A Tale of Two Teams

The Hightoppers and the Rollmeisters had been competing in the City Bowling League for a long time. While the Hightoppers would be eligible for the Senior League. They had been together so long and enjoyed the competition, but they stayed with the City League. The Rollmeisters had a couple of the original members, but most of the team had been around for three or four years. They were very different teams, and that difference was most telling when one of their bowlers got in a slump.

 

The two teams met in the championship tournament at the end of the season. They were evenly matched. Each had a solid lead-off roller who was part of the original team. The middle guys were steady handicap bowlers who could be counted on to meet or beat their average. The most significant difference was in their closer.  

 

The Hightoppers' closer was one of the original members. He was consistent and could usually bring the three strikes when they needed them. The Rollmeisters' closer had been on the team for a year. He had come on the team at the beginning of the season after the closer from last year's team quit when the team blamed him for losing the championship game. This year's closer had a high average and a reputation as a stiff competitor.

 

The three-game series was coming to an end. The teams had split the first two games and were only a few pins apart, with the Hightoppers holding a very narrow advantage. It looked like it was all going to come down to the last bowler in the last frame.

 

The Hightoppers' last man, Billy, was feeling the pressure. The rest of the team could see that he was sweating out the last frame. All he needed was three strikes for the win. But he struggled throughout the last game. The rest of the team made up for his slump, but he knew he was on his own now. As always, the team reminded him that they were here to enjoy the game. They played their best and competed hard, but at night's end, they wanted to look back and say they had a good time. They joked and did their best to keep Billy loose. He rolled a spare with a nine-pin count. The team congratulated and surrounded him on the approach with handshakes and back-slapping.

 

The Rollmeisters' last man, Charlie, knew that all he had to do was two strikes and a decent count to win the series. Every team member had also calculated possible scoring and reminded Charlie as he stepped on the approach. Charlie was sweating. The Team Captain, the spirit of the team, said, "Ok, Charlie, this is why we let you on the team last year. Don't let us down!"  Charlie's anxiety jumped. He rolled his first ball, and it was a little light in the pocket but enough to carry all the pins. As he walked back, the team captain looked Charlie in the eye and said, "Ok, you got lucky on that one. But it won't mean a thing if you don't bury the next one in the pocket!"

 

Charlie turned and picked up his ball, and started his delivery routine. His mind was shouting, "Don't screw up!"  But muscle memory took over, and he delivered a perfect strike sweeping every pin off the lane. The rest of the team cheered, but the Captain stood stone-faced and held up 6 fingers, saying, "Don't blow it now. All you need is six."

 

Charlie could barely hear anyone except for the Captain. As he made his approach, he felt the sweat running down his back. As soon as he let go of the ball, he knew something was wrong. The ball tracked too heavy and hit high in the pocket. When all the pins had settled, he had a split, but he got his six pins. Everyone on the team applauded, knowing they had won the series. The Captain said, "Good thing you are lucky, or else you would have been looking for a new team next year."  He then turned and walked away.

 

Meanwhile, the Hightoppers were walking over to congratulate the Rollmeisters. The conversation then turned to talk about where to go and celebrate the series. Billy and the whole team were grateful that they loved the game (and one another) too much to suck the joy out with a desperate need to win. They had too much respect for each other to ever treat one of their teammates the way Charlie had been treated by his team captain.  

 

One team believed that a missed shot was the bowler's fault and that he alone could and should fix it. Their usual response was blaming and criticizing. If the bowler could not deliver, then he was replaceable.

 

The other team loved their teammates more than they loved winning another trophy. They looked at a slump by one player as a problem that should and could be addressed only as a team. Their standard response was to do their best to make up the difference while offering encouragement to their slumping member. If the struggling bowler does their best and respects the team with their effort, then he is irreplaceable. He was part of the team and was treated as such, no matter how good a night he might have.

 

Suppose you find yourself in a community (a club, a church, a sports team, or a workplace) that sees you as replaceable even when you have done your best. In that case, consider a change.  

 

If winning is more important than belonging, you may need teams. If others are quick to criticize and slow to acknowledge and respect who you are, you may need some new associates. If being a part of the group depends upon your being who the group wants you to be, this is a toxic group, and it is time to admit that this place is unhealthy. Look for a "Hightoppers" to join. And allow the love you find among them to give you the resilience you need to enjoy life in that community.

Paul's Roomate

I first met Paul when I was visiting his roommate at the nursing home. He stayed in his room and did not associate with the other nursing home residents. He did tolerate his roommate because the roommate slept most of the time. In the weeks I visited, I learned a bit about Paul. He was 85 years old and terrified that he was going to die.

This may sound strange for a man who had surpassed his actuarial age, but he desperately wanted to believe that he would live forever. Why? Because he grew up in a church that told him he was a sinner and all sinners die and go to Hell. Sure, he heard the occasional sermon about forgiveness and grace. But Paul believed his sins were so great that God would never forgive him. So, he figured he would not die. The Devil could not get his hands on Paul while he was still breathing. Paul would just keep breathing. But since he had moved into the nursing home, he was surrounded by dying. Holding onto not dying was a lot harder. He found himself locked in a daily battle with the fear of dying. He tried to avoid older people and would desperately reach out to anyone under 60. But the fear kept coming back.  

 

When his roommate died, I no longer needed to see Paul. Several months later, I saw Paul in the activity room after making my rounds in the nursing home. He was playing Bingo. I could not believe he was out of his room, so I stopped by to say hello.  

 

“Paul! How are you doing? I didn’t know you liked Bingo.”

 

Paul replied, “I don’t, but they will not let me start a game of Strip Poker.”  I laughed with him.

 

Paul was different from the man I met in my former patient’s room. I suppose my face told him more than I was saying.

 

“You look surprised to see me out of my room.:” Paul paused, “Let’s go over to the couch. I want to tell you about Arnie.”

 

After settling in, Paul told me about his new roommate, Arnie. It turned out that Arnie was his angel. 

 

Just before moving in with Paul, Arnie had been diagnosed with end-stage liver disease. He knew that he was going to die very soon. Under the usual circumstances, Paul would have huddled in the corner of his room. But, according to Paul, Arnie was somebody very special. Paul described him as somebody you want to be around. Arnie was so comfortable with himself and his situation that Paul could not wrap his head around his attitude.

 

Paul then went on to tell me about several conversations he had with Arnie.  

 

“Did you know that some churches talk more about forgiveness than Hell? Arnie grew up in one of those. He talked about how God didn’t punish folks for their sin. Most folks do that all their own. In fact,” Paul continued, “Arnie said that God was able to forgive us, no matter what we have done. And I believe him. He told me some of the stuff he had done, and they made me feel like a choirboy. But Arnie was not afraid of death. He was worried about the dying part, but he knew he did not have a room in Hell with his name on the door.”

 

Paul then talked about watching Arnie suffer through his death. Paul was amazed at how much courage and hope he found in those last few weeks. The way Paul told it, Arnie knew who he was and was not scared by it. According to Paul, Arnie found hope because he knew he would be remembered as a good father, Grandpa, friend, and fabulous husband. He honestly believed that his friends, children, and grandchildren would remember him well and may even take some of the good they found in him with them into the rest of their lives.

 

At that moment, Paul choked up. “Arnie gave me a great gift, hope. And I will take that with me into whatever eternity has in store for me.”  Arnie said, “You know, the night Arnie died, he perked up and wanted to talk. He told me about his deceased wife of 62 years and his children. He remembered the good times and many of the people who were part of his life. And then, right about bedtime, Arnie said the strangest thing, ‘Paul, you are a good friend. I have had so many good friends. God has taken good care of me and that ain’t gonna stop anytime soon. Sleep well, my friend; I know I will.’  

 

The next morning when I woke up, Arnie didn’t. And all I could say to him was, “Sleep well, my friend. I know I will.”

Getting Back in the Game

Carl had been in management for many years. Unlike most folks, he loved middle management. He did not carry the ultimate responsibility but still maintained some control over his professional life. He found great joy in his work until recently. In the last few months, he became increasingly frustrated with his position in the company.

Times were changing. Decisions that had become automatic over the years were now problematic. Carl relied on marketing data and cost analysis to schedule workers, order materials, and arrange transportation. But since COVID, many of his reliable formulas did not work. His job had become a nightmare. He dealt with shipping delays, finding new suppliers, and workers changing attitudes about shift work. There were too many unknowns. The old ways no longer yielded good decisions or results. He was ready to hang it up and take early retirement.

 

It was Sunday afternoon. Carl and his wife had dinner with his Uncle Ted and Aunt Doris. After dinner, Carl and his uncle had a beer on the porch. Ted happened to mention that he was thinking about retiring early. A strange look crossed Uncle Ted's face.

 

Carl said, "Why the strange look, Uncle Ted? Do I have some gravy on my shirt?"

 

Uncle Ted replied, "Well, you do, but that's not what I was thinking about. Early retirement is a big decision. Are you seriously considering it?"

 

Carl answered, "Well, I think so. I think time has passed me by, and I just can't do the job as I have in the past. I am not sure it is worth it!" Carl then told him about his struggles since COVID. Uncle Ted listened intently as Carl dumped his whole "load."

 

When Carl finally "ran out of his story," a deep silence crept in around them. Uncle Ted was sitting with all that he had heard and had no need to speak until Ted asked, "Uncle, you were in business a long time. What do you think about my retiring?"

 

Rather than answering the question, Uncle Ted made a couple of observations. "You have been the 'expert' around the office for the last few years." Carl nodded.

 

Ted continued, "You knew the bosses trusted you. Your staff would come to you for advice." Again, Carl nodded.

 

Ted then asked, "Do you feel that you still have the confidence of the company? Do you still have confidence in yourself?" Carl didn't nod. He shook his head and said, "I really don't know. I don't think so." This time, Uncle Ted nodded.

 

Carl said, "I was the 'expert,' but things have changed. I no longer have the answers. I do not like all the unknowns in my job. And I have been doing a lot of 'seat-of-the-pants' management lately. Maybe it's time!"

 

Uncle Ted smiled, looked Carl in the eye, and said, "Patience, my boy. Patience! "He then reminded Carl of the time he broke his arm when he was 10. Until then, he had been the Pitching Ace for his Little league team. He made the All-stars and won the all-star game against their cross-town rivals. But after the arm healed, it was clear that his pitching days were over. He wanted to quit the team, but his coach, Uncle Ted, sat him down and told him that he was still valuable to the team. He was more than a pitcher. His leadership skills and work ethic were invaluable. He just needed to be patient until he found a way to contribute.  

 

Carl listened intently and remembered those old feelings when he wanted to quit baseball. Yep, that was how he was feeling now. He said, "Patience, huh?" Uncle Ted replied, "Yep, with the job, your co-workers, and especially with yourself. Look into the unknown and find the joy. It will return!"

 

Carl remembered that when he was moved to shortstop. His teammates called him the vacuum cleaner because he vacuumed up every grounder between the Pitcher and the Third Baseman. He also remembered how hard he worked to get back in the game. He braved the unknown and discovered the "love of the game." It wasn't just the pitching. He found joy in the play, his teammates, and learning new things along the way.

 

Uncle Ted sat quietly while Carl sorted stuff out. He then asked a final question. "Carl, do you love working for your company." Ted knew Carl's answer before he asked the question.

 

Carl replied, "You know I do. I guess, more importantly, I know I do." At that moment, all thoughts of retirement vaporized as Carl began discussing ways to "get back in the game" at the company. Just talking about it brought joy to a soul that had been carrying the weight of defeat and resignation.

 

Carl mused, "I need time to find a new way to contribute. It will be like starting over. Those were great days. There is so much to learn and unknown territory to explore. Yep, Uncle Ted, I just need a little patience." Uncle Ted just nodded and smiled.

Not just a mutt

He was a mutt. Just a mix of two very mixed-up dogs. All one could say for sure was that he was a dog. And, for most dog shelter dogs, that would have been enough. But when our mutt got picked up after living on the streets for a few months, he got put in with a pen full of full bloods. They had no respect for him. Therefore, he struggled to find any respect for himself. He knew he was not worth much because he was "just a mutt." He did not even have a name other than mutt (small m). He didn't feel he needed one until he met Gracie.

Gracie was five years old. She was very lucky. Her parents loved and respected her. They saw her as a real person with feelings and ideas worth acknowledging and accepting. When she looked into their eyes, she saw that she was a unique human who deserved love and respect.

She and the mutt hit it off immediately. Her first question was, "What's his name?"  The worker replied, "He doesn't have one other than 'mutt.'"  Gracie asked, "What's a mutt?" The worker explained, "It is just a plain, old dog. Not a Collie or anything special. Just a mutt."    Gracie, with eyes wide open, said, "That will never do. He will never be 'just a mutt' to me."

Gracie cuddled up with him for a moment. She felt his soft fur and looked into his big brown eyes. And then it came to her.   "He is Pooky."  Her parents replied, "You mean like Garfield's Teddy bear."  Gracie was amazed that they knew Garfield's Teddy Bear's name. "Yes, because he is soft and cuddly!"  So, Pooky, it was!

It took a while for the mutt to learn that he had a real name. He had been called mutt all his life. He was not sure about this new name. He had never heard it before, but it must be a good one; it was given to him by someone who took care of him. He trusted her, and that trust grew out of her respect for him as Pooky. To her, he would never be "just a mutt."

They were inseparable for the next 10 years. They grew up together, but Pooky grew up much faster. He was Gracie's closest companion and defender. He saved her from innumerable squirrels and butterflies. She made sure he was clean and well-fed. Their daily romps around the neighborhood were the highlights of both their days. Even when Gracie started spending time with boys in the neighborhood, she made sure that Pooky was there to give them the once over. She respected his judgment.  

As Pooky got older, Gracie was there for him. When he could no longer jump up on the bed, Gracie would gently pick him up so he could curl up at her feet. She insisted that he got soft food when he started losing his teeth. And when his run had slowed to a trot, Gracie would leave the bicycle behind, and they would walk their old trails. When the dreaded day arrived, she let him go because of her love and respect for him since that first day at the kennel. She cried, but she was also filled with gratitude that Pooky had allowed her to share his life.

Pooky was a very lucky mutt. He never realized it, but he learned self-respect the same way Gracie did, from someone who loved him unconditionally and respected him just as he was. He could not have picked a better friend out of everyone who came through the kennel that day. Pooky not only met and fell in love with Gracie. He also met and fell in love with Pooky.  And that has made all the difference. You see, he was never "just a mutt." He was always something more. He just needed someone to introduce him to himself. "mutt, meet Pooky."