Today's Mostly True Short Story: The Scrimmage.

Words and photo by F LoBuono

The Scrimmage

Since it was preseason and this was not an official game, the stands were virtually empty. No marching bands blared school fight songs. No cheerleaders where present to root on their teams. The sounds of the quarterback barking his signals went uninterrupted by cheers or jeers. At the snap of the ball the collision of the players smashing into one another reminded me of the sound of a steel door slamming. Finally, whistles blowing, the coaches would stop the action and rush in to either congratulate or admonish a player, depending on the outcome of the play. It was a bizarre, violent ballet. I guess that’s what I loved about it. Despite the violence, there was also an inherent beauty within the game. It’s this contrast, I think, that first drew me to the game of football, and still does.

The action would be a welcomed break from the monotony of training camp by allowing us to finally compete against another team instead of each other. It would be a “controlled” scrimmage and not a “real” game, i.e. coaches would be allowed on the field to provide instruction wherever, and whenever, needed. I was not scheduled to start but was slated for some playing time during the latter part of the contest. Because of my success as a freshman (I was a starter on both offense and defense), the coaches wanted to see what potential I might have on the varsity level. I was long (almost 5’10”), lean (about 140 lbs.), and cat-quick. Man, I could really run then. And, I was intensely competitive. Despite my slim physique, I was anxious to prove that I belonged with the Big Boys.

As the scrimmage began, I actually got to watch the action unfold from behind our defense, rather than from the sidelines. It provided an interesting perspective. The coaches would point out, in real time, why a play was successful or not, depending on what they had observed. Personally, I marveled at the speed and aggression of the players. It was all happening much faster than it had in practice, which in turn was much faster than what I had experienced as a freshman player. I couldn't help but think: these guys are really good. Was I REALLY ready to compete? I was soon to find out.

After about an hour of intense action, most of the front line players would yield the field to the younger ones, including me. The coaches called for me to “get my helmet on and be ready to get in there”! My heart began to race and my heart pound. This was everything that I had trained for. I had worked out with weights all summer and designed a special diet of mostly protein shakes to prepare myself for the rigors of the season. I had increased my weight and strength drastically. I was as ready as I was going to be. I buckled my chin strap, focused my energy, and waited for the command. Finally, it came: “LoBuono, GET IN THERE”!

Without hesitation, I sprinted to take my position in the defensive backfield. I was going to play strong safety. My main responsibilities would be to cover the tight end on passing plays and support the run (i.e. tackle) on the others. In addition to speed and strength, the position required a certain technique to play it successfully. This is where the coaching came in. And, I was well coached. The man responsible for play of the defensive backfield was “Coach Larry”. A former player himself, Coach Larry might be best described as a refrigerator with a head, i.e. he’s thick. Down deep, he is a kind and caring soul. On the surface, he is an exploding volcano. His speech is so animated that it usually involved sharing a little of his spittle with you. He couldn’t help it. He loved the game, loved coaching, and it showed. Instructions came out of his frothing mouth in torrents – watch for the screen, watch for the draw, watch for the square-out, watch for the square-in, watch for the short pass, watch for the long pass - just watch for EVERYTHING!

I buckled my chin strap, inserted my mouthpiece and made the final adjustments to my equipment to assume my position. Coach Larry, as was his custom, grabbed me by my facemask and, placing his face an inch or so from mine, added one last instruction: don’t forget, if the corner forces the running back inside, I want you there to make the tackle. I understood- if the offense ran an end sweep, the corner back would prevent the running back from turning the end of the line and force him back into the defense where I would be waiting. We were setting a trap.

I charged into the defensive huddle where my teammates were planning their next alignment. Now, the huddle was a mixture of veteran players and rookies, it was easy to spot the difference - the uniforms of the veterans, having already played most of the scrimmage, were streaked with sweat and caked with mud. The rookies’, not yet bloodied, were shinning like new dimes. We broke the huddle with a hardy clap and a unifying shout of DEFENSE. I took my position as the last man – literally. They don’t call the position safety for nothing. No one was to get passed me. I liked having that responsibility.

The quarterback barked his signals, Red 19, Red 19, Hut, Hut, Hut, and the ball was snapped. It was to be an end sweep! He pitched the ball to the running back who was circling behind him. The back made a mad dash for the sideline. As he reached the end of the line, our cornerback, doing his job, was right there to force him away from the sideline and back into the field of play. I saw the whole thing unfold – just as the coaches had diagrammed it on the blackboard. I was ready. I placed myself at an angle where I thought the runner would be forced to turn. I had calculated perfectly. He was heading right for me! I prepared myself to deliver the blow and stop the play. I crouched into a tight ball, turning my legs into steel-like springs. I flexed every muscle in my body. I was going to stop this running play cold. Perfect. Then – WHAM!!!

I’m not sure how much time had actually elapsed, but the next thing I remembered was lying on my back, looking straight up at the sky with Coach Larry straddling me, screaming, OH MY GOD, SON! YOU’VE GOT TO PROTECT YOURSELF OUT THERE. YOU ARE GOING TO GET KILLED! All the while, little drops of his saliva were spraying all over my prone body. I was so confused. I had no idea what happened. One second I was ready to play the hero in my first varsity action, and the next I’m wondering not only where I am, but who I am! When Coach asked if I knew who I was, my response was “Monday”. Apparently (I had to actually be told this), just as I thought I had set up the running back for a big hit, one of the offensive lineman was doing the same to me. In my tunnel vision to tackle the running back, I was not aware of all that was going on around me – you know, the BIG picture. The offensive lineman, apparently, was. When he saw the opportunity, he took it and knocked me into an altered state of consciousness.

A few moments later (it felt like an hour), I was able to somewhat regain my composure and I began to pull myself together, wits first. Coach Larry helped me to my feet where I readjusted by equipment. I was hit so hard that I had to practically redress myself. Coach Larry had backed off a bit and now had his arm around me as we walked off the field. He spoke more gently and, again, admonished me to always be aware of my surroundings on the field. He didn't want to see me get hurt.

After a few plays I was able to regain my composure and return to action. I overcame that embarrassment and many others to actually have a decent career playing football on the high school, college, and semi-professional level. I even went on to coach it for a time – always remembering that on the field, as in life, you must be prepared for the unexpected. Things don’t necessarily unfold the way we want them to. Life has a way of knocking you down. It’s going to happen. It’s the getting up that counts the most.

Today's MOZEN: We Can Do It If We Try - Eliminating Hunger

Words and photo by F LoBuono

This is absolutely no good reason for anyone, anywhere in the world, to go hungry. None. It's not that we lack the food but, rather, the will to make it happen. Why? Why? The only answer is greed and laziness.

The first step is to raise your awareness. So, the next time you sit down for a sumptuous meal, take a moment to reflect on those who have little or NO food. Then, get off your asses and MAKE IT HAPPEN. When you find yourself in the market, consider buying an extra can of soup, a package of pasta, or even a can of beans and donating it a local food pantry. I know some of us struggle to make ends meet, but, if you can, a few pennies spent can make a huge difference in another's life. You don't have to be a millionaire to help. In fact, it's the little things that make the biggest difference. AND, it'll make you feel really good for doing it. :)

Let's eradicate hunger. We can do it if we try!!

Today's MOZEN: Might Does Not Make Right 1/6/2015

By F LoBuono

The other day I picked up my copy of "The Life and Selected Writings of Thomas Jefferson". I had read a good deal of it years ago but never finished all of it - it's pretty weighty! Anyway, it was lying on top of a stack of other books and it just caught my eye for no particular reason. I decided to pick it up and randomly selected a page. This is what I found on page 321. It's an excerpt from his Inauguration Speech March 4, 1801:

A rising nation, spread over a wise and fruitful land, traversing all the seas with rich production of their industry , engaged in commerce with nations who feel power and forget right . . . 

Now, of course, at the time Jefferson was writing this, America was a fledgling nation, barely 25 years old. So, he was writing from the perspective that WE were the little guy, struggling to find our place among great nations. Well, 214 years later, the shoe is on the other foot. We are now the big guy with the big clout - the BIGGEST clout. And it's been that way for some time now. Many would say that we are the ones who feel power and forget right. At times, they certainly have a point.

That's why we must remember what Jefferson said and apply that principle to everything that we do as a Country. For example, we recently debated the use of torture against our enemies - those who have and would cause us great harm. Many say if it can save lives, it must be done. Others cry that torture is inconsistent with our moral stance as a Country and cannot be accepted under any circumstance. I am among the later. We must never become one of the nations who feel power and forget right. It defines us as a Nation. It was true when it was founded over 200 years ago and it still rings true today - but only if we strive to make right over might - always.

Mario Cuomo: A Memory

Photo AP, Words F LoBuono

1/3/15

Mario Cuomo: A Memory

It was my first big assignment. If my memory serves me correctly, it was 1984 or 85. I had recently taken a position with the local cable company, TKR Cable, as a producer/reporter. As a public service, cable television companies, which were in their infancy, were offering exclusive coverage of local events that would then be cablecast on their own channel. In the case of TKR Cable it was Local Channel 30. On that day, New York Governor Mario Cuomo was scheduled to speak at the Holiday Inn in Suffern, NY. He would be addressing the Rockland County Republican Parties’ annual luncheon crowd. My job was to shoot his speech and, if possible, see if I could get the Governor to answer a question or two after he spoke.

I was excited for the assignment from a number of standpoints. First, I wanted to prove myself in my new position. This would provide me with an opportunity to do so. Second, Cuomo, at the time, was at the height of his power. He was a rising star in the Democratic Party and had the reputation as a spell-binding speaker. I also admired him personally. I found quite a bit in his personal narrative to relate to. He was the son of working class Italian immigrants, an athlete, a progressive, and a scholar. I liked what he stood for and how he conducted himself. If I had a role model besides my father, it was Mario Cuomo.

TKR Cable couldn’t have been smaller. The whole production department consisted of three people. So, needless to say, I would be handling this assignment by myself. I grabbed my camera, tripod, and microphone and headed to The Holidome (The Holiday Inn’s banquet hall) in Suffern. I set myself up in the back and waited for the crowd and the Governor to arrive. Eventually, the hall filled with, by my estimates, about 400 people, all eagerly awaiting Cuomo’s arrival. When he did, he bounded up to the podium to thunderous applause. I was immediately struck by his bearing and demeanor. He surveyed the crowd, basking in the adulation as his did. But, I did not sense arrogance in his gaze. It was more like supreme confidence. He knew they were there to see HIM and that he would not disappoint.

Now, remember; this was the Rockland County REPUBLICAN Party luncheon and they were there to listen to the PROGESSIVE, Democratic governor of New York. Oil and water, right? Wrong! Right from the beginning, he won the crowd. That was the immense power of Mario Cuomo. He was direct. He was honest. He was witty. He was charming. He was fearless. He was EVERYTHING you wanted a leader to be - supremely capable and confident. He knew it and he made YOU know it, too! He held the crowd in the palm of his hand. He made them laugh and, most importantly, he made them think. Even though there were hundreds in attendance, it was as if he spoke to each and every one individually. I found it awesome.

After his speech was over, the Governor started to make his way towards the exit. I broke down my camera as quickly as I could so that I could rush over and attempt to get him to answer a question before he left. When I finally caught up with Cuomo he was surrounded by his security detail, entourage, and a slew of reporters. He was striding towards the exit, brushing off all of the questions he was being peppered with.  As a young, unknown reporter I thought that I certainly had no chance of him answering one of mine. But, certainly, it couldn’t hurt to try. I blurted out my question - something concerning his stance on public education (as I recall). Suddenly, he stopped, turned, and walked back in my direction. My heart raced. It was so deliberate. I wasn’t sure if he was pleased by my question or annoyed with it. There I was, camera and mic in hand, alone, when he stepped right in front of me. He answered my question coolly, calmly, and directly, never losing eye contact.  As with his speech, he spoke to me as if there was no one else in the room. I found it extraordinary. After a complete answer, he smiled, turned on his heel, and strode out the door the same way he came in – in complete command. I have not forgotten. And I never will. In the thirty-plus years since that encounter, I have photographed or interviewed many of the most influential people in the world – from Hollywood to D.C. – from Angelina Jolie to Barack Obama and none have been more impressive than Mario Cuomo. None.

Today's MOZEN: The Subtlety of Racism

Words and photo by F LoBuono

My ancestors are Sicilian - on both sides. My mother's family comes from a small, baroque village in the eastern part of the island, San Salvatore di Fitalia. My father's village is an ancient town in the west near Palermo and is called Lercare Friddi. Both of these villages are rich in culture and history.

Whenever I tell someone that I am of Sicilian ancestry, I often get a strange response. I believe people think that what they are saying to me is funny without really thinking about it. They will ask something like, do you know how close Sicily is to Africa? Or, you know, you probably have "black" blood in you or Arab blood. Really? This is the subtlety of racism. So subtle that they are not even aware how downright insulting that is. The implication is that you are somehow inferior because of  "black genes" somewhere in your background.  And, I've heard this not only from other nationalities but Italians, as well. My response is always one of "polite indignation": I explain to them that I have the best genes possible - those of poets, scholars, adventurers, lovers, warriors and conquerors.  And, some of those people may have even been black*!

In a sense, they might as well have called me nigger! Because, deep in their hearts, that's what they think. I have heard these insults my whole life and I still do (it recently happened again) - and, yet, although dark skinned, I am white. I can only imagine what people of real color must endure. I am sure that when it's not blatant, it is nuanced. But, it is almost always THERE.

Because we have a mixed-race President, people are saying that there is little, if any, racism left in this Country. Well, having experienced it personally, even on the most subtle level, I can tell you that racism is indeed alive and well. If I can feel it as a Sicilian (yes, my skin is dark), I'm sure that our President has encountered it on many occasions in the past. I think that he still does and that it is the single greatest obstacle to his presidency.

Have race relations improved in the last fifty years? Why, yes, they have. Are we now living in a diverse society where race plays NO role? Hardly. We experience it every day, each of us in our own way. Racism is not always loud and obvious. Sometimes, we are the objects of a racism so subtle that it is hardly noticed. Others are the purveyors of such "quiet"racism that they hardly even notice that they are practicing it (like the comments of Sicily being close to Africa). It's an insidious force that creeps into our everyday lives and becomes entrenched in our psyches.

I believe that the current protests around the Country, inspired by the recent deaths of young black men at the hands of white police officers, are a result of an awakening to the sting of racism. The police maintain that the killings were not racially motivated and were justified. Obviously, not everyone believes that. Certainly, on a daily basis, the police do a difficult and dangerous job. The great majority of them do it well. However, their current actions have drawn enough attention to the issue of race and the police, and policing in general, as to dominate our national conversation. There are just too many people involved for this to be an anomaly. But, this should not be looked as an indictment of the police. It is as an opportunity to heal, deal with the issues, and move one, leaving racism behind us. Subtlety.


* The patron saint of my mother's village is San Cologero, a Moor.

Today's MOZEN: Catch 22

I have no tolerance for intolerance. Does that make me self loathing?

Short Story: The Dream

Words and photo by F LoBuono

He was pudgy with the kind of soft body created by years of having other people do all the hard lifting for him. Anything physical was not so much beneath his dignity as it was for the fact that he lacked the discipline to push himself to be more fit. Soft and lazy. All of that goo was covered in a perfectly tailored, blue pinstriped suit, and was capped by an equally fleshy face. His hair was red and perfectly trimmed, his eyes a piercing blue.

Despite the fact that I had repeatedly asked him not to do so, he get pointing his finger in my face with a look of indignity on his. He stood close enough for me to smell an overabundance of after shave - part of a businessman's good grooming, I suppose. The more I asked him to stop, the more he insisted on pointing that damned fat finger in my face.

Although committed to nonviolence, this guy was really pissing me off. I felt my blood rising. My temples were pounding.  His appearance, his demeanor, his very presence was contrary to everything that I stood for. He was a all sound and fury, signifying nothing. He may have felt superior, but he was not! I wasn't going to take it much longer. And I didn't. After one, final poke, I lost it. I have a fierce temper and the monster within me could no longer be contained. I just exploded.

With both hands, I reached for and grabbed him around the neck. I began to clamp down on his throat. I am not a big man but I have incredibly strong hands. When anyone needs a stuck jar top opened, I'm the guy that they turn to. Now, those hands were firmly locked around his throat and I started to squeeze. Vice-like, tighter and tighter I gripped. The muscles and tendons in my forearms contracted like steel cables. The veins in my neck began to bulge. My teeth were clenched, my eyes narrow and focused. My only thought was to apply more and more pressure. And I did.

He was powerless to stop me. I kept squeezing - tighter and tighter. As I did, he began to fall backwards, my hands still firmly clamped around his throat. I did not let go and followed him all the way to the ground. Still, I would not release my death grip. Then, my eyes met his. I saw a look of terror come over him. We had both reached the point of no return. He knew that his life was in serious jeopardy and he was powerless to prevent it. It filled him with a palpable fear. I could see it clearly. In fact, it was so strong, I could practically smell it. And the more frightened he became, the more powerful I felt. I was in control - not him. And, quite frankly, it felt good. Years of pent up frustrations were coursing through my body and into my hands - literally. I kept squeezing. I would not stop. I could not stop. He would know MY power!

Then, I woke up.

Today's MOZEN: Christmas, 2014

Words and photo by F LoBuono

Most of you have seen him before - Rex, a.k.a. Chowderhead (the not-so-flattering nickname I gave him to describe his mental capacity). He is my most photogenic and gentle giant. He was a shelter rescue so we don't know his exact age. We were told he was about two when we adopted him. We've had him for about eight years now. So, he is approaching his twilight years. Considering his age and his size (he's a BIG guy, around 120 lbs.), he is in excellent health.

Rex is also a most gentle, patient creature, giving love back every time that he gets it (you can tell by his reaction to the many compromising positions I photograph him in). And, he does so to all regardless of age, color, sex, religious affiliation, or other condition. If you love him, he will love you back, unconditionally. Anyone who has owned a dog knows exactly what I'm talking about. There is a purity about it that makes me envious. I want to be like that - to give love without reservation.

In other words, he is the living embodiment of the Christmas Spirit. We could all use a little more of that in our lives - not only for the Holidays but EVERYDAY.

Me, Rex, and all of those who have contributed to TalkFrank though out the year wish you all, peace, prosperity, health, happiness, and, above all else, LOVE!

MERRY CHRISTMAS - HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO ALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Today's MOZEN: Reject Violence 12/21/2014

Words and Photo by F LoBuono

I detest violence in all its forms. I reject it. I condemn it. There is no place for it. No excuses. Violence degrades the abuser to the same degree as the abused. There are no winners - no real victors, for the victims are never truly vanquished. Violence simply perpetuates hate in a never ending cycle of revenge.

Often, compassion is mistaken for weakness. However, those that do so make a grave mistake, for the opposite is true. It takes the greatest of courage to reject anger, hate, violence, and brutality, especially in the face of those who would so gladly inflict it upon us. The easy way is to strike back and hit them even harder! But, do not yield to that flash of anger. The more difficult choice is to reject that impulse.  Understand the anger within you and then place where it belongs - somewhere that monster can do no harm.

If we believe that, ultimately, good triumphs over evil, we must also know that this is not a scenario that just happens just by itself. We have to help it along the way by reaching a level of compassion where love always triumphs over hate. People will laugh and say that this way of thinking is the worst kind of naivety: the meek will NOT inherit the earth - they will be beheaded! However, if this is the case why do we bother with morality, spirituality, and divinity? It's always been strange to me that the people usually most vocal in calling for revenge and espousing hate are the ones who consider themselves "religious". The whole point of religion and morality is to become, in a sense, divine. Christians strive to become Christlike. Buddhists yearn to be come the Buddha, and so on. And the way to become so is to value love above all else.

It's never easy and I have more questions than answers. I know that fanatics like ISIS must be stopped. Yes, sometimes, we must fight - literally. But, even then, we must reject brutality. We must understand that nothing happens in a vacuum. Our enemies' hate is a response to our own and so on and so forth! To reject violence in the end is the only way to break the cycle. The question remains; who will have the courage to do so first?

Today's MOZEN. The Festival of Lights. 12/19/2014

Words by F LoBuono

As of this writing, we are in the midst of Hanukkah, a.k.a. the Jewish Festival of Lights. Its origins and traditions are ancient, dating back to the Second Century, B.C. Basically, it celebrates the victory of the Jews, led by the Maccabees, over their Greek-Syrian oppressors. The great Temple of Solomon, the symbol of the Jewish people, once destroyed by their enemies, was rebuilt and rededicated with the lighting of the Menorah, or ceremonial oil lamp. Originally, there was only enough oil for the lamp to burn for just one day. However, miraculously, the lamp burned for eight days - enough time to locate and secure more sacred to oil to burn, theoretically, forever.

This year, however, it seems so hard to find the light. Fanaticism, cruelty, barbarity, and greed seem to be in ready supply while kindness, compassion, wisdom, and generosity are sorely lacking. Recently, the barbaric ISIS murdered, in the coldest of blood, over one hundred and thirty school children in Pakistan. How can we turn away? How can we not be ANGRY and OUTRAGED? Atrocities like this make it easier to be hard. Easier to say no. We feel that it makes us less vulnerable. We think that the only way to end cruelty is with inflicting even greater, more vicious attrocities on our enemies. But, does meeting this brutality with even more brutality really make us better or even safer? This question came clearly into focus with the Senate's recent report of the use of torture by the US on those we consider enemies of the State.

ISIS needs to be stopped. Their level of cruelty has no place in the world. However, meeting their level of barbarity with an equal or greater amount of our own will solve nothing. We must find a way to finally stop the never ending cycle of violence. Remember, nothing happens in a vacumn. They hurt us. We hurt them even worse. And on and on. Therefore, to accomplish this, it will take a new way of thinking - one that transcends our baser needs for revenge and blood letting. We must step out of the darkness of hate and anger and into the light of acceptance and kindness. It brings to mind a friend's posting that I saw on Facebook. It was written in celebration of  The Festival of Lights:

You cannot chase away darkness with a stick. You have to turn on the light. The way to eliminate darkness - to rid the world of ignorance, negativity, hatred and greed - is to kindle the lights of knowledge, generosity, hope, and love.

Chag Sameach