Thursday, March 22, 2012

I had to reblog this. Great piece about never giving up. Must read (not only for soccer fans)!

Fabrice Muamba ‘in effect’ dead for 78 minutes; Thierry Henry flies 5,000 miles to visit him
-by Brooks Peck (Yahoo!Sports: Dirty Tackle)

If there was somehow any doubt as to just how impressive the efforts to save Bolton's 23-year-old defender Fabrice Muamba after he collapsed on the pitch from a cardiac arrest during Saturday's FA Cup quarterfinal against Tottenham, the latest details to emerge should clear it up.
Muamba's heart stopped beating on its own for a total of 78 minutes on Saturday, according to Bolton team doctor Jonathan Tobin. During the 48 minutes between the time of his collapse on the pitch and when he arrived at the hospital (he was taken to the London Chest Hospital, a specialist facility), medics did CPR to breathe for him and circulate, and continued to do so for another 30 minutes after arriving at the hospital. During that time, he was given 15 shocks from a defibrillator -- two on the pitch, one in the tunnel and 12 in the ambulance -- before his heart started beating on its own again.
From the AP:
"They were working on him without his heart having a muscular beat," Tobin said. "In effect, he was dead in that time … throughout the whole resuscitation period you are worrying.
"You know the longer the resuscitation goes on the less chance there is of survival, but this is slightly different. This is a very fit 23-year-old."
Fitness and age considered, the fact that he is still alive is also a credit to the hard work of those stadium medics, ambulance workers and hospital staff. One of the first responders wasn't even on duty that day, though. Dr. Andrew Deaner, a cardiologist, was attending the match as a Tottenham fan andpersuaded a steward to let him onto the pitch before running to aid Muamba. He then traveled with Muamba in the ambulance to the hospital where he works.
Muamba came out of sedation in intensive care on Monday and the first question he reportedly asked his father was "did we lose?" With Dr. Deaner, Muamba displayed his modesty.
"Two hours after (regaining consciousness) I whispered in his ear, 'What's your name?' and he, 'Fabrice Muamba.' I said, 'I hear you're a really good footballer' and he said, 'I try.' I had a tear in my eye."
On Wednesday, Muamba was visited by New York Red Bulls striker Thierry Henry. The two played together at Arsenal and have remained friends, so Henry traveled almost 5,000 miles from a match in Salt Lake City, Utah, on Sunday night to London to visit Muamba for about an hour before returning to New York for this Sunday's match against Colorado.
It's still unclear just what caused the cardiac arrest, and though Muamba seems to be recovering nicely, it's impossible to say whether he will ever be able to resume his career. But as The Score's Richard Whittall says, what truly matters is that he's alive right now and seems to be in good spirits.

Monday, March 12, 2012

Dylan Thomas

one of the best..


Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Sunday, March 11, 2012

Every Night

the formatting here is all wrong! reading my poem in class tomorrow (yikes!) . . .

Every night, every lonely pensive night
I wander aimlessly in my sensory modalities

The trees with leaves hanging low and sad
Shivering from the cold, merciless wind
Bodies creased, dull and weeping sap
Roots emerging, expanding
Reaching for something else

Have you not seen a sadder setting

Flowers, twisted at the neck
No sun in their presence, don’t know where to look
Frail and thin, no support in their ascending stem
Petals fall and rot, consumed by the crawlers of the night

The stars, distant and lost in space
Away from me, out of my reach
Surrounded by the ill night
Mere specks in the sky; appearing at night, lonely nights
Pulsing, agreeing with my laments

Have you not seen a sadder setting

The moon, the mightiest in the sky
But the loneliest in my eye, no love can match its size
Merely a poignant reminder of the time that has passed me
Moonlight reflects on me
And I feel its sorrow and lonesomeness
My heart is intertwined with this dark natural setting

I do not understand what's in the night
That speaks ever so romantically to some

The mysterious sounds of the night
The creature’s hoot for his distant lover
The beast’s cry for his distant companion
Oh the howling wilderness
Prompting a feeling in me so familiar, one of love
But, love reminds me of yesterday
And I lament more, and more, and more

Have you not seen a sadder setting

Nature, I feel your longing too
I have lost my light too soon

The ineluctable night creeps and does its deed
Prompting feelings one thought he had lost

No, I have not seen a sadder setting


Highly recommend!

The reader can find him/herself  relating to the main character throughout the book. The journey of realizing one's true destiny becomes the ultimate goal, and the reader can find this to be a self-help book, one that helps them realize their own legend.  Easy book to read with a wonderful and magical plot about knowledge, destiny and fulfillment.

Right of the bat, this book is not for everyone.  García Márquez is a magic realist, so the plot may be odd for those that aren't open to imagination and that prefer a more realistic view. But, I recommend this book to those who desire a great passionate love story that explains the many forms of love; love becomes convincingly identical to a disease, moreover Cholera.

Friday, March 9, 2012


Must see!! Spoken word at its finest...

This kid is soooooo good! He's going places.
Check out his other stuff too (Noah St. John)

Wednesday, March 7, 2012


Much respect for Kobe. His ability to play through pain is cray! All the criticism fuels him even more. Definitely one of the best in the game right now.

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

The Grand Canyon

 Came across some pics from last summer...

Planking (when it was cool) and looking almost a mile down!!!

Monday, February 27, 2012

Adding Another Trophy to Our Case

Soccer has been a way of life in my household. I have so many stories about championships, game-winning goals, great comeback wins. All are so vivid in my mind and make me feel good about myself and my accomplishments. Unfortunately, my soccer days have come to an end. But, my little sister is keeping the tradition alive. She has great stories, and this particular one is one of those that will just stay with us for a long time...

Two games Saturday and one game Sunday morning determined whether or not a team would play in the semi-final. Culver City (my sister's team), breezed through those three games. They won them all with ease, none of the teams posed a threat to the Culver girls. So they moved on to the semi-final, which was to be played on the the worst field possible against Chino. The field had gopher holes, dry patches of grass, and dirt everywhere. It was a physical game that ended 1-0. The Culver girls pulled it off, yet again! Unfortunately, they lost their leading scorer to an ankle sprain; she stepped into one of those damn holes on the field, and missed the rest of that game and the championship.

The semi-final ended at 3:20 p.m. The final was to be played at 4:00 p.m. It wasn't much of a rest. No rest at all when one takes into consideration that they had played 4 games in a day and a half leading up to this fifth and final game. Exhausted, sore, some in pain, the show still went on. And boy did it go on! What a game it was! 

Twelve girls on the Culver side. Eleven on the field and one on the bench as a substitute player. The game was against a Culver rival-- West Torrance. They last met in a tournament that was played during the Thanksgiving break. W. Torrance beat Culver then. They kicked ass and took names (or how does that saying go?). The game started. And for being tired, Culver was showing lots of energy. So much that they were up at half time 1-0. The second-half started, and this time Torrance came out stronger, more energetic, and with a strong willingness to score. Things fell apart for Culver quickly. The team made a mistake, letting Torrance come back into the game. The score was 1-1. Things got even worse after that. Everything was going down hill. The score was now 1-2. Torrance had all the momentum. Five minutes left in the game, and as usual the Culver coach (my dad) kept calm and played very strategically. I had faith Culver could still pull this off. Two minutes left and a corner kick in our favor. I remember saying to myself, "This is it. Here it comes!" The ball was kicked into the mass of girls in front of the goal, and somehow the girls managed. They tied the game! What a comeback! The parents went crazy (as usual). True determination and teamwork. Despite how tired they were, despite how much pain they were in, despite that they were losing and that time was running from them, they never quit. The Culver girls had done something special. The whistle blew. And what was to come next, is something that players dread the most-- penalty kicks.

At this point it was anybody's game. There wasn't too much confidence in the Culver goalie. But, she silenced all doubters. She blocked 2 and paved the way for Culver to have the opportunity to win. It came down to this last kick. A Culver girl went up to the penalty mark. Her body language read confidence. It was a good sign. Everyone was holding their breath, clenching their teeth, grabbing hold of the person next to them, and, being cold as hell, shaking like crazy. Everything was in slow motion now. She took a few steps back with her eyes fixed on the ball, and paused. The whistle blew and she kicked it. Culver won! They made the comeback, and accomplished what they had set out to do! But, most important, they gave all the Culver fans on that very cold Sunday afternoon a game to remember. 



Sunday, February 26, 2012


The thought of me possibly studying here just blows me away. Having dealt with so much adversity, this never seemed possible. Hope to be here Fall 2012....

My Letter Poem "Tell Me"

Tell me. How do you make it seem so effortless? In a sea of people. In a sea of utilitarian things. All hiding behind gray clouds. You emerge. You capture my eyes and all I can see is you. They march but you stand. Marching to get to where they go to learn what they already know. Why must life be a process? You eliminate all my insecurities. Nature being consumed by this utilitarian being. You’re the last bit of natural beauty left in my world. I hope you see yourself as useless. Useful things bring uniformity. With a beauty like yours, you should illuminate. Broaden the narrow focal point in which everyone sees. Is it too soon to tell you I love you? I rather stay as I am. Looking from a distance. A distance. Oh how distant we are. Nameless beauty afar, I write to you to tell you what I am thinking, what I am feeling, and, above all, to tell you to remain the way you are.

The morning gusts of wind bring me your unfamiliar scent. I enjoy it, and want to bathe in it. Cleanse myself. The Sun shines on your delicate and smooth, curvaceous and undefined shape. Your figure, so unfamiliar. And your garments. Crafted by hand? They sway freely with the slight movements you make. You’re colorful. And your color gives color to my grayish days. Your chest a canvas. Lovely place for art. I see a heart. Are you in love? A heart breaking from chains. Who are you? I feel you, though I know nothing of you. I want to know you. Your name.  Must be pleasing to pronounce. I love you more with each breath. If you were to look my way, I wouldn’t know what to do. But, I do know what you could do. There’s so much about you. You’re different. I hope for the world to be more like you. Overtime. Sometime.

In the distance I see you. In the distance no one else does. Or cares to. I write to you to tell you I think I love you. Don’t find it strange; just take it as a compliment. A butterfly in front of me. Uniform and mechanical caterpillars all around me. Biting at me. But you broke my routine, and made me see something I am not use to seeing. Crafted by hand. Who and/or what determines what is good for me? What is beautiful for me? Is it in output? Money? You are priceless my dearest and mysterious beauty. Multi-dimensional. True definition of happiness. Not a thing. Womanly. I hope you write me back. As always, I will be here.


Your Distant Admirer

Friday, February 24, 2012

Cruisin' Culver City


Even the biggest and brightest star must descend at some point.
But there's always a tomorrow for it to rise up again.

Zero Gravity!


Thursday, February 23, 2012

Neruda Imitation Poem

Tonight I Can Write
Michael R.

Tonight I can write the happiest lines.

Write, for example, “The sky nestles the stars and the stars pulse and glister in her eyes.”

The wind carries the transparent love through the infinite sky.

Tonight I can write the happiest lines.
I love her, and I hope she loves me the same.

Nights like these I hold her in my arms.
Her irresistible lips meet mine under the stream of nightlights.

Impossible to look into those eyes and not see the joy of the night.
She loves me, and I hope I love her the same.

Her voice matches the gentleness of the night.
Her body bright, and falling onto mine like the Sun to the horizon.

Tonight, and every night, I can write the happiest lines.
To know that I have her. To feel her intimacy.

An empty pasture, not so empty with her.
The distant stars, not so distant beside her.

What else matters? The night is beautiful and so is she.
That is all. 

We wish, if this to be a dream, to never wake.
Or if this to be nature, to never sleep.

A dose of love relieves lonesomeness.
Love seems eternal. How to keep it that way is the question.

Because I have just found love, there are more verses to write.
All about our natural love, these are the first lines I write for her.