Losses

This was a week full of losses: of a game, of control, of parts of life. It has been the hardest week for me since I've been here, and one of the hardest that I've ever endured in my life. From this week of loss however I will continue all the stronger, and learn what I can from the mistakes that led to its circumstances. Although it was a difficult week, silver linings abound, if I keep my eyes open and focused on the right things.

This was a slow week. It feels like the trip to Amsterdam was ages ago, and I can tell now even only two weeks removed that the trip will be a major mark on my stay here, not only in terms of experience, but in how I comprehend the passage of time.  I already use it as a marker: I think of the experiences that I have had as being either BA or PA (Before Amsterdam or Post Amsterdam).  Of course I mean this only figuratively, but the truth is close enough to the device that maybe I should consider actually utilizing these labels in my thoughts.

Since this weekend was a home game, we had another day of publicity in the city during the week.  Mitch, Steve, Strahinja and I along with some of our teammates that could be there on short notice walked around in uniform with some of the cheerleaders and employees of one of our sponsors, a bank, and handed out flyers that included reduced prices at both the game and one of the local cinemas. We each received a voucher for a free movie at the same place. I'm hoping that they show some films in English, which they might, so that I can go see Man of Steel or something of the like.  It's odd: for so long in my life summer meant going to see the summer movies with Jordan and Cody and Wilber and Steve on $5 Movie Mondays, yet I can't tell you the last movie I saw in theaters, or predict the next time I'll see one. The Hobbit, I think, was the last? Funny how things change as you get older.

Lucky for us a photographer followed us the whole time...so many action shots

This day in the city was much different than the first publicity day we did three weeks ago: it was sunny and hot out, it was on a weekday rather than a Saturday, and there were only a handful of us, rather than the whole team. People weren't as inclined to approach us, although some did. To attract attention, after walking for a bit we'd stop and play catch in the middle of a square or open space. I was worried we'd hit someone in the head, but hey...we are professionals. I'd like to think that we drummed up some interest in Saturday's game, and overall it was a nice way to kill an afternoon.

 Just some catch in the square

Steve undoubtedly being turned down, for the thousandth time. Poor guy.

Saturday came sooner than I could've imagined.  It was a quick turnaround from playing the best team in the league the week before to the second best team in the league this week.  Practices weren't always the easiest experience this past week; it's tough to field a full team at practice on any given day with everyone's injuries and obligations, but this week was particularly difficult.  Still, we worked as hard as we could to prepare for Troisdorf, short-handed as we were.

The game began well enough, trading scores back and forth to begin. The weather wasn't great, which I think had an effect on the size of the crowd, so the atmosphere wasn't quite the same as it was for our other home game. I felt great, however. In the Bielefeld game the week before, it took my far too long to find my legs. I felt ineffective at the start and stiff until at the very earliest the second half. This week I felt much better. I was running well, catching well, feeling like I could do anything. Film showed later that I missed a huge hole for what would've been an easy touchdown, but I still felt good. We were moving the ball well against Troisdorf, and I was ready to make a major impact on the game. 

Two great plays where I felt like myself again: TD, called back on a hold, and the aftermath of a corner getting trucked on the sideline.

And then the losses started. First, we lost my fellow running back Harlem to what looked like a dislocated shoulder after he was crushed on a draw . Thankfully that's not the case.  We'll see what his MRI says. Then me. I remember the play, thank God. It was a jet sweep, about ten yards down the field and I, in football parlance, "got my bell rung." From what I recall, it was a clean hit, but I'm not sure. If the game were to have been played in the U.S., Troisdorf would have been called for more than a few personal fouls for leading with the head and spearing. I don't think they meant to play dirty, but what happened happened. Either way, I popped right back up, as is my wont, finished out the drive and then pulled myself out of the game when I couldn't see out of my right eye because of tunnel vision and spots.

 I don't know if this is from that play, but thanks for the help guys.

Thus began the horrible wait. I hoped for the symptoms of the c-word in my vision to recede before halftime, but they didn't. I took a concussion test with our substitute trainer and failed it. Personally, I don't put much stock in how I was examined. I'd like to think that I was being cautious and depend on what other people said, not the result of that particular test. Either way, I pulled myself from the game, unspatted my cleats, took off my shoulderpads, and hid my helmet in the locker room. I didn't want to deal with the ramifications of having it in plain sight. 

I have had two concussions that I know of, and, due to their nature, I cannot describe to you how it felt to experience them. I don't remember. I can recall more from my first, my freshman year at Kenyon; I remember up to the point of contact. I can tell you the play I received it, on a kickoff at Wabash, when a wedge of three players broke upon me like a tidal wave and I was knocked head over heels in front of their sideline, much to their excitement. As the game progressed I lost control of my mental faculties and memory along with it. I recovered by the time we got on the bus, however, and was good to attend classes and play within a week. My second concussion, however, was much different. I can only report to you things I learned from my teammates, because I don't remember anything about that day from this past fall in St. Louis. Not what the stadium looked like or how warming up went, let alone the play that I received the jarring blow.  All memory is completely erased, as if I were never there. I've seen it on film, but that's the extent of it. I didn't recover completely from that for almost a full week, which was thankfully our bye, and I was useless for anything more than laying on a couch in my apartment and watching TV for three or four days.

Needless to say, on Saturday I was concerned. That is one of the worst things I've experienced, the mental side of it, sitting and wondering if I actually had received a concussion or not. There is no worse feeling than not knowing whether or not the next moment will be the one that you lose your ability to function, your memory of the last few hours, the ability to control your actions and emotions. I wonder if I have undergone this mental wrestling twice before, or if the process was cleaner, quicker. I don't remember well enough to know. Thankfully, that moment never came, and by the time the fourth quarter came around my symptoms had passed.   

After the game. A close loss, 35-44. Statline in 2 quarters: 9 rushes for 39 yards, 5 receptions for 64 yards. Could've been much better.

After the game my sister (we might as well drop the 'host' formality at this point, this is my family here) Anke took me to the hospital, and, after a bit of a wait, a doctor cleared me of any c-word worries in under two minutes. Thank God. No concussion. I was under observation by myself and the family for 24 hours afterwards, but no symptoms came back. I'm sure some of you are reading this and scratching your head wondering why I continue to play football even with this specter looming over me. To answer you quickly: Yes, I am a tad crazy; No, I don't have a deathwish, I'm totally aware of the media firestorm that has enveloped concussions and football recently; Yes, I'm going to continue playing, with prudence and good judgment; No, my mental function has not been nearly so affected as before. I was scared, but that's the extent of it. I'm fine. Thank you, everyone, for your concern.

As for the last loss all I have to say is 1 Corinthians 13. That's the verse on my most recent tattoo, my claddagh, and one of the most important statements in the world no matter your faith or lack thereof. Look it up if you're interested.

This weekend we'll be playing statistically the worst team in the league, but we need to be wary. We're planning on taking the smallest team I've ever played with, so we'll see what happens. I look forward to preparing as I would for any other game. Aside from that, I've been reading and writing as much as I can. I hope to finish the first of many parts of my writing project before the week is out. I think I can. Like I've said before, so many times since I've been here: just have to keep moving forward.

The Sound of Settling

My brain's repeating, "if you've got an impulse let it out."

I've switched things up a bit in writing this post. My typical process: I sit in my basement room in the dark during the afternoon after a lift or a morning of reading and plunk out as much of a portrait of the last week as I can, straight through in one sitting. In some weeks, most notably last week, that process has been broken up into several sessions but the setting and method remain the same throughout. Right now as I write this it's Tuesday evening and I'm sitting outside after a beautiful day with my music on shuffle. Hopefully inspiration will strike as readily here as it does in my bed, although I don't think anything I've done this week can quite live up to my adventures detailed in my last lengthy post. It's going to be hard to live up to Amsterdam, but I think I can eventually; a new trip may be in the works. Details forthcoming.

 Our backyard

View from the hotseat, with all of the essentials: computer, Kindle, and, of course, a tall Paulaner Dunkel Hefe-Weißbier 

Although it seemed like a slow week after so much activity and travel, I did do more than sit in the basement and twiddle my thumbs. You'll notice that may become a theme in this post: I spend quite a bit of time down there, isolated, so I'm trying to break the pattern. Although useful in doses, isolation can prove dangerous to me, especially considering some of the circumstances of my time here. I'm making it a goal to spend more time outside of my room while I'm home, and although this sounds ridiculous, if you'd speak to Mitch and Steve, they'll probably agree: I need to get out a bit. That's not to say I don't try when I get the chance, it only means that when we have downtime I go downstairs and don't come up. I think I'm going to try to sit outside more as the weather improves. Today was an amazing day, weather wise, and it doesn't get dark here until well past 10 PM, if not later. It's a bit off-putting, really. Sometimes I'll look at my watch and realize it's already nearly what should be considered "night" while it looks to be only the middle of the evening. Like now, for instance. It's 9:35 PM and with the light we have if we were in Ohio I would think it couldn't be any later than 8. That certainly makes it easier to practice til 10 on Wednesdays and Fridays, which we've done several times.

When I got back from Amsterdam I was worried that I might be derailed from my goal of reading a book a week, having barely squeaked out Updike's Rabbit, Run in a little over a week (I finished Stoner ahead of schedule, giving me a buffer), but still before my Tuesday deadline, having finished it on the train home. This past week assuaged my concern. I managed to finish Rabbit Redux by Monday (it was okay, I'm assuming it's the weak point in the saga; even Updike hit a sophomore slump) and started Palahniuk's Choke and finished that within a day. Looks like my speed-reading compulsion didn't suffer as much as I thought it did in college. Reading these two books in sequence is not something I would recommend to anyone. The jury's still out in regard to my thoughts on Choke as a whole, but what I can tell you is that both of these novels present a similarly fierce sexuality, within which a wishy-washy faux masculinity reigns supreme and unquestioned.  Both of these authors used this for the development of their characters, to be certain, but the fact remains: these are men dying in the throes of a post-masculine world. This is a complicated topic that I tend to avoid and can handle in small amounts, but not quite back to back in such highly concentrated doses. Hopefully I can avoid that type of overload in the future with my reading. With more Faulkner and Updike on the docket, however, there will be plenty of emasculation and complicated topics to delve deep into. I've also gotten a good amount of writing done on the project I'm working on while I'm here. Unfortunately, what feels like a good amount and what a good amount is in reality isn't quite the same. Work, work, work.

If you've been gritting your teeth through reading about my more intellectual exploits, don't worry. It's over. I'll talk about football now. We had our first Saturday game, which is a bit of a quick turnaround after a full practice Friday night. That's just the way it is, however, so adjustments must be made. We played the Bielefeld Bulldogs at their homefield, which was quite a challenge. Bielefeld hasn't lost a game in two years and is currently the top team in the league. They have a rabid fanbase, which kept the noise level high throughout the entirety of the event, from before kickoff to the postgame celebration.

I say postgame celebration because, unfortunately, we emerged from a tightly contested game on the wrong side of the scoreboard, 28-35. One last minute drive by the Bulldogs provided the difference after a see-saw matchup, scoring back and forth. We never had the lead, but we never felt like we were losing. I personally didn't start out feeling fantastic: I began the game with an unexplainable lethargy and heavy legs. When I ran I felt stiff and unsure. This is something I need to fix, that I will dedicate the week to solving before the next game. I suspect it could be that I missed my leg workout for the week, but I can't be sure. By halftime I felt good, and while my rushing stats were pedestrian at best (11 rushes for 44 yards, 1 1 yard TD) my receiving stats were a bit better (10 catches for 103 yards). Hopefully we can get the running game going next week. It's difficult because as an American, teams often key on me while I'm in the backfield, even though we have a few other good backs. We also had a key injury on the offensive line and lost our right tackle, so we had to adjust to that. Another week should do the trick. 

Strahinja and I. I'd like to title this picture Playmakers, if we can live up to it. Let's make some more plays; please just stop trying to jump over everyone.

The best part of the game for me was how we responded to its events. I hesitate to call the difficult events of a game "adversity," although the football lexicon deems it so. We were down by two touchdowns at one point with a stalled offense, but that didn't hold us down. Everyone responded. It was nice to see the four touchdowns we scored spread across four different players, with others contributing big plays. People filled different roles they may not have been used to: I personally played on every special team aside from field goal and kickoff, including returning punts for the first time since J.V., and even played two plays on defense after one of our DBs had to go out. I can't say I did too well there, but I'd love another shot to be on the dark side, as Steve called it. I miss making tackles, playing fluidly and reactionary, separated from the responsibility of carrying out the steps of a play. Don't get me wrong though, like my high school coaches did: offense is where I belong. 

Sequence celebrating Oli's TD in the first quarter. Pretty cool.

Losing was rough, but, like I said, it was a great game. I look forward to going back to the homefield this weekend to play against another good team, the Troisdorf Jets. If you're trying to follow the game live, Twitter seems to be the best way (@OSTigers). Even ol' Pa made himself an account to follow the Tigers. I guess I'm the only one left without one.

So, like I said: although it was a slow week, it wasn't entirely uneventful. I appreciate all the support I get from home, particularly from the Kenyon Athletic Department (Speaking of which, congratulations Jesse Weiss! All of those hours in the KAC lifting next to each other have paid off, for you a bit more than me, but I can't imagine anyone more deserving. Get ready to be paid for the game you love. There isn't a more surreal, unbelievable feeling. Go Brewers!). Having my blog available to a larger audience is fantastic. I've had hits from as far away as South Korea and, importantly, Costa Rica. I hope that everyone has enjoyed reading this, and will follow through the summer. This has been cathartic for me. I miss home, and I really do want to share my experience with everyone I can. Here, I can do it, and get it all out in a rush of words and pictures.

Trying a new process has worked. Even though the sun has set, it's still great outside and I feel like I've accomplished something away from my cave, or, as the doorbell buzzer label says for the basement's button, TigerCage. I plan to escape from it more often.

Peace.

Wanderlust

Over the past week, so much has happened, so much has changed. Rather than jumping right into the main events and blowing my philosophical load early on, I'm going to try to be balanced, and write a post that manages to capture the week that was. In doing this, I think that I will be able to ascertain more of the things in me that have changed and how it happened over a matter of seven days, not the whirlwind three it seemed to happen in. After all, that's the main point of this exercise: although writing is a communicative tool, it is in writing one discovers one's own self.

This week was the bye week, so with no game to prepare for this weekend, there was less pressure on the football front. Don't get me wrong, though: we still have done film work and have practiced hard for our next opponent, the Bielefeld Bulldogs. They haven't lost a game in two years, so the competition will be the best I've seen yet. But due to this weekend off, I was really able to get out and about this week. On Monday of last week we got our car. I'm kicking myself for not taking any pictures of it for this; I was planning to but never felt right about it. I also wasn't sure if it is going to be the car we'll have for the entirety of the stay, so maybe when I'm sure I'll share a picture. Until then, I'll hold off on the description, aside from saying that it is most definitely a Tiger Car. With the car comes a problem: I can't drive stick, and, like most cars over here, it's a stick. Between Mitch, Steve and I, actually, only Mitch can drive a stick. Tuesday afternoon, then, was driving class. With Steve still in Amsterdam with his parents, Mitch and I drove out to the emptiest roads we could find, out into the countryside, and I did my best to put the car through its paces. I'm no natural, that's to be sure. Still, I didn't do too badly. After a bit, I could shift without major issue and only killed the engine every few stops. I'm sure I'll get it down soon; I have to to get anywhere. Since the weather finally broke, it was a great day, and we drove out to some old canal locks and walking paths along the water and walked around for a bit. This area was fantastic and helped my mood greatly. The beginning of last week was one of the hardest times I've had, bar none. Missing something missing. Woods and green space have been my refuge since I was a small boy running around my grandparents' woods in Kirtland, Ohio, so the unfamiliar waters and trees and fields of Osnabruck, Germany were as therapeutic as the friendly well-known tracts of home. 

   This sign was on the lock bridge. Tanks speed limits on country roads. Thanks, Germany.

Over the first two and a half weeks I was over here I did nothing socially outside of football practice and games. Being a social person, I did not take this sitting on my hands too well. After last Thursday, that all changed for the better. Thursday here is the big night to go out, and my teammates have been eager to take me around and show that aspect of life off to me. So, when Thursday morning rolled around, a few of my teammates decided to gauge the collective interest in a night out. I jumped at the opportunity, so, lo and behold, around eight o'clock Mitch, Steve and I were headed to my fellow running back Harlem's house to begin the night's festivities. It was interesting to see how things work over here, in regards to the nightlife. In some ways, it's no different than at home. Of course, what differences I found can be written off as my own inexperience with the club scene in the U.S.; I've never been much of a barfly or club guy. Just the good ol' Cove and maybe a trip or two to Downtown Willoughby at home. The club we went to is one of the biggest in the city, Alando, and while there were more people than I'm used to seeing in such an environment, the motions remain the same across the ocean and cultures. Buying drinks for friends, staying in a clump together, occasionally branching out and talking to strangers, but consistently roving together among the garbled din of shouted conversations and bass thumps and bright flashing lights and the faint and surging smells of sweat and liquor and smoke and life. Either way, it was a lot of fun. One thing I have noticed: for some reason, German guys love talking to me. They're quite friendly, and are always interested in what the American stranger has to say or teach them. I think I was explaining to a group of about six how to dance and urging them off to go find girls at one point. It reminded me of being at school with my friends, doing laps around parties. Marcus, J.B., you know what I'm talking about. The German girls were much less enthused. It was a fun night that stretched to the morning and the sun beat us up the sky before we even left the building. Can't say I've done that before, so there's a marked difference. Ah, Germany.

     Steve and Harlem, ready to rumble

The next night we continued the fun, as Harlem, our right tackle, Freddy, and I went to a house party held by some people they knew the next night after our practice. That was similar to any party I've been to at home as a stranger: the same slow awkwardness of the unknown person amongst the familiar group and the same slight resentment at the intrusion, until by some facilitation the wall is breached and fast friends are made all round. Being foreign and new helped after the initial strangeness, and I really enjoyed talking to all of the people there. I think I made a few friends, which is nice, if only to know someone here that isn't a part of the Tigers. Different perspectives and all that.

 To quote Harlem: "Frühstück für champions" (breakfast of champions, one of my famous sandwiches)

Since I've been here, Mitch has been looking forward to a visit from his best friend, who is on a backpacking trip across the continent. Because of some terrible flooding to the south of us, the worst in 400 years, the time for this visit came sooner than expected, if I recall the schedule of things properly. So, on Saturday night, Mike, Mitch's friend, arrived in Osnabruck to stay with us, along with his fiancee Carrie and their friend Caitlin. I was a bit nervous before their arrival; sometimes it's hard to meet a group of incumbent friends, to experience something new with new people, to insert yourself into a group that hadn't quite expected your presence. After our initial meeting this nervousness completely receded, as Carrie looked at me flabbergasted that I was wearing the same tacky bear shirt from Wal-Mart that she has back home and they all immediately had genuinely nice and interesting things to say, even after a long day of travel and broken plans. I had a very distinct feeling, sitting on the couch upstairs and talking to everyone, a sense of easy camaraderie and unity, a comfort that people exist that will step off the bus and immediately look you in the face and be genuinely interested in knowing you. We took the day Sunday to tour Osnabruck, and grilled a nice dinner at home with Monika introducing us to a few of the more exotic liquors she has around the house.

The group at the Brewery in Osnabruck

It was a great day, but I had even more to look forward to: almost immediately after meeting them, Mike asked me if I'd like to join them in Amsterdam on Monday. I'd been thinking of finding my way there soon, having passed up trips with Steve and his parents and my Serbian teammates, so I decided that it was the time to get there. Mitch and I bought a double train ticket, we found a hostel to split five ways online, so by Monday morning early we were off to Amsterdam by train, a three hour trip into a new country and one of the world's famous spots. Carrying just one bag with a change of clothes, two cameras and my Kindle, I took a big step for myself when I walked onto that train: a spontaneous trip. Immediately upon entering the train station in Amsterdam I could tell we were somewhere new. The only experience I can compare it to is that of being in the big airports I went to flying here. Travel hubs seem to be the same in most places you go; however, this was a bit different. Being a major tourist spot, the variety of different people walking around was innumerable, and the easy access of trains compared to planes accentuated this variety. People walking quickly everywhere around me made it hard to take in the sights, but I tried to do as well as I could. This became something I struggled with throughout the trip; the people surrounding the history and quirks of Amsterdam were nearly as eclectic and interesting as the city itself.

The first picture I took, of the train station.

I said that a spontaneous trip was a big step for me, and it was: never before have I gone anywhere less than an hour away without more than a few days knowledge of the trip, along with a very detailed itinerary. I thought that was in my nature. I was wrong. As we ventured away from the train station, without any inkling of where our hostel was (more on that in a bit), I almost expected myself to begin to panic, to feel hopeless and lost in the foreign environment. I didn't. I was too busy taking everything in, enjoying being a part of the everchanging crowd with its zipping mopeds and careless cyclists, cumbersome slow moving cars and unstoppable, unforgiving trains and being a part of my own little group, laughing and joking and finding our way. Above all however I was still my own entity entirely, experiencing everything in my own way through my own means. This feeling of welcome isolation even among the teeming masses is something I will remember. Something I will find again. 

Durty Nelly's: The U. 

Our hostel was located almost immediately adjacent to one of the busier Red Light Districts, along the main road, onto which the darkened maze-like alleys of sin the city is so famous for tossed out the used up husks of their clientele. This made it easier to find, which came in handy later. No, I didn't slip and spell that wrong: the name of the hostel and attached pub is Durty Nelly's, which is what attracted Caitlin to it initially. Even for the name, it was an excellent hostel, and a good one for my first experience. We checked in to a laundry list of rules and stipulations, which put us at ease: no matter how crazy things might get, we'd have a haven at Nelly's. We left our bags in our room and went to explore the city. We would walk for a while, taking in as much as we could, pausing here and there, sometimes following Caitlin's map, more often not, until we got too tired or thirsty or hungry or found a particularly cool place, in which we would stop for a light snack and a beer.

Later that evening, we went on a sponsored pub crawl, which was fun, if not a bit creepy. The type of people that are in charge of that type of thing are not, to say the least, the most upstanding. We met some interesting people, though: from Tasmania, Quebec, Manchester, even Virginia. In a city of tourists one should expect to speak to someone from anywhere but the place itself, although a local and I did have a nice talk at the hostel bar. It was something that Mike said to me before the crawl, however, that really affected me. I thanked him for welcoming me along with them on the trip, and for sharing the experience with me. He told me that, having traveled extensively himself and having experienced living in Europe before, in Austria with Mitch his first year, that he learned that within experiences like this it was always good to share. Share in the rote motions of the travel itself, in the thoughts and feelings that come along with the trips to new places and the adventures that are had. Thanks, Mike. Reinforcement of the importance of the communication and sharing of experiences reinforces my own thoughts on the importance of writing.

How we looked after a night out in the Red City...jokes, failed iPod Panorama picture

So after a crazy night in which I got lost and wandered back to the hostel on my own somehow, we all awoke ready for a half day of wandering the city before Mitch and I left at three and the rest of the group moved onto Berlin later on. It was during this shortened day, though, that maybe the coolest experience of the entire trip was had. We found an art studio, and Caitlin and I were very interested, watching the artist at work, painting the floors and generally acting crazy. I was interested because it reminded me of Philly's Magic Garden, tucked inside the city block as it was. He noticed us, and we asked if we could take some pictures of his studio and his process. He came out to us, bummed a cigarette from Caitlin, and gave us a long talk about how we were welcome to take pictures of him and with him and of his work because he loved our vibe, our energy, that only true artists would be interested enough to stop long enough for him to notice. He also showed us a large piece that he said he had just sold to the Obama administration. After his smoke he invited us in, even through his painted floor, and took pictures and asked us to sit with him a moment. He went on a bit longer about everything (he was quite strung out, on what I don't know, maybe just life) but afterwards he told us he wanted to share his art with us. He called to an assistant to bring us some pieces, and signed for us right then and there three original works: one for me, one for Caitlin, and "one for the mamas, the mamas always need the love." He wished us well and we were off, amazed, flabbergasted yet garrulous, not saying anything beyond wow, wow, wow. Harry van Gestel is the artist's name. I did some research on him once I got home. His work is incredible; both as an artist and humanitarian.

The artist at work and the art he so generously bestowed to us

 After that, the trip wound down. There were some major complications with the trains home; the flooding reared its ugly head and all trains to Berlin were cancelled, knocking out both Mike & Co.'s plans off the docket (they switched their tickets to Copenhagen) and Mitch and I's way home from being a smooth trip. We had a delay and had to switch trains a few times, but we made it back. One last influence from Mike: I'm going to keep a journal whenever I travel. Mike and Mitch took a trip to Peru for school and were required to; Mike still does this. It's a fantastic idea. I spent my last twenty euros on a nice journal and pen at the Amsterdam train station, and have one entry down. Here is the most important part of what I wrote down on the way home, that sums up the self-realization that was borne from this trip: This trip, although only for 2 days and a night, has been alarmingly transformative. I've caught the wanderlust. Now, as I sit in the packed redirected train car, moving at snail's pace away from the Red City, as I will remember it, I realize that I am a wanderer. Not a wanderer out of circumstance; it's out of almost a necessity, an unmistakable part of my nature. Hopefully there will be more entries in the journal to come.

A soon-to-be full travel journal

Do you still walk the streets at night?

With the wanderlust you fight;

back to the corner,

where we went our separate ways.

Wanderlust, Flogging Molly

Acclimation

I'm thinking hard about how I can avoid concentrating on time with these posts. Since I'm still rather recently arrived, two weeks to the day today, it's hard to shift my focus, because at the end of the day everything still seems so transient; nothing completely set in stone. But no one wants to read the same ruminations over and over til they stretch thin as the weeks pass and I run out of new thoughts and begin to repeat myself. I certainly don't want to write like that.

I've grown more accustomed to life here, to be sure. After one week of adjusting to the flow of things and the schedule I follow, I'm beginning to acclimate myself to everyday life. Two weeks is usually a decent length of time for a vacation (I know I'm contradicting my last post in regard to units of measurement for time and experiences, but whatever) and that now has passed, with no end of my stay in sight. This is no mere vacation trip. I try to imagine what life will be like in September or October, whenever I get back to the States, but I cannot. I thought that I could, a month ago, when the future seemed more certain. That's a major lesson I've learned already from this experience: the future is never certain. Whether from the decisions of others, or one's own, there is no predicting what will happen next. All you can do is let go of expectation and go with what is thrown at you. Apparently, the focus on time is still unavoidable for me. I suppose that makes sense; it's almost the only thing I think about. I think back to the immediate past, looking for mistakes that enabled my life to be where it is now; I look forward to the future and try to predict what I can do to make my life go in the direction I want it to. Reading that statement through again, I see that I need to just follow my own advice and go with what I have.

So, as I said, acclimation has begun. Practice Wednesday and Friday nights, filmwork and meetings and studying plays throughout the week, trips to the gym every other day or so. Football is, as always, a great deal of work. I am happy, though, that I decided to continue my career. Don't get me wrong, I never doubted that; I can't imagine my life without football yet. It's providing an intense focus that keeps me from floating off in my own head during this transitory period, between life as an undergraduate and the "real world."

As much as the day to day life is routine, there are still games and/or team activities almost every single weekend. This week we had a nice barbecue with the club's sponsors, where we imports were presented and the season magazine was distributed for the first time. The magazine is top notch; the marketing people for the Tigers are excellent. I'm sure that it will be available on the Tigers website in the near future in PDF form if it isn't already. This weekend we had our first home game on Sunday, and because of that, on Saturday there was a publicity event on the main thoroughfare of the city. The team met and donned our jerseys together in a side street, then walked together to an area in front of what I believe was a newspaper office. We caused quite a stir: a large group of large men walking together in matching short sleeved bright orange jerseys in the midst of the unfamiliar unremarkable drab traffic of the shopping crowd, populated by people wearing jackets and scarves in the face of the wind and low fifty degree weather. I thought it went fairly well. We passed out fliers advertising the game and providing a discount on ticket prices and the cheerleaders performed a long routine twice. That's something different from college: cheerleaders. I had forgotten the pageantry that goes along with football in most places playing for such a small progressive school as Kenyon. The girls do a good job; I think it helps the burgeoning football culture here to have a way to involve girls as well as boys. They mean business, too: they build and flip and cheer hard, even on the hard concrete streets of the city.

Our warm-up jumps are a tad less impressive than theirs.

This past week, we prepared for an interesting opponent, the Bonn Gamecocks. They had lost their previous game in a shootout, and it was hard to gauge whether it was more that their own mistakes had caused the high score against them or if they were weak in some areas.

It turns out that the former rang truer than the latter. They corrected their mistakes from the week before and beat us soundly, 24-14. The picture above is indicative of how the day went from start to finish; the running game couldn't get off the ground. Their defense flowed well and was ready for our offensive scheme and their offense hung around long enough to squeak out some points against our stout defense. They were also able to take advantage of the mistakes that we made, while we didn't do the same with theirs. I personally played atrociously, and received a pretty bad shoulder stinger that will be sore for awhile. The one silver lining from the game is that we can play much better than we did. I'm looking forward to playing against them again. That's one huge difference between here and home: we play each team twice. We have a chance to get another shot at them before the season is over, something that would've served us particularly well my last season at Kenyon.

Aside from its outcome and the events on the field, the game was great. That might seem like a sarcastic statement at first glance, but I mean it. Mitch, Steve and I arrived early on to coach the Juniors, who had a game immediately beforehand. This type of setup is almost unimaginable for the U.S., two games being played in a row under normal circumstances, but it's unremarkable here. It reminds me of junior varsity basketball games being played before varsity, although most of the coaches for the Junior team are players on the Tigers. I hope that I can help out a little more than I have so far. Since I came so late, I haven't felt quite comfortable with inserting myself into an authoritative role with the Juniors, but I have tried to give pieces of advice to players here and there. The boys played well and beat up on their opponent, a team they had beaten once already. Our field is pretty nice; it has a good press box and a nice area for concessions and suitable locker rooms, but it is missing something important: seating of any kind for fans. When we arrived initially I was worried about what type of support we might garner without anywhere for people to sit, although there was a large open area for people to stand with a fence separating that from the sideline. The German fans surprised me yet again. The place was absolutely packed. I think I heard that the official attendance was 1,700, which I wouldn't doubt. I wish we could've played better for them. Next time we will.

 Pretty good turnout.

A few new (to me) members of my host family were around this weekend. I feel very welcome in the Klietsch household, which has been essential in the acclimation I've referenced several times now. Anke, the middle child, lives and works in Cologne and came up on Friday night. She's a ton of fun, and immediately welcomed me with a hug and referred to me as her little brother from there on out. I didn't meet the oldest Klietsch for more than a second, but her two daughters and husband were around for a nice cookout we had while Steve's parents were there on Saturday night. As always, it was a nice dynamic that made me feel at home. 

Aside from the events of the weekend and practices, things are pretty slow. We try to get into the city as often as possible, and Mitch and I took a pretty good walk yesterday. The German countryside is fantastic. I also experimented with cutting my own hair into a style, rather than just a No. 1 buzz. I think it went alright, we'll see if anyone says anything. Thanks Quickfoot. I think I'm going to try to read a book a week, and this week I was ahead of schedule. In four days or so I finished John Williams' Stoner after the recommendation of my good friend MS Kord (ha), who wrote his senior comps paper on the novel. It was exceedingly well written, given its unremarkable subject matter, but then again, that's what makes the novel itself remarkable and worth reading. It reminded me of a set of novels I read in college for Kluge's American Novel: 1950 to Present course. Those were called Mr. Bridge and Mrs. Bridge, by Connell. I'd recommend all three books to anyone looking to see how a writer can make the ordinary, everyday events of life resonant and meaningful. I've watched nearly half of the new season of Arrested Development and was as shocked as the rest of the internet at Game of Thrones' Red Wedding. I'm glad that I've been able to keep up with little cultural things like that, as unimportant as they may seem. Along those lines, Steve and I were compelled to buy us some America shoes. There's something to buying some nationalistic propaganda in a foreign country. I was leaning towards buying some Vans sometime soon as it was.

This week marked an important departure and arrival, and with it I hope that things can be a bit less muddled. I'm excited to see what the summer holds, everywhere for everyone. Keep in touch. 

Finally, I outlined what looks to be my writing project for my time here. I'm planning on expanding a short story I wrote originally for my own comps project, although its something I've been formulating since my freshman year at Kenyon. That's about all I'll say for now. Hopefully I can get enough done while I'm here to have a manuscript of some sort by the time I get home. Maybe I'll put some sections up here as they near completion. We'll see. For now, thanks for keeping in touch, everyone that has. I'll welcome any messages or IMs; I'm online an unhealthy amount of time every day, although that might change with the departure. I'm just keeping on and going with what I have, which is a lot.