World Series v World Cup: Or enough already with the low-scoring whinging

I know this is true, because I saw it all over Facebook tonight: The San Francisco Giants have won the final game of the 2014 World Series by a score of 3-2.

Yes, American sports fans, a measly 3 runs to 2, stretched out over nine whole innings. Yawn.

I don't ever want to hear another complaint from a fellow citizen about how tedious it is watching low-scoring soccer matches.

An image from MLB.com shows the final 3-2 score of game seven.

Speaking of complaints against the sport I've played for 83 percent of my life (that's almost 40 years, folks), I'm reminded of one of the first essays I submitted when my former newspaper colleagues and I formed a writing group back in early 2009. 

Despite having played soccer since childhood, including competitively in high school and at the college level, I had rarely, if ever, written about the experience. The following was an early effort to correct that discrepancy, inspired by the 2010 men's World Cup.

It’s not the goals, it’s the game

By Monique Beeler

There’s a secret the rest of the world has divined that still eludes Americans: It’s not the final score that solely matters, it’s how the game is played. The game in question is soccer, but the lessons apply more broadly.

During a recent night out with friends in a swanky, low-lit restaurant with artfully stained concrete floors and woven placemats that conveniently mimicked the proportions of a soccer field, I endeavored to refute a pal’s assertion that “Soccer needs more scoring.”

His ill-informed comment reflects the greedy, give-me-more American sportsman’s mindset that more is more; that the means don’t matter, only the ending score. And the numbers better be big or what’s the point? Ah, my friend, let me recite the ways that the playing of the game matters beyond the ultimate points tally. There is a reason South Americans dubbed the sport la Joga Bonita, “the beautiful game.” (Can anyone imagine such adjectives of beauty applied to inelegant American football?)

His comment, uttered at the halfway mark in the month long sports soap opera called the World Cup, came at a moment when it couldn’t have struck my soccer-attuned soul as more ludicrous. Soccer needs more scoring? He had to be kidding, or from another planet. Oh, wait, he’s from the U.S. When it comes to soccer and being in spiritual alignment with the rest of Earth’s inhabitants, many Americans might as well be extraterrestrials.

For perspective, consider that in the opening week of play, tournament favorite Spain fell in its first match 1-0 to Switzerland, a solid but historically unremarkable side known for conservative, defensive tactics. It was a potentially confidence- and dream-shattering upset for la Furia Roja. The red-clad Spanish had never captured the title in the world’s most sought-after competition, and this squad represented the country’s best hope in generations. With two more games left in the first round of group play –– in which each of 32 teams assigned to eight groups must emerge with enough points to rank first or second in their group to continue on in the tournament –– Spain needed to place a few well-struck balls in the net in upcoming matches. In other words, every shot on goal could be a potential fate-decider. It’s a clear example of the maxim: when we have less, we value what we have more.

By comparison, if every basket scored in an NBA match –– where the average final score is about 99 to 98 –– carried such weight, the collective cardiac arrest that would result in the basketball fan base would overwhelm emergency rooms and heart surgeons across the nation. Speaking as an enthusiastic supporter of the U.S. squad during its nail biting appearances in the 2010 World Cup, my nervous system barely sustained the defibrillator-intense charge released with every shot directed at our opponents’ goal. When the opposing side blasted a ball toward Team USA’s goal box, the adrenaline burst felt even more unendurable. After a relatively high-scoring game against Slovenia, in which the U.S. came from behind to secure a 2-2 tie, I felt as emotionally wrung as if I’d scaled a mountain and sprinted back to base camp after reaching the summit. The U.S.’s third match against Algeria proved no less exhilarating or exhausting. Following the only goal of the game –– the U.S. found the net in the 91st-minute of play with fewer than two minutes till the final whistle –– I yelled so loud in my empty house, it left my throat raw and raspy. It was a fortunate goal, for the sake of national pride and my health.  

Fine, goal scoring though rare can be joyful and climatic, soccer neophytes may concede. But what are they to do for the remaining 88.5 minutes of the game?

Just as there’s no need to be a connoisseur to dive in and begin learning about and appreciating fine wine, it doesn’t take lifelong soccer experience to enjoy watching what we call off-the-ball play.

In lieu of double-digit scoring, the viewer leisurely sips in a refined blend of aesthetics and athleticism displayed by each player. From a standstill or running at top speed, a professional must be able to receive a short or long pass –– whether rolling lazily at the pace of a putted golf ball or careening crazily toward his head –– and drop the spinning orb to his feet, silencing its motion with one, at most two, deft touches of the ball, using foot, thigh, chest or forehead. Any part of the body, save the arm or hand, is fair.

Much of the point of the game becomes focusing on the athletic skill, movement and muscularity along with grace and improvisation on display as 11 people sight one another between the clustering horde of the opposing team, stringing together seemingly impossible series of passes, collaborating as a whole that amounts to far more than its individual parts, reading teammates’ body language and anticipating their actions and reactions and adjusting one’s own position on the field accordingly. If my right forward receives the ball at half field, I know she will accelerate up the wing before looking to pass it to our center striker at the 18-yard line, where he’s prone to flick the ball to our center midfielder who’s been trailing the offense up the field. After a final, controlled pass to his feet, the mid fielder rushes into the penalty box for a close-range shot on goal. Put me on the field with a different line-up of players and, despite decades of soccer experience, I will likely be at a loss about where to run or who to pass to and when. The success of the individual is that connected to familiarity with his comrades’ mentality and style of play. Soccer may be the ultimate team sport.

Those 90 minutes of official game time, plus the obligatory two to three minutes of injury time, represents the earthbound equivalent of synchronized swimming, without the monotony of synchronization. If orchestra musicians ditched their cellos, flutes and timpani, strapped on cleat-studded shoes and took to composing movements with a ball instead of musical notes, it might resemble an elite soccer match.

Played at its best, soccer mimics a lush orchestral suite in which long, fluid passes glide from teammate to teammate, who in apparent feats of mind reading instinctually know into which open space to sprint to receive a gorgeously-timed pass, when to flick the ball nonchalantly off a heel backward to a teammate who connects with the spinning orb in flight. If the offensive player strikes the ball at the right spot, with the right force, he may blast it just beyond the goal keeper’s reach sending it between the goal posts, where it thuds against the nylon net leaving it quivering in the air, humming out an inaudible tune as the spinning ball comes to rest.

'If you have any questions, don't call me,' a singular interview with Annie Leibovitz

After spending a decade or so as a daily newspaper reporter in a major market, you can get a bit spoiled. Not in terms of the paycheck, heaven knows. Rather, in terms of the amazing individuals one gets the opportunity to interview.

The first celebrity I posed a question to in an interview was poet and writer Maya Angelou. I went on to interview a range of cultural contributors and well-known personalities from the first woman secretary of state Madeline Albright to comedic actor Jack Black.

As a member of the lifestyle section of our newspaper, based in the suburbs a good hour away from San Francisco, it could become tedious to drag one's self to the city, for instance, every time the stars came calling to plug their latest films. Generally, the movie critic or TV writer would cover these stories, but when their plates got too full or schedule conflicts arose, other staff writers got an option to rub elbows with Hollywood elite.

The artist personally signed a copy for me.

While it seems ludicrous now, there were times when no one would jump at the chance. I distinctly recall not raising my hand when the opportunity came along to interview Mel Gibson -- back before he got the crazies and was still considered pretty cool. I didn't need another assignment, taking two hours out of my workday was too exhausting, I hadn't seen his recent work, blah, blah, blah. Who knows what the excuse was? I may have this wrong, but I seem to remember a similar blasé response to the prospect of interviewing actor Viggo Mortensen.

Happily, I took my beat as an art writer seriously and seized every interesting opportunity, including
the offer of a one-on-one tour by photographer Annie Leibovitz of an exhibition of her work on display at a San Francisco photography museum. In my memory of the interview, I am not over-awed by the meeting. To her credit, Leibovitz -- who was very pregnant at the time --was sufficiently down-to-earth. She was so gracious, in fact, she offered to personally sign a copy of the show's catalog for me. Her parting words amused me and stay with me to this day.

Looking up from the large format catalog, she set down her pen and slid the book toward me, saying "If you have any questions ..." A noticeable pause followed before she added the unexpected conclusion: ''don't call me." I'm sure I chuckled, thanked her again for her time and went off to write the following story on deadline.



Published May 21, 2001, Oakland Tribune/ANG Newspapers
NOTE: All photos by Annie Leibovitz

Through Annie's Lens

By Monique Beeler
STAFF WRITER

Truth be told, Annie Leibovitz wasn't crazy about the
idea of photographing a bunch of women for a project to be
called, appropriately, ``Women.''

Sure, she's shot scads of portraits of female figures
during a career spanning more than 30 years. In the early
1970s with Rolling Stone magazine, she took close-ups of folks
like Grace Slick and Diana Ross. More recent images, such as a
nude and pregnant Demi Moore taken for Vanity Fair, also won
the artist acclaim for originality and risk-taking.

But capturing the essence of an entire sex seemed

Hillary Rodham Clinton/The White House, Washington D.C. (By Annie Leibovitz)

beyond the range even of her lens.

``It's like going out to photograph the ocean,'' says Leibovitz, eyes squinting in contemplation behind her trademark tortoiseshell glasses.

On the wall behind her hang almost-large-as-life
reproductions of portraits she originally shot for the 1999 coffee-table book, ``Women.'' An exhibition by the same name opened
earlier this month at the Ansel Adams Center for Photography in San
Francisco. The traveling show runs through July 15, then heads to
Seattle.

``I was looking for a project to do in America. It was actually Susan Sontag who suggested I do `Women,''' Leibovitz says.

Serena and Venus Williams/Tennis players (By Annie Leibovitz)

Leibovitz initially rejected the idea.

After photographing a series of showgirls _ before and after they donned garish makeup, sequins and feathers _ for a New Yorker magazine assignment, Leibovitz's enthusiasm for the Women project skyrocketed.

``I did the showgirls and I got very excited about it and said, `There's something to this,''' she says.

``There's another agenda,'' she adds. ``It's for the women.''

Around 70 large-scale photographs in the exhibit introduce us to icons and workers, artists and academics.

Hillary Rodham Clinton, Serena and Venus Williams and Gloria Steinem garner space in ``Women.'' Bay Area figures represented include, chef Alice Waters, Hewlett-Packard chief executive officer Carly Fiorina and AIDS organization executive director Rebecca Denison.

In an introductory statement printed on one wall of the Ansel Adams Center, writer Susan Sontag suggests that capturing images of women on film amounts to a global political statement.

Gwyneth Paltrow and Blythe Danner/Actresses

In some regions of the world, Sontag tells us, taking photographs of women is forbidden.

``In a few countries, where men have been mobilized for a veritable war against women, women scarcely appear at all,'' Sontag writes.

Taken in this context, Leibovitz's images of a muscular Marion Jones in motion or a war correspondent flanked by her camerawomen constitute acts of assertiveness and of vindication for the years when women were relegated to the shadows.

Armed with a camera, Leibovitz commits to film the
range of female experience in the United States, from sad-eyed street woman to self-assured astronaut.

``The more I photographed, (I realized) it was about individuality,'' Leibovitz says.

Railing against mainstream American images that depict women as ornamental or as sex objects, Leibovitz showcases each woman for who she is and for what she has contributed, be she mother, Pulitzer Prize-winning author or Olympic gold-medalist.

``Most of the work was done for this project specifically,'' Leibovitz explains. ``And some of the work came from my past files.''

Osceola McCarty/Washerwoman, philanthropist

True to her reputation as photographer-to-the-stars,
Leibovitz sprinkles plenty of celebrity images into the show, which got its start in 1999 as a millennium exhibition sponsored by Vogue magazine.

Visitors to the show encounter rap artist Lil' Kim in a see-through knit top and bleached-blonde curls; former model Jerry Hall suckling her infant son, Gabriel Jagger; and actress Blythe Danner embracing her daughter, actress Gwyneth Paltrow.

It is access to the upper strata of society, including two Supreme Court Justices and three former first ladies, mixed with a sense of responsibility to those with less status, from Las Vegas showgirls to victims of domestic violence, that raises the collection's impact.

Individual portraits of a three-star general in a skirt or a farmer hoeing her crops may not wow on their own. Collectively, however, the photos form a satisfying whole.

``Good portraits are deceptively simplistic,'' says Nora Kabat, curator for the Ansel Adams Center. ``(Leibovitz) brings out the personality of the subject.''

Leibovitz affirms that it was rarely an effortless process.

When she visited Osceola McCarty, a lifelong washerwoman who saved then donated $150,000 to form a university scholarship, Leibovitz arrived to find her subject wearing a suit and a wig.
Wandering around McCarty's Mississippi home, Leibovitz

Eileen Collins/Space Shuttle Commander 

spied an old house dress hanging on a hook.

``I asked if she wears this,'' Leibovitz says. ``She
said, `I wear it every day.'''

At Leibovitz's request, the white-haired McCarty agreed to slip back into her daily costume. Such subtle details add honesty to Leibovitz's photographs.

``A lot of the women are looking straight at you whether it's with an astronaut's helmet, a machine gun or a piece of chalk (in their hands), they have a presence,'' Kabat says.

For the exhibition, Leibovitz enhanced her subjects'
presence by printing the photographs using a large format
technique. The largest photos measure 6-feet by-8 feet.

``I was a little nervous about it, but I wanted to go
big,'' Leibovitz says. ``I like the idea of going bigger than
life and giving them an iconic presence.''

All the single ladies -- and one writer's role in changing their status

A dear friend has asked me to deliver a toast at her upcoming wedding. I’m part of a triangle of people who only half-wittingly brought the bride and bride together, so, of course, I agreed.

Engagement party photo props.

Basic background: at lunch one day I casually introduced my friend to a coworker, a happily married straight woman. The next day at work, my colleague asked about my friend, a new-to-town single lesbian. “I know someone!” my coworker exclaimed. We promptly began brainstorming ways to introduce the two lucky lesbians. My coworker’s poodle pal -- they both adore and own poodles -- fell into the mix, offering to host an upcoming brunch where we could introduce our matchmaking pawns.

Our intentions were pure. Our information was not.

It turned out that the potential partner we had hoped to hook up my friend with was a straight gal. Oops. Not a problem, since another lady in attendance at the Saturday meet-up brunch we had concocted was available, worthy and looking and -- almost immediately -- intrigued by my friend. There was one glitch, however. At their first meeting, Ms. Worthy mistakenly thought my friend was straight and that I -- who could not attend the brunch, due to a death in the family -- was the lesbian who’d been a no-show.

The new addition to my friends' happy family.

Confused? Probably. Suffice it to say, it all worked out in the end and my friend and Ms. Worthy are over-the-moon ecstatic, recently bought a home together and have just added a second poodle to their little family. Ms. Worthy told me not so long ago that my friend is “a dream come true.” I can retire my Yente hat, satisfied that I helped arrange at least one happy union.

Non-traditional paths to matrimony calls to mind a fun series of stories I worked on during my newspaper reporting career. We put an ad in our lifestyle section inviting readers to submit a letter explaining why we should pick them to participate in a story in which the reader would propose to their beloved in the pages of the newspaper. As I recall, we received only one letter taking us up on the offer. Fortunately, as Amy March instructs us in “Little Women” (I paraphrase): “You don’t need scads of suitors; only one -- if it’s the right one.”

Originally published Jan. 6, 2005 in The Oakland Tribune/ANG Newspapers

From Tina to Bradley: A real life love story with a surprise ending

By Monique Beeler

Call it a chronic case of procrastination.

They meant to get married years ago, but life _ and the threat of death _

got in the way. But more on that later.

They're not a fancy couple.

T-shirts and jeans are their clothing of choice. They work hard for their money.

She's a hotel front desk clerk, he hangs drywall.

A big night out for this Fremont couple is a rare visit to a neighborhood

steak house. For fun, they love rooting _ win or lose _ for their favorite

baseball club, the San Francisco Giants.

Their music of choice may be classic rock, but their love is the lofty,

enduring kind that inspires operas and plays. Antony and Cleopatra, Romeo

and Juliet, meet Bradley Matlock and Tina Birdsell.

Bradley is a sweetheart of a guy with a mile-wide loyal streak _ to his

beloved and to his baseball team. You might recognize him by his

ever-present Giants baseball hat _ he's got four. A laid-back homebody, he's

happy spending Saturday night on the sofa watching movies with his sweetie.

His honey Tina is a good-natured, no-nonsense gal who values straight talk

and has no patience for pretense. And she loves to laugh, especially at her

favorite TV shows, such as ``Everybody Loves Raymond'' and ``That '70s

Show.''

The pair first met in the mid '80s when Tina's friend dated Bradley for a

few years. Tina and Bradley always got along well and enjoyed joking around

and teasing each other.

Later, Bradley and his girlfriend split up, and Tina didn't see him again

for several months.

Then, Bradley gave Tina a call. ``We were always friends,'' he says. ``She's

just an awesome person.''

They met for lunch and clearly had a good time on that 1988 afternoon. They

started dating and have been together ever since. He's now 40, and she's 38.

Bradley had marriage and a family on his mind early on, but Tina wasn't

quite ready.

``We were being smart and waited,'' she says.

Finally, they made plans to exchange vows in 2000.

``I (was) thinking, `I'm 35, let's get married and have kids,''' says Tina.

Then a routine gynecology appointment threatened to destroy their dream.

Tina's medical test revealed abnormal cells. The diagnosis? Cervical cancer.

``I was devastated,'' she says. ``He asked, `Do you still want to marry me?'

And I didn't, because I felt damaged.''

The disease _ and its treatment _ ravaged her reproductive system, leaving

her unable to bear children. Bradley didn't mind. He told her, "We'll get a

dog.''

``He brought my spirits up the whole time,'' Tina says.

Bradley drove her to radiation treatments. He sat with her in the waiting

room and brought her bags of peanuts and other treats. He picked up her

prescriptions and took her out to breakfast after appointments. When

radiation left most of her skin as red and tender as a severe sunburn, there

was little he could do but hold her hand.

A low point for Tina came when she skipped a dose of anti-nausea medicine

and became extremely sick to her stomach. Bradley didn't hesitate to come to

her aid.

``Most men would say, `I can't handle this. I've got to go,''' Tina says.

``He'd clean me up. CLP (Bradley's employer) let him go to every

appointment, then he'd work at night.''

The treatments lasted for eight months, ending in May 2001. Regular

check-ups every three months reveal that Tina has remained cancer-free.

Today Tina and Bradley will sit down for a romantic lunch at Fremont's

Pearl's Cafe. They'll enjoy some food and conversation, then after the main

course head waiter Abran Dreyfus will deliver this newspaper story to the

table as a special pre-dessert bonus.

Bradley, just like you, will be reading this story for the first time. And

he's in for quite a surprise.

``I've known a lot of people who go through sickness and (split up),'' Tina

says. ``He stood by me the whole time. I just want to do something to show I

appreciate everything he's done for me.''

Bradley, Tina has something she'd like to say to you:

``Bradley, You are my best friend, my lover and my soulmate. We have

been through a lot since 1988. You were there for me through hard times and

good. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to peel your

grapes and grow old together. I promise the future will be filled with lots

of love, laughter and adventures. Because together we can conquer anything.

I love you so much. Will you marry me? Love, Tina.''

Tina says she expects Bradley to be stunned when he sees this marriage

proposal in the newspaper.  

``He's probably going to be in shock,'' Tina says. ``But I want to spend the

rest of my life with him.''

And, so how does Bradley feel about Tina?

Under the guise of writing a story about cancer survivors, we interviewed

Bradley.

Tina, this won't come as news to you, but Bradley says you're his best

friend, and you make him feel ``good to be alive.''

When you told him you had cancer, he admits he was caught off guard.

``I didn't know what to think (except), `Just deal with it,''' he says.

``That's all you can do.''

He tried to be supportive, but it wasn't always easy for someone who has had

a lifelong fear of hospitals. Between the ages of 8 and 12, Bradley

underwent nine surgeries, including a corneal transplant, after a rock

struck him and left him blind in one eye. Hospital visits normally are so

uncomfortable for him that when his step-mother was hospitalized a few years

ago, he sent his love and a get-well card via his father. Anything to avoid

hanging out in those antiseptic-scented white halls.

But when Tina got cancer, he valiantly overcame his unease to support her.

``We'd been together a long time,'' he says. ``You can't just walk away. I

will never be lonely as long as I live, because I have Tina.''

As he enters his fourth decade, Bradley observes that he has spent nearly

half of his life with Tina, and he can't imagine what his days would be like

without her at his side.

``I like to think that what we went through made me and Tina stronger,''

Bradley says. ``I'm looking forward to the next 20 years.''

Well, Bradley and Tina, your lunch dishes have been cleared and dessert is

on its way. Will champagne soon be in order?