More hoops

First things first. Please, please, please head over to the Open Source page to listen to the John Edgar Wideman interview taped on Friday. It's a terrific accompaniment to the Barack Obama speech on race, as Chris Lydon points out. Wideman is an incredibly talented and challenging writer, who loves to tackle gritty, difficult material. His latest novel, Fanon, continues his trademark style, but hearing him speak may encourage you to check out his work. As one of America's most erudite and articulate writers, if you stick with him, you'll be paid back tenfold. So download the segment, and see if you're tempted to read him. (All you die hard Stanford women's basketball fans may remember him as Jamila's dad!)

Actually, while you're there, take a look at their broadcasts. I stumbled upon the program during its brief stint on KQED-FM at midnight? 1 am? Every night I listened to the most interesting guests on all manner of topics -- and in spite of the ungodly hour I could not turn the show off. Whether it's Helen Vendler "Reading and Riffing on W.B. Yeats," or Randall Kennedy on Race, or What Went Wrong on Our Way to Iraq, or a four-part series on the future of Cuba that catches your interest, you'll want to keep coming back to find out what's new and thought-provoking to Christopher Lydon and his staff.

Now.
If you had told me that Stanford coach Trent Johnson would be ejected on a technical during a game on the way to the Big Dance, I would have told you to get off the crack pipe.

And. Now.
I would have been wrong.

In the first half, in a game away from the Sweet Sixteen, against a gutsy and talented Marquette team, Trent Johnson blew his stack and got. kicked. out. of. the. game. Ejected. Sent to the locker room. Forced to watch the game on the monitor. Trent Johnson. Mr. Subdued. Mr. Cool, Collected and Class Act.

Now it wasn't one of those Bobby Knight eruptions. It was volatile on the Coach J. meter, and for the life of me I couldn't see why he didn't let it go. But he didn't. Unforeseeable. And unbelievable. So the coaching staff had to take over for the rest of the game, and you couldn't watch without that sense of impending doom. If they lost, it would definitely be Coach Johnson's fault and there would be a really ugly conversation with the Athletic Director once he came back to campus. But thanks to the clutch play of Brook and Robin Lopez, the Cardinal squeaked out a one point win in overtime. Let me say it again -- unbelievable. I was a knitting demon during parts of that game, because I. just. couldn't. bear. to. watch. Oh, and I'm still worried about that post-tourney conversation with the A.D.

And though I wouldn't believe that my UCLA love could ever waver, in the second game played at Anaheim's Honda Arena, the Texas A&M Aggies stole my heart. Isn't it always the way? After the favored #3 seed eked out a win, I was ripe for backing the underdog. And the Aggies were all heart out there. All heart. And UCLA looked... underwhelming. Overrated. Entitled. Things I hate my team to be. So even when they came roaring back, I was behind the Aggies. To maybe teach them a lesson. Blow out the bracket. Make someone a fortune. But in the end -- UCLA is UCLA. And that is still bank. With that emphatic dunk to end the game, they roll on to Phoenix on Thursday. But they better bring some of that Aggie grit with them, because I think there's a big a** target on their back.

I did get my underdog fix with the West Virginia win over Duke. Which surprised me because I had never seen them play prior to the tournament, and I was a little iffy about that Pioneer Man mascot. But the way they played within themselves the whole game, and their unbridled excitement coming down the stretch completely won me over. I must say I've been impervious to Duke and the Coach K mystique, and they were under the gun having played tight against Belmont.

There used to be a Stanford basketball t-shirt that read: Food. Shelter. Hoops. Loved that. But to give myself a little balance, I'm off now to fill Easter baskets.

My Obama button

I started wearing my Obama button in January, before the California primary. Mostly it went on my outermost layer (i.e., rain gear), but as the weather improved it moved over to the strap of my purse. As many of you know, I've been a huge fan of the man since his senatorial run in Illinois and I wore the button without thinking about it. But people responded to it, more and more people as January turned into February, and their comments made me aware that a movement was growing. Now in Berkeley, that wasn't much of a surprise. I wasn't even the first house on my block or in my neighborhood with house signs, and I first started spying Obama bumper stickers on Berkeley autos (yes, a fair number of them hybrids or biodiesel-fueled) last fall. It didn't surprise me that my button generated interest at my favorite bakery in Oakland's Temescal district, but I was surprised by the level of positive comments it drew. And the response has been the same wherever I've been around the Bay Area -- in Palo Alto (where I saw my first Hummer) and in Los Altos, where the candidate signs on the median strips were for Clinton, Huckabee and Ron Paul, as well as Obama.

By far, the most heartening, or perhaps heartwarming, Obama conversations I've had have been with kids. The classmates of the BFF's sons at Malcolm X all either ask me if I voted for Obama, or say they're for Obama, or their parents voted for Obama. Mind you, some of these are second-graders! (You've gotta love the Berkeley public schools.) I've been having a slice at Giaoa pizzeria on Hopkins and had a little kid, maybe four years old, come up to me and ask who that man was on my button. I was surprised at how proud I was to say to him "That's Barack Obama and he's running for President." That was probably the first time I said those words aloud. At the same pizzeria, which gets flocks of kids from the neighboring King Middle School and St. Mary's College High School, the button set off a conversation between two of the high school girls. One said she was for Obama, while her friend said she was torn between Obama and McCain. Now that made me wonder if I was in Berkeley!! I joined in their conversation to explain about the party conventions in the summer, since they knew something happened between the primaries and the fall election, but they weren't sure what. (When did they make high school Civics optional?)

I'm still wearing my button 24/7 and I'm still heartened to see the cross-section of people that respond to it. I'm so grateful that these candidates have generated so much interest in our political process; especially compared to the Kerry/Edwards candidacy of '04. I still have that bumper sticker on my car and it hasn't generated one comment, positive or negative, yet.

I'm a little punchy tonight due to the second day of my full basketball immersion. Can I tell you how much I love March Madness? I'm totally pissed that you have to get cable to experience women's hoops-mania, but the way the men's games deliver keeps me glued to CBS every year. I'm a bit nervous about tomorrow's Stanford-Marquette matchup, and ambivalent about UCLA's probable coast into the Sweet Sixteen. That's due in part to my rooting on the University of San Diego Toreros (don't ask me what that is or if I've spelled it correctly.) I'm backing them because they were coached by former UCLA Bruin guard Brad Holland, and I spent many blissful nights my junior and senior years of high school watching he, David Greenwood, Roy Hamilton, and Kiki Vandeweghe tear up the floor on KTLA broadcasts. Unfortunately (unbeknownst to me) USD bought out his contract last year and hired Bill Grier, a former assistant coach at Gonzaga, to replace him. Well today, the Toreros knocked off UConn, in overtime, at the buzzer, with a class recruited and well-coached in previous years by Holland. As any sports commentator will tell you, a good team grows out of a solid foundation, and though Grier coached them to victory it came out of the core that Holland built. So props to you, Brad, and may you get another college coaching gig soon.

The BFF's oldest and I have picked our winners for the Sweet Sixteen, and though I'm committed on paper my heartstrings are not tugged equally. So along with USD and my obvious Pac-10 picks, I'll be rooting hard for Villanova, Xavier and Arkansas. Oh, and I'm hoping that Washington St. can carry some water for the Pac-10's rep in the East bracket. Check in after the weekend to see if I've changed my stripes.

It's heeeere!!!

Shakespeare fans and history lovers hail the Ides of March, but the few days afterwards are even more important. This year, the Big Day was today. It's the unveiling of March Madness, which reminds me every year how much I. love. hoops. The draw was revealed -- all 64 teams -- with many anticipated match-ups and great potential for upsets.

I'm a Pac-10 baby (okay, to show my age, I'll admit I grew up a Pac-8 baby), and always ready to defend the honor of MY conference with its perennial second class status compared to the Eastern/Southeastern conferences. It's that terminal East Coast Sportswriters bias for sure, coupled with not wanting to stay up late to watch West Coast games, plus an unacknowledged resentment that we get to enjoy mild winters AND excellent college basketball.

So here are the teams I'll be watching:

1. Stanford, clearly, and I foresee a lot of nail-biting while spectating. I love Coach Trent Johnson, but always feel that no matter how much we're ahead, our lead gets swallowed up at the end of the game. But the team is fired up this year, as well as hyper-aware how many eyes are upon them. Including those of a kazillion NBA scouts, salivating over Brook Lopez and hoping he'll be the first Stanford player to leave for the pro ranks after his sophomore year. (For the record, I hope he and his twin Robin stay another year. But I'm like that.) : )
   
2. I always root for UCLA (how could you not -- for their epic history, those cute powder blue and gold uniforms, and my boy Lorenzo Mata-Real closing out his senior year) because they are incredible ambassadors for the league.
   
3. And this year, I'll have my eye on the University of San Diego, because they're coached by Brad Holland -- a former Bruin and Laker from the old days (a.k.a, my youth.)

Other than that, I'm wide open -- available to be swept up by whatever Cinderella team(s) emerge(s), with no allegiances to any other conference. I will be finalizing my bracket selections along with the BFF's oldest. We are of contrasting styles -- he's the pragmatist, picks quickly, loves the big names. I'm more emotional -- can't back Siena since they knocked Stanford out in the first round back in '89, indifferent to Duke, neutral on Georgetown, willing to go with Xavier since the BFF's sibs went there. And Gonzaga's always good in the mix. The fun starts Tuesday morning -- and I'll have to leave the TV for the BFF's son's last league basketball game. Start out the day with collegiate hoops, end it watching the 8-12 year olds. Do I love basketball, or what?

Today's other high point was finishing up Ann Packer's latest novel, Song Without Words. I've been a fan of Packer's since the early 90's with her short story collection, Mendocino, and novel, The Dive from Clausen's Pier. I'd attended her reading from the new novel last fall and decided to put my name on the library hold list rather than buying the hardback on the spot. I'd formed an opinion, or maybe a snap judgement, based on the passage she'd read, and expected the novel to be somewhat flat and formulaic. Local setting, suburban family crisis, examination of lifelong friendship between two women. Well yes, the book included all that, but Packer transformed the material into something moving and individual, pushing past all the cliches. I'm really glad I read it and am happy to recommend it to friends -- it's not the easiest subject matter, but you'll be swept up in the story quickly and effortlessly. This is another reason that I read -- to be shown how many shades there are to any plot, to universal stories; and to surprise myself. Despite what expectations I may have set, or a review has set for me, I can still be taken aback by what a skilled writer can do -- which may mean changing my mind completely.

Who's still working

I am savoring Season 5 of The Wire. For the next week or so, I have access to HBO On Demand which allows me to watch every one of the season's episodes as many times as I want, and I .am .loving .it. In case you haven't heard, The Wire has been hailed for years as the best show on television (despite a total lack of Emmys). Tim Goodman, the San Francisco Chronicle's brilliant TV critic (blog connection to the right) is one of the most devoted fans and can bring you up to speed on its brilliance. I view it as the contemporary heir to the sprawling, epic works of literature. It holds its own, easily, in the pantheon of the Greek tradition, and the nineteenth century novels produced by the best British, French and Russian writers. But you can hear all of these arguments in any national or local magazine (Time, Newsweek, etc.) or newspaper, as well as Internet publications (Slate, Salon, et.al.)

The finale aired Sunday night, but I'm still steeped in the magic and scope of the multiple storylines coming together and moving towards resolution. And I'm preparing myself to say goodbye to all of my favorite characters -- Omar, the show's unlikely moral center; Bunk, the consummate Baltimore po-lice; Daniels, who's finally reached the inner sanctum of the police hierarchy, only to find he can't support the fundamentally important, necessary work of his colleagues because of budget constraints; and of course, Bubbles, the junkie who finally seems to be clean and sober. And the city of Baltimore, which I now feel I know intimately. And then there's the love for all the great new characters in the newsroom, and the deep love and appreciation for all the casting directors, the other actors, the writers, the directors, the cinematographers, and everyone else who's contributed to the authentic look and feel of the show. At all levels, this has been such an excellent production over 60 episodes -- which is why I think it qualifies as epic literature.

What will I do when all the familiar faces are gone? Well, I can take heart because some of them are showing up on other shows. There was Chief Daniels in what looks to be a recurring role on Lost, and Mr. Prezbo and Commissioner Rawls on recent episodes of Law and Order. Perhaps most surprising was coming across Lester Freamon on Waking the Dead, a British import that airs on KTEH's Friday night British mystery/suspense line-up. Hey, did McNulty get him work across the pond? Kima was on an episode of Cold Case, in a role that looked like it might turn into a semi-regular gig, but I haven't seen her lately. And I saw Carver on another cop-like show -- Criminal Minds? CSI Miami? And one of the best .surprises . ever. was Bunk as Don's shrink on Numbers! (Though nothing could rival those great Bunk/McNulty drinking scenes!) And there's Frank Sabotka playing a mechanical engineering professor on Numbers.

Well now you know too much about my indiscriminate TV watching. Hey, I need to watch something while I'm knitting. I can't read! I hope that all of these amazing actors will continue to get work, especially in fully-developed, challenging material where they can show their chops. I'm really bummed to see Paulie Walnuts from The Sopranos hawking a chain restaurant in a commercial. Paulie f***ing Walnuts!! Who did amazing work through every season of The Sopranos. Someone give that man a real job!!

On a completely different note, I got to visit the BFF's eldest son's classroom today on DEAR (Drop Everything and Read) Day. This annual program in the Berkeley public schools, has adults from throughout the community visit a classroom with a book and read aloud for half an hour. I signed up too late last year, and was thrilled to get my dream assignment this year. I chose to read from one of my childhood favorites -- Jennifer, Hecate, Macbeth, William McKinley, and Me, Elizabeth, by E. L. Konigsburg. Do you know how satisfying it is to see a classroom (in this case of 4th graders) enthralled with a story? Even the boys liked it. And what a great treat to see that a 40 year old story can still hold its own in this age of Wii, iPods and YouTube.

Who still reads? Maybe more people than we think.

Are you a Badass?

I am not. At least I don't consider myself one. But I know a few, and am impressed by them. Badass is a quality of fearlessness, and I'm too tentative and self-questioning to qualify.

It's a characteristic that displays itself dramatically in the BFF's sons, though in different activities -- it's not automatic in their interests across the board. Her oldest is an an amazingly gifted athlete, and naturally, deeply competitive. I don't see it so much in his baseball games -- aside from his hating to lose, and expecting a perfect performance from himself. But in basketball, it's naked and raw. He will throw up shots that make me cringe, and they fall in. He is fast and everywhere -- which allows him to steal the ball at will, to cut to the inside and put up a layup while everyone else is in a scrum looking for the ball. And he's his free throws -- are . consistently. solid. His play doesn't falter, it's just that the law of averages and the human inability to produce a perfect performance on every occasion means all his shots can't connect. But he expects them to -- it's more than just wanting them to. And he leaves it all on the court. The down side of this passion is his belief that he can carry the team when they aren't matching his performance (i.e., falling behind.) Going to one of his games (and he's only 10) is intense because to the crowd, he's a known quantity, the go-to player. When I'm in the stands, I'm always surprised that I'm not the only one rooting on his performance. It's the other parents that are shouting encouragement to him, that are praising his play. At 10!! I'm a little worried about what it will be like when he's in high school.

His younger brother takes daredevil to a wholly different level. He spends hours doing flips and all other gymnastic moves -- just for fun. The same with skateboarding -- he flies up and down the hills at the skateboard park. And his batizado last weekend, (the annual capoeira exhibition where you receive a new belt) had a week's lead up that included a visit to a circus arts gym. While his lesson was on the trampoline, and he loved it, he really wanted to be in a harness working with the trapeze performers. Swinging across and catching someone else's hands while doing a flip in the middle!! That's crazy badass. It's the same with his dancing -- he's able, at 8, to control and move his body in imitation of the choreographed routines you see in movies, a la Stomp the Yard, and music videos. (Replete with the shaking and gyrations that cause us all some exasperation.)

Observing how natural this is in two so young leads me to believe this intensity is self-generated. It's awe-inspiring to me that some people come into the world with that programmed into their DNA, while others have to work ceaselessly to acquire that quality, which is so integral to being an exceptional athlete. When I played tennis obsessively (lo, those many decades ago), I always found it easier to hit for hours in pursuit of consistently perfect shots than to play matches. I liked competing, but sometimes faltered in the clutch because I lacked the killer instinct, the ability to hit out under pressure, to seek out and exploit any weakness in my opponent's game.

I also know a badass knitter -- and while you might assume that's a strange combo, there are more of them out there than you'd imagine. Helen, the one I know, hasn't been knitting for more than a few years but she'll try anything. Any idea, working without a pattern, pushing the limitations of a yarn. She's basically unafraid to play with, and even break, the charter rules of knitting. Sometimes it works out, sometimes it doesn't, but she knits on undaunted. She is prodigious -- one of those folks whose projects go out into the wider world, rather than stacking up in her drawers. (Which means she knits for everybody, and you'll see her product on neighbors, friends, her daughters.)

I am a cautious knitter -- sticking to the pattern, the recommended yarn, the tried and true methods. And my projects are mainly for me, and stay at home. (Which means an awful lot of them are hanging out in plastic bags, in varied states of completion.)

All of which puts me in mind of Barack Obama. Up until now, he's been cool and unflappable -- another personality trait I think is hard-wired, though it too can be acquired. I think we've reached the stage where he has to go badass to win. It's been a perpetual dog fight and he's stayed above the fray, but now I think he's got to assert he's the only person for the job, and in a forceful way. I'm not sure what the best forceful tactic would be -- it definitely shouldn't be returning ad hominem attacks of Hillary. But somehow he's got to translate what I (and others) find effective answers to the "inexperienced" argument (his work as a community organizer who was then elected to the state legislature to represent those he'd organized for years is pretty concrete experience) in an aggressive way. And he is going to have to be more pointed in pointing out Hillary's flaws and relatively short stint as an elected representative. Can he do it? I hope so. Because I don't think I could live through the months long rehash of Whitewater, Monica, Bill's impeachment and that "vast right-wing conspiracy" comment the Republicans are going to run 24/7 if she's the Democratic candidate.