The name game

Enjoying a Euro 2012 telecast with a friend recently, we realized that among the things we like most about soccer are...the interesting names of the players.

One of the best German players currently, for example, is Bastian Schweinsteiger, which translates to "pig farmer." Another German national team player is Holger Badstuber, the meaning of which is unclear, but the sound of which is clearly cool. Mesut Ozil is a German star of Turkish descent whose nickname is Nemo, after the big-eyed Disney character.

A Real Madrid clubmate of Ozil is named Kaka, one of the top Brazilians in the game today. A compatriot of Kaka goes by the name Dudu, but let's not go there.

Some philosophy students may have been surprised to learn that it wasn't until early this year that Socrates passed away. That Socrates was a great Brazilian player. A Greek soccer player named Sokratis Papastathopoulos--try stitching that across the back of jersey--remains alive and well, however.

At the other end of the spectrum, the Spanish national team that will be defending its European championship against Italy this Sunday includes three players who go by a single name: Pedro, Xavi, and Juanfran. Not to be completely outdone by their Iberian neighbors, the Portuguese national team defeated by Spain in Wednesday's semi-final match had five players on the roster with single names: Nani, Custodio, Pepe, Eduardo, and Beto.

Is there a place in soccer for people in the world named Jones or Johnson? Well, yes, of course. The English national team that competed in this month's Euro 2012 championship had a Phil Jones and Glen Johnson on the squad.

The Joy of Mets

When New York City’s two major league baseball teams meet in Citi Field this weekend, there will certainly be many more happy Mets fans than happy Yankees fans. It’s been that way for most of the past 50 years.

Since the Mets joined the National League in 1962, the team has given its fans many years of happiness – 19 to be exact. There was never more joy in Metsville than in 1969 and 1986, when the team won the World Series. But Mets fans were also ecstatic in 1973 and 2000, when the team made improbable runs to the World Series, and happy nearly all other seasons when the team won more games than it lost. In fact, among the Mets' 23 winning clubs, only the 1987 and 1988 editions, which failed to follow-up on the ’86 championship, and the 2007 and 2008 teams, which collapsed in September, disappointed Shea Stadium faithful.

Yankees fans? Most of them were only happy the eight times in the past 50 years the team won the World Series: 1962, 1977-78, 1996, 1998-2000 and 2009. For Yankees fans, a World Series championship from a team that perennially has the highest payroll and a lineup of well-established players is an expectation. Anything short of a World Series title is a disappointment, and certainly nothing to be happy about. The 12 years between 1964 and 1976, and 15 years between 1981 and 1996, when no post-season games were held at Yankee Stadium, are considered the dark ages in team history, and rarely discussed by Yankees fans.

The images of Jesse Orosco on the pitching mound celebrating the final out of the ‘86 World Series are forever etched in the memory of Mets fans. Older Mets fans will never forget the picture of Jerry Koosman in the arms of Jerry Grote and a joyful Ed Charles on the mound after future manager Davey Johnson flied out to Cleon Jones for the final out of the ’69 World Series. Do Yankees fans have comparable memories of major moments in the team’s history? Probably not, since people rarely treasure an accomplishment that was merely an expectation.

Considering the Yankees have been in existence 109 years, all but 27 seasons have been considered failures by their fans. It certainly gives New Yorkers and other baseball followers across the country a new appreciation for the suffering of Yankees fans over the years. For Mets fans, satisfied with victories whenever they come and happy when the team finishes with a winning record, no such sympathies are needed. That’s why Mets fans will seem so happy this weekend, especially if their team wins two or more of the Subway Series games, and few Yankees fans will appear cheerful, since a World Series will not be at stake.

I ♥ NY

When I began working in New York 3½ years ago and told my new boss how much I liked being in the city, he said to me, “It’ll get old fast.” As a New York native with fond childhood memories, I didn’t think being in the city could ever get old.

I was right. In fact, I fell in love with New York all over again.

I fell in love with the diverse group of fascinating people in New York, each with their own stories and reasons for being in the city. I sometimes stopped to talk to a few of them, including the Mexican man on 48th Street and 6th Avenue holding a sign advertising a nearby Irish bar, and the African man wearing a sandwich board for a discount clothier on 5th Avenue near 49th Street.

I became familiar with some of the people behind the counters of many of the inexpensive eateries in midtown, including the Asian-featured man with the Spanish accent who takes pride in the salads he prepares at the deli on Madison Avenue between 48-49 Streets, or the cheery group of Latinos at Margon on 46 Street between 6-7 Avenues who always seemed happy to see me when I stopped in for lunch once or twice a month.

I fell in love with the buildings and scenery of Manhattan, which makes a fascinating backdrop for the workers, residents and tourists that occupy it. I enjoyed walking around Rockefeller Center, watching the ice skaters and seeing the Christmas tree, rarely being annoyed with the crowds. I was wasn't bothered by tourists in Grand Central Terminal standing in the middle of rushing commuters in order to take pictures of the historic ceiling.

Bryant Park, a chameleon of an oasis where sun worshippers relax in the summer and ice skaters glide through the chill in the winter, was often the highlight of my walk back to the Port Authority Bus Terminal at the end of the day. Other times, it was Times Square or the theater district, both of which looked like oil paintings after a rain, that punctuated my day. If it was pouring at the end of the day, the crowded subway, with its own subculture, was a fascinating option.

I took advantage of being able to stand in the back of Saint Patrick’s Cathedral on 5th Avenue, or sit in a pew of the Church of Saint Paul the Apostle on Columbus Avenue and 59th Street, and quietly thank God for all the blessings in my life.

Working in the city enabled me to watch Mariah Carey, Katy Perry and others perform outside the Today show studios, take in a few more Broadway shows than normal, attend some midweek Mets and Rangers games, participate in a few Jets playoff rallies, and stand a few feet away from Bono and Henry Kissinger, Mayor Michael Bloomberg, former mayors David Dinkins and Ed Koch, Governor David Paterson and former governor George Pataki. Actually, I’m sure I crossed paths with many celebrities – I just didn’t know who they were. I doubt, however, they were much more interesting than the countless working people who found themselves with me in the city, by choice, by birth, or both, most days.

It’s these kinds of people, and the gorgeous landscape in which they operate daily, that I will miss most when my current work situation officially ends next week. New York isn’t going anywhere, though, so I’ll look forward to returning to play, eat, sightsee or, perhaps, work…and certainly, I'll be reminded what it is about the city I love so much.

Mother’s Day card

To someone who won’t be needing to buy a Mother’s Day card for the first time in their life, the subject lines on some recent emails are haunting, if not painful:

“Mom's the word”

“Make this Mother's Day memorable with gift ideas from ShopRite”

“There's Still Time! Save 20% & Get Mom Something Special”

“Shop our Mother's Day Gift Guide. (While Mom's not looking.)”

“Save 25% Sitewide & Make Mom :)”

“Show Mom She Raised You With Good Taste”

“Great gifts for Mom under $300 + 25% off”

“LAST Chance: FREE Shipping/NO Service Charge for Mother's Day!”

“30 Tulips for $30: Mom Deserves The BEST!”

“AAA e-Update: Mother's Day Deals, Spring Getaways & much more”

“Mother's Day Brunch: The Perfect Gift!”

“Perfect Gifts For Every Mom On Your List!”

“Mother's Day Gift Guide”

“Shop Our Favorite Picks for Mother's Day”

“$450 worth of Mother's Day savings!”

“Give Mom a Daisy from Marc Jacobs”

“Send A Sweet Note to Mom, get a Free Gift! Details Inside.”

“Sweet! 2 Dozen Roses, FREE Vase & Free Cookies for Mom ♥ Save Over 40%”

“Mom’s Day Brunch Ideas”

“Gift Pack and Free Shipping – Just in Time for Mom”

“The best Mother's Day gifts come in Coach boxes”

“Massage and Pedicure Package for Mother's Day”

“We miss you! Save an extra 20% off gifts for Mom + Free Shipping.”

“Mother's Day musts: 30% off cardigans & jewelry”

“You're Invited! Celebrate Mother's Day Party This Saturday!”

“Spoil Mom with Surprises! Plus 15% Savings for You”

“Great Gifts for Mom + 2012 Draft Cap for You”

“Make Mom's Day with $20 Off NOOK Color or Simple Touch!”

“Mother's Day is May 13th - Send our fresh and flavorful gifts”

“Celebrate Mother's Day in style with Lauren by Ralph Lauren”

“One Great Mom”

“Get exactly what you wish for this Mother's Day”

The former statement, “One Great Mom,” certainly rings true when I think of my mother, Elena, and all she did for me, especially during the challenging times for our family in New York City during the 1960s. But, the latter statement, “Get exactly what you wish for this Mother’s Day,” will never happen again for this son. I just want to hug and kiss her and tell her again, “I love you, mom. Gracias por todo.”

Through the past with the Rolling Stones

Struggling through the first half hour of a cardio class on a stationery bike in a local gym, I suddenly feel a jolt of energy when hearing the distinct guitar sound at the start of “Paint It, Black,” the Rolling Stones hit from 1966. I smile, and pedal faster.
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Just days earlier, while riding an elevator with a co-worker known for his liking of the Rolling Stones, a middle-age businessman asked if the band might be touring again this year.

“I don’t think so,” his colleague, a white-haired attorney, replied. “I don’t think the four of them will be able to do it until 2013.”

“But, they’ll be a year older,” the man remarked, disappointed.
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A New York City boy first heard “Paint It, Black” on an AM radio station, and went to a music store on Broadway to look for the single. A year earlier, in his neighborhood’s recreation center, he and his friends enjoyed listening to “Get Off My Cloud” over and over and over again.
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Shortly after the first Super Bowl telecast ended one Sunday in January 1967, the Rolling Stones appeared on the Ed Sullivan Show. They sang “Ruby Tuesday” and, in deference to Mr. Sullivan’s wishes, a slightly different version of the flip side of the single, “Let’s Spend the Night Together.” It was better than the game, and soon a young New Yorker made his way to a local Woolworth to buy the disc.

Almost 40 years later, during halftime of another Super Bowl, the Rolling Stones performed a 14-minute set that, again, turned out to be more entertaining than the game. Proving some things just never change, two of the three Stones songs had lyrics censored by the television network.
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The album with the zipper on the cover, “Sticky Fingers,” couldn’t make it past the censor of a Bloomfield, NJ family in 1971, around the same time the famous tongue graphic became synonymous with the Rolling Stones and started appearing in shirts and other clothing.

Four years later, in Madison Square Garden, the band’s on stage and it’s one of those nights. As the opening licks of “Honky Tonk Women” sounded, the stage opened slowly with a band member at the tip of each point of a star-shaped structure. Life was never quite the same for a college student.

In 1981, at a Meadowlands Arena concert, Mick Jagger dashes up the aisle during a song, just feet away from a newlywed couple. Nearly everyone is up from their seats at the new arena, excited.
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New Rolling Stones discs have come less frequently since the mid-1980s, as have concert tours, as Mick Jagger and Keith Richards occasionally bitch in public like siblings or lovers and do their own things. The quality of Stones recordings and performances, however, have never abated – their discs and tours during the past 25 years stand up well to their earlier work.

One more Rolling Stones concert remains on my bucket list. No doubt, it will make me smile and feel like that young New York boy at the neighborhood recreation center, at the Broadway music store, in front of the TV after the first Super Bowl, or the young man at Madison Square Garden or Meadowlands Arena.

Newark Penn Station, Saturday, 8 p.m.

The game up the hill behind them, but the next train more than 30 minutes ahead of them, the basketball fans settled inside the bar in the lobby of Newark Penn Station. A couple wearing blue strode in quietly and found stools in the back of the bar, across from a group of loud men wearing red. In the corner, a man wearing blue punched his jacket, out of frustration or anger.

The bartender did her best to take care of her patrons, quickly drafting beers into frosty glasses and occasionally mixing drinks. The blue-clad couple ordered glasses of wine.

“The bartender reminds me of Sharmila,” the man sipping wine said. “Look at her and listen to her accent. I bet you she’s from Trinidad.”

“I thought she was Hispanic,” his lady companion replied.

More people entered the bar. Most were dressed in red and seemed happy at their team’s improbable win, a victory that was insignificant to them from a practical perspective. The loss by their in-state rival, however, was potentially damaging to the team’s post-season prospects. Three 60ish-year old men in blue, one of whom looked tall enough to have played college basketball in the late 1960s, talked softly among themselves.

The lone African-American man at the bar stepped out, probably to use the bathroom across the hall. He returned a few minutes later and reclaimed his seat among the red-clad white men. As improbable as it could be for a black man in Newark, New Jersey, he stood out inside the bar with his black leather jacket and black leather hat in a sea of red, blue and white.

A few minutes later a thin man with sandy-colored hair and stubby growth on his ruddy face shuffled into the bar. Seeing him, the bartender drafted a glass of beer.

“Jimmy, sit here, not there,” she said, pointing to a corner of the bar with a few empty stools. He didn’t seem to hear her as he slowly made his way to a nearby spot.

“Sit here, not there,” she repeated, holding the frosty beer of glass. He sat where she didn’t want him to anyway. She sighed, and put the beer in front of him.

Within a few more moments, the bar was full. A group of young women, not dressed in red or blue but looking as if they could have just graduated from one of the rival colleges, made their way to the back and stood by patiently.

“In a few minutes the train is going to come and this bar will be nearly empty,” the woman sipping wine said. “She’s finally going to get a chance to slow down and catch her breath.”

As most people around the bar began finishing their drinks, the couple in blue took their last sips of wine and quietly made their way past the men in red and out the door.

Eulogy for my mom, Elena

The following is an excerpt from the eulogy Charley delivered today for his mother, Elena Bruns, who passed away on January 15, 2012, in a New York hospital after complications from heart surgery.

By many standards, my mother was considered an ordinary woman. By some, she was considered extraordinary. To me, of course, she was a very special, unique person.

She was born into an ordinary middle class family in Cuba, and received a normal education for girls growing up there in the 1940s. She did not possess the kinds of special talent or skills that were in particular demand in return for a strong livelihood. Her jobs included being a clerk and a cashier. Despite her passion for pictures, she struggled with a digital camera, and never learned to use a computer.
 
But she was extraordinary in other ways. My mother’s father passed away when she was four years old, and she joined her mother in this country as a teenager, several years before the Cuban revolution forced thousands of her compatriots to flee the island. She settled in the Upper West Side of Manhattan along with some other Cubans from the Mambo Kings era. She certainly wasn’t wild and crazy – she never drank alcohol or smoked anything – but she sure could dance. After her divorce, I remember how she would practice dancing with new boyfriends in our apartment living room. If her boyfriend didn’t cut it on a dance floor, a second date was unlikely. That made Roy very special. He wasn’t a particularly nimble dancer, but they had a second date and then some.

My mom studied hard to learn English, insisting that my brother and I speak it at home so that we could all become fluent. And she succeeded to the point that, by the end of her life, I think she spoke it as well or better than Spanish, despite her strong accent.

My mom also had the extraordinary ability of squeezing 15 or 20 cents out of every dime she had. Growing up, we somehow managed to obtain everything we needed because she always got items at a steep discount or for free. Absolutely nothing, including food and clothes, was wasted in our home. Her way with money was a major reason why she and my dad were able to enjoy having two new houses built for them.
 
My mom was unique. She may not have seemed the warm, bubbly type of Cuban that my grandmother, my aunt, and other women I knew in the family while growing up appeared to be. But, I never doubted her love for me, or how special she made me feel. I will always remember when on her birthday, not mine, she took me, my big brother and her little brother to a baseball game at Yankee Stadium. She always managed to find the gifts I wanted most for Christmas, to get a good spot on Central Park West to watch the Thanksgiving Day parade, and buy some tickets to see the Christmas show at Radio City Music Hall.

She was very proud of delivering four children into this world. Her youngest child, and only daughter, was born while I was a sophomore in high school. My mom was beaming the day she left the hospital holding my sister. I remember my classmates asking me for weeks, “Hey Charley, was that your mother who just had a baby?” “Yeah,” I admitted, “that was my mom who just had a little girl.”

My mom was fortunate to learn how to cook traditional Cuban food from her mother. Our family could never figure out how she made her yellow rice and chicken look and taste perfect. She went through much trouble to get the right ingredients to cook with red beans. The taste of her black beans could not be beat although, fortunately for me, she was able to teach my wife how to prepare them just right.
 
After my grandmother passed away 20 years ago, my mom had a big void in her life. She missed her mother very much, and rarely went long without talking about her. Just recently she said to me, “Do you realize Belen would’ve been 100 years old this year?” Ironically, it was exactly 100 years ago today that her mom was born.

Now it’s my turn to have a big void in my life. But, just as my mom made sure I never forgot all the great qualities of her mom and the special times we shared together, I am determined to make sure my family, including my dad, my brothers, sister, children, nephews and niece, never forget her great qualities and the special times we shared together with her.