Dad

        My father, John Conrad Lechman, was born on the Volga River in Rothammel, Russia, July 20, 1896. He came to the U.S. by himself by ship in 1912 when he was 15. His sister and brother  preceded him to America; his parents tried to come but died on the way. My father eventually made his way to relatives in Kansas where he met and married my mother, Monica Caroline Schlitter, also a German of Russian descent.

          I never knew much about my father’s early life. Taciturn , silent, uncommunicative would start to describe him. He was also big and beefy with an unparalleled appetite for work and food. He was stocky but a nice-looking man, who reminded me of football great Mike Ditka. He had a sense of humor, which he mostly showed to my mother, he loved softball and sunflower seeds on warm summer nights, he adored playing checkers and cards, he liked his beer but was not an abuser of alcohol, he loved his family, and he was dedicated to his religion – Roman Catholicism. His demeanor and his threats were enough to make me cower in his presence, but I don’t ever remember him hitting me. The fear of it was enough.

   Dad was also was very sensitive. When he grew older and a birthday approached, this quiet, burly, barrel-chested man would wait for a card to arrive from every single one of his 11 children who were away from home. (I was the youngest and still in the nest). He was not happy until he had cards from them all. Of course, he never voiced this to anyone except my mother. 

      After we sold the farm and moved to town in 1956, we bought a house for $6,000 and fixed it up. He spent his days puttering at home, going to church and doing handy work for the priests and nuns.  At 4:30 p.m., he slumped in his recliner to watch the TV news. If boxing or wrestling followed, he would watch that. He never missed the “Lawrence Welk Show” and “Gunsmoke.” But he usually fell asleep in his chair by 8 p.m. At 8:30, he would get up and go to bed, rise at 5 a.m. and start all over again. He was a man who lived and died by his word. He never cheated anyone, and, was seldom cheated in return. The only person who got the better of him and told him what to do was his wife.     .

      I never remember having a private conversation with my father. I never remember him giving me any words of wisdom or advice. All I remember is  him telling us boys what we had to do on the farm that day. Once, when I was about 12 and my mother went away from a few days leaving my father and me alone, we never exchanged three words. But we were comfortable in our silence with each other. In the fall of 1959 when I was going away for my second semester at the University of Colorado, he gave me a car. This was not unusual for farmers to give their children cars. It was a gift for working from dawn to sundown all our lives . It was the best present I had ever received.
    I don’t know that I learned much from my father except for the importance of hard work, religion,  honesty, trustworthiness, thriftiness and duty to God, country and family. Hmm. We really had nothing in common. I was a bookworm, and he was a man’s man. I think he liked the fact that I was smart in school and never caused him any trouble. I can still feel his essence; he is a part of me. I know he is still looking down on me today and wouldn’t it be something if he is almost as proud of me as I am of him?  Happy Father’s Day, Daddy.

            Some of this was excerpted from an upcoming book, Boyhood on the Plains, by Don Lechman, former reporter critic and editor for the Daily Breeze.

DON ON DODGERS 2012

        Aaaah.
        That big sigh of relief was the result of Frank McCourt leaving Dodger Stadium. Now I can relax and go to a Dodger game. It’s just in time since the season opens Thursday. We got Magic. What else do we need?
         As I said before, I have been a Dodger fan since 1949. My favorite team was – still is – the Brooklyn Dodgers of the 1950s.My worst moment come in 1951 when Bobby Thomson hit his famous 9^th inning home run to beat the Dodgers. Then I enjoyed two of the greatest Dodger years – 1952 and 1953 (105 wins - the most ever). As catcher Roy Campanella (the MVP of 1951, 1953 and 1955) went, so did the Dodgers. My dream came true in 1955 when Johnny Podres and the Bums beat the dreaded New York Yankees 2-0. (I pleaded illness and stayed home from school to hear the game on the radio.) We won the pennant again in 1956 - barely – and then moved - much to my chagrin - to Los Angeles in 1958.
   I was a freshman at the University of Colorado in ’59 when the Dodgers – termed the worst World Series-team in history – won the championship. (No wonder Chicago Cub  fans, who have not seen a winner since 1909, are not enamored with L.A., the team winning its second year in town.)
`     The 1960s were great for two reasons – Sandy Koufax and Don Drysdale – as the Dynamic Duo led the team to three pennants and two World Series. Koufax also pitched  no-hitters -- the last a perfect game – in four straight seasons, the only pitcher to ever do so.
     The 1970s were famous for the legendary infield of Steve Garvey, Davey Lopes, Bill Russell and Ron Cey being together eight years, three pennants and the arrival of manager Tommy Lasorda. Bill Singer pitched a no-hitter in 1970, while 1974 also featured Steve Garvey winning the MVP and pitcher Mike Marshall the Cy Young Award
`     The 1980s were memorable in spite of being so mediocre. The team won the pennant and the World Series in 1981 and 1988. Jerry Reuss had a no-hitter in 1980.
The great Fernando Valenzuela set the National League on its ear in 1981, and Orel Hershiser did likewise in 1988, having one of the greatest years a pitcher ever had. He won the CY Young Award and was MVP of the National League Championship Series and the World Series.
    The 1990s were memorable but for most of the wrong reasons. First, the Dodgers incredibly had four no-hitters – Fernando Valenzuela (1990), Ramon Martinez (1994), Hideo Nomo (1996) and Kevin Brown (1997). Now for the dark side. In 1992, the Dodgers lost the most games in their history – 99; Pedro Martinez (who went on to win three Cy Young Awards) was traded in 1992; and Mike Piazza, the best-hitting catcher in baseball history, was traded in 1998.  And the Dodgers were sold – sadly - to the Fox Group led by Rupert Murdoch.
    Could anything worse happen after that? It did.. Frank McCourt bought the Dodgers in 2004 and led them to the sewer. Thank God for Clayton Kershaw and Matt Kemp.
   That brings us to 2012 and a new era; I don’t expect miracles. The Dodgers have won plenty in the past; championships are gravy. What I would like is team who leaves its heart on the field and a hot dog and parking that cost under 5 bucks.
`Don Lechman is a former reporter, critic and editor for the Daily Breeze. He is author of an upcoming book, Greatest Los Angeles Dodger Pitchers (The History Press).

 

           

Super Bowl

            Do you know anyone who went to the first Super Bowl? The answer is Don Lechman. I covered the Green Bay locker room and took notes on what Vince Lombardi had to say about the Packers’ 35-10 victory over Kansas City, Jan. 15, `1967. (It’s not my fault that none was used.) I don’t think he was surprised at the victory. Max McGee, who only caught four balls in 1966 for 91 yards, made off with seven receptions for 138 yards and one touchdown – after spending a night on the town because he was near the end of his career and didn’t expect to play.

            So what do you know about the Super Bowl? Not much? I have not missed one since then even if it is not my favorite athletic event. (I prefer the NBA finals, the World Series, the NCAA basketball finals and the two games that decides who goes to the Super Bowl.) However, since my brain swims in useless trivia, I have  a little quiz for you to enjoy for some pre-Super Bowl fun.

            1. Who has the most Super Bowl appearances and the most wins? How many?

            2. What quarterback is 4-0 in Super Bowl wins and has never thrown an interception in one of those games?

            3. What teams have lost the most Super Bowls?

            4. Who has won five Super Bowls?

             5. Who has the highest quarterback rating in Super Bowl history?

            6. What was the most lopsided win in Super Bowl history?

            7. What four teams have never appeared in a Super Bowl?

            8. What player has won MVP the most? How many? Who is second?

             9. What team has the most MVPs?

            10. W ho has the most Super Bowl rings?

            11. What coach has won the most Super Bowls?

            12.  Who passed for the most yards in one game?

            13. W ho has the most TD passes in one game?

            14. Who has the most rushing yards in one game?

            15. Who has most receiving yards for their career in four Super Bowls?

            16. Who has the most rushing attempts in one game?

            17. Who has the most interceptions in one game?

            18. Who has had the most sacks?

            19. Who has the most field goals?

            20.  Who kicked the longest field goal?

Answers:  1.  Pittsburgh – 8 appearances; 5 wins. 2.

            2. Joe Montana of San Francisco.

            3. Denver, Buffalo and Minnesota, 4 losses each.

            4. Dallas Cowboys.

            5. Joe Montana, 127.8.

            6. 1990: San Francisco, 55, Denver, 10.

            7. Cleveland, Detroit, Jacksonville and Houston.

            8. Joe Montana won three MVP awards. Bart Starr, Terry Bradshaw and Tom Brady have each won 2.

            9. Dallas Cowboys have the most Super Bowl rings: 7.

            10.  Defensive end Charles Haley won five rings with San Francisco and Dallas.

            11. Chuck Noll won 4 with Pittsburgh.

            12. 414 yards by Kurt Warner for the St. Louis Rams in 1990.

            13. Steve Young, 6 for San Francisco in 1995.

 .          14. Timmy Smith, 204 yards, for Washington Redskins in 1988. (He only gained 470 yards the whole year!)

            15. Jerry Rice for San Francisco – 589.

            16. John Riggins, 36, for Washington Redskins in 1983.

            17. Rod Marin  of Oakland, 1981, had 3.

            18. Reggie White of Green Bay, 1997, and Darnell Dockett of Arizona Cardinals in 2009, 3 each.

            19. Don Chandler of Green Bay in 1968 and Ray Wershing of  San Francisco in 1982 each kicked 4.

            20. Steve Christie kicked a 54-yard  field goal for New England in 2004.

            Don Lechman is a former reporter, critic and editor for the Daily Breeze. He teaches writing at Harbor College in  Wilmington.

Children & Computers

            Many veteran elementary school teachers whom I am acquainted with seemed concerned about the emphasis on our younger students learning technology.

They should be.

The importance of computers in our modern world is infinitesimal. They have changed how we work, how we play and how we think. They are just as important at home as they are in school and office. No business today could think of operating without computers. Can you imagine restaurants and stores without computers?

            It is no secret that I have never been enamored with technology. I was completely happy working on a typewriter because as I said thousands of times. “Man, when I used to go to work in the morning I didn’t have to wait two hours for the computer guys to come in and fix my typewriter.”

Today I am happy with computers – happy as possible with a technical contraption.  I am sitting at one right now as I type this. To me, their value in writing and looking for information on the Internet cannot be surpassed. On the other hand, there is nothing more exasperating than not being able to connect with the Internet, having your computer lock up, losing all your information or something you just spent hours on. This is all a prelude to my point. It’s obvious that I understand the importance of computers in our future. I also understand that we should not be spending our money to teach young children more about computers. There are several reasons.

            1). They get exposed to all the computer work and fun they need at home. Why waste tax dollars or your own money?.

`2. Children need to learn to think first and how to develop and use their motor skills.

3. Hours spent at the keyboard could have well been spent playing outdoors, or reading books. Books? “What are they?” one kid asks. “I read everything on the Internet.”

4. Can a computer build itself? Maybe someday, but as far as I know we needed our scientists and our Bill Gateses to get us to where we are now.

5. Is it possible that socializing in person (playing with your friends) might be better than e-mail or texting? You think?

6. There are many excellent teachers who know diddly squat about computers. Do you want to lose them all? Well, actually, some people probably do.

Do you remember that the world existed fine B.C. (before computers).Take our classical composers. Why were  the best composer – like Beethoven, Bach, Mozart – working  a couple of hundred years ago?

Where would we be today without Fulton, Edison, Marconi, Freud and Einstein not being able to think?

The most important thing for our children is to be taught by parents from the moment they are born. A nurturing, loving parent is the most important, but children also need to be exposed to reading and music and good vibes from birth.

             As soon as they grow older, they need to learn to start looking at books and putting things together with their hands. All of this activity does not need to be impeded by hours with computers and iPods. If that time was spent on reading, ‘riting and ‘rithmetic, art and music who knows what we might produce? It could be another Beethoven or a Bill Gates or Van Gogh. Wow! What an idea. Emphasize reading, writing and arithmetic, music and art. I wish I had thought of that!

            Don Lechman is a former reporter, critic and editor for The Daily Breeze. He teaches writing at Harbor College in Wilmington.

Community colleges

          Parents need to educate their children. The state needs to help educate parents so they are better equipped to educate their children. The most important job in our society is raising children, and, unfortunately, a parent needs no license or education, just hormones.
                It does not help American society than 22,000 adjunc t (part-time) instructors have lost their teaching assignments due to lack of funds and classes in the California community college system while enrollment is closing in on 3 million students, the largest educational system in the world.
                I have been teaching  English in the community colleges since 2002. Last year,  I lost my assignments at Cerritos College in Norwalk due to cutbacks. I am still teaching at Harbor College in Wilmington – with more cutbacks on the horizon. My survival does not depend on my small income from teaching. The main reason I teach is because I enjoy helping students  learn a very useful  tool – writing.
                Unfortunately, many adjuncts’ survival does depend on their teaching. When Harbor College had to eliminate summer classes a couple of years ago, one teacher lost five classes. Summer school was his main source of income, so he did not know what he was going to do.
                Another problem is the increasing enrollment. There are less classes and more students.  I usually have about 34 students enrolled for my English classes at Harbor. I have another five to 10 on a standby list. The first day of class, another 30 students show up who want to add. I then have approximately 74 students in the classroom waiting to occupy about 39 seats. They are falling out of the windows. I, of course, being not too bright, try to accommodate as many students as I can but 39 is supposed to be my limit.
             Additionally, these are basically grammar and essay classes. Traditionally, 25 students is a large class; 39 is a little overwhelming. That can require over a 1,000 essays to read in one semester, not to mention another 39 research papers. I figure I work six hours a week in the classroom and about 14 hours preparing and grading per week so I make about $23 an hour. To put that in perspective , some handymen I hire charge $50 an hour, and I have 22 years of education!  Is there something wrong with this picture? Of course, it’s my own fault. If I want to make money , why don’t  l do instead of teach? Teachers contribute nothing tangible to our economy, of course, only people.
                 Only people? Maybe it’s time to rethink priorities. Of course, we know that Kobe Bryant contributes a lot more to society than teachers do. That’s why he makes approximately $22,980,000 annually more than I do.
                So what am I crying about? Lost wages? Hardly. I am really upset that it is so hard for the governor, mainly, to raise taxes and for the community college system to raise tuition. Sadly to say,  raising taxes and increasing tuition are the two best ways to salvage our community college educational system.  Would you rather print more money instead? More funds would mean more jobs and more happy students.
                From what I hear, the de-emphasis of “junior” colleges is not a big loss to some people. They make snide comments about all the students who are not smart or committed enough to go to a real college.
          Do you know how many students I have had since 2002 who said they blew off high school, realized the error of their ways and now “want to make something of themselves?”  Probably  80 %. Do you know how many over 25 years old have returned to school to improve their chances for promotion or employment? Probably 15 per cent.
                People who have been clueless most of their lives now have an opportunity to turn their lives around, and the government and the voters are not willing to do anything to support them. Support additional taxes for education and increased tuition (if necessary), and our children may help support us.
                Don Lechman is a retired reporter, critic and editor for the Daily Breeze. He continues to teach - he hopes – writing at Harbor College in Wilmington.

               

SPORT VIEWS

            I realize I should have been a sports writer – whether I know anything about it or not. That’s all I seem to write about lately. I can’t help it. Here’s five  more things that have been sticking in my craw.    
            No. 1. Peyton Manning. Have you ever heard of anything so ridiculous as Peyton Manning not staying with the Indianapolis Colts? That’s like the Yankees refusing to sign Ruth, the Dodgers trading Mike Piazza (Oh, wait a minute. They did trade Mike Piazza.) or the Lakers firing Magic Johnson. Unheard of, right? Well, the problem seems to be that owner Jim Irsay owes him $35 million and doesn’t want to pay that, especially if he is unsure if Peyton is healthy enough to play. And Peyton is willing to go elsewhere if someone else takes a chance and pays him big bucks. This is ludicrous. The two should reach an agreement for Colt fans if nothing else. Peyton needs to sign with Indianapolis under the condition that if he delivers, he gets paid. If he does not, he retires. Simple, huh? Well, I’m sure Irsay would go along with that, but I am also sure that Peyton wants his big bucks guaranteed, injuries or not. Who cares what the Colt fans want?
           No. 2. Dodgers. If Frank McCourt is allowed to keep ownership of Dodger Stadium parking lot, then I should get in all games free -  if I wanted to go. The problem is that if McCourt is parking cars, I don’t want any part of that place. That guy needs to sever his ties with Los Angeles and return to Boston. I don’t even want him to be allowed to go to a game. Let him drink beer with the Red Sox. He did enough to wreck the Dodgers.
        No. 3. Lakers. Los Angeles needs to get a point guard – and now. The Lakers do not need to trade Pao Gasol and Andrew Bynum for Dwight Howard. Are you kidding me? Pao and Andrew are averaging  32.9 points and 23.2 rebounds a game to 14.9 rebounds and 20.8 points for Dwight. Meanwhile, any point guard has to be better than what the Lakers have now. I love Fish, but we know his contributions need to be abetted. It’s time to get someone with speed and shooting ability. And what about a coach who can motivate players to beat the mighty Detroit Pistons and the  Washington Wizards?
         No. 4. Dodgers. Ho hum. I get tired of saying this, but the Dodgers really are a bunch of Bums – until they prove differently. They have Clayton Kershaw and Matt Kemp. They need a catcher, a second baseman, a shortstop, a third baseman, a left fielder and at least one starting pitcher. If they can’t get all those, then one super everyday player and one super pitcher would do. That’s about all. Don’t want much , huh?
            5. UCLA Bruins: When Ben Howland arrived at UCLA  few years ago, I even wrote to Phil Jackson urging the Lakers to watch the Bruins play defense to learn how. They were relentless and great. Many people said Howland was a jerk, but he was a disciplinarian and a coach. According to a recent Sports Illustrated article, his program has gone awry. The main reason, I think, is that it gets harder to coach every year when players are “one and done.” First off, change the rules back requiring that a guy’s class has to graduate before he can play in the NBA or make the minimum age 21. Then Howland – and other coaches - won’t have to bend over backwards trying to have a good team by mollycoddling players.
            Don Lechman is a former reporter, critic and editor for the Daily Breeze. Codicil: He has never been a sportswriter – professionally.

           

Fisher

                Well, I got my Laker wish – a satisfactory point guard. But I didn’t count on my favorite sports owner, Jerry Buss, and a good general manager, Mitch Kupchak, acting like the rest of the NBA  and putting bucks before their fans. They traded the heart of the Lakers, Derek Fisher, to Houston, for a journeyman forward to save a few million. They got rid of Luke Walton and Jason Kapono to Minnesota  to save a few more and to get a point guard.
             It’s hard to argue against the deal that brought Ramon Sessions to the Lakers. But coach Mike Brown did not have the slightest idea of the value of Walton. If the guy had played 20 minutes a game, he would have contributed immensely. Here’s a player who averaged 11 points, 5 rebounds and 4.3 assists in 60 games in 2006-2007. Most importantly, he helped everyone to play together when he was on the court. His great passing was as contagious as his work ethic.  He was invaluable. Oh, yeah, who was coach then?  A guy by the name of Phil Jackson who just might know a little about basketball.
                While Kobe is still the backbone of the team, Andrew the gristle and Pao the soul, Derek was the heart. Everyone from fans to the media talked about Fisher’s  miniscule offensive output and his nonexistent ability to stay up with speedy guards. He averages, including this season, 8.1 points and 3.1 assists for his career. The past four seasons he was Jackson’s point guard of choice averaging 28 minutes and playing in 328 straight games. Do you remotely think Jackson played Fisher for his contribution to the team or because he might hurt Fisher’s feelings if he did not start him?
              Whenever most of the sports media point out Fisher low stats, they usually mention that he really can’t defend the quick guards. Guess what? He never could. He was an integral of part of  Jackson’s teams because he ran the offense and controlled the team. Phil said that everything ran smoothly on the court when Derek was there.  In addition, he acted as a buffer for bristly Kobe and more sensitive teammates, and he was always good for a clutch shot or steal.

But Mitch said it made no sense to keep three point guards, and it would be difficult to tell Fish he was not a starter. It would be too hard for him to accept. You kidding me?  Fish would pop popcorn or be a Laker girl if that is what the team needed to win.  But pro basketball  is a  business. Fish was getting old, slow and is owed  too much money. Why not get rid of him? The answer is simple.
           I and many other fans don’t want to get rid of him.  It is impossible to understand why the Busses and Kupchak think they are making a viable business decision. How can it be a viable business decision if the people  who pay the bucks don’t like it?
                Can’t an owner waste a few bucks to please fans for a change? I realize that’s a novel concept (see Indianapolis Colts and Peyton Manning)  for most owners, but why not?  Fish deserves to go out a Laker, and the fans deserve to watch him. The upside is plenty.
                We fans would love to see him in a Laker uniform.
                He would be the most positive influence the Lakers have - a quality not to be undervalued.
                He just might make a game-winning steal or a game-winning shot - which would be all the gravy we want.
              Don Lechman is a former reporter critic, editor and would-be sportswriter. He teaches writing at Harbor College in Wilmington

               

Jeremy Linn

            It was only a matter of time until I did a column on the New York Knicks Jeremy Lin. If you live on another planet, he’s the kid that has been lighting up the NBA for the last 15 games or so. He is a phenomenon and deserves all the accolades that he has been receiving. 

            The only thing that is surprising to me is that anyone thinks that it is unusual that an Asian American is becoming a star in the NBA. Why not? Asian Americans have been playing basketball for decades – and well. Do you know how many have played for Torrance high school varsities in the last 30 years? I have not bothered to count them, but there has been a lot. Often 50 to 60 per cent have been Asian American. Isn’t it likely that one in the U.S. might be good enough to advance to the NBA?

              I personally, have played against many Asian Americans over the past 40 years, and I think it is safe to say that I was not better than any of them. Now I realize that is no great revelation, but if I were Asian American I would be kind of upset that everyone thinks this is a big surprise. Those dudes can downright play.

             They have proven it. So what is all the hullabaloo about? That none have played in the NBA seems to be a big concern for everyone. Why? How many Greek –Americans are in the NBA? How many of  Serbian and Croatian descent? How many are of Italian  and German descent? I realize that African Americans have dominated since 1960, but they just happen to be better than everyone else.

            Also, everyone seems to think that Asian Americans are so short that they cannot play. So what? There have been quite a few diminutive guys who have been stars in the NBA – Spud  Webb (5-7), Muggsy Bogues (5-3), Earl Boykins (5-5), Calvin Murphy (5-9) and Nate Robinson (5-9)  to name a few. Spud and Nate even won the slam dunk contest.

But the real surprise is that Mr. Lin is not the first Asian American to play professional basketball in the U.S. The first was a fellow by the name of  Watara (Kilo Wat – he apparently lit’em up, too) Misaka , a 5-7 guard from the University of  Utah, who believe it or not, played for the New York Knicks in the 1947-48 season - even if it was only three games.

Jeremy Shu-Hao Lin himself is obviously no midget at 6-3 and 200 pounds. He is certainly bigger than John Stockton and Stevie Nash. So why can’t he play?

            The real point is that only 400 guys play in the NBA out of the billion in the world who play basketball. So why is it so unusual that a lot of Asian Americans have not made this elite group?  And don’t think it’s a racist thing. If they can play, they will play. As Red Auerbach used to say, he didn’t care if a player was yellow, brown, black or green if he could rebound and play defense.

            I have only seen Lin play against the Lakers, and he lit them up for 38 points. Since it was the Lakers, it was not surprising, but I think this guy is the real deal.

            Don Lechman is a former reporter, critic and editor for the Daily Breeze and a basketball player (hopefully not former). He teaches writing at Harbor College in Wilmington. 

           

OSCAR REACTION

            As a former movie critic, I find it impossible to sit by silently and witness the travesty of this year’s Oscar nominations.

            First, why are they still announced at 5:30 a.m.? That was understandable to meet deadlines when I first attended 40 years ago and called in the nominations from a phone booth to the Daily Breeze’s city desk. (No cell phones.)

            Second, I have serious bones to pick about films and people who were or were not nominated.

            Best picture. Since they are now selecting 10 nominees rather than five, it is hard to be left out, but I have doubts about two choices – “Moneyball,” which I feel never reached its potential, and “Tree of Life,” which is mainly incomprehensible. Instead, I would have probably selected “J. Edgar” and “The Ides of March,” if nothing else.

            Best actor: The biggest travesty of all was Leonardo DiCaprio not being nominated for best actor for “J. Edgar” and the vastly overrated Brad Pitt nominated at all. I would have left out the morose Gary Oldman (“Tailor Tinker Soldier Spy” and Pitt, and added DiCaprio and young Thomas Horn, for his phenomenal performance in “Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close.” DiCaprio not winning, much less not being nominated, is one of the greatest offenses since Henry Fonda was not nominated for “Mister Roberts”  in 1955.

Best director. Terrence Malick (“Tree of Life” over Steven Spielberg (“War Horse”)? You have to be kidding. The only reason Malick was nominated at all is because he is regarded as some kind of cinema god for only directing a few movies in 40 years.

Best actress. Rooney Mara for “The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo” is not only a bad choice for the reputation of Oscar but a ludicrous decision. There are countless other possibilities including Tilda Swinton (“We Need to Talk About Kevin”).

Best animated feature. This is really bad. Two of the best films for children were not even nominated – “Adventures of Tintin” and “Cars 2” would have been better than “A Cat in Paris” and “Chico & Rita.” Who?

Adapted Screenplay. There is no way I would have picked “Moneyball” and “The Ides of March” over “Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close” and “War Horse.”

I know. Sour grapes.

Don Lechman is a former reporter, critic and editor for the Daily Breeze.

Don Growing Up 3

You know what work is –if you’re old enough to read this you know what work is, although you may not do it.                                                                --Phillip Levine, poet
         When I was in grade school, I lived on a farm near Sterling, Colorado, and we were mired in a work until one day about 1953 when our load was miraculously lightened. My dad announced we would no longer grow sugar beets. To say we were heartbroken is to take verbal irony to the extreme. We were besides ourselves with joy. We all loathed the work associated with beets. We knew Daddy would find a way for the family to survive mainly from raising and selling livestock, wheat, corn, pinto beans and alfalfa.

            My last year on the farm was 1955 when I turned 15 and was the last kid (of 14) standing. Everyone had moved on with their lives. It was the best of times and the worst of times. It was the best because I practically had to work by myself – driving tractors, stacking hay, fixing fence, feeding livestock, hoeing crops, irrigating, milking cows and doing whatever little thing popped up in Dad’s mind, and I proved I could do it.  It was the worst because I practically had to work by myself - driving tractors, stacking hay, fixing fence, feeding livestock, hoeing crops, irrigating, milking cows and doing whatever little thing popped up in Dad’s mind.  Of course, he worked, but his feet were killing him from years in irrigating boots, and I generally had to be da man. I, of course, was not cut out to be top gun, but I survived. Life was simpler then.

            Then, to save his health - and me - my Dad, in February of 1956, at the age of 60, sold all his equipment and the farm, and he, my mother and I moved to town to 118 Park St. in Sterling. The farm consisted of 120 acres of irrigated land, 100 acres of pasture and 100 acres of prime dry land, all in first class condition. This land was augmented by a big house with five bedrooms, a basement, two porches, a small parlor, a big family room, a nice kitchen and one lousy bathroom and a shower in the basement. We also had a huge first-class barn and garages, a large chicken house, three or four granaries and another work house we called the separator house because we separated the milk from the cream there. In the back area, we had a second small house with two gigantic rooms where my sister and her husband and two small children had lived. We also had a gigantic yard and a grove of trees, all in pretty first-class condition. The selling price for this gem? Get ready for this - $29,500 – or about $110 an acre, the price of a moderate new car today. My mom and dad had to survive on this, a small pension, any little jobs my dad procured and their children’s largesse until he died in 1973 and she in 1983. Life was no bowl of cherries.

            Not to be forgotten, however, were the good times. That’s where I learned to play and enjoy football, baseball and basketball. That’s where my brother Dick and I used to go fishing in a neighbor’s lake, Hole’s Hole – for catfish – successfully. That’s where the neighbor families and kids would come over nights, especially during the summer, and play games – like kick the can - outside until it was beyond dark, while the folks played cards and kibitzed inside.

          That’s where my Dad and I  - and whatever brothers or Mom tagged along – went evenings to Pioneer Park to watch first-class fast-pitch softball. There were usually three games an evening for over guys over 17, not kids. That was where, usually on Saturdays, my dad would take Dick and me to town . He would play cards at the Knights of Columbus and we would go to the movies. It was 9 cents at the American Theatre and about 12 at the ritzier Fox. Usually, they showed a double feature, a newsreel and a cartoon.  

That’s where my hero, my brother Bob,  seven years older than I, whom I thought was  probably the smartest, handsomest, most athletic and nicest guy in the world, changed my life. He was always easy going and patient with me, teaching me to ride a bike, drive and be myself. He was God.

            That’s also where we ice skated on nearby ponds, swam in Pawnee creek, rode horses, hunted for rabbits and pheasant, built fires for marshallow roasts and hot cocoa and made sugary fudge from Hershey’s chocolate and let it freeze outside in the winter, and played endless board games and card games like pinochle, pitch, canasta and a German game called Duroch.

            From about ages 9-12, I had to share a bed and a room with my brother Dick. We would tell stories, play guessing games and play scratch back, and he treated me like a real person. When he and I hoed in the fields, we would spend endless hours quizzing each other and having running calls of baseball games.  If there were boys around his own age, almost 3 years older than me, he did not recognize my existence. The jerk.

            The times we spent in front of a radio were golden. I listened to everything - , soap operas like “Lorenzo Jones and His Wife Belle,” “Pepper Young’s Family,”  and “Stella Dallas”; comedies like the “Bob Hope Show,” “The Jack Benny Show” and “Fibber McGee and Molly”; adventure  shows like  “The Lone Ranger,” “Sky King”  and “Superman,” and dramatic shows like “Big Town,” and “The Shadow.”  And best of all I listened to Notre Dame football games on Saturday on Mutual Radio.

         Some of our best times came when my married sisters and there numerous broods would visit, especially at Thanksgiving and Christmas. All of us never got together at once because there was not enough room. But whoever was there always had a good time.

            Did I think life then was tough? You kidding? I loved it.

            Don Lechman is a former reporter, critic and editor for The Daily Breeze. He teaches writing at Harbor College in Wilmington.

             

No computers for Kids

            Many veteran elementary school teachers whom I am acquainted with seemed concerned about the emphasis on our younger students learning technology.

They should be.

The importance of computers in our modern world is infinitesimal. They have changed how we work, how we play and how we think. They are just as important at home as they are in school and office. No business today could think of operating without computers. Can you imagine restaurants and stores without computers?

            It is no secret that I have never been enamored with technology. I was completely happy working on a typewriter because as I said thousands of times. “Man, when I used to go to work in the morning I didn’t have to wait two hours for the computer guys to come in and fix my typewriter.”

Today I am happy with computers – happy as possible with a technical contraption.  I am sitting at one right now as I type this. To me, their value in writing and looking for information on the Internet cannot be surpassed. On the other hand, there is nothing more exasperating than not being able to connect with the Internet, having your computer lock up, losing all your information or something you just spent hours on. This is all a prelude to my point. It’s obvious that I understand the importance of computers in our future. I also understand that we should not be spending our money to teach young children more about computers. There are several reasons.

            1). They get exposed to all the computer work and fun they need at home. Why waste tax dollars or your own money?.

`2. Children need to learn to think first and how to develop and use their motor skills.

3. Hours spent at the keyboard could have well been spent playing outdoors, or reading books. Books? “What are they?” one kid asks. “I read everything on the Internet.”

4. Can a computer build itself? Maybe someday, but as far as I know we needed our scientists and our Bill Gateses to get us to where we are now.

5. Is it possible that socializing in person (playing with your friends) might be better than e-mail or texting? You think?

6. There are many excellent teachers who know diddly squat about computers. Do you want to lose them all? Well, actually, some people probably do.

Do you remember that the world existed fine B.C. (before computers).Take our classical composers. Why were  the best composer – like Beethoven, Bach, Mozart – working  a couple of hundred years ago?

Where would we be today without Fulton, Edison, Marconi, Freud and Einstein not being able to think?

The most important thing for our children is to be taught by parents from the moment they are born. A nurturing, loving parent is the most important, but children also need to be exposed to reading and music and good vibes from birth.

             As soon as they grow older, they need to learn to start looking at books and putting things together with their hands. All of this activity does not need to be impeded by hours with computers and iPods. If that time was spent on reading, ‘riting and ‘rithmetic, art and music who knows what we might produce? It could be another Beethoven or a Bill Gates or Van Gogh. Wow! What an idea. Emphasize reading, writing and arithmetic, music and art. I wish I had thought of that!

            Don Lechman is a former reporter, critic and editor for The Daily Breeze. He teaches writing at Harbor College in Wilmington.

Don's Life in Army

          I enjoyed Willie Quinones” My Turn (Jan. 10) about his experience joining the navy. I felt an immediate connection to Willie because we obviously come from the same generation, and he worked at the school where I teach (Harbor College) even though our paths have never crossed. He seems to be a Mexican Catholic, I a German Catholic, with lot of family ties.

            But, gee, Willie, there the similarity ends. “Boot camp was fun.” “Great navy chow,” he wrote.  You have to be kidding me, Willie. I was not in the navy, but I joined the army in 1962 from an actual small town (10,000), not a metropolis of 100,000.  I hated every minute of the military. At the time, I thought it was the worst decision I ever made even though I had thought about it and considered the Peace Corps and Air Force officer training. I eliminated the first because it did not exempt me from the draft, and I failed the eye test for the second. 

            Unlike Willie, I hated everything about the military. First and foremost was constantly being yelled it. I am very sensitive (Yeah, right). Second, I hated, loathed and despised the army chow (an appropriate name if I ever heard one). Going in as a strapping 6-4, 167-pounder, I quickly lost more weight. Basic training (boot camp) was hell. I was sent to Fort Leonard Wood, Mo., from November through January. It was below zero in that God-forsaken place. Our cadre was mostly Missouri hillbillies whom we could barely understand.

            “Fur on the left, fur on the right,” we were ordered at the rifle range. We looked at each other “Fur? What the heck is fur?” Oh, fire, we finally figured out.

            We had to get up at dawn, exercise and do close-order drill until we dropped in below-zero weather. We almost died  in the gas chamber (we thought) and crawled under live fire (we thought) in the cold and mud. What fun, Willie! We watched as cadre constantly abused and physically assaulted a boy of about 17 who seemed to the rest of us to be mentally incapacitated. But not to the NCOs, who obviously were mentally incapacitated. Our brave company commander said that we were spending seven nights on bivouac – even though other companies gave up after a day or so – in the freezing weather (He slept in a motor home).

A few times I had KP from 2:30 a.m. to about 1 a.m. the following morning and was assigned the grease trap. The guy in charge of us was a PFC in the reserve who thought he was a cross between General Patton and Atilla the Hun.

            I wanted to attend Army Language School in Monterey or be assigned to the military newspaper, Stars and Stripes. (Army Communications was suggested, but I discovered that was stringing wire in the boondocks). Since I almost got a perfect score on the language aptitude test, and I had experience as a journalist and a degree, naturally, the Army, in its infinite wisdom, sent me to administrative school at Fort Leonard Wood. There I was taught to type by a 19-year-old private who was lucky if he could do 19 words a minute, while I did 80. My luckiest moment of all came when names ending in A-K were assigned to Germany (my dream assignment) and L-Z to Korea. Did I love the Army or what? 

However, Willie, I am very proud I gave three years of my life to my country. My experience made me realize how much I love America and enjoy my freedom.

            Don Lechman is a retired reporter, critic and editor for the Daily Breeze.

CHILDREN'S BOOK: "Gorilla My Dreams"

GORRILLA MY DREAMS

                         Chauncey the Gorilla looked through the bars at all the people. He
            wondered what they were doing in those cages.

                        He yawned. Another boring day. (Illustration.)

            Most of the people just stared back at him. One little boy scratched under his arm pits and went “Woo, woo, woo.” Chauncey just looked at him. “Woo, woo, woo, yourself,” he thought. Stupid kid.  (Illustration.)

Chauncey went over to his cave and sat down. He dangled his feet in the water. Boy, what a hot day. He was sure getting tired of not having anything to do. Day after day, all he ever did was watch those stupid people behind bars. Boy, were they ever boring. All kinds of people. Little people. Big people. Old people. Fat people. Ugly people. Some cute little ones in strollers. (Illustration.)

       Boy, could he use one of those ice cones. Lime was his favorite. Suddenly, there was a loud commotion. Then screams. All of a sudden, a man dressed all in black rushed into view. He had a mask over his face. More people screamed. Chauncey yawned. Who was this jerk? (Illustration.)

             “Don’t anybody move,” the guy yelled in a deep voice. Suddenly, he grabbed a kid in red shorts and a white T-shirt that said “I’M THE ONE,”  He was a little blond kid about 5 years old. He was so startled, he just stared at his captor.  (Illustration.)

His mother, a tall blonde, screamed, “Don’t hurt him.”

Suddenly, police came on the scene. “Stay back,” the man yelled. “Stay back or the kid gets it.” (Illustration.)Boy, Chauncey  thought, this was better than TV. The guy was a better actor. He sat up and watched.

            People started backing away. The man himself backed up to the ferris wheel. He got on with the kid and motioned to the attendant to start the ferris wheel. (Illustration.)

            “What are you doing?” the kid’s mother screamed. He motioned to the attendant to stop the wheel.

            “Listen,” he was addressing the cops. “I am going to have him start this thing and run it to the top. I got the kid with me. Try anything and I throw him overboard.” (Illustration.)

Groans rolled through the crowd. The kid’s mother screamed again. “I’m not kidding,” the bad guy continued. “I want you to order a helicopter and have it lower one of those ropes to pick up me and the kid. I’ll tell the pilot where to take me. Try anything funny,” he leered, “and I drop the kid.”

            The people gasped, as they watched the ferris wheel roll to the top and stop. (Illustration.)

            Chauncey stood up and looked the situation over. Hmm, he thought. He walked over and leaped on the fence of his partition. Nobody realized that he could get out whenever he wanted. He was only about 12 feet from the ferris wheel. He leaped over to the ferris wheel and started climbing up the seats.  (Illustration.)

The bad guy’s back was to him. Nobody noticed Chauncey, as he climbed up the back of the seats, hand over hand. When he got to the top, he grabbed the bad guy in one hand and the kid in the other. Both of them screamed.  (Illustration.)

Chauncey smiled. The kid stopped screaming. He smiled back.  (Illustration.)

Chauncey looked at the bad guy. He didn’t smile at him. The guy did not stop screaming. Chauncey casually threw him over the side of the ferris wheel. (Illustration.)

Everyone screamed. The bad guy landed in a net that the police had put up. He bounced a couple of times before the police quickly apprehended him. (Ilustration.)

            Meanwhile, the tall blonde screamed. Chauncey looked down and smiled . The boy, whose name was Chad, looked down and smiled, too. He put his arms around Chauncey’s neck, while Chauncey carefully started to climb down the ferris wheel. (Illustration.)

Suddenly, he stopped and sat in one of the seats, with the boy next to him. The ferris wheel man started the ferris wheel, and it  started going around and kept going. (Illustration.)

            Everyone cheered and applauded when it went by. Chauncey smiled. Chad smiled as he sat on Chauncey’s lap.  (Illustration.)

The next time around the wheel stopped. The two got off. Everyone cheered. Chauncey was a hero. He handed the boy to his mother.  (Illustration.)

Then Chauncey walked back to his pen, climbed over the fence and sat down next to his little pond. He dangled his feet in the water. He yawned.

 Another boring day.  (Illustration.)

                                     The end

CHILDREN'S BOOK: "The Bashful Boa"

Don J. Lechman

2561 Date Circle

Torrance, Calif. 90505

310-539-8907

310-623-2928

donlechman@socal.rr.com

                                                           THE BASHFUL BOA

            Once upon a time in a land far away – actually San Diego, Calif. – and long ago – really last week Tuesday – a boa constrictor named Alexander moved into Stewart’s neighborhood.

            Now Stewart was not antisocial. In fact, he was very proud of his ability to get along with just about everybody. His mother was always telling him, “Mix, Stewart, mix. Don’t be afraid to meet new people.”

            Stewart was always the first in his neighborhood to welcome a new kid, but he had never met a boa before. Steward scratched his head and looked at Alexander. “I wonder how he shakes hands?”

            But Stewart never let a little thing like proper introductions stand in his way. He sidled up to Alexander and said, “Hi. My name is Stewart. I live across the street. Did you just slink…I mean move here?”

            Alexander was not prepared for Stewart’s friendliness. He was so startled that he coiled up into a ball and tucked his head into his center.

            “Oh,” Stewart said, backing away. “I don’t want to bother you if you’re busy playing hide and seek. I’ll talk to you later.” As Stewart walked away, Alexander peaked out at him.

            “Wait,” Alexander wailed, then tucked his head into his center again.

            Stewart stopped and looked back.

            “Did you say something?”
            A muffled response came from the coiled snake.

            “Murflewurfle.”

            “You’re not busy?”
            “Snufflewuffle,” Alexander wriggled.

            “Well, c’mon out and talk then.”

            “Fuzzleknockle,” was the only sound that came from the coiled Alexander.

            “You’re bashful?” Stewart asked kindly.

            Alexander lifted his head enough to see.

            “That’s-sss right,” he hissed.

“I don’t care,” Stewart smiled. “I’m bashful, too.”

“Y-you are?” Alexander raised his head again. “You don’t look bashful.”

“Well, I am, but I just don’t think about it. My mother always makes me get out and play. Maybe you could just start playing, and you’d forget about it, too. What’s your name?”
            “Alexander,” he said, starting to uncoil completely.

“Why don’t we play football?”
            “That would be great except I don’t have any hands-sss or legs-sss.”

“Hmmmm. So you don’t. I guess that means basketball and soccer are out, too?”

Suddenly, two other boys come dancing down the street, calling to Stewart.

“Hey, you guys wanna play football in the park?”

“Sure,” Stewart exclaimed, running after them. “See you later, Alexander,” he called back over his shoulder.

“H-Hey, wait,” Alexander called. “My name is Al-Alexander,” his voice trailed off. “I’d like to play, too,” he said, almost to himself. “Rats-sss; they’re gone,” Alexander started to go home.

“SSS-snakes alive! Nobody wants to play with me. People just don’t like boa constrictors-sss.”

He slithered into his house and slammed the door. A sweet voice hissed from the kitchen.

            “That you, Alexander? Make sure you wipe on the rug before you slither in,” she said. “You done playing already? C’mon in. I just baked some chocolate chip cookies-sss.”

Now if there was anything Alexander loved – besides his mother – was chocolate chip cookies. So when he went into the kitchen and told his mother he didn’t want any, she knew something was up.

“What’s-sss wrong, Alexander? You sss-sick or sss-something?”

Alexander shook his head. “Naw. I jest wanna know why people don’t like boas-sss.”

Alexander’s mother looked at him.

“Lord almighty, boy, you gonna sss-start that again,” she hissed lovingly.

“But it’s true. None of the kids-sss will play with me because I’m a boa constrictor.”

“Big deal! I’m a boa constrictor, too, and they won’t play with me either.”

“I’m sss-serious, Ma. All the kids-sss hate me. They don’t want anything to do with me.”

Alexander’s mother stopped her cooking to look at her son.

“Alexander, how many times-sss have I told you that it doesn’t matter what you look like. It’s-sss what you have inside that counts-sss.”

Alexander sighed. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” To himself he asked, What DO  I have inside? He went out the kitchen door. “Ssss-sure. It doesn’t matter what you look like. Ha!”

Alexander went up the stairs to his room where he took a human mask out of his closet, slipped it on and looked into the mirror.

“For heaven’s-sss sss-snakes,” he exclaimed. “All I look like is a boa constrictor with a funny mask.” He took it off, threw himself on his bed, coiled up into a ball and began to cry like a snake.

“Hiss-ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss.”

                                                  

Chapter 2

            The next day Alexander was curled up on his lawn when Stewart came by, carrying a soccer ball.

            “Hiya doing, Alexander?” Stewart asked cheerfully.

            “Oh, all right,” Alexander sniffed, curling up tighter.

            Stewart looked puzzled.

            “What’s wrong?”
            “Nothing.”

            “Well, something must be wrong.”

            Alexander sighed. “Its-sss the sss-same old sss-story. Nobody likes-sss me because I’m---well…a little different.”

            “Yeah? I noticed.”

            Alexander acted surprised. “You noticed?”

            “Sure,” Stewart said. “Just like you said – you don’t have any hands or legs.”

            Alexander sighed again. “That’s not exactly what I meant.”

            Stewart looked at him closely. “Well, your color is a little funny…”

            “That’s-sss not what I mean either,” Alexander cried impatiently, jumping up and down. “Its-sss not because I don’t have arms-sss or that I do have a funny color; I’m a boa constrictor…a boa constrictor…a boa constrictor. Doesn’t anyone understand English?”

            “A boa constrictor?” Stewart asked. “What’s a boa constrictor?...Wait…do that again.”

            Now Alexander looked puzzled.

            “Do what again?” he sighed.

            “Jump up and down.”

            “I’m not in the mood for games-sss. Why sss-should I jump up and down.”

            “Just do it, Alexander,” Stewart pleaded.

            “Okay, okay,” Alexander said, jumping into the air. Just as he did, Stewart threw him the soccer ball, which Alexander unconsciously whacked way down the street with his tail.

            “Hey,” Stewart exclaimed. “That was terrific. You really belted that thing.”

            Alexander seemed more surprised than Stewart.

            “I did, didn’t I” he beamed. “How did I do that?”

            “Let me get the ball, and you can try it again.” So Stewart got the ball, and Alexander whacked it again.

            “Wow!” Stewart shouted.

            “Hiss-sss,” Alexander exclaimed.

            “Gee, Alexander,” Stewart said. “I didn’t know you knew how to play soccer.”

            “What’s-sss sss-soccer? asked Alexander innocently.

            “You mean you never played before?”

            “I –I don’t think sss-so.”
            “You’re a natural. My team has a game at 4 this afternoon at the park. We’re short a player. Why don’t you come over. I’m sure we can use another guy. You’re not 10 yet are you?”

“No,” Alexander said slowly. “I’m not 10. But they won’t let me play, will they?

“Why not? The way you can kick?”

“Are you sure they would want ME?”

“Well, I don’t think anyone will care how many arms or legs you have if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Not exactly,” Alexander said. “You gotta remember that I’M a boa…a boa…a boa…ah, forget it. I’ll sss-see you later.”

“Four o’clock at the park,” reminded Stewart, grabbing his ball and heading for home. “Sss-see you this afternoon,” he kidded.

“Oh, boy,” Alexander said, as he slithered away. “What have I gotten myself into now?”

                                                 CHAPTER 3

 Alexander arrived at the park at five minutes to 4 just in time to see boys of all sizes running after soccer balls. He and Stewart saw each other at the same time.

“Hey, Alexander,” Stewart yelled. “I told the coach you would be coming. He’s anxious to meet you.”

“M-meet m-me,” Alexander stuttered. “You didn’t say that I would have to meet sss-somebody.”

“Well, geez, Alexander, it’s on Coach.” He pushed him over toward a stocky man in a sweatshirt with a whistle around his neck.

“Coach,” Stewart said, “this is the kid I was telling you about. Alexander, this is Coach Max.”

But Alexander had coiled up into a ball with his head tucked into his center.

“This is Alexander?” the coach asked in surprise.

“Yeah,” Stewart signed. “I forgot to tell you that he’s a little bashful.”

“Well,” Coach Max chuckled. “I’m glad to meet you, Alexander, but I’m afraid you’ll have to uncoil if you want to play soccer.”

“Oh, he’ll uncoil all right, Coach,” Stewart said assuredly.

“And he’s under 10?”

“Well,” explained Stewart,” he’s over 10 feet long, but he’s under 10 years old if that’s what you mean.”

“Hmmm,” said Coach Max, touching Alexander’s dry skin. “We could use some length on this team – but can he play soccer?”

“If you just give him a chance, Coach,” Stewart pleased.

“What’s-sss sss-soccer,” Alexander lifted his head and hissed before tucking it into his center again.

The coach looked at him. “What did he say?”

“Oh, nothing,” Stewart said quickly. “He’s just psyching himself up.”

“Now let me get this straight,” the coach said. “You want Alexander here to be on our team?”

“Sure,” Stewart said, holding Alexander’s big head in his arms. “See this flat head?”

“Yeah?” said the coach.

“It’s perfect for doing headers.”

“Can’t argue with you there,” smiled Coach Max.

“And just look at this tail,” said Stewart. “Why there’s all sorts of things he could do with this tail.”

The coach folded his arms, “Like what for instance?”

“Well,” said Stewart, trying to think fast. “He can hang from the goal and swat balls away.”

“I don’t know,” Coach Max frowned, shaking his head. “I don’t think he can play.”

“He can’t?” Stewart asked, surprised. “Why not?”

“There’s just one problem,” he said, walking around the coiled Alexander.

Suddenly, Alexander’s head popped up.

“Sss-see Sss-Stewart,” he cried out. “I told you they would never let me play.”

“It’s a league rule,” Coach Max said. “I’m sorry. You ought to know that, Stewart.”

Alexander almost exploded. “There’s even a rule against boas playing sss-soccer. I new it.”

Coach Max interrupted. “There’s a rule against playing without soccer shoes.”

“Soccer shoes?” Stewart asked.

“Sss-soccer sss-shoes?” Alexander repeated.

“Soccer shoes,” said Coach Max.

“Oh,” said Stewart.

“Oh,” said Alexander.

Alexander turned dejectedly and start5ed to slither off the field.

“Wait, Alexander. There must be something we can do.” He looked at Alexander’s tail. “I have an idea,” he said excitedly. He ran back to Coach Max and whispered something to him.

“Oh, all right, Stewart. You can go home but come right back.”

“Wait for me, Alexander,” Stewart shouted as he galloped off. “I’ll be right back.”:

Alexander dragged himself over to the sidelines. “I don’t have anything better to do today.” he said sadly.

Stewart ran back in a few minutes, carrying a brown paper bag. He opened it up and showed Alexander.

“Here,” he said triumphantly. “It’s one of my father’s old soccer shoes. He wore size 13.”

“You mean you want me to wear THAT?” Alexander looked uneasy.

“Sure. Let me tie it on.”

Stewart put the shoe on Alexander’s tail and tied it on. It just fit. Then he pulled an old red jersey and a red sweat band out of the bag and put them on Alexander.

“You look great!” exclaimed Stewart. You look like a real soccer player.”

“Really?” Alexander asked. “I feel a little ridiculous-sss.”

The whistle blew, and Coach Max looked at Alexander.

“That’s great, Alexander,” he laughed. “Now you can play. Just take a spot on the bench.”

Stewart’s team, the Red Raiders were playing the Star Trekkies, one of the best teams in the league. They were loaded with big kids.

Stewart was captain today, and he got to flip the coin. Unfortunately, the Raiders lost and the Trekkies elected to kickoff. Both teams lined up – the forwards, the halfbacks, the fullbacks and the goalie. Stewart was playing halfback because he was good on both offense and defense.

The Trekkies kicked off, and the Red Raiders took the ball and started up the field. However, they were quickly intercepted by No. 12 who passed to No. 10, and he started downfield. But Stewart was there to intercept him and kick away the ball. But the Trekkies took it back and continued toward the goal line.

No. 8 passed back to No. 12 who moved the ball to No. 7 who passed it to No. 12 who pushed it across to No. 5 who took a shot on goal. The hard kick went right through Brian MacTavish’s fingers for the first goal of the game.

“Wow,” a boy sitting next to Alexander said. “Those guys are really good. This is gonna be a long game.”

He was almost right. In the second half, the game was 4 to 1, and all the Red Raiders had played except Alexander.

“I’m glad I didn’t tell my mother about the game,” Alexander muttered to himself. “I knew I would never get  to play.”

Suddenly, Alexander heard the coach calling his name.

“Alexander, I’ve called you three times now. Don’t you wanna play?

“Sss-sure,” Alexander said. “I guess-sss sss-so.”

“Well, get in the game at center fullback for Bobby.”

“Yes-sss sss-sir,” Alexander jumped up and bellied onto the field. He didn’t know where the center fullback position was, but he did know where Bobby was playing. So he went to the position and sent the other boy off the field.

That’s when the kids started laughing. Not just the Trekkies but his own teammates.

“Look at that,” a big kid on the other team cried out. “Didja ever see anything sot funny?”

“No,” laughed No. 12. “Isn’t he a riot?”

Alexander stopped in his tracks.

“Whatsamatter?” he asked. “Ain’t you ever sss-seen a boa constrictor before?”

“A boa what? Little No. 5 asked.

“I don’t know,” screamed No. 12, “but those are the biggest feet I have ever seen.”

“Especially on a kid,” chimed in the curly-haired No. 7.

“Sss-shoe,” Alexander corrected them indignantly, wrapping himself into a coil. “That’sss a sss-shoe,” he hissed before tucking his head into his center. This was his most embarrassing moment ever.

All the other kids stopped laughing and looked at Alexander.

“Hey, we can’t play soccer with him lying in the middle of the field like that.”

Coach Max ran over. “You’re right. Alexander, you’re gonna hafta get off the field if you wanna play.”

Stewart ran over to Alexander and whispered to him.

“C.mon, Alexander. You can’t do this. You’ll wreck everything.:”

“But they ‘re all laughing at me,” Alexander whispered back. “Besides this was a dumb idea. You know I don’t know anything about sss-soccer.”

“So what’s to know?” Stewart grinned. “Just keep swatting the ball with your tail, er, shoe like you did the other day.”
            “Oh, I don’t know….”

“C’mon, Stewart,” Coach Max said patiently., “You better get Alexander off the field so we can get on with the game.”

But now Stewart took Coach Max aside and whispered in his ear. Meanwhile, Alexander did not move.

“Coach Max looked at Stewart. “Well, if you think so. Maybe we could try it. Okay, boys, everything’s okay. Let’s play ball.”

“With him right in the middle of the field?” asked No. 13

Max nodded. “He’ll be all right.”

Stewart sidled over to Alexander who was still coiled up and whispered to him. “Get ready, Alexander. You wanted a chance to play. You better take it.”

But Alexander never moved a muscle.

The Trekkies kicked off again, and the Raiders stopped the ball and started advancing toward the Trekkies’ goal. But the other team intercepted the ball again and went after the Raiders.

A player was coming right toward Alexander when he peeked out to see what all the excitement was about and saw a ball headed right towards him – a sure goal.

Out of self defense, Alexander leaped out of the way, lashing out with his tail and blasting the ball half way down the field.

Several kids topped in their tacks.

“Wow! Did you see that?”

“Way to go, Alexander,” Stewart shouted.

Now Alexander was awake. The Trekkies came toward them again, but Alexander intercepted the ball with his tail and whipped it up the field again.

Suddenly, the whistle blew, and Coach Max called the Red Raiders over to a huddle.

“That’s the way to play defense, Alexander,” Coach Max exclaimed. “Joe, you and Alexander exchange positions. I want Alexander to play forward.”

Alexander gulped. He didn’t know what a forward was, but it sounded important.

“F-forward?” he asked.

“Sure Alexander,” Steward exclaimed. “You can do it.”

So Alexander went out onto the field where the coach pointed and waited.

“Just keep going after the ball, Alexander,” he yelled. “Just keep following the ball.”

So Alexander slithered this way, and he slithered that way. Wherever the ball went, he slithered  -- or tried. When the ball came his way, a mighty seep of his tail sent it rocketing toward the Trekkies’ goal line.

Alexander was sensational. He made three goals, tied the score, and the Raiders were delirious with joy.

“Aw-right, Alexander.”

“Way to go, Alexander.”

“Gimme five, Alexander; Whoops, you can’t gimme five. Gimme what you got.”

Alexander was excited, and he still wanted to win the game. He knew there was only about a minute left, so when the ball came to him he was ready.

But so was the other team. Everyone surrounded his tail so he couldn’t swing it.

But Alexander the Great had them fooled. Stewart passed him the ball, and Alexander coiled up like a spring – he was good at coiling – made a mighty leap into the air and headed the ball into net for the winning goal.

The Red Raiders won 5-4, and they were beside themselves.

“Three cheers for Alexander,” the team screamed. “Two, four six, eight, who do we appreciate: Alexander, Alexander, Alexander!”

Alexander was so embarrassed he was blushing red and lavender, but he didn’t coil up into a ball, and he didn’t tuck his head into his center.

His teammates were on him in a flash, and it took all 13 of them to lift him into the air, and carry him off the field. He looked like a proud snake with 26 short legs.

“Yea, Alexander,” everyone screamed. He’s our boa. If he can’t do it, no one can.”

Alexander would have busted his buttons if he had any. When he saw Stewart, he was so excited that he wrapped himself around the boy and licked his cheek with his long, long, wet, wet tongue

“Yech,” Stewart laughed. “I’ve never been kissed by a Boa before.”

“And I never played in a sss-soccer game before,” Alexander said happily.

Stewart was all set to reply when he saw Alexander’s mother across the field, slithering up and down the sidelines, waving to her son, tears in her eyes. Other mothers were trying to congratulate her, but she was only interested in getting to Alexander.

Alexander was not really surprised to see his mother. She always seemed to know what he was up to.

“Sss-see, Ma,” Alexander yelled. “I always told you that it doesn’t matter what you are. It’s-sss what you have inside that counts-sss.”

Alexander’s mother just smiled back and lovingly hissed.

                                                   The End