Last night, I went to the Weezer concert just a few blocks from my current residence. I have to admit, I wasn't that excited to pay 50 bucks to see them. I haven't seen Weezer since their "Pinkerton" tour with No Doubt in 1996. Weezer is one of my all-time favorite bands from my high school days.
The concert got off to an awkward start thanks to the opener Angels & Airwaves, featuring Tom DeLonge of Blink 182. Tom is trying to be more serious after his "punk" boy band Blink 182. I can respect his over-the-top theatrics. One can sense his seriousness in the project and not help but take note that he has matured beyond the glory days of all the high school girls his band swooned of my kid sister's generation.
"Epic" rock is so hot right now in the music world, anyway. Many bands like Angels & Airwaves, My Chemical Romance, Dream Theater and Muse are going for the epic feel of U2's "Rattle and Hum" or Pink Floyd's "Dark Side of the Moon." But with Tom's gaping-hole-sized-lack of vocal talent, I'd have to call his new project "Shepic Rock" as in sh-tty epic rock.
Weezer came on stage dressed in cool white jump suits and opened with the first track "My Name is Jonas" off their first self-titled Blue record. They played almost all of their hit singles from their six albums and stayed on stage for over 120 minutes. They tried to promote some of their new songs from their new Red self-title album, and all the members of the band (including the drummer) even took turns singing the lead vocals of their own songs that nobody recognized. During these songs, we all clapped at their efforts like the way the Beatles treated Ringo.
Overall, I'm very glad I attended. It seems that Weezer, and especially Rivers Cuomo, have reached the appreciative stage of their careers where they realize they truly do have a boatload of fans who appreciate them for who they truly are: Nerd Rock. Weezer fans have always been very loyal, and their hit singles have always delivered great pop hooks to attract music lovers from all genres.
While I was there, I realized that going to a Weezer concert fits me and my personality a lot more than following the NFL draft.
Which led me to ask myself, "How did I ever get so enveloped in sports in the first place?"
Growing up in Idaho Falls, Idaho, sports were never a part of my life. My life consisted of piano lessons and Legos. I could play Mozart, Bach, Beethoven by the age of 10; but couldn't have begun to tell you how to play football because there are so many complicated rules, unlike soccer where you just ran around at recess and kicked the ball.
It all started in 5th grade in Mr. Butts' class after my family moved to Kennewick, Washington. Unfortunately his first name was Dave and not something more funny as in Harry or Seymour. He had some basic elementary books about the NFL. I would read those during reading time and discovered Barry Sanders, Joe Montana and Jerry Rice.
That led to Ken Griffey Jr., Upperdeck baseball cards and playing hoop at the local neighborhood park.
I never played Little League baseball or youth soccer growing up. Finally in 6th grade, my mom signed me up for Pee Wee football and I think I weighed about 80-100 pounds at the time. I had never played football before, and was one of the last players off the bench. Our team went undefeated until the championship game, which we lost.
I hated my first experience with football. Sure, we won, but it stunk -- hard. My teammates and even my coaches were very mean, and they would purposely throw the ball as hard as they could at me after practice because I was such a wimp. They pretended like it was extra practice to help me catch the ball better, but I knew they were mocking me.
For some stupid reason, I signed up to play in 7th and 8th grade, but I never started. I was always too small, too skinny, too slow and too unskilled. At that time, I attended a summer basketball camp by the Seattle Supersonics with the "X-man," Xavier McDaniel. I thought I was much better at basketball than football because I scored two layups in my first game.
I was still involved in orchestra and jazz band, but sports moved moved way ahead of music and video games on my interest list.
All through high school, all I ever wanted to do was make the varsity basketball team. Former Utah Jazz point guard John Stockton became my new idol as the-skinny-white-guy-who-could from Spokane, WA. I've met several male peers from Utah with the same childhood hero and dreams.
I got cut from the freshman team and the sophomore team. I remember crying after seeing my name on the list of cuts that sophomore year. That one hurt. I knew that I had no shot of making the varsity team after that.
Out of nowhere during my junior year, my family decided to move 25 miles outside of town to the tiny town of Benton City, WA that boasted not a single street light. My graduating class only had 75 students, so there weren't as many jocks to compete with as my previous high school.
That year, I didn't make the varsity but I did make the junior varsity team in both basketball and football. There was hope for my senior year, but I knew the coach had his favorites and I wasn't one of them.
My senior year came and there was a new football and new basketball coach. I missed the summer camps because I was in Utah that summer working for my brother-in-law's business in his hot garage. When I got back just in time for school to start, the new coaches had no idea who I was, and I was out of shape from not playing all summer.
I got off to a bad start and found myself on the bench. Our team was terribly horrific. We lost every single game... by a lot! We lost our homecoming game 63-0. Each game, I had my opportunities off the bench to come in and play and I thought I did ok. A couple of guys ahead of me got hurt or quit the team, so I knew I was due because of what I believed were strong performances off the bench. But every Monday at practice where I had an opportunity to become the starting cornerback, the coach would bring in someone else from a different position, thus not taking a chance on me to start.
The football coach even asked me to play junior varsity for a chance to play more, but I had too much pride in being a senior so I declined. I played a lot in our final game, and our dimwitted coach gave me the pat on the back I had been begging for, but it was too little, too late. I wanted to quit football that year to focus on basketball, but the defensive coordinator was also the basketball coach, so I couldn't let him see me as a quitter.
Basketball tryouts came, and I gave it my all. After a week of sweaty drills, the moment came when the coach announced the team. As each name was read off, I saw my friends and peers walk over next to the coach to form the varsity team that he had selected. My name was not called.
In disbelief, I stood with the rest of the castoffs as they started to form the junior varsity team. I was about ready to walk into the locker room to change and go home, because I wasn't sure if a senior could even play on the JV. As I turned around, I heard my friends and coaches yell "Evans!" as I really was on the team, but they had forgotten to call my name.
Glorious! Pure rapture! I had met my goal since 7th grade. I had made varsity basketball! As I was the last name called, that meant I was the last man on the team. Each practice, I had to fight to earn the respect of the coaches. I had always envisioned myself as a point guard after my hero John Stockton. I always practiced and played point, but due to the lack of size on our team, I was put in as a backup power forward. I wasn't good at rebounding or the low block stuff. My strength was passing.
The season went on, and we won only one or two games. I even missed one of the two wins because of a family emergency that occurred. I finally started the last game of the year: Senior Night. I scored a few buckets in the first quarter, but soon found my way to the back of the bench. With just a few minutes left in the game, and we were losing by 20 points as usual, the coach put all the seniors back in.
With just under two seconds left in the game, I took the inbounds pass and made a turnaround three-pointer as the buzzer expired. Game. Season. High School Career. Done.
Not your typical Hollywood ending because of how the game and the season ended, but for me, it was a huge personal victory. I had made the team. Years of effort were condensed into those six months where I had earned my varsity letters in football and basketball.
I never bought a letterman's jacket to put those letters on. All those hours of trying to prove to the coaches that I was good enough weren't happy memories for me.
If I had re-focused those countless hours of practicing basketball and football into the piano, bass, viola or any other instrument, I probably would've gone to college on music scholarship.
Somewhere between the 7th and 8th grade, my focus and attention switched from music (where I was naturally gifted) to sports (where I was never gifted). My parents had never pushed me into sports. My dad was a band geek. My oldest brother was a skater. My next older brother is a computer geek. I was the musician, not the jock.
After watching Rivers on stage last night reflecting on the art that he had created as Weezer took their final stage bow, I sometimes wonder if that could have been me with the musical talent that I had been given...
To answer my question of how I got involved with sports, I don't know the answer. It just happened. Maybe I really liked the challenge that sports offered since it didn't come as easy to me as music did. I think the key to a successful life is not becoming so well-rounded and being good at a lot of things, but the key is focusing all your efforts on the gifts that God gave you to become the best at what you are good at, as long as you're happy.
I recently read an article on ESPN about a top basketball prospect that had more natural ability than almost anyone in the country, but he never loved basketball and it drove his coaches and peers crazy. He liked books and working on cars. The pressure built on him with the basketball expectations that it eventually drove him to drinking and depression, and he recently died broke and "unfulfilled."
His wife said that he was perfectly happy not playing basketball, but the heavy drinking helped him cope with the "unfulfiled" expectations.
I guess the real lesson learned is that you have to do what makes you happy, and not what you're good at. In 7th and 8th grade, playing basketball made me happy and that's what I did.
I can still pick up a bass, piano, guitar or drums and play my heart out. I get a huge rush out of playing on stage in front of people. The nice thing about music: your skills don't deteriorate as you get old like they do in sports so a rocker pushing 40 years old like Rivers can still play his trade well past his prime, and I suspect I'll keep doing the same... in sports, music and writing :)
