Somewhere in sports annals, we read again and again, “Play through the pain.” Adhering to that cliche supposedly makes legends and separates the “real men” of sports from wannabes. Of course, that mentality is why too many retired NFL players can barely walk, cannot make a fist, or have scrambled brains.
Paul was available for January 29. Glenn was available. For some reason, I am always available. Maybe by the time that you are a sexagenarian, you have figured out that the opportunities to do what you enjoy are dwindling. Take advantage of them when you can!
Surf Bowl I (i.e., “One” for the Roman Numeral challenged) had a chance to become a reality. And enthusiasm reigned briefly in my household. Worked up a set list. Tweaked the bridge on the Jazzmaster which meant adjusting a couple of screws or bolts, checking intonation, and applying “diamond strength” clear fingernail polish. Started arranging some new – but old – songs. Sketched something for a potential poster. Spent $20 at Ikea for a new rug for the drums.
The thought of getting up in front of a group of people truly is invigorating despite my mortician demeanor. Plus, the possibility of a test run for a “regular” monthly event could move us a step closer to bringing a resolution for 2012 to fruition. Or splash the cold water of reality on me.
But not all was copasetic. Don emailed. “I smashed my left index finger a couple of weeks ago and still can’t play more than a few minutes due to pain. It’s healing, but slowly . . . .”
Smashed his finger! On his fretting hand no less. Hey, Tommy Iommi lost a couple of fingers on his fretting hand, fashioned some thimbles to extend his fingers, and became a legendary guitar player.
Since I was working with some football theme, the sports cliche of “play through the pain” immediately came to mind.
But something told me that playing in pain is different from creating and playing with prosthetic finger tips. Besides, unlike Tommy Iommi, Don is not trying to escape a factory job, life in a notoriously austere industrial city, or his day job. Cool, California, is a far cry from Birmingham, England.
Don's news called for some old school communication – the telephone. “What’d you do?” “It’s a long story . . . .” Don went on to explain how he was stacking logs and one rolled and nailed his finger. He reported that the swelling was down and that the color had returned to “near normal” from plum or deep purple. Except for the accident, that was all positive.
Of course, not all was positive. “I start playing, and, in about five minutes, the pain starts up. The finger is numb and then hurts.”
“Think that it will be okay for the 29th?”
“Can’t say.”
The procrastinator (and eternal optimist) in me came to the forefront. “Let’s see how you’re doing tomorrow before we make a decision.”
We repeated the telephone conversation the next day. “Any change?” “Not really.” No change? Hand-wringing. “I can’t really practice right now.” More hand-wringing. What happens if we schedule Surf Bowl I and Don cannot play? Or even worse, because we cannot practice, we put on a mediocre show?
I joked, “You know, I have pretty bitchin’ poster in the work-up phase. I really don’t want to waste it.”
Forever the trouper -- intentional spelling as in a member of a troupe and thus suggesting that what we do is art -- Don responded, “Go for it. But think about a stand-in if needed.” Sometimes, nobody gets my humor except me.
A stand-in? Can’t practice? Forget the sports cliches. Forget the machismo of “play through pain.”
At the end of the day, we do not need to “go for it.” What about Surf Bowl I after the Super Bowl, when everybody begins to pine for football again? Now that’s a thought!
Paul was available for January 29. Glenn was available. For some reason, I am always available. Maybe by the time that you are a sexagenarian, you have figured out that the opportunities to do what you enjoy are dwindling. Take advantage of them when you can!
Surf Bowl I (i.e., “One” for the Roman Numeral challenged) had a chance to become a reality. And enthusiasm reigned briefly in my household. Worked up a set list. Tweaked the bridge on the Jazzmaster which meant adjusting a couple of screws or bolts, checking intonation, and applying “diamond strength” clear fingernail polish. Started arranging some new – but old – songs. Sketched something for a potential poster. Spent $20 at Ikea for a new rug for the drums.
The thought of getting up in front of a group of people truly is invigorating despite my mortician demeanor. Plus, the possibility of a test run for a “regular” monthly event could move us a step closer to bringing a resolution for 2012 to fruition. Or splash the cold water of reality on me.
But not all was copasetic. Don emailed. “I smashed my left index finger a couple of weeks ago and still can’t play more than a few minutes due to pain. It’s healing, but slowly . . . .” Smashed his finger! On his fretting hand no less. Hey, Tommy Iommi lost a couple of fingers on his fretting hand, fashioned some thimbles to extend his fingers, and became a legendary guitar player.
Since I was working with some football theme, the sports cliche of “play through the pain” immediately came to mind.
But something told me that playing in pain is different from creating and playing with prosthetic finger tips. Besides, unlike Tommy Iommi, Don is not trying to escape a factory job, life in a notoriously austere industrial city, or his day job. Cool, California, is a far cry from Birmingham, England.
Don's news called for some old school communication – the telephone. “What’d you do?” “It’s a long story . . . .” Don went on to explain how he was stacking logs and one rolled and nailed his finger. He reported that the swelling was down and that the color had returned to “near normal” from plum or deep purple. Except for the accident, that was all positive.
Of course, not all was positive. “I start playing, and, in about five minutes, the pain starts up. The finger is numb and then hurts.”
“Think that it will be okay for the 29th?”
“Can’t say.”
The procrastinator (and eternal optimist) in me came to the forefront. “Let’s see how you’re doing tomorrow before we make a decision.”
We repeated the telephone conversation the next day. “Any change?” “Not really.” No change? Hand-wringing. “I can’t really practice right now.” More hand-wringing. What happens if we schedule Surf Bowl I and Don cannot play? Or even worse, because we cannot practice, we put on a mediocre show?
I joked, “You know, I have pretty bitchin’ poster in the work-up phase. I really don’t want to waste it.”
Forever the trouper -- intentional spelling as in a member of a troupe and thus suggesting that what we do is art -- Don responded, “Go for it. But think about a stand-in if needed.” Sometimes, nobody gets my humor except me.
A stand-in? Can’t practice? Forget the sports cliches. Forget the machismo of “play through pain.”
At the end of the day, we do not need to “go for it.” What about Surf Bowl I after the Super Bowl, when everybody begins to pine for football again? Now that’s a thought!