Hamlet

Somedays, I spend the day with Hamlet. Of course it sounds crazy, but it's not--and it took a long time for me to understand this. If you read something over and over again, teach it, learn it in a new way from others, then it stays with you. And so those days when heavy decisions need to be made, and I need to guess at the motives of those driving those decisions, and I know that I can trust some folks explicitly and others not so much, well I start talking in my head with Hamlet. I'm still angry at him for the way he treated his mother; and still proud that he called out Rosencrazt and Gildenstern the way he did. He misread Ophelia though. He just did and there was no way to come back from that. He must have been a mess when he was alone after that. There is so much honour in going forward though, avenging and rectifying his mistakes for Hamlet...doing the daily tasks of work, home and the community for the rest of us.Hamlet did this. He played out his life after his father, girl friend and then mother were gone. He was honest at the very end with Horatio. Friendship was able to overcome everything else and both just loved for a moment. If we live with these characters, these dramas and works and writings from the past, then they will stay with us at in the world we live in--at work, at home, with family and friends. Procol Harem's "Whiter Shade of Pale" is a weird song that mixes personal experience (in a bar...maybe after a broken relationship) with a mind that has considered Chaucer and his Miller's Tale and Livy and the vestal virgins of Rome and for a moment, they all come together. Ford Swetnam, one of my favourite poets,  wrote a terrific poem call 301 where he plays darts with a couple of Vietnam Vets and includes renaissance writer Ben Jonson in the group--he has a book of Jonson's that stands in for the poet. But Jonson is there with them, with him as he sorts through the wisdom in some of their comments and the insanity of others. Swetnam sorts out what it all means with Jonson, with the worldview that Jonson brought to him over time. Some people (and some of my friends) do this with the Bible. I'm okay when they are with Jesus and less comfortable when they are with Paul or one of the old testament voices.

Hamlet never gets old. There are so many remarkably different scenes, situations, tensions, decisions, motives, outcomes and reflections in the play--they mirror daily life and invite us to consider them even as we deal with the events and challenges of our own lives 450 years later.

The Black Pearl

Sports can be strangely complicated with contradictions that we accept and, sometimes, only later come to understand. Eusebio, the great Portugese soccer player, died today. He was from the African country of Mozambique, but because of colonialism never played for his own country. I recognize the politics, and of course the injustices of this now, but I didn't when I was eight and nine. And this is when I first heard of the "Black Pearl" through newspaper photos and sports highlights that were both distant and faint in their black and white. But even with so little to judge by, we could all see that he was unique: power and strength; speed and grace. We take these for granted today with the modern athlete, but Eusebio was the first for me. Pele possessed these remarkable attributes as well, and so in 1966 Eusebio put them on stage for the World Cup in England, and then in 1970 Pele did the same in Mexico. Eusebio had a magical run in 1966 and Portugal were finally stopped in the semi-finals by England and the very physical marking of England's Noby Stiles. Over the years, I've read time and time again that Stiles' marking was more than just physical, that he beat on Eusebio on and off the ball for the entire match. It has become the stuff of legends that beating, along with the English victory that sent them to the final that they would win.

In 1980, my dreams of playing soccer at a higher level ended after unsuccessful knee surgery. I decided to try and continue in the game as a coach. That year, Noby Stiles was working as a coach for the Vancouver Whitecaps, coaching the Whitecap youth side, and so I went one evening to watch his team play in Burnaby. There were very few people at the game, mostly parents. Perhaps it was just a scrimmage or pre-season game. I stood behind Stiles and heard coaching and teaching that I had never experienced. He talked to players on the field and pulled players off and told them things that I've never forgotten. I had listened to many intellectuals in college and university classrooms. But this was the first time I'd heard one on the soccer pitch. It was an epiphany for me.  The concepts and skills that I try to share with players now--space, spacing, pressure, cover, balance, point of attack--are all wonderfully modern and continue to evolve. But they all started that evening with Noby Stiles who used words and phrases different than these but meant much the same thing. My understanding of the tactical nature of the game changed after that, in the same way that my understanding of anthropology and Shakespeare and colonial studies would change because of the professors I would have later on. Thirty-four years after hearing Noby Stiles, I'm still coaching--now it's my son's and daughter's youth teams after years of coaching at the college, university, and state levels.

Bitter enemies, I would think, Eusebio and Noby Stiles and yet both heroes to me. The BBC article announcing Eusebio's death included a picture of the two of them hugging in 2005, which for me was both emotional and fitting.