Bobby, Mikey, Mom and Introducing Billy Jo Robidoux

No one is a bigger fan of my writing than Mom.

So even though Alzheimer’s has taken so much from her, my hope is that Mom will enjoy reading this and find a happy memory and a smile in here. Same for people who know Mom or have a mom like her.

Where do you start, though? How can you capture such love in one post? After lots of thinking, writing and deleting, you realize, you can’t. Especially when your mom is Eileen Gosman.

So, instead, let’s share a story from when Eileen, Bobby and Mikey were young. You google the name Billy Jo Robidoux, and you start reflecting on a great All-Star write-in ballot campaign.

Growing up, one of my favorite activities was going to Brewers games. In 1986, my brother Mike and I were huge fans of the aforementioned Billy Jo Robidoux. His last name rhymed with Joe and the PA announcer would draw every syllable out; it became quite the sensation at the old County Stadium.

On the day we were handed our first All-Star ballot of the year, we were crestfallen that Billy Joe's name did not appear. It didn’t matter that he hit an anemic .227 or only managed one homer and 21 RBI. Mikey and I decided to orchestrate a write-in campaign.

Our endearing but flawed plan ran up against an unfortunate handwriting reality. There wasn’t much room to write such a long name on the ballot. Mike was off the hook because he was just learning to write, and I had no ability, then or now, to write his name legibly in such a confined space. So we asked Mom, who had the family’s most impeccable handwriting, and she was a willing and enthusiastic partner.

For the next month, we fed Mom a steady stream of All-Star ballots that we secured from ushers and fellow fans. Mom, fearing neither arthritis nor carpal tunnel, dutifully accepted each ballot and enthusiastically wrote his name in her best cursive.

A First Pitch

For many years, Mom wrote a beloved column in the Whitefish Bay Herald titled “Baywatch.” When she first got the column, she asked the previous columnist if she could keep the name. His reply was classic. “I don’t think I have a patent on it.”

Mom wrote about all the happenings in Whitefish Bay as well as her family. Writing a column a week was sometimes stressful and I teased her from time to time. When she would finish writing a column, I asked her what she was writing about next week and the week after.

I knew she would always find topics and one of them was writing about the Whitefish Bay Little League.

One year, to express their thanks, the head of the league asked her to throw out a ceremonial first pitch. This induced the same type of terror in Mom that I experienced trying to write Billy Joe Robidoux in such a short space.

She didn’t know what to do so I said we should practice. We played catch a couple of times, similar to all the times she played catch with Bobby and Mikey when we were little. She was as nervous throwing out that first pitch as if she was given the ball for the Brewers in Game 7 of the 2018 National League Championship Series. She didn’t throw a strike, but I told her it was better that her columns were on targets than her tosses from the mound.

Unwavering Support

The Brewers of my youth were rarely a competitive team; the games often dragged on and on into the night. Mom never complained, though. Nothing made her happier than seeing Bobby and Mikey happy and she sat through countless three-hour games.

What about the result of that write-in campaign you ask?

It was not a success.

Robidoux finished millions of votes short of the necessary number to overtake far more deserving first basemen who were already on the All-Star ballot. Billy Jo was out of baseball in a few years and his Wikipedia page now notes that he is umpires high school baseball games in Rhode Island.

Fortunately, over the years Mike and I began making much better choices for our All-Star votes.

We knew, though, that whatever our choices were, for the All-Star game and for other things of more consequence – we had the unwavering support and love of our mother.

And for that we are forever grateful.

Happy Mother’s Day to our Mom and all the Moms out there.

A Bat Idea

There are times when I still wish Tom Crean was the coach of the IU men’s basketball team.

After Kelvin Sampson destroyed and sullied IU basketball with his brazen disregard for NCAA rules, Crean appeared to be the perfect hire. He worked wonders at Marquette, inherited a total mess in Bloomington, didn’t complain and simply got to work.

A few seasons later – cue the music from the movie Hoosiers – Christian Watford hit a 3-pointer at the buzzer to beat No. 1 ranked Kentucky and I'm not sure Assembly Hall has ever been louder. The following year, the 2012-13 season, IU won an outright Big Ten Championship and Watford, Cody Zeller and Victor Oladipo and company advanced to the Sweet 16.

Somehow, though, despite all that talent, the Hoosiers looked like they had never seen a zone defense and scored 50 points against Syracuse. It was a bitter end to a season that should have resulted in at minimum a Final Four appearance.

The next few years were inconsistent. Crean and the Hoosiers struggled before surging to a Big Ten title in 2016 and another trip to the Sweet 16. The next year, though, they missed the tournament and Crean was fired after nine seasons.

Enter Archie Miller,  regarded as one of the top young coaches in the country. It hasn’t gone as planned and his first three years, at best, can be characterized as rocky. His overall record is 56-43, he's under .500 in the Big Ten and there have been no trips to the NCAA Tournament.

So you can see why with the benefit of hindsight some Hoosier fans miss Crean.

Of course, than you come across a bat-sh()t crazy story this week and you don’t know what to think.

On The Titus & Tate podcast, Zeller recounted the time that Crean asked his brother-in-laws, Jim Harbaugh and John Harbaugh, to address the team. At the time, Jim Harbaugh was coach of the San Francisco 49ers; John Harbaugh still coaches the Baltimore Ravens.

Zeller talks about how one Harbaugh told the players they should be mean and nasty like rabies filled blood sucking bats. The other talked about playing like a serial killer because serial killers, unlike murderers, know what they’re going to do with the body; they have a plan and execute the plan.

Paraphrasing does not do it full justice, however.

You can listen to the interview, and the part about the bats begins at 11:16.While this was the first time many of us had heard this story, Mark Titus actually got Crean to talk about it on his previous podcast. The part where Titus and Crean discuss bats starts at 33:33.

In that interview, Crean said that he looked into bringing a live bat in the locker room.

“We knew we couldn’t handle it ourselves; we’d need a bat trainer,” Crean said.

Phew, nice to see cooler heads prevail!

Unfortunately/fortunately, the live bats didn’t happen. Instead Crean bought plastic bats and threw them around the locker room to motivate the Hoosiers to play like vampire bats.

No confirmation whether the Hoosiers simply played like vampire bats or vampire bats that played with an enthusiasm unknown to mankind

They could have used some of that enthusiasm against that Syracuse zone, but I digress.

Can’t end on that blasted Syracuse zone, though, so let’s let Zeller walk us off.

The Five For May 8, 2020 – Story Problems, Hot Sauce, MJ and Yelich

1. Three words I never thought Liam would say? “Yay, story problems.” Somehow, a son of mine strung those five syllables together earlier this week. Bravo. Quantum physics and organic chemistry next!

2.  What a fun article about hot sauce. The comments are gold; so much so, that instead of picking out the best five I’m going with a prime number (take that Liam … oh wait, five is a prime number, too).

·        “I think this sauce is made of pure unicorn love and mermaid tears.”

·        “It’s as if the sun and the moon made love and had a child.”

·        “Even in my tea it was pretty good.”

·        “At first, you can taste some of the sweet notes, but the heat is the protagonist and eventually takes over.”

·        “We use it almost every day, and after 3 years we just ran out.”

·        “I think you could put this on shoe leather and it would make it taste like filet mignon!”

·        “Gone are the days of not slathering my food in condiment until I have a delicious pile of Secret Aardvark Sauce with a bit of food thrown in for good measure.”

If you are a hot sauce aficionado, let me know if you have tried any of these or what your favorite hot sauce is. If you make a persuasive case, I might even share your recommendation in a future edition of Bobproof’s The Five. Which, as always, is compiled by the hard-working team at Bobproof and under no circumstances will ever be curated.

3. Like so many people, I find The Last Dance documentary on ESPN riveting. The 10-part series recounts Michael Jordan’s career with a focus on the 1997-98 season. The Bulls dominated my Bucks for so much of Jordan’s career, yet, when the Bucks season came to an end, I always pulled for Jordan and the Bulls.

4. If you are looking for an article on Michael Jordan at age 50, look no further than Wright Thompson’s deep dive, “Michael Jordan Has Not Left the Building.” From the story, “There’s no way to measure these things, but there’s a strong case to be made that Jordan is the most intense competitor on the planet. He’s in the conversation, at the very least, and now he has been reduced to grasping for outlets for this competitive rage. He’s in the middle of an epic game of Bejeweled on his iPad, and he’s moved past level 100, where he won the title Bejeweled Demigod. He mastered Sudoku. … In The Bahamas, he sent someone down to the Atlantis hotel’s gift shot to buy a book of word-search puzzles. … He can see all the words at once, as he used to see a basketball court.”

5. To kick-off a surreal Mother’s Day Weekend, check out the article from Christian Yelich’s for The Player’s Tribune. I love the line about Sour Patch Kids as much now as I did last year when I first read it. As he does so often for the Brew Crew, let's have Christian Walk Us Off.

A Mutual Blessing

My colleague at Trustmark, Greta McGuire, has always been an overachiever.

In grade school, McGuire asked for extra homework. Her birthday presents are as legendary as the details of her vacation itineraries. Her sister put it this way: “she thinks of things most people wouldn’t and then takes it 8 million more steps.”

Speaking of steps, one weekend she was doing her typical 5-mile run on the treadmill. All of a sudden she decided she wanted to run a marathon. That same day she willed herself to stay on the treadmill. Dripping sweat and determination, she didn’t stop moving until she hit 26.2 miles.

These examples were just a warmup, though, to the gift she provided to two families in November; one she barely knew and the other she didn’t know at all.

After learning that colleague Paul Widener’s son, Cal, a junior at Belmont University, was in need of a kidney, McGuire volunteered to see if she was a match. On Nov. 21, McGuire successfully donated a kidney as part of a paired exchange at Vanderbilt University Medical Center. Her kidney went to a man from Tennessee named Wade Gibbs while Gibbs’ wife donated to Cal.

When I asked her about her relationship with the Widener family, I expected that they were friends or at minimum worked closely together.

My eyes grew bigger as she told me that she rarely worked directly with Paul Widener.

 “I saw this as an incredible opportunity to do something good for someone in a way that I would describe as a mutual blessing,” said McGuire, simply, classily and elegantly.

McGuire first learned about the situation during a conversation with Paul Widener on a way to a business meeting.  She learned that Cal Widener, a strapping 6-foot-2, 240-pound member of the Belmont Track and Field Team, barely had the energy to make it through the day. She learned that some nights he was in so much pain that he could not sleep despite the fatigue. His kidney function was declining and, without a donor, dialysis was next.

 “I’m not a parent myself, but I can’t imagine anything harder than seeing a child facing their own mortality,” she said.

After thinking more and consulting with her husband, Ravi Chadha, she called Paul Widener and said she would like to get tested.

“I remember thinking she had to be crazy,” Widener said with a smile.

McGuire knew that donating a kidney is not easy. She was with her husband every step of the way in 2015 when he donated a kidney to his brother.

“He was my inspiration for even throwing my hat in the ring,” she said.

Of course, there was no guarantee that McGuire’s kidney would be a match. In fact, the odds were against it. Even siblings have less than a 50 percent probability of matching.

Undaunted, McGuire began the testing in June. After several rounds of tests and a trip to Vanderbilt University for in-person testing, she received a phone call to remember.

“I was as giddy as I was when I got accepted into Northwestern University for graduate school,” she said.

About one month before surgery, McGuire received another call. While her kidney was a solid match for Cal Widener, it was an even better match for Gibbs. In turn, Gibbs’ wife, Katie, had a kidney that was perfect for Cal Widener.

Would McGuire be OK with what is called a paired donation? How would she feel about donating to a stranger instead of someone from her work family?

“Why would you say no to something like that?” McGuire said.

This meant Gibbs would now get a call from Vanderbilt that would change his life. He had been waiting for this since 2005.

“They told me the match was so good it was almost like a relative,” he said.

Immediately after the surgery, Paul Widener remembers the surgeon initially describing the outcome as “fine.”

Fine? A meal can be fine; so can a night’s sleep or a business meeting. But, he thought, a surgery outcome demands more details.

So Widener immediately pressed for more information, asking the logical question, “What does fine mean?” With a chuckle the surgeon said, “terrific, wonderful” and a resident said it was one of the only times he’d seen the surgeon chuckle in two years.

Most of the time, the participants in a paired donation never meet and learn details of each other’s lives.

But this wasn’t like most paired donations.

The day after the surgery, McGuire, Cal Widener and family, and Wade and Katie Gibbs met each other in a conference room.

Wade Gibbs, feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude, embraced McGuire and gave her an emotional bear hug.

“He was shaking and so choked up that he could barely talk,” Ravi Chadha said. “He kept mouthing ‘Thank you.’”

As is often the case, the recovery is easier for the person receiving the kidney as opposed to the donor.

Wade Gibbs enjoyed a near immediate surge of energy and within ten days of surgery he was walking three miles and back to work on the family farm.

“I was lethargic for so long, and now I’m doing all the stuff I didn’t have the energy for before,” he said. “It’s pretty extraordinary; I feel 15 years younger.”

The story was similar for Cal Widener.

“I went from having zero energy to 1,000 percent better,” he said. “I feel normal again.”

After taking some time to get her strength back, Katie Gibbs is back to her old self and wrote a beautiful email to McGuire about how she was the angel their family was waiting for.

As for McGuire, there have been some challenges. The first part of her recovery went smoothly, but two times she’s had to return to the hospital to have infections treated. Still, she believes the worst of the recovery is behind her and she views it as a short-term and, ultimately, irrelevant blip.

Since McGuire was not donating to a family member, she had to meet with a social worker before and after the surgery. The day after surgery, the social worker asked her if she had any regrets.

Far from it.

“I said that without a doubt it’s the best thing I’ve ever done in my life,” she said.

Saluting Nurses

Over the past week, I was fortunate to interview a number of fascinating nurses at Trustmark. Same for Trustmark associates who have family or close friends who are nurses.

It was particularly poignant working on content for National Nurses Day because of the bravery and sacrifice of nurses during the COVID-19 Pandemic. I was inspired by the colleagues I spoke with, and I wanted to share some of their experiences and thoughts on the nursing profession.

“Never Been More Proud”

In January, 2010, Margaret McKavitt, a captain in the U.S. Naval Reserve, was stationed aboard the USNS Comfort Hospital Ship in Haiti in the aftermath of a devastating earthquake. For two straight weeks, McKavitt, a Registered Nurse (RN) who is now part of the Trustmark Health Benefits’ Healthcare Management team, worked in the post-anesthesia unit while the operating room ran 24/7.

A decade later, that same ship was docked in New York City as a result of the COVID-19 Pandemic.

“The hardest I worked as a nurse was in Haiti, and I don’t think it even comes close to comparing to what the front-line nurses are seeing and dealing with today,” McKavitt said.

Growing up, McKavitt admired her father, a retired Air Force reservist. She set her sights on following in her father’s wings and joining the Air Force. Until, that is, a handsome Midshipman caught her eye. McKavitt and her husband, Tom (the handsome Midshipman), have been married for 36 years; for 27 of them, she served in the U.S. Naval Reserve. Tom was a Naval Aviator; he served 24 years and retired as a Commander.

Even though she became a grandma for the second time on Friday, there is still a part of her that wishes she was on duty.

“It’s been an unusual experience not to be on the front lines,” she said. “I’ve always been extremely proud of my profession, but never more so than right now.”

A Calling

Some nurses instinctively know what they want to be at a young age.

That was certainly the case for Suzann Chesek, an RN, and a Trustmark Director of Case Management. She grew up idolizing her great aunt, Dot, who was equal parts smart, spunk and compassion. Whether it was people or animals, Chesek wanted to care for them. As a teenager, she started watching the show, China Beach, and was enamored with nurse Colleen McMurphy, the main character.

So much so that McMurphy was the subject of her college admission essay at the University of Pennsylvania.

“McMurphy was the strongest, smartest and coolest nurse,” Chesek said. “She really knew how to speak up for her patients. That was the type of nurse I wanted to be.”

After close to two decades as an ICU nurse and house administrator at a hospital, Chesek joined Trustmark.

 “I still want to care for people and appreciate the role and value we contribute in case management,” she said.

Still, Chesek is determined to do even more. She just applied for an as-needed nursing position on select weekends and evenings at her old hospital to provide assistance for staff during COVID-19.

All That And a Litter of Puppies

Amanda Killian, an Associate HR Business Partner at Trustmark, marvels at what her friend Rebecca packs into each day. Rebecca works 12-hour shifts taking care of ICU and COVID-19 patients. In addition, she is raising her 14-year-old and her almost one-year old.

In April, the family dog gave birth to a litter of French Bulldog puppies. And get this, they are currently raising and training … all ten puppies

Killian reports that Rebecca does it all with a genuine smile on her face.

 “She sets quite an example for her kids of hard work, dedication and passion,” Killian said.

Nurses Care

There is a saying in nursing circles that, “nurse is just another word to describe a person strong enough to tolerate everything and soft enough to understand everyone.”

Nurses care deeply for patients and make lasting impressions on them.

“People never forget when you help them in their darkest moments,” said Diane Good, an RN and Case Manager at Trustmark. “We work long hours, we hear the saddest of stories, we cry and we laugh. We have the best job at Trustmark because we know we do our best to help patients and let them know that they have someone that cares about them. People’s lives depend on nurses. They depend on nurses to be at their best every day. That’s what nurses do everywhere – they care.”

Don Shula – Looking Back at A Legend

In 1985, the Chicago Bears were attempting the second perfect season in NFL history. After 12 consecutive victories, they would play the Miami Dolphins on Monday Night Football.

My parents must have been out of town because I remember that I spent that night at my Grandma Ruth and Grandpa Al’s place. I had a ritual in those days when I watched sports. I had to have a ball with me, and when I would get excited I would clap both hands on the outside of the ball.

Grandpa Al was worried I would wake the neighbors, and it was probably a well-placed concern.

I rooted so hard for Dan Marino as he picked apart the hated Bears and led the Dolphins to a 38-24 victory. Don Shula, who coached the Dolphins to the only undefeated season, was now the coach who denied the Bears a chance at theirs.

Nearly 15 years later, my first job out of college finds me working at the now defunct Boca Raton News in South Florida. Shula had retired after the 1995 season and Marino’s retirement was near. It is hard to overstate how big Marino and the Dolphins were in South Florida. The Miami Heat didn’t exist until 1988 and the Florida Marlins’ first year was 1993. For so long, the Dolphins were the only game in town.

It was a thrill to cover several of Marino’s games in what turned out to be his final season. The day he announced his retirement, I had the opportunity to write one of our paper’s many stories about No. 13.

I was always fascinated that Marino lasted until the 27th pick of the 1983 NFL draft.

I decided to begin the story at that moment as Shula knew he was lucky Marino was still available. I wrote, “Even Don Shula’s famed, firm jaw was incredulous.” Unfortunately, you’ll have to take my word for it, as there is no online version of the story to be found. I’m still proud of that sentence, though, and pleased to have played a role in our Dolphins coverage that day.

On Monday, Shula, the NFL’s all-time winningest coach died at the age of 90. I always admired Shula; for his success, of course, but also the way he approached the game. Shula once said,"some clubs want to win so much they’ll do anything to get it. Our approach has been just the opposite. We’ve tried to do things the right away. And the right way is (abiding by) the rules and regulations. … I may not like all of them but once they are (official) we play by them.”

I also loved his quip at his first press conference when a reporter asked if he had a three-year or five-year plan. “My plan is to go to work,” he replied.

David Hyde, the long-time sports columnist for the Sun-Sentinel, shared this anecdote about Shula in Monday’s column. Hyde wrote that the way Shula approached his daily jog was the way he approached everything: “What stood out was the methodical preciseness of his path around the field. He ran for 30 minutes. Never less. He always made geometric, 90-degree turns as the field’s line demanded. He never cut corners. Never.”

Shula’s career record was 328-156-6. To put that in perspective, Bill Belichick, who does not have the same respect for the rules as Shula, has 273 victories. He’ll need at least five good seasons to challenge Shula’s mark.

Shula had such a presence that even today it’s hard to imagine him anywhere but the football field.

Standing on the sidelines – in the South Florida sun – with a jaw as firm as his principles.

Al Kaline, Jeff Daniels and What it Means to be 9

My best friend Tim told me he was reading a book about alkaline.

I was stunned.

We only checked out books from the school library by choice if they were about sports. It was an unspoken agreement. Why, all of a sudden, was he showing interest in the pH of water? Why did he care that akali can be defined as a base that dissolves in water? Where were his priorities? We had sports books to read!

Actually, we were in grammar school, so that was not my response. 

After asking Tim to repeat the name several times, it turned out the book was about the great ballplayer Al Kaline. And we weren't the only ones with Kaline confusion. 

BaseballReference.com's “Cool Names” list features Al Kaline because “some fans have noticed that his names when pushed together make the word alkaline.”

While I remembered the funny conversation about alkaline and knew about his Hall of Fame career, I rarely thought about the man they called Mr. Tiger.

Until, that is, I listened to a tribute song for Kaline, who died in April, by the actor Jeff Daniels.

Daniels was born in Michigan, a Tigers fan, and one of the defining moments of his childhood was heading to old Tiger Stadium when he was 9-year-old for “Bat Day.” He returned with a bat signed by his hero, Al Kaline.

The beauty of Daniels' song is that a few seconds in you are 9-years-old again.

You’re remembering how at that age the first time you saw a big-league-park each season the grass looked so green it was as if your eyes were playing tricks.

When you’re age 9, big leaguers seem old. They tower over you like superheroes, and no one is more larger than life than your favorite player. For me, and a generation of kids growing up in Milwaukee, it was Robin Yount or Paul Molitor. Today, it’s Christian Yelich.

In Detroit, if you were Daniels’ age, your hero was Al Kaline. Daniels sings:

Early summer 1964, 9-years-old and ready for more

Just like Christmas comes once a year, Tiger Bat Day was finally here

Backyard baseball I was destined for stardom. 

When I was him I hit it over Mom’s Garden

He was the hero I pretended to be. I was him, he was me.

But you can’t stay a kid forever, just like your hero can't stay young. You see Paul Molitor's starting to look like an older man, his hair turning gray. Paul Molitor can’t age can he? And if he can, what does that mean for you?

One day you realize you're older than some of the players you're watching. Pretty soon, their birthdate is the same year you celebrated your 21^st birthday. You find yourself rooting like crazy for aging veterans to hold on so you’re not older than every single player.

He was just a ballplayer and I was just a kid.

All I ever wanted was everything he did.

Just like him I reached for more than I could ever be.

My childhood hero died today along with a little bit of me.

Then one day your son begins to develop an interest in baseball. Pretty soon, his arm is strong enough that you're buying a glove to play catch with him. Each time you throw the ball, you recapture a little bit of that 9-year-old.

The game doesn't mean as much as it did to you when you were 9. You realize that's as it should be, but that it's also a big part of who you still are and always will be.

            Now decades later with that bat in my hand. 

            Some things take a lifetime to understand.

With that, Jeff Daniels walks us off.