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Tuesday, July 01, 2003
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Can "We" Oppose War?
There is an interesting discussion happening over at Base Camp. It started innocently enough, with Scott J's observations of the Viet Nam Memorial, and how powerful it is. Then the comment string started to take flower, and Christopher Key from over Barbaric Yawp way noted that the sad thing about the Memorial is that it doesn't include all the people whose lives were destroyed as a result of that war, even though they may not have been military casualties. He cites the depression, the alcoholism, all the things we know are the cost of that war, but a cost that we can never totally calculate.
And I started to wonder about how destructive that war was to the U.S. socially, how it fragmented our country in ways that are both obvious and subtle today. That war tore our country apart. The scars still exist today; leaders of the "political left" cut their teeth in opposing that war. Much of the "political right" was just coming into political prominence, if not behind the scenes, during that war. Ideologically, the lines haven't blurred much.
And then I wondered: Is it possible for a war to fragment our country in such a way again? I believe it is possible, but far less likely. Look, Iraq was a divisive action, but it can't even compare to the strife that Viet Nam brought. Viet Nam lasted over 10 years; Iraq, from the standpoint of meaningful protest, lasted about three months, if that.
It's not just that we lack the capacity for outrage, or that we are all blind patriots flying the flag from our SUV's (though we are that in so many instances). It's that the people who have the power to make war also have the power to shape that war's perception to the public. The media is allowed on the battlefield, yet the stories all have a certain sameness to them. The war is driven by a media-conscious leadership; the conflicts take less time, which means that opposition has less chance to mobilize, and fewer prolonged quagmires to point toward.
And 9/11 has changed us, as well. I just feel that there is a large part of our country that is so much more willing to "fight the necessary fight", when we take up arms. We've lost the skepticism of Watergate; our first instinct is to Back The President.
That's not to say that there isn't a large resistance to war; there always will be. But those voices, by definition, are going to marginalized, because they don't have the money or the access to the media that they once had to drive their own agenda.
Rick Confessore's recent piece in the Washington Monthly speaks to this concept of the "right wing political machine"; something most of us probably intuitively knew existed, though Confessore paints a much clearer and more depressing picture of it. (Thanks for the hook-up, Marsha...)
This isn't to say we will never have another Unpopular War in this country. But the way things are now, how could we have another Viet Nam? You couldn't get more Viet Nam-like than Iraq, and did Iraq tear our country apart? No, not really. It seemed that way to people who opposed the war, but in the big picture, they were marginalized, and now forgotten. If Viet Nam happened today, it wouldn't tear our country apart; it would just be another foreign policy excursion, another piece of the puzzle of our "national defense in this new era".
Which is too bad; it was the opposition that got us out of a bad situation in Viet Nam. If the media and mainstream America all is of like mind to support the next would-be Unpopular War, who will we depend on to raise their voice to tell the country and the world about our mistake? The better question is, Who will hear that voice? Who will listen?
2:33:58 PM 
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Happy Trails, AP
Anthony Peeler Has Left The Building
The Minnesota Timberwolves made a trade last week, seperating themselves from two links to the recent and frustrating past. The exchange: Joe Smith and Anthony Peeler to the Milwaukee Bucks for Sam Cassell and Ervin (Not Magic) Johnson.
On paper, this is a great deal for the Wolves. Smith provided little in the way of meaningful minutes; he could barely get on the floor in the last two playoff series. He was easily injured and notoriously slow to heal. When on the floor, he could give you a 1 for 3 with no boards in 20 minutes like nobody's business. Sure, he would draw two charges in that time, but then he'd be hurt and out of the lineup for another month. Not only that, but jettisoning Smith allows the Wolves to finally move on from the illegal contract scandal, which I won't recount here. Suffice it to say that the Wolves gave up a LOT for Joe Smith, and didn't even get close to a 10% return.
Peeler was an on again, off again outside shooter who tried with some success to reinvent himself as a defensive stopper last season. More about him later.
In return, the Wolves get Cassell, a mercurial head case of a point guard who knows how to play and how to score. He's 33, but he's still got enough run in him to help this team. More than that, he's a character, and this team and fan base needs something to latch onto besides Kevin Garnett. Cassell isn't a saviour, but he will definitely help. Ervin Johnson is a defensive specialist, which is another way of saying he can't do a whole lot other than be big and tall. But that has value, especially to a team that isn't sure if it can resign it's starting center.
Out of all of this movement, losing Peeler is the thing that makes the biggest impression on me. I have known about Anthony Peeler for many years, since he was in high school in a rough part of central Kansas City. Living in Kansas at the time, I read with great interest the University of Kansas' hot pursuit of Peeler. AP miraculously decided to go play for Norm Stewart and the University of Missouri. He went on to have a great college career, capping it off with a 44 point effort against KU his final season.
I remember thinking at the time that the two college players I had seen that I thought had the best chance to be another Michael Jordan were Mitch Richmond and AP. Turns out I was pretty close on Richmond; AP ended up having a different sort of career.
When the draft rolled around, there were character issues about AP that were circulating through the NBA. I'm not exactly sure what they were about, but the common issues are drugs and/or violence, usually toward women. He was called a cancer, a headcase. As far as I know, none of that followed Peeler to the NBA, where after sliding down in the first round, he ended up with the Lakers.
It seemed like a great situation for Peeler, but these were the in-between Lakers. In other words, the team that came after Magic/Kareem, and before Shaq/Kobe. They were average, lacked a true star, and Peeler's career never really took off. He settled in as a perimeter scorer--a far cry from Michael Jordan, but still a guy who would give you about 12 or 13 a night. AP had gone from star to average player.
And then, Shaq happened. In order to clear salary cap room for Shaq to join the Lakers, the team traded AP to the Gulag of the NBA at the time, the Vancouver Grizzlies. Peeler probably wasn't a cheerful guy to be around at the time, and his effort went in the tank. The Grizz decided to bury Peeler at the end of the bench, even though they could have used the help on the court.
Finally, Peeler was rescued by the Wolves, who shipped their problem, a 20 Heineken-a-day drinking Doug West, to the Grizz for their problem, a pouting and seemingly fallen Anthony Peeler. Within weeks, West went public with his amazing drinking problem; he never really played in Vancouver.
Meanwhile, Peeler began to embrace his new identity: A perimeter scorer off the bench. For the next six and a half years, AP was one of two guys. He was either a guy who was red hot and could change a game, or he was a guy who kept firing up bricks, and had no confidence in his shot.
The beauty of it was that you never knew which AP was going to show up. He lived the playground (and my personal) adage: Shoot To Get Hot, Shoot To Stay Hot. Peeler helped extend his career by having a huge playoff series against Seattle in 1998. To his last game as a Wolf, he always torched Seattle.
But it wasn't all roses for Peeler. Each year, as the Wolves looked for ways to improve, Peeler's name was at the top of the list. After one season where he was more bad than good, it was widely known that the Wolves would move Peeler for someone, anyone. But there were no takers. He hung around.
He had years where he showed up out of shape, and followed that with years where he was in shape. You just never knew what you would get, but you always had the feeling that Peeler was just barely hanging on, only to have another big year, or big game, or big shot.
That's how it was with AP: It seemed like your opinion of him, and the team's opinion, hung with every bomb he fired up. It became a running joke with me and other people I would watch the Wolves with: You could tell by the way AP would streak down the court with the ball that he was going to fire it up. You could tell by the time he was at halfcourt. I would scream "AP, NO!" And he would make it. He would turn me into Michael Corleone every single time: Just when I thought I was done with AP, he would pull me back in. Guys like that will just drain you dry, emotionally.
This was one of those years when the shot missed more often than you wanted it to. AP knew it. How would a career gunner hang on when the gun was out of bullets? He found a way. AP always had quick hands, good anticipation on D, and enough heft and size to be able to hold his own against the larger shooting guards in the league. He reinvented himself as a sort of defensive stopper. And he helped the team, but...you still had the feeling that he was just barely hanging on. When a shooter can't shoot, you can only use sleight of hand and hard work for so long when you're on the wrong side of 30. The athleticism and consistency just wasn't there.
Peeler had one more year on his contract after this last season, but it was at the Wolves' option. You knew push was going to come to shove, one way or the other. How was an old street baller from KC going to survive this one? In the end, the Wolves did what they had to do, moving Peeler to the Bucks, who will most certainly not pick up Peeler's option in an effort to cut costs. AP's going to be looking for work soon, more than likely.
My favorite Peeler story comes from my friend Brent, who lives in KC. I guess Peeler runs a charity event there every year. I don't know if Brent saw this firsthand or not, but he says that each year Peeler does a shooting exhibition, where he will shoot three pointers just like they do during the All-Star contest. But, there's no time limit, and no one guarding him. It's just AP, shooting the ball and shooting the breeze with the crowd while he does his magic. And I guess the dude just doesn't miss. From everywhere, raining threes like it's nothing, laughing, having fun in his hometown. You forget sometimes the duress these guys are under during the games, how quickly they have to shoot. When it's just him and the ball and the basket, AP, like a lot of guys in the league, can do things that just make most of us shake our heads at in amazement. We forget how amazing the guy who's "just hanging on" really is.
There is talk that the Wolves might bring AP back at a reduced salary if the Bucks do indeed cut him. I'm not sure I want that; it feels like this is the right time for him and the team, and me and AP, to make a clean break. But I wouldn't put it past him to catch on, here or somewhere else; AP has been labelled a lot of things in his career, but you'd have to put "survivor" at the top of the list.
Just remember, AP: Shoot To Get Hot, Shoot To Stay Hot...
12:56:00 PM
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No Joy In Mudville
Linus had his third T-Ball game last night. He had been doing well, getting his hits, aggressively chasing the ball in the field, and running the bases like Lonnie Smith.
Then, last night, playing in front of his mother and sister for the first time, the wheels came off in spectacularly embarassing fashion.
It started well enough. He stepped up and hit the ball. He worked his way around the bases. But then as he was standing on second base, I saw it: He was grabbing his crotch.
The crotch-grab is his universal sign that he must go potty. But it can be confusing, because he also has developed a bit of a habit of casually grabbing his crotch. This isn't your subtle cup-adjustment motion that you will see at any major-league ballpark. This is a full-on, Yo! MTV Raps two-handed fistfull-of-crotch grab.
I watched him carefully, trying to see if this was grabbing with a purpose, or just grabbing to grab. I had my answer when the next kid hit the ball, and Linus tore out for third base, all the while keeping his crotch in both hands. By the time he got to third, he was jumping up and down while he did the crotch-hold. I was coaching first base, so I'm looking at all of this from across the diamond. I make eye contact with Jane: She sees the crotch-grab, as do the 30 or so assembled parents who are trying not to laugh at him. It's time for action.
I run across, take him by the hand, and we sprint to the rec center's bathroom. Everything comes out fine. We hurry back to the game.
And then it happened. I don't know how it happened, exactly, but somehow he managed to fall ass first into a wet puddle of mud in the grass. He was only in it for a moment, but it was long enough to put a giant, brown wet spot on his shorts and the back of his shirt.
He freaked out. I'm sure it must have been uncomfortable. But I urged him back to the field, telling him that I couldn't dry him off, and that the best way for him to forget about it was to join his team in the field. He was less than enthusiastic about it. As we walked back to the field, we paraded by the other parents. At that point, I realized that all these people knew I had taken Linus to the bathroom in an emergency situation, and now here we are, returning with a giant brown wet spot in the back of his shorts.
Basically, it looked like Linus had just had explosive diarrhea, and yet here I was, insisting that he take his glove and assume the shortstop position. Naturally, I would never do that, but these people don't know me, and I began to fear that I was looking like some sort of a psycho Little League Dad with an incontinent child.
"What, this? It's only mud. It's not explosive diarrhea. Let me assure you, it is not that. He only peed, and that went fine, but then he fell in a mud puddle. It's that puddle over there, although you can't see it from here. But it's there, and he fell in it, and that's why he's wet. And no, I'm not making him play now. He wants to play. See?"
But Linus was less concerned about getting back on the field than he was about his wet ass. He started doing the Butt Scoot. You know what the Butt Scoot is, right? That's when your dog goes poop, but for some reason it won't all come out, so your dog starts scooting around the yard, trying to scrape it's butt on the grass. It is the ultimate humiliation for a dog owner, worse even than the Leg Hump in my mind, because it potentially puts you in the position of having to wipe your dog's ass if the Butt Scoot doesn't work.
Well, if you think it's embarassing when your dog does the Butt Scoot, let your three-year old boy try it in front of a bleacher full of parents sometime. I immediately nixed the BS, ran and got his glove, and marched him out to shortstop. I stood right behind him, which I have done each week to help all the kids. But this week, there would be no help for the other kids.
Instead of aggressively chasing the ball when it was hit, Linus began backing into me, smearing his wet ass all over me, trying to dry off. It was like we were doing some weird variation on the Hustle. I was appalled. I kept backing away from him; he kept charging toward me, butt first. We chased each other around the infield like that for a few seconds, before I finally said "Linus! I can't help you. You're wet. I can't dry you off."
And that was that. He was done. We left in a damp fog of muddy shame, more Pigpen than Linus. But we'll be back. We'll bring a change of clothes and a towel, but we'll be back.
9:45:09 AM
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© Copyright 2003 Doug Hennessee.
Last update: 8/1/2003; 1:13:16 PM.
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