Read it and Weep- My Tribute to John Wooden

Passengers aboard flight 060910, this is your captain speaking for the first time since 042210, much to the dismay, disappointment, and annoyance of the majority of you. I know this because you've told me. To my face. On my facebook wall. Over the phone. And so to those of you have voiced your concern and irritation, apologies are due. But in all honesty, since the beginning of May, I have just been having the most entertaining, enlightening, most random and awesome six weeks of my entire life. I'm going to blame me having been away from my blog on the fact that I was doing field research for the rest of the summer's posts, really getting to know myself a little better (slightly undecided on how I feel about what I've learned), making new friends, maintaining old friends, compiling chapters of material for the novels I will one day write. I have laughed and drank myself stupid this past month, which is what adhering to a six drink a day minimum will do to a person. I still have two major issues in my life that are in dire need of correction, but I am steadfastly resolved to starting to right them soon, and that regardless of their existence, I am alive and well. And more than that passengers, and I say this with no hesitation, I am the happiest I have ever been in my entire 26 years of life. And this, is just the start, of a live well and wildly lived. Fasten your safety belts.

I honestly was compelled to get back to all this, not only because you and I have missed it, but because of another article I read a couple hours ago on the legendary college basketball coach, John Wooden. It was written by the talented sports writing genius Rick Reilly and caught me off guard not only in its portrayal of Coach Wooden and his selfless, moral, and wise attendance to what matters most in life, but because it made me cry. (Sidenote: I'm not on my period). I suppose I shouldn't be too caught off guard by the fact that a couple tears splashed down onto the laptop's keyboard, as I had my first sports cry as a 10 year old when Chris Webber called his non-existent time out and cost the fab five a national title, and then sobbed like a blubbering idiota this past winter when I watched my baby sister lead her high school team to the first girls sectional basketball title in her high school's history as a sophomore. No, but honestly, what surprised me most about the cry wasn't that it was sports related and I'm a sucker for that shit, but because it was the part of the article that described Coach Wooden's relationship with his late wife Nell, who passed in 1985. He just went on five days ago. His ten national college b-ball titles are unmatched. His no nonsense attitude and humble demeanor, unparalleled. His "Woodenisms," concise and yet spot-on reflections on every facet of life. But his love for Nell, astounding. Breath-taking. Tear-inducing, for me at least. And this is coming from the MsHap most of you know who flips through boys like a Rolodex, and re-words lines from Jay-Z songs like "on to the Next one," to read "I have a million ways to get it. He was one." The same MsHap who has loved with all she had/s in the past and had her heart broken in several irreparable pieces to the point where I'm not sure I believe in soulmates or even true commitment anymore, although of course I want it.

Nell Wooden passed away 25 years ago. Coach Wooden stopped all the clocks at the time of her death. He slept until his own departure days ago on only one side of their bed. The other side was unturned, and covered with stacks of letters bundled together. He wrote her once a month since her death chronicling the lives of their children and grandchildren and reiterating to her how much he missed and loved her. He only stopped months ago, because he could hardly see. He never dated, never kissed another female after she was removed from his side. Rick Reilly who wrote the story once asked Coach in the past to co-author a book with him on how to make love last. The day he went over to Wooden's house to talk to him about it, Coach came to the door crying, saying it was "just too soon." Nell had been deceased 15 years at this point. I've honestly got a lump in my throat just re-writing all of this for you guys. Until tonight, if you would have asked me what love is, depending on my mood, I would have either made a general statement about family and friends, or told you it was a state of mind, and a fucked up one at that. Coach Wooden, for a million reasons, I could thank you. For living a stand-up life. For your contributions to the game of basketball. To your insight. But no, tonight I thank you, because you gave me faith again. I have been so unsure of love for so long, but now I get it. And can't wait one day to find my own Nell. I just started crying again. It's because I know right now you two are intertwined, and you aren't sleeping alone anymore. Maybe that's what love is, patience. You both waited so long. She had to be so happy to see you. RIP Coach John Wooden. 1910-2010.

I'll post more later after I get a run in and a yoga class done. I'd rather not walk into the gym with swollen eyes. However, sports fan or not, you all need to read this article. Put down your summer school classes textbook or whatever Oprah's bookclub you're into and give this ten minutes. It's time well spent.

http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/news/story?id=5260677