Randee

In this the holiest week on the calendar for many faiths that believe in the resurrection, I thought of a friend who passed away this year. I knew the late Special Ed teacher extraordinaire Randee Gerson only through the West Ridge Elementary School, yet I considered her a good friend. That might seem ironic, considering we never did any of the traditional things that friends do. I never shared a meal or even a cup of coffee with Randee, never bought her a drink, never gave her a ride, never ran an errand, never did a favor for her. How I wish I could go back now and do all of those things for her. How I wish I could see her smiling face welcoming another day at school and inviting me to share in the excitement of education.

Randee did plenty for me, though. She trusted me with her students, and I took that responsibility very seriously. I was able to see firsthand the work (and the miraculous results) and the preparation that went into that work, and I was determined never to let her down for the faith she showed in me. Randee was an inspiration.

I came to West Ridge late in life as a substitute teacher (with no experience in the front of a classroom) after a 35-year career in journalism, and joked with Randee that as an editor I was not unfamiliar with childish behavior, incoherence, difficult personalities, and temper tantrums. What Randee was able to accomplish was no joke. She went about the task of teaching her students with grace, class, humor, infinite patience, and enthusiasm.

You could not help but be infected by her passion for the children. I often told her that I marveled at the cheerfulness of her students. That was no accident. Randee made school fun for them. Those were children with special needs who spent a large part of each day under Randee’s care, and it was one of her special gifts that she was able to reach out and connect with them and to make each day for them so positive.

Randee imposed structure for the students with an indispensable classroom routine that accounted for every minute of the school day. She had a large display—I called it the “Big Board”—in the front of the room with the daily schedules for the students. Looking at it, you could tell at a glance what subject was being taught in each period and when the students were to leave her class for basic skills or to rejoin their homerooms for library, music, art, world language, or gym. After the day's announcements and the pledge of allegiance, there was a brief morning meeting, which included the calendar and social conversations at a round table with the students about their lives.

I came to appreciate how beneficial that routine was to the children. It gave them a clear, stress-free outline for their day as well as encouragement and self-confidence for their efforts and the incentive to work hard and to try to do their best. Randee’s students, though, like students everywhere, knew all the tricks in the playbook on procrastination when it came to completing their assignments. When the morning meeting was over and it was time to start the lessons, I typically would sit one-on-one with one of the young boys while the teacher’s aides worked with the other children. I’d check the previous night’s homework (usually a worksheet for spelling and another for math) and then apply a sticker and/or a star from a scented marker. No one ever turned down a sticker, although there was the occasional internal debate about which sticker the student wanted and which “flavor” of marker he favored on that day. 

“Mr. K, can I get a drink?”
“You just got here.”
“I’m really thirsty.”
“Go ahead.” 
But as he made to leave the classroom and head for the hallway, I’d point to the fountain in the sink.
“That water’s no good,” he told me. (This was said by every student in every school about every classroom’s water.)
I relented.
Having apparently quenched his thirst in the hall, he returned.
“O.K.,” I said. “Let’s get started on our spelling.”
“And then we’re done?”
“No.”
“Why (said so plaintively)?”
“Because it’s only 8:50.”

After a page of work, he’d ask to use the bathroom (Randee set a limit of two morning bathroom breaks) and then take a circuitous route to the boys’ bathroom. I watched him from the classroom door as he walked down the hall. He’d turn around and wave to me.

Finally, back at his desk, he was almost ready for another worksheet. 
“Mr. K, can I get a tissue?”

Blessedly, the box of tissues was nearby.

“I’m ready now, Mr. K.”

“You have to wash your hands.”

So, he went to the sink in the rear of the classroom, where he washed and dried his hands. Rather than deposit the paper towel in the wastebasket, he’d back up and attempt to shoot the wadded-up ball into the basket. It flew a few inches and came up feet short. Retrieving the towel but not getting any closer to his target, he’d shoot again.

“Just dunk it in the garbage,” I finally told him.

To be clear, it was impossible to be mad at him because he never had a bad day and was never not cheerful or respectful. That was the atmosphere Randee created for her students. The other boy in the class, a year younger, was equally innocent and winning. When I would sit with him for his lessons, I’d model the worksheet, starting with my name at the top.

“Now, don’t write ‘Mr. K.’ on your paper. Write your own name.”

He’d smile slyly, waiting for me to notice that he had written “Mr. K” on his worksheet, and then erase it and write his own name. His routine then closely resembled his classmate’s.

Randee never failed to thank me for filling in for her weekly while she underwent chemotherapy or radiation treatments. Believe me, for as hard as I tried, I could only be a pale imitation of Randee. I always told her that her gratitude was misplaced, that it was like thanking me for liking ice cream or playing basketball. It was a privilege to stand in for her. James M. Barrie wrote, “Nothing is really work unless you would rather be doing something else.” I could not imagine Randee doing anything else. Such commitment! Such selfless dedication! Up until her last day in school she was ever solicitous of her three special students and of trying to ensure that their needs would be met during her absence.

At the funeral service for her there was a reference to Randee’s cooking. All I knew about that was that Randee, in the course of preparing her students in real life skills (which included lessons on healthy and balanced eating choices), frequently prepared food for the students in her classroom. One day it was pancakes; another time it was banana bread. Once, when I was subbing for another teacher, she asked me if I wanted a grilled cheese. “Sure,” I said. At lunch, she delivered the sandwich.

At the service there was also mention of Randee’s leadership. My family and I were the beneficiaries of that leadership. My daughter delivered twins on April 25. So excited was I that from the hospital that morning I sent text messages to four people: my three sisters--and Randee! She responded immediately with warm wishes, and followed up on April 29 with her own text, which typically revealed both her kindness and attention to detail. The text read as follows (with her emphases): “Quick question. If your daughter was having something made for her new little angels, would she write CHARLIE or CHARLES on the item and, of course, PAIGE?” 

What Randee did was to mobilize her closest friends at school and purchase very personalized gifts for my new grandchildren. Upon presenting the gifts, Randee told me, “A lot more people wanted to chip in, but I told them they needed to buy their own gift. What was I going to do…collect 10 cents from each one?”

Randee was the first person who read the book I wrote last year about my transition (and continuing education) from journalism to elementary school, and rendered a generous review. She told me that she used to read chapters in bed at night, occasionally giggling at passages. “What's so funny?” she said her husband, beside her, asked. “Never mind,” she told him. “You wouldn't understand. Go back to sleep.”

Randee understood what her students needed. She and I shared an affection for the predictable behavior of one of them, a charming and ever-ebullient fifth grader. Numerous times throughout the course of every day, he would interrupt his lessons and sing out, “Mrs. Gerson (or Mr. K), how are you?” If you did not respond promptly, he would repeat the question. I always responded, “I'm fine” or “I'm good.” That was immediately followed by his second question: “What about me?” I sent Randee a message in June when she was in Sloan to see how she was feeling. “What about you?” I asked. One of the very last messages I sent her was to say jokingly that I had the title of my autobiography: What About Me? Randee wrote back, “Haha love!!” 

I knew Randee’s condition was terminal, but I was hoping and believing that she would rally and that I would have a chance to buy her that cup of coffee, to do a favor, to tell her how much she meant, and to say goodbye. I’m so sorry I never got that chance.

There is less joy this school year for Randee’s colleagues and students. The educator Henry Adams wrote that a teacher affects eternity because you cannot measure how far her reach extends. I know that Randee’s influence will live on long in the many lives she touched. Rest in peace, Randee.

Not Mean Enough

Uncovered from the two-week-deep miasma of fetid Super Bowl coverage was the scrap of promotional news of the reunion this weekend between former Pittsburgh Steelers great Joe Greene and the boy, Tommy Okon, who famously offered Mean Joe his bottle of Coke in the commercial that aired during Super Bowl 14. 

It should be noted that Roger Staubach, born on this day in 1942, was the original choice for the Greene role. The Heisman Trophy winner in 1963 and the Super Bowl MVP for the Dallas Cowboys in 1972, however, projected the wrong image.  

“Somebody asked me about that and said that I turned it down,” Staubach told me, “but that’s not the case. I would have loved to do it. Some creative guy must have evaluated the concept and said, ‘Hey, we need a mean guy. It would be better to have Joe Greene than Staubach because Staubach’s a nice guy.’ 

“It probably made more sense, gave a more cuddly feeling to it, to have this big old tough football player give his jersey to this little boy. It turned out, I guess, it was the right decision, but I would have loved to do it.”

Derek Jeter in the Headlines

Fully a year after he retired, in which time he never made headlines for any sordid behavior, Derek Jeter in typical understated manner announced that he would marry his girlfriend Hannah Davis. Jeter never revealed much about his personal life during a distinguished playing career with the Yankees, and unlike many of his contemporaries, he never made the game notes or the back pages of the New York tabloids. For example:

·      He never deflated anything but his own ego.

·      He never “liked” something on Instagram while sitting on the dugout toilet.

·      He didn’t promise to make America huge again.

·      He never bro-hugged Jerry Jones or Chris Christie.

·      Carlos Gomez never suggested to him to play the game the right way.

·      He didn’t check himself into rehab before the playoffs.

·      He didn’t break a teammate’s jaw with a punch or drive 100 miles to beat up a coach.

·      He never guaranteed a victory.  
He never called in sick with a migraine after partying the night before and playing golf in the morning.

·      He never called “game” after a winning hit.

·      He never threw a jagged bat barrel at Mike Piazza.

·      He never carried an unlicensed handgun in his sweatpants into a nightclub and shot himself in the leg.

·      He didn’t need to rehab by playing catch or throwing on flat ground.

·      He never found fault with his jersey.

·      He prized family time but didn’t oppose family leave.

·      He never issued a self-serving statement about acting in the best interests of the game.

·      He never kicked anything to the curb or threw anyone under the bus.

·      He didn’t pronounce nuclear as “nuk-u-ler.”

·      The calorie cap never came into play with him.

·      He never hired Isiah Thomas.

·      He never pointed to heaven, pounded his heart, or emitted a primal scream after reaching base.

·      He never had to testify before Congress about steroids or HGH.

·      He never buttfumbled the ball.

·      He didn’t name any children “Apple” or “Blue Ivy” or “North.”

·      His obliques were not hidden beneath layers of fat.

·      He didn’t need an afternoon off after a night game.

·      He never uttered “Thank you for axing” during a postgame press conference.

·      He didn’t drink beer and eat wings in the dugout when he wasn’t in the lineup.

·      He never uttered the obtuse “I get it.”

·      He never dated a Kardashian.

·      Fireman Ed never led an insipid chant of his name: “J-E-T-E—JETE! JETE! JETE!”

·      He never jogged a double into a single.

·      He wasn’t a self-styled thought leader.

·      He never bit an opponent on the shoulder during a game.

·      Jay Bilas didn’t talk about Jeter’s length.

·      He never grew a mullet or rocked a comb-over.

·      He never referred to the “changing landscape of sports.”

·      He never belittled the inane questions asked by sideline reporters.

·      He never spoke about himself in the third person.

·      Cameron Diaz didn’t feed him popcorn at the Super Bowl.

·      He never forgot how many outs there were in any inning.

·      He never proclaimed anything “off the charts.”

·      Stephen A. Smith didn’t dare warn Jeter not to make an enemy of him.

·      He never postured or preened.

·      He never explained anything by referring to his DNA.

·      He was never heard to utter the nonsensical “intrical.”

·      He never went off the chart or the mythical grid.

Sports' Beastly Coverage

Respectable people learn at an early age not to make generalizations. One size never fits all. Still, it is possible after reading daily sports beat coverage to paint with a wide brush and cover a large swath of those reporters and broadcasters who abuse the English language and offend their readers’ and listeners’ sensibilities. To read and to listen to sports beat coverage today is to swear off reading and listening to sports beat coverage tomorrow. 

Sportswriters are not alone is using the ghastly “going forward.” Whenever I read that (and in today's journalism that phrase and worse appear all too frequently in the work of hack writers) I wish I could go in reverse and immediately unread it. The belief by jargon aficionados that the use of gibberish somehow confers upon them expert or insider status instead marks them as fools. 

The trouble with bad writers is that they never read good writers. If they did, they would understand that “impact,” “medal,” “task,” and “gift” are nouns, that “myriad” is an adjective, that “disinterested” does not mean “not interested,” “presently” does not mean “now,” “fortuitous” does not mean “fortunate,” and “enormity” is not synonymous with “enormous.” And unless a reporter is covering a hurricane, I never want to read that he or she was “blown away” by something.



You want specifics? A Yankees beat reporter, during his July 4 pre-game notes, included this pleonasm: “Enjoy the holiday...with whomever you're celebrating with.” During the July 11 Fox telecast from Fenway Park of the Boston/New York game, analyst Harold Reynolds called something “very unique.” Who knew there were degrees of uniqueness! Fellow analyst Tom Verducci, normally given to clear thinking and plain speaking, got uncharacteristically caught up in sports jargon when he declared that one pitcher's “spin rate” was “off the charts.” 

Within baseball clichés, “off the charts” has replaced “taken to another level” as the ne plus ultra of praise: so superior it cannot even be measured. In less inspirational moments sportswriters like to use “incredibly” as a synonym for “very.” As in, “He is incredibly talented,” or “It was an incredibly difficult at-bat.” As Tracy Kidder and Richard Todd wrote in their book Good Prose,  “ 'Incredible' and 'incredibly'...like Chernobyl, should be out of service for years to come.” 

More abuses? In New York alone, during one night’s YES broadcast, analyst David Cone said, “And we mentioned that, too, as well.” He did omit “also,” thereby avoiding a triple-double redundancy. Another night, Cone coined a new verb: “efforting.”  (Radio play-by-play man John Sterling used the nonsensical “intrical.” Sterling's radio partner, the inimitable Suzyn Waldman, is given to treacly pronouncements: “Nunez was greeted [in the dugout] by a gauntlet of warmth”; “He tries so hard because he cares so much.”) Cone's TV partner, Michael Kay, during the same night's broadcast, referred to one player’s “tricep.” Sideline “reporter” Meredith Marakovits frequently begins her post-game player interviews with some variation of “How big/How excited/How important was this game/win/loss/hit?” One night, she asked two players the same inane “How satisfying...?” 

“Journalism is printing what someone else does not want printed; everything else is public relations,” wrote the peerless journalist George Orwell. Having spent nearly 35 years in journalism, I have been out of the profession since about 2010. One change I have noticed from reading sports coverage is that the beat reporters now seem to be an extension of their teams'  P.R. departments. How else to account for the reporters' devotion and allegiance to the teams and players they purportedly cover?

I have heard in Yankees postgame press conferences these questions to A-Rod: “How dialed in are you?” “How locked in are you feeling?” “How impressed are you with the bullpen?” “How satisfying is it?” and “How happy are you?” and this question to Joe Girardi: “Joe, does first place mean anything in April?” There have also been these questions to Yankees players: “How comfortable at the plate are you feeling?” “How nice is that?” “How concerned are you?” “Is there any part of you that's concerned?” “How frustrating is it?” Well, Bryce Harper cannot be everywhere to respond, “That's a clown question, bro.”

After American Pharoah completed his Triple Crown conquest, a sideline reporter raced onto the Belmont track and breathlessly asked the horse, “How proud are you?” No, that didn't happen, but it doesn't seem that far removed from reality. I am reminded of Longshanks in the film Braveheart whenever I hear a sideline reporter: “Who is this person who speaks to me as though I need his advice?” Right after that he threw the would-be adviser out the window.

I am embarrassed for real reporters when I hear the sycophantic idiocies—from those with media credentials, no less—during postgame press conferences. Sometimes they don’t even ask a question, lazily telling an interview subject “Talk about...” When unimaginative reporters approached the Seattle Seahawks' Marshawn Lynch with inane questions, they got the response they deserved: “Thanks for axing.” 

There is enough absurd and surreal material in sports beat coverage for Christopher Guest's next mockumentary.




Straight Shooting: From Dell to Stephen Curry

In December 1996, the Street & Smith’s Sports Group collaborated closely with the National Basketball Association and the National Basketball Coaches Association to publish the Street & Smith's NBA Playbook, on which I served as Editor in Chief. The Playbook was a slick 48-page magazine directed at secondary school students and provided free to every male and female varsity player in the United States. There were profiles of Olympic gold medalists David Robinson and Lisa Leslie and of high school sensation Elton Brand, as well as essays on sportsmanship and proper shooting form.

A major section of the magazine was devoted to the five positions in the game—center, power forward, small forward, point guard, and shooting guard. The skills needed for each position were described and written by a different NBA player: Butch Beard, Alex English, Paul Silas, and Bill Walton. Dell Curry wrote the essay (below) on the shooting guard. 

One of the best shooters in the game, Curry finished in the top 10 in the league in three-point field goal percentage. In 1995-96, his 10th NBA season, he averaged 14.5 points, his ninth consecutive season in double figures. Curry did a masterful job of teaching the fine points of shooting to his elder son, Stephen, eight years old in 1996. Fast-forward two decades to the 2015 NBA Finals, where Dell Curry and his wife, Sonya, were hoping to see the sharpshooting Stephen, the NBA's Most Valuable Player, lead the Golden State Warriors to the league championship over the Cleveland Cavaliers. 

Here is the lesson on shooting in the 1996 Street & Smith's NBA Playbook from Dell Curry:

Shooting guard—the job description for this position is in the title. And it's a job most players, regardless of their size or level of competition, would eagerly apply for and gladly accept. What are the requirements for the position? To take the shots. Yes, most applicants believe they have the credentials to do that—or at least they say they are willing to try. But the position is not open to everyone. To be an effective shooting guard you must earn the job. And to do that, you have to demonstrate that you can hit the outside shot on a consistent basis.

Proper Form
When I was growing up, form used to be the most important consideration for shooters: keeping your elbow in a direct line with your body. I don't think that's the most important thing now. A player has to be comfortable with his own shot. Still, there are some standard guidelines for proper form: You have to be square to the target, having your feet and body facing directly at the basket, not pointing to the sidelines. You must be conscious of that and you have to work on it. And when you are on the move, dribbling the ball, you have to be able to pull up, be square, and shoot.

Improving Your Shot
I have devoted a lot of time over the years in trying to improve my shot. It's pretty simple. You get a ball and a basket. I like to practice taking two or three dribbles going one way. Then I pull up and shoot. Actually, you don't even have to shoot the ball. Just practice your form. Make sure that your feet and shoulders are square to the basket. If you do enough repetitions, it becomes a habit. And that is really the primary thing. You have to work at shooting the ball. If you don't put in the time, then it's not going to happen. It's as simple as that.

Early Start
When I was growing up, before I was in high school, I'd sometimes shoot for two or three hours a day. Coming from a small town [Harrisonburg, Va.], and having four sisters, I found that this was something I could always do by myself. Afterward, when I finished my workout, I would go and play with my buddies. 

Technique
Alex English was among the top scorers in the NBA for years, but he readily admits that he didn't have a very good technique. He shot off-balance a lot. Nevertheless, Alex was a great shooter. That just shows you that technique, in some cases, is up to the individual—providing, of course, you can fill up the basket. The most important things are being square to the basket and taking good shots, shots you know you can make. High-percentage shots. That goes for every player.

Confidence
You need confidence to be a good shooter, and you have to maintain your confidence even when you are missing your shots. If I miss five or 10 shots in a row, I know the next 20 are going to go in. I just know it. I never count my misses. I count my makes. I didn't always feel that way, but I gradually developed that attitude. It helps me when I'm in a slump. I believe that when you are in a slump, you have to shoot your way out of it. But that doesn't mean that I am selfish. I like to pass. I always did. 

Versatility
There are other aspects to basketball besides shooting. If you want to improve, if you want to become more of a complete player, then you have to learn the different parts of the game and you must be skilled in the fundamentals. You have to be able to pass the ball. You have to be able to dribble. You have to be able to move without the ball. Basically, the two guard has to be able to do all the things a point guard does in addition to shooting the ball consistently well.

Screen Test
The shooting guard has to be able to move without the ball to get open for a shot. You have to learn to use your teammates to come off a screen with a quick release on the jump shot. When I first got to college, I had to learn to do that. One of the assistant coaches at Virginia Tech, Bobby Stevens, helped me a lot in that area of my game. He worked with me on a swivel move.

Swivel Move
It's really quite simple: You come off the screen, you turn on your inside foot, you catch the ball, and you shoot. Pivot, swivel, and square up all in one motion, instead of catching the ball and then squaring up. It has to be all in one motion. It's more efficient and it makes it harder for the player covering you. At first, it was a difficult move to learn. But I practiced it over and over. Now, it's a habit for me. I don't even think about it. The key is to develop good footwork and get your body square.

Challenge Yourself
The thing I do when I'm practicing my shot is set a personal challenge. I set goals. For example, if I take 50 shots, I have to make 40 or 45. If I don't, I run sprints. Then I go back and shoot again. I call that practicing with a purpose. If you want to get better, you have to challenge yourself. A shooting drill like that is good for your stamina and because it also simulates game conditions. You should practice shooting when you're tired or breathing a little hard because that's the way it's going to be in a real game.

Defending Good Shooters
There are many things you can do to try to slow down the other team's shooters. Make them work as hard as possible at both ends of the court. Deny them the ball. Make them move without it. Try to learn the plays your opponents run for the two guard and then anticipate the moves and take away their options. We look at film of our opponents all the time to help us on the defensive end.

Commitment
Kids should spend more time practicing, but I know they don't. Fifteen or 16 years ago, when I was in high school, we did. But that has changed. High school has changed. Kids don't spend that much time practicing. They would rather make a spectacular dunk than learn how to shoot the ball correctly. But the thing to remember is that you are not going to get too many dunks in a game. Your time would be much better spent in learning to shoot the ball correctly.