There was a time when I would have given anything to have been in Andrew Peckham or Mark Snelgrove’s shoes, the varsity boys basketball coaches at Fox Creek and Midland Valley, respectively, on Saturday morning.
I was a basketball fanatic.
Take the craziest most unhinged hoops lunatic you can think of and multiply their lunacy by about 5 or so. That was me. All I did in college was work out, play basketball and go to class.
Scotty Richardson was my friend.
I can remember days long since passed where Scotty, his cousin and my good friend, Gerry, and myself and sometimes others would roam the friendly streets of Aiken just off of Whiskey Road in search of some adventure and candy – well, mostly candy.
It's so easy to get caught up in the daily grind and overlook the amazing that happens each day.
As husbands and fathers, we stress about work, school, money, and time ... the list goes on and on. We are such slaves to Master Tick Tock that we miss out on the little things that mean so much. We feel like we have to be three steps ahead just to keep from falling a step behind.
It's the world we live in. And no one suffers more for this than our spouses and our children.
When the golfers of the newly-christened Peak Amateur Series tee off on Saturday morning at Persimmon Hill Country Club for the North Augusta Exchange Club/Persimmon Hill Classic, one name in the season points standings will be inconspicuously absent – MINE.
That’s right (sigh!). You heard it here first – my Peak Amateur Series career is over.
Once upon a time, I loved nothing better than waging war.
Okay, that was just in Risk – the old Parker Brothers/Hasbro board game standard which hit the market here in the United States way back in 1959. When my friends and I weren’t busy shooting hoops until the wee hours of the morning somewhere we would often pair up and try to dominate each other on a Playstation2 edition of the game. Things could get intense. Each decision was critical.
You should probably watch your step – in our house there are boxes everywhere.
That’s just the way love goes, though. After over a decade of marriage, countless ups and downs and a pair of children to boot, suddenly the impossible becomes all too real. Home ownership – the American Dream – hits you square in the face like some bizarre re-shoot of the final scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark, only it’s not Steven Spielberg directing, but YOU, and it’s not being shot in some secret government warehouse in Area 51 – it’s your house!