Many times it happens too fast-you trade your passion for glory. Don't lose your grip on the dreams of the past-you must fight just to keep them alive

TAKE THIS LINK! Click on the title. The title today comes from The Eye of The Tiger by Survivor, which always makes me think of two things-my dad (he coached basketball in the eighties and this was a 'theme' song of the Lady Tigers) and ofcourse Rocky. TAKE THIS LINK for a great commentary on the status of that franchise, what with the recent news Stalone is working on Rocky 6.

I was raised a Cincinnati Reds fan. It wasn't my choice, but for the first few years of my life it was my team. I remember my first Reds jacket, red with white trim and made of some material that repelled beer and nacho cheese. Although I was seven or so, so I'm certain that's not a feature I put to use. Maybe the cheese one.

Pete Rose was my favorite player. It was kind of a no brainer cheering for Pete Rose. I used to tell people he was my uncle. Come to find out later in life (I met him once) Pete Rose is kind of a no brainer himself. He's proven that I guess, but I was always hoping he'd be articulate and heroic. No. Hell of a baseball player though!

As in all things a boy grows up and decides he wants to make his own decisions about what to do, what to like, and also who to root for. As it turned out for me, right around this time, I also morphed from the skinny baseball-build of my ancient past, to the more linemanish, Buddha, beer retaining form you've all come to love me as. For this reason, and maybe this reason alone, I was drawn to Auburn baseball AND football player Frank Thomas. And so when he was drafted by the Chicago White Sox in 1988 I was instantly a White Sox fan. Frank Thomas has been my favorite player ever since and the only baseball card find I've retained interest in.

Some of you aware of it know that tonight, in fact just before I began to write this entry the White Sox clinched a spot in the 2005 World Series. I'm excited and feel my 17 years cheering for them as they stayed pretty much ten games out of the playoffs perpetually has not been in vain. Although Frank is hurt and hasn't played since he came back from his last injury, hit 12 home runs in twenty-something games and called it a season, I am still growing increasingly fond of the scrappy set of guys they've assembled and thankfully note that their management finally took my advice (that I've been dispensing since I was 13) and gotten a pitching staff.

But this entry is not about the White Sox. I'd like to always challenge myself as a communicator and you as a reader/responder to higher thoughts.

I want to talk about one of my closest relationships. Not boyfriend/girlfriend, wife/husband, partner/partner, hookup/one-night stand stuff, because except for limited instances I don't know anything about any of these. I remain the guy all women would like to marry someday when they're ready to stop looking for flashier alternatives with less predictable treatment. Although I'd like to say anyone who has dated me knows I am as irrationally male as the next guy and often blunt in an insentitive way, I'm just nicer about my boorishness and more articulate about my irrationality.

No I want to talk about one of those people God or fate or charmed coincidence gave me that makes life worth living. I want to talk about my father. He's a smart man and a talented man, but I never cared about either of those things. I appreciate it about him, but it isn't neccessary. All I ever wanted from him is what I've consistently recieved-a straight version of his perception and a truthful word from his heart. He's a rare find in this day and age.

We live in a world where millions of people tune in every day by radio and TV to hear ignorant people with over inflated egos preach their opinions as Truth, all the while their shows and programs are sponsored by prescription drugs, car manufacturers, alcohol distirbutors, insurance companies, investment banking firms, energy cooperatives, and boring movies that I'll never be convinced don't alter the message. We live in a world where the number one political talk-show host spews his own point of view and calls it objectivity, or worse common sense. We live in a world where the number one talk-show host is liked because of her down to earthness, even though she's a billionaire and spends her time either telling people how to live or rubberstamping couch-jumping celebrities with their own ignorant agendas. We choose a President based on which one we think is more like the common man! We give candidates two minutes to explain their policies about issues that will affect us for decades. We spend trillions of dollars a year on self-help books, diet programs, exercise equipment, and vitamins while the average family watches more TV, eats more fast food, spends less time with eachother, feels more stressed, and takes more medicine for depression and anxiety evey day.

We live in a world full of misinformation and fluff and BS. And somewhere in the thick of all that seems to me to be so jaded and backwards and misguided and insincere I have this memory of sitting in the new Chicago White Sox ball park, which real fans call New Comiskey and ignorant people call U.S. Cellular Field because even our buildings are advertisements. I'm in the twenty-somethingth row and I'm 20 and my dad is 45 and he dispenses this wisdom like its the last time we'll talk and he's practiced every line, but really its just a man being himself with no agenda except love and he opens his soul to his son, so that I may see his Truth.

On love-"I knew your mother was the one for me when I realized she was my best friend."

On kids-"Don't wait too long to have kids, bcause you'll want to be able to have days like this." (Sitting in a ball park as two grown men)

On work-"Find something that you love to do and don't settle for anything else."

On me-"Son, you are the most talented person I know. You can do anything."

There are good men and good women walking this Earth. Perhaps they have talk-shows and host no-spin zone debates, run for public office, or play professional baseball. But you'll never find out who the heroes are by watching or listening to a medium, because that isn't real communciation, not like writing to one another and definitely not like speaking to one another, because you are not a participant-you are an audience. At best you are the person they are catering to at worst a demographic. And shouting rhetoric-political or feelgood doesn't make an instance of soul to soul expression. A singer can bare his soul with the words and the notes he finds within himself. A writer can leave tracks to his heart with the ways he finds to speak through words. Actors/Comedians on a stage hear our laughs and see our sobs and it change stheir performance. Ministers I assure you look into the congregation for glimmers that their words are inspired. We can share our souls with one another but there has to be interaction not merely obsrvation.

This is a lesson I am still learning that I have some vivid memories reinforcing.

Here's my advice and you can save a bundle on self-help books.

Find good people. One. Ten. A family of them. You're family.
Make a family.
And spend some quality time with them. Find a place where you can both be comfortable and open your souls to each other. because life moves awful fast and moments when you share your Truth with someone else last forerver. Connect to old friends and make new ones out of people who motivate you to be a better person.

This isn't to say that my dad and I have some squeaky clean relationship of mentor/student, father/son, coach/player. We fight and he's a stubborn ass again and I'm a child again and the wisdom goes away from both of us. But you see I get to choose who I root for. And I'm rooting for him. And he's rooting for me. My soul knows that. The part of me that is forever knows that that long he's an ally.

I remember my first White Sox jacket. It was white with black trim and made of some material that repelled beer and nacho cheese. I was fourteen or so and depending upon how long I had it/could fit into it I spilt beer and nacho cheese on it. I'm not really much of a basbeball jacket guy. I don't wear one now. I can't imagine wearing one any time soon. Truth be told, if the White Sox stopped playing tommorrow I'd be the same guy. I'm aware that many things that we fill our lives with fade away. For now they're going to the World Series and my first phone call after the game was to dad. He's a White Sox fan now. It wasn't his choice, but life offers us all kinds of new alternatives when love is our agenda.