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.