It's ON

THE FOX CHAPEL CREW CLUB HEREBY OFFICALLY CHALLENGES THE CENTRAL CATHOLIC CREW CLUB TO THE 2^ND ANNUAL ALLEGHENY BOAT RACE

FOX CHAPEL VS. CENTRAL CATHOLIC

THE ALLEGHENY BOAT RACE

TO ESTABLISH THE FASTEST HIGH SCHOOL CREW IN WESTERN PENNSYLVANIA

When: THE 4^th OF NOVEMBER 2006 2:30 PM

THE CHALLENGE:

1^ST VARSITY 8+ - 4 MILES

2^ND VARSITY 8+- 3 MILES

3^RD VARSITY 4+ 1.5 MILES

1^ST NOVICE 8+ 1500 METERS

2^ND NOVICE 8+ 1500 METERS

THE STAKES:

TO THE VICTOR: BRAGGING RIGHTS AND THE SHIRTS OFF THE LOSERS’ BACKS

SHOULD YOU CHOOSE TO ACCEPT THIS CHALLENGE, ATTACH A SIGNED COPY OF THIS DOCUMENT TO THE FRONT OF THE FOX CHAPEL CABINET NO LATER THAN OCTOBER 24, 2006

“The strong do what they will; the weak suffer what they must.”

-Thucydides

CAPITANS 06-07 FC CREW

CAPITANS 06-07 CC CREW

Categories: Rowing, Regattas, CC, FC

Mentors, Part II

I don't know when Justin decided he had something special going on in 1996. The group of guys he recruited for that class weren't big "names" in the rowing community. Hans had been on the US Junior National team, and I had been on the selecion list. I don't know how else one recruited rowers back then. Nobody from Yale ever came out and watched me row. Jamie, a former women's coach in Cincinnati then working with the Yale crew, had told Justin about my insane lifting habits. That was it. I have no idea how we were all found.

The personalities couldn't have been more different. Prep school boys, west coast dudes, a lunatic Yankee fan from New York, a Philly kid who acted like a surfer, an uppity Brit and some hick from Kentucky (me). The lightweight team had recruited two coxswains and Justin managed to get Steve to join us. Eight recruits and one perfectionist coxswain. Four different rowing styles.

Justin let us figure each other out before he really started working with us. His hands were full teaching the novice guys how to row, so we were tossed in with the returning varsity members. (Talk about being thrown into the deep end of the pool!) We spent some time together those first few weeks of school, getting to know each other and deciding if we could stand these guys. Steve and I were roomates, so we had to get along. The rest of us would go out once a week or so, and have dinner together every night after practice.

Justin was more of a big brother type. We nicknamed him the "gerbil on crack" (sorry) for his high energy level. He taught us, but with enthusiasm. "You need to really sit up straight, Skuban. You'll get more reach that way, saw real big logs through the water, really make that boat fly." Everyone had a different issue that needed to be fixed. I had been taught to row with my outside thumb on top of the handle, a habit that drove Justin nuts. All of our styles had to be broken back down and brought in line with each other.

I want to make something very clear: Justin's masterstroke was figuring our lineup early on and leaving it mostly alone. Alex was the tallest of us, but was a brilliant stroke. I think Justin figured that out by the second practice, and nobody else ever stroked the boat. Hans and I were the strongest ergs and were six and five. I grumbled to myself, wanting my accustomed seven seat, but Steve bluntly told me my technique wasn't up to that level yet. "Jimbo" the Yankee fan sat behind me in four, and we would growl at each other through rough practices, pushing each other along. The only change Justin ever made in the lineup was switching Quentin and Nathan from seven to bow. He also put a novice into two in the spring. The core of the boat never changed, and that allowed us to build "swing" over the endless miles of training.

We came in second at the Head of the Charles, behind Harvard. Justin had set us up with some knee-high soccer socks to wear in the race, calling them "full potential." I was annoyed to lose to Harvard, especially after we started so far back in the pack. It would take a few years for me to understand what an accomplishment that second place was. Perhaps Justin had an idea then.

That crew was built for real in the winter. Justin hung a huge poster up in the training room, listing every workout result we did. Hans and I started trash-talking about erg scores, the beginning of a friendship that brought him to my wedding as best man. Our technical issues were ironed out during hours of work in Yale's rowing tanks. Saturday "hell practices" found Justin throwing us against the varsity in erg relays and "vertical death" sprints up Payne Whitney Gym. (The info in that link says "nine and one half stories tall." Trust me, each of those "half stories" has ten foot ceilings and the stairs to climb.)

I think we figured there might be something about that crew after spring break in Tampa. Wednesday morning practices were 5x1500m. Our third varsity would get a head start, then we would start with the second varsity and the lightweight first boat. Then our varsity would chase us all down. We would beat the JV every time, and the lights 4 out of 5.

Princeton was the dominant crew that year, and the Yale-Princeton-Cornell race was in Princeton that year. Justin got us really jacked up the night before, and I didn't sleep well. Our victory there brought a cocky attitude. Justin did everything he could to keep us challenged during practice leading up to Eastern Sprints. That race went wrong. Really wrong.

Princeton took off, seven seats up, taking Brown with them. We didn't catch Brown until 8oom left, and I thought we would lose. Steve didn't let us give up, and we crawled back in. Steve started our sprint at 600m out, and I remember looking down at my legs and thinking "this is going to really hurt." We pulled even with 200 to go, and people later told me Princeton's two seat had checked out by that point.

That crew was not designed to come from behind. I don't think Justin ever considered that we would be that far back. What won that race was our belief in each other, forged over months in rowing basically the same lineup, and Steve's command under pressure. While Justin hadn't predicted how that race would unfold, he had prepared that crew by letting us row together for so long.

We could do no wrong after Eastern Sprints. Training for the Harvard-Yale race was Justin's opportunity to play. We learned a flutter, raced three miles with the JV (instead of the usual freshman two), and planned our trip to Henley, an honor awarded if we won. Steve planned to win big, and drove us like he stole the boat. Our time in England was Justin unleashing a bunch of lunatics. I got a stupid haircut, was quoted in the Yale paper later on and unleashed my most violent race in the semi-finals, when we faced the team that had eliminated my high school crew the previous year. Mark had whipped us up when he faced his high school nemesis earlier in the tour, and we all responded, despite a borrowed boat and no warm-up.

Justin gave us confidence, a belief in each other that couldn't be shaken by an "off" race or unexpected events. Allowing a crew the time to "find itself" isn't always possible, but we got that opportunity and made the most of it. The best Yale freesh crew ever couldn't have happened without Justin, because he was part of the crew, like a coach should be.

Categories: Rowing, Yale, Tribute, Memories, Coaching, Personal

Crank Calls

Being associated with as many juvenile boys as this job brings me into contact with, strange phone calls are to be expected. Perhaps because I'm still pretty juvenile myself, I actually have a good time listening to what the lads come up with. (I'm not dissing the ladies, I'm sure they would be more creative than the guys. I'm just not holding my breath for a crank call from a girl.)

Tonight's call had everything needed for a great prank call. Blocked caller ID (key: how many crank calls crater due to caller ID?), a well-disguised falsetto voice and a funny premise. No, I don't want to buy any prunes. Yes, I don't think that a voice like that will sell many prunes. Are you making a suggestion, trying to sell me prunes?

Great call, whoever you were. Thanks for not calling at 2am.

Categories: Misc

What "team" means

I'm still here. I'm just no longer coaching for Pitt. Perhaps someday I'll be able to write about what's happened over the last 5 months. Many here in Pittsburgh know parts of the story, but I've kept the whole thing private. I think that I'll have to sell the movie rights to it.

Anyway, there's been a story going on here in Pittsburgh that I would like to discuss. I'm sure that anyone who watched Sportscenter is aware of the shooting of Duquesne's basketball team. The reports now point toward the usual insanity that occurs when guns are involved.

However, I'm taking this opportunity to point to these two articles. Take the time to read.

Notice anything here? A group of young men, from all over the globe, together for a sport. They've only known each other for a few weeks. They haven't even started the season. Out together, spending time with each other, they are attacked after a juvenile confrontation over somebody's girlfriend talking to them. ("You'd better not be talking to my girl" or some such like that. Please. Like women in today's society don't have the right to talk to whomever they please.)

They had turned away from the confrontation. They were leaving. They had done the right thing. And then they were shot. Senseless, insane, tragic are the words that immediately come to mind.

What I find so important, so central to the theme of this horrid chain of events is the response of these teammates. They ran towards the gunfire to pull their brothers clear. They stayed at the scene to tend to others. They gathered at the hospitals, they closed ranks with each other and together with their coaches, they are a family.

That's "team". That is what sport is supposed to bring to everyone who competes at any level. What happens at the competition is secondary. What happens off the court, field or boat, the relationships built between teammates is central to sport. "I've got your back. No matter what. No matter when. No matter why. Tomorrow, next week or ten years from now." That's "team".

Categories: Teamwork, Personal

New Tool

Google Earth. Great idea and wonderful program. An interactive satellite display of the entire planet. I've been playing with it for a month, since Emily put it on her laptop. I thought it was just a toy until I discovered the "ruler" feature, which lets you measure distances between points you click on the map, in either miles or kilometers. In many ways, this is easier than a GPS, because I wouldn't be drifting down the stream trying to take a reading.

I've been enjoying looking at old places I used to row and figuring out just how far those distances really were. Was the "Norwich row" really seven miles? How about from I-275 to the boathouse in Cincinnati? What's the distance from bridge to bridge in Pittsburgh? How far away is Sandcastle? It's all there. Cool.

The depressing part has been realizing how short those distances are. Sure, some are really 4 miles, but some rows I swore were 20 were closer to 12. Pitt kids, look up Camp Bob. Some of those days may not be as terrible as you think. It could be worse: we could be out on the main lake!

Anyone want to suggest some rows now that you can see the distance?

Categories: Rowing, Misc

Moving

Just a cool shot of the Blue Angels from the Dayton Air Show two weeks ago.

Anyway, I've got some news. For reasons many local readers know, I'm no longer coaching for Fox Chapel. I will say that I'll always have a fond memory of the time I spent with that crew, because they were the first team I ever coached. I'm still with Pitt and looking forward to the upcoming season.

Central Catholic picked me up to become the new novice coach. The head coach and I have been friendly since I'd started three years ago and I'm really excited to join this team. There is a great record of success being built at Central and I'm really looking forward to adding as much as I can. I can't thank the Diocese of Pittsburgh and the Central Parents' organization enough for taking a chance on me.

There are a few little problems with this new team. First, the head coach is also named Jay. I think that I'll get tired of us both saying "huh?" when one of the kids shouts "Jay!" Also, Jay went to Harvard. We never raced against each other, but I'm not sure what my old Yale teammates will say when it gets out that I'm working with a 'Vard.....

Categories: Rowing, Personal, CC, Photo

Regatta Headquarters

Here's a picture of my future regatta headquarters. The heater and A/C both work quite well, and we've got a stove for coffee. We've been out for 19 nights so far this year and it's been quite comfortable.

This shot was taken in Canada during our vacation to the falls. Will loves "his trailer" because the rear bed is "his room" where all his toys can stay scattered around.

Categories: Photo, Personal

Mentors, Part I: Todd, second year

We were done. That was it. Six seniors had graduated from our varsity boat. The cox, the five seat and I were the only returning guys. The novices from that year had numbered four. We didn't expect all of them to return either. There would be no return in an eight. Perhaps we would race a four. My expectations were rather low entering my senior year, but I had made a commitment to the team; I had quit marching band after five years.

I had put on thirty pounds of muscle over the summer, lifting like a lunatic. I had been 6'4" and 155 lbs. The jump to 185 really helped my power output on the erg. I didn't really know why I was doing this, only that I really enjoyed the shocked looks from all the football jocks at my school. I stomped through the halls, sometimes wearing a jersey we had won last year from Indianapolis. It was a medium, so it was painted on me. I was a "National Champion," I was arrogant and I was better than these a******s who had belittled me for years as just another band geek.

Our first workouts as school started were indoors, as we got the club organized and figured out who was returning. Todd walked in the first day late. He was followed by a guy a few inches shorter than me with what we later called "poodle hair." Todd introduced me to Andrea, an Italian exchange student. He had rowed for years before and would be joining us for the rest of this year.

We didn't go to a single head race that fall. Just lots and lots of rowing out on East Fork. Frankly, I don't remember much about the early parts of the fall. The returning novices were getting better, and Andrea was very good in stroke seat in front of me. We worked well together, and a friendly rivalry ensued when he was only a few seconds behind me on every erg workout. (I'm glad we never had to seat race. Andrea was really close on the erg, and weighed 155. And rowed very well. He would have kicked my butt.)

Rick joined up late that fall. Only 16, he was as tall and heavy as I was. His family had been relocated to Cincinnati from Australia, and this was his second year of rowing. He was a talent. Todd put him in six behind me, and the boat would really jump.

If Todd ever had any doubts about what kind of crew he had that second year, he never shared them with us. Even with Andrea and Rick, I didn't believe we had anything as good as the previous year. I'm sure that the erg scores were better, especially when a few of us started training twice per day in January and February. Losing those six seniors had really changed the personality of the crew. Those guys were scruffy, party-hard guys. We were clean-cut, quiet "good boys." Practices weren't the rowdy circus-like atmosphere they had been. We came in, did the work and left. On Saturdays, we went out to breakfast as a team, with Todd at the head of the table.

I think those Saturday morning breakfasts did more than I realized. We sat around and figured out what made each other tick. Remember, this was a team of 8 boys total. We attended different high schools spread over the entire city. Only three of us were seniors (myself, Andrea and Matt, 5 seat) and only three of us were over 155 lbs (myself, Matt and Rick). There were two novices in the boat, (Jay and Paul) and the entire bow section was under 145. During those Saturday breakfasts, we would sit for awhile after inhaling our food and listen to Todd's stories, kid each other a bit and established boat chemistry while there was snow still on the ground. It's only going to be the nine of us. If anything is going to happen, it's going to be these nine guys. Todd had ruled out the four in November.

Crazy? Gut-check call? Challenge to the team for everyone to step up? I'll ask him the next time I see him. He saw something we didn't. We all kept showing up, every day and doing the work. Once we went on the water in the new boathouse downtown, everybody came, every day. Because we all knew that if we missed, our boatmates wouldn't row.

That spring saw bigger margins than the previous year. We raced University of Dayton and won walking away. Todd even put in a 4-5 bucket for a month so I could stroke. I knew that Andrea was better after the first race and he switched it back after we won Midwest. We seat raced constantly, not looking for a different lineup or another oarsman, but because he wanted us to compete in practices.

USRowing had introduced an "Invitational" junior-only regatta for early June. It was to be a true national championship, with crews from all over the country invited from the regional regattas. Cincinnati had been selected as a centrally-located site to host the regatta.

I don't know if he thought we would win or not. I've never asked him. All I knew was we were fifth off the start and all the way on the outside of the course in lane 1. We spent the first 1300 meters going through Green Lake, these two crews' battle carrying us through the third and second place teams. Our coxswain called the sprint with 650 left. My vision went to black and white. When he said "350 to go, I've got contact with St. Pauls and we're moving!" my world compressed to a spot on Andrea's back. I don't know what I saw when the horn went off with us still 5 seats back. But I do know that I am more proud of that silver medal than I am of the gold (8+) and bronze (4+) from the year before.

Why have I just killed all this time writing this? Because that year taught me an important lesson: Take your best shot. If you miss, you'll still have a great result, and nobody will think less of themselves or you. That crew of tiny boys, with two novices, fought like demons on the water in Cincinnati and later at Henley in England. We raced crews bigger and older than us. We beat college teams. When we finally lost to Trinity College Dublin I knew we had given all there was to throw at it, and while I shed tears over the end of a magical season, there was never nor has there ever been a regret about taking such a tiny group of boys and taking a shot in the 8.

Categories: Rowing, Coaching, Tribute, Memories, Training, Teamwork, Juniors, Personal

Fats and snacks

Lights and heavies. Quick and powerful. What's your preference?

I've (obviously) spent a lot of time in heavyweight boats. Big mungo crews like that take a lot of time to gel together and row well. A 210 lb "donkey" in a boat that pulls a 6:00 2k can really slow down the boat run. But there is nothing, nothing like the feeling of a (good) heavy boat when it's coming off the start. I always thought of it like being an engine in a B-70 Valkyrie. You were going to go really fast. We would spend our time in practice spotting the lightweight 8 a few lengths and then chasing them down. They were the "snacks."

Then I became a coach, and got crews with lots of lightweights. I gained an appreciation of some advantages of lightweight rowing over the ever-increasing search for a bigger, meaner heavyweight. Light racing taps into some of the appeal of NASCAR. Every car is supposed to be the same, more or less. The differences come down to the skill of the driver; racing with lights is the same. Suddenly, there isn't that "holy ****, look at the SIZE of their 6 seat" moment when lining up at the start. It's "we weigh the same. Let's race sucker because you row like Leatherface from the Texas Chain Saw Massacre." That is very cool.

And let's face it. Racing is fun (to watch) when it's close, and you won't find closer racing than what lightweights sometimes put on. So I'm enjoying the time I'm spending with the lights. But don't worry those who don't hate the scale. I'm still one of you.

Categories: Rowing, Coaching

Shoots flaming balls

Hello all. We've been on vacation from the blog these past few weeks, mainly because we've been camping all around the area these past few weeks. I'm scheming on ways to bring the popup around to races as well, so I've got someplace dry and temperature controlled to sit down and chill out between screaming fits at the referees. (Just kidding.....kinda)

Anyway, the 4th of July holiday finds us in Columbus with my Aunt. The Red White and BOOM fireworks are supposed to be better than Pittsburgh's or Cincinnati's Labor Day display. I'll report on that later, but I'm sure to be more comfortable, as we've got indoor, front row seats tonight. A friend of the family has hooked us up.

Also, for use in an appropriate and legal location, another friend of the family gave my Aunt some fireworks. Because he works in a fireworks store, my Aunt got a little more than she bargained for. There are three bags full of huge fireworks in the family room, all of which say "WARNING: SHOOTS FLAMING BALLS" on the side. This will be fun.

Categories: Personal