About Russ Colchamiro


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Russ Colchamiro has written 704 articles so far, you can find them below.


Is Joe Torre a Gonner?

Nothing’s every easy with the Yankees, now is it?

First everybody’s screaming for Torre’s head (including me), and then there’s the calm and recognition that maybe managing the Yankees–these Yankees–isn’t quite so easy.

And I see both sides.

There’s a lot of pressure that comes with managing the Yankees, for Steinbrenner, in this town. The media is relentless, and unless you are prepared to deal with it day in and day out over the long season, you could be in trouble. Plus, theNothing’s every easy with the Yankees, now is it?

First everybody’s screaming for Torre’s head (including me), and then there’s the calm and recognition that maybe managing the Yankees–these Yankees–isn’t quite so easy.

And I see both sides.

There’s a lot of pressure that comes with managing the Yankees, for Steinbrenner, in this town. The media is relentless, and unless you are prepared to deal with it day in and day out over the long season, you could be in trouble. Plus, the new Yankee Stadium opens in 2009, and they’ll want someone with stature managing the Yankees at that time. Not to mention that Rivera, Pettitte and Posada have all said that Torre is a big motivator to their return (that could just be a ploy for more money, but you never know).

And yet, for all of Torre’s accomplishments, the Yankees have not showed up to play–not gotten the big hits and done the little things right–when it came down to crunch time. They’ve been knocked out of the first round of the playoffs three years in a row.

Then again, it isn’t his fault that the Yankees have been pitching thin. If Wang pitches like he did most of the year, then the Yankees would be playing the Red Sox tonight, and there’s no Torre talk at all.

So what’s going to happen? Not sure.

Steinbrenner hates Torre–hates him–but also probably realizes (even with his diminishing capacities) that not just anyone can steer the ship.

It’s going to be an interesting off season to be sure.

Agent Loves Me. Printer HATES ME!

What a week.

A few days ago, this one particular day, I come home from work and find not one, not two–not even three–but four (count ’em) four different rejection letters from agents. Dude …

Not a good day.

And I admit it. I was bummin’ a little. It got me a little down. The rain didn’t help, but sometimes the entire publishing process is a drain.

But then I received an email from one agent in particular, whose note to me was short and to the point:

[i]Dear Russ,A few days ago, this one particular day, I come home from work and find not one, not two–not even three–but four (count ’em) four different rejection letters from agents. Dude …

Not a good day.

And I admit it. I was bummin’ a little. It got me a little down. The rain didn’t help, but sometimes the entire publishing process is a drain.

But then I received an email from one agent in particular, whose note to me was short and to the point:

[i]Dear Russ,

Love your concept. Loved the sample chapters.

If you?re still looking for an agent, please send me the complete ms.[/i]

Woo Hoo! Yeah, Baby!

Now [i]that’s[/i] what I call a letter! I’ve gotten requests from agents before for sample pages, but this is the first one who requested the entire book. Plus, it hasn’t been too often when an agent has said to me: [i]Love your concept. Loved the sample pages[/i].

This totally rocks!

Needless to say, I’ve been riding a mighty big buzz. Sure, this is just another step in the process, and nobody has promised me anything, but this is sure pretty darn encouraging. Sweet …

Since then we’ve traded a few emails, while I’ve been putting a package together to mail out to the agent. And there I was yesterday, printing out the manuscript in blocks of 50 pages at a time (to keep the pages clean and organized). This is a new printer, and I was still on the first ink cartridge, so I wasn’t surprised when the black ink ran out at around page 250 (I’d been using the printer for a month or so; it was bound to run out eventually).

So I replaced the ink cartridge with the backup that came with the packaging, and I was off to the races again. Now I’m up to about page 400 (out of 550; it’s only this long because I have to print double-spaced. If it were a bound book, it would be more like 300 pages) …

AND THE FRIGGIN PRINTER RUNS OUT OF BLACK INK AGAIN!

OH, COME ON!

I checked and doubled checked the cartridge, and yep, it’s out. How is this possible? Already? Don’t tell me this brand new printer is a dud. Or did I get scammed on the cartridge? So I dig out the box it came in and, naturally, the ink cartridge–this particular cartridge–came in a value pack for printing[i] pictures[/i]!

Ugh!

But, okay, as Liz quite correctly pointed out, this isn’t the end of the world. I’ll head out to Staples today to pick up a new–and correct–ink cartridge, and will be able to finish the printing the manuscript either tonight or tomorrow, and then have it in the mail either tomorrow morning, or else Monday.

I supposed it’s just the Universe’s way of reminding me to stay focused–and be flexible–as there will be many more wrinkles along what will be a long and prosperous writing career.

But still!

Sheesh. This is quite the adventure …

Post edited by: rcolchamiro, at: 2007/10/12 06:43

Hollywood Comes Calling … In My Dreams!

Last night I had one of those dreams. You know the ones I mean. It was a dream that seemed real enough that some part of my brain thought it [i]might [/i]be really happening, but not real enough to be convinced that it was.

In the dream I?m at home, in my apartment in Queens, and its daytime. I?m with the gang from Entourage (yes, I watch too much TV)?including Vincent Chase, Johnny Drama and Turtle (but not Eric or Ari). I think I?m partly the Eric character in this dream.

The phone Last night I had one of those dreams. You know the ones I mean. It was a dream that seemed real enough that some part of my brain thought it [i]might [/i]be really happening, but not real enough to be convinced that it was.

In the dream I?m at home, in my apartment in Queens, and its daytime. I?m with the gang from Entourage (yes, I watch too much TV)?including Vincent Chase, Johnny Drama and Turtle (but not Eric or Ari). I think I?m partly the Eric character in this dream.

The phone rings. I walk into the kitchen and answer.

?Hi,? the voice says. A man?s voice, slightly older. ?I?m looking for Russ. This is Mike Nichols.?

(Mike Nichols is the director of The Graduate, Silkwood, The Birdcage and Angels in America, among others).

?Really?? I say. ?This is Russ. Wow. Uh … what can I do for you, Mike??

?Well, I hear that you?re directing Medellin, and I?d love you to consider me for a part in the movie.?

So now I know that, in this dream, I?m to direct the upcoming (fictional) movie Medellin, which already aired?and bombed?in the fictional world of Entourage. Also, I don?t think in real life Mike Nichols does any acting, but, hey, it?s my dream, and if he wants to act, he should knock himself out.

?Wow,? I say. ?You want to be in Medellin? Cool. Well, I?m not sure if there are any parts available that would suit you, but let me think about it.?

Dead air. I feel I?ve made a mistake. A big mistake. [i]Don?t say no. To MIKE NICHOLS! He could do wonders for my career. Think fast, think fast. Think fast[/i].

?But,? I continue quickly, ?I?d love to have you involved in some way, so let me talk to the guys and I?ll be in touch soon. I think you?d make a great addition to the movie.?

?That?s great, Russ.? Mike?s voice is warm and friendly. Sounds genuinely grateful. ?Take your time. Get back to me when you can. Looking forward to it.?

?Yeah,? I say. ?Me, too.?

I hang up, and then walk into the other room. The other Entourage dudes are sitting on the floor in bedroom, wrestling with the dog.

?Hey, guys, check it out.?

They look up.

?Mike Nichols just called me personally.?

?No way,? Vincent says. ?Really??

?Yep.?

?Who the fuck is Mike Nichols,? Turtle asks in the way that only Turtle can.

?He directed The Graduate, you retard,? I say in my pitch perfect Eric.

Turtle nods, as if what I say makes sense to him. He pauses, and then he says, ?He got any hot MILFS for me to bang??

Drama slaps him in the head. ?Don?t be so crass, Turtle.?

?So what did he want?? Vince asks.

?He wants to know if there?s an acting part for him in Medellin.?

?No shit,? Vince says.

?No shit,? I say.

And then the dream ends.

Now, it?s not hard to read into this wish fulfillment dream. Do I want to get a big break and be in a position to have powerful, respected folks in the entertainment world asking me for favors?and being in a position to grant them or not?

Hell Yes!

Now all I?ve got to do is make it happen …

I’m working on it!

Post edited by: rcolchamiro, at: 2007/10/11 18:57

Post edited by: rcolchamiro, at: 2007/10/12 20:37

Post edited by: rcolchamiro, at: 2007/10/14 18:09

Not My Typical Sunday Blues

I’m a little off my rhythm today. I was sick this week–nothing tragic, just a cold–but it took me out of my regular daily schedule for a few days. And then a bunch of other things got thrown into the mix.

I had the blues at work this week–again, nothing tragic, just one of those things. Also, my back has been a little sore lately–yet again, it hasn’t been awful, but just slightly more than normal. And I’ve got a few other things going on personal-wise that have been stressing me out a I’m a little off my rhythm today. I was sick this week–nothing tragic, just a cold–but it took me out of my regular daily schedule for a few days. And then a bunch of other things got thrown into the mix.

I had the blues at work this week–again, nothing tragic, just one of those things. Also, my back has been a little sore lately–yet again, it hasn’t been awful, but just slightly more than normal. And I’ve got a few other things going on personal-wise that have been stressing me out a little.

And today, for reasons I’m not entirely clear about, I’ve got the [i]Sunday Blues[/i]. And I call them the Sunday Blues simply because I’m feeling a bit blue today and it just [i]happens to be[/i] Sunday, and not [i]because it is[/i] Sunday. I really don’t get the typical Sunday blues. I look forward to the week–not that I love work–but I love writing Finders Keepers and my other projects, so I don’t get the typical Sunday Blues, or as my wife used to say, [i]I don’t want to go to stinky work tomorrow[/i].

Not to mention that I’m taking the day off tomorrow to spend with Liz, so there’s no Monday work day for me to even consider.

Which isn’t to say I wasn’t productive today (and it’s still only 4 pm). I got up at 6:30 a.m., and went to the gym. Had a good work-out, too. Showered, had breakfast. Then I spent 2 1/2 hours working on some final touches for Finders Keepers. After that I did a few chores around the house, watched the latest D.L. Hughley comedy special on HBO–hilarious–and then hit the couch. And this was all by 11 a.m.

I had lunch, watched some TV–I even took a nap today.

So on paper, this seems like a typically quality day for me, and tell you the truth, even as I write this blog, I’m feeling a bit energized, which I hope lasts.

Like I said, I’ve been feeling blue today. In fact, for most of the week. It happens. I’m a pretty positive, optimistic dude overall, and am not prone to long periods of feeling blue. I’m just not. I used to be. Wow, did I used to be. But I’m not that guy anymore. Haven’t been for years.

I look forward to most days and look forward to the future. But I do hit my blue periods now and again, and today just happens to be one of them. And yet, like I said, just writing this entry is helping me. Getting some of this blah off my chest helps relieve my anxieties.

I’m going to leave off here, now now that the blues are shaking up a bit, and my energy is starting to flow. I usually love Sundays, and I want to love this Sunday–which isn’t over yet. Liz and I are going out for a walk soon, then to dinner, and then back to watch the Yankee game and see them pull back into this playoff series (I hope!).

My goal, as always, is to enjoy each day as much as I can. And having a venue to talk about these things is just one more reason I rarely get the Sunday Blues–and when I do, they don’t last long.

How to Totally Chill – Just 3 Minutes

In my Oct. 4 blog I wrote about realizing that someone I know, who had long been interested in meditating, suddenly embraced it when I suggested thinking about it as [i]quiet time[/i] rather than [i]meditation[/i]. Once that happened, I led him through an easy, 3-minute meditation–3 minutes of quiet–that I have found quiet useful and pleasing myself.

Here is that mediation, passed down to me, with a few tweaks on my part to help guide the experience:

Let the body find a balanced, In my Oct. 4 blog I wrote about realizing that someone I know, who had long been interested in meditating, suddenly embraced it when I suggested thinking about it as [i]quiet time[/i] rather than [i]meditation[/i]. Once that happened, I led him through an easy, 3-minute meditation–3 minutes of quiet–that I have found quiet useful and pleasing myself.

Here is that mediation, passed down to me, with a few tweaks on my part to help guide the experience:

Let the body find a balanced, upright and comfortable posture from which it need not move …

Become aware of where you are now …

Now close your eyes ? gently ?

And breathe ?

In ? then out ?

In ? then out ?

Be aware of any expectations or concerns that may be present in the mind of the heart … whatever your are thinking, whatever you are feeling …

Now, let them go …

Fall still and come to rest within …

And breathe ?

Breathe ?

Be aware of the touch of your feet against the ground … or your toes within your shoes, or your heels ? or the sock around your foot ?

Feel the weight of the body on the chair … your back against the cushion ? the underside of your thighs ?

And breathe ?

Breathe ?

Be aware of the gentle pressure of the clothes on the skin … the shirt on your arm ? the pants on your leg ?

Feel the play of air on the face and hands …

And breathe ?

Breathe ?

Now taste ? what sensation is on the lips and tongue? …

Now smell ? breathe in slowly through your nose …

And breathe ?

Be aware of the breath as it enters and leaves the body …

In ? then out ?

In ? then out ?

Be fully present, here now,

Now be aware of hearing …

Allow sounds to enter the ears … listen to them all around … and let them rise and fall without judgment or any kind.

Let the hearing run right out to the farthest, gentlest sounds … embracing them all.

And breathe ?

In ? then out ?

In ? then out ?

Now simply rest in this great awareness for a few moments …

Post edited by: rcolchamiro, at: 2007/10/04 19:37

Post edited by: rcolchamiro, at: 2007/10/11 18:57

This Ain’t No ‘Quiet’ Riot

Just a few days ago I was talking to a guy I know who seeks my advice now and again, and I brought something to his attention that I thought he might be interested in.

About six years ago I started meditating, and overall it has really helped me. I didn’t get the hang of it right away, but after a while I got to the point where I usually do it for about 20 minutes at a time. That said, I don?t meditate every day. In fact, this year I?ve probably meditated less than in any of the previous yJust a few days ago I was talking to a guy I know who seeks my advice now and again, and I brought something to his attention that I thought he might be interested in.

About six years ago I started meditating, and overall it has really helped me. I didn’t get the hang of it right away, but after a while I got to the point where I usually do it for about 20 minutes at a time. That said, I don?t meditate every day. In fact, this year I?ve probably meditated less than in any of the previous years since I started meditating. (A story for another day). Overall, I?d say I?ve been mediating formally this year about once every two weeks, sometimes even less than that, although I have been doing some informal meditating?a minute here, a minute there?all year.

Because the idea of meditating for 20 minute-stretches sometimes feels like too much for me–and therefore hinders my motivation to meditate at all–for quite some time I?ve wanted to learn and practice a short, though more formal, meditation that I can do anywhere. I finally stumbled upon one last week, and I?ve already done it several times, with pleasing results. And I thought that this guy I know might like to try it, as it only takes about 3 minutes, and can be done anywhere.

When I started talking to him about this mediation?over the last two years we?ve talked about the possibility of him trying meditation?something occurred to me in one of those [i]aha![/i] moments. I think one of the reasons he has been hesitant to meditate, or even try to meditate, is because of the word [i]meditate[/i].

Ooooh. [i]Meditate[/i]. What does it mean? It sounds so mystical and new-agey know-it-all out there, something that only certain wack-ado types of people try. So then I suggested that, rather than the word [i]meditate[/i], that he consider thinking of it as [i]quiet time[/i]. Which is what meditation is all about. Sitting quietly. There?s no real magic to it in terms of process. There are numerous types of mediations, just like you can exercise physically in any number of ways, but for the most part there’s no big trick to it.

Mediation is simply the act of sitting still and quiet, letting your thoughts also become still. To let the thoughts in your mind, the anxiety in your heart and the tension in your muscles relax.

That?s it.

Sure, there are more layers to it than that, like there are more layers to an exercise regimen as you get more advanced, but essentially meditation is just quiet time.

[i]Quiet time.[/i]

And when I said those words to him?[i]quiet time[/i]?the look on his face changed. His body language changed. He went from being intellectually curious?but distant and cautious?to more relaxed and engaged. Suddenly he realized that meditation?[i]quiet time[/i]?is an activity that he can understand. He gets what [i]quiet time [/i]means. It?s an activity he can see himself doing. It suddenly became real and tangible for him.

And so we did. And then again a few days later.

I honestly believe that meditation is good for the mind, body and spirit. When I [i]meditate[/i]?when I have [i]quiet time[/i]?it helps renew my commitment to meditate more often. It?s like running a car battery. Having it on helps it stay charged.

But if the word [i]meditation[/i] makes you want to not [i]meditate[/i], then forget that word. It?s just a label. Instead, how about thinking of it [i]quiet time[/i].

For five minutes?that?s all, just five minutes?just sit still in a chair. No TV. No radio. No Internet. No phone. No blackberry …

Just five minutes.

Close your eyes.

Breath in … breathe out.

Breathe in … breathe out.

And let your mind come to a rest.

Meditation?[i]quiet time[/i]?can really help us recharge, allow us to feel more relaxed. So if [i]meditation[/i] seems too out there, too hard to grasp or relate to, then just think of it as [i]quiet time.[/i]

Just a few minutes a day … just a few minutes …

p.s. if you are interested in the 3-minutes of quiet time I noted above, I posted the guided experience–that can be done anywhere–under the Positive Thinking section of the Message Board.

Post edited by: rcolchamiro, at: 2007/10/03 11:19

Post edited by: rcolchamiro, at: 2007/10/04 19:36

Yankess go 13 in a Row!

Woo Hoo!

While the Mets absolutely self-destructed, the Yankees–who everbody wrote off four months ago, including me–bounced back with a vengance and are now in the playoff for the 13th consecutive season. This is no cake walk, but they have just as much chance as any team to win it all, and they got some players–young and experienced alike–who are hungry for a ring.

Let the games begin!Woo Hoo!

While the Mets absolutely self-destructed, the Yankees–who everbody wrote off four months ago, including me–bounced back with a vengance and are now in the playoff for the 13th consecutive season. This is no cake walk, but they have just as much chance as any team to win it all, and they got some players–young and experienced alike–who are hungry for a ring.

Let the games begin!

The Mets Amazin’ Collapse

Wow. This is simply incredible. How in the world did the Mets blow a 7 game lead with only 17 left to play. I’m a Yankees fan, so the Mets demise doesn’t exactly break my heart, but as a baseball fan, this is just pure fascination. I’m really curious to see how this plays out, and if Omar Manaya tries to lay the blame on Willie Randolph.

Willie really didn’t seem to have his guys motivated when they needed it most, but he can only do so much with that awful pitching and aging team that broWow. This is simply incredible. How in the world did the Mets blow a 7 game lead with only 17 left to play. I’m a Yankees fan, so the Mets demise doesn’t exactly break my heart, but as a baseball fan, this is just pure fascination. I’m really curious to see how this plays out, and if Omar Manaya tries to lay the blame on Willie Randolph.

Willie really didn’t seem to have his guys motivated when they needed it most, but he can only do so much with that awful pitching and aging team that broke down every five minutes.

And what about Tom Glavine. It’s one thing that he completely tanked it on the most important game of the season, but to treat his dismal performance with an "oh, well, what are you gonna do?" attitude just seems to underscore the lack of passion permeating the Mets over the course of the last 50 games or so.

What will the 2008 Mets look like? It’ll be interesting to see.

Are My Blackouts in the Past?

I?m used to strange things happening to me. I seem to be traveling through this life slightly off-center, with odd little happenings that have only increased in frequency as I?ve gotten older.

But this one is just goofy, and I don?t understand it. Even though I?m a writer, even though I’m a journalist and editor?even though I?m a [i]certified English teacher[/i]?for reasons I can?t account for, I have this weird mental block, this strange case of the yips, regarding the difference between [I?m used to strange things happening to me. I seem to be traveling through this life slightly off-center, with odd little happenings that have only increased in frequency as I?ve gotten older.

But this one is just goofy, and I don?t understand it. Even though I?m a writer, even though I’m a journalist and editor?even though I?m a [i]certified English teacher[/i]?for reasons I can?t account for, I have this weird mental block, this strange case of the yips, regarding the difference between [i]past[/i] and [i]passed[/i].

Intellectually, I realize that [i]past[/i] has essentially four main uses:

As an adjective ? I watched 70 Yankee games in the past year.

As a noun ? The past is the past. It?s time to move forward.

As an adverb ? The cars drove past.

As a preposition ? Joe is past the point of help. He?s a gonner.

And I also realize that [i]passed[/i] means:

As a verb – The Yankees passed the Mets in public favor with their very excellent playoff position (woo hoo!).

As an adjective ? Jerome is a passed student (i.e., he successfully completed the course).

(In all fairness, I ?know? all this because I just looked it up!)

And yet no matter how many times I refer to these points on [i]past[/i] and [i]passed[/i], when I?m writing, I hardly ever get it right. It drives me crazy! I just have this mental block?a case of the writing yips?that I can?t seem to overcome. (Notice I didn?t say, I can?t seem to get [i]past[/i] it?because my brain won?t let me know if I did it right!).

Even when I did my student teaching, I had to present the lesson on [i]past[/i] and [i]passed[/i] with the teacher?s version of the textbook, and even then I was barely holding on!

It?s the spazziest thing, I know, and yet it?s real. For whatever reason, my brain hears the word [i]past[/i] or [i]passed[/i]?or sees it written?and goes … [i]uh? What, uh … what am I supposed to do with this? Is it alien?[/i]

I’ll be writing, and then I’ll write something like, [i]and no matter how many times Roy passed the station, he felt a tug of sentimentality[/i]. And then I’ll think … wait, how many times Roy [i]passed[/i]? Or [i]past[/i]? No, no, it’s [i]passed.[/i] Right? Isn’t it? No, wait, wait, wait, it’s [i]past[/i]. No, it’s [i]passed[/i]. Right. It’s [i]passed[/i]. Definitely [i]passed.[/i] … Is it [i]passed[/i]? Is it [i]past[/i]? To the point that neither word has any meaning to me anymore and I’m yanking my hair out!

Arrghh!!

I realize this isn?t quite the end of the world, but as a writer, journalist and English teacher, it?s difficult for me to comprehend or accept. So what do I do? After several bouts with this madness, I?ve chosen to just let it go, and let the copy editors deal with it.

I don?t typically let my responsibilities fall on others, but the amount of time it takes and Agata it gives me to futz with these words until I get them right simply outweighs my desire to overcome the problem. So I just shake my head, shrug my shoulders and chalk it up to one of those things.

Weird.

(For another case of my yips, go the [i]Philosophy, Myth and Culture[/i] section of the Message Board, with a bizarre story about my experiences as a young golfer).

Post edited by: rcolchamiro, at: 2007/10/24 05:40

My Humiliating Case of the Golfer Yips

I used to be a golfer. And I was a pretty decent golfer at that. I wasn’t going to turn pro or anything, but I had gotten to the point where I scored fairly well every time out. I started playing when I was around 11, and kept on going until I was about 17.

In high school–about 10th grade (maybe 11th, I can’t remember)–I even joined the golf team, and in my invidivual matches that season I went 7-1, and my only loss came against a nice guy who just happened to outplay me that day, a nailI used to be a golfer. And I was a pretty decent golfer at that. I wasn’t going to turn pro or anything, but I had gotten to the point where I scored fairly well every time out. I started playing when I was around 11, and kept on going until I was about 17.

In high school–about 10th grade (maybe 11th, I can’t remember)–I even joined the golf team, and in my invidivual matches that season I went 7-1, and my only loss came against a nice guy who just happened to outplay me that day, a nail-biter down to the end.

At the end of the season we played in the county tournament, wherein us golfing dudes from around the county competed in one giant tournament. And I went in feeling good. Really good. After correcting a slight mechanical glitch in my swing, I was playing the best golf of my life and playing with a lot of confidence. With every shot I just felt like I was going to do well.

Now, when we showed up at the county tournament I didn’t think I was going to win–I wasn’t quite at that level–but a top-10 finish was within my sights, and if played at my peak, a top 5 was a definite maybe.

It was a beautiful day–blue skies, nice breeze–and I was just so totally in the zone. So the first hole, a par 4, I get up there–confident as all get-out–and after landing on the green in two strokes thanks to a nifty second shot, I nailed a 30-foot put for a birdie. Sweet. The other three guys in our foursome were giving me the [i]wow, who’s this guy?[/i] looks.

Next hole was a tricky par 3 with a deep valley leading up to the green on a hill, and I landed on the green in two strokes. Again I nailed a long put, this time for par. Sweet. I’m kicking ass and feeling great.

So along comes the third hole–another par 4–and because I won the last hole, I get to tee off first. I grab my ball and tee, plant in the ground, sitting up nicely for me to knock the stuffing out of it. I stand up there with my club. I feel it in my hands. I look down at the ball. I concentrate. I take a deep breath. I relax.

And then I …

Wait. Something doesn’t feel quite right, so I step away. I shake it off, clear my head. Okay, I’m ready. I’m standing over the ball, ready to do that thing that I do and then …

No. Something’s wrong. Something is very, very wrong. I’m standing there, a hot flash blasts through me and I’m staring to sweat. I purse my lips. I squeeze the club. And all I can think is something is wrong. Something is [i]very [/i]… [i]very[/i] … [i]wrong[/i].

I?m panicking. My heart is beating a million miles and hour. I’m having an anxiety attack. I holding the club in my hands and it’s like a Twilight Zone episode, like some alien force shot a mind control laser beam into my brain because as I’m looking at the golf club in my hands I’m thinking [i]what do I do with this? I don’t know how to use this club[/i].

And when I say that I didn’t know how to use the club, it was like a bow in my mind unraveled. Something had shifted. The degree was minimal–a nuance–but that difference was all the difference because suddenly the club, which had felt such a natural part of me for so long, now felt alien to my. It’s like my hands and arms simply didn’t understand what they were supposed to do.

I got the yips.

The yips is usually ascribed to athletes that, for whatever reason, inexplicably lose their ability to perform at even the most basic level what they had been able to do at a high level. In one case, ex-catcher Mets Macky Sasser, for whatever reason, couldn’t throw the ball back to the pitcher. Ex-Yankees second baseman–a gold glove second baseman–after 10 years in the majors as an all-star suddenly couldn’t throw the ball properly to first base.

Why?

Who knows.

This is what happened to me.

The best I can figure is that a very old mechanical flaw in my grip finally caught up to me. Without getting into too much detail, as a golfer, you’re supposed to grip the club with your weaker hand at the top of the club (my left), and then your stronger hand (my right) lower down and on top, to guide the club. But the top hand is supposed to be rotated counterclockwise, preventing your wrists from rolling during the swing. Because if they do roll, you’ll have a big hook–meaning your ball, if you’re righty, will hook way, way to the right after you hit it. And that’s what used to happen to me.

Why? Because I gripped the club more like a baseball bat, with my top hand–my right hand–more open, facing up. Thing is, over time, the rest of my swing had improved to the point where I could counteract the hook with a nice, fluid motion.

And what I think happened is that, in that one moment–on the third tee at the county tournament–the flaw in my grip finally caught up to me. The timing was most brutually unfortunate, because the rest of the day was the most excruciating 16 holes of golf I ever played. I was hitting balls in the woods. I was missing the ball completely.

It was like I had a muscle memory stroke. It’s like my brain short-circuited–on the spot–and what was easy and natural 30 seconds before was now totally foreign and mutant to me. All of a sudden my hands and arms wanted to swing a certain way, and that was [i]totally, completely wrong[/i].

My mind and body simply couldn’t function in sequence. And it’s not that I didn’t want to. I couldn’t. [i]I didn’t know how to make this work[/i]. And I didn’t know why this was happening!

Talk about humiliation. After that awful day, I tried playing golf maybe two or three other times, but that was it. For me to be a golfer again I would have to break down my swing and start all over again, unlearning what I know and relearning properly. I miss playing golf–I liked it–but it doesn’t really bother me that I [i]don’t[/i] play. What bothers me is that I [i]can’t [/i]play. My mind just won’t let me do it, and I don’t have the time, patience or motivation to start all over again.

I’ll never quite understand why I got the yips when I did. Why then? Why couldn’t it have been [i]after[/i] I kicked ass at the county tournament? I don’t know. I’m sure I’ll never know. But it was a real lesson in humility. I can think I know what I’m doing all day long, but the Universe has a real funny way–and sometimes a real snarky–way of reminding me that what whatever I think I know, I’ve still got a heckuva lot more to learn.

p.s. To read about another case of the yips I’ve experienced (and still do), check out my Oct. 2 blog on My ‘Past’ Blackouts.

Post edited by: rcolchamiro, at: 2007/09/30 09:46

Post edited by: rcolchamiro, at: 2007/09/30 21:31

Post edited by: rcolchamiro, at: 2007/10/02 06:48

Post edited by: rcolchamiro, at: 2007/11/07 07:06

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