Self-Discipline and Bullies in the Bleachers

He would sit in the bleachers, among the regular fans. With his wavy brown hair, and his usual white Oxford shirt. Just another fan at my hometown basketball games. Just another fan, except for the continuous barrage of insults he hurled at the referees.

No one ever admitted to knowing who the man was. His loud and obnoxious behavior was at first amusing. However, just a game or two into the season, all amusement had vanished. The mystery man in the bleachers had become an embarrassment to the rest of us.

The way this fellow acted, one would have thought that each game was the state final. The truth was, our team was not very good back in the seventies. Certainly nothing over which to get all that emotional.

In retrospect, I think there was something a little off about the man. An emotional imbalance, or substance abuse issue maybe. Whatever the case, the loud fan was, eventually asked to leave, and not come back. Our high school principal made it clear that he, and the rest of the fans, had endured enough of the man’s abuse and vitriol.

To the relief of everyone involved, the mystery fan left. He left, and stayed gone.

I’m sure no one was more grateful to see the mystery fan go than the referees. They had endured so much abuse, so much anger from the man in the white oxford with the wavy brown hair. Gone at last, gone at last, thank God almighty, he’s gone at last!

Whatever the source of his anger and vitriol, the fact was that the mystery fan was just a bully. For whatever reason, he felt the need to pick on someone else. The need to build himself up at the expense of another. In this case, it was at the expense of the referees. They made such easy targets.

Easy targets, yes, but also targets who showed a great deal of self-discipline. They never lashed out. They didn’t rush up the bleachers to confront their antagonist. In fact, they paid him no mind at all. They were there to referee a basketball game. They were there with a purpose. No bully was going to prevent them from fulfilling that purpose.

Sadly, bullies can be found everywhere, even in the Narcotics Anonymous fellowship. A few mornings ago, I found myself being bullied. A friend had posted a comment about one of the featured speakers at a meeting who had laced her story with over 120 f-bombs. (Who counts these things anyway?)

Well, despite knowing better, I made the mistake of commenting on the post fairly early on, agreeing that 120 is pretty over-the-top. My point was that in a spiritual program, perhaps our language should be one of the things that reflects our new way of life. Over the course of the day, that post drew a good deal of attention. Good points were made on both sides. Healthy debate.

Then the bullies showed up. They were up even before me. It started with a very sound and measured rebuttal of my comments.

Oh shoot, no it didn’t. It started with one of the bullies calling me a eunuch, and suggesting that I wasn’t qualified to comment, or even be in NA for that matter because I’ve never been to prison. Never lived on the streets. Never paid the price for membership that he had paid.

Soon his sidekick chimed in. Agreeing that I am not like them. Suggesting that I am too spiritually minded to be of any use to the fellowship, or the world at large for that matter.

I’m still trying to figure out how one can be “too spiritual” in a spiritual program???

Anyway, their words stung. These two bullies are supposed leaders. You know, the ones people look up to. The ones who are regularly asked to share at speaker meetings. The ones others listen to.

I’ve been sitting on this pain for a few days now. My instinct told me to lash out verbally. To cut them to the quick with a barrage of insults of my own. Put them in their places. Make them pay.

I guess these spiritual principles are sinking in a little. I instantly resisted the desire to fight back. Instead, I practiced self-discipline and went about my business. I attended a meeting, and then another. I prayed. I meditated. I kept coming back, and I’ll keep coming back.

Like those referees, I have a job to do. I have a purpose for being here. Having heard the message of Narcotics Anonymous, I came in the door to stop using drugs, lose the desire to use, and find a new way to live. It would be insane to allow my purpose to be derailed by someone shouting me down from the bleachers.

I even turned their insults into jokes. A eunuch? Nope, I checked just to be sure… still not a eunuch. My friends laughed. It felt good to turn hate into humor.

I checked our third tradition too. It still tells me that a desire to stop using is the only requirement for membership. No jail time, rap sheet, or prison tattoos required. Why, I don’t even have to lace every sentence spoken with expletives.

That’s right, the price I paid for my seat in the rooms is enough. Just like the price paid by any other addict seeking recovery. It is sufficient. No need to go back out and pay more.

Writing about this experience has helped. It had built back some of the confidence, some of the purpose that the words of two bullies tried to chip away.

So, I’m going to continue to be myself. I’m going to continue practicing these principles in every area of my life. I’ll do it imperfectly to be sure. I’ll keep coming back, because every day I want to…

Have a remarkable day!

Honesty and Coach Corso

My family has a long standing relationship with Indiana University. My parents met at IU. My maternal grandfather earned his law degree at IU. So it was natural that My brother John and I would both attend school there.

As a child, I can remember football weekends spent as a family in Bloomington, Indiana. It was always exciting to see the parking lots around the football stadium fill with fans. With lawn chairs and grills set out, the pre-game festivities would go into full swing. Then there was the actual game. The players, cheerleaders, and the marching band. It was all quite a spectacle.

Dad would buy each of us a hotdog and soft drink for the game. We’d bundle up if the day was cold, begging for hot chocolate after halftime to keep us warm. Dad always gave in on the hot chocolate, even springing for popcorn most times. Great memories indeed.

There was only one problem with attending a football game at IU. The team almost always lost. My alma mater is many things, but “football dynasty” is not one of them. Try as he might, head coach Lee Corso simply could not pull together many victories. So, all of the excitement of attending a college football game would end with less than a bang.

After the game, there would always be a good meal at one of Mom and Dad’s favorite spots in Bloomington. Then perhaps a walk or drive through campus to reminisce about their college days. As the day would wind down, we would settle into our hotel room for a good night’s sleep.

The weekend wasn’t over yet though. On Sunday morning, before check-out time at the hotel, we would gather around the television for the Lee Corso Show. It was coach Corso’s 30-minute recap of the game. The show was always introduced by a local sports reporter with the same exciting words, “It’s time for the Lee Corso Show!”

I’ve never since seen anyone who could make people feel so good about losing a game. Coach Corso’s energy came through the tv screen with all the might of a televangelist! It was as though if all the fans watching would just reach out and touch the tv screen with enough faith, we would believe IU had actually won yesterday’s game. The man was that magnetic!

In fact, Coach Corso’s charisma eventually landed him a job at ESPN. He has been on the air for years, offering color commentary and his special brand of enthusiasm to viewers around the country.

Coach Corso is one of those unique individuals with the gift of lifting people up. His positive attitude is contagious. His smile never fades. These traits have carried an otherwise unremarkable college football coach to a position of fame and glory. He’s one of a kind.

I can learn a lot of lessons from Coach Corso. Despite his enthusiasm and his ever-positive attitude, he didn’t lie to his audience. He never came on his Sunday morning show trying to claim a victory when the team had lost. Rather, he wrapped the truth of defeat in praise for the effort that his team had put forth. Where mistakes were made, he took ownership of them. Where successes were to be found, he extolled them. In that sense, Coach Corso was and is a true leader.

Practicing honesty in recovery is a delicate and precious thing. Honesty with my sponsor is vital. Just as vital is my sponsor’s ability to be honest with me. Yes, honest, but never brutal. Truth never needs to tear someone down. Instead, it should be used to build someone up or to help them grow in their recovery.

This is especially true when it comes to the newcomer or someone who is struggling. The fellowship of Narcotics Anonymous is full of broken and imperfect people. None of us ever gets it completely right.

Unfortunately, the NA fellowship also has its share of bullies. Members who seem to be poised, waiting for someone to use the wrong word or break some rule. Like a schoolyard bully, they pounce on their victims, humiliating them publicly for any perceived infraction.

(If you are a member of NA, and this observation offends you, feel free to call your sponsor. Shoot, feel free to contact me.)

Anyway, such bullying has no place in our fellowship. As an individual trying to practice honesty in my life, I’ll do my best to receive any criticism from others if my actions or words appear to be bullying.

Where honesty is concerned, whether praise or criticism, I strive to always be positive in my dealings with others. I want to be more like Coach Corso, presenting the truth, but doing so in a way that is encouraging and uplifting.

Those who know me best can certainly tell stories of times I have fallen short in this area. Sometimes I’ve been a total jerk where the truth has been concerned.

As it turns out, I’m just as capable of being a bully as the next person. It’s an area of my life that remains a work in progress. Thus, this message is first and foremost a reminder to me. A reminder to practice honesty, but to do so with tact, empathy, and kindness.

Part of the new way of life I have found through NA involves building others up. As an addict, I have more than enough experience tearing myself and others down. It’s time for a change. It’s time for the Lee Corso Show!

Have a remarkable day!

Courage to Care

When I was in third grade, the worst concern my teacher had about me was that I was part of a clique. Our clique consisted of five other boys and me. It was not that we were trying to exclude others, it just sort of happened.

The challenge was that our clique consisted of bright, well behaved boys, so it was hard to criticise the fact that we enjoyed one another’s company. Still, our teacher, Miss DeLong was concerned, and wanted to find a way for each of us to broaden our horizons as far as friendship was concerned.

She came up with a seemingly sound strategy, and I was to be the guinea pig. At the end of one school day she called me aside in class to ask a special favor. There was a boy in our class she was asking me to befriend, Johnny.

Johnny, really? He’s a bully. He’s an outcast. Johnny was that kid on the playground the rest of us avoided like the plague. Just one sideways glance in his direction would usually result in a bloody nose. I swear to you that Johnny had facial hair in third grade!

I was frightened at the prospect of befriending Johnny, and made Miss DeLong aware of my concerns. She assured me that Johnny was just like the rest of us children, and that all he really needed was that one friend who would be willing to play with him at recess, sit next to him at lunch and so forth. By the end of our conversation, I had agreed to be that friend Johnny needed.

The next morning, after a brief reminder and pep talk from Miss DeLong, it began. My effort was in full swing. On the playground I invited Johnny to join in as my friends and I headed out to play. When he got bored and started to leave, I went with him.

Johnny asked me what I thought I was doing, so I told him I just wanted to be his friend. So off we went, him walking, me trying to keep up. The story was pretty much the same throughout the rest of the day. Where Jonny went, I went too.

Apparently, by the end of the day, Johnny had had enough of me and of my efforts to befriend him. We were lined up out in the hall, waiting for our various busses to arrive when it happened. Johnny reached over and slammed me into the wall. Next came the beating to my stomach and face.

Johnny stopped his assault when his bus was called. When she found me, Miss DeLong helped me gather myself together and wipe the tears from my eyes and stop the bleeding from my nose.

The experiment was over. She would not ask me to put myself in harm’s way again by befriending Johnny. Boy was I relieved!

Miss DeLong’s experiment had a long-lasting effect on both me and Johnny. The next day, he was made to apologize to me. He also had to visit the office of the school’s principal, Mr. McClellan.

In time, Johnny and I stopped avoiding each other. The humiliation of my beating, and the pain of the paddling Johnny received faded from our memories. Though we never became friends as such, we were always cordial. All through the rest of our school days, until high school graduation, there was a mutual respect that started that day in third grade.

Years later, at our thirty year class reunion, Johnny and I had a brief conversation. He brought up that day so long ago, and thanked me for trying. He said he still struggled with being a friend to people, but that he still remembered my attempt way back when.

In Narcotics Anonymous there are always opportunities to step out of my comfort zone and befriend Johnny. He’s the newcomer entering the room for the very first time, fearful of what might come. He’s the person freshly off of a relapse who is feeling like an exile in the room where he once felt so at home. He’s the addict who I meet out in public, seemingly oblivious to the track marks that give away his struggle.

Befriending Johnny is always risky for me. While I don’t fear being physically harmed, I do fear the emotional struggle that comes with watching a fellow addict struggle. The pain of watching the struggle is so real, and for me, worse than any beating I might endure.

Though the risks are great, I know I am called to reach out to Johnny with a welcome and a hug. It is my responsibility to make Johnny feel welcome and loved. Johnny is important, and I want him to realize that, because not too long ago, I was Johnny.

Have a remarkable day!