Of Basketball and Cristian Mason

True to my word (even though I only got a couple suggestions) I received a FANTASTIC, ALL-TIME memory from my cousin Brad. As I grow older, my memories of being really young obviously grow fuzzy and more general; it's hard to remember specific events rather than what I generally did every day. Well, one memory will remain etched in my memory with HD clarity for life: the day Cristian Mason hacked a loogie on Rocky Bowlby.

Everybody in the neighborhood passed the summers playing basketball on my hoop in my front yard (for reference purposes- this is the hoop in Sandy on Borg Drive-where I lived until I was 12). A few other kids had hoops on the street, but mine was the only one that adjusted up and down; obviously, we lowered it to 7-8' so we could dunk.

The neighborhood group was pretty unique in that we spanned a large age-range. I was roughly 10, and my cousin Brad and Cristian Mason were 14-15 range, with other kids in between somewhere (Josh Clark, Nate Carlson, Travis Weis, Seth & Travis Baker, etc). I say this is unique because I know when I was 15 I would have never spent 5 minutes with a ten year old (I did indeed think I was pretty cool becuase I had friends that were in Junior High!) I do note that Brad, Cristian, and the other neighborhood kids hadn't necessarily grown to their life-size at 15, but I for some reason was freakishly huge at that age (I reached my life-size height, but not life-size gut :), by 7th grade). All in all on any given day we had quite a few kids playing basketball in my front yard in the summer time.

One kid that usually wasn't playing with us was Chase Bowlby. For some reason, us being jerk kids as we were, we never let Chase play with us. I'm convinced looking back that it was because he was just a couple years out of the acceptable age range; he being 8 and super-small compared to my being 10 and super-huge (again, with all other guys being generally older than me). Living only a couple doors up the street, he always came down to play, and we'd always make him sit and watch (I write this thinking how I'd kick the bejeezes out of punk kids that wouldn't let my kid play with them. . . that will become relevant later).

So one day, we were playing ball and not letting Chase play as usual. Chase's dad Rocky came home from work, saw his son crying about not being able to play, and decided to come give us all a talking to about excluding him from our game. I don't remember what words were said exactly, but I do remember Cristian Mason took it upon himself (being the oldest of our group and the Bishop's son, he had more clout to say what he wanted than anybody else) to defend our actions. He was even so brash as to start yelling at Rocky. Rocky kind of got in Cristian's face (again, looking back, what was he going to do to a 15-year old kid besides yell at him? I say nothing.) and then, all-of-the-sudden, Cristian hacked up a loogie and launched it right onto Rocky's suit!

Now, reread that last sentence of that last paragraph from two different perspectives: once as a kid witnessing an all-time demoralizing insult, and once as an adult witnessing the uttermost disrespectful act a kid could possibly pull. I note that as I distinctly remember this incident launching Cristian into legendary status among the neighborhood boys, but looking at it years later from the perspective of an adult potentially being more impressed with Rocky for resisting the instinct to just knock the punk kid out (Seriously, if a teenage kid hacked a loogie on you, is it even possible that you wouldn't knock him out? I didn't think so).

Rocky didn't knock him out, but he was infuriated, "DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH IT COSTS TO DRY CLEAN THIS SUIT?!!!!! I JUST HAD THIS SUIT DRY CLEANED FOR $15!!!!!! YOU'RE GOING TO PAY FOR THIS!!!!" I assume $15 was a lot then, but regardless of the price, I've never seen somebody so mad. Needless to say, basketball was over for that day, but the legend of Cristian Mason lives on!

What a memory! I moved away a couple years later, as did lots of other kids from that street, including Cristian, Brad, and Chase. The lady that bought our house took out the hoop so when I drive by today my fondest memory is gone. I hope we didn't cause any lasting damage to either Rocky or Chase. I know Rocky hit it huge with dental insurance so I'm pretty sure things worked out just fine for him and Chase. Still, what mean kids; even though I didn't perpetuate the act, I can feel karma waiting for me when Cannon is 8 or so, for some punk kid to launch a loogie on my suit. He better have $15 handy!

Memories

I've noticed that I generally blog about my memory of something as it's triggered by something happening "in the now" if you will. Anyways, my cousin posted something similar to this a couple months ago and I thought it was interesting, but I'm going to add a little bit of my own twist to it.

His post (my cousin Aaron's) was something like this: Post a comment of a memory you have with me, any memory, whatever you want, whether you've known me forever or just a short time. He noted he would come to your blog and post a memory of you too if you made this same type of post. I will do the same but what I'm really going to do is if you post a memory I will write my own blog post with my own viewpoint of that experience-whatever it is. If this idea is totally lame you can tell me that too, but I kind of have a goal to start writing more often as I enjoy writing, but every time I think about it I feel like lately I'm getting a writer's block of sorts; maybe something like this will get me on a roll.

Fight Night!

I play basketball on Wednesday nights with my friends whenever I'm in town (which is not a lot lately). After we're done at about 10:30 we head over to the gas station, buy some drinks (mine is usually free as I've undoubtedly dominated somebody else, which in turn means I've earned a free drink on their dime:) ) and sit in the back of Britton's truck and hang out like some high school boys for a few minutes. Hey, we've even had some high school girls pull a u-turn to swing back past us to check us out! (After they saw we were a bunch of fat, 20-something married men instead of teenage boys they quickly took off--we admitted that it is unusual at 11 pm to see a group of grown men hanging out like this).

Anyways, that is not the point of the post, I'm just rambling. This past Wednesday we were talking about all of our old-time fights, post-game brawls, etc. After I left I got to thinking about fight night, definitely one of the funnest nights I've ever had.

If you've ever read my blog, it will be easy to picture the scene, as it is basically the same for any memory that related to teenage years---a bunch of dudes hanging out on a weekend night with no girls and nothing to do. We were at Jacob's house causing a ruckus. A couple guys start wrestling around and another decides to come in as a third party and deliver a devastating cheap shot elbow to the back! Hilarity ensues as we all start laughing at the tool who just took the blow (I can't remember who it was). Jacob's mom kicks us out of her house becuase we're causing too much ruckus, but now our adrenaline is all pumped up and we need to have some type of "fight club" night immediately. Ben offer's his house up as his parents aren't home. . . it's on!

The rules were as such: 1) no hitting the face. We formed a cirlce in Ben's front room, Kyle and I would usually get the action going by jumping in the middle and starting to fight, then other guys would jump in to try and cheap shot us: elbows to the back, knees to the thigh, kidney shots, stomach blows, etc. Even though you were in pain, it was so fun becuase everybody would jump in. . . while you were receiving a cheap shot to the back, you could turn around and deliver your own cheap shot to somebody else! Jeff started taking too many shots to his thigh; after a round of brawling he pulled up his shorts to reveal a monster bruise that pretty much covered the whole side of his thigh. Once we saw the weak spot, everybody was gunning for it the rest of the night. During one round I grabbed him and went in to knee him in the thigh once again; already in pain, he moved his leg outward to avoid the blow to the thigh, so instead he took a knee to the nuts! That floored him for a while, we outlawed knees or punches to the groin immediately after that:).

Once while standing on the side, Ben came up and stood in the middle of Kyle and I, then proceeded to extend his arms to both sides and land direct hits in both of our chests. He ran, we caught him, we pummeled him.

Highlight of the night, Chris Johnson was the only guy there who didn't participate. He stood on the outside of the circle up against the wall all night. We all tried to get him to come in and fight but he refused, instead just watching all night long. After a couple hours we were all beat (pun intended!) and laying around on the floor moaning in our pain. Whether he thought he was being funny or thought it was his opportunity to act tough, I don't know, but suddenly he jumped in the middle of the room screaming, "Bring it on!" There were no cheap shots to anybody else on that round, just all 10 or so of us pounding Chris Johnson. If somebody had walked in they would've thought we'd grabbed a guy off the street and dragged him in to beat him up. So classic!

I remember waking up the next morning with all types of knots in my back from all the elbows I took the night before. I was sore for a couple days. We tried to recreate the fight night multiple times after that, never to the same effect. I'm sure now it'd end up with somebody breaking a rib or something (I didn't get hurt that night, but I of course dislocated my shoulder on nearly every other night we attempted it). Teenage boys and fighting, too prime!

Football is King!

A couple weeks ago (pre-August 30th, Yes I know the exact date and you'll see how that comes into play in a second) my wife lamented, "Ohhhhhhhh! I'm so mad! Starting this Saturday you're about to become worthless for four months!" Why was I about to become worthless on Saturdays (and Sundays to a large extent, besides church of course)? Because that coming Saturday, August 30th, was kickoff day for the football season. I dare say 90%+ of males who read that last sentence had the following phrase pass through their mind, "YOU KNOW THIS!!!"

Yes, football is king. Even I can admit that, and I tout the Utah Jazz as my favorite team. I've learned over the years that the Jazz are my #1 because I follow them year-round, even in the offseason I'm always looking for news. My buddy Gerry, on the other hand, will call me in April-when football is farthest from my mind-to update me on some sophomore in high school who BYU is recruiting for 5 year from now (post-mission of course). That tells me I'm a Jazz guy; however, football is most definitely #1A. I pretty much only like the Jazz and no other NBA team or any other level of basketball. I LOVE football on every level: high school, college, and NFL.

If a football game is on, no matter what the level, I'm watching it until the end. In this past week while I've been out of town here in Washington I've watched college games, pro games, even a high school game of some USC-bound quarterback. I don't care, I love every second of it.

Rachel is so mad about Saturdays becasue she knows who is the King of the King of Sports-BYU! Two years ago, she wanted to spend Thanksgiving in Idaho Falls with her family. As soon as she suggested that, I called her Aunt in October (plenty of notice of course) to ensure she had CSTV so I wouldn't have to miss the BYU-Utah game; otherwise, she would've been spending Thanksgiving solo in Idaho Falls. Her aunt said she had it. . . she later realized she didn't have it and promptly added it to her satellite package before we came up, knowing the consequences of such a mishap could have been devastating. If I would've missed watching the Beck-to-Harline catch live, I don't know if I would've ever been able to return to Idaho Falls.

Football is so great, even playing pretend football is great. Yes, I'm talking about fantasy. Fantasy football makes games you would not usually care about (wait, that doesn't happen anyways) very interesting if you have a fantasy player on one of the teams. I play in multiple fantasy leagues, but the one I care most about is my espn league with my boys. There is nothing like smack talk all week long and glorious victories that players who actually do things on the field produce for me (two-time defending champ!). Again, "YOU KNOW THIS!!!"

Why is football so huge? I am convinced it is the scarcity factor. Only one game a week, only a few months of the year. Baseball and basketball have so many games that missing a few here and there is no big deal, but missing even a single game of the BYU season means missing them play that team for the entire year. If I miss us play UCLA this Saturday, when will I see that again? Granted, it's a rare situation where they're playing for the 3rd time in a year span, but usually missing any given game means waiting at least a year, and in non-conference games potentially waiting indefinitely, for the next game. I've missed two BYU-Utah games in my life, the two years of the mission, including the final game of Lavell's career, and I can pretty much guarantee I won't sacrifice that game again if it's at all within my power. Men across the state concur with an "amen brother!" All of this same scarcity applies to the NFL. I don't even have a favorite team, I'm pretty much happy to watch whatever game is on, whenever.

I am worthless on the weekends for a few months, and for that I apologize to my wife, who I love with all my heart. How do women put up with us?

My First Pair of Nike Shoes

It all started in the 3rd grade. We were shopping at the usual Payless for a new pair of shoes, a rare and momentous occasion for me. I had resigned myself to the fact that I would never in my life obtain a pair of name brand shoes, a la Nike, Adidas, etc. so I had to find the most discreet pair of "Pro Wings-Eagles" available to hopefully just mesh in with crowd. I found a nice pair that were pretty much straight black; they could've been mistaken as any brand, right? Wrong. . . my dad finds a pair of $6 clearance shoes, silver and neon orange, with velcro straps, and announces he has found my new pair of shoes. If you couldn't guess, I cried that night.

It took months of convincing friends at school that I didn't pick my shoes voluntarily. Rather, they had been forced upon me; a cruel reminder that I lived in a dictatorship, not a democracy.

Springtime came, and as my feet were growing ever so slightly, I started to scour the weekly Sunday newspaper ads looking for a deal on new shoes so as to get rid of the velcros, still worn daily as if wearing a scarlet letter that screamed, "I am a loser!" Then came the night of reckoning. . . a night that changed my future forever.

I had found the pair of my tempered dreams. Like I said above, anything Nike, Adidas (my favorite two brands) was out of the question. The new dream was just to get something with laces. I found a Fred Meyer ad that advertised some McGregor's (FREAKING McGregor's for crying out loud! Does anybody even recognize that brand? I didn't think so!) for under $20. I took the ad over to my mother (avoiding dad at all costs of course) hoping she could pick them up for me and face the wrath of my father herself. I even offered to accept the shoes as next year's school shoes in advance.

"Whaaaaaat!!!!!!!!" My father came in, eavesdropping on my plea to my mother. I was too late, I had committed the unpardonable sin; being ungrateful for my 8-month-old-neon-orange-velco-$6 excuse of shoes. "You don't like the shoes we get for you, fine! From now on you will buy all of your own shoes and clothes!"

Tears flew freely to the pillow that night. I can't remember breaking down that hard for that long before or since. Was I so upset that I peed the bed that night? I don't know. It could've happened. I don't really remember. It was a long night of suffering, that's all I can say.

My current employment situation was as such: $2 a week for vacuuming and washing both our truck and our minivan. Not exactly employment that I would call gainful. My grandparents came to the rescue and offered to have me mow the lawn once a week. The original deal was $5/week, but the envelope each week seemed to gradually climb until it hit a consistent $10/week. $10/week about 3 1/2 months worth of summer to get enough money saved to buy next year's school clothes. At the end of the summer (after tithing of course:) ) I had about $100, I and knew exactly what I was going to do with it.

The shoes were at the Shopko there in Sandy on 9400 South. $50 for Nike high-tops, white and hot pink (ok so I still had some "neon" shoes. This was the early 90's). Every time I would go in to Shopko I would go make sure they were still there. I had waited all summer for this moment; the moment my tempered dreams vanished and I achieved the ultimate dream of Nikes. (The words of the Sandlot if you will. . . "Shoes guaranteed to make a kid run faster and jump higher. PF Flyers" but in my case of course Nikes). I admit a short sense of hesitation as I realized that I was dropping 1/2 of my summer's savings on a pair of shoes with still pants, shirts, etc. to buy, but only a moment of hesitation. It was one of the most glorious moments of my young life. I have a picture in my scrapbook from my first day of fourth grade, and every time I see those shoes I smile, knowing I was heading to school in style (the MC Hammer pants worn in that picture remind me I was actually not heading in style, but I digress).

Ever since that first summer right before I turned 10 I have bought all of my own clothes, shoes, etc. I have always said all growing up that I would never make my kids wear shoes they didn't want to wear, the cost be damned. Interestingly enough, as an adult I rarely buy shoes because I'm so cheap now that I don't want to shell out $50 for shoes, but I refuse to buy the cheap shoes as a matter of principle from my young experience. (Sidenote: I'll buy any clothes from anywhere. I'm not "above" any shirts, pants, etc. from any store. I'm just weird about shoes).

So there we were this morning at Famous Footwear, looking at a pair of $25 shoes on the clearance rack for Cannon. Rachel had a couple coupons so they were $10 off, in the end making them comparable to any Payless-priced shoe. I was having a hard time swallowing dropping any amount of money for shoes that will be worn for only a few months before he grows out of them (hmmm, sounds familiar). All Rachel had to do was remind me, "Didn't you say you would always let your kids wear nice shoes no matter what because you were so mad about it when you were a kid?" Once she brought that up, the shoes could've been $100, we were getting them. I was a few weeks shy of my 10th birthday when I got my first pair of Nikes, Cannon is a week after his first birthday and only a few weeks into walking. He kept the shoes on all day. I told Rachel it was because he knew he was walking around in style.

Achieving Your Childhood Dreams

Yesterday on all the websites there were announcements that Randy Pausch had passed away. Randy was a professor of computer science at Carnegie-Mellon University that famously gave a "Last Lecture" last September. He had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and had only a few months to live. I had actually seen the book at Barnes & Noble with intentions to read it after I finished my current book. I was intrigued that his passing received so much attention, so I investigated this "Last Lecture" further. It has been viewed over 4 million times on youtube, so indeed it was clearly an inspirational talk. I took an hour out of my time today to watch it and reflect.

The lecture was centered on three points: 1) achieving your childhood dreams, 2) helping others achieve their dreams, and 3) lessons learned from both. The lecture was definitely inspiring, considering you were watching what a person really would say as their final thoughts because he really was anticipating death. He even admitted at then end that the real purpose of this presentation was to present his thoughts to his kids, not the crowd. However, what I've been dwelling on this past hour since is the first section, achieving your childhood dreams. He spoke about how he either did or didn't accomplish what he dreamed to do as a child. Most dreams he did accomplish, which was inspiring. I've been contemplating my childhood dreams and realizing that I hadn't achieved them all, which is kind of depressing, but you can't win them all. Maybe I can find some inspiration through my own self-analysis. Ladies and gentlemen, the childhood dreams of Brandon Ball. . .

Become the School President- I had this "dream" at every level, elementary, middle, and high school. In elementary school you didn't run for a certain position, they just slotted you according to vote count. McCall Bowen had one of the funniest speeches ever (which I went on to copy when I gave my speech for 8th grade President in a new school and new city) so I didn't win President but I did become the Sectretary. Copying McCall's speech in 8th grade propelled me on to victory (obviously with the help of some influential friends) so I did achieve my dream in 8th grade. In high school, I ran and won VP sophomore year, but when I went for the big score Senior year, I lost. It was a pretty crushing blow and truly a life lesson in humility. I was certain I would win, only to lose, and I can promise you at my tennis match that day after school at Hunter High School, Zach Stringham (my doubles partner) the opponents, and everybody else in attendance knew something had pissed me off that day (but we did come from behind to win the match!). Funny how specific events in life stay with you forever. To that point it felt like one of the biggest failures in my life, even though it was for the most part out of my control. One of the many quotable lines from Randy Pausch's speech was that "Brick walls are there for a reason." This was a serious brick wall that I had to push through and learn from. Interestingly enough, I'm sure it worked out better for me than had I won. I became really super tight with my group of friends during my Senior year and had I been the school president I could've conceivably hung out with a different crowd altogether, thereby ruining the multitude of spectacular memories I have from that year.

Become a Teacher-All growing up I wanted to be a teacher. I have distinct memories even in elementary school of wanting to be a teacher. Each year I would decide that I would like to teach the grade that I was currently in because that was the best grade ever. Obviously, my final teaching dream, which I still have today, is to be a high school teacher. Partly because of Mr. Randall, my favorite teacher at Copper Hills, partly because of the opportunity to coach sports, a la Mr. Price. I still have aspirations to be a teacher someday in a high school setting, but I always knew, even from that early age, that teaching is not as financially rewarding as I would want my career to be; thus, this dream took a backseat, at least for the foreseeable future.

Play Football for BYU - Randy Pausch's dream was to play in the NFL. I never thought about fame and fortune in the NFL, just glory on the field at Cougar Stadium (Now LES). I actually never dreamed about being the star QB or anything, either, just being on the team and being able to run out the tunnel with the crowd cheering. I have had a few opportunities to meet LaVell Edwards during my life, and being able to have him coach me was part of the dream, so I allow that to be somewhat representative of the dream. When you're heading in for your second shoulder surgery at the ripe age of 15, college football on any level is pretty much erased from your mind. Interestingly enough, I don't regret not playing for BYU since I really wasn't that good, but I do regret not playing the rest of my high school years. I wanted to go back and I didn't even care about getting hurt again, but parents reminding you of the cost of medical bills is pretty serious pressure to not play anymore (That's not a knock against my parents; just a reality of life that medical bills are expensive. Let's all agree not to tell my mom that I still dislocate my shoulder on a yearly basis at the turkey bowl on Thanksgiving:)).

Be a Drummer Like My Dad- I actually had this dream and fulfilled this dream as a youth. Our band in high school, Soma, won a a local battle-of-the-bands and we even produed a little 5-song tape. I still listen to our songs all the time on my ipod and play along. One song in particular I recorded much differently than the way I usually play it and it still bugs me every time I listen to it. We played a couple shows in some interesting places, even a couple bars. I never thought we were going to hit it "big" or anything; I just tried to appreciate that I was having a good time and that I was literally "living the dream" for a little while. I still have my original drumset and I'll head downstairs for an hour or so every now and then to play along with whatever song I want (this is the true beauty of the invention of the ipod).

Serve a Mission- What LDS boy doesn't have this dream? As a little kid, it's like your life consists of growing up and going on a mission. Everybody I talked to while on the mission basically felt the same way. You don't even realize that you have to live the rest of your life after that, you just have to make it to that point and head out the door. Now that I'm approaching six years of being home, it's still an impact point in life, everything basically consists of pre-mission and post-mission. The sad part is, you don't realize you're "living the dream" until it's pretty much over. The one saving grace for me was some advice I received from my cousin Eric a few months before I left. We were at Lake Powell together and he told me to keep a journal every day of my mission and I'd always be happy I did. In two years I only missed one day, and that journal-packed with both my musings and photographs of people I met-is pretty much my personal crown jewel of my missionary experience and for me one of the highlight achievements of my life.

Now, these dreams certainly don't entail the complete volume of my childhood dreams, but some of the major ones that have popped into my head the last few hours as I thought about this lecture. This isn't a last lecture for me by any means, but it is good once in a while to reflect on life. All the news articles said that this guy was an inspiration and I really felt it watching his lecture. On to the book for me, condolences to his family after his passing yesterday.

The Pleasantville Experience

OK, I've never intentionally used drugs in my life, but there is one night in my life where I am sure I was high on something. . . the night I went to see Pleasantville. . . in the theaters. . . on a Friday night. . . by myself.

All of my friends know about this famous event and pretty much every time any movie ever gets brought up I get the inevitable, "Maybe I'll go see it by myself like Baller did when he went to see Pleasantville!"

Why do I bring this up? You guessed it, I did it again, but under much different circumstances. I went to see the new Batman today lonestar; however, it was with good reason. 1) Rachel left out of town for the weekend, 2) I got off work unexpectedly at 2 pm, 3) all my friends had either seen it or were still at work, 4) the Dark Night is a man's movie (unlike a certain other movie from the past starring the man who would become Spiderman). So I caught the 3 pm Batman lonestar to kill some of my boring night away and to be able to participate in the conversations I hear daily about Batman. I'm sure I 'll still get ripped but I think I've provided enough evidence in support of my decision today. Well, at least enough to know that I wasn't on drugs.

The Pleasantville experience was a different story. I have no idea what happened or why it happened. My only explanation is that I was high. It was a Friday night, I know because I started out the night at the Copper Hills Football game. For some reason none of my friends were there; either working, coming later, whatever. After the game I knew that there was a party at another friends house, so I had opportunities to do something after the game, but for some reason I was thinking to myself, "I have no friends tonight and nothing to do. What should I do?" During this period of spaced-out thinking, I thought to myself, "I really want to see that movie Pleasantville, but I'm sure nobody else wants to see it. Maybe I should go see it tonight since I have nothing else going on." So I left the game (I'm sure we were losing big), hopped in my car, and went down to the Carmike on 90th and Redwood, which was the "it" theater at the time. Of course for Friday night dates, the place was packed. I bought my ticket, headed in, and ended sitting close to the screen, only a few rows back, dead center with people on both sides of me--giving 1 seat space on each side for the freak, of course!

The movie over, I got back in my car and drove to the party. Everybody, "Where have you been all night?" (This is obviously like 11:30-midnight range now after the game/movie combo). "I went to see Pleasantville." I shrugged it off like it was no big deal. . . people go see movies all the time, right? (Well, yes, just not by themselves). Them, "With who?" Me, "By myself". . . . . the second I responded by myself I knew I had just confessed a sin that would never be forgotten for the rest of my long-lived life. Laughter, mockery, and shame ensued. . . and does to this day.