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Archive for the ‘Memories’ Category

He is legend!!

Posted in Happy birthday, Memories, tagged , , , on August 25, 2014| Leave a Comment »

He is legend.

The voice of a generation (of journalists).

I blame Fred Obee.

If it wasn’t for him, you probably wouldn’t be reading these words now. And a lot of newspaper editors would have spent less time waking up with night sweats, screaming, for the past 24 years.

Journalism wasn’t my first choice. Cooking was.

But, a sudden move from Tumwater to Whidbey Island in the middle of my senior year of high school, liberally seasoned with the fact I’m not really all that special a cook, threw things all asunder.

And then, a fateful phone call from a tired Whidbey News-Times Sports Editor seeking a high school kid to cover one basketball game launched me into another world, and here we are, billions of words (some better than others) later.

There are many people who have been big influences on me during my torrid, on-again, off-again, screaming and kicking, bridge-burning odyssey through the world of journalism. None stands taller than the one-time editor of the WNT.

We danced the dance for three years — me a painfully green, no-college-ever-cause-it’s-for-sellouts “freelance reporter” (which means I camped out in his office and annoyed him until he gave me a story), he a well-respected newsman with a rapidly expanding migraine no Coca-Cola would solve.

Until that fateful day, when, after scintillating stories on dead starfish and Bigfoot hunters, hours of hand copying marriages and divorces at the court house and one ammunition-and-toxic-paint-fueled fire from Hell that landed me on the front page, he named me Sports Editor.

It was then that the fun really began.

Fred was quick. He was nimble. He was the best boss a 21-year-old idiot could have.

Somehow, he never fired me over the course of the next two years, through too-big headlines, poetry on the sports page and several thousand pieces of carefully crayon-scrawled hate mail from a couple of morons who couldn’t understand why I gave girls sports equal coverage with boys sports.

I won him some awards, gave him some angina and had a mid-life crisis at 23 (the first of many) and went to work on a mussel processing boat in Penn Cove.

Cause I’m a freakin’ moron.

But I never stopped writing, never stopped seeing how much I could chafe the folks in charge by loudly declaring, “Touch a word of my prose?!?! How dare you … from God’s lips to my fingertips!!!!!”

That always went over well.

And now, I answer to no one but my readers, a free man here at Coupeville Sports for the last two years.

All because one guy, who celebrates his birthday today, saw enough in me to keep me around even during the angina.

If I am a writer, it is largely thanks to his guidance, to his unwavering support, to the moments when he took me aside and gave me tips and the times when he just rolled his eyes, laughed and let me go on my merry way, knowing I would need to crash and burn sometimes to get the lesson.

Fred Obee is a towering figure in my development as a writer.

Maybe some day he’ll forgive me for all the angina.

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We (all of us) are Coupeville Sports!!

Posted in Memories, tagged , , , , on August 16, 2014| Leave a Comment »

You (and you ... and you, and you and you) are "Coupeville Sports."

A few of the many faces that fuel “Coupeville Sports.”

Two years of exclamation points flyin’ everywhere.

From Maddie Big Time banking in buzzer-beatin’ three-point bombs from the same spot on the floor in back-to-back games, 17 days apart, to that time I got ejected from the CHS press box for promoting vuvuzela horns, it’s been a wild ride.

August 16, 2012, stung by the sale of the Whidbey Examiner to Canada, I struck out on my own and hit the interwebs with this here blog.

Now, some 700+ days later, I’ve cranked out 2,308 articles, published 1.73 million photos (give or take one or two) and rediscovered why I enjoyed covering sports.

After a two-year-plus stint as Sports Editor at the Whidbey News-Times and countless years toiling as a freelancer for the Examiner, I finally have what I always wanted.

The ability to be as big an idiot as humanly possible.

The days of answering to The Man vanished in 2012, and given the chance to write whatever I want, whenever I want, however I want, has been life-altering.

I’ve covered sports on Whidbey on and off for 24 years, but the last two have trumped the first 22, by a very wide margin.

Coupeville Sports is two things in one.

It is, largely, a one-man operation, as I write 99.3% of what I publish. It is my coverage, my slant, my world.

But, at the same time, I owe much to many.

We wouldn’t be where we are if it wasn’t for the photographers, the men and women (and kids) who snap photos for me, who let me run their pics, who provide the very core of what we do here.

Shelli Trumbull and John Fisken are the all-stars, the names you see pop up most frequently in photo credits. They have been invaluable, even when Fisken cries until I go out to the concession stand and buy him a Diet Coke from time to time.

If I listed every parent who has allowed me to use a photo, we’d be here for weeks.

I’ll give a quick shout-out to Robert Bishop, Linda Hammer, Nanette Streubel, Wendy McCormick, Kali Barrio, Janine Bundy and Sylvia Arnold.

To those named and unnamed, whether you lent me one photo or several dozen, your generosity is greatly appreciated.

The coaches, the athletes, the tipsters, the gossip traders — everyone who is willing to take a moment to answer my many (probably sometimes annoying) questions. You are amazing.

A few names off the top of my head (with no disrespect to countless others — we don’t want to be here for weeks):

Madeline Strasburg, for letting me call you Maddie Big Time, Nick Streubel, for being OK with being known as The Big Hurt, Julia Myers for poppin’ her elbow, Lathom Kelley for doin’ back-flips off the gym wall and Makana Stone for being the epitome of class.

Caleb Valko, for always bringin’ the smack talk, Breeanna Messner and Amanda Fabrizi, for being the absolute gold standard for what  student/athletes can and should be, and McKayla Bailey, for being God’s gift to photographers and the greatest photo bomber to ever trod this here Earth.

Madison Tisa McPhee, for letting me run a photo of you live from the ER mere moments after a soccer ball broke your nose, Taya Boonstra, who started the delicious madness known as Cookie Wars 2014, and former CHS Athletic Director Lori Stolee, who was always helpful, even when I was (frequently) ticking her off.

Anyone, and everyone, who reads Coupeville Sports, whether you turn around and say something nice afterwards or scream at me for a bit — you shape where I go with this.

The people who have sent me notes or emails, or who have said something to me in person.

Yep, even the woman who started a South Whidbey sports blog cause she was mad at me, complete with an out-of-focus banner photo, posted one article blasting me, and then vanished into the mists, never to be seen or heard from again.

The softball and baseball moms who took Cookie Wars from a far-fetched dream to a full-on, chocolate-scented battle royal for two months.

Everyone who has gone up to the top of the blog and hit the donate button or slipped me a check and done their bit to keeping me moving forward, independent and able to pay my electricity.

You are what makes this work.

In “Guardians of the Galaxy,” the walkin’, talkin’, two-fisted tree known as Groot goes through much of the film saying only three words — “I am Groot.”

Until a moment near the end, when, as he saves his compatriots, he changes it up slightly and says “WE are Groot!!”

That’s how it is here as well.

Every day, in whatever way you take part in this affair, you are valuable. You are appreciated.

Cause, in the end, “WE are Coupeville Sports!!”

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Still the best in the biz!!

Posted in Happy birthday, Memories, tagged , , on August 9, 2014| 1 Comment »

Ellen Hiatt

Ellen Hiatt

Always a winner.

Always a winner.

She was the one who DIDN’T shoot me in the head with a rubber band every five minutes.

Most days.

Ellen Hiatt was an oasis of elegance in the newsroom at the Whidbey News-Times in the early ’90s, a time when thousands (OK, millions) of rubber bands were sacrificed in the name of stress relief.

It was a different time, children.

There was no internet (or, at least what we think of today as the internet) and no one had a smart phone, so we found our amusement in other ways.

And, most days that amusement came in blasting rubber circles off of each others heads, especially when the victim was on deadline.

If you could make your target — a towering, grizzled, seen-it-all photographer — jump and scream like a little girl who just got a pony, so much the better.

Having attended not a single day of college or ever entered the hallowed halls of journalism school, I nabbed my Sport Editor position old school style, fast-talkin’ and one-finger-typin’ my way from the press room at 18 to the newsroom at age 21.

Maybe they thought the promotion would get me to shut up. They were wrong.

Ellen is one of the primary reasons I landed upstairs, though I’m sure there were days she probably thought twice about it.

There were times she rolled her eyes at me so hard she ended up looking up close and personal at her brain.

As Island Living Editor of the WNT, she gave me many of my early freelance stories, some of which I even followed her instructions on. Even when I zigged when I was supposed to have zagged, she was patient and nurturing.

After I landed in a desk next to hers, she, unlike one or two others, always acted as if I actually belonged in the newsroom.

Even when I bum-rushed the layout ladies downstairs with my sports stuff before she was finished with the layout on her section (I never missed a deadline in two years and was fanatical about it), Ellen put up with me without losing her smile.

She answered all my inane questions (questions they probably covered in the first year of journalism school), let me bounce off the walls while always being there to gently rein me in, and was always a bright, shining beacon of class, integrity and hard work.

Our paths parted — she went into politics and raised children, while I opted to marinate in video store life for many years while still chafing as many editors as humanly possible as an underpaid, overly-combative freelancer.

You can argue over whether I have lived up to my potential as a writer over the past 24 years (personally, I think the last two years, on this blog, stand as my best work), but the argument would never have even started if it wasn’t for Ellen’s influence and guidance in the early days.

She will always stand as one of my journalism idols, a wonderful woman of great style and distinction who was nice to me when she didn’t need to be, who gave me a chance to write and sorta, kinda kept me in line.

For a bit, at least.

As she celebrates her birthday today, I am a small piece of her legacy.

Might not be the biggest or brightest part of that legacy, but I will always be grateful for the chance to be even a small part.

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Breezy is the best!!

Posted in A freakin' American hero, Cheer, Girls Basketball, Happy birthday, Memories, Softball, Volleyball, tagged , , , , , , on June 1, 2014| Leave a Comment »

Breeanna Messner

Breeanna Messner

Breeanna Messner (Robert Bishop photo)

Four sports and a ton of books — no problem for Breezy. (Robert Bishop photo)

Her dad calls her Breezy, and she has been like a breath of fresh air.

There may have been more physically talented athletes who have walked the hallways at Coupeville High School over the years, but few, if any, have ever put it all together like Wolf senior Breeanna Messner.

Two days after playing the final game of an incredible four-year, four-sport run in the red and black, bowing out at the 1A state softball tourney Friday, Miss Messner turns 18 today.

In less than a week she will graduate.

College calls, and, after that, much, much more. She will do great things in her life, of that I have no doubt.

She is talented, she works her rear off, she is committed and she does it all with a quiet sweetness that is greatly endearing.

It did not matter the sport. Volleyball, cheer, basketball, softball. She played them all and excelled at them all.

She upheld the family honor, keeping alive the flame lit by her mom, Aimee (Messner) Bishop, and her aunts. The Messner name stands proudly in CHS lore, and Breezy played a large part in that.

She hit big shots.

There was a moment when she got poked in the eye (rather deliberately) during a basketball game and brought to her knees.

Instead of getting mad and starting a fight, she collected herself, stood up and, after a slight grimace, nailed back-to-back three-point bombs to thoroughly deflate the opposing team.

Only afterwards, with her head bowed, did she crack a small (very small) smile just for herself, never one to show up an opposing player.

She was the teammate who reached out to every player on her team. The young woman who always stopped to say hi to former coaches in the stands.

The one who would stop her own game preparation to sprint over and scoop up her young cousin, Katie, when she entered the gym.

What I have seen, what I have heard, makes me think this — Breeanna Messner is the gold standard for Coupeville student/athletes.

I have covered sports on this Island for longer than she has been alive, and she stands out as a rarity.

And I hope that she knows how CHS fans, how the people of Central Whidbey, feel about her.

I hope, that as the years pass, she realizes why people cheered for her so hard.

We watched a young woman, bold and brilliant, shy at times, but capable of great passion, who aimed for the stars in everything and flew as high as anyone who has ever put on a Coupeville uniform.

She worked for our respect. For our admiration. She more than earned it all.

Breezy deserves nothing less.

I hope that you have an incredible birthday, Miss Messner, and that you go forward in your life content in the knowledge that you have a town, an Island, a world, behind you.

You are amazing, and there will never be another one like you.

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Good on you, Hawk fans!!

Posted in Football, Memories, tagged , , , , , on February 5, 2014| Leave a Comment »

Pride of a new generation of Hawk fans. (Oliana Fletcher creation)

Pride of a new generation of Hawk fans. (Oliana Stange creation)

And Ken Stange danced, all day and all night and into the next day. (Wendy McCormick photo)

And Ken Stange danced, all day and all night and into the next day. (Wendy McCormick photo)

I am a die-hard Pittsburgh Steelers fan. That’s not going to change just because the Seahawks are suddenly trendy.

That being said, I have a great deal of respect for the true Hawk fans, the ones who wandered in the desert for many years before finding that elusive oasis.

My one true sports obsession is not the Steelers, however. It is, and has always been, the Portland Trail Blazers.

I was six when they won their title and nine when I started listening to every game on the radio when we lived in the border town of Kelso.

So, I missed Bill Walton.

Twice the Blazers have gone to the NBA finals in my 33 years of fandom, running into Detroit’s Bad Boys and Michael Jordan.

So, that sucked.

From Sam Bowie (a nice guy who gave me an autograph but will never live down being drafted ahead of Jordan, Charles Barkley and John Stockton) through the Jail Blazers, the trading of Clyde Drexler, Brandon Roy’s forced medical retirement, Greg Oden not being Kevin Durant and the Blazers blowing a 15-point fourth-quarter lead in Game 7 of the Western Conference finals to the much-loathed Shaq and Kobe, I have endured.

Against all odds, Portland is the biggest surprise in the NBA this season, 35-14 with two young All-Stars in LaMarcus Aldridge and Damien Lillard.

And yet, these are the Blazers, and I know, deep down, in the name of Walter “The Worthless” Berry, it’s all going to go wrong.

It has to. They’re the Blazers.

I know that’s how Seahawk fans, the long-timers, the ones who know their Tom Flores from their Dan McGwire, have felt for so long.

Maybe, one day, I will know what you are feeling right now.

If nothing else, I can give a platform to one of the true fans, Coupeville High School tennis coach Ken Stange. Here’s a beautiful piece he wrote.

Hope, sometimes it gets answered.

Unless you’re a Trail Blazer fan. Hope doesn’t exist in this dojo.

But, anyway, testify brother Stange. Testify.

Today, as I basked in Seattle’s Super Bowl glory, I took a trip down memory lane.

My family moved to Washington when I was seven, in the summer of ’78. We became instant Seahawk fans. Fall and winter Sundays were marked by supporting our pathetic Seahawks.

In my house, nobody was more vocal than my mother.

She screamed at the TV as if the players and officials could actually hear her. I loved it. Today, I carry on the tradition.

Oh, did the Seahawks stink! Jim Zorn ran as if his very life depended on it, and the most exciting plays were pure trickery. It was all they could manage.

I thought of my mom today, and know that she would have been ecstatic!

I also remembered the many games I attended with my father.

The Kingdome was drab and dull, and the awful turf shortened many a career. However, I loved the place.

The sound was deafening. Sitting in the corner of the end zone, I had a commanding view when the action was at my end of the field.

Binoculars, and the information provided by my father, who always wore headphones so he could listen to the play-by-play, kept me in the action when the team was on the other end of the field.

He provided me with all the info that I’d normally see if I were watching on TV. One needs to have every stat, you know?

In fact, my father provided those stats to the entire section. After all, he was wearing headphones, and never realized just how loud he was.

I think it was the only time that my normally quiet father was that loud!

Subway sandwiches and Seahawk games with dad. Those are fond memories.

I remember all the no-name players, I remember the fake kicks and punts, and I remember Dan Doornink rumbling down the field for an 80-yard TD.

I remember Ground Chuck, and the years that we began to achieve some degree of respectability.

I remember the string of mediocre quarterbacks, including Rick Mirer, and I remember the 2-14 team, too.

I remember the ’05 run, and our team not being able to make the plays necessary to overcome a couple of bad calls.

I recalled last season’s heartbreak in Atlanta.

What I remember most about last season is how my daughter, Oliana, became a hard-core Seahawks fan. She learned how to be passionate about it, just like her father.

My son, Fletcher, thinks we are crazy for being so loud. He doesn’t get it.

Oh, well. Someday, he will understand, and hopefully will join us!

Today, I shared my joy with Oliana. She created the photo I included.

In a couple of decades, maybe she’ll share her love of the Hawks with her own kids, if she chooses to have them.

It was a family affair, and I was all smiles and cheers.

My father called me after the game. I shared with him much of what I just shared with you.

I was all choked up. I’m a sentimental guy, and today my sentimentality paid big dividends.

I know it was just a game played by overpaid athletes. I know in the larger scheme of life, football doesn’t really matter that much.

But today? Today was a beautiful day of distraction.

It was a day of remembering all the good times I’ve had, thanks to the Hawks.

It was a good day for the collective 12th Man. It was a day for me, it was a day for Oliana, it was a day for my dad, and it was a day for my mom.

It was a day of celebration and memory — a day of love.

Go Hawks!

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