Just another Smith

“People don’t have any idea about it”, says the man with long gray hair and beard, dirty black hands, with a New Orleans Saints Super Bowl commemorative donated shirt, seated in the stands behind the fences of the West Los Angeles Little League field. All his things are packed in a cart covered by a trap. In the top, an American flag shows he still has pride for the country he defended in Vietnam. He goes by the name of Gary, Gary Smith, and never lived close to Louisiana.

Just like another anonymous Smith, he was born in the beginning of the fifties, in Chicago, Illinois. The first son of a couple of immigrants - an Italian from Sicily and a Canadian woman from Quebec. There was nothing fancy about his childhood dream: star in the Major Leagues.

“By the age of eleven, seventh grade, my friend Nick and I had been caught fifteen or sixteen time trying to sneak in The Wrigley Field to watch the Cubs. But that means we watched at least 25 games”, he says.

According to Gary, the situation got so out of hand that their parents were called by the administration of the field to discuss what they should do with those kids. “But we’re straight A’s students”, boasts Gary. The managers came up with an offer of giving tickets for minor games in exchange of them arriving one hour and a half before the match to sell programs and promise to stop skipping classes.

“It was the perfect seats. Front row, just behind the dugout in the third base”. There he watched “Mr. Cub” Ernie Banks and other idols. “But we still kept skipping classes.”

Gary grew up, lost the seats when reached high school and just like another Smith his baseball dreams didn’t work out well. “There was just one big problem: I wasn’t good.”

Just like other young Smith in the late sixties, he joined the Marine Corp at the age of nineteen. It seemed a good path to seek education. “They (military) only teach you one thing: how to kill people”.

It was the beginning of Richard Nixon’s administration and the recrudescence of the Vietnam War, to where he was sent in 1973.

“I know now that war is about politicians, but when they were shooting at me, I didn't care if they were republicans or democrats, southern or northern”

Just like the luckiest of the Smiths, Gary managed to survive. Barely. After eighteen months in the front, he was a disabled veteran. Two shoots in his right leg. It took him two years to recover his physical wounds.

He later started working as a plumber in the State of Washington, but soon got back to Illinois where he got married and had two kids. He doesn’t talk about them. “I paid for their education, but I wasn’t a good father”. As for the rest of his family: “I outlived them all”.

Gary came to Los Angeles in 1995. He worked intermittently until 2002. “I didn’t want to keep working when there are days I just wanted to skip”. Sometimes he had a place to call home. Sometime he hadn’t.

Just like another 107,000 veterans, according to estimates from the US Department of Veteran Affairs (VA), since 1999, Gary slept under the sky on any given night. The number doubles up if considered veterans that experiences homelessness during the course of the year, says the National Coalition for Homeless Veterans (NCHV). In California, there are over 20,000 homeless veterans.

Only eight percent of the American population can claim veteran status, but nearly one-fifth of the homeless population is formed by veterans, says the NCHV.

Just like another homeless veteran, Gary was diagnosed with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) and admitted to have drinking problems – the main causes of veteran homelessness.

The National Vietnam Veterans Readjustment Study (NVVRS), conducted by the U.S. government in 1983, indicates that 30% of the men and 27% of the women who served in Vietnam where diagnosed with PTSD at some part of their lives. Vietnam left 1 million lifetime PSTD cases.

PTSD is an anxiety disorder that can develop after exposure to a terrifying event or the occurrence or threat of grave physical harm. PTSD can be treated with therapy or medication. If don’t, only gets worse. Just like another homeless veteran, Gary didn’t thinks he suffers from PTSD.

Gary used to sleep near the third base of the Little League Field, in the same block of the VA Hospital, where he could find help, if he wanted.

For the last two weeks, he is been living in a friend’s apartment in the area. “It’s better and worst”. But just like he used to do, he still goes back to the field. He loves to watch the kids play. He even helps a friend coach in some batting practices.

Gary catches Cubs’ games in the radio. Just like another long suffering fan, he still believes the old Billy Goat Curse will be broken someday. “I’ll live to see them winning the World Series”, he hopes. Just like another Smith.

Sharing happiness

Packer fans gathered in the Stadium View Bar

January 6^th. America turns its eyes to Fort Worth, Texas, where a state-of-art colossal arena is the stage of the Super Bowl XLV between Green Bay Packers and Pittsburgh Steelers. Over eleven hundred miles away, I had just arrived in Green Bay in the eve, coming from Los Angeles. A change from 20 and something degrees Celsius to low negatives. From the always crowded roads to the sparsely transited streets with sidewalks covered by several inches of snow.

Green Bay is a small town some 110 miles away from Wisconsin’s capital, Milwaukee, deep in the heart of the Middle-West. A sign in the entrance of the city announce a population of 102,313 people, which is less than the 103,219 fans that gathered in the Cowboys Stadium stands on Super Bowl Sunday. A hundred thousand citizens that proudly call their city Titletown – a reference to Packers twelve national football championships - and breath in Packers’ green and gold colors. They call themselves Cheeseheads, a nickname that first was used as a mockery by rivals, but now is an icon – every time you see a Packers game there will be hundreds of fans wearing hats in cheese format. They are proud of their origins, their cheese, their snow, their renowned breweries, their brats.

But not all Packer fans are Midwestern’s. Jim Gordon came alone from Montreal, Canada, just to see the game among his Packers peers. “Montreal didn’t seem the place to watch the game”. He wasn’t the only one making the trip to Packer Land. Hotels in Green Bay registered a 60% occupation rate during Super Bowl weekend, up from the 20% regular occupation on uneventful weekends, according to local newspapers reports.

Around 11 A.M, Jim was holding a disputed bar spot in the Stadium View bar - a traditional gathering place for Packers fans, one block away from Lambeau Field stadium. He was chatting with a man dressed in a full Acme Packers gear – the first uniform in Packers history: letter shoes and helmets, navy blue jerseys and yellow paints -, for whom Green Bay is always the place to be. “I come even when I can’t get tickets for the games”, says Bruce Roehsner, from Milwaukee.

Bruce Roehsner poses with other fans

From Packers Pimp, Mexican Cheeseheads, to the popular linebacker Clay Matthews’ long-blonde-wigs, several fans went to the Stadium View dressed in different green and gold costumes as if they were in the stands. “This is the poor man’s Dallas”, Bruce says. “Hotels are forty, instead of five hundred. Beers are three, instead of ten”.

The expensive price in the Stadium View was arriving early. “We arrived here 6:30 and there were a hundred people in the line”, says Micah Sandvig, who came from Milwaukee with his brother Jordan. They were part of the first group of fans that entered Stadium View when it opened at 7 A.M, eleven and a half hours before the 5:30 kickoff.

Happiness

“I just wanted to experience football happiness”, says Allan I. Ross, who would be another ordinary fan if it wasn’t for the fact that he and his buddy Bryan Van Curin were Detroit Lions fans. They drove all the way from Lanceston, Michigan – a 418 miles trip – to watch the game with their division rivals. “The best in America”, Allan says.

Football happiness indeed is a strange feeling for them. In the last 10 years, Lions always lost more games than they won. “We’re not going to the Super Bowl anytime soon. But if we do, I’d pay five thousand dollars for tickets”, says Bryan.

Outside, in the Holmgren Way, a street packed with sports bars, a group of twelve people settled a tent in the sidewalk and started tailgating around noon. “I’m surprised that we are the only ones. You should see this place in game days”, says Anthony Olson, who came with his family from Kenosha, in the border of Wisconsin and Illinois. “A divided territory. Half of people are Packers fans, half are Chicago Bears fans”, explains Frank, one of his five brothers.

Not caring too much about the snow and the -2ºC temperatures, John Olson and his wife Peggy, drove the 153 miles separating Kenosha and Green Bay on Sunday morning with their six sons, two nephews and two family friends. Their pre-game preparation included loud music, drinks – a lot of them – and bratwursts, the brats, a traditional fried sausage dish that they found outrageous that I had never tried before. “If you don’t try it, you can’t hang”, told me Luke. So I tried and for over two hours I got glimpse of what is like to tailgate in what seems to be the Mecca of football in America. Meanwhile, several fans stop by to take pictures, dance, play with the accumulated snow in the sidewalk, or just hangout, as if everybody was part of the family, like Peggy told me I was when the freezing temperature made look for warmer places.

I got back to Stadium View around 3:30 P.M. If the place was crowded in the morning – all the tables were already took -, there wasn’t much space left to watch the game standing anymore. There was probably two times the 1.2 thousand place capacity and almost everybody had way passed their first beers.

Standing, I watched the Packers take a 7-0 lead late in the first quarter, which set the whole place dancing by the sound of Tom Rundgren’s Bang On The Drum All Day, the Packers touchdown celebratory tune.

The Steelers started their next possession in their own seven yard-line. Dangerous situation. With their backs against the wall, as football experts say. The house DJ played the traditional chant “Go, Pack Go” and the placed roared in answer before the play. Seconds later, it was time to bang the drums again. Packers’ defense intercepted the ball and scored another touchdown. I could feel football happiness everywhere.

“It’s over”, told me a random fan when Packers took a 21-3 lead with two minutes left to play in the second quarter. “It’s never easy”, told me a not so confident another. It wasn’t. Just before halftime, Steelers took advantage of two injuries in the Packers defense and cut the difference to 21-10. Concern replaced the state of pure joy and celebration in the bar.

But we were set to world famous halftime show, the Packers were leading, and almost everybody felt it was ok to dance and shake with the Black Eyed Peas concert. Dan, my newly friend, wasn’t. “Woodson lost is tough”. “Who is the new nickel back”, I ask. “Bush, probably”. It was all about football to the local man.

The third quarter went away and the momentum change could be felt in the air. Tension. Hands scratching heads. Nails being bitten. Hearts beating faster. “Go, Pack Go” screams trying to energize the team playing far away to don’t let their previous certain victory escape.

Packers scores early in the fourth. The drums bang again. Everybody deserves a hug. Steelers counter with a touchdown. Tension again. Packers scores a Field Goal. 31-25. Two minutes left. Too much in the clock, say the expert on TV. Dan agrees. Steelers march. First down. Five-yards pass. Second and five. Dan doesn’t want to look. Incomplete. Incomplete again. Stadium View is louder than ever. Go, Pack Go. Dan still isn’t looking. Third incompletion.

“World Champions”, everybody screams. I scream. The newspaper circulating in the bar few minutes after the final whistle screams. Everybody is up to hugs and high-fives. Allan and Bryan, the Lions fans, are up to. “Are you feeling football happiness?” “Yes”, says Allan.

A obsessão do ouro e o fenômeno canadense

O heroi Crosby vibra após marcar o gol da medalha de ouro

Inauguro este blog com a decisão do hóquei no gelo masculino nas Olimpíadas de Inverno de Vancouver, o grande momento do esporte mundial neste fim de semana e, provavelmente, o evento esportivo mais esperado do ano até agora.

Abusando dos clichês utilizados pela Sportv durante a transmissão – de grande qualidade, por sinal -, imagine que Brasil e Argentina estivessem se enfrentando na final da Copa do Mundo do Brasil. Visualizou a cena? É o que aconteceu para os canadenses neste domingo. Guardadas às devidas proporções, pois, ao contrário do que se diz no futebol, nesse caso havia um favorito.

Apesar de ter perdido o primeiro jogo entre as duas equipes por 5 a 3, o Canadá, país que viu nascer o esporte em seus lagos congelados, seis vezes campeão olímpico, atual campeão mundial e eterno favorito à conquista da medalha de ouro, entrou nos Jogos com a quase obrigação de levar o título. Os jornais canadenses de domingo só falavam sobre a medalha de ouro. Antes mesmo do disco “rolar” pelo gelo, o publico exibia cartazes alusivos à conquista. Imagine que a Seleção deve sofrer pressão semelhante em 2014.

Torcedor canadense exibe cartaz antes da partida

Por outro lado, nem mesmo os próprios americanos esperavam ver a sua seleção disputando a medalha de ouro olímpica. Quatro anos antes, em Turim, eles haviam ficado apenas na oitava colocação e agora apresentavam a seleção mais jovem do torneio, com média de idade de 26,5 anos. Excetuando o goleiro Ryan Miller, considerado pela própria mídia americana como a única estrela do time, o grande destaque dos jogos foi Patrick Kane, que parece até mais novo do que seus 22 anos.

Falando em clichês e em 22 anos. O roteiro da partida não poderia ser mais holywoodiano. Após sair ganhando por 2 a 0, o Canadá viu os EUA empatar quando faltavam apenas 24 segundos para o fim do terceiro e último período, levando o jogo para a prorrogação. E, quando o país esperava que a aparição de um herói para salvar a honra nacional, surge Sidney Crosby. Considerado o melhor do mundo com apenas 22 anos, Crosby vinha fazendo uma olimpíada bem discreta, para pegar leve, até o momento.

Miller permanece parado após o gol canadense

No hóquei no gelo, as estatísticas consideram gols e assistências como pontos anotados pelo atleta, e ele não anotava um mísero ponto desde o jogo contra a Alemanha. No terceiro período da final, Crosby teve uma situação de breakaway (uma espécie de contra-ataque livre de marcação) e não conseguiu marcar frente a frente com Ryan Miller – se bem que hóquei é um esporte que nunca dá para saber quando o atacante tem uma chance clara de gol, visto que os goleiros tapam a meta inteira em quase todas as situações.

Contudo, quando a coisa apertou, quando parecia que os americanos estavam com o momento favorável após o gol de empate nos últimos 25 segundos do tempo regulamentar, surge o garoto de ouro canadense. Após uma improvável tabelinha, a lá toca e me voy, Crosby literalmente fuzilou o goleirão yankee e fez explodir a imensa maioria dos 19 mil espectadores que lotaram o Canada Hockey Place e dos 32 milhões de habitantes espalhados pelas geladas terras do país.

Se você nunca tinha ouvido falar de Sidney Crosby antes, saiba que ele é um verdadeiro fenômeno do esporte. Antes mesmo de ser selecionado em primeiro lugar do Draft da NHL (saiba mais sobre o Draft) de 2005 pelo Pittsburgh Penguins, ele já era uma figura conhecida em seu país. Em 2003, foi o artilheiro, o novato do ano e o melhor jogador da CHL (Canadian Hockey League), aos 16 anos. Ao chegar na liga profissional norte-americano, Crosby foi apelidado de The Next One, em alusão ao The Great One, Wayne Gretzky, o também canadense considerado o maior jogador de hóquei de todos os tempos. Antes mesmo de Crosby estrear como profissional, o próprio Gretzky afirmou que o prodígio poderia superar os seus impressionantes recordes – o ex-atleta anotou mil pontos a mais do que o segundo maior artilheiro da história da NHL.

Quatro temporadas após o seu debut, Crosby já alcançou alguns feitos impressionantes, como liderar a liga em pontos, ser escolhido o capitão de uma equipe mais jovem na história, ser o mais jovem ser escolhido para a seleção da NHL, entre outros. Mas, mais impressionante que os feitos individuais, nesses quatro anos, Crosby liderou os Penguins, que não alcançavam os playoffs desde 2001, a duas decisões da Stanley Cup (a grande final da NHL), sendo que o time levou a taça na temporada 2008-09.

Com esse currículo, não poderia ser de outro atleta o gol que decidiu a medalha de ouro para o Canadá.

Terminados os Jogos de Vancouver, fico com a sensação de querer acompanha a NHL, que não é mais transmitida pela ESPN. Afinal, todo esporte em que jogar o adversário na parede é liberado e o juiz não interfere na pancadaria até que um dos jogadores caia no chão vale a pena ser acompanhado.