Sparkle in the Rain

As I passed my always delightful and animated co-worker Jody in the downstairs hallway at work, we exchanged our usual greetings, but then she suddenly stopped.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I paused, “Maybe a little under the weather.”  This was my description of how terrible I have been feeling battling off the side effects of my new and massively increased immune suppressant medications.  I have not been tolerating the new meds well.  The side effects provide intense muscle pain, nausea, dizziness, weight gain and oh so much more.  All of this happened on top of an already broken heart leading from another failed attempt to find a shot at loving companionship.

“You’ve lost your sparkle.” She said with a level of concern I have not generally seen from her normally carefree attitude.

“Did I ever have a sparkle?’

Our conversation was then sidetracked by the interruption of more passing co-workers, which at this job always means some sort of errand will soon follow.  There is no way to stay on target there.  There are only passing moments of crisis that need immediate attention.

-----

This was an exchange that happened a few weeks ago.  Not much has changed since then.  I am still battling feeling sorry for myself, still filled with heartbreak and still feeling empty.  I am someone in desperate need for a vacation and that is what happened this last week.  The LPGA could not have arrived in town for the annual Safeway Classic at a better time.  It is something I look forward to every year and have blathered on and on about it here (via Summerside and Numb, and of course via the LPGA website last year, among others) and to pretty much anyone who is around.  So after a couple of days of trying to complete errands and to try to take it easy and rest, Wednesday rolled around and it was time to head out to Columbia Edgewater Country Club to fulfill my volunteer caddying gig.  

There are two major changes to this year’s edition of the tournament.  The first is that the venue has been moved back to Columbia Edgewater from Pumpkin Ridge for the first time since 2008, where it had been held for many years prior.  The second is that the tournament has been thankfully changed to the more traditional four round format, as opposed to the three round event it has been.  Any chance at more golf with these ladies is a plus in my book.

This would be my first year of going through every round solo.  I’m not sure that this is a good thing, because of my tendency to become too involved and lose myself in the proceedings to the point of madness.  It seems some levity and perspective nearby would be beneficial.  But then again, being solo may be a good thing.  It may be best not to have witnesses around to see me go through the emotional rollercoaster that I inevitably will experience.

 Paige Mackenzie

At any rate, once I arrived at the course on a beautiful sunny and comfortable day, my mind began to let go all of the sadness and dread and started to feel anticipation and excitement.  I was quickly assigned to the amateur partner I would caddy for and we found out that we’d be playing with the incredibly amiable Paige Mackenzie, who is originally from Yakima, Washington (which she jokingly calls the Palm Springs of Washington).  She was glowing and bright and funny and warm and I did watch her golf for a handful of holes during my first year of attending in 2010.  She was memorable, because she’s really pretty and has a unique style.  On that day, she was wearing a cardigan sweater, which I have never seen on a golf course before.  Anyway, she led us around this amazing course, which I wish I could play someday, but fear that its old money private status will lock me out of such an opportunity.  The way this works is that the pro and her caddy play a round of golf and mildly prepare for the tournament ahead and they are joined by four amateur golfers who pay for the opportunity to play with a pro and each of those players is assigned a volunteer to caddy for them.  The money raised for this event is put to different charities in the area.  Luckily, my guy, Cameron, was a good one with a pretty decent game and we worked well together.  I take the caddying job more seriously than most.  I know the game, understand the game and though I am not a good player, I know what to do and I actually think I’m pretty good at it.  It’s a great way to start the week.  Not only does one get the chance to meet one of these amazing women and get to know her in her element, but there’s a chance to see the golf course inside the ropes (the ropes are what keep the fairways and greens separate from the spectators) and learn about the hidden dangers and potential shots the players will face once the real competition begins.  Overall, it was a great time and nothing really crazy happened, aside from standing alone with Cameron’s clubs while I waited for him to buy a beer on the 7^th hole, and having hall of fame golfer and long time television announcer Judy Rankin come up behind me in a golf cart (presumably for research), stop and say “Hi,” before driving on and finding out that my camera now only takes blurry pictures.  Like last year though, I now have a new pro to root for!

 my nice camera

Thursday morning arrived with a surprise (to me at least) rain, thunder and lightning storm.  We have not had any significant rain for months and lightning is rare in these parts, but here it was.  The first tee times of the day were scheduled for 7:15 AM and my girl from last year’s Pro-Am, Jee Young Lee, was set to tee off at 7:48.  My plan was to follow her group and then find Paige Mackenzie’s group around 12:30 PM.  I showed up at the course at 6:45 ready to go and watched some players on the range and practice green lamenting the failure of my camera and my cheapness, which has left me with 2005 cell phone technology  It does have a basic (ically useless) camera, but no email.  I went to the huge porta-potty assortment, that was laid out like Stonehenge, for obvious reasons and while inside heard the intensity of the rain increase and an air horn blast signifying lightning in the area and for everyone to seek shelter.  As I emerged, I sought quick shelter in a covered patio area next to the pro shop.  This area, it turns out is where the players and caddies were designated to go, because before I could react, I was surrounded by about 45 LPGA players and their caddies, all sitting around silently fiddling with their far more advanced cell phones.  It was clear that I did not belong there, but I stayed still and tried not to make any sudden movements.  Security was in the area and I didn’t want to get tossed before anything had started!  A few more weather stops and starts followed, but play eventually began about an hour late. 

 Jee Young Lee

The last time I saw Jee Young Lee in person, about 54 weeks prior, she had gone from a player I had barely heard of to my new favorite golfer and I had this to say about seeing her finish last year:

“When she finished (her round), my companion Christine followed me around behind the grandstands, where I shook hands and offered continued support to Jee Young’s father, where he thanked me profusely again for my support.  What I really wanted was a chance to get a picture of me with her after the round, since I had taken so many of her with other people.  But as we circled around where the players exit the big stage of the 18^th hole and where there are generally autograph seekers and such, I saw Jee Young and her caddy alone with their heads down walking directly to the driving range to practice – with her father trotting over the join them.  It was that moment where I kind of lost it.  I think I confused Christine as I kept walking back and forth and leading us nowhere with lots of golfers and action still to be witnessed.  But it was that moment when I knew that this was it.  The tournament and the writing gig that I had been building up with anticipation for nearly an entire year was ending and I didn’t want it to.  This place is where I belonged!  I wanted to race down that hill and embrace Jee Young and help console her and hopefully find a way to console myself.  In that moment, I didn’t want to go back to my stressful job.  I didn’t want to go see all of my doctors anymore.  I didn’t want to go back to my apartment and be alone.  Being at that tournament and around those players lifted me to another plane where my illnesses and limitations no longer were a part of my life.  My constant daily headaches were barely noticeable, my energy level maintained enough to get me around those damn hills each and every day without fail, and I was filled with feeling and passion and confidence that often drift away from me during regular days.”

It sounds like a lot of hyperbole, but it really isn’t.  This is how intense I felt at the time and all of that returned the moment I saw JYL appear on the practice green and then head over to the first tee.  She has continued to struggle and play well only in spurts for the last year – but never consistently enough to finish at the top.  I wanted so badly to will her to a great weekend of golf.  I won’t bore anyone even more by going into the details of the round, except for a few things.  Jee Young Lee was playing with young American golfer Vicky Hurst and Venezuelan Veronica Felibert.  Vicky Hurst turned out to be interesting, because a retired guy from Southern California named John was there rooting her on, just as I was rooting on JYL.  It turns out that he attends the two or three events in Southern California every year to cheer her on and picks a tournament every year to travel to.  In other words, he is living my dream.  He is free to go see these women play golf when he wants to.  We chatted a lot during the round and found ourselves, as is common, rooting for each others' favorite as well.  We made plans to meet up again Friday afternoon to cheer on our gals.  Veronica Felibert is a really talented player, but she is way too deliberate for my taste.  Her pre-shot routine seemed to take days each time.  The other significant moment happened on the 13^th hole – a short, scenic par 3 over water.  It was terrible for JYL, but comically the moment I’ve been preparing myself for since last year when I noticed that Jee Young’s brother caddy seemed to have a quite an antagonistic relationship that was unhealthy.  This year, she has gone through more than one caddy (a position I would be more than satisfied to fill!!  Maybe that’s why I took the volunteer caddy job so seriously this year!), having left her brother behind.  At the 13^th, the tee had been moved forward – shortening the hole from the practice rounds – and her caddy did not account for this.  In other words, he gave her the wrong yardage.  She hit a towering perfect looking shot that curved in over the water from right to left directly at the flagstick, but unfortunately bounded over the bunker behind the green about 20 yards too far.  She picked up her tee and gave this new caddy a glare that one reserves for their biggest enemy.  I felt a chill run down my spine and a wave of anticipation surge back up.  If any time was my chance to jump right in and get a dream caddy job, this was it!  JYL walked up to her shot way ahead of everyone else and wound up hitting an amazing shot high up over the bunker from the thick rough onto a steep downhill slope and somehow stopped the ball within a few feet of the hole drawing ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ from the few of us watching.  She sank the par putt, handed her putter to her sheepish caddy and gave him a little punch to the shoulder.  She flashed a smile and my chance died right there.  When the group went to the next tee, her father (“pops”) came over to me and explained in broken English about the flub up the caddy had made.  I told him that I’m ready whenever they need me and we both laughed, even though I was not kidding around.  Anyway, the round ended with all three players at 1 under par and they would need to do better on Friday to make the cut and get into the running.  As John and I watched our group finish on the 18^th hole, Paige’s group was teeing off right behind us on the first.  No lunch break for me!  I turned around and headed back out onto the course.

Paige Mackenzie’s group included Amanda Blumenherst (who surprisingly had just announced that she was leaving tour tired of being apart from her new husband) and the fantastically silly Tiffany Joh.  Apparently, according to Paige’s mom (I got to know both of her parents out there) since Blumenherst was walking away from the game, the LPGA allowed her to pick her group, so it’s no surprise she picked Paige (they’d become friends on tour), since I get the feeling that everyone gets along with her, and Tiffany, because she simply explodes with fun-loving personality.  In fact, Tiffany Joh has made several funny music videos and posted them on Youtube (as ‘cupofjoh’), claims to be from Whale’s Vagina, CA on her twitter page (@tiffjoh) and has an incredible website that must be seen (tiffjoh.com).  They all played similarly to my morning group and all needed to do better on Friday.

Tiffany Joh
 

Friday morning arrived warm and sunny and my groups had switched tee times.  The morning would start out with the Paige Mackenzie group and finish with the Jee Young Lee group.  I learned a lot more about Paige through her mom as we strolled around the course.  Turns out that Paige has been struggling with a hand injury and back issues (She broke her back in college) and has only grossed around $42,000, which considering the expense of playing, traveling, paying for a caddy, agent, living, and who knows what else, isn’t very much, so she isn’t in a position to take time off to heal, because she needs to earn a living.  How can I not root for her?!  She wound up playing well, shooting a 4 under round and easily making the cut, which landed at 2 under (The ‘cut’ is when the field is cut in half for the weekend.  Those who do not make the cut do not earn money).  Neither Tiffany nor Amanda made the cut, as they both struggled on Friday, but Tiffany still gave me a funny grin as she exited the last hole (the 9^th) and headed toward the locker room.

Paige Mackenzie and Ji Young Oh signed hat

This time I was able to sit down for a few minutes and grab a quick bite to eat and send annoying text messages to a few unfortunate individuals about the proceedings.  They all humored me as I stood by and watched Jee Young Lee practice her putting.  This is the part of her game that seems to elude her.  She is so talented (they are all talented) and has all the tools to be a consistent winner.  During the three rounds I have watched her play; she has hit three of the most remarkable shots I have ever seen by anyone.  These shots that have made tears well up in my eyes and be thankful that I had sunglasses on to hide them.  But she struggles to sink putts consistently, which is the path to victory.

The afternoon round with JYL, Vicky and Veronica was rough from the beginning.  They also started out on the 10^th hole (and would finish on the 9^th) and shaky putting and missed shots were contagious in the group.  Vicky started out strong, but absolutely fell apart down the stretch.  Veronica couldn’t hit the ball anywhere near where she wanted and started to play slower and slower, which led their group to fall behind pace, which brought a warning to speed up.  Failure to do so can cause a 2 stroke penalty, which would make this all the more troubling.  Vicky and Jee Young were clearly flustered and were playing way ahead of Felibert, but it didn’t seem to encourage her to play any faster.  JYL had managed to get herself to 2 under par, but bogeyed the 17^th and 18^th holes and spent the entire second nine fighting back through the slow play and her failing iron play (she started hitting a lot of shots left and into trouble) and she lipped out no less than five putts and also had one miraculously and unbelievably sit over the edge of the hole, but not take gravity’s course and fall in!  Six putts she could’ve easily made.  One of those birdie attempt lip outs happened, and I shit you not, when some muffler-less truck gunned down the side street that runs adjacent to the 7^th hole, blaring Peter Tosh’s “Legalize It,” just as she started her backswing.  She then lipped out a putt for birdie on the par 3 - 8^th after a really solid short iron put her in fairly close, after which she smacked her leg so hard that I was worried she might’ve damaged something.  I fell to my knees (not a good thing in my decrepit condition, because I may not be able to stand again) and buried my face in my hands.  John, my two day cohort, who had already lost hope with Vicky Hurst, but still maintained his composure put his hand on my back and quietly said: “There’s nothing you can do.”  This missed birdie putt meant that Jee Young would have to sink about a 160 yard approach shot for a two on the par 4 and difficult 9^th hole – she was stuck at even par for the tournament.  Any sign of a sparkle that I had gained in the rain the day prior dissipated as I walked alongside the 9^th fairway watching her chances of winning or even earning money for this long trip fall away.  It is so difficult to watch this all unfold in person.  It was so difficult to watch all three of these players fighting so hard to make it, but all for naught.  Unlike most other sports, there is no guaranteed contract.  As Jee Young pitched the ball from just left of the green and tapped in for par, she hugged her caddy and immediately grabbed three golf balls from her bag, signed them and gave them to the Oregon Junior Golf kids surrounding the green.  

Jee Young Lee signed golf ball

I said my parting to my new friend John and dejectedly headed out toward the exit.  I paced around frustrated by that covered area I had found myself in the day before.  I used one of the porta-potties again as precaution and then emerged with Jee Young Lee standing with her caddy talking quietly.  Her dad had not been out there this day, so it was just the two of them.  As was the case last year, I wanted nothing more than to offer sympathy and compassion and to try to do something to help ease the situation, but instead I decided I would just walk by and head out.  As I did so, the caddy, whose job I tried to steal, stopped me and said “Thanks for cheering us on!”  I turned around and offered my condolences.  I got to speak with Jee Young for a few minutes.  I’m not sure how much she understood, since she’s from South Korea and English is not her first language.  I’m not sure if she remembered me taking the wacky picture of her and “snacks” in front of the Oscar Meyer Wiener Mobile the summer before, as she nodded that she did, but it meant the world to me.  She smiled wide and spectacularly and thanked me and signed the golf ball that she had used for the round and gave it to me and I felt better, but still incredibly helpless and empty.  There’s clearly a huge hole in my heart right now and not even the LPGA can rescue me.

"Snacks," Jee Young Lee and the Wiener Mobile

The remainder the tournament was exciting and fun, as expected, but I had put too much energy into cheering on JYL to fully enjoy the rest.  I cheered on Paige Saturday & Sunday and she did well, finishing overall in a tie for 23^rd at 10 under par.  After she and Ji Young Oh finished up on the 18^th hole, I raced out to watch the penultimate group to catch young Thai golfer Pornanong Phatlum in her 70s cop sunglasses with her caddy brother in matching crazy skirt and short combination (how can I not cheer for her?  I can say this about almost all of these players).  She had a chance to win her first ever LPGA event going in to the day, but the pressure got her and you could see the tension increase in her arms with each putt.  In the end Suzann Pettersen won for the second time in the last three years playing spectacularly again.  There’s always next year for Jee Young Lee and Paige and the rest of my favorites, who I am not always able to watch while out there.  And for them there’s always the next tournament and I will be there in spirit, wishing I could be out there with them.

Pornanong and Pornapong Phatlum

End of Daze

The time has come for me to make a major decision and, as usual, I am indecisive. No matter what I do, I know that I will be unhappy with my decision. I could take the glass half full approach and think of whatever decision I make as a win, either way, but I dumped that glass over a long time ago.

When the Portland Timbers were resurrected and brought back to PGE Park (Civic Stadium) in 2001 after 20 years or so of dormancy, I became obsessed with the idea of going to every home match. After all, I have blurry, early memories of sitting in Civic Stadium during the 70s with the sun beating down, holding up a Timbers sign that my dad had made. On one side, the sign had a Timbers logo drawn on it by his professional artists’ hand, while the other side contained the then not so old phrase “Rip City,” for our very rare attendance at Trail Blazers’ games. I’d like to believe with my revisionist memory that at a few of those Timbers matches that I was chanting alongside my mom a chorus of “F-U! F-U-C! F-U-C- (you can guess where this is going)!” at the red bastard refs. I know better. My only real memory of the matches was sitting on the east side in the burning summer afternoon heat, blinded by the sun and pretty much distracted by anything besides the action on the field, like most kids under 10. At any rate, the announcement came that the Timbers would be brought back from the ashes in the spring of 2001, so Jeff and I prepared ourselves by playing as a team on Playstation’s FIFA 2K every day with the fouls turned off, until we were beating our electronic opponent by scores of 30-0. Then we would head over to the Matador on Burnside, drink some beer, and discuss the perfect bicycle kick and come up with our new soccer lingo. When the season finally came around in early May of 2001 against the dreaded Seattle Sounders (Shittle Flounders), 12,000+ fans were there to greet our long dormant rivalry with fire and vigor. My friends and I found ourselves sitting in the “Lucky Row,” (a practice they abandoned immediately after this match) so we were gifted with a bunch of free hot dogs and the Timbers crushed the Flounders 2-nil. All of us, well, most of us, were hooked (I don’t remember who all was there to be honest. I know I bought a huge pile of tickets at the box office the day prior.)! Then, a few weeks later, the A League Timbers beat up on San Jose, the defending MLS champs in a downpour. The team came out with fire - especially Sancho (“There’s only one Sancho! Sancho!”), our Trinidad hero, who was knocking opponents down on the shitty slippery field turf at Piggy and generally kicking ass and making life difficult for the supposedly superior opponent. That was the game where I fell in love with going to these matches.

From 2001 till a post-season “friendly” in 2010, I only missed one home match. That sole match was the first home playoff against Charlotte in September 2001 due to a kidney surgery that I could not postpone. I, along with my crew, became fixtures in Section 107 (the Shed) directly behind the north end goal. We were around with the Cascade Rangers through to the Timbers Army, as we would proudly hail the feverish power of the 400 strong that we would bring. I made every match, no matter what. That second season found me racing via Tri-Met from the dialysis clinic in the upstairs of the Red Cross building just over the Fremont Bridge to PGE Park to get to the match before the end of the first half. It didn’t matter that my blood pressure would only be 80/40 and that the bandages barely containing my bulging fistula was soaked red with blood. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t stand in 107 because I was too weak. I would be there with my friends and we would root on our team.

So, why is it that once the A League/USL Timbers became an official Major League team in 2011, has my passion dwindled? Why is it that I willingly gave away my ticket to friends every so often as the season wore on during that first season? Why is it that the dream I once had, so long ago, of a packed sold out boisterous stadium coming true hasn’t sparked more excitement inside me? I used to head to the box office before nearly every match to buy extra tickets for friends, co-workers, friends of friends, family, to bring along to the matches because I knew that once they experienced a match, and the pre and post game festivities, that they would understand the joy and the pure spectacle of being there. That’s all it would take. The “Oh, I don’t really like soccer,” excuse would never hold true. This is how the Army grew. It was all of us spreading the word and bringing the enthusiasm. It was Roberto’s hilarious Tales from the Shed that would appear after every match on the web with stories of the matches and occasional updates about his neighbor “Thong Man.” There was the ‘zine Ax to the Head, which would be dispersed at matches, which was also filled with humor and incisive wit. But mostly, it was those players who played with grit and passion and determination. Who could ever forget players like Gordon, Byron Alverez, the fast sprinting Alcarez, Lord Tennyson, Sancho, the ever-scoreless Brian Winters (who the Ax to the Head once proclaimed that he “is prohibited from scoring due to an ancient gypsy curse. Should he ever put the ball in the net, the country of Yemen would spontaneously implode.”), Napoleon, Tommy Potl, Fadi Afash, the poetic Scot Thompson (S-C-O-T! Scot with one T”) the ridiculous Chugger Adair and the now controversial GM Gavin Wilkinson? And, of course, there’s amazing and legendary Timber Jim, even though Jeff drank his beer at the Bullpen one time by accident. Who could ever forget the pathetic attempt at a mascot that team management tried to introduce for a few seasons - some sort of furry, sad beast that the Shed coined as the Monkey? It would quietly wander around aimlessly scaring young children before standing near the gang in 107, only to be chanted at threateningly with a “Chainsaw the Monkey” refrain. These were good times. We’ve seen our some of our cohorts work together to help the community, help each other through trying times, and even happy marriages come out of this scene. We’ve attended a match with a huge crowd as the starting point for Ryan’s Bachelor Party (6-1!), only to find ourselves back there a few nights later in our suits after his wedding for another match that ended with a rousing victory of 6-0!

Going into the 2012 season, after a personally bleak effort at supporting my squad, I decided to recommit myself. That first year the Timbers were an MLS team, I found myself with one season ticket in the Timbers Army/General Admission section. What I did not realize at the time of renewing then was that none of the core of my personal gang was going to join me for a variety of reasons. What I also didn’t realize, or consider at the time, is that with the stadium sold out for every match, I’d have to show up over an hour early to find a place to be. This was a shock to the system. I was used to showing up to matches just as the game was kicking off – wandering down to my spot with my close friends – and jumping into the fray. None of these things were a part of that first season. I felt like an outsider. Sure, I’d occasionally run into the old acquaintance from the early days, but only in passing. It was all too massive for me. I loved the thrill of seeing the old stadium packed and the newest remodel looked great, and I was excited that this was now truly MAJOR league, but I wasn’t enjoying it as much. I found myself handing off the ticket to co-workers fairly frequently, just because I didn’t want to bother anymore - thus, the recommit. This season, I grabbed the chance to purchase a second set of season tickets. I was able to now bring a friend with me to every match. The only thing is I still haven’t made every match. It has all been much more enjoyable and fun to share the experience once again, but surprisingly, it’s not always easy to find people free. Also, I seem to be much busier all the time. I have been out of town for a few games. I have chosen to spend time with family and friends away from town, when the opportunities have arisen, as opposed to scrapping an entire weekend (and that damn extra hour to hour and a half) just to go to a match. Besides, who wants to hang out with me that long – sitting around doing nothing and drinking really overpriced beer, while we watch the scoreboard count down from 70 minutes to zero, before resetting back to 20 more minutes? And I hate to say it, but how many more years can I get into chanting the same damn chants over and over after hearing most of them for the last 12 years? Why have I had to defend myself for not joining in on chants that I dislike or am simply sick to death of, while a bunch of self-professed “capos” stand facing the rest of us leading the endless chants without watching a lick of the match? Sorry, everybody, but I’ve been there and done that (and I’d rather not get into my feelings on the use of the word “capo”). Having the Timbers Army become an actual organizational entity in recent years, as opposed to the loose collection of oddballs and intellectuals it always was, has been fantastic in many ways. The charitable work that gets done is heartwarming and amazing, but much of the fun feels as though it’s been sucked out of it. It’s become politicized and cumbersome and somewhat unwelcoming at times. Don’t get me wrong, I still love going to the matches and live and die with every bit of action as it ebbs and flows up and down the pitch. It’s just that everything outside of the actual game has become more of a chore. Have I worn myself out? Has it been too many years of disappointment with the season ending results? Maybe that final USL playoff loss in the fall of 2010, after the Timbers dominated the regular season, when the team was wiped out yet again, took a larger toll on me than I realize. It was tough to take, as has much of this season.

It is time to think about renewing. My ticket guy has called and left messages, emails have been sent and I received a damn bill for next season’s total. It has a due date! I found this highly unnecessary. It was going to be an actual decision that I would have to make this season regarding renewing, but sending a bill certainly didn’t warm my heart or entice me to reach for my credit card. Now that the season tickets are three times more expensive than what I used to spend up through 2010 and now that I am stuck with a pair of tickets, turning that into six times the cost, I am at a crossroad. I could use that money. It is getting too expensive for me, especially if I am not going to be attending all of the matches, but I don’t want to lose my spot. There are supposed to be something like 6,000 people on the season ticket waiting list. If I drop out now, then I would be out of luck down the road. If this is a temporary lull in my passion for the games, I don’t want to lose my place when that fire returns to my gut. I am exploring finding some of my old cohorts to join me and take over that second ticket, but if this doesn’t happen, I think this may be the end of my days as a season ticket holder. It pains me to even think that, but it could be time.  I do not know why my desire for all of this has waned, despite my continual internal arguments for and against.  Maybe it is time to let someone else get their turn at the matches to experience the amazing display, while I tune in on TV somewhere instead.