ARIZONA'S SADDEST DAY

19 men are gone. A raging inferno in Arizona shifted with the winds and snuffed out the
lives of those who were trying to protect others. They were husbands, fathers, sons, but
most of all, firefighters. Outside of their friends and family members, few had ever heard
of these men that made up the Granite Mountain Hotshots, an elite unit within the Prescott
Fire Department.

Today, a nation is mourning the loss of 19 men who tried desperately to slow down and
extinguish a fire that had destroyed more than 6,000 acres in Arizona. It was the worst day
for firefighters since the terrorist attacks of 9/11. We never seem to appreciate what firefighters
do and the sacrifices they make until tragedy strikes and they are gone. It is sad really, really,
really sad.

We live in a country that pays more attention to the Kardashians than to the people who
put their lives on the line for the rest of us. We deify athletes because they can run fast,
jump high, or slam a ball through a hoop, yet, we take for granted the people who fight
fires for a living. The media makes an athlete who murders someone the lead story, but
ignores the firefighter who saves a life as a building collapses around them.

The Granite Mountain Hotshots knew what they were getting into when they tried to
contain a monster blaze that couldn't be contained. They trained for this mission like
Navy SEALS prepare for a covert operation in the Middle East. The were taught how to
slow down and extinguish a wild fire, but nobody except a higher power can control
the direction of the wind.

I've never been a believer in the whole, "everything happens for a reason" thing. I'm just
not. The Newtown tragedy erased any thought of that for me. There's nobody anywhere who
can tell me the execution of 20 small children and six adults happened "for a reason." How
can the brutal way in which 19 men perished, have happened "for a reason"? There was
no good reason for it.

Everyone of the firefighters who entered that fiery arena in Arizona realized this job was
unlike any they had battled before. They knew that mission had the potential to be their end
game. Most people on this planet would never think about fighting fires as a career. It's just
like being a Navy SEAL where the odds of coming home alive are stacked against you. The
odds were stacked  heavily against those 19 firefighters, and when the wind changed, they
had no chance.

There is something called The Firefighter's Prayer, which contains the lines, "And if, according
to my fate, I am to lose my life/Please bless with your protecting hand my children and my wife."

There are a lot of children in Arizona who no longer have a father. There are a lot of woman
out there who no longer have a husband. It's a truly a sad day for firefighters and America.
I hope we not only mourn the lives of these 19 men, but appreciate what they, and all firefighters
around the country do for the rest of us.

PLAYING THROUGH PAIN: IT'S WHY I LOVE HOCKEY PLAYERS.

It's why I love hockey players

Patrice Bergeron is why hockey players are the toughest athletes in professional sports. The
Bruins center played Game 6 with a broken rid, separated shoulder, and torn cartilage. Are you kidding  me? Bears quarterback Jay Cutler twisted his knee during a playoff game two years
ago and was sill standing, but he waved the white towel  and didn't return to help his team try
to win.

It's why I love hockey players.

Andrew Shaw of the Chicago Blackhawks got drilled in the face with a puck in Game 6 and
was practically sipping from a pool of own blood. Dazed and confused, Shaw went to the
locker room, got stitched up and returned to help his team win the Stanley Cup. He didn't
even put on a protective shield to shield his stitches from possibly ripping apart. Carl Crawford
of the Los Angeles Dodgers feels a twinge in his hamstring and he goes on the disabled list for
60-days.

 

As the Stanley Cup Final between the Chicago Blawkhawks and Boston Bruins clearly
demonstrated, hockey players are resilient, passionate, incredibly hardworking, but most of
all, tough. The series gave us six brutally competitive games, but if you add up all the
overtimes, it came out to more than seven.  They battled fiercely, dishing out big body
checks, and took them, as well, squeezing every ounce of sweat out of their bodies, with
one goal in mind: winning the Stanley Cup.

It's why I love hockey players

In baseball, if you get hurt, you go on the disabled list. If you get injured, you go into the
witness protection program. Hockey players don't get hurt, and if they get injured, they never
show it. Oh, the 25 stitches across their forehead might give it away, but hockey players never
let anybody see they might be in pain.

Four years ago, Chicago defenseman Duncan Keith took a puck to the mouth and ended up
spitting Chick-lets. He lost seven teeth! Seven. Did he go on the disabled list for 15-days?
Hell, no. He went to the locker room, got sewed up and returned to play in the same game.
Unreal.

It's why I love hockey players.

There are no athletes in any sport, anywhere, who endure so much physical pain as hockey
players. But they never show it. They are the toughest athletes in professional sports. I just
wis the entire country would appreciate it like many fans in hockey do. They really deserve more
attention and admiration than they get. But they would never complain about it.

It's why I love hockey players

NESN'S PATRICK GAMERE: ALWAYS ON THE MONEY

Patrick Gamere is to videography what Steven Jobs was to technology: pure genius. When
he puts a camera on his shoulder,  he creates magic like Ozzie Smith often did with his glove.
Gamere has the eye of a trained Navy SEAL sniper and, like Larry Bird,,  often sees things
develop before they actually happen.

Gamere is a longtime videography working for American's best regional network, NESN. He
has been on a spectacular run in the city of champions, covering the likes of Bruins, Celtics,
Red Sox and Patriots. A former basketball standout at Framingham State,  Gamere has an
uncanny knack of being in the right place at the right time, and is often photographed by
others doing it.

On Tuesday night at Fenway Park, Gamere was assigned to cover the Red Sox game against
Tampa Bay, which ended with a walk-off home run by Johnny Gomes. There was 'G', as he's
known by his fans throughout the region, following Gomes as he touched down at home plate.

The photograph illustrates what Gamere is all about: passion, focus, talent, and commitment.
Gamere makes something that's really difficult, look easy. Holding a 20-lb camera free-handed
in the middle of a scrum can be a challenge, but Gamere is a total pro. He got the money shot
for NESN.

Gamere certainly knows how to get the money shot. He uses his vast knowledge of sports
and has a sixth sense when it comes to knowing what scene in the locker room or on the field
will make for a memorable image. When the Celtics won the NBA title in 2008, there was
Gamere in the post-game celebration, camera perched up high, standing behind Kevin Garnett
who was celebrating his first championship. Priceless.

As a videographer for NESN and working in the sports tradition-rich city of  Boston, everyday
is like Christmas for Gamere. If he's not covering the Patriots on a run to the Super Bowl, he's
with the Celtics or the Bruins or the Red Sox. It's a dream job, but few do it better than Gamere.
He was recently awarded an Emmy for his videography brilliance. He is a valued employee at
NESN, one with a tremendous work ethic, dependability, and commitment. Gamere takes his
job seriously, but has fun doing it. Who wouldn't working at NESN and covering the best teams
in sports?

Gamere reminds me of the former Chicago Cubs great, Ryne Sandberg. He's pretty quiet, stays
on an even keel, loved by his teammates, and delivers an MVP performance nearly every
night, but never says, "look at me, look at what I did, aren't I great?'

Gamere works on a great team of photographers along with the wily veteran John Phillip Martin,
Byran Brenan, and Chris Del Dotto. They all love what they do, and do what they love. It's
a great group of guys, who are having the times of their lives.

He may not show it, but Gamere has the biggest smile of them all as he goes to work. He
is living his dream and knows that on any given night, he could get the shot that everybody
in New England will remember forever. And he often does.

STEVE GLEASON: A HERO DEFINED

Before Monday, not many people other than hardcore football fans knew of Steve Gleason.
Very few people outside of New Orleans were familiar with his story. That all changed thanks
to the malicious and callous act of three sports radio jocks in Atlanta. For some reason, perhaps,
to get a cheap laugh, they chose to mock Gleason, who is dying from ALS. They actually
produced a skit that had someone acting as Gleason being interviewed live on-air with the
answers coming from a computerized voice.

In the annals of sports talk radio history, this could have been the worst attempt at humor.
Ever.

Listeners were shocked, management of the station, 790 The Zone, was incensed. They acted
swiftly, first suspending the trio, then terminating their contracts. Nobody argued in defense of
the three radio jocks, and how could they? Making fun of a man dying from a brutal disease
was about as low as it could go. It was despicable.

But through all the slimed hurled by three radio jocks who lived in it, Gleason has emerged
as a bigger inspiration and hero than he already was. This stupid act produced by
three grown men, has shined the spotlight on a former athlete who is a real man. It has
brought more attention to ALS, an insidious disease. Every terminal illness is no less
painful than the next, especially when the result is the same. But ALS is just brutal,
attacking the nervous system and robbing a person of all their motor skills.

Life isn't fair, but it really didn't seem right that Gleason was afflicted with the disease
in the prime of his life. He was a football player who overcame tremendous odds to stick
and stay in NFL. Gleason, a linebacker at Washington State, went undrafted in 2000, but
signed on as  a free-agent with the Indianapolis Colts, and then was promptly cut. He hooked
on with the Saints where he became a folk hero, immortalized with a statue outside of the
Superdome.

On September 25, 2006, the Saints were playing their first game in 21 months after
Hurricane Katrina tore apart New Orleans. In the first quarter against the Atlanta Falcons,
Gleason  blocked a punt that was recovered for a touchdown. The roof of the Superdome
nearly blew off because of the noise generated from what became an iconic moment in
Saints history. A statue of  Gleason's punt block stands outside the dome and it will remain
there long after Gleason is gone, which could be sometime soon.

In 2011, Gleason announced he has ALS. The entire city of New Orleans was devastated.
Gleason was a free-spirit, who was much too young to be taken down by this terrible disease.
Today, Gleason can't walk, talk, or do much of anything on his own. To see him in a
motorized wheelchair withering away knocks the wind out of you.

But Gleason, hasn't given up, gotten down, or ever wondered, "why me?" He has incredible
courage, character, and resiliency through this trying time. Gleason and his wife had a baby
boy and he's hiked mountains in Peru. ALS may have slowed him down, but it hasn't stopped
him from living. On the day those radio jocks in Atlanta mocked him, he filled in for Peter
King of Sports Illustrating, writing the"Monday Morning Quarterback," by blinking his eyes
on a computer device. Think about how that is. He detailed his incredible battle with ALS.
It is sad, funny, and difficult to read at times. The end game is near and Gleason knows it.

Perhaps, the attention Gleason received over the past two days will help people become more
aware of what he and other ALS victims are dealing with. It's not pretty. Perhaps, more people
will reach into their pockets and donate money for research to help cure this terrible disease. I
sure hope that's the case.

Perhaps, the attempt to mock Gleason really just showed how strong he is. The three men who
made fun of him, aren't the man Gleason is if you put them all of them together. On Tuesday,
he accepted the apologies of the three men. He holds no bitterness inside as ALS ravages his
body and mind.

Gleason was the bigger man because that's who he is. We will  remember him far
longer than we'll pay attention to three guys who tried get a laugh at a dying man's expense.

That's because Steve Gleason is a hero defined.

BULL DURHAM AND A MAGICAL NIGHT 25 YEARS AGO.

 

When I strolled into Durham Athletic Park with my Lynchburg Red Sox teammates on June 12, 1988, I couldn't help but marvel at the odds of being there to play the Durham Bulls on "Bull
Durham Night", which marked the premiere of the movie that had been filmed there six months earlier. I wondered if it was destiny, divine intervention, or just freak luck that had me playing
in that small city on Tobacco Road, just eight miles away from where I attended college at UNC.

I walked out of that same park in October after working on a movie with a title that made no 
sense and a plot that many critics said was going to make for one of the worst films ever. I didn't
have any expectations of appearing in the movie, nor did I ever think I'd be playing baseball again
after an unfulfilled career with the Tar Heels. The line for actors and extras left on the cutting
room floor stretches from  Durham to Los Angeles and there wasn't a major league team busting down my door to get my name on a contract. But I did make sure to get a picture with Kevin
Costner before I left Durham Athletic Park for good. Or at least, I thought for good.

That June, I was back there, somehow, someway,  playing the real life Durham Bulls on a typical North  Carolina  night that was so hot and humid, you had to towel off after blinking. Before the game,  Ron Shelton,  who wrote and directed, "Bull Duham", called me over to his seats, which
were directly behind home  plate. He told me the home run scene I had filmed with Costner had
made the final cut and  wished me luck in the game. I thanked him but I wasn't exactly doing
cart wheels. Again, nobody thought "Bull Durham" was going to do well at the box office and
when you hear a film critic say it's  going to be the worst movie ever made, well, it's not something you tell the world about.

 

I was more excited about playing the Durham Bulls in front of 5,000 fans, all of whom seemed
to be right on top of you. The charm of the "DAP",  as it was called, is that the seats are extremely close to the field, like Wrigley Field and Fenway Park. There is a 20-foot high fence in right field with an old warehouse behind it. And that mechanical bull from the movie was still there. It's a
great baseball  experience for the fans, as well as the players.

I thanked Shelton for helping to make that happen as well. Before the filming of the baseball
scenes, we had  a two-week camp where we took batting practice everyday with Costner and the other actors with  Shelton and Howard McCullough, a Red Sox scout hired as a consultant,
watching from behind the  cage. I finished a round by hitting one out from the right side of the
plate, then hit two over the fence from the left side. Shelton, who made it to AAA with the

 

RON SHELTON

Baltimore Orioles, turned to McCullough  and said,  "You mean to tell me you can't sign a
switch-hitting catcher with some pop?" McCullough, who I had known from my UNC days,
didn't say anything, but he called me in Decemeber and offered me a free-agent contract with
the Red Sox. Funny how things sometimes work out.

So, there I was in Durham Athletic Park on the night of June 12, 1988 catching against the Bulls,
the Class A affiliate of the Atlanta Braves in the Carolina League. Everything seemed so surreal
and almost like an out-of-body experience. It was baseball nirvana. Things would get even more
interesting and magical as the night wore on. I came to the plate in the fifth inning with the bases-loaded and stepped in against a hard-throwing right-hander named Jimenez.

Two months into my professional career I had yet to hit a home run, and had never hit one from
the left-side of the plate in my entire life.I started hitting left-handed during my junior year at
UNC and didn't get many at-bats from that side of the plate. We had two catchers, Matt Merullo
and Jesse Levis, both of whom went on to play in the major leagues, hitting left-handed so there
wasn't much of a need for a lefty neophyte to take away any of their at-bats.

On a 2-2 count, Jimenez, delivered a belt high fastball that I took a whack at. Honestly, I thought
 it was just a lazy fly ball to right-field. I hit many of those, so I had a good idea of what  they
felt like. But for some reason, perhaps it was divine intervention, the ball just kept carrying on
this hot, muggy, Carolina summer night. The ball disappeared over  the right-field fence, clearing it by what seemed to be a half an inch. It didn't matter. It still  counted as a grand slam. I was so excited, I nearly broke the hand of our third base coach as I celebrated my first professional home run, which came on "Bull Durham Night" in nearly the  same spot as I belted one during the filming of it. Unreal.

As I jogged back to the dugout after crossing home plate, there was Shelton yelling and
screaming, celebrating the home run with more excitement than I was showing, at least on the outside, anyway. This was pro ball, you had to be cool and restrained. But on the inside, I was
saying, "No effin' way that just happened. What are the odds of that? Five months ago, I was
laying on my couch with my  baseball dreams shattered. And now this? You can't make it up?
The night of the premiere?" Hollywood couldn't have written that script.

It was a magical night for me and one I'll never forget. How could I? My teammates and I
went to  a special showing of "Bull Durham" the next afternoon, which turned out to be really special. After a long night of celebrating at "Four Corners" in Chapel Hill, my old college
stopping grounds, I showed  up with a nasty hangover. But the excitement of seeing the movie
took care of that. To see how that movie came together and the rip-roaring laughs I got out of it,
was truly a classic moment. Seeing myself on a huge screen was a little more than I could take.
And when my teammates all looked over at me, I just slunk down in my chair and tried to
disappear.

"Bull Durham" had a lot more staying power than my career, which fizzled out the next year.
The movie, which had been dogged by critics before its release, turned out to be a true moive
classic. YouTube, the Internet, and incessant re-runs have kept it alive 25 years later. People
can recite many of the lines from what was a brilliantly-written script and nearly every
minor-leaguer has seen it more than once.

It became a part of my life for good 25 years ago today, and while I honestly get embarrassed
when people bring it up, I still get one helluva chuckle out of it. Going from one of the worst
movies ever to a classic, is something I can always laugh about. And being a small part of it,
is something I will always cherish.