On War and Peace

WHAT PEACE MEANS TO ME

 

By Michael Moffett, (LtCol, USMC, ret)

 

Peace is synonymous with tranquility---a condition marked by an absence of violence. There are people living in blessed enclaves who've known nothing but peace throughout their lives. But these fortunate folks likely lack the same deep appreciation for peace felt by those who've directly experienced war and violence.

 

As a Marine Corps infantry officer I witnessed violence and its effects first-hand, from the Persian Gulf to Afghanistan. So like refugees from war-torn lands, I've a special appreciation for the general tranquility found throughout most of our beautiful country. I love peace.

 

That notion may seem counterintuitive to some, as I was trained to wreak violence, if necessary. But most of my brothers and sisters-in-arms and their families surely share that peace-loving sentiment. As firemen deplore fires, but stand ready to fight conflagrations when necessary, most military people deplore violence, but stand ready to counter those forces seeking to threaten our national security or to destroy our way of life.

 

And yes, I subscribe to the notion that a strong military can be a force for peace and a deterrent to aggression---hopefully until such time as threats recede on their own accord, as when the Soviet Union dissolved and the Berlin Wall came down.

 

And "Blessed are the peacemakers," those inspired individuals who use their special gifts to counter conflict. On a macro level, these peacemakers win Nobel Prizes. On a micro level, they save lives and diffuse danger in homes, at schools, or on village streets.

 

Such a peacemaker is my friend Fahim Fazli, a native Afghan who escaped a war-torn nation to come to America. Here he became a citizen with a unique appreciation for his adopted country, and its wealth, opportunities, and tranquility. And yet, after becoming a successful Hollywood actor, Fahim left his career and family to return to his native homeland, so cursed with violence. He volunteered to be an interpreter for a Marine infantry company in dangerous Helmand Province. But while he wore a warrior's uniform, he carried no firearm. His weapons were words and laughter, and he used those to bring people together, to such great effect that our enemy put a price on his head.

 

No civilians lost their lives where Fahim's company operated. And not only did Fahim survive, but so did all his comrades. When they left Afghanistan, their area of operations was markedly more peaceful than it was before they arrived.

 

Blessed, indeed, are the peacemakers, particularly those like Fahim and company---those who don't win Nobel Prizes but who bring a measure of peace to places where it is needed most.

 

Orange Crush

EXPATRIATES AND EX-PATRIOTS

Sports bring people together—in many ways and in many places.

I once saw a man wearing a Red Sox shirt in remote central Afghanistan, which was cause to connect and make a new friend.

Orange County, California, is not quite as remote, but it’s still a good distance from New England. As I was in the Golden State during the recent Patriots-Broncos AFC Championship Game, I figured it might be fun to watch the Brady-Manning gunfight at a sports bar.

So I did some homework and found an Irish Pub in Tustin—Ye Auld Dubliner—as a venue to watch the big game. With so many New Englanders (like meself) being of Irish extract, it seemed a natural place to find kindred spirits—New England expatriates, if you will. And supposedly the Dubliner was a favorite of Sam “The Bam” Cunningham, a USC grad, and one of the all-time great New England running backs. Maybe the ex-Patriot would show up and hang out with us expatriates!

Having forgotten to borrow my brother’s #12 Brady shirt, I wore my green Plymouth State windbreaker—green being apropos for an Irish bar. And I made a deal with Beth, my Beloved Bronco Fan (BBF). I’d drive to the Dubliner and she’d drive back to San Clemente. I thought I’d gotten the best of that arrangement, but there was a caveat. She had to spend an hour at the “Fitness Elite for Women” health club en route. But I was assured we had plenty of time.

En route to the health club, BBF, who grew up near Denver, reminisced about the first Bronco team to go to the Super Bowl, with quarterback Craig Morton, defensive end Lyle Alzado, and the Orange Crush defense.

As the club was for women only, I cooled my heels in the lobby for an hour. Then BBF looked in from the gym said she just needed 10 minutes in the locker room and we’d be off to the game. Over twenty minutes later I was still cooling my heels, and wondering if we’d get there in time for kick-off, or even a seat. (Try not to let this destroy your faith in the punctuality of women.)

Eventually we were flying up I-5 toward Tustin. We left the highway and sped around corners—seemingly on two wheels—and through all too many traffic lights.

BBF: You ran a red light!

ME: I think it was orange.

BBF: You’ll be seeing a lot of orange when the game starts.

We got to the Dubliner a minute before kick-off. Naturally every seat was taken so we found places to stand. As the game was on every one of twenty big screens, we could see action in any direction.

Patriot fans indeed abounded. I estimated at least 200, judging by apparel. Including BBF there were approximately five Bronco fans, and one pathetic soul wearing a Browns jersey. My Plymouth State attire got some attention and I actually connected with several Plymouth alumni. Small world.

Yes, it was a great game. The last-minute Brady to Gronk touchdown pass caused paroxysms of joy for the well-lubricated Patriot faithful. Only a two-point conversion separated us from overtime and one of the great games in NFL history.

It didn’t happen. A giant whoosh of disappointment left the Dubliner. The only consolation was I didn’t have to drive home. As we walked out, I caught BBF giving a surreptitious fist bump to a dude wearing an orange Peyton Manning jersey. C’est la vie.

I suppose I’ll still watch the Super Bowl, sans Patriots. After all, it’s hard not to root for Manning, who is almost as old as I am. Maybe I’ll find something orange to wear on Sunday.

After all, orange IS an Irish color too!  

Sports Oldsters

SPORTS OLDSTERS

All the hoopla surrounding Sunday's Peyton Manning-Tom Brady “gunfight” in Denver makes for some compelling story lines and also touch on two things that most of us seriously ponder—often excessively.

Aging and mortality.

So we celebrate the spectacle of a 39-year-old future Hall-of-Fame quarterback taking on a 38-year-old future Hall-of-Fame quarterback—with a Super Bowl berth at stake.

The aging process brings humility to every athlete, sooner or later. So when someone like Brady cheats both Mother Nature and Father Time—as he did this past season—it not only brings joy to Patriot fans but it also gives us ALL hope that maybe one CAN stay young forever in a sports Shangri-La.

Who has never dreamed such dreams? Think of Ponce de Leon’s tragic quest for the mythical “Fountain of Youth,” or Oscar Wilde’s novel “The Picture of Dorian Gray.”

Dorian Gray sold his soul in exchange for eternal youth. Rather than age himself, a picture instead reflected the ravages of time and personal choices. Of course, as with Ponce de Leon, it all ended badly for Dorian Gray.

Still, we rejoice when oldsters triumph. Think Mariano Rivera. Adam Vinitiari. David Oritz. Do you recall Jack Nicklaus winning the Masters Golf Tournament at age 46? Or better yet, Tom Watson falling just a stroke short of a sixth British Open title at the age of 60, in 2009?

How about Ted Williams winning a batting title by hitting .388 at almost 40 years of age? Or Babe Ruth hitting three tape measure home runs in a single game in Pittsburgh, also at age 40? Or Michael Jordan racking up triple doubles at the same age?

And you have to love long distance swimmer Diana Nyad, who at the age of 64 completed a 110 mile swim from Cuba to Florida. It took her 53 hours.

Or Gordie Howe. The NHL legend made his debut with the Detroit Red Wings in 1946. In 1969, the 40-year-old-Howe scored 100 points for Detroit—44 goals and 59 assists. He later played for the Houston Aeros of the World Hockey Association, winning the WHA’s MVP award in 1974. Later, back in the NHL with the Hartford Whalers, Howe played on a line that included his sons Mark and Marty. Howe concluded his career in 1980, when at age 51 he played in all of the Whalers’ 80 regular season games, scoring 15 goals to help Hartford make the NHL playoffs.

The aforementioned stars—and others like them—created excitement which sports fans converted to passion, an ingredient for eternal youth. Or at least youthful outlooks.

So Tom Brady, whatever you’re doing, please keep it up. Perhaps it’s your supermodel wife that helps keep you young—along with diet and exercise, of course!

But I can’t help but wonder if somewhere there is a “Picture of Tom Brady” that is aging, while Tom stays forever young. Whether or not Tom made some Faustian bargain, only he knows. But if such a picture exists, may it stay under lock and key.

Forever.

Cold Sports

COLD SPORTS

The bitter Minnesota cold during the Vikings/Seahawks NFL playoff game  made for extremely uncomfortable conditions for players and attendees at U.S. Bank Stadium in Minneapolis, but it was fun viewing for fans watching in the comfort of their living rooms.

Thank heavens the Vikings weren’t playing indoors at the old Hubert H. Humphrey Metrodome. We wouldn’t have been able to see their frosty breaths or listen to commentators discuss how the cold was affecting the contest. Indoor gridiron games truly lack something primal, elemental, and essential. Football needs real grass, wind and rain, snow and mud.

Yes, I love watching football games where the elements are part of the story. Preferably snow, ice, sleet, and mud. Yes, I loved watching the Ice Bowl, where in 1967 the host Green Bay Packers beat the shivering Dallas Cowboys 21-17 for the NFL title. The temperature was 17 degrees below zero.

An even colder game, if you factor in the wind, was the San Diego at Cincinnati playoff game in January, 1982. Wind chill made it feel like 30 below zero. (The Bengals won to advance to the Super Bowl.)

You have to love snow. Like in 1982, when the Dolphins and Patriots were tied at 0-0 with less than five minutes to play in a Foxboro snowstorm. During a time-out before a field goal attempt, a stadium snowplow operator named Mark Henderson drove on to the snowy field to clear the area where John Smith’s kick would be spotted. The kick was good and the Pats won 3-0. Miami coach Don Shula is still mad about it, but the little snow plow/ploy holds a place of honor in Foxboro.

My favorite New England game of all time remains the Foxboro Stadium finale in January of 2002, when the Pats won a playoff game against Oakland. That was the Tom Brady “tuck” game, but what I really remember is all the snow, and Adam Vinatiari’s successful 45-yard field goal through the swirling flakes to send things to overtime.

Bring on foul football weather, especially for the playoffs. How about a soggy Super Bowl? SB 50 goes on Feb. 7 at Levi’s Stadium in Santa Clara, California. Now while baseball’s Dodgers, Padres, and Angels are never rained out, it DOES rain in California in the winter. I’ve always longed for a Super Bowl where there is mud and rain. Let the heavens release downpours on the halftime show, which this year ironically features the British rock band COLDPLAY. Perfect!

(Prediction: The Patriots win the first-ever overtime Super Bowl game when Stephen Gostkowski kicks a 40-yard field goal in the rain.)

Soccer is played in all sorts of weather, especially high school championship matches, which invariably occur under freezing November skies. But for some reason baseball games just don’t happen if it rains. What’s up with that? Unlike soccer players, baseball players wear extra clothes and even caps—but when the rain starts, the umpire departs.

Sissies.

Hockey is generally an indoor sport, but the recent Winter Classics have been immensely popular. Sixty-eight thousand fans showed up at Gillette Stadium to see an outdoor contest between les Canadiens and the Bruins. Unfortunately, Montreal prevailed 4-1. If only there would have been a blizzard. How fun that would have been—maybe even for the fans in attendance.

Occasionally an indoor hockey game WILL be held up due to foggy conditions, which is cool.

Now as a basketball guy, I must admit that I pretty much avoided rain and mud while playing hoop. C’est la vie. But a proposal is in the works to have a basketball game—maybe a Celtics pre-season game—at Fenway Park, inspired, no doubt by the success of the Winter Classic. I’m all for it. Olympic basketball used to be played outdoors, after all.

So bring the parquet floor to Fenway and hope that it doesn’t rain.

But if the fog rolls in, just keep on playing!

Number Retirements

RETIRED NUMBERS

NEWS ITEM: The Boston Red Sox announced that they will retire Wade Boggs’ number 26.

Congratulations to Monsieur Boggs on a well-deserved honor. The third baseman won five batting titles during his 11 years with the Red Sox. That he later played with the New York Yankees and the Tampa Bay Devil Rays shouldn’t be held against him. Boggs is also bound for baseball’s Hall-of-Fame in Cooperstown, N.Y., which happens to be a criterion to have the BoSox retire one’s number—Johnny Pesky (#7) being the lone exception, understandably.

Number retirements by sports teams are a relatively recent phenomenon. Consider that George Selkirk and Cliff Mapes wore number 3 for the Yankees long after Babe Ruth had left the team.

Some teams are more promiscuous with their number retirements than others. The Boston Celtics are a prime example of a team with a generous retirement policy, having retired 21 numbers. Yes, TWENTY-ONE! Plus Johnny Most’s microphone and the nickname (Loscy) for the late Jim Loscutoff.

Paul Pierce’s number 34 will certainly be the 22^nd number to be retired. But does Kevin Garnett’s number 5 deserve the royal treatment, as some propose? Garnett only played for Boston for six seasons, one less than Dennis Johnson, who had his number 3 retired by the team.

Of course there was special Celtic sentiment for the likes of Reggie Lewis (#35) and Easy Ed Macauley (#22) but do those numbers deserve to be displayed alongside Bill Russell’s number 6 or Larry Bird’s number 33? Teams can dilute the honor by making it too routine. Yes, I’m talking about Cedric Maxwell’s number 31. As Red Auerbach said, “He wasn’t that good!”

College teams retire numbers as well. The University of North Carolina Tar Heel men’s team has such a storied tradition that they developed strict requirements for uniform retirements. To be so-honored a Tar Heel must be more than special. He must be MVP of a national title team, an ACC “Player-of-the-Year,” a first-team All-American, and/or a member of a Gold Medal Winning Olympic team.

Which brings us to Plymouth State University and Joe Dudek, its All-America running back back in the early 80’s. Dudek scored more touchdowns than any college player in history, set numerous rushing records for several championship teams, finished in the top-ten of the Heisman Trophy voting, and then spent two years with the Denver Broncos. His number 22 was informally retired by Plymouth State, and in 1989 the college decided to make it official by having a Joe Dudek Day at Currier Field. Unfortunately, several faculty members chose to make a public issue over the fact that Dudek had not yet satisfied graduation requirements. (He has since earned his diploma.) A local paper ran a story about the faculty concerns and a wire service account made it a national story. The undesired attention created a regrettable distraction which perhaps diminished the recognition. To his credit, Plymouth State President William Farrell made it a point to be on the field with Dudek for the ceremony.

The attention given to Dudek’s graduation status was almost certainly he reason that some college teams chose to retire player numbers after their final season ended, but before graduation, or non-graduation. For example, Indiana University’s superstar running back Anthony Thompson had his number retired right after his last 1989 home game with the Hoosiers. IU apparently knew he wasn’t going to graduate and learned from the Dudek experience not to mess with faculty who might be jealous of the attention given to football players.

Anyway, congrats again to Wade Boggs. And upon further review, let’s keep Cornbread Maxwell’s number 31 retired. I’ll never forget his Game 7 heroics against the Lakers in 1984, and I think Auerbach was kidding when he said Max wasn’t that good.

Happy New Year!

Brady Blessings

TOM BRADY BLESSINGS

 

Americans should find time on Thanksgiving Day, 2015, to count blessings, big and small. And a big blessing for which New England Patriot fans should be grateful is a 6-foot-4, 230-pound quarterback named Tom Brady.

And in this, Brady’s 16^th season as a Patriot, Tom is having his most terrific season yet. Contrast the 38-year-old Patriot quarterback’s stats with those of Denver Bronco Peyton Manning—a 2015 version of “The One Hoss Shay.” (Just Google it.)

Always a competitor, Brady seems to be enthralled by the challenge of maintaining All-Star form for years to come. His disciplined training regimen and diet are designed to extend his gridiron longevity in record ways.

So when WILL he retire? Not for a while, yet.

Might he retire next February after a Super Bowl win? There is that temptation to go out on top, like Norm Van Brocklin did after the Philadelphia Eagles won the 1960 NFL title. But look for Brady to return next year, so we can again include him among the blessings counted during Thanksgiving-2016.

It’s tough to pick the right time to quit. Running backs Jim Brown and Barry Sanders retired when they were at the tops of their games. Did they ever regret it? Brown probably did. He toyed with returning to the NFL with the Oakland Raiders when he was well past 40.

But quitting too late might be worse than quitting too early, because that extra season usually results in injury and a tarnished legacy. Think Y.A. Tittle, Johnny Unitas, O.J Simpson, Joe Namath, Dan Fouts, Troy Aikman, Dan Marino, Jim Kelly, and Brett Favre.

And “One Hoss Shay” Manning.

May Brady never suffer such a fate.

Then there is Green Bay’s Aaron Rodgers, who may be on the precipice of oblivion. The 36-year-old Packer quarterback looked terrible during a recent home loss to DETROIT, his team’s third straight loss.

Interestingly, many Packer fans blamed Rodgers’ woes not on age, but on distractions created by his Hollywood actress/girlfriend Olivia Munn. This follows a tradition of blaming quarterback woes on lady friends. Recall the extraordinary attention paid to Dallas Cowboy quarterback Tony Romo’s then-girlfriend Jessica Simpson. Eventually their relationship couldn’t take the pressure and dissolved, much as did the relationship between Cowboy predecessor Troy Aikman and country singer Lorrie Morgan.

Certainly Brady’s wife, supermodel Gisele Bundchen, took some blame for previous Patriot problems, but with New England currently atop the football world, Gisele is now feeling the love from Patriot Nation.

This raises a question. When does a supermodel retire? Gisele seems to be going strong. Her discipline vis-à-vis exercise and diet may in fact complement and support Brady’s, and help account for his longevity. Give the girl some credit!

Beyond superstars and supermodels, what about supercoaches? What about New England head coach Bill Belichick? The 63-year-old Pats mentor is the third oldest in the NFL, behind N.Y. Giant Tom Coughlin and Seattle Seahawk Pete Carroll. What if Bill decides to go out on top like San Francisco’s Bill Walsh did? We can only hope that Belichick is staying fit, ala Brady and Bundchen. May he wear his hoody on the sidelines for years to come.

And when Turkey Day comes a year from now, may we continue to count our Blessings that start with B … Brady, Bundchen, and Belichik.

And Butler (Malcolm). Always and forever.

Happy Thanksgiving!

MISSOURI MACHINATIONS

MISSOURI MACHINATIONS

 

NEWS ITEM — University of Missouri president Tim Wolfe recently resigned in the face of growing protests by African-American students, the threat of a walkout by faculty, and a strike by football players who said his administration failed to combat campus racism.

Ousted!

I was going to write about Tom Brady, but events in the “Show Me State” compelled otherwise.

The first headlines re: Wolfe’s resignation raised questions about what egregious conduct had required him to step down. It turns out that his crime was “inadequate responsiveness” to campus activists on the issue of combatting racism at the University of Missouri in Columbia. And the tipping point came when the African-American gridsters at Mizzou threatened not to play football unless Wolfe quit.

There are fascinating aspects to all this.

Is there rampant racism at Mizzou? I don’t know. No doubt there have been incidents of bad behavior. That’s inevitable at any large university campus. Let light be shined on the whole situation and let the truths emerge. And a measure of skepticism is often appropriate when dealing with emotional campus activists, including those in Columbia.

The football component of the Mizzou equation underscores the power that scholarship athletes can wield when they so-choose. Faculty activists had earlier called for Wolfe’s resignation, to no avail, but when the football Tigers weighed in, Wolfe walked out.

Mizzou Coach Gary Pinkel tweeted his support for his players, but according to USA TODAY that support did not mean he wanted Wolfe to resign.

With Missouri in last place in the Southeastern Conference, Pinkel surely didn’t need the distraction. Time will tell if getting involved in campus politics unites or divides the Tiger gridsters.

But the events in Columbia affirm the potential power that football players can wield, and athletes (and coaches!) around the country certainly took notice.

Last year the football players at Northwestern University sought (unsuccessfully) to unionize, and that may have inspired whoever led the Tiger players to revolt.

The Missouri machinations probably revived wistful memories for grey-haired activists who came of age during the sixties, when student strikes were commonplace. As many of these liberal activists often lamented the extent of university resources invested in a violent male-only sport like football, it’s ironic that a FOOTBALL team achieved the campus activist dream—ousting a university president.

Speaking of the power that football has over presidents, consider that no U.S. President would EVER give a prime time speech or national address if it conflicted with Monday Night Football. Such a President would likely end up like President Wolfe.

Ousted!