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Category Archives: Sports

Wooden’s 2-2-1: Would it Win Today?

30 Wednesday Mar 2022

Posted by Bill Watkins in Basketball, Poetic Blog, Sports

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Basketball, Bruins, John Wooden, Joy, Love, March Madness, Peace, Sports, UCLA

UCLA1

Anyone who knows Coach Wooden’s philosophy knows the answer to the question the title of this article poses…

Yes.  Of course.  Wooden wins in any age or era because success is still a peace of mind resulting from knowing you did the best you could to be the best person you were capable of becoming.

Best person, on and off the court.  Win all day long.  Win every day, like Lou Holtz!

***

So why don’t any of today’s NCAA men’s basketball coaches copy John Wooden, run a 2-2-1 fullcourt press all game-long as his UCLA Bruins did to the tune of ten national championships?  Why not plagiarize, if there’s no rules against that and the system still works?

It could work, if a coach was as humble and spiritual as John Wooden.  Such a coach could instill that humility and spirituality in his or her players, emphasize the name on the front of the jersey over that on the back, and decide that college student athletes aged eighteen to twenty-three are going to run every moment they’re on the court.

They would be the best conditioned team in the land, as Wooden’s Bruins were.  They would start out with some fair players over-achieving, then the best high school players would come.  Winners attract.  Never mind recruiting, they’ll come to play for the best conditioned, most over-achieving, hardest working team in the NCAA because that’s where the trophies are.  Where the lessons thrive.

Where real men and women who can contribute something great to this world are born.

Sportsmanship in College Sports: Heckling

02 Sunday Feb 2020

Posted by Bill Watkins in College, College Sports, NCAA, Poetic Blog, Sports, Sportsmanship, Volleyball

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

BYU, College, College Sports, CSUN, Gauchos, Heaven, John Wooden, Joy, Love, NCAA, Peace, Rainbows, Respect, Sports, Sportsmanship, Success, UCSB, Victory, Volleyball

Sportsmanship1

by Bill Watkins, Gaucho ‘94

***

Watching UCSB play BYU in Men’s Volleyball last night on my computer reminded me of my own playing days, and also of some great matches I’ve been a part of as a fan.  As usual, the crowd at BYU was amazing!  Spirited, a full house, generally pretty wholesome… Except, it seemed, when you got close-ups of a UCSB Gaucho going back to serve the ball, and behind them you could swear there was a good amount of venomous, mean-spirited heckling.

Could have been an illusion, and without knowing what the fans were yelling, I cannot prove to certainty that a bad spirit had invaded the Smith Fieldhouse there in Provo—but nothing would surprise me less.  Heckling and rooting for bad things to happen to opposing teams is unfortunately acceptable fan behavior in every college sports arena not ruled by an iron Christian fist.

I myself, over the years, have engaged in many heckling fests, hear hecklers around me at most sporting events I attend. CSUN in the San Fernando Valley used to be bad, Hawaii can bring it good and bad, and BYU has for me the most spirit in NCAA men’s volleyball.  It just all needs checking, administrating, and… shall I say it?  Prayer. Meditation.  Sports like all other areas of life made better by appealing to Higher Power, “Good Orderly Direction” (G.O.D.), and anything else that leads to Peace of Mind.

John Wooden was the best coach that ever lived.  Not because he was great, but because the power unto which he prayed was, his philosophies and execution of them guided by goodness, humility and hard work.  A spiritual man… We could all be so, ascend toward the straight and narrow, to in sports that grand second title, one the NCAA and other leagues should always celebrate as much as any other trophy: one for… Sportsmanship.  Respecting your opponent as fellow travelers on this ship, “Hail, friend, well met!  Good luck today, we’re aiming to crush you on the court.  But that’s our spiritual challenge, and I’d like to shake your hand after the match win or lose, revel in one more day we got to live here!”

That’s right, as you live you realize how precious life is, and how many people (and dogs) we’ve loved who are not with us anymore.  In that context, adding to common sense and decency, I root for all competitors to have peace of mind, to succeed at their sport in the John Wooden sense.  I root for the UCSB Gauchos a lot because I attended that school and played volleyball for the team, and when we compete against you, I’ll be rooting and hoping we win.  Then I check myself, knowing the power is in us to win every single match we play!  If we play right, root right, have a mix of fun and respect, and if heckle we must, may we do it somehow light-hearted and with cheer.

The ultimate victory is still heaven, isn’t it?

My Last Goal

11 Saturday Jan 2020

Posted by Bill Watkins in Fútbol, Football, Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Soccer, Sports

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Tags

Fútbol, Football, Joy, Love, Peace, Poem, Poems, Poetry, Soccer

Soccer2

My first goal was for the wrong team,
practice at San Marino High School,
Mini Titans I was five years old.

I dribbled the length of the field,
scored it beautifully…

That team was undefeated, I never
scored one in uniform during league
play, got close, started to score
the next year…

Fourth grade was the last AYSO
season for me, made All-Stars,
was a big deal…

Gave it up, moved on, then in
the middle of college between
sophomore and junior year a
friend calls me and says, “Let’s
go to South America!”

So I went, and it was great, and
among other things I fell in love
with soccer. Before that I liked
it, but Argentina… It’s a feeling I
still can’t stop, as I root for
Leicester City Football Club
on my radio link every week.

I got back from Argentina and
started juggling volleyballs in
volleyball practice, my coach
eyeing me a little funny.

I joined a club soccer team in
Santa Barbara, looked at the huge
mountain I wanted to climb,
which was becoming a great player,
and I started to climb…

I left the team, the coach not
playing me enough, kept training,
went to every World Cup game
played at the Rose Bowl in 1994,
played with friends, the passion!

I scored a good one at the Alumni
game, something some still talk
about, for me a midterm exam…

Then I overdosed on drugs, got
depressed, left everything and
everyone, lived in hospitals, let the
ball drop.  Was hopeless!

(It’s called alcoholism)

I got sober, found the ball again,
started to play, found a team fifteen
years after I had last played.

Guess how long it took me to get
into real competitive game shape?

It took 365 days to get into real
football shape, to that place where
I wasn’t thinking about fitness, just
goals and winning games.

***

The coach looked at me one day,
said, “Bill we need you to score some
goals.”  That’s what I was waiting for,
as I didn’t really think they cared until
then. He was of course younger than
me, my whole team with players younger
than me, I was thirty-nine on my last
competitive leg.

Truth is I had retired twice already,
then I’d keep coming back when I
was shopping in the market and
emotion would come, tears that
meant I was not done yet!

“Okay,” I told my young coach,
and next game was on a good synthetic
field in South Central L.A., facing
a good league team with supposedly
one of the better goalies.

A couple white guys on their side,
goalie included, my team all Latino
and me, the lone white dude, playing
Striker, hungry for my first goal
on the team, green lit by the coach
to get it done.

The action was hot from the start,
we pressed, me and my striking
mate, criss-crossing, zig-zagging,
switching play, press, press.

Not long before we broke through,
three on two, I’m in front of the
touted keeper, too close, blast—
he blocks it and tackles me,

Rebound… my mate taps it in
for goal number one, 1-0!

Goalie’s cleat is an inch from me
and he looks disappointed he
didn’t connect.

Our team is pumped in our
Spain colors, an early lead—
almost too early for some of them,
who knew we needed the win to
secure a spot in the Playoffs.

From the back I heard, “It’s zero-
zero!”  I said, “What?  The goal didn’t
count?” And they said, “No!  Play
like it’s zero-zero!”

They were wise for their age, those
kids, and I nodded, kept our press
going to try to get another…

Switch, switch, I criss-crossed from
side to side more than my striking mate
preferred, but the energy was there,
and it felt right to seek space wherever
it called…

Coming from left to right, I tracked
a long ball into the center of the pitch,
ten yards outside the opponent’s
eighteen yard box.  It bounced a couple
times, and by the time I got to it,
their large center back had pushed up
to make a play on it, along with another
defender, one of those times you figured
less is more, let’s do something quick
before the big man has time to show
me just how big he is…

It’s near 50-50, the ball just about
equally between me and the big back,
close enough to him that he starts to
dive in—

Instinct and speed, I got to it first,
chopped the ball out of the scrum
between or by the big defender’s legs
and into space.

He dove, missed, I stayed on my feet,
caught up to the ball I served up to
myself, now just me and the keeper,
as the center back was out of the play.

Best keeper in the league, they said.
And me?  No goals for fifteen years,
finally in shape, just green lit by
a knowing coach,

I never moved my eyes from the lower
right corner of the goal, the ball at
good speed to be left alone as I jogged
at measured pace behind it.

The training’s all done, from San
Marino High School mistakes,
to an undefeated first season to
a spattering of goals, all-stars,
a long break leading to a South
American escape and falling in love.

Pinning the guy to his left, eyeing that
right corner like I was married to it…

I’m close enough now.

Pass it in, the left corner, goalie stuck,
2-0, my last ever goal, we won the
game 2-1,

I shouted afterward, my teammate telling
me I was blessed, and perhaps I was,
that was it.

My coach kicked me off the team a couple
months later for insubordination; I didn’t
let him yell at our team one day after
a hard fought draw 1-1 with a nine-player
team, yes nine on our eleven.  But they were
good, their coach in coat and tie, they
thought they’d show up and take care of us
with their nine…

We fought, it was tense, a great game!
Down 1-0, we fought back, scored the
equalizer, and were pressing for a second
and winner, had it been me I would have
climbed the fucking fence.

But we did not, and we ended in a draw,
the coach blasting us, saying he was
embarrassed.

I stood up and patted our team on the
back, wouldn’t let him berate us.

He called me that night, suggested I
find another team to play on, as we
had different ideas on how to compete.

I switched teams, played a bit more,
stood tall and walked away knowing I
had scored the goal I needed to score.

I had climbed that mountain I started
climbing in club soccer in the Central
Coast of Santa Barbara; I never played
professionally, tried to get a tryout with
the Galaxy in 1999, but they never called.

The goal was enough, on that South
Central synthetic field one day in
December 2011, my hands became fists,
pumping at my sides—

Celebrating life

Orange Court

11 Saturday Jan 2020

Posted by Bill Watkins in Poem, Poems, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Sports, Volleyball

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

AVP, Beach Volleyball, Joy, Love, Manhattan Beach, Memories, Mike Dodd, Orange Court, Peace, Poem, Poetry, Sports, Sports Poem, Tim Hovland, TVC, Volleyball

Orange Court Image1

I hope it’s Wednesday, ‘cause
then we could see the pro’s play.
Hov and Dodd coming down,
I’ve called some friends from Costa,
Torrance Volleyball Club yielding
fun in the sun, for me a trip across
downtown worth the traffic, this
is Orange Court.

The Beach is Manhattan, the view
always pretty, the picture… snap it
like the wrist on top of the ball,
another off the lip, the wave breaks,
sometimes clear enough we can
see a fish, swimming with the tide,
Rusty boards,

I’ve got a five ten in mind, dude like
a stick figure conjuring Reggae music
on Brett’s boombox, gathered under
Bobby’s umbrella and chair, waiting
for the pro’s to play, finding a court
for our game, maybe Dodd will set
some hitting lines—

This is Orange Court.

The eighties were fun, full of color
on the beach.  Fluorescent memories
to match the vibe heading for college
dreaming of aces and gold medals—
championships, maybe from right
there off Marine Avenue, make a line
down from 23rd—

This is Orange Court.  Hov’s court;
you want “on” it, pay the price, get
through the traffic, play like the fish
with the tide, snap one off the top
of the block, pick your Frohoff one
surfing the other carving cut shots,
waking up as the Pasadena over-
achiever challenges all-comers
to play their A game.

That’s all I ever had to show for
it, rated “A” in SoCal because I got
to the Finals of an A-rated Marine
Avenue event, Cooker from Costa
on the call, chased down an impossible
ball, picked it up, like Andy McGuire
at home against BYU,

“Billy Watkins from Pasadena” yells
the man, Tomy from Spain, we took
it very seriously our game, never forget
the 6-4 side switch with a grunt they
could hear on Highland, the grunt that
says we’re winning this match.  I took
my A on Marine,

On Orange Court.

The Red Rose of Celaya

09 Saturday Nov 2019

Posted by Bill Watkins in Mexico, Poem, Poems, Poesia, Poetic Blog, Poetry, Romance, San Miguel de Allende, Sports, Travel

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Amor, Bilingual, Bullfight, Celaya, Cristina Sanchez, Joy, Love, Mexico, Peace, Poem, Poetry, Spain, Spanish, Story, Torera, Travel

Red Rose3

Anthony was our leader,
other friends.

We set out on foot and by
bus to Celaya from San
Miguel de Allende, the
year 1995—the quest
to watch a female bullfighter
fight.

Cristina Sánchez, torera
Española, beautiful, strong
and proud.

Graceful, too—a show-woman,
showing up the men and
bulls alike,

her signature move to tire
the bull in a dance of
deception, then go to her
knees while ripping open her
vest to show the bull world
that she was a woman.

A woman in the man’s domain,
crossing over to show it could
be done.

***

I threw three red roses into
the ring that day.

The last one, my friend Mike
helped as Sancho Panza did
assist Don Quijote so dutifully:

We placed a simple business card
of mine that had my name, phone
number and address on it…
through the bottom of the rose,
poking a hole.

We jimmied the card up the stem,
and I threw the rose into the ring.

Cristina had picked up the other
two roses… fine.

With this third and final rose, she
bent, noticed the rose and
myself, the thrower—still
standing near ring’s edge,

and she did look at me and
smell the rose.

Her eyes smiled, and we parted
ways. She never called, but the
spirit knows what happened that
day.

And Anthony, who
just watched two crazy, romantic
young men act fools for love
shook his head.

His eyes did smile, too.

And we brought love and joy to
San Miguel and to Celaya that
day.

Que viva México.  Donde vive
fuerte que sé es adentro de
mi corazón, todavía aquí
palpitando, esperando su
llamada mientras bailo en
el Jardín con Los Mariachis
de Bonito Tecalitlán.

Guardo mi 200 pesos, y preparo
mi próxima rosa.

¡“Guadalajara,” por favor, Capitán!
¡Tengo 50 pesos, vamos a tocar
para Dios si Mismo!

Pero no, necesitan dinero los músicos
para vivir, entonces, paso mi gorra
allí al publico, y voy a ganar 200.

!Si, “Guadalajara” tocamos!  !Y La Negra
ya sigue!

Que viva México hoy y pa’ siempre.
Viva en este, mi sueño, mi poema,
mi rosa de hoy…

Es lo que recuerdo cuando recuerdo
Cristina Sánchez, torera Española,
La Rosa Roja de Celaya…

Oh, boy!!!!

Sports Addiction — Not Funny

14 Tuesday Mar 2017

Posted by Bill Watkins in Addiction, Sports, Sports Addiction

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Addiction, Sports, Sports Addiction

–by Bill Watkins 3/14/2017

Addiction Cycle

I have about a week of total abstinence from sports.

Some are laughing. Think this is funny, like passing out on alcohol or drugs on a Friday night.

I thought a lot of things were funny, that turned out to be life-threatening. Lost friends to alcoholism and drug addiction.

And sports?

It’s hard to find the words for wasted time. Time and energy spent trying to “beat” others, “defeat” others, and deceive others.

In most sports, Deception is a key element. A key thing learned and taught to gain advantage over other people, other teams or players.

At forty-four years of age, only a week abstinent from any sports involvement, I can report several problems with my past sports playing, coaching and supporting:

1. Unwanted Visions/Dreams/Nightmares

Volleyballs flying, tennis court visions, making plays—all irrelevant to my current life, and unwanted.

2. Physical injuries

I have a bad shoulder, knee from sports playing.

3. Alienation of Loved Ones

While my family of origin are addicts like me, my wife used to feel left out and puzzled by my sports obsession.

She used to comment, once while I watched the Olympics day and night on TV that she felt clearly that I was “addicted.”

***

I hope my unwanted sports visions will go away over time.

I think of the John Nash story, and of his walking away from unwanted visions and hallucinations, one day at a time.

I declare total abstinence from Sports today.

Join me, call me and reach out. Let’s walk away from the violence of sports to help others find blankets and a home tonight.

—Bill Watkins, Sports Addict

Life Changer

20 Tuesday Jan 2015

Posted by Bill Watkins in Life, Sports

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Jacqueline Kennedy, JFK, Joy, Justice, Lack of Justice, LBJ, Love, Peace, PTSD

Sports Anonymous

Weird waking up from apparent truth.

You wake to a new you, the one that failed
a wreck on the floor.

Step on him and walk away now—

Truth, justice, the American way,
no system above corruption we had
a coup too in 1963 not two, and you?

You told me sports was fun, you watched
it on TV, signed me up, it’s what was done;
be a kid, mess around, get a summer job,
go to school, college then you’re set.

I’m forty-two and not set yet.

Fight a war and “win,” where should
I start with that, I can’t hardly begin—

Peace is not a riddle; it’s written all over
the U.N. charter, beginning end and middle.

It’s easy except the Devil’s will to muck up
perfect, alter flows until who knows?

Even you can be an enemy of the state. Or
a new one create? When this one doesn’t
serve, retire to the peace in your mind
called peace of mind, knowing you did
your best take that John Wooden poster
out of your chest, fall down and get up again,
all heart and no play, makes Jack a healthy
president until they take him away…

Killed in the middle of the day. Blood and
wives, new president sworn in that red pool,
smiling and winking at his congressman friend,
LBJ—I guess he’s got a library too,

We have plenty of money to kill the enemies,
That Devil at work, convincing the shadow it’s you.

I leave and I live, have walked away from two
addictions: Sports and alcohol.

The game I played, the goals I scored, all at
the expense of the homeless man’s lack
of sleep, Jacqueline Kennedy’s PTSD,
we should have been her comfort and arrested
the men responsible for death and pain.

Instead we sent Dulles to manipulate results
away from Truth to Oswald the St. Patty’s Day
of Patsies, and we all stood stupefied,

Because if like me you had family money?

You went to college, played sports, kept
your grades up, and thanked God
for National Security.

And the U.N., shining blue in the night,
seeks our day, the light in us to shine.

Give up the sport, the fight, the clinking
golden false delight, Lord Dewar out of
sight!!

And Try. Just try…

On Sports

09 Friday May 2014

Posted by Bill Watkins in Sports, Sportsmanship

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Joy, Love, Peace

Sports

I believe that we will win.
Training starts, you start alone
or with a team, you see a prize
up ahead and dream.

You dream in church, you dream
in school, you dream before you
sleep, for dreaming for the successful
is the necessary first rule.

Love, passion, tears, blood—sweat.

For the glory of the game, God
help me shine today. Help me reach
inside, dig deep!! Show the world
what I got, get that prize within the lines,
you gave me a gift—here it is.

Dead in the water without its second part—
Sports is a dream we dream with our heart.

Reach across, shake a hand—this dream as
much about the respect for yourself
and others competing as how hard
you spike a ball upon the sand—reach out!!

It’s called sportsmanship. Sports men, sports
women, calling all people to achieve.
The window is small to be the best, but
even retired my favorite teams and stars
seem tatted on my chest, I love I yell
I write them along. To U.S. Soccer I sing a song!

Dodgers in my heart—not to say they’re all,
I love your team, too, especially off the field
when it’s said we must go that extra mile.

Make a child’s day, the child in us already
at play—you sacrifice it all for a podium,
cup, trophy don’t stall.

Get out there, you’re next

Sportsmanship

09 Friday May 2014

Posted by Bill Watkins in Sports, Sportsmanship

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

Joy, Love, Peace

You won the game—good!!
There was a loser in the game,
go over make them feel good—

Good!

There are two prizes in sport: the win
and how you carry the sport.

Perspective helps, I used to rant
and rave and throw tennis rackets.

I used to curse and trash-talk ‘til
sarcasm tore the flesh off roses.

I looked across and tried to tear you
down, instead of shaking hands
and lifting you off the ground.

Then I got a spiritual life and
started reaching high. I hate
losing still! But manage to find a win
within the loss, shake hands with
a friend who’s lost, make a joke,
reach across the net to the other side.

Score points with God when you keep
your cool, remember it’s a game.

Some day you’ll see, you’ll win the gold
and the other prize, the one that’ll make
you just as happy, a long-lasting chance
to remember back.

Remember friends made, you played
the game—kept your head up
respected yourself and others,

Now that’s how to play the game.

Must Like Volleyball? :)

28 Tuesday Jan 2014

Posted by Bill Watkins in Poems, Poetry, Sports, Volleyball

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

Love, Truth, Volleyball

Bill Taylor’s A-15

This is not about a rocket ship,
flight low under radar dropping
bombs on innocent and guilty alike.

It’s about waking up in the morning,
deciding the beach is nice;

Drop volleyballs down on the sand,
kiss them goodnight.

It’s about a blonde sandy mop, two
boys dreaming to be great, too far
from the sun and sand to be too great.

Taylor and I shook it up, got lessons
in beach volleyball by its best lesson-
givers.

Indoors we dealt out some pain, depended
on the level, we always ruled the
small schools.

Then one foggy Christmas Eve, Taylor
came to Bruinville. He sizzled many
pits on his way to fifteen kills!!

That’s a volleyballer’s way to say:

The kid did allright!!

In the face of names like Sealy and
Landry all over six feet six, six feet
Taylor from Pasadena had his way,
passing nails and tooling blocks
like best craftsmen at your house
pulverizing concrete against a deadline.

Meanwhile, Watkins took to the sand
Smith left (Taylor’s other name was Smith).
Watkins’ other name was Bill.

On the sand he trained and failed,
trained and failed. Then won, then won,
then won, then won the next morning
putting him into the Winner’s bracket finals.

Then Won!

A-rated from nothing, inlander finding
a way with friends watching grunting too
loud but it’s forgivable at 5-4 to make it
6-4 on the switch, you dig moving left,
keep going that way getting the set to your
offside.

Thing is your beach “off” side is your indoor
ON-side, you revel in the movement, love
the dig then hit in a way that only Taylor
himself (Bill’s former setter) knows.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
HHHHHHH — !

That grunt resonated to the strand where
family friends watched.

Something there is that doesn’t like to lose.
That once you find a way to win, you rinse
and repeat it for as long as you can.

No more wading in the sand;
No more waiting for the band—

Smith and I like playing a harmonica
at the USC Trojan band—we’re on top!

We all deserve it once, Taylor and I got
it twice, once is his, once is mine, but when
I add the moments up in my head I always
get “sublime.”

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