September 1, 2020

 


Today was the first of two days off in a row for me.  There will no longer be any double header responsibilities any more as the schedule doesn’t require any crew to work two games in one day moving forward.  Everyone had been working so much lately that the remaining format until the conclusion of our time here will be greatly appreciated.  Although it might seem easy to coast the rest of the way to the finish line, the games ahead will be more intense, the level of play higher, and more eyes will be glued to the screen.

 

While working out this morning there something had been bugging me for a long time.  There was this one guy either always there when I was there, or leaving when I arrived or coming as I was leaving.  He was tall, about six feet ten inches, very thin, and his body was marked with an enormous amount of tattoos.  But something made me think that I had seen him somewhere before.  Anyway, only the two of us were working out and we spoke about all the new restrictions in the fitness center and I made a valiant but failed attempt to get a look at his credential so I could find out his name.  I know, I know, I should have simply introduced myself but we had been working out collectively for such a long time that it seemed out of place to do so.  Anyway he completed his workout by putting his credential back on, but it was backwards and I couldn’t read the name! He left the room and I remained alone to finish my routine, but I kept trying to figure out who the hell this guy was because I knew I had seen him before.

 

I made my usual trek after the gym across the bridge, past the restaurant, towards the dining center.  Several members of the Boston Celtics were walking towards the restaurant, fresh off their win over the Raptors the previous night taking a two to nothing lead in that second round matchup.  Trailing behind them was my buddy from the gym.  I could see his credential being worn properly in the distance and now was my opportunity to discover his name and end the constant pressure I was putting on my memory bank.

 

Cherokee Parks.  It was Cherokee Parks, who won an NCAA title as a freshman with the Duke Blue Devils.  He played nine years in the NBA and was now a liaison for the NBA.  I knew I had seen him before but he did not look like the Cherokee Parks I remembered.  The current Cherokee is much lighter and does not have the shaggy haircut he wore at Duke.  Plus, I don’t remember so many damn tattoos, but at least I have taken the pressure off my constant desire to solve my own mental problems.

 

I grabbed a cold drink from the dining center, dodging a few small children here and there.  I am pretty sure this was not the Disney vacation they had envisioned.  Taking the reverse route back to my room across the bridge, past the restaurant, LeBron and AD were coming at my direction after they finished a late breakfast. The two are always together, or so it seems.  Wouldn’t it be great to be able to listen in to their conversation as they walk together?  I got a nod from them both as I walked past.

 

In Casita 4 there is a tenant that has emblazoned his door daily with a note of positive thought.  Each day he adds to the sticky notes that are placed in the shape of heart on his entryway.  I stopped to read what had been posted and each message was different than the rest.  I counted them all and the number exceeded fifty so my guess is that each note of encouragement represents the number of days he or she has been here in the bubble.  I don’t know who is inside the room as I was not bold enough to stare inside the open window to quench my desire of solving that mystery.  However, the notes were fun to read.  Some I had read before, like “Don’t sweat the small stuff, it’s all small stuff,” things like that.  Others were new to me and I read all of them.  I am going to meander over there every so often to read the new additions.

 

A couple of the guys I work with wanted to have a prayer meeting at 3:00pm over near where we eat.  There is a media lounge set up and asked any of the Turner green guys to participate, no pressure whatsoever.  I need to disclose now that I am not a religious person, although I think overall I am a pretty decent human being, and if there is a heaven, I should get a green light depending on who you speak with regarding their interpretation of the qualifications.  Anyway, after everything that occurred with the stoppage of play a week ago and the message of empathy and walking in the shoes of others, I decided I would attend and participate with my guys.  It was an eye opener.

At first I did not know what to expect but I was hearing some extremely personal individual confessions and admissions that I didn’t expect.  It would be very unfair and wrong for me to share on this platform what was discussed confidentially amongst us but I was a bit shocked and even more so uncomfortable.  Men aren’t that great with sharing their feelings but that meeting was completely opposite of that belief.  Perhaps the fact that we had been cooped up for such a long time contributed to the free expression of thoughts and feelings but each one of us opened up about issues that were troubling us.  I learned a ton about some guys that I have known for thirty years and some for as few as three or four.  This was by far the deepest, most meaningful two hours of conversation I had encountered since being admitted here and I was a bit exhausted once it concluded with a group prayer. I appreciated that all in attendance were able to share at the level they did, but I do not want this to become a regular thing.  Some things, I just don’t want to know, at least not in a group setting.  But that’s just me.

 

The rest of the day was pretty much like any other, concluding with a twilight game of whiffle ball and a dinner at dusk. We watched the ESPN broadcast of the Nuggets taking on the Jazz as Utah was eliminated in a thrilling game seven.  With Donavan Mitchell leaving in the morning, I can kiss those shoes goodbye.

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