Real Sports

Usually, the weeks leading up to the first weekend of college football can be pretty long and boring in the sports department, especially in recent years where the Atlanta Braves have not been in contention in August for anything save the choice of select tee times at Atlanta’s finest country clubs in October. But tonight has been a rare exception. In addition to the Braves, the Warner Robins All Stars are playing Chula Vista, California in the semifinals of the Little League World Series. And on the NFL Network, the Jacksonville Jaguars played the Philadelphia Eagles—and Michael Vick.

For months, Michael Vick has been hovering on the periphery of the headlines, as reporters covered his bankruptcy, prison release, and ultimately his signing by the Philadelphia Eagles. Even though Jessie Jackson compared him to Jackie Robinson—sorry, I can’t do that one justice—Vick was a mediocre quarterback at best in Atlanta. His career completion rate hardly made it above fifty percent. But when it came to being a thug, he was all-world. He’s a convicted felon. He apparently tried to smuggle pot through an airport, so he’s probably not remembered as a scholar athlete from Virginia Tech. And he flipped off the Atlanta fans after an ugly loss.

On a day when Ted Kennedy’s death probably should have still led the headlines, regardless of what you think of him, Vick’s smirking mug accompanied the lead story of ESPN, the Atlanta Journal and Constitution, and even the Wall Street Journal. You would have thought Elvis was singing the national anthem. I watched a few minutes of the Eagles’ preseason game. I’m not sure why—curiosity I suppose. Maybe I was hoping to see PETA members charge the field, flying batteries, or the warden from “Cool Hand Luke” show up for a beat-down. The Philadelphia fans cheered wildly every time Vick entered the field, albeit only six times. And Vick was anything but spectacular.

I suppose as a Christian I’m supposed to be all about forgiveness. But its difficult when I’m so tired of our society celebrating overpaid thug athletes. Remember Ray Lewis? Did you too wonder why Dante Stallworth got a 30-day sentence after being convicted for vehicular manslaughter after killing a pedestrian while driving drunk. How did Pacman Jones keep an NFL job?

But tonight, there was an uplifting alternative airing on ESPN. While the Warner Robins All-Stars couldn’t pull out a victory, losing in the bottom of the last inning, they and their California opponents put on a clinic in sportsmanship. For every fault found in professional sports, the volunteers and players in Little League Baseball have it all right. They didn’t win. And they didn’t commit any crimes and go on to garner headlines for months. Instead, they played baseball for the best reason—for fun. So while the kids from Warner Robins are done and headed back to school, they go home winners in my book. Let’s see some more headlines about that.

The Real Florida

I just returned from one of the most unique vacations of my life. I have always sought solitude. Disney World is neat, but for me, real magic is an afternoon on a beach where I can't see another soul in any direction. While spending a week on North Captiva Island, Florida, I found two such places… the Florida State Park on the southern end of North Captiva Island and the island of Cayo Costa.

To get to either of these locations, you need a boat. We rented a house on North Captiva Island and had to take a ferry from Pine Island to get there. There are no cars on North Captiva. Everyone, from renters and residents to staff members, drives golf carts on sandy paths that connect the homes and few businesses. To get to the "geopark" on North Captiva, a golf cart will only get you close, as a hike of roughly a mile is required along a sandy path through the typical Florida scrub. But unlike so much of Florida, this pristine area is perfectly undeveloped. In the place of condos and hi-rise developments are seagrapes, palm trees, and over a mile of beach covered inches thick in seashells.

A few miles north of North Captiva Island is Cayo Costa. We reached this beauty by rented boat. The Florida DNR maintains a free dock for tour vessels and private boats in a sheltered cove on the intercoastal waterway side of the island. The park rangers also provide a shuttle from the dock to the Gulf of Mexico side of the island. There are primitive cottages and campsites on Cayo Costa, but there is no electricity, no paved roads, and no air conditioning. Instead, there are nine miles of undeveloped beached.

A twenty minute hike from where the shuttle dropped us off, we reached a finger of sand stretching out into the Gulf of Mexico. There were gulls and terns lining the shore. Oystercatchers picked at the freshly beached sea urchins that littered the shore. Several small sharks swam within a few feet of the surf. And lying everywhere in the one to two feet of water were all manner of seashells and sanddollars.

Cayo Costa has an interesting history. In the 1700s, the Cayo Costa was supposedly home to the legendary pirate Gasparilla. Much of his treasure was never found. Two hundred years ago the island served as a naval outpost, a Cuban fishing village and later as a quarantine station for immigrants entering Florida through Boca Grand Pass. Around this time, Cayo Costa was also home to a sizeable brothel. I guess fishermen and sailors alike needed entertainment, too.

Florida bills Cayo Costa as "the real Florida." Certainly, the state's legislature is to be commended for protecting these pristine areas. While so much of Florida is covered with high-rise developments and concrete, to me, the treasure here is the opportunity to walk these beaches isolated from the world.

Capturing Lightning

It's amazing how a vacation designed to be all about relaxing and doing nothing has such little free time. And there has been very little time for photography. But late afternoon thunderstorms that appeared across the Everglades slowly worked their way out to sea last night, creating a great opportunity to attempt to capture lightning out over the ocean. Having never really tried to catch lighting bolts, I was apprehensive and unsure of a technique. While I got lucky with a couple of great captures, I was dissappointed to find out that my focus was ever-so-slightly off.



This shot was taken on a tripod at f3.5. I triggered the shot with a shutter release and the shutter was open for 3:55. If you look closely, you will notice several tiny streaks in the top righthand corner of the frame. Those are stars revealed by the retreating storms that blurred with the long shutter. A near miss at best, it leaves me with another lesson learned and another opportunity to wonder "what if". But with luck, Mother Nature will give me another chance or two while I am here.

A Somewhat Different Place

So it’s vacation time. On Saturday, we piled in the car and drove eight hours to Pineland, Florida. From there, we climbed onto a boat for a twenty minute ride to North Captiva Island. It’s an amazing place, different in so many aspects from anywhere I’ve ever been. There are no cars, but there are phones and lights. And thankfully, air-conditioning as it is very hot and humid.

For the last two days, I’ve spent most of my time lying on the beach cooking in the hot sun, reading, and listening to my iPod. The water is flat and calm here. The shore is covered with seashells. There are sea otter, dolphin, and some really large tortoise. And the only place to buy anything has $4 cans of Pringles, $40 pies, beer, and not much else.

I haven’t had much time for photography. At dusk both nights, I’ve snapped a few photos of the sea oats and setting sun. A tripod, the right combination of clouds and sunset, and a graduated neutral density filter can do wonders for slamdunk brilliant colors. Unfortunately, my attempt at capturing lightning last night during the apparently obligatory thunderstorm didn’t work out so well. Chances are, I will get another opportunity.

For some reason, I’ve been struggling to concentrate on reading today. Smeared in sunscreen lying next to the Gulf of Mexico is a great place for thinking deep thoughts. That can be a good thing or a bad thing. I found myself listening to a lot of blues and dissecting some intricate stuff like the Dave Matthews Band that I can only wish I could play. Dave Matthew’s music is oddly timed, intricate, and sometimes difficult to understand. Fitting music, I suppose.

There’s an island nearby called Cabbage Key. A restaurant there claims to be the source of Jimmy Buffet’s Cheeseburger in Paradise. True Parrotheads and even people like me with Google know that the idea for Buffet’s song about “lettuce, tomato, Heinz 57, and French Fried potatos” was birthed in the Tortolas, not southwest Florida. Nonetheless, it reminds me of my favorite Buffet song, A Pirate Looks at Forty. Considering I have a month and a half until I reach the big “four-oh”, it’s hard to image that there’s ever been a better written song about introspection, mistakes and “what if”.

It’s hard to believe it’s been a year since I swam in the Gulf of Mexico. So much has changed. And so much is still the same. There’s another afternoon storm blowing in from across the Everglades. I think I’ll go make a margarita and watch it come across the island while I listen to Jimmy Buffet's simple but oh so accurate words.

A Strange Stimulus

An amazing transformation seems to be occurring around the country. The fluffy-clouded euphoria of “Obamination” seems to be clearing. Cutting through the obfuscation of campaign promises and mandates seemingly delivered by a Democratic landslide is the reality that America has taken on vast oceans of debt in the short tenure of the Obama administration with little or nothing to show for it. Folks rooting for both sides of the aisle are starting to realize that affordable energy and quality healthcare are in jeopardy if Obama and congressional leaders get their way. And, the hundreds of thousands of jobs to be “created or saved” have not appeared. A little digging has revealed some odd truths about the truckloads of stimulus money being heaped on the problem.

The Wall Street Journal reported this week that $80 million of the $787 billion Recovery and Reinvestment Act funds went to the National Endowment for the Arts. That was news to me and probably would be news to most Americans, if they ever heard about it. Orchestras, ballet companies, theaters, and film houses around the country—okay, truthfully a large number of them were in New York and San Francisco—got checks for $25k or $50k.

But the aspect of the story that will create the most rancor, assuming the information makes the mainstream news, is that the bucks went to fund projects that would certainly embarrass the congressmen who approved them. For example, San Francisco’s Frameline film house, which received 50,000 taxpayer dollars, recently released Thundercrack, billed as “the world’s only underground, kinky art porno horror film, complete with four men, three women, and a gorilla.” You just can’t make this stuff up. And then there is “The Symmetry Project”, a “study of the body's central axis” which apparently amounts to two nude people writhing on the floor.

It’s difficult to read about the recent exploits of the NEA and not remember photographer Robert Mapplethorpe. While Mapplethorpe received free publicity for his work, the NEA got hammered, and rightfully so, for funding his Cincinnati photography exhibit which included images of bullwhips installed in places where nothing was designed to be inserted and some misdirected urine. Speaking of urine, Andres Serrano’s photo of a crucifix submerged in the artist’s “own” brought national anger when Americans found out that NEA funds partially paid for a $15,000 award for Seranno’s “art”.

Perhaps a relevant side note to this story seems to be the long-standing battle of what is “art”. This goes beyond what constitutes a masterpiece. Americans seem to forever live in the shadow of our puritanical founding. The same images that capture some primordial imaginations also threaten the mores etched in us.

The arts are important. Funding the arts to provide opportunities for artists is important. Now maybe I’d see it differently if the NEA had sent me a big check to photograph the cast of Thundercrack. Whether it’s art or porn or something somewhere in between, forcing me to pay for it with my tax dollars is something I certainly can’t appreciate.