Going Out a Champ

I came home one day to find my ground floor had become a cat’s cradle.

You get used to spontaneous home decoration when much of your family is below the age of 3. Even so, this was impressive. Our young visitor had found my wife’s yarn ball and, with her smiling help, unraveled it all. Round and round they went, binding the bannister, the couch, the basement door in multiple layers of bright red strands.

It looked like a giant spider had eaten a Hobby Lobby.

I laughed in admiration, praised the work, took pictures by the ton. And then, when the time came and everyone had gone home, I reluctantly pulled out the scissors.

I knew it had to go. But I hated to do it. It had been so much fun that I wanted it to be for always.

I’m sure Pat Bowlen and John Elway understand just where I’m coming from.

If there’s been a more-loved Bronco on the current team than Champ Bailey, I haven’t seen him yet. His amazing play on the field made him admired, his quiet attitude off the field made him adored. Last year’s rallying cry may have been “Finish the Job,” but a close second was surely “Win One for Champ.”

But the real test came Wednesday.

It’s easy to swoon over someone who’s flying high. Every Bronco fan knows how quickly a bandwagon grows seats in the good times. The company’s welcome, of course, but the question always lingers “Where were you guys when it was hard?”

It’s been hard for Champ Bailey for a while now.

Last season was a painful one for the Bailey Bunch. Denver’s favorite cornerback got hurt, played, got hurt again. He played only five regular-season games, and only in the AFC championship game did he really seem like Champ. The rest of the time?

The rest of the time he played like a 35-year-old man with a couple of bad injuries. Willing, even eager, but with a body that couldn’t keep up with his mind.

Had it been anyone else, there would have been no question what should happen next.

Because it was Champ, the sky fell.

“That’s the worst news I’ve heard all night,” a shocked cashier told me at the grocery store.

“Poor Jaimee!” my wife declared. (Her sister harbors a not-so-secret crush on the Champ.)

“I know why they had to, but ….” said friend after friend on Facebook that evening.

Yes. But.

Those three letters say it all.

That’s when you can see the impression that one man made.

That’s when you know that a region has fallen in love with a person, and not just a player.

That’s when you know this was truly one of the good ones.

That’s how you always know.

Not just in football, either. Everyone’s had the friend or the relative or the co-worker who passed their glory days long ago … but whose glory remains undimmed. After years of what they’ve done, they’re left with who they are, and who they are is something pretty special.

That’s the life I think all of us want to have lived. It doesn’t take a trip to the Pro Bowl or a shelf full of trophies. But it does take work, humility and a willing spirit.

Willing for what? For whatever’s needed.

Champ, if you’re reading this, hold your head up high. Whatever happens next, you have the triumph that really counted. Others may hold the rings, but you hold hearts. And you’ve earned every single one of them.

Yes, it has to come. We hate to see it. We want it to be for always.

And the best parts are. Every time we remember when.

And so ends my tangled yarn.

Time For a Good Man

Missy’s had a new friend hanging around the house lately.

She met him at Kohl’s and it was love at first sight. Now he seems to go everywhere with her. He’s even sat in our evening story times, and since he’s the quiet-spoken sort, it doesn’t disrupt anything. Besides, I love his shirt.

Yep. It’s easily the cutest Charlie Brown doll I have ever seen.

I’m not quite sure why Missy latched on to ol’ Chuck. I suspect the small size and bald head give it a “baby” appearance to her and she’s always been fascinated by babies. When our now-3-year-old niece Riley visits, there’s been several times when the toddler girl and the developmentally-disabled woman seem to have a perfect understanding of each other. Before the fights over the Legos begin, anyway.

But whatever the reason, I’m glad to have him around. Charlie Brown has always been a favorite of mine, the unlikeliest American celebrity of all.

Think about it.

America celebrates winners. Charlie Brown has never kicked a football, won a baseball game or flown a kite without disaster.

America encourages busyness, even hyperactivity. Charlie Brown always has time to lean on a brick wall and talk with a friend.

America urges people to get more, bigger, brighter, better. Charlie Brown rolls his eyes at over-decorated doghouses and aluminum Christmas trees, and picks out a scrawny branch that needs a little love.

He’s not a success. What’s more, he knows it. When he asks into the silent night “Why me?”, the answer he hears is “Nothing personal … your name just happened to come up.”

And yet, if you were to set him alongside most of the nation’s leaders right now – maybe all of them – the little round-headed kid with the rickrack shirt would be the first choice in a heartbeat.

Good grief!

OK, that’s not quite a fair comparison. After all, many things are outpolling the Congress right now, including the IRS, venereal disease and possibly the Oakland Raiders, though that’s stooping a bit low. But still, there’s something about the ol’ blockhead.

Sure, he dodges confrontations and hides from the little red-haired girl. Yes, he gets depressed and frustrated. And everyone knows he was overshadowed by his dog long ago in almost every possible area of accomplishment.

But … well … he’s decent. Courteous. Fair, even when it costs him. He sticks by his friends, even giving up a Little League sponsorship when it means the girls and Snoopy would have to leave the team.

He’s the guy you’d never put in the Hall of Fame – but you’d love to put him in the house next door.

He’s humble.

And I think we’ve lost some of that.

Oh, not at the local level. Not entirely. If anything proved that, the flood did, with good neighbors lining up to work in the muck and mud to help someone else. No pride on the line, just an awareness of someone else’s need.

But at the national level, where expensive temper tantrums can erupt for weeks and change nothing by the end … well, wouldn’t it be nice, once in a while, to have folks who were less sure of themselves?

I’m not arguing that confidence is a bad thing. But it’s not the only thing, either. When Rome celebrated its heroes with a triumphal procession, someone was always assigned to whisper in the hero’s ear “Remember, you, too are mortal.” Humility, in the midst of pride.

Even one of the most self-assured dictators of history, Oliver Cromwell, recognized the need. In a 1560 letter to the Church of Scotland, he wrote “I beseech you, in the bowels of Christ, consider that you may be mistaken.”

That doesn’t fit modern Washington, where you never apologize (except when caught in an affair), never back down, never admit the other guy might have a point.

And, lately, never get any work done.

Maybe that’s something to remember next year, come November. The confident men and women with all the answers make attractive candidates – but the less certain ones, the ones willing to ask questions, even of themselves, may make better leaders.

And it doesn’t have to be a costly experience.

I even know one guy who did it for Peanuts.