Channeling his energy!

How can you not enjoy meeting someone like Davis Lee, an individual who is both inspirational and inspired? Articulate, humble, brilliant - he's the ideal interview. But what drives a man to want to tackle the English Channel? It's a simple question, but one that has no easy answer. Below is the unabridged version of my story that ran in the Boston Globe (click here to read the published article).

The Long Swim
Newburyport man attempts to cross the English Channnel

When Newburport's Kate Lee learned she was expecting her second child this spring, she sent her 2-year-old son Oliver to greet his father at the door with a bottle of tequila and a shot glass. Given Davis Lee's plans to swim the English Channel later this month, seven week's before Kate's due date, the couple's friends might wonder if he didn't finish off the entire bottle.

But such recklessness would be far too rash for this 35-year-old nuclear physicist. Lee, a native of Greenwich, Conn., has actually been entertaining thoughts of an English Channel swim for two decades, since he was 14, living in the Bahamas. In a way, much of what he's done since has pointed toward the day that he would tackle the feat.

"Most people think I'm nuts," said Lee recently, between training swims. "It's just something I got in my head. Not many people have done it. Maybe I have something to prove. I don't really know. It's just something that became a goal. Why do people climb Mount Everest? You set a goal, and you do it."

The idea never left him. After Lee secured his doctorate in nuclear science and engineering from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology in 2003 and moved to California, his fascination with the Channel took flight. He started swimming off San Diego's La Hoya Cove several times weekly. A chance encounter with another swimmer training for the Channel cemented Lee's ambition.

"That's when it all came together," said Lee. "It just spiraled from there."

Lee immersed himself, literally, in his pastime. In 2005, he contacted the Channel Swimming Association one of two governing bodies overseeing crossing attempts, for details. Two years ago, he and Kate, even as they became parents, agreed to marshal their resources for a Channel swim this fall.

"Pushing myself is a big theme," said Lee. "Physically, you can train yourself to do anything. But there's this massive mental component. I like putting myself in situations where I have to tell myself, 'I'm going to power through this, somehow.'"

Those who know Lee well won't be surprised. This is a man who overcame the challenge of dyslexia to earn his degree in math and physics from the University of Mary Washington in 1998 and his Masters in applied physics from John Hopkins in 2002 before securing his PhD from MIT. He's approached this latest challenge in the same vein – decide on a goal, plot a course, and follow that plan religiously.

"It's one of my big problems," said Lee. "I don't know when to quit."

A strict adherence to training over the past 18 months has Lee in ideal shape for his Channel adventure. Stocky by nature, Lee now has 190 pounds hung on his muscular 5-foot-9 frame. In July, he tamed the Kingdom Swim, a 10-mile race across Lake Memphremagog in northern Vermont, in 4½ hours. Last month, Lee entered the Boston Light Swim, an eight-mile race from Little Brewster Lighthouse to South Boston, for the second year running, and shaved 44 minutes from his 2009 effort, finishing under three hours.

"Davis is definitely ready. If anything, I've had to hold him back," said his coach, Andrew Soracco. "He's pretty amazing."

He'll have to be. The English Channel crossing is no small task. The 21-mile gap between Dover, England, and Calais, France, has played its siren song to swimmers for more than 135 years, ever since Captain Matthew Webb first completed an official, observed crossing on Aug. 25, 1975, in 21 hours, 45 minutes. However, due to tides and currents, Channel swimmers are typically forced to take a more roundabout line. Lee can expect to swim at least 30 miles in a large "S" formation, said Soracco.

Still, there are very real dangers. Lee, claiming he's not averse to risks (although he has put his sky-diving hobby on hold for the past 18 months), nonetheless employs his analytical approach to minimize them. "I like to know as many variables as possible," he said, sounding every bit like the nuclear physicist who works for Axcelis in Beverly.

"Everything in my make-up says I'm in the low probability side of the equation. I'm relatively young. I'm fit. I've really put in my time training. I've conditioned myself to the cold water."

Lee's chief concerns are water temperatures, changing water conditions, the distance, and stress.

"Physically, probably the most important thing is being able to withstand the cold water," said Soracco. "The channel averages between 55-56 degrees. If you can't keep your core temperature up, you're going to go hypothermic. That's the number one safety concern."

Lee estimates his body fat percentage is "somewhere between 12 and 18 percent," but he's not worried. After his tune-up at the Boston Light race, and a required 6-hour practice swim in late August, Lee and Soracco both deemed the swimmer Channel worthy.

"If I could magically be in England and swim tomorrow, I'd happily take the day off and just go do it," he said. "I don't have any anxiety or fear about it. I'm just eager to go.

Soracco also knows that conditions can change dramatically during the brief window when swimmers leave Shakespeare Beach. "The day Sybil swam, the Channel was like a washing machine," he said. "The first four, five hours, she fought to get her rhythm. The waves would come up and roll her over when she tried to take a breath. It was really harsh. The day after, it was as smooth as glass. I couldn't believe it was the same body of water."

Consequently, mental toughness is often the swimmer's greatest asset. And Lee has that trait in spades. "You have to have the mental capacity to keep everything together, and to keep moving," Soracco said. "The real draw is the risk, and overcoming the risk. It's so easy just to bag it. People quit, even though they certainly could have made it. Most people are their own worst enemy. They cave."

"Davis is almost supernatural. He never seems to falter. He never seems to have any doubt, at all," he said. "This guy is set. I'm just trying to keep him healthy. But mentally, he's unstoppable."

Unlike San Diego, where seal and shark sightings aren't uncommon, there are few "natural" dangers in the Channel, other than jellyfish. "The biggest hazard is the shipping traffic, which is ridiculous," said Lee.

"You're really trusting the Channel federation guys to know their route and know the boat traffic and let everyone know we're there," Soracco said. "Those tankers, they don't even see you. Those things are immense."

Kate, meanwhile, admits she knew exactly what she was getting into when she embarked on a life with Lee. "I actually asked him to marry me," she said. "When I met Davis, I knew this type of adventure, doing something that some people might consider out of the ordinary, that was him. To take away his ability to do any of that would be to take away Davis. It would have been signing up to be with someone else."

"People keep asking whether I am nervous, but I'm not. Both Davis and I grew up on the ocean. We both have a deep respect for the ocean, and having that understanding and respect for the ocean really makes me comfortable with him doing it."

She may not see her husband swim firsthand, though. She'll be seven months pregnant by late September, and she doesn't want to be a distraction on the pilot boat. If not, she and Oliver will be waiting in Calais. "I want all of Davis's concentration and energy to be focused on the swim," she said. "Even if I'm totally fine, I don't want people to be concerned about me on the boat. I want them all to be focused on Davis."

Concentration is key. While fewer than 1,200 swimmers have made crossing, thousands have failed.

"I want to finish, first and foremost," Lee said. "Assuming I do that, I would like to do it under 12 hours, and I would be ecstatic with a time under 10 hours."

Lee said he's not sure if he's prepared for the San Andreas-type shift that his life will take once he completes the crossing. There's the young family's new addition, a daughter, due to arrive on Nov. 14, to consider. Plus, the family bank account will need time to recover (Lee estimates the swim, from start to finish, will cost between $15,000 and $20,000).

"It'll be weird when it's all over, just because so much of our life has been focused on the swim for so long," said Kate Lee. "But so much of our life has been focused on this for so long that we're also excited for it to finally happen."

As for the immediate future, there's likely to be a glass of champagne, or maybe a shot of tequila, to be shared on the shores of northern France.

To follow Lee's Channel adventures, visit his web site at SharkyTreat.com, or his blog at sharkytreat.blogspot.com.

FINIS

Sidebar 1
In the boat

Davis Lee won't be adrift alone when he attempts to cross the English Channel.

For safety, and verification, every official Channel swimmer must hire a pilot boat. Lee rented a boat from the Channel Swimming & Piloting Federation, the second of two sanctioning groups, to escort him through the Strait of Dover. Typically, the boat is a 35- to 40-foot fishing vessel, and the pilot helps navigate the waters, communicates with other boats, and often provides "encouragement."

Lee's coach Andrew Soracco said he'll play second fiddle to pilot Lance Oram in the cheerleading department. In 2003, Soracco took another swimmer, Sybil Fisher, to the Channel. Oram's father, Michael, was the pilot, and he didn't mince words when Fisher faltered in the heavy chop.

"His basic concept is, 'If you've got enough energy to complain, you've got enough energy to keep swimming. So, shut up and swim!' That's his motto," said Soracco. "Now we've got his son, Lance, and they share the same philosophy."

Meanwhile, Soracco will concentrate on keeping Lee's engine running. To fuel his Channel effort, Lee will rely on training drinks and energy gels, plus the occasional banana. Soracco will prepare a regimen of drinks and gels (and bananas) that he'll relay to Lee by way of a Tupperware container duct-taped to a rope.

"It's really high tech," said Soracco, laughing. "We spared no expense."

Competitive swimmers, on average, burn between 800 and 900 calories an hour, said Soracco. Open-water swimmers, who must also generate heat to combat the cold, consume more than 1,100 calories an hour, meaning Lee can expect to expend more than 11,000 calories during his effort. That's especially important since English Channel crossing rules don't permit wetsuits.

Still, those limitations don't faze Lee. "I'm a purist," he said. "I'll wear a swimsuit, cap, and goggles. That's it. Those are the rules. A wetsuit doesn't count. I plan to abide by those rules."

Sidebar 2
Big Red Numbers

2 – Number of sanctioning bodies that govern "official" Channel crossings, the Channel Swimming & Piloting Federation and the Channel Swimming Association.
43 – Number of crossings by the Queen of the Channel, Alison Streeter (United Kingdom)
34 – Number of crossings by the King of the Channel, Kevin Murphy (United Kingdom)
6:57:50 – Time (in hours, minutes, and seconds) of the fastest recorded solo crossing, by Petar Stoychev (Bulgaria) in 2007
7:25 – Time (in hours and minutes) of the fastest recorded solo female crossing, by Yvetta Hlavacova (Czech Republic) in 2006
26:50 – Time (in hours and minutes) of the longest solo crossing, by Henry Sullivan (United States) in 1923
70 years, 4 days – Age of the oldest man to cross, George Brunstad (United States, in a time of 15:59)
60 years, 10 months, 4 days – Age of the oldest woman to cross, Linda Ashmore (United Kingdom, in a time of 15:11)
11 years, 11 months – Age of the youngest person to cross, Thomas Gregory (United Kingdom, in a time of 11:54)
12 years, 118 days – Age of the youngest girl to cross, Samatha Druce (United Kingdom, in a time of 15:27)
Source: The Channel Swimming & Piloting Federation (channelswimming.net)

Getting down and dirty!

Adventure racing maven Joe Desena's latest offbeat competition is the Spartan Race series. My advance of the Boston race, done for the Boston Globe, can be found here. Below is the unabridged version. The reward for winning? Entry into Desena's annual Death Race in Vermont. Which gives a whole new meaning to the old adage, "To the victors go the spoils" ...

Spartan effort
New series amps up the typical 5K race format

The earthen bump that houses the Amesbury Sports Park alongside I-495 has been many things over the years: forest, farmland, ski hill (Lone Tree Hill, circa 1949), snow and water tubing park, soccer and lacrosse fields. On Saturday, Aug. 28, it will be transformed again, this time into a battleground, as the Spartan Race series and 2,000 competitors come to Boston.

The Spartan Race is the latest creation of adventure race aficionado Joseph Desena, a successful Wall Street trader who has taken his love of the deal and applied it with equal fervor to his serious adrenalin habit. These off-road races are designed to shake TV zombies and desk jockeys out of their doldrums and their comfy chairs by boiling the adventure-race concept down to a short, 5K format that typically lasts between 35 minutes and an hour. However, this is not your average 5K jaunt. Instead, the hilly course will be littered with at least a dozen spirit-breaking obstacles, including a mud crawl, wall climb, balance-beam course, fire jump, spear toss, jousting, and barbed-wire crawl, all designed to test not only the participants' strength and stamina, but their creativity and cunning.

"These races are for someone who is looking to break out of a routine, whether it's running 5Ks on the road, or sitting behind a desk and not having any excitement in their life," said Michael Morris , a personal trainer from Marlborough and the manager of the Boston Spartan Race. "Or someone who's dreamt of doing something really exciting, but hasn't had the access to do it."

Someone like Justin Mattarocchia, a 30-year-old from Newburyport who said he was intrigued by the race, in part, because he traces his Greek heritage to Sparta.

"I agree that people generally place personal comfort above all other concerns," said Mattarocchia. "Even I'm guilty of this, but I find that forcing myself into an uncomfortable place, overcoming adversity, even if manufactured, can serve to strengthen my character and resolve. Pushing myself to do this will benefit me in other parts of my life where I might have to choose between comfort and adventure."

Desena often draws parallels between business and racing, focusing on the common qualities that breed success in each. He has traveled the world to feed his adventure-racing appetite, but understands that not everyone has the same drive, or financial wherewithal, to pursue racing in such exotic locales. That spurred the city-based Spartan Race concept. Boston is the fourth stop on the 2010 calendar, with previous races held in Burlington, VT, Montreal, and New York City. Future races include two in Great Britain (Cambridge and Manchester), Houston, TX, and Los Angeles, CA. All aim to get competitors grimy and sweaty, while serving as a stepping-stone to bigger events.

"That's one of the things that prevents people from getting more involved in the more arduous races. One of the challenges is that you have to schlep yourself to more remote areas," said Morris. "One of our goals is to be near more metropolitan areas so accessibility is easier. It's one less barrier, one less excuse that people can come up with. Like any business, it's about 'location, location, location.' And we've got a great location at the Amesbury Sports Park."

The steep pitch that serves as a backdrop to the playing fields is only the first of several natural obstacles that the park offered organizers. Toss in man-made barriers, and the race becomes as much a mental test as a physical one.

"What differentiates this from your traditional 5K or even a road race or trail race is that the obstacles create a nice change of pace, a really different way to challenge people," said Morris. "It's going to get people out of their running rhythm. It will bring an added element of challenge for people who are used to plowing straight ahead. They'll have to jump over stuff, and crawl under stuff. There's a bushwacking component that will force people to keep their heads up and look where they're going."

But there's no question that the event has hit home with fitness buffs looking for something out of the ordinary. As of mid-August, the race had more than 2,000 participants pre-registered, and the contestants ran the gamut, from rough-and-tumble veterans to absolute neophytes. A training session held in Salem in July attracted 80 contestants.

"I have no interest in running and have never entered a race before this one," said Kellyn Nahas, a 40-year-old business owner and mother of two from Amesbury. "I'm the adult who likes to play on all the equipment at the playground, and the thought of doing the obstacles really excited me. I'll have to suffer through the running to get to the fun stuff."

"We wanted something more challenging and more fun," said Dale Bob Eckert, a 54-year-old cancer survivor from Newburyport. "This looks like it will break up some of the monotony of just running."

Eckert and his wife - Dale Ann Granger-Eckert – compete in "about 35 races a year," on and off-road, including several marathons. However, as fans of the show "Wipe Out," he said they couldn't resist the lure of an obstacle-filled event like the Spartan Race, especially since it was being held in their own backyard. "I like surprises," said Eckert. "I don't even like see the racecourses in advanced. We take as it comes and make the best of it."

The top three finishes from each Spartan Race automatically qualify for the Death Race (youmaydie.com), a 24-hour painfest held every June in Pittsfield, VT, home of Desena's Peak Adventures. Next year, Desena plans to expand the format, creating a Super Spartan Race series. All reflect his bedrock belief in the benefits of hard work.

"I'm fighting the whole world on my ideas, things that I think are pretty basic, normal ideas," said Desena recently. "We're animals. Nobody can dispute that, although some people may not realize it, living in the world we're in. Well, what would you do if you came home, and you saw your dog, sitting on the couch, smoking a cigarette, drinking a coffee, hair in a bun, toenails painted, watching Oprah, taking an insulin shot because she's overweight, sleeping pills in her pocket because she can't sleep at night?"

Desena's tone has a distinct rhetorical quality, but there's no mistaking the point he wants to make: We've got it far too easy. "Now think of coming home to see your dog after it ran 22 miles in backyard, completely exhausted, happy to see you, wagging its tail, and falling asleep," he said. "That's normal for an animal. I would argue that everything that I'm promoting, or involved in, is normal. The rest of the world is abnormal."

While Desena admits his views might seem "hard core" or even over the top to some, he says that impression is simply further evidence that people, and society, have gone soft. "Think about years ago. It was really simple. You either succeeded in hunting for your food, or you didn't and you were dead," he said. "We had natural selection, positive selection, of tougher and tougher people. In today's environment, the lesser person, the softer person, the lazier person, can actually survive."

"The Death Race and the Spartan Race are more akin starting and running your own business, which I've done since I was 15 years old," said Desena. "I've also had the benefit and luxury of working for a large corporation. The rule about starting your own business is, 'Everything that can go wrong, will go wrong.' Customers leave you at the wrong time. Buildings catch on fire. It rains when it's not supposed to. You can either deal with it, 24 hours a day, every single day, or you can't.

"Working for a large corporation, you're coddled. Everything you need is at your fingertips, just like a marathon or an Ironman. You've got water and food and people cheering for you. It's really just a catered training day."

Both Desena and Morris acknowledge that Spartan Races sacrifice some authenticity by employing man-made obstacles, but that was the trade-off required to bring the series to the big city, and to the masses.

"If we have to dumb down the Spartan Race, if we have to shorten the race to entice people to get off their couch, we're going to do that, because we know it's the right thing to do," said Desena. "If I have to contrive some things, but it changes some people's lives, then it's worth it."

Of course, no "Spartan" event would be complete without a bacchanal, and the organizers plan to host a barbecue bash at the park, complete with live entertainment, for spectators and competitors alike. Dale Bob Eckert, for one, can't wait. The party, he said, "makes all of the difference."

"Some people just do a race and go home," he said. "It's all about the party and the social interactions. Running is a social activity. In the long-ago past, if you didn't run fast enough, you were called 'dinner' or you starved to death."

Desena, who expects to be at the finish line, will no doubt consider Eckert a kindred spirit.

For event details, visit spartanrace.com.

FINIS

These old guys are off the hook

Boston, bright

I'm not a skateboarder, but there's no doubt that these characters -- the Geezers of New England -- are kindred spirits. The published article that ran in the Aug. 19 edition of the Boston Globe can be found here. The following is an unabridged version ...

Even at their age, these guys are off the hook
For the Geezers group, the thrill of skateboarding never gets old

The video would probably look more stylish, and more accurate, if it was in grainy black & white, or maybe weathered sepia tones. The YouTube clip entitled "Noob Airy Port" shows a smiling crew of grizzled skateboarders dropping into the concrete bowls at the Newburyport Skate Park at the Nock Middle School.

But these aren't your stereotypical teen shredders (there are no pants, for example, falling halfway down anybody's backside). They're all older than 30, with several in their – gasp! – 40s. They are husbands, fathers. They have jobs, and mortgages. They wear helmets and pads. They are the self-proclaimed Geezers of New England (GONE), a group of past-their-prime characters who share a love of skateboarding. True, there's no denying the inexorable march of Father Time. But the sensation of riding? That, according to 44-year-old GONE founder Richard Falzone, never gets old.

"What I love about skating is the freedom. It's a form of expression," says Falzone, a psychiatrist from Melrose. "Physically, it just feels really good, that flowing motion of going back and forth. I'm kind of a speed addict. I like to go really fast, right on that verge of going out of control. And there's just something cool about doing something you're 'not supposed to be doing.'"

The boarding bug bit Falzone in late December of 2006, just before he turned 41. "My wife told me, 'That's just dumb. You're going to hurt yourself," said Falzone. "My daughter was actually begging me not to do it. She was mortified that I'd even consider doing something like that. It was just too embarrassing."

Unfazed, Falzone rolled back into the sport, and soon met Jesse "Chip" Jones, Steve Forcucci, and Eric Martens – three engineers who worked in nearby Wilmington – at the Ipswich River Park ramp in North Reading. A fast friendship was formed.

"There was definitely a long break in my riding," said Martens, a 39-year-old software engineer from New Hampshire. "Working with Chip and Steve rekindled the memories, and I bought a more modern board off of eBay. We used to go out to local parks on our lunch hour. I like the challenge and camaraderie. I like sports where you can compete against yourself. I don't have to be the best, just better than last time."

Inspired, Falzone created the Geezers group in the fall of 2007. He set up a rudimentary GONE web site (goneskating.org cq), employing the tag line "Old dogs, new trick," and posting a few homemade videos. Brian Callahan, a 38-year-old Geezer from Melrose who owns Helium Design, later took the reins of the web site, creating a true blog that enables members keep in touch, bragging about exploits and planning riding sessions. You can even find GONE merchandise, from T-shirts to coffee mugs. GONE now numbers almost 50 members, reaching western Massachusetts, Brattleboro, VT, and Stamford, CT. And while they love skating locally, the Geezers will also road trip to places like Northampton, Taunton, or the Rye Airfield on the New Hampshire coast (where over-30 'boarders pay only $10 for a 3-hour session on Wednesdays).

"Bros on boards – what could be better?" said Martens. "They are a great bunch of guys with different backgrounds, but a love of the sport. They are a real encouragement to new guys starting out. I remember them taking up a collection to get one of the newcomers a decent helmet."

Still, these Geezers don't suffer from Peter Pan Syndrome. They understand that they've grown up, and have responsibilities. They know they need to go to work in the morning. "I've been wanting to skateboard again for the longest time, but with two small kids, I wasn't sure it was the smartest thing," said 42-year-old Andrew Bjornson of West Newbury with a chuckle. "Almost every single Geezer wears pads and helmets all the time. We old guys have to be careful."

But they've also figured out that life's To Do list doesn't preclude a good skate session, or giving up a pastime they're passionate about. Falzone, who often works with troubled teenagers, will occasionally incorporate skateboarding into his counseling sessions. "It's all about progressive risk-taking," Falzone told me. "There are smart, healthy risks, and stupid risks. With skating, there's a real risk. It's a metaphor for life in a number of ways."

In a very real way, they're also inspiring the next generations of skateboarders to adopt their pastime as a lifetime sport. "That's something that's changing," said Falzone. "This current crop of kids will continue to keep skating, because they say, 'Why would I have to stop at 25, when I see this group of 40 or 50-year-olds out there?'"

At the park, the Geezers typically find that they're a welcomed addition, if a bit of a curiosity. Jones recalled a moment about three years when "I went to Coliseum, the now-defunct skateshop in Melrose, to buy some stuff. When I was paying, the guy behind the counter asked if the stuff was for my kid, to which I replied 'Well, that stuff is for my kids, and this stuff is for me,' And he said 'Aw, that's sick, dude!'"

"I never get any bad vibes or snide comments behind my back, maybe because we're so quick to make fun of ourselves we beat everyone else to the punch," said Jones. "Mostly I get treated as just another skater, and occasionally kids and younger guys will let me know that they think it's pretty cool that we're out there."

In fact, say the Geezers, occasionally immersing themselves in skateboarding actually benefits their home and work lives, because the sport can be a great stress-buster.

"My wife likes it because I come home in a great mood after a good session," said Forcucci, a 47-year-old engineer, and father of two, from Winchester.

Further, many have parlayed their positions as contributing members of society to give skateboarders – generally considered a politically ineffective group – a more mature voice. The Geezers, through advocacy and financial donations, have helped create, refurbish, and maintain several North area skateparks, notably Melrose, Newburyport, Malden, and Marlboro.

"The Geezers are older, wiser. Savvier," said Bjornson, referring to the group's efforts to help save the Newburyport Skate Park. "Younger kids might do it, but might not have the means or connections to make it happen."

Jean-Francois "JF" Fullum, a.k.a. "Monsieur Smooth," works with Bjornson at New Balance in Lawrence, and was instrumental in securing a $2,000 grant from the athletic shoe manufacturer for the Newburyport park. "It's part of our role to educate people and help reinforce that skating is here to stay and growing," said the 37-year-old Fullum. "Skateboarding is one of the fastest growing sport in the U.S., so we need a lot more facilities, especially on the East Coast. It frustrates me when I see empty baseball fields left and right; it's not the '50s anymore. Let's build more skateparks."

The group also brings a parental perspective to a sport that sometimes suffers from a "bad boy" image. While Falzone readily admits that skateboarding's "alternative" aura is part of its attraction, the Geezers also recognize that building and preserving skateparks is a great way to garner public approval.

"A lot of the street skaters are looked on negatively," said Forcucci. "But, I noticed this with skiers versus snowboarders, where snowboarders were looked at unfavorably back in the 90s. It's not the sport – it's the age. Young skiers were jerks on the mountain too. Young kids are going to get into trouble because they have the time and energy, period. Give them a place to skate and play or whatever, and it will take care of itself."

That's one of the reasons that Falzone and Callahan teamed up on the skatepark committee in Melrose. That facility, said Falzone, is "a very humble park, but it's the busiest quarter acre in Melrose by far. It gets so utilized, much more so than the soccer fields or basketball courts."

"Any park that gets built, I'm happy to have it," echoed Callahan. "We had nothing when I was a kid."

Looking to the future, the Geezers have set their sights on repairing the dilapidated ramp at Ipswich River Park, the Winchester skatepark, and the grand prize, the Charles River Skatepark by the Zakim Bridge in Boston. While the Charles River Conservancy has raised $2.5 million for this park (which officially launched in 2001), the project is moving at a snail's pace.

"Various Geezers are writing letters, trying to keep it alive, showing that people care," said Falzone. "All this money has been raised, but because a bunch of complex reasons, it's just not going anywhere yet.

According to the Charles River Conservancy web site, the delay is the result of "re-organization of state agencies and concern over long-term maintenance due to the recession." However, in July, the state Department of Conservation and Recreation announced it would issue a Request for Proposals for a company or organization to operate and maintain the skatepark, said the CRC. "It's a shame that a city like Boston doesn't have a world-class skatepark," said Falzone. "My hometown of Houston just put in a gorgeous world-class concrete park. There's no excuse that a city like Boston, where there's a very active skate scene, wouldn't have a great park."

But these Old Schoolers will continue skateboarding wherever there's a solid ramp, a smooth bowl, and a few like-minded free spirits. For as long as their bodies let them. "We are geeks at heart," said Brian Packham, a 47-year-old father of three from Melrose, about the Geezers of New England. "It's great to know others like yourself who have never lost the passion for skating."

To learn more about the Geezers of New England, visit goneskating.org.

Sidebar: Skateboard slang

If you're going to walk the walk, you'll want to talk the talk. Here's a quick-hit glossary to help you get started:

Air, noun. The space between your board and the ground during jumps and tricks.
Bail, verb. Falling off your board.
Bro, noun. A fellow skater or friend.
Gnarly, adj. A term meaning bad, horrible, or, occasionally, really good.
Locals, noun. The riders that frequently ride the area you're in.
Off the hook, phrase. Very cool, sweet, or unbelievable.
Old School, noun. Original skateboarding style, using fishtail boards and grab tricks.
Props, adj. Respect.
Rad, adj. Abbreviation of "radical," very impressive.
Session, noun. The time you're skating, like a musical session.
Sketchy, adj. A trick that needs work, or an unpredictable or damaged surface.
Stoked, verb. Really excited.
Street, adj. Skating that involves curbs, rails, and pyramids. Also done on streets.
Vert, adj. Skating that incorporates half-pipes.

FINIS

Nicky get your gun

One of the real joys of the writing business is getting to meet really interesting people, like young sharpshooter Nicole Ellis of Peabody. My story for the Boston Globe can be found here. Below is the original draft.

Nicole get your gun
Peabody sharpshooter sets sights on college, Olympic team

BILLERICA – From under her camouflaged baseball cap, Nicole Ellis peers through rose-tinted glasses, her features a study in concentration. Swirling winds at the Minute Man Sports Club have made her task all the more daunting. She slowly shoulders her Beretta 682 trap gun, steadies herself, and barks "Pull!" An orange clay comes spinning out of the bunkhouse, and Ellis tracks it like a cobra ready to strike before squeezing the trigger. An instant later, the clay shatters, compliments of Ellis's unerring eye.

The sight of a teenage girl so comfortable, so capable, with a shotgun might induce double takes from the uninitiated. Not at Minute Man, and not in the Ellis home. Her mother, Patricia Ellis, recalled a time when a sister-in-law, on seeing Nicole walk through the kitchen with her instrument of choice, rolled her eyes and quipped: "Some kids have a violin. Nicole has a gun."

Still, clay shooting is certainly further from the mainstream than Ellis's former pastime, Irish step dancing. From the age of 4 until she was 15, Ellis was a step-dancing enthusiast. Her folks spent thousands on lessons and elaborate dresses, as well as competitions. Eventually, though, Ellis said she tired of the subjectivity that began to permeate the sport, where placement was often decided on what program you belonged to, who your coach was, or what judge you had on any given day.

"It was all political," she said during a recent meet at the Minute Man Sports Club. "With shooting, you either hit the bird, or you don't. It's simple. I like that."

Toward the end of her freshman year at Peabody High, Ellis asked her dad about the guns he had stored in the basement. She had friends in ROTC (Reserve Officer Training Corps), and was intrigued by their conversations about shooting. Michael Ellis was once an avid shooter, but packed the guns away when his daughter was born. At her insistence, he took her to the Danvers Fish & Game Club in Middleton, and the pair began shooting pistols. Nicole soon graduated to rifle, and then shotgun.

Today, Ellis feels right at home here on the range. The shooting range. "It's a ton of fun," she said, flashing a broad smile. "I'm here to compete, and to enjoy myself and my friends. And if I'm winning in the process, that's pretty cool too."

For Ellis, winning is becoming a habit. This weekend, the 18-year-old is competing in the national Junior Olympics in Colorado Springs, CO. It is a return visit to the nationals for Ellis, who secured her first invitation last summer, less than three years after taking up the sport. Such a rapid rise through the ranks is far from commonplace, but her accomplishments don't surprise her coach, Hank Garvey. Ellis took full advantage of shooting being a year-round sport, and has embraced the sport's various disciplines, including trap and skeet, and various styles, including American and International.

"I can remember when she first started at Danvers Fish & Game with us. Nicole was as green as could be," said Garvey. "One of the greatest thing about her was that she never got too serious about herself. She always had an attitude of continuing to try, continuing to improve, continuing to work at it. It's been a great asset for her. She's never really shown any frustration with her performance over the years. And she's progressively gotten better and better over time."

Shooting clays requires physical skills, or "mechanics," such as core body strength, stamina, a calm demeanor, a steady hand, and above-average hand-eye coordination. The best shooters, however, can block out distractions. Garvey refers to it as the "vision channel."

"It's about getting on the right channel so your mind isn't wandering on to any inner thoughts, like having to win the competition or being focused on your competitors," said Garvey. "If you start to worry about those things, it will eat you up, and you won't perform to the best of your abilities. What we ask the kids to do is to worry about their performance goals, not their outcome goals. Performance goals include preparation, imagery, making sure your body is physically ready to do what it needs to do, and that you're on the vision channel.

"You can teach all the mechanics in the world, but the second side to this sport, and a huge part of it, is the mental preparation side. Nicole's been able to handle that side very, very well. When she approaches a competition, she'll put on her game face, and she's able to stay focused. She does exceptionally well because of that. That's a tribute to her. She's done everything we've asked her to do, and now she's reaping the benefits."

Last summer's Junior Olympics competition was admittedly a disappointment, said Ellis, as her gun jammed repeatedly, affecting her routine. However, the experience had a silver lining, as she met Olympic team coaches, rubbed elbows with a number of young shooters from around the country, and was introduced to Lindenwood University in St. Charles, Missouri. The mid-size (15,000 students) liberal arts institution outside St. Louis is a dynasty in the sport of clay shooting, winning seven straight national collegiate championships, a run that would make most Division 1 basketball coaches salivate.

"The fact that Lindenwood had a shooting team really made it stand out for me," Ellis said. "And having such a good shooting team, how could I say 'No'?"

Ellis parlayed her superior grades at Peabody High (taking all Honors and Advance Placement courses, except for math) and superb shooting results into a scholarship (part academic, part athletic) with Lindenwood, where she plans to major in Fire and Paramedic Sciences. She said she won't put any additional pressure on herself, despite the school's overflowing trophy case, but definitely wants to take the sport as far as she can. That means a potential spot on the national development team and perhaps even a trip to the Olympics. She draws inspiration from Melissa Mulloy (now Melissa Mulloy Mecozzi), a Danvers native who took 8th place in the women's 50-meter rifle competition at the Sydney Summer Games in 2000.

At Lindenwood, where she's already known as "that girl from the Northeast," Ellis will join a team of roughly 120 shooters. She'll also have added inspiration – the team's head coach, Sgt. 1st Class Shawn Dulohery, was a member of the United States 2004 Olympic team. Just last weekend, Dulohery, who hopes to make the 2012 Olympic team, was competing at USA Shooting's national championships.

"Nicole will have some wonderful experiences competing at a collegiate level," said Garvey, adding that his star pupil has benefited from the support of her parents. "To think of where she started four years ago, and where she's going now, is just phenomenal."

All the while, Ellis maintains a sense of perspective that belies her age. "Making the national team, and the Olympic team, is the ultimate goal, but it's not the only goal. As long as I'm having fun shooting, that's what I want to be doing," she said before departing for Colorado. "As soon as it stops being fun, I'm just going to put the gun down."

Pressed, though, Ellis admits she doesn't see that happening. "It's something I'd love to do with my own kids someday," she said.


SIDEBAR
A sport on the rise
Clay shooting may not be a sport synonymous with Massachusetts, but it's one that's taken hold, and continues to flourish, especially on the North Shore.

"The sport as a whole, as a youth-involved sport, has grown tremendously in the last 10 years," said Hank Garvey, coach of the Minute Man Sharpshooters, and one of 38 people countrywide on the National Coach Development staff for USA Shooting. "Just in Massachusetts, there are more than 100 kids on different teams throughout the state."

Garvey and his wife, Mary, formed the Sharpshooters when their son, 11-year-old Hank Jr., expressed an interest in the sport. The group was originally based at the Danvers Fish & Game, but later moved to the Minute Man Sports Club (minutemansportsmen.com) on the Billerica/Burlington line to accommodate its growing numbers.

"They've rolled out the red carpet for us," said Garvey. "We have ample fields to train in all kinds of disciplines, and also have multiple coaches to work with kids on individual things."

In addition to a first-rate facility, the Sharpshooters also give members access to three national organizations: the Scholastic Clay Target Program (sssfonline.org); AIM (Academics, Integrity, Marksmanship) through the Amateur Trap Association (shootata.com); and USA Shooting (usashooting.com). Those organizations, and the club structure, are helping to erase any misconceptions about the sport.

"You might not think of Massachusetts as a gun-friendly state, but I'm finding it to be just the opposite," said Garvey, who taught hunting and shooting for two decades before forming the Sharpshooters club. "We have a lot of athletes coming from non-shooting families. I've found that anyone who tries shooting, nine times out of 10 they want to do it again.

"The first thing, and most important thing, we teach the kids is gun safety. That's our primary concern. We build it up from there. As the kids show the capability to be able to handle a firearm, we give them more responsibility."

FINIS

Spin cycle ...

My advance of the Gran Prix of Beverly for the Boston Globe on Aug. 1, 2010. Printed version can be found here.

Gran Prix promises a grand evening of bike racing

Take hundreds of bike racers, all pumping their legs at more than 100 revolutions per minute, pegging their heart rates at 200 beats per minute and hitting speeds of close to 40 miles an hour, combine them with a tight, technical course running along city streets and a raucous crowd toting cowbells, and you've got all the ingredients for one scintillating state championship.

This Wednesday, the heart of downtown Beverly will again be transformed into a race venue, as the 2nd annual Fidelity Investments Gran Prix of Beverly brings high-end criterium bike racing back to the Garden City. Last year's inaugural event proved such a success among racers, spectators and city officials that it was rescheduled to coincide with the 44th annual Beverly Homecoming, ensuring even bigger crowds. Another draw for elite racers is that USA Cycling, the sport's governing body, recently awarded the Gran Prix the title of state championship. It can also serve as a nice tune-up for the USA Cycling Pro Criterium National Championship being held on Aug. 14 in Illinois.

"Any time you have the word 'championship' attached to an event, it definitely makes you want to target it, makes you really try your best that night," said Tim Johnson of the UnitedHealthcare-Maxxis squad, a Middleton native now living in Beverly. "Being a state championship definitely puts the GP of Beverly on a higher plain than some other races."

Held on relatively short circuit course, a criterium features competitors constantly jockeying for position as they repeatedly circle past spectators at high speeds. Each race lasts between 40 minutes and an hour, and consists of several "races within a race," called primes (pronounced "preems"), resulting in non-stop, white-knuckle action. The race is expected to highlight a number of Beverly-based racers who've established themselves as top-flight riders on the national level, including Johnson, Jesse Anthony of Kelly Benefit Strategies, and Shawn Milne of Team Type 1. Add former Team Saturn stars Lyne Bessette (Johnson's wife) and Mark McCormack, Saugus native Maureen Bruno Roy of M&M Racing, and last year's winner, Benjamin Zawicki of Richmond Pro Cycling, and spectators can count on a exciting evening of racing.

"As a local, I'm partial to the Beverly Gran Prix, but even as a racer I have to admit that it is one very cool event," said Milne, a Gloucester native who now calls Beverly home. "There need to be more races that are oriented around local businesses. Coming through the start/finish line of last year's event was as exhilarating as any crit that I have done because the crowds were just amazing."

Those crowds are a welcome sight for city officials and race organizers, as both groups consider the event a win-win situation. "The city has embraced this event," said race director Paul Boudreau. "City officials have partnered with us throughout the planning process, and acted as a liaison between the race and businesses on the race course."

Local restaurants Soma and Mandrake were granted one-day licenses permitting sidewalk service alongside the racecourse, adding to the festival atmosphere, while nearby Chianti Tuscan Restaurant and Jazz Lounge is hosting a post-race party.

"It's desirable for a city to have activities that are unusual, special," said Beverly Mayor William Scanlon. "They were able to build a course that was short enough so you certainly didn't get bored. Seeing those racers coming around the corners and hitting the straightaway sections was really something.

"Now people know about it. All the people who saw the race last year will be coming back, and bringing more people with them," said Scanlon. "Last year, all the spectators were pretty much on the Cabot Street, but this year I'd expect to see more all around the loop."

That "loop," which incorporates Hale, Dane, and Winter streets as well as Cabot Street, also serves as a unusual attraction to both racers and spectators, says Boudreau. Most criterium races are held on giant ovals, similar to NASCAR races. The Gran Prix of Beverly, however, features six corners, more like a Formula 1 race, making for a much more challenging course that puts a premium on biking handling as well as pure speed.

Future cycling stars will also have a chance to shine, as organizers have scheduled free Kids Races (ages 5-12) at Beverly Common, followed by a Kids Parade down Cabot Street (these events are free, but require registration). The amateur men's race is set to start at 4:30. The women's state championship race is scheduled for 5:20, and the showcase elite men's state championship race slated for 6:35.

For details, visit granprixbeverly.com.

FINIS

The heavy price of high fees

A recent Facebook post by a friend got me thinking about this story I wrote for the Boston Sunday Globe Magazine in the spring of 2009, on the high cost of high school sports. It's not a situation that looks to be improving anytime soon, sadly ...

When a Community Loses
User fees could threaten the growth of high school sports

Eight years ago, when my daughters were in diapers, I took an assistant coaching post with the Hamilton-Wenham High School hockey team. It was one of those rare moments when life allows you to repay a debt. I lost my dad before eighth grade. Sports kept me heading in the right direction despite the upheaval of puberty. I had a place to go every day after school, and coaches who cared about me. The H-W Generals, like most teams, had kids who simply needed someone to offer guidance and maybe a firm hand. My wife joked that I had two daughters and 25 sons.

Today, this two-town district no longer has a hockey team. There was enough interest, and both towns are well-to-do suburbs, so how could this happen? The answer is a cautionary tale for public school athletic departments statewide. For many school districts, the combination of local, state, and federal funding and grant money leads to budgets that barely cover academic programs (including teacher salaries, supplies, and building upkeep). To subsidize extracurricular activities -- especially sports -- districts turn to override votes, fund-raising, booster donations, and user fees.

That last category is a deal breaker for many parents. It certainly spelled the demise of the H-W Generals hockey team. In the Hamilton-Wenham district, the user fee for 2001-02 was a flat $200 per sport. Now, athletes or parents must pay 100 percent of the cost of each sport. For 2009, the tab for track and field is $232. Girls' tennis is $326, baseball is $604. The user fee for football last season was $969, even after relief from gate receipts. The hockey fee for 2007-08 was $1,650; fewer than 10 players signed on, and the team folded.

"Public schools are being forced to impose fees," says H-W superintendent Marinel McGrath. "Right now, we charge for everything that we can legally charge for, and that's not what public schools were supposed to be."

Neither the state nor the Massachusetts Interscholastic Athletic Association tracks user fees, but Hingham resident Dick Hawkins catalogs them on his website, SuperEdNet.com, and says fees have been rising steadily since around 2000. "There is a very small percentage [of districts], maybe 25 percent or even less, that don't charge fees," Hawkins says. "And those that don't are thinking about it now."

Sure, there are districts that charge less than Hamilton-Wenham, and most offer financial assistance to those in need, but that's little consolation to thousands of families hit by these costs.

"Parents are being fee'd to death," Hawkins says.

That doesn't bode well for high school sports in Massachusetts, which has seen an increase in participation recently, according to Paul Wetzel of the MIAA. Last year, the 370 MIAA-member schools, which encompass the vast majority of schools in the state, recorded 212,826 "participants" (since some students play multiple sports, the group estimates that roughly 165,000 individuals played sports). With about 340,000 total high school students in the state, that figure suggests that almost half the state's students participate in at least one sport. But educators and administrators believe that number would be even higher without fees. And it's fair to question whether more parents, like those in Hamilton-Wenham, will reach a breaking point.

There are no easy alternatives to user fees. Tax overrides are a difficult sell, especially in this economy. And federal stimulus money isn't likely to have a significant impact, if any. One option for some students is a cooperative team, where players from one district play for another. That's what a dozen H-W hockey players are doing this season, competing for a team hosted by Salem High School. The good news is that the savings are appealing -- Salem's team charges only a $200 fee. The bad news is that the kids no longer represent their community.

In the end, towns and districts will have to take an active role in fund-raising -- and get more creative. That's what Randolph did. The town passed an override last year, allowing schools to repeal a $100 activity fee. But even before that vote, volunteers within the school district had taken a proactive step. Beginning in 2007, they partnered with the New England Patriots in a program to raise money for athletics by helping with game-day concessions.

Recently, I bumped into a former "son" of mine and asked about a few of his teammates. I was interested in one in particular, a talented but troubled teen. "He's living in Florida," my former player said. "He's actually gotten his life together. Pretty amazing." I'd like to believe the lessons learned playing hockey for the Generals served some small role in that. I hope youngsters like him also get that chance.

FINIS

Hoop dreams

The surreal, insipid circus surrounding LeBron James and ESPN got me thinking about one of my favorite stories, penned a few years back for Continental Airlines, when I had a little more spring in my step and a little less silver atop my noggin. Hoops in its purest form ...

In Your Face
A native New Yorker returns to hallowed hoop ground

During the winters of my youth, on the frozen blacktop of my driveway, I played and replayed the last seconds of NBA championship games. My hometown Knicks versus the hated Lakers. Game Seven. Down one point. Beneath the glare of a single garage light, I would eye the basket over my shoulder like a miniature Walt "Clyde" Frazier, holding the defender at bay until the last moment before arcing a jump shot over his imaginary outstretched fingertips. If the shot went in, we won, and I ran around the perimeter of the pavement jubilant. If it missed, I got fouled, and could still salvage my heroics from the charity stripe.

It never occurred to me then what real pressure was, or what it took to play at that level. I didn't have thousands of leather-lung fans cascading cheers and jeers. I didn't even have a real defender. It was just me, a tall, gawky kid with fingertips split raw from the cold, firing away from the top of the key.

Thirty years later, I got the call to play ball at West Fourth Street, New York City's fabled blacktop court. West Fourth is known far and wide as a hoops mecca. It's a reputation built on the shoulders of larger-than-life players, those who made it to the NBA, such as Kareem Abdul Jabbar (Lew Alcindor in his pre-UCLA days) and Lloyd Daniels, and those who didn't despite eye-popping talent, such as Earl "The Goat" Manigault. It didn't matter that I left that driveway in New Jersey - a stone's throw from the George Washington Bridge - long before Michael Jordan became a household name. It didn't matter that my family and I moved to New England, where hockey is king. I continued to play basketball simply because I love the game, not because I'm particularly gifted at it. Now, after countless pick-up, recreation and over-35 league games, I was going to play against big-league talent.

I arrive in Upper Manhattan late one Friday night in May with my brother-in-law Rob in tow. We're staying at a friend of Rob's, Greg, who lives in a fourth floor walk-through above a sushi bar on East 70th. Rob is my ringer, the single-season scoring record holder for a New England university. A 6-foot-5 shooting guard who was just a step too slow to play in the top echelons of NCAA ball, Rob has the build, the walk and, perhaps most important, the talk of a real player.

Unfortunately, Rob also has a different agenda for the weekend. Our plan is to sample New York's nightlife on Saturday, after the games at West Fourth, but Rob is intent to get a jump-start on the festivities. Just before midnight Friday, I'm ready to call it a night. Rob, however, succumbs to the temptations of the Big Apple and disappears with Greg, promising that he'll be ready to go in the morning.

I sleep as soundly as a child on Christmas Eve. Every hour or so I wake up, check the clock, realize there's plenty of time before sunrise and return to a fitful sleep. My adrenaline is already pumping. Just before 6 a.m., Rob stumbles in, slumps onto the living room couch and starts snoring. I make one feeble effort to stir him, but he's hopeless. So much for my right-hand man. I grab my basketball and head off to West Fourth alone, a 6-foot-2, 200-pound bundle of nerves.

East 70th Street and Second Avenue on an early, sunny morning is a treat. Cyclists and in-line skaters share the wide thoroughfares with the occasional taxi and car. I grab the first cab that comes by. "You see Cone last night?" asks the gray-haired driver, referring to New York Yankees pitcher David Cone. "Man, was he something else? Only gave up two runs. Against the Red Sox! Man, if he gets going, fuggetaboutit. Know what I'm saying? We're talking dynasty here. Pettitte, Jeter, Wells. How about that Wells? No hitter the other night, perfect game. Something else. You a Yankees fan?"

The 15-minute ride reminds me of the enormity of this city. I hop out at West Fourth Street and Sixth Avenue, a block from Washington Square. The pungent smell of sun-baked trash on concrete hits me like a whiff of smelling salts. The wailing of a few neighborhood eccentrics, shouting at passersby or the heavens, is all but impossible to ignore. Two police officers stand by the subway entrance alongside the court. Neither blink. Welcome to Lower Manhattan.

I sit down by the 12-foot-high chain link fence that surrounds the court, and take in the "It's a Small World After All" parade of people walking by. Jittery after two large cups of coffee, I look for a bite to eat. Across the street, a Taco Bell is sandwiched between "Hope Floats" at the old Waverly Theater and Crazy Fantasy XXX Video, 25 cents. I opt for the McDonald's alongside the court, shelling out two bucks for a Sausage McMuffin and the privilege of using the bathroom (customers only).

The padlock at the court doesn't come off until 8 a.m. I'm 15 minutes early - by design. In the months before my visit, I couldn't reach anyone connected to the court. In desperation, I called Chris Ballard, author of Hoops Nation, an entertaining compendium of the country's best pickup basketball courts, for some advice. I wanted to make sure I could get into a few games.

"I'm assuming you're white," Ballard asked without hesitation.

"Um, yeah, no way around that," I replied.

"Then get there early," he said. "And look like you can play, even if you can't. Bring a league jersey, anything that says you've played before. Just don't show up with an NBA jersey - that's a sure sign of a poser."

After the padlock comes off, I walk onto the hallowed surface and can't help but notice how small and narrow the court is. And lopsided. And full of cracks. "It's not the playground, it's the players," one local, Ice, tells me later when I ask what makes West Fourth so special. The brand new white nets look distinctly out of place. I didn't expect any nets at all, chains at best.

Players start trickling in over the next hour. By 1 p.m., I'm told, it will be next to impossible to squeeze into a game. Even watching will be difficult, with midday crowds often running two and three deep along the outside fence.

This is urban Darwinism boiled down to its core. Shortly after noontime, the youngsters and elder statesmen are weeded out. Only the fittest survive - not necessarily the most skilled, but the toughest. The game is physical from half-court in, and brutal underneath the basket. Glares hit as hard as forearm shivers.

The names of the combatants - Hard Rock, Speed, Butter, Ice, Big Man, Crackhead - provide glimpses into their games or their lifestyles. Most everyone displays markings: scars, tattoos or a combination of both. Standard gear includes baggy shorts, hanging halfway down the players' backsides, and very, very expensive footwear. Talking trash is an art form. The language - colorful, loud and profane - would make a truck driver blush.

But for the crowd at West Fourth - hardened New Yorkers and savvy tourists - it is all part of the show.

"You can't guard me, motherf--ker!"
"Good ass D!"
"Bullshit call!"
"All day long, motherf--ker, all day long!"
"Rebound! Rebound!"
"If you make the basket, you don't got to worry about no rebound."

Basketball at West Fourth is stunning theater. Whether watching or playing, the arena is not for the timid. There are no refs. "I always said I'd like to see NBA players play with schoolyard rules," says onlooker Greg Miele of Brooklyn. "That would be interesting."

In my marquis match-up, I'm running against Lionel ("Like the train, man."), a square-shouldered, solid 6-foot-2 Kevin Garnett look-alike with a quick smile. Despite the late-morning heat, Lionel is sporting a black sweatshirt, jeans and a bandanna.

"You must be dying in this," I tell him, pulling on his sleeve.

"It's all in the mind, bro," he replies.

On my first touch, Lionel D's up hard - no hands, no pushing, just chest to shoulder, knees to thighs. I can barely see past his long arms. On one misguided foray to the basket, Lionel slams the ball back at me so hard I'm sure the NBA logo gets tattooed on my forehead.

"Don't give him that sh--!," yells one of my teammates who obviously thinks Lionel got more body than ball. "Call the foul."

I shrug it off, realizing I'm in for a long, long morning.

In a game to 16, our squad falls quickly behind, then digs in on defense. Slowly, we claw and scratch our way back. There's nothing working for me inside - I can't match Lionel's quickness. Even when I throw him with a good head or shoulder fake, he recovers before I can take advantage, blocking what had been a clear but fleeting path to the basket. Fortunately, the late morning air is still, and I stick a couple of jumpers from the perimeter.

At West Fourth, I learn quickly, the jump shot is regarded with suspicion. The first option is always to take it to the hole, strong. Sure, it's macho, but there's another good reason to play in the paint: The wind that swirls around the city's skyscrapers often makes a jump shot a leap of faith. Still, players who can hit the shot with any consistency earn a grudging respect. And I get Lionel's attention.

He pulls his sweater off, and I mention, with a laugh, that he's getting serious. "You don't have to worry until the scarf comes off," he says with only a trace of a grin, pointing to his bandanna.

We continue to bang as the game wears on. My legs are losing any snap they had earlier in the morning, and my shots start coming up short. My prep work started months before, with plans for the weight room, a strict running regimen and two to three lunchtime games at the local YMCA. But reality nudged in. I'm a homeowner, a husband and a dad, with a full-time job and full-time responsibilities. Somehow the weeks slipped by and, despite my best intentions, my game didn't round into form. Now I'm paying the price.

Lionel is getting the better of me on the offensive end, but my teammates are keeping us in the game. I do my best to help out on the boards, cover on defense, set picks and screens.

During one profanity-laced tirade over a foul ("He made the call!" "I don't f--king care, that was no foul!"), I wander off to the fence to catch my breath. Doubled-over, I ask a local just how out of place I look.

"You play a fundamentally sound game," he says in slow but approving tones. I take it as a supreme compliment that he even noticed "my game."

After his team hits double figures, Lionel starts passing up one open shot after another. "Keep it, keep it," he tells teammates. "I just want the last one."

Suddenly, the game is tied at 15. Next point wins. Hero time, just like the fantasy games played out on my driveway. The ball swings around to me and I give Lionel a quick up fake. He bites and I put the ball to the asphalt. I'm taking this one straight to the hole. I don't feel the quarter-sized blisters, the charley horse, the mashed big toe on my right foot. I get the half step I need and see daylight. But on the third hard dribble, the ball finds one of West Fourth's unforgiving crevices, and caroms off into the chain link fence. Turnover.

Lionel peels of his bandanna. Now he's serious. On the next possession, he slides to the top of the key, takes a crisp pass off his hip and before I can get close, launches a jumper. Nothing but net.

I turn to Lionel as the ball rips the cords and offer my hand. He shakes it, smiling wide. No last-second heroics this time. No reprieve. Nothing to do but suck it up, sit down and wait for next.

FINIS