disregarding a couple minute amendments to the rules, the game here is the same. So here is my question: it’s still bad for a team to score only 4 points in one quarter in America, right? Cause when we did that here this weekend it felt pretty awwwwwwful, and I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t missing something. Like, I dunno, is that what all the cool kids are doing back home? We spotted a team, a good team, 20 points…IN THE FIRST QUARTER. I know what you are thinking—nope, I’m not kidding, as funny as that would be, and it actually was not the game plan. I probably don’t need to tell you this, but in case you are one of those “it ain’t over till the fat lady sings” kind of fan, we lost. Her fat butt started singing from the jump.

This may be hard to believe, but I have been embarrassed a lot in my lifetime. But that game ranks up there. We missed nearly every shot, I air balled twice… a blind person would have fit in well with our team Saturday. Seriously, maybe their other heightened senses could’ve helped locate the rim, hell I would have settled for the backboard. Our miserable performance Saturday prompted an inordinate amount of meetings the following days. Alls I gots to say is, if after watching even 5 minutes of that game you need to ask why we lost, mayyyyybe you shouldn’t be involved in basketball…or sports…or anything that involves thinking or basic deduction. Just sayin.

So what do you do when you have a game that appalling, that humiliating? Why you go to Oktoberfest and get drunk. Kiiiiidddddding, c’mon Mom, you know my favorite tacky credo is “hugs not drugs”, or alcohol—it’s all the same. However, while I did not get drunk, I did mosey on over to the fest that is Oktober. Sorta what you’d expect: lots of mature, exceedingly classy adults congregating mutually to rejoice in the centuries old tradition in Munich over conversation and an alcoholic beverage. Hogwash. Like I’d drive 3 hours for that baloney? Not in this lifetime. There were bloody noses, puking novices and the longest bathroom lines you will ever see. It was glorious. Let’s not jump ahead though.

The key to any successful road trip is two fold: snacks and tunes. Both must be equally versatile. You can’t just have junk food and soda, no, no, that’s all wrong. Aside from the sugar high and subsequent inevitable crash, junk food will just as quickly lead to gassy, upset stomachs. I keeps it real people, and you know I’m right. So to avoid what could only be an awkward and uncomfortable car ride, I recommend some healthy alternatives too. Perhaps sandwiches, trail mix or some fruit. Some. Likewise, the tunes need to incorporate a diverse assortment. It can’t all be Britney Spears. Trust me, we are the better for it. I drove to Munich with two teammates, so we each made a distinct playlist and put them to CDs. And we each brought different foods. This genius idea of mine worked out beautifully. Take note. 

By the time we arrived in Munich Sunday, it was a little after noon. Fully clad in our traditional Dirndls, we couldn’t have been more ready. First order of business for me: food. I wanted some legit Bavarian food. I could barely pronounce what it was that I ate, so I won’t pretend to know how to spell it,

but it was delicious. There was meat and there was bread and there was a sauce of sorts. Novel combination. Next, we needed to find a “Biergarten” so we could sit and have a drink. The first tent was unbelievably crowded. I felt like I was in the middle of a college student section that just stormed the field after a win, except I missed the game and I wasn’t a fan, so I was just confused and overwhelmed. We left. Our second try turned out to be lucky. We found a table where 6 people were sitting comfortably, which believe me stands out like a sore thumb here, so we asked if they’d mind squeezing in awkwardly for 4 strangers (Sid's uncle came with us). Here in lies the beauty of alcohol—they were inexplicably happy to do so. Boom. I couldn’t understand how they could possibly be as intoxicated as they clearly were, it was only noon after all. Before I could finish introducing myself though, a waitress placed a glass of beer in front of me. Oh. Now I get it. This was no ordinary glass of beer. This was more like a jug, or a barrel really. While estimating how many hours it might take me to finish mine (2, maybe 3 if the bathroom lines are especially long), everyone in the tent stands on their tables and begins to cheer. Well, my mama didn't raise no fool, if everyone is doing something I learned a long time ago to follow. I think they call that character. Anyways, suddenly through the swarm of merriment I saw a 20-something girl take center stage, thrusting a full barrel of beer in the air. 

The mob ate this up. 3-2-1 the girl begins to chug the drink. I considered shouting, “don’t be a hero”, but instead I just watched, genuinely impressed. The glass was easily half her size but she drank every last drop. Grinning ever so proudly, the camel plunged the empty jug into the air and the tent erupted. No standing ovation was ever less deserved. So you drank it all in less than 15 seconds. Oh big whoop. Want something to cheer for? It only took me an hour to finish mine AND that was without a bathroom break. Crazy. 

Anyways, the people that let us join them turned out to be very enjoyable. We spent a couple hours there with them and then shoved our way through the crowds outside again. We had practice the next morning so we couldn’t stay as long as we hoped, but it was still an amazing experience.

There’s a new addition to my family out here, which up till now was only myself. His name is Doobie, like the band not the thing you smoke (again, hugs not drugs) and he is my new hamster. Some of you will remember the 08' debacle with the ferret, but I assure you this time things are different. We get along swimmingly and he is great company. He is also especially photogenic. I think he is just really vain, because every time I bring the camera out suddenly he busts out with his poses. He is very human-like in that way.

  This is his stank face. We are made for each other.