I Am A Sports (Love) Bigamist And Proud Of It

My writing "mentor", Bill Simmons of ESPN came out with 20 rules for sports fans back several years ago. He wrote at the time that one should not root for more than one team in one sport no matter what the circumstances. He also stated that one can not jump on bandwagon teams or wear NBA jerseys in public. He discussed at length pulling for home teams, but gave vague ideas on what to do if you moved three million times as a child. I have written Mr. Simmons, my "mentor", numerous times asking for additional clarification on these rules but I have never gotten a response. This is mainly because Mr. Simmons apparently answers e-mails that are humorously whimsical in nature. I, obviously, do not meet these qualifications.

So I have to say that I root for more than one team in one sport and I have no regrets. This breaks one of the major rules that Mr. Simmons seems to fret obsessively over. However, I have never stuck with one woman (and for the most part neither should anyone and the same is true for women with men) and I have never stuck with just one team. And like my history with women, I have no regrets. Ever.

In 1979, I was seven years old and lived in Atlanta, Georgia. My father took me to my first ever baseball game. The Braves played the Dodgers. Phil Niekro pitched for the Braves and I think Sandy Koufax pitched for the Dodgers (Just kidding. I don't know who pitched for the Dodgers that day). The Braves, as usual and expected during those colorful times, lost by one run. However, I was hooked. I was hooked on the Braves and eventually became hooked on Atlanta sports, period. This was despite living in Boston prior to living in Atlanta only a few years previously. It was not until living in Atlanta was I exposed to sports full scale. In 1980, Atlanta football had a magical run when the Georgia Bulldogs led by Herschel Walker (before he ended up with five or fifteen additional personalities) won the national championship and the Atlanta Falcons led by, pretty boy and booze hound before finding God, quarterback Steve Bartkowski won the NFC West title before losing in a gut spilling NFC Divisional Play-off game loss to the Cowboys. Though this loss was a harbinger of things to come in my Atlanta sports fan experience I was hooked on Atlanta sports. The Atlanta Hawks were the first NBA team I started to root for. It went on and on.

Had I stayed living in Atlanta I probably would have not stepped out on Atlanta's teams. However, it did not work out that way. It turns out that it has never worked out that way with the women in my life either. Go figure. I ended up moving to Jacksonville, Florida and then to the Washington, DC area in the following couple of years. I stayed living in the DC area for four years and then moved out to northwestern Virginia for a few years after that. During this time, I maintained my interest in Atlanta sports teams. However, during the 80's the Lakers and Celtics dominated professional basketball. I picked the Lakers. Mainly because of my interest in the city of Los Angeles. All I can say about LA is that it represents the best and worst in America all wrapped up into a sprawling world of plastic surgery, clogged highways, smog, and every other nationality in the world. To me, LA seemed far away and magical. I became interested in LA as a city and it's sports franchises. I became interested in the Lakers and the Dodgers (and those teams were also pretty good through the majority of the 80s). My best friend in DC created a electric tackle football league where he created a likeness of me who ended up winning three Super Bowl championships for...the Raiders...who happened to be in...LA. Except his version of me was the professional football version of Madonna, which I later figured out probably made me appear looking like a drag queen or Todd Marinovich. Anyways, I started pulling for the Raiders only after they destroyed the Redskins in the Super Bowl.

If anyone asked me what my favorite team was during my formative years I would have picked the teams in Atlanta. However, I also pulled for the teams in Los Angeles because I was obsessed with the city and also I was an electric football hero playing for the LA Raiders.

In 1992, I visited both Los Angeles and San Francisco for the first time. I fell in love with both cities and as a result I claimed the Bay Area's teams as rooting interests as well. The LA Raiders eventually moved back to Oakland so my interest in them...for better or worse...remained. I picked up pulling for the SF Giants (despite their bitter rivalry with the Dodgers) and not the Oakland A's so I did not break the rule of cheering for both a city's teams in the same sport. Somewhere in the mix, Wayne Gretsky ended up in Los Angeles and played for the Kings. In 1993, the Kings (coached by Barry Melrose who had, at the time, the best hockey mullet in the history of the NHL) went to the Stanley Cup Finals against the Montreal Canadians. I remember watching every Kings play-off game that season. I watched the stellar Game 7 versus Toronto where Gretsky pulled off a stunning victory. Then I watched Marty McSorley get called for having too much curve on his stick and the Canadians scoring a crucial power play goal and winning Game 2 and eventually stealing the Cup. The play-off run by the Kings mirrored my relationships with women very closely. A series or relationship should never be decided by anyone's curved stick. Ever.

My interest in LA and it's sports teams dates back to the 80's. In the 90's, San Francisco joined Atlanta and Los Angeles as my favorite American cities. Atlanta was my first love. Their teams will always be my favorites. Just as one's first love will always have a special place in one's heart. However, in real life there always is other women/men and it is the same with sports teams as well. We are not biologically wired to stay with one significant other and nor are we wired in a mobile age to pull for just one sports team either. We have our favorites, but we also have our memories of other experiences good or bad with people and sports teams. We never love just one person. We end up being in lust with more than one person in our lives. Same as sports teams. Just like with relationships I have no shame in this regard. My favorite teams are in Atlanta and I will always love them. There have been other women in my life. There have been even other women in my life during other relationships. I have no regrets for any of this. Life is too short for regrets. The same is true with my sports teams as well. So if that makes me a sports bigamist then so be it. I am not going to be ashamed of it and neither should anyone else.

How It All Started, Part II

About two weeks ago, I promised you the Part II of the story of what led me into the behavioral health field...last weekend. I was so overwhelmed by the power and grace of Kimbo Slice to go through with Part II. Here is Part I to catch up to speed.

And now, as promised, Part II:

I was born in Denton, Texas in October of 1971. Then I moved. And moved. And moved. My family criss crossed the Eastern U.S. like we were being relocated in federal witness protection. Come to think of it, maybe we were in witness protection.

Anyways, after over twelve moves, we landed in Front Royal, Virginia which is located in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia about an hour west of Washington, DC. It was my ninth grade year when the dreadful move to Front Royal was made. At that time, I had the following grades: F, F, F, F, F, F, D. By the way, the D was in P.E. I even failed a class called: "T.V." Obviously, I was a honor roll student before the move. My parents made the decision that since the local high school in Front Royal was in their words, "the worst high school in the state" they decided to send me to Randolph-Macon Academy a private military-prep school located in Front Royal. With the assistance (though totally unwanted) of the discipline and motivation that Randolph-Macon provided I managed to pass the ninth grade. My parents were happy that I was doing better in school, not skipping classes, and not doing any drugs.

After a successful tenth grade year academically and athletically (honor roll student and letters in three sports) I moved into the critical college prep year of being a junior. This was the big year to prepare for applying for college through improving my grades in key courses and preparing for the SAT. I had planned to go to college, but I had no idea of what I was going to study or what I wanted to do with my life. Of course, being 15 it made perfect sense that I had no clue what I wanted to do.

That all changed in September 1987. A few days into my eleventh grade year, I was running on the track around the football field as part of cross training I noticed a red-headed girl also running on the other side of the track. She was the prettiest girl that I had ever seen. She was absolutely stunning. I truly mean this. She was stunning beyond the 15 year old boy hormone addled state that I normally was in. Her beauty was deeper and more captivating than anything that I had experienced previously.

While in high school I was extreme;y shy and had a difficult time in starting conversations with people I did not know. This beautiful young woman caused my anxiety to go into full over drive. However, I felt that I had to meet her somehow and talk to her. I wanted to get a closer look. I swallowed my rational thoughts of wanting to run for the hills and hide under a tree trunk and went up to her to introduce myself.

-Hello, it looks like you are new here.
-Yeah, I just got here a few days ago.
-Do you mind if I ask you your name?
-Scottie.

That is when I first met Scottie. Scottie was sixteen at the time and her adopted parents had sent her to Randolph-Macon Academy in order to get her out of their hair. R-MA was a boarding school that allowed thirty girls (versus 270 boys). Scottie was not only physically stunning with her long red hair and her piercing green eyes, but she also possessed a deep Southern accent that I found deeply charming. I quickly learned that she was from South Carolina where she had lived all her life before being sent to this "exile" in Virginia and that she missed being at home. I also learned that she was also quite intelligent and intuitive. She remarked on many things about her life, my life, and life in general that suggested that she was wiser beyond her tender age. It was clear that she understood a number of things about life...that she seemed much older in her world view. Her combination of intelligence, kindness, intuition, and beauty were mesmerizing. I soon had difficulty thinking about anyone else but her. I quickly became very fond of her and after some time spent talking with her and getting to know her I began to feel very light, lost, hopefully, and most significantly I felt like I was falling. Literally.

Scottie initially did not understand why i was taking such an interest in her. She constantly questioned me as to why I would be talking to her when there were other "prettier girls" to talk to. She was shocked when I asked her out on a date. She initially said "no" and that she only wanted to be friends while quickly adding that there were "better" girls out there. Eventually, she said "yes." Scottie disclosed a number of things over time about herself. She reported that she felt a constant state of unease being at R-MA. She felt moments where the urge to eat everything in sight would become overwhelming. She stated that she often felt very sad and that she cried regularly. She indicated that she was very concerned about her weight and commented on how "fat and ugly" she was. I listened attentively to her feelings and quickly tried to pass them off as being typical for someone who was away from home for the first time. I felt that she would eventually get over it.

As time passed, Scottie became more distant. She became angrier. She had more frequent crying spells. Her attention span waned. She started to fall asleep in class. She began to binge and purge food. Some of these things I knew about...some I didn't. The things I knew about I was sworn to secrecy. Scottie did not want anyone else to know what was happening to her because she felt that "adults who've tired to help me before made things only worse." She stated that she would not forgive me if I disclosed any of this "confidential" information.

I began to get worried. Something did not seem right about Scottie, but I did not know what it was. I wanted her to be happy. I wanted to see her smile. I tried to cheer her up, but to no avail. I did not understand why a sixteen year old girl would be so very sad when she had the whole world ahead of her. She was beautiful, intelligent, and young. It made no sense that she would be unhappy with herself and with life in general. I was curious about this dissonance. I began to wonder what would cause a teenager to be unhappy even though they have everything going for them.

I also was deeply in love. For the first time. I would do anything for her. Including keeping her secrets.

As the leaves began to turn red, yellow, and orange on the trees, I got a note from Scottie stating the following:

"Dear Keith,
I am so very sad. I miss home so very much. I have these 'worry dolls' that my mother gave me before I left. I talk to them all the time and I just cry. I hate myself. I don't understand why you feel anything towards me. I don't understand why you like me. I really can't stop crying. I'm so ugly. I'm so fat. I just feel sad and I want to cry all the time. Do you understand? I think that you are the only one who sees me for me. This what I love about you. I have to say though that I don't know if I could go on living. I really want to end my life. I don't want to feel anything anymore. I am thinking of taking a bunch of pills and not waking up. You can't tell anyone. You can't tell anyone.
Scottie."

The whole world seemed to close in on me as I read her words. I asked myself if she was really saying what she was saying. Did she really want to be dead? That made no sense to me. How could a sixteen year old girl want to die? This couldn't be real. This made no sense. I knew that she needed something. I did not know what. I was sworn to hold her words in confidence. What could I do? I did not know what to do. I knew deep in my heart that I loved her and wanted to help her. That I knew. But how?

I tried talking to her. She stated that she meant what she said in the letter. I tried reasoning with her. She stated that life was not worth living. I kept asking why. She explained that she felt this overwhelming "darkness" that had slipped around her body, infecting her soul, and destroying her spirit. This darkness made her feel hopeless and helpless. It sapped all of her energy. It caused, in her words, "empty pain." I tried everything that I could do to help her turn it all around. Nothing worked. I was tempted to go to the guidance counselor at the school, but Scottie kept telling me to hold her secret like a "glass heart" and to "let it go would be to break it."

Frozen by fear on both sides. I froze.

Till the next note.

The next note was more dire than the first note. I illustrated a more elaborate plan for her own death...by her own hands. I learned in this letter a new word: suicide. Maybe I had seen that word before. Or heard it. I did not know what it meant until Scottie explained in writing that her plan was to end her life. Her plan was to commit suicide.

I could not stand by and watch someone I now deeply love go down a path towards self-destruction and death. I loved her too much to stand back and let things "just happen." I feared for her life. I feared that Scottie would take her life. I still did not understand why she felt so horrible about herself and her life so much so that she wanted to "end it all." All I did understand was that I wanted to help her. I wanted to help my first love. And I did not know how.

Even though I was sworn to secrecy. Her notes were too alarming to let go. I knew I was holding on to something I could hold on to by myself. I knew that I did not have the tools to help, but I knew someone else could. I also knew that this was becoming a matter of life and death and that knowledge was more powerful than the fear that breaking her confidence would result in her ending our relationship. I knew that I loved her. I knew that the only choice I had left was to let someone who could help know what was going on.

Reluctantly, but with clear purpose, I walked into the guidance counselors office and gave him the two notes and informed him of my perceptions of Scottie. He thanked me and told me that I had done the right thing.

A day later came the following exchange:
-Keith, I can't believe you broke our promise. I can't believe it. Now they are telling me I can't stay here. I have to go back home. I can't believe that you did this.
-Scottie, I felt I had no other choice. I had to do it. To help you. I love you.
-We're done.

In truth, the school gave Scottie and her family two options: seek professional help here and stay or voluntarily be discharged from the school and return to South Carolina. Scottie and her family chose to leave the school. The next day she was gone. The following day she was checked into a psychiatric facility for adolescents in South Carolina where she was treated for "clinical depression" and "suicidal tendencies."

I was emotionally devastated. I was also very curious. I also found a mission.

Next up: Part III