THE BEAUTY OF COACH MAC

A baseball man.

We heard that phrase pinned to Don Zimmer after he died in 2014.  Zimmer, a
long-time bench coach for Joe Torre, was in baseball for a long, long time. 65 years
to be exact. Zimmer was a player, coach, manager, and consultant for many
different teams during his marathon career in professional baseball.

Howard McCullough is a "baseball man" through and through. He might not have
reached the heights of Zimmer, but his impact on the game and the people in and
around it, is just as significant.

McCullough has been a scout in professional baseball for almost 30 years, but
his contribution to the game spans a lot longer than that. He was a catcher at
East Carolina before becoming a highly-respected pitching coach at UNC in the
early 1980's.

"Coach Mac", as he's still affectionately known as to those who played for him in
Chapel Hill, grew up and went to high school in Rocky Mount, North Carolina.
However, if he told us that he was from Mayberry and was best friends with Opie,
we would've believed him, no questions asked. He was, as our scrap iron second
basemen Mike Jedziniak, liked to say, "a Southern dude."

Coach Mac was really mature for his age but he certainly didn't move like someone
who hadn't even reached 30-years old yet. If he went out to the mound to talk to one
of his pitchers on a Monday night, he wouldn't get back to the dugout until sometime
early Tuesday morning. When he paused to put a wad of Red Man tobacco in his
mouth, the entire team could shower, change, and head for the training table by
the time he was done.

But Mac was loved and respected by everyone who played for him. You could 
scout the country much like Coach  Mac does today, and you'll never find a person
who says one bad thing about him. Ever.

The players on our team put the "North" in North Carolina baseball. All but a handful
of players on the team were from states far above the Mason-Dixon Line. New York,
New Jersey, Connecticut, and Massachusetts flooded the roster in the program and
most of the players came with  brash attitudes, with a lot of cockiness that bordered
on arrogance. We talked fast, weren't afraid of much, and acted like we had
everything figured. We didn't, but Mac surely did.

It seemed like he started every sentence with "I reckon" or "Well, shug" or "Son", the
last of which you really didn't want to hear because you knew that Mac knew that you
really screwed up. Everyone wanted to get things done in New York City minute, but
there was Mac taking his time, all slow and methodical. In a baseball program that was
pretty damn crazy at times, Mac was always the steady and calm force who could
extinguish any mutiny on the ship in a hurry. He gave great advice and treated all
the players the same, whether you were a top recruit or a walk-on just trying to get
out of their own way.

Coach Mac left the program far sooner than any of the players wanted him to. He
was one of the people that made the North Carolina baseball program so special and
great. Coach Mac is a salt-of-the-earth type of person who we all wanted to be around
not only for his baseball knowledge, but for all his stories. We were all kids from
the North who had never been around a guy like Mac who talked slow, moved
even slower, and told great stories with a unique southern accent.

After a long and hard days work in the blistering North Carolina sun, Mac would
always find time to play with his young son, a bundle of exuberance, a great head of
blonde hair, and an even better nickname. He was known as "Clayton the Ram". It was
never just Clayton, but "Clayton the Ram."

Mac went on to scout for the Boston Red Sox for 10 years and then to the Arizona
Diamonbacks, and Seattle Mariners where he's still employed today. He's been awarded
several honors, including Major League Baseball Scout of the Year. He's very talented, but
I'm sure he received the award in part because he is so well-liked and respected by everybody
in the game. And perhaps, a small part of the award went to him because all of his
great stories.

Legend has it that when Josh Hamilton was a phenom in North Carolina, McCullough
had been asked by his supervisors to track pretty much his every move leading up to
the draft. Coach Mac was scouting a game in which Hamilton got the start on the
mound. Hamilton was a man among boys, blessed with lightning in his left arm and
thunder in his bat.

Hamilton was scheduled to pitch the day Coach Mac was scouting him and his
advisers told him to call back to Phoenix with a report after every inning. In the
top of the first, Hamilton struck out the side and Coach Mac scurried to get out of
earshot of his fellow scouts and phoned his bosses. "This boy struck out the side.
His last three pitches were 93, 93, and 95 miles per hour." Mac then paused and
said he had to hurry back to his seat behind the backstop to see Hamilton, who
was hitting third in the line-up, hit.

Hamilton gets up and hits a 450-foot tape measure shot deep into the pine trees
over the right-field fence. Coach Mac rose quickly from his chair and called his
boss in Arizona before Hamilton touched home plate.

"Well, I think this kid is legit. He throws 95 miles an hour and just hit a bomb
over these dang pine trees in right field."

His bosses quickly asked Coach Mac which professional player Hamilton had
reminded him of.

"Well, I don't know," responded Coach Mac, "I've never seen anyone like him."

Bosses: "There has to be some player. Albert Pujols. Barry Bonds...who is he like?"

Coach Mac paused,  "Well, heck, I don't know, Babe Ruth, maybe."

Anyone who knows Coach Mac, knows that is him to a tee. Beautiful.

Coach Mac has stayed around the game long enough to see his son, "Clayton the Ram"
become a manager in the Los Angeles Dodgers organization. I see pictures of Clayton now
and I see Coach Mac nearly 30 years ago coaching us in Chapel Hill. Awesome.

Coach Mac is awesome. He hit a grand slam by marrying his wife Eva, who was
liked by the North Carolina family as much as Coach Mac.

They are beautiful people and who make you thankful they crossed your path in life.

TOM HANNY & THE WORLD'S BEST SELFIES

In the land of a billion selfies, Tom Hanny might just be the king of them. No, he doesn't take
selfies in a car at a stop light or in a parking lot or just because he has nothing better to do than
snap a mundane photo like the thousands of ones we see on Facebook every single day. (Yes,
the new haircut in your selfie looks really nice, by the way.)

Nope, Hanny takes the selfie to a whole different level. He dropped the kid's stuff a long, long
time ago and went for the spectacular and the ones you could only dream of posting on Twitter,
Facebook, Instgram, and texting to the hottest girl on the planet. His stuff is amazing.



 

Hanny's background, naturally, is in photography and video production. His resume includes

stops at Fox Sports Net, NFL.com, and the Arizona Cardinals where he was the executive
producer and director of broadcasting. As former NBA Tim Hardaway used to say,
"He's got skills". Hanny has a great eye, is meticulous, creative, and thinks outside the box.
Way, way, way outside the box.

 

Photography is his craft, but it's outdoor sports, and more specifically, those on the water, that
are hispassion. Stand-up paddleboard, wind-surfing, or just plain surfing, Hanny is at home
in the water. I've often told him that his home should be as the host of an adventure show on
one of those outdoor channels He just looks the part.



 

 

 



Hanny has been living in Seattle for sometime and certainly has taken advantage of what the
Emerald City and Great Northwest has to offer. His pictures are both stunning and just
flat-out cool. I've joked with him  the only reason I stay on Facebook is to see his pictures
and what is coming next.

Even his pictures with his bulldog are cool. Like most of us, Hanny is a dog-lover and borderline
obsessed. OK, I'll be honest. I sometimes think he's just a little more than obsessed with his
dog. But all his pictures on are amazing and memorable.





Hanny uses a Go-Pro camera for his selfies. Oh, sure, anybody can buy one at a camera
shop or purchase one on-line, but they don't know have a clue on how to use them. Hanny
is a master of it. I love action shots but there are very few people who can take them like
Hanny can, especially when he is the subject.

 

 

 



In the water, under the water, or with the water engulfing him, Hanny always seems to get that
"money shot", you know, the one that makes you look, stare, and wish that it was you that
everybody is looking at.

Awesome, simply awesome. How do you like your selfies now?





SPECIAL THANKS TO MY 'IRON' FAMILY

Behind every Ironman is a great support team, one that pushes, drives, and encourages an
athlete to achieve his goal of completing a grueling 140.6 mile test of endurance.

I couldn't have asked for a better one than my family, whom I got to share a very special
experience with on July 27, 2014. They were a huge part of my journey and a big reason why
I crossed the finish line in the iconic Lake Placid Ironman.

The two biggest cogs in the Team Devlin machine, were my sister, Kara, and my mother, who
have seemingly morphed into the same type of person over the years: thoughtful, unselfish, and incredibly generous.

During the last six months of training, I often felt Kara, who was a driven and an intense elite
swimmer, was more excited about the race than I was. She was always encouraging and
motivating me with inspirational stories of athletes who overcame great obstacles to finish an Ironman.

It seemed like every day I'd open up my e-mail to articles, pictures, and quotes from famous
athletes that would fire me up for the  big race. This was something my father used to do
when I was growing up and I guess Kara picked up the torch after his passing six years ago.

Kara also set me up with an energy and nutritional plan that helped me tremendously during
the race. I didn't drink alcohol in the 18 months leading up to the event and I have always been
pretty good about my diet (when I'm training), but her plan got me focused me on what I needed
to do for an endurance event and that was get leaner.

To be honest, I wasn't keen on doing a nutritional plan with a million and one supplements. I
wasn't looking to win the event, just finish. She pestered me so many times to get on the program,
I finally relented just so she would leave me alone. 

I got on the program which helped tremendously. I did drop some weight and my energy was
strong throughout the race. Thank you, Kara.

Mom, as always, was there, too. About a month before the race, she purchased a 3-day Ironman
camp in Lake Placid for me to attend. And again, I wasn't tremendously fired up for the race at
the time, I was just consumed with the training to get there,and mom, like Kara, became a huge
cheerleader. Mom felt if I learned "just one thing" from the camp, it'd be worth it.

So, of course, the day before I was going to leave for Lake Placid and the camp, mom slipped
and fell in New York City, fracturing a bone in her shoulder in the process.  I couldn't leave now,
but she said, "Get the heck out of here, I'll be OK." I did miss the first day of camp to care for
her, but my brother, Patrick stepped in to help out.

My sister's husband, Chad, also helped out tremendously in my training for the Ironman. He
treats Kara like gold and the rest of our family just the same. About three years ago, Chad bought
a summer home about 25 minutes outside of Lake Placid and he always said, "Whenever you
want to come up to train, feel free to stay here."

A lot of people say things like that, but as soon as you ask to come up, they respond, "Oh, that's
a bad weekend. The house is jammed-pack. Not a good idea."

Not Chad. He always opened the door and rolled out the red carpet for me no matter
the time, day, week, or month. He never said no. Truly awesome.

My niece, Sophie, and nephews Patrick and Christian also showed up to support me, which
put the cherry on top of a beautiful day. The Ironman event is amazing in and of itself, but
it can be a long, long day where supporters only get to see their family members who are
competing for a few brief moments until it is all over.

However, there was nothing better than crossing the finish line of a race that covered 140.6
miles and lasted just over 12 hours and seeing Team Devlin with huge smiles on their faces.
It was a spine-tingling moment.

This event is truly about the journey and not the destination. It's about the blood, sweat, tears,
and dedication to achieve. It was also a total team effort by Team Devlin.

To celebrate the Ironman with my family, the one who supported me every step of the way
was truly special and something I will never forget.

PAUL DEVLIN: AN IRONMAN AT 50

Lake Placid,  NY. July 27, 2014. First Ironman: 12:12:36 

2.4  mile swim    1:02
112 mile bike      6:30
26.2 mile run      4:23

YOGI BERRA: REAL AMERICAN HERO

"It ain't over til it's over."

The incredible life of the man who coined that phrase is over. Yogi Berra, a baseball legend
and national treasure, died early Wednesday morning at the age of 90.

Berra was a hero to millions for his amazing accomplishments in Yankee pinstripes, but
to me, he's held in a much higher regard for a reason few people even know about.

I once thought he was one of the greatest baseball players the game had ever seen. A
3-time MVP, 10-time World Series champion and Hall of Famer, Berra had accomplished
things most players can only dream of.

It means nothing to me anymore. Nothing.

While scouring the Internet for inspirational stories on 70th anniversary of D-Day and the
Normandy invasion, I came across an article about Berra being honored for his participation
in one of the most significant and greatest events in our world history.

I said to myself, "Are you kidding me? Yogi Berra fought for our country that day? How
the hell did I miss that?"

As a baseball junkie growing up,  I was obsessed with playing the game and the history of it.
I memorized stats on the back of bubble gum cards and spent more a lot of time learning about
the great ones by studying the Baseball Encyclopedia. Every Saturday, I was glued to the
television for NBC's 'Game of the Week.'

Yogi Berra always intrigued me. He was a small man who put up some incredible numbers.
During my career covering baseball for various television stations and networks, I'd often
see him on the field and wondered to myself, "How the hell did this little, funny-looking guy dominate the game?"

Turns out, that wasn't the question I should've been asking. I should have been wondering
how anyone could fit so much courage into a 5-foot, 8-inch body.

Berra was in Normandy on June 6, 1944, right there in the midst of a bloodbath when
American troops stormed the beaches of Normandy. 2, 500 U.S.soldiers lost their lives
that day,  many of them cut down almost as soon as the front portion of their boats were
dropped down for the rush to fight the Germans.

Berra was just a 19-year old kid that day. 19-years-old. Think about that. What were you
doing at that age? Partying in college? Spending spring break in Daytona? Just chilling
out with your friends?

Berra was in a 36-foot boat with five other men launching bombs at the Germans to
provide cover for the troops rushing the beach among heavy gunfire.

Can you imagine the things Berra saw that day? Can you imagine what was going through
his mind when saw the ocean turn into the Red Sea from all the blood that was shed just
yards away from him? Can you imagine how frightened Berra was as a 19-year old kid.

Unbelievable.

Our country sure loses perspective when it comes to sports. We idolize players because
they appear to be super human freaks who can run, jump, and throw better than 99.9
percent of the population. We think they are super heroes because they are on TV every
night mastering a kids game.

Broadcasters talk about players having courage because they take a big hit going over
the middle to catch a football. David Ortiz compares a baseball game with a heated
rival as "war".  Good, grief.

 

Yogi Berra was once a baseball legend to me. Not anymore. He's a true American hero now.
After discovering Berra fought the courageous fight in Normandy, I will never look at him
the same. Ever

I admire Yogi Berra far more today than I ever did. All the baseball stuff is meaningless.
What he did for our country means everything.

Who knew? Now, I do. Thank you, Yogi Berra.

R.I.P.