Run On

This past week was yet another week spent on break from football, without a game to prepare for or any practice to attend. This was the least eventful time I've spent over here in Germany, with my short visit to Bremen behind me and no real commitments whatsoever, so it was a bit frustrating at times to keep myself occupied. Even in this lull, however, I managed to find some major qualities of myself due for introspection, and feel a better formed person than I was before this week.

Without much structure beyond morning trips to the gym on some days, my discontent grew. If you knew me at Kenyon, you know how many activities I was involved with and how hectic and busy my schedule tended to become from day to day. Two sports, a job, and an ever-turning carousel of artistic and extracurricular scholarly pursuits kept me from ever sitting still for too long, and I grew to love the frantic pace my life took on. So here I am now a few months removed from jumping from one activity to the next, just sitting in the basement, without anything on my schedule or much of a means to get out and go anywhere or do anything. So, as I have for the entirety of my stay here, I read and wrote a great deal, finishing two books in the span of a few days (reading, of course). I found new music to listen to online and even bought an album on iTunes (Jay Farrar and Benjamin Gibbard's One Fast Move or I'm Gone: Music From Kerouac's Big Sur). I even began to think about what will come next for me when I return to the states, and did some work on my resume, sent a few e-mails, researched MFA programs and job postings along with literary journals and contests I might consider submitting short stories to. This sedentary life just is not for me. So I did something I never imagined myself doing: I got up and ran.

Mitch had told me earlier in the week about an easy route down our street that equated to roughly five kilometers, a bit of a magic number in terms of running events. It's not too far a distance to conceivably run without intense training, but not too short so that it presents no challenge to more serious runners. The distance has become ubiquitous within the casual running community as the go to length of charity events and community races. 3.1 miles isn't terribly daunting. For me, however, a sprinter and field event specialist in my track career, this wasn't the case. I said time and time again while watching the incredible Jenna Willett or Sam Lagasse run lap after lap on the track that no matter what the pace or track, distances beyond one lap (four hundred meters) were beyond me. I won't even begin to mention the issue of conceptualizing how fast my little sister Kelly runs such distances at the most elite levels. I had no interest in killing myself running, thanks very much. I'd find a different way to train. Even though this was my mindset, I should've known better after I was exhilarated after having to run the 1500m race to cap the decathlon and my final collegiate race, a 400m that came out of nowhere. But those highs came after competition, something that always brings out the best in me. No matter what sport, I have always been a "gamer," an athlete who performs better in the heat of a contest than in practice. Running by myself on the road struck me as boring, and in the one instance I attempted to run last summer at home I barely made it a mile down the road before I had to walk home, panting and near collapse. As Steve and Mitch have gone out on runs throughout the summer, I have said no, that's not for me.

I was wrong. I took my first run on Friday, and about halfway to the T in the road that marked the halfway point I realized it. Everything was right, from the weather to the music I played to the pace I ran at. The route took me from the suburban confines of our residential neighborhood through the farmlands nearby, past a bridge beneath which the Autobahn bustled and sped beneath me; I could feel the power of the traffic beneath my feet and the adrenaline borrowed from the reckless speed of the motorists pushed me along as the fields and little country roads welcomed me through their track when I left the more developed world behind. I took it all in, finding charm in the farms and fields that I had barely noticed while driving past them. When I reached the T, I decided to take the opportunity to walk some of the wooded trails on the other side of the road that Mitch had mentioned, to see what there was to see.

The T from the woods

I have always felt more than comfortable in wooded areas, having grown up playing in and around the woods of my grandparents' house, walking the trails and spending hours at a time beneath the cover of the trees that I thought must've been the biggest in the world as they reached up beyond the bounds of my young perspective. I feel at peace in places like this. At home. These woods I've found here in Osnabruck are no different. I took a walk through them and beyond, to the quarry that lies past the first line of trees. 

Woods and quarry.

    
This was an experience that not only provided me with a new place to explore in the future, but with a new perspective on what I enjoy and who I am. I am happy now, just running. I remember talking with someone close and envying the experience they described of running through a foreign landscape and experiencing the new and unfamiliar. Now I understand it. The next day, Saturday, was an even better experience. I decided to go out again, but this time as I prepared the sky grew black and the clouds rolled in fast, along with the thunder and wind of a quick hitting thunderstorm. I decided that a run through the rain was exactly what I wanted, and left my iPod behind. Not long after I passed out of sight of our house the storm started, and it was better than I could've hoped. I was pelted by a hard rain that soaked me through in no time at all, and thunder and lightning ushered me along the route that the cars of the Autobahn, now slowed or pulled to the side of the road because of the intensity of the rain, had the day before. I enjoyed myself more on this short run in the storm than I have in a long time. I'll share how I described it to someone immediately afterwards:

I went on another run today, in an absolute downpour. Lightning, thunder, rolling black clouds, the whole shebang. Cars were pulled off to the side the rain was so bad. But it was still absolutely exhilarating. In the middle of everything when the rain was hardest and my shoes were totally soaked I got this amazing feeling of centeredness. You'd love where I run, very rural with farms and cows and woods. It was just a really cool moment,... I really enjoyed that moment, and thought you would too. Even though the sky was dark and the rain was pelting me and my shoes are ruined and my breath was ragged, it made me think of the status you put up about tiny bits of sunshine. I know what you mean.

That's all there is to say about that. I'm around twenty minutes for the distance, time-wise. I think I'll try to drop that time, just to give myself something to compete with, since that's how I thrive.

Later on Saturday we had our first team event since the last game, a BBQ at the practice facility. It was a great time. It was nice to see my teammates and spend time with them outside of football, and to just get out of the house. Great food, drinks, company, and, a pleasant surprise, CCR. Later on some of us went out and had some adventures; I'll merely say that some extremely funny stories came out of that night.

Time progression

Since Saturday, it's been more of the same sitting around. I haven't done much more than what I mentioned at the post's start, so I'll say a little bit about what I read this week. I read two books: Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut and The Round House by Louise Erdrich. I read Slaughterhouse Five as a junior in high school, before I could quite understand it. I liked it before, but, because I was accustomed to having to take everything I read literally and upon the merit of plot, I didn't get it. This time around I have more understanding. It's amazing and devastating and a masterpiece. Reading it in Germany is particularly affecting, due to its subject matter, and it has made me think about a wide range of issues I hadn't had to tackle in my time here thus far. The Round House was nearly as powerful, the 2012 National Book Award Winner by my favorite contemporary author. I highly recommend them both, but with warning: they're both intense portraits of the atrocities people are capable of committing against each other and the ways that individuals cope with them afterwards. Weighty stuff.

Vonnegut. 

So it goes. Tonight, we finally practice again. I can't wait to get back on the field. The break is almost over. Time to get back to work.

*** 

Between the miles of open road,

I lost sight of what might matter the most.

I stumbled into the great unknown and found

that time won't slow down.

To take a breath and then take it in,

To the places I'll go I haven't been.

The Kenyon Germany Connection

The summer holiday is in full swing here in Germany, and the period was exemplified by the spirit of this past week. It was a laid-back, slow week; most of my days were spent reading, writing, and napping. As if to join in the lethargy of everyone else getting a break from work and school the clouds have largely gone on vacation as well, and the weather is the better for it. It has been a good break. That said, I am reminded of how restless I become without any major activities to keep me occupied.

On last Wednesday evening we held a joint birthday party for TigerMom Monika and sister Anke, who share the same birthday. Preparations for this actually began last Tuesday, and continued all day up til party time Wednesday. Moving drinks and food and furniture along with cleaning were the tasks given us, and the familiarity of the chores reminded me of parties my family hold back home, with the hustle and bustle around the house in transit from everyday to party day and the unquestioned authority of the maternal head of the house. At Williams family parties, however, we never rent a full-sized fridge for beer. I think that might not be a bad habit to get in to.

    The spread. Thankfully, we were not needed in the kitchen, so the food turned out excellent.

At the party, the under-fifty set all sat at the oldest collected "Kid's Table" I have ever been a member of. I was the second youngest to Steve's girlfriend Sam, who visited for the week; in fact, the youngest neighbors at the party sat with us and brought along two baby monitors for their two children. I thought this was funny, especially since in my own family I have finally reached the age where I am usually no longer relegated to such a table when we meet, as Justin, Tori, Katelyn and I have moved up to adult age (Those all count as references. Let the games begin). Move to Germany, back to the bottom rung. It was a nice time, though, talking and drinking and eating with my host family and teammates. Probably better to be at the kid's table. My limited German could never have come close to keeping up with the laughing and singing and joking that continued at the main table long after I went to sleep. I think everyone had a nice time, especially Monika, and that was what we all wanted.

I did nothing much the next few days, as Mitch took a quick trip to Brussels from Thursday to Saturday and Steve and Sam left for Rome Saturday morning. But, finally, I got a visitor of my own to prepare for. Steve and Mitch have both had several visitors, and not having anyone familiar come myself after seeing the lift it gave them had begun to wear on me. I'm in a much different place in life than they are, so it makes sense that more people should find reasons to visit them than I, but even that logic doesn't make it any easier. I never really expected any visitors during my time here; the hope for that died sometime in late April. I was pleasantly surprised then, a few weeks ago, when plans were actually set in place to meet up with my good friend Kaye.  Kaye and I became friends only after I'd officially signed with the Tigers and she had committed to taking a job just outside of Hamburg upon graduating from Kenyon, which is ridiculous. Sometimes I forget that even though I feel I made good use of my time at school, I didn't uncover every stone, especially on my own, and I left without actually meeting many amazing people. In this case I got lucky. She and I have had mutual friends for the past few years at Kenyon, and in such a small place, the two of us were bound to cross paths. Somehow we never did, at least not to our cognizance, until February of our final semester when our good friend Kirkley realized that we would both be in Germany this summer. We became fast friends after that, and my last semester was the better for it. So, after spending the first part of the summer at home in Atlanta, Kaye and her parents came to Germany last week. Her father has been conducting genealogical research in Germany for a few years, and conveniently for us the ancestral home of the Ottens (Kaye's last name, for those of you unaware) lies outside of Bremen, a city only a short train ride from Osnabruck. She was able to plan on taking a day away from the genealogy to visit Osnabruck, after which I would come back with her to Bremen and spend two days and a night with her family while they sought out their German ancestry.

After preparing everything for her arrival on Saturday, I took a bus to the train station to pick her up and show her around the city. I managed to find her right as she got off the train, which surprised me. Finally after being here for two months I feel comfortable with the city and all that goes along with getting to it. It took longer than it should have, but at least it has happened. I surprised myself even more: I was able to get everywhere I wanted to show her without a map, and while we wandered between the landmarks found some new ones. I feel comfortable in Osnabruck; it is no longer just where I am staying while I'm in Germany. It's not quite home, though, so I shall say its where I'm living. This is still a big step, one I wasn't sure would happen. I've lived a great deal in my head since I've been here, too much, I think. Now I'm more here than I am other places, mentally, which is quite an accomplishment for me. We mixed the tour between the modern city and the old, successfully ordered lunch, and had a great time. Home finally came to Osnabruck. We had a nice dinner at home with the family, where I finally met my other host sister, Silke, and then it was off to Bremen by train on Sunday morning. 

 Love the street art. One of the new landmarks found wandering.

      Still not quite Middle Path, but enough for me to take pause.

The train ride to Bremen was easy, so while Kaye slept away some of the rest of her jetlag (you're welcome for only Snapping pictures of you to Leah and not posting one here) I got some reading done. Upon reaching the city we found her parents and geared up for another day of wandering. Kaye's parents are really very remarkable people. They are both involved in public health, as they describe it, which is why she grew up internationally, but you'd never know it; I never felt out of place with them. They treated me like someone they had known for longer than a few hours, and I cannot describe how much that hospitality meant to me. After a nice lunch at the foot of a windmill we used iPhone directions and her mom's curiosity to find some of the local landmarks. Bremen is a bit bigger than Osnabruck, and I could tell from what little of it we saw. The historic district is much less separated than ours is, however, at least from what I saw, so we took in a good amount of the city. Unfortunately on Sundays many things are closed, and we missed out on touring the Beck's brewery. The third best German beer* and still didn't get to see how it's made. Maybe next time. Anyway, we saw some incredible churches and old buildings and a statue that Kaye's mother had been looking forward to seeing that came from her favorite Grimm's tale, The Musicians of Bremen. I even stepped out of my comfort zone and had a glass of wine in an old wine cellar restaurant, which supposedly housed twelve of the oldest wines in the world. The giant decorative casks around our small cafe table looked fit to the task.

Train stations have been some of the coolest buildings I've seen in Europe

Kaye and mother with the Musicians of Bremen...should've gone with the glamour pose

 Too bad that confused looking tourist got in the nice picture with Kaye and her dad...

Wine cellar

On Monday we went out to the countryside for the genealogical fun. Kaye's father hired a German genealogist to help him in his search, and he proved to be incredibly thorough. They had traced the family back all the way to the 1600s, even though the initial immigrant to the U.S. came over in the 1830s. It was incredible walking through the small farming village the family seemed to have links all over, especially when a knock on a door on a whim proved to introduce us to their closest living German relative. I was honored to be privy to these discoveries, and I wish that I could find something out about my own family, especially since I just recently realized I'm more German than I knew. I planned to conduct some of my own research at a museum that had been recommended to me in Bremen, but it was outside the city and out of reach. Sorry Aunt Mary and Bama. After a full day of this, we returned to Bremen, and I said goodbye at the train station and took the short ride back to Osnabruck. It was a fantastic weekend, and perfectly timed. 

A real thatched roof...one of the cool buildings in the village

It's good to have someone from home close now. With our schedules, both of us being professional athletes of sorts (Kaye moved over here to train and ride dressage horses. I don't quite understand all that goes into it, but I assure you, it's a big deal. I plan on learning how much, if I can) we may not see each other often, but Kaye being only a little over an hour away by train is certainly reassuring. She owes me a city, anyway, so I look forward to seeing Hamburg once she's more acclimated. No pressure. Until then, I plan to enjoy my break, biding my time until I get to play again. But that day will come. For now, I'm happy to have taken another trip with another great group of people. If that remains a theme in my travels, I will be better for it.   

*For the reasoning behind my ranking, follow this link. The evidence is indisputable:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=my-VMxj6YlI

Break

This week began a long break for me, a week early unfortunately because of my suspension. Although we had practices and a game on Saturday, I could not be a part of the gameplan, so I had to do my best to help the team prepare as much as I could during practice. Unfortunately, because practice was so sparsely attended that literally every single body counted, no matter its status and skill-level, that did not amount to very much.  We did the best we could with the time and people we had. This game marked the first repeat match-up of the season; we had lost to the Bonn Gamecocks at home in our second game.  Thankfully, we were more familiar with their team because of this, so the pregame planning had less to do on speculation of how they had played against other teams and was more focused on the first time we played. Unfortunately, however, we were playing not only without me, but also without the Serbians, who, to satisfy the requirements of their Visas, had to return home for the week. The Tigers had quite a challenge on Saturday, especially considering Bonn had been the team to knock of the league leader the weekend before.

The bus trip on Saturday was as I've come to expect. It's funny: although at times in college I was able to read on the bus, I generally didn't, even when I had assignments that needed finished for the good of my academic well-being. Here, I do nothing but read on the bus, aside from the odd jerks in and out of sleep. I think that I really do my best reading on the bus as opposed to anywhere else, with headphones in and old long memorized albums playing as white-noise in the background so that I can focus on the words on the page--or rather the screen of my Kindle. I was reading Faulkner's Light in August, so focus was quite necessary. When we arrived in Bonn, I realized that I was now in an unfamiliar role: team support staff. I had no equipment of my own to carry to a locker room, no thoughts of my own impending struggle filling my head, dressed in a team polo and khaki shorts rather than some iteration of sweatsuit and nerves. I helped carry some of our equipment to the locker room and realized that I was lingering unnecessarily. It was not that I was unwelcome or unwanted, but that there was no place for me there in the hustle and bustle of gametime preparation. It is an odd world to visit as a sudden outsider, without the focus of preparing for a game hanging overhead. I went to the sideline sooner than I ever have, and waited for the game to begin.

 Base Camp for Tiger's pre-game intelligence...yeah...reading. Whoops.

The first half of the game went better than anyone expected. Even with an offense with only three starters playing in their usual position and a short-manned defense, with Steve playing two ways and on every special team but two, we played Bonn to a 6-6 halftime score, which could justifiably have been 12-6 to us if not for a controversial goal line call erasing WR Phillip's second TD catch of the game. Like I said, the offense had only three players in their normal starting position. This offense was even more impressive because none of those three players were on the offensive line. No single player was in his natural or even usual position on the OL. Even then, the running lanes were open and our running backs were able to gain some good yardage. It was hard to be on the sideline.  

Oli and Nils both had great games under bad circumstances

Unfortunately, our depth proved too thin to continue the second half as strong as the first. At the end of the game the score was 32-6, Bonn. We certainly gave our all, and without another terrible call, we'd have scored again. I was not happy at how the game was officiated, or how Bonn insisted on passing deep into the fourth quarter, long after the game was decided. But, I forfeited all control over the Bonn game when I allowed myself to act in a way that resulted in my ejection the week before. We left the game with heads high, and I'm proud of everyone that contributed in a total team effort. I wish I could have been on the field. For a football player, watching one's own team play on the sideline healthy and competent without being able to contribute is a terrible punishment. We made the long trip home, on which I ate more fast food than I have in a long time.

That game is our last until August 11. With such a long layoff, we hoped to find something to do. Thankfully, our brother Eike had something planned for the day after the game to start our holiday. We visited Park Kalkriese, a historical site about fifteen minutes from our house. This was particularly exciting for me, considering a bulk of my collegiate studies. The site is (assumed to be) where Germanic warriors ambushed and defeated three Roman legions in the Battle of the Teutoberg Forest, an early example of guerrilla warfare. I seem to recall learning about this with both professor Bowman in History of the Early Middle Ages and professor Shutt in Celts and Germans when we read Tacitus. Or maybe I remember it from the legends that pass down through time, as this site is where Rome suffered one of its worst defeats and lost three of its Eagle standards. Essentially, Roman commander Varus was doublecrossed by his adviser, a Germanic hostage named Arminius, who led the legions into a bottleneck of woods and moor to quell a rumored Germanic uprising. The Germanics instead slaughtered the Romans so completely that the site of the carnage was lost, along with the Eagles, and Roman rule never quite took hold in this part of the world. The site today consisted of a small museum and tower, and a recreation of the wall the Germanics constructed to keep the Romans at bay. Eike knew just about everything about the site, and proved more knowledgeable than our "English speaking" tour guide. It was an amazing experience. This is not something I expected to find here in Osnabruck, something that I had studied but existed to me only in the far reaches of my mind and history, almost in an alternate world, not fifteen minutes away. Now that I know about the site, I have seen recreations of its most famous find, a Roman ceremonial face mask, all over the city. 

The recreation of the wall

One of the masks they had displayed on site.

Aside from that, the time off has been mostly spent relaxing. We had a nice night at a biergarten with Anke, but working out and reading have been how I've spent most of the time off. I have big plans for this coming weekend, which I'm very excited about, but they're not major travel plans. I hope that I can get a trip in sometime over this break, but the holiday season means that things are more expensive than usual. We'll see what happens. Steve is going to Rome, and Mitch is going to Brussels, so I need to get somewhere out of the country as well by the time the break is over. Judgment was made, and thankfully my suspension was one game, so it has been served. Tonight, I look forward to a dual Monika/Anke birthday party. Hopefully they'll like the presents Steve, Mitch, and I collaborated on. 

 Embarrassing.

Obligatory drinking out of a huge mug in Europe picture

Aside from that, things are calm after a bit of craziness. I finished Light in August, and the proper Faulkner mental fallout has resulted, especially considering all of the nasty things about race from home I'm reading about seemingly every time I log on to the Internet. Love, everyone. To cool off and shut my mind off a bit I've begun the second Game of Thrones book (A Song of Ice and Fire for purists), so that should be a nice change of pace. Now is when it will become very interesting for me, without football for a time. I hope I'll be productive. I'm easy to reach, everyone, so don't hesitate. Glad you didn't. For now, I'm excited to have a family party to attend, and to have some home headed my way this weekend. 

Ejection

I've been here long enough now that the days and weeks have begun to blur together.  Unless there's some big event, like a trip or a visitor, it's hard for me to remember exactly what happened when. The order of the books I've read things has become confused; even the order of the games isn't clear unless I take some time to think about it. This week this process became very apparent because of the sheer amount of downtime we've had, and the lack of an otherwise constant source of activity. Because of an upgrade to our service, our internet has been out since Monday the eighth. More on that later. For now, I mention it as an explanation both for the way I've opened the post and for its tardiness.

This week we had an excuse to think about home more than usual because of something that we’ve all been looking forward to since we’ve been over here: the Fourth of July. Since I can remember, the Fourth has been an event for my family almost on par with Thanksgiving or Easter.  It’s my cousin Tori’s birthday, so my aunt and uncle always host a large family party, at which a family wiffleball game is always contested.  For quite a few years of my youth the game invariably ended in tears and quarrels about what was and wasn’t fair, but we always calmed down and made up in time for fireworks at the end of the night.  There’s something special about the Fourth to me: although I’m not particularly patriotic, the opportunity to share an appreciation of what we are free to do with family and friends is unbelievably important to me. Especially if the embodiment of that appreciation is expressed by lighting off mild explosives.  Every summer of my life has been marked by the Fourth, and we set out to make it so that this year wouldn’t be any different. 

We started the day with an early workout and on our way back home went on a quest to find some good old American beer and grill food.  Typically while I’m here I wouldn’t think of drinking anything but German beer, but on the Fourth we were looking for some Budweiser or Miller, which we were told would be within reason to find. Alas, after canvassing two different beverage stores and a grocery store, we failed to find anything American, except for a specialty California Pale Ale that I bought for almost three euros a bottle.  No hotdogs either.  Travesty.  But it was okay; we still had plans to cook out with some teammates at the practice facility.  So we put on our most patriotic regalia, raised the flag on Monika’s flagpole, and set out for the Serbs.

Steve knows what's up

Cooking out was a great time.  It was a small group, the three Serbs, the three of us Americans along with Casey, Mitch’s girlfriend visiting for the week, and our German teammate Jakob.  The weather was fantastic, as it seems to always be at least in most of my memories of the Fourth, and we had plenty of meat to grill even without hotdogs.

Everyone hanging out while Vlad grills. 

The best part of the day in my opinion was explaining the history of the holiday to our Serbian teammates. You forget, being so isolated, that there are some things that are a wholly American experience; it’s almost as if at times it seems the entire world lies between our coasts, with so many different regions and ways of life.  This is especially the case if you live as I had up til this summer, only barely knowing the cultures of the U S of A and never traveling outside of our bubble, whether out of inability or choice.  I realized that I have never had to explain to someone the reason we celebrate our Independence Day, and the weight that the more philosophical roots of the holiday carry, especially considering the reputation of today’s United States: Vlad jokingly refers to us Americans as aggressors. So half reading, half reciting the body of the Declaration of Independence to Branko and Strahinja was a surreal experience, considering their limited knowledge of the ins and outs of US history.  That every man possesses the unalienable rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness brought questions, of slavery and other ugly stains on the document we hold so dear.  Steve and I did our best to explain this, and it is an explanation that I consider to be the heart of my feelings about my country: We set out to create the ideal country for people to live in.  We’ve made mistakes along the way, as is our wont: we are of course only human.  But since that initial Fourth so many years ago we have worked to make that dream a reality, an effort that has not and will not cease, that will evolve and grow through time, and that the most important part of the description of that effort is the pronoun associated: We.  That might be a shade on the idealistic side, but hey, so was declaring independence on the grounds of an ideology.  We finished the day grilling burgers for Monika, and I was able to Skype with my entire family at the aforementioned Fourth of July party.  I was happy.        

God bless the USA and all that. Yes, that is a Captain America tank and my America shoes.

We had a home game this weekend against the Hamburg Huskies, and we were playing again with a depleted roster. I was preparing to have to play defense in case of emergency, and, of course, calamity struck yet again. During pregame drills our starting strong safety made a play on a ball in a drill and broke his finger so badly that it required surgery.  Obviously, he wasn't able to play with that, so Strahinja and I were asked to take turns playing free safety in his stead. Stra had practiced with the defense throughout the week; I had not. It wasn't the worst set-up in the world, but it was certainly far from ideal. We both played on most of the special teams as well, and of course on offense. 

 Unfortunately there wasn't a ton of time to rest, so looks like here I stole a moment on the field

The game started out a bit rough, with them opening the game with a touchdown drive and then a pick-six before we really even had a chance to respond. We dug in though, and played hard so that by the second quarter we pulled back into position and a six point game. From there the game went back and forth, with scoring on both sides. The fourth quarter was particularly tight. It began with them leading, 38-35, then 45-35, then we scored to tighten it up to 45-42. Then things spiraled out of control.

Pretty nice sequence of my first receiving TD since 2010

On a long catch and run in the fourth quarter before my third and final touchdown of the game, I was flagged for a facemask after I stiffarmed a defender and threw him down. That call isn't made too often, and I don't agree with it still, but it wasn't a big deal. We still scored. Then after a sack and the ensuing scrum in which their player refused to let go of the ball and allow Mitch to get up I went in to defend my quarterback. That is the instinct that has been ingrained into my football subconscious so much that it is more second-nature than anything I do with any sort of cognizance. I tried to push their player off of Mitch, and in the struggle he grabbed my facemask and I grabbed his neck. I should not have done it, but in the situation it was what my instinct demanded. By the time the dust settled, three flags had been thrown. I wasn't thinking much of it; it's part of the game after all, and more likely than not the result of the flags would be off-setting penalties. To my surprise, the not situation of that saying ended up being the reality, and the referees--incorrectly, mind you--assessed all three personal foul calls to me. We were backed up to deep into our own territory, and another pick-six was that result of the drive. I don't remember the order of things, but during the last defensive drive I played I was so tired out that I had a bit of a hallucination; I wasn't sure what was real and what was not for about thirty seconds, long enough for them to throw a touchdown pass where I should have been if I had not been staggering around, trying to get off the field. I drank as much water as I could once I got to the sideline and went back in on offense for a last minute effort.The game was almost out of reach for us at that point, until I made it completely out of reach. After an incomplete pass one of Hamburg's defenders mouthed off to Mitch, talking trash. I shot back, which was the dumbest thing to do considering the circumstances, and after being overheard by a ref, was flagged again. Over here there is a rule about personal fouls: once a player receives more than two personal fouls, that player is ejected and suspended for up to three games. I had to sit on the steps leading up to the locker room for the short remainder of the game, before an amiable trip through the handshake line (no sarcasm there, I really enjoyed the game til then) and a talk with their coach and then the referees, who explained the circumstances. I approached them as someone looking to learn from my mistakes without any argument of the ruling, so I hope that they will consider that in how they assess  my suspension. They still haven't given us a ruling on the length of the suspension. Final statline: 11 rushes for 71 yards, 2 TDs, 3 receptions for 104 yards, 1 TD, 1 tackle, and one ejection. Because of our schedule, I won't get to play again until, at the earliest, August eleventh. This is the second time I've been ejected from a game in my career, and both of the instances have come under, in my opinion and others, tenuous circumstances. I just have to deal with it and keep my nose clean for the rest of the season.

That was probably on me.

With the internet out, I was able to be a bit more productive than usual in terms of reading and writing. I finally finished the Rabbit series, with Rabbit at Rest.  As I said before, Updike created something more than a character and fictional world in his series. I can see myself rereading the individual books again in the future, once I am Rabbit's own ages in them, just to compare and contrast my own experiences.  The final novel finished exactly how it should have: coming full circle and embracing the qualities of the character that existed from the series' start. I laid a friend to rest when I finished the last page. In my free time, I also went through many of the documents I have on my computer, stretching all the way back to my junior year of high school. It was interesting to chart my intellectual growth, to see areas in which I have improved and areas in which I have, to my surprise, always been strong. Rereading a few of my early stories provided me a pathway back not only to what I wrote, but how I felt writing them, a surreal experience. After this, I'm even more excited to focus on the project I've been working on since I've been here. 

I end this post now, not only because I'm finished, but because I must leave the internet. I think that once I return home it will be back, but I thought that yesterday as well, so here's to hoping.  If not, catch you all once we've returned to the modern age.

Part of It

This week I had a game, and while I will write about it and the trip that it necessitated, that will not be the main focus of this post, or at least it won't be in my mind. I have no idea how exactly to approach this in light of the recent events surrounding my community. I guess I'll just do what I always do and wing it. I feel that it is important to note right off the bat, though, that I start out like this so that I can focus my thoughts, to some extent. Thinking on paper remains a useful exercise, even past elementary school.

Not much happened past last Wednesday up til the game. I was trying to take it easy after the concussion scare, and thankfully no symptoms popped back up once I got back to practice on Wednesday night. Practice was difficult this week, as we were only able to meet once because of the distance to Rostock requiring a Friday evening departure and our short-handed team: we traveled to Rostock on Friday afternoon with a squad of twenty-four healthy players. League policy mandates each team must dress twenty-five players. We're missing more guys than I've ever experienced during a football season due to injury, even compared to seasons when I've played on larger teams with daily practices and more opportunities to sustain  injuries. Add to that the daily responsibilities of my teammates and you have the circumstances that lead to an undermanned team. We practiced with nineteen players on Wednesday, by far the smallest practice I'd ever experienced. Typically nineteen men on either side of the ball would result in an undermanned practice, and we were working with only nineteen total. Still, we did our best to prepare, and after handling that and a difficult internal team issue we took the long drive to our hostel in Rostock.

The American and the Walking Wounded Room 

Surprisingly enough, road trips feel similar to how they were at home. Even if we stayed at a hostel rather than a hotel, that same feeling of fabricated comfort permeated through the place, the reassurance of sleeping in an unfamiliar place along with familiar people. There was the same mad breakfast rush with the team, the stares we accumulated being an unexpected group of large men all together in a small place. The only thing missing was a TV and my boy Jamar Chichester flipping between three different college basketball games. The hostel was right on the Baltic Sea, so as we waited and the defense walked through their adjustments on Saturday morning before the game I walked over with Mitch and saw the shore. It was a bit chilly, but still quite an experience.

 Our hostel, with its superfluous tower

The Baltic

As I mentioned before, we traveled with twenty-four healthy players. The original plan was for one or two of the injured players that came along with us to dress in their pads and not play, but one of our receivers, who had an exam Saturday morning, was able to take a train separate from the team and just barely make the three o'clock kickoff. We stalled the game to wait for him to arrive, as was our right by the league's rules, and we waited just long enough for it to start pouring down the rain. After a college career in which I was blessed enough to experience what could be called inclement weather maybe once in four years, I've faced rain before or during four of the five games I've played professionally. So, with the rain pelting us and a depleted roster, filled in the very last minute, we began our fifth game. 

This became a sore sight for the Griffins.

Due to the weather, the game started out sloppy, as we fumbled twice and threw an interception on our first three offensive possessions. We still scored on our first after recovering the fumble, mine, with my third TD of the season on a short run. The game seemed an even match at 7-6 us midway through the first quarter. Then I finally had my breakthrough run, which I've been looking for since I got over here. During my senior year at Kenyon I had a similar experience during our Earlham game, with which we broke our twenty-four game losing streak. After that run I had a confidence that I hadn't had previously, and I rode that wave for the rest of the season. I've known that I needed that run here, and I finally had it on a counter I took, according to the stats which I don't quite trust, eighty-three yards for a touchdown. There's something you break through with a long run when you're the type of player I am, one who depends on grit and vision for the yards I accumulate rather than flashy moves and speed. Trusting my legs to outrun eleven people, four or five of whom have a headstart, is not something I've been completely comfortable with throughout my career. When it happens though, doors open. In this case, floodgates. By the time we reached halftime the score was 40-14, I had another long run under my belt, and we had thrown the ball for three touchdowns on less than ten passes. I played the first possession of the third quarter, scored again, and left the game to keep things from getting too far out of hand. 

I left the game on offense, that is. Since we were so short-handed, after our strong safety had his bell wrung in a similar manner to my own experience last week I had to play in his stead. I had never practiced for that position at all; I hadn't played safety since there was only one in Lion's Club football at twelve years old. I mostly played in coverage, although I had the opportunity to make one tackle and recorded my first ever PBU (pass breakup) as a defensive back. That's German football for you. The final statline: 13 rushes for 241 yards, 3 TDs, 1 reception for 0 yards, 2 tackles and 1 PBU. Again, these stats may not be accurate, but the most important number of the day can't be disputed: the final score of 47-14, playing with fewer than twenty-five players.

The ride home provided a few things. One, this picture that was too good not to post:

Sorry Harlem. It was too good.

More importantly, a focus that I needed. On the way back I chose to read and listen to music for most of the trip. I was rereading Updike's Rabbit Is Rich, which I had read before in Kluge's fantastic American Novel course. The book has nothing to do with the focus I refer to, but it still warrants mention. I truly believe the Rabbit series provides the reader with a reflection of an America that was, along with an unflinching portrayal of the truths that go along with living and growing within a generation. What brought about my focus, though, was my music. I hate to seem trite here, quoting song lyrics as I have a few times, but I do believe in the power of the written word, and well-written music most definitely falls under that umbrella. I was listening to my music library on shuffle when a song came on that caught my attention, especially after the week I had last week. It was Part of It by Relient K, a band I've listened to since I was ten years old. In my post last week I had claimed that I had one of the worst weeks I've ever endured. I don't retract that, but my focus was entirely upon the negatives, no matter what I said to the contrary. Something in this song struck me beyond its initial simplistic message, although that affected me as well. The important message I'd like to share was this:

It's not the end of the world,

just a calamity.

And we're a part of it,

everyone,

we're a part of it,

everything.

And when a nightmare finally does unfold,

perspective is a lovely hand to hold.

I took solace in this message, and looked forward to arriving home.

I couldn't guess or comprehend how very appropriate that song was for me to hear at that moment until I arrived back home and regained connection to the internet. I was immediately informed of a very real nightmare unfolding in my world. When I logged onto Facebook I was met with the tragic news of Andrew Pochter's death. Immediately perspective rushed to me and did more than hold my hand; it slapped me in the face and shook me to my core. I had a bad week. I lost something incredibly dear to me and went through what was in some ways a harrowing experience. But I did not experience the horrible, inconceivable trauma of losing my life or the life of one of my loved ones. No, that happened to the people that I know and call my own, members of the Kenyon Community, which I am a proud member of even as an alumnus.

For those readers unaware of the events I refer to, as unlikely as that may be, read this article to catch up:
http://www.kenyon.edu/x62292.xml

As someone who didn’t truly know the man, I feel hesitant writing in tribute to him, fearing the end result will be merely a contrivance, the type of false displays of grief that I try so hard to avoid when bad things happen, because that is not how I feel. But this is what I do, so I will do it. This tragedy affects me on an individual level, as it has everyone within the community. He was to me more a familiar face than a name, someone who I recognized without the knowledge to identify exactly who he was, as happens in a small college, where people flit in and out of the radar of others’ social circles in a place without many circles at all. Many of my friends are devastated by this, for good reason. I cannot imagine losing a friend made at Kenyon like this. In my experience these are some of the best friends I can comprehend making.

In terms of the individual level I referred to, I consider my own circumstances: I am also away from home, living in a foreign country. I admit the similarities end quickly there; Germany cannot be compared to the turmoil and conflagration that is today’s Egypt, and playing a game for money cannot be compared to spreading the English language and good will to a hostile part of the world. But still. I am here, not home, as he was there, not home. So when I read about the important things he was involved with, I think to what I do here. I hold the utmost respect for the individuals I know who choose to dedicate their time and their experiences to making the world a better place, especially those that uproot their lives and ingrain themselves in foreign places to make a difference. I hope that I will have the opportunity to have some impact here, in some sense. Most importantly, not only do I think to what I can do, but I think to my own friends and loved ones who are currently out of the country, or have spent time away from home. My thoughts and prayers went immediately to Columbia and Costa Rica, and they have stayed there.  We go out into the world with grand designs, with hopes and dreams of what we may accomplish in foreign places.  These are worth the trouble of traveling, and, in some cases, the danger of it. The most difficult thing about this, though, is what we leave behind at home, or what leaves us to travel somewhere else away completely different and separate. That’s what I’ve thought about the most since I read the news. Be safe.

Last week, I shared one of the verses I have tattooed onto me, an indelible reminder of the truths that I hold above all else. This week, another of them has been particularly resonant, again, a universal truth that I believe can be embraced by anyone, no matter their faith.

For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love, and of self-discipline.

2 Timothy 1:7

May everyone find their own perspective and strong spirit.

Rest in peace, Andrew Pochter.