Levels

Suddenly awake
A subtle shift in ambiance
Or my own fear realized.

Dare to move
Dare to dream
That this feeling is real
Wanted it,
Desired it,
Demanded it.
Never contemplating
Consequences
For me
For you
Our Life.

Now but a used courtesan
Watched and treated
As a plaything
To Have but
Never to Hold.

Imaginations run wild
Guffaws of laughter
Prove a cruel partner
As lipstick
Is smeared
Without thought or remorse.

Light ebbs
As your darkness
Smothers
Yet guides me too.

Your smirk
Reveals me
Only to please
Only to serve.

Abandonment complete
For tonight.

A Dish Best Served Cold

Is Love the excuse
As the bitter cold
Seeps into every nook and cranny
O’er me.

My shivering distracts
As my absent mind
Wanders and contemplates
Climbing a mountain
Living in Alaska
Or staying warm here, tonight
Now.

Even though my head is bowed
I sense her
That unencumbered warmth radiates through me
Stealing an upwards glance
Her smile
Her eyes
Revealed to me
Oh sweet redress
I succumb
And feel myself
Being swallowed
Again.

Crossing This Bridge

I sit contemplating
This moment,
In my time.

Across the universe
How many more like me
Are there?

Melancholy yet,
Full of Love
Full of Hope
Full of Life.

Do they know…
Can they hear my prayers,
Hear my tears
Or my heart?

That’s Why They Call It The Blue’s

I am defined
By rewards.

A desire
To play in another’s sandbox
Any consequences be damned
Never glancing behind
To see if that riot
Was mine.

My ruination
My comedy of errors
Came with a purpose
As surely as morning does.

Yet I helped tighten the straps
Enjoyed the feeling of steel
Salivated as my mouth was filled
Willingly.

And this is my reward.

A darkened room
With an occasional shadow
As a friend.
His altruism stopped
When the door closed
And the pain began.

I pondered
Our love
As my moral integrity
Slipped another notch
Hastening memories
Reliving the contradictions
Evident to all
But one.

“Inamorato”
Screamed it forever
Until my throat
Protested
But how
As all I could taste
Was rubber.

Descending like a veil
Its progression
Determined
By my muted
Silence
Covered once again
As I shivered
And reviled my innocence lost.

Such idolization
Better suited
A juvenile
His feigned and convoluted sincerity
Made me an onlooker
As he,
Akin to a looter,
Took
My soul.

Footsteps
Eyes wide open
His expression
Lustful
I turn my head
Too Late
As his tongue
Licks across
Cracked lips.
My stomach rebels
That bilious feeling
Returns
Unwanted and unwelcome
I involuntarily dry-heave.

His power-lust
Sucks
My air
My resistance
As the inversion machine
Flips me.

His boots
Immaculately polished
The smell of soft leather
Beckons my hunger
As my tongue
Thrusts
Strains
A have a mere taste
Of him.

My devolution
Almost complete
As he pushes his boot
Forwards.

Lovingly Caressed.

Reaching for you

Touching your hair
As your eyes are fixed
Upon this road.

Those Palouse hills
Distracting
Their contours
Sensually rise and fall
Before us.

You turn
Smile
Our eyes lock
I am filled with warmth
From you
As now both
Contentment and
Happiness
Overwhelm
My being.

As the journey continues
Together.

Staten Island: Someplace That I Used To Know.

“Oh Sandy the aurora is rising behind us
The pier lights our carnival life forever
Oh love me tonight and I promise I’ll love you forever
Hey Sandy Girl…” Bruce Springsteen circa 1973

As I sat watching Hurricane Sandy start to pound Staten Island late on Monday night (October 29th), I was thinking about that song. The power had been out for a couple of hours and the titillation of
lighting candles, had long since passed, as mobile phones were turned off to conserve the batteries, because the storm could last all night, and who knew what the morning would bring.

Monday had started with a trip into Manhattan. Driving my sister-in-law and family, who were visiting from London, to their hotel in Times Square. The Governor’s of New York and New Jersey had already declared a ‘State of Emergency’.  The Mayor on NYC had decreed that all bridges and tunnels in and out of NYC would be closed at 2pm.
So off we went, 6 of us on a journey through the wind and rain. The traffic as expected was very light, and after dropping them off and making sure that their room was still available, we headed back to Staten Island, not knowing what lay ahead over the next 24 hours.

Midnight passed.
The wind was bending trees at a 45 degree angle, the fence next door had been ripped off, and the patio furniture was doing a macabre dance back and forth across the yard.
I stepped outside the front door with my torch and saw a black and white beach ball in front of my driveway.
WHOOSH….the windswept the ball away, I tried to follow with the torch, but I lost it and had to take a few more steps into the blackness, before I spotted it again.

For the next few minutes, there took place, in the middle of the most destructive hurricane to hit NYC since forever, a pantomime soccer game. Of course there were no players (that I could see), but I know they were there. And as if Sandy was paying homage to Sam Allardyce, the ball was hoofed up the road. Possession, quickly lost, as the ball was now winding its way back towards me, some neat one-two passing. Yet again, the big tackle robbed the ball and possession, and again the ball moved quickly away from me. I was getting soaked to the skin, the wind was ferocious and everyone else in the house was asleep…the old line of “Mad dogs and Englishmen” popped into my head, but I was hesitant to move.

Finally the decision was taken out of my hands, as the ball was at the end of the road and turned sharp right and was gone from my torchlight!
The game was over. I claimed a 1-0 victory for West Ham and retreated back inside the house.
For the next few hours, I fought back some water that was trickling into the house above the back door, and went off to bed, hoping that my make shift “towel barrier” would do the job.

Tuesday morning. The storm was over. Out back the neighbor’s fence had settled down and the broken furniture had taken up residence in some strange places, so I headed out front. Branches and tree limbs were scattered everywhere, but no downed trees. A couple of blocks away, people were not as lucky. Huge trees downed, streets ripped up and now impassable.
Who knew that we were the “lucky ones”.

No power. No phone service. I had a portable radio and that was the only contact to the outside world. Highlight’s, (actually Lowlights) from the first 30 minutes;
- the tide had crested at about 15 feet, the expectation was 12 feet
- Downtown Manhattan was under water
- Atlantic City and the entire Jersey Shore was devastated
- Brooklyn coastline was hit hard
- Out of control fire had claimed more than 100 houses in Breezy Point

Then the story moved to Staten Island.
Staten Island is the 5th Borough of NYC. It’s 5 miles from Manhattan on the Staten Island Ferry.
Most if not ALL Staten Islanders, think that we are the “forgotten” borough.
We have no sky scrapers; no financial district; no meat packing district; no fish market.
Staten Island is not Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens or Da Bronx.
What we do have is a very diverse borough filled with hard working families, who often buck the voting trend of the overwhelming “Democratic” NYC.

Sandy had given us…..
- a tidal wave that had taken 4 houses out to sea, along with a father and his 13 year old daughter
- a mother that had tried to escape the storm, her car was immobilized by a huge wave and when she got out of the SUV with her 2 children aged 2 and 4, the next wave had ripped them away from her forever and ever
- a 28 year old off duty Cop who had got his entire family up to the attic, but then went looking for his dad and stepped into his flooded 1st floor, which had a live wire hidden from his view
- a father and son huddled together in their basement. Later found in a final embrace

Our power came back early morning on Wednesday. Every local TV channel was showing Staten Island. The devastation of the eastern side of the Island was incomprehensible.
Shocking images of neighborhoods that we all knew; that we had friends in; that I had coached and played soccer in.
In total 20 deaths. Each a tragedy. Each one with its own story. As the death toll rose, each death was told, and re-told by the media.

“…And me, I just got tired of hangin’ in them dusty arcades, bangin’ them pleasure machines
Chasin’ the factory girls underneath the boardwalk where they all promise to unsnap their jeans
And you know that tilt-a-whirl down on the south beach drag
I got on it last night and my shirt got caught
And they kept me spinning, babe, didn’t think I’d ever get off…”

Even though Springsteen wrote Sandy about the Jersey Shore, these words were sadly true about all places along the Eastern seaboard. Boardwalks were now gone and any rides had suddenly been swallowed by the sea.

However, it’s not just the landscape that has been changed forever.
Staten Island was no longer the Forgotten Borough. We were now in the spotlight. The world suddenly discovered that NYC actually did have 5 boroughs.

For me, I preferred it the other way…

The Second American Revolution 1986 – 2012.

My last home game was February 2^nd 1986. The 1985-86 season was magical; competing for the 1^st Division and the FA Cup.

Along with my wife, I was leaving England on February 6^th to start a new career and life in the U.S., specifically New York City.

That Saturday was cold and wet, and a mist seemed to be hanging over the pitch for the entire game. Inside the ground, I took up my usual position in the North Bank. I looked around, took it all in, occasionally nodding to other regulars. The opposition on that day was Manchester United. Always a difficult team to beat, and on that day I really wanted to win, and to leave happy and content.

Bryan Robson did his best to ruin my day, when he latched onto a through ball and poked it past a diving Parkesy. United led 1-0 at half-time.
The second half produced two moments that were mine to treasure, as the next time the Hammers played a league game at Upton Park, I would be 3500 miles away.

Moment #1: In my mind it was Alvin Martin who made the tackle and got the ball to Devonshire. The pitch was muddy and heavy, yet Devonshire just glided through the midfield, played a one-two and laid the ball off to Ward, whose shot beat the keeper and nestled in the far corner of the net. The crowd erupted!

Moment #2: That blond coiffed hair, yes the one and only Frank McAvennie, challenged for what seemed to be an innocuous ball, yet it took a weird bounce forward towards United’s box. I have to admit, Tony Cottee, was never one of my favorite players. Even though he was home grown, I always thought he was a bit “soft”. However, when he got to the ball first and squeezed his shot under the charging keeper, none of that mattered, the ball went in and again the crowd went bananas! Is there anything better, than experiencing that raw emotion and finding a complete stranger who shares that moment with you? Even though that hug (or bond) is for a brief moment, it is pure unadulterated joy that is shared by two people. For me it was Unforgettable. It sounded like everyone sang until the final whistle, and being selfish, I had that victory over Man United!

That day I didn’t rush out, didn’t run to the Tube station or the car. I lingered. I watched; I took with me all that is Upton Park that day, and along with the 14 years of memories, safely tucked them away in my heart.

Thursday February 6^th 1986, my wife and I boarded a plant at Heathrow, bound for NYC.
Turn the Page. Do you remember 1986?

Hmmmm…..
No Dual Core PC’s or Laptops
No Internet
No Wifi
No IPhone, Adroid or Blackberry
No Tablets
No HDTV
No LCD TV’s or Monitors
No Fanzines
No Sky Sports or Fox Sports….And I had no real idea what “Cable TV” was.

Here’s what there was for me….
Rotary Phones
Calls Home
Newspapers
BBC World Service.

By the end of February, we found an apartment and started to settle into our new environment. Luckily for me, the weather in the UK had been bad enough that West Ham didn’t play another league game until mid-March, when they would travel to Highbury. I knew this because my Dad was a huge Arsenal fan, and every time I called home, he would mention the upcoming game! That particular Saturday came and went, we had just been “hooked-up” with cable and I tried every single channel, but found no football news or results. On Sunday, I bought the New York Times. The Sunday edition is about 4 inches high, it’s “full” of different sections and magazines…..but sadly no English football results. My last resort was to call home and my Dad gleefully told me that Arsenal had won. I let him have his moment, but needed to read about the game. Old habits die hard.
I was working Downtown Manhattan, in the shadow of the World Trade Center complex, which housed a large shopping complex underneath the two towers. I had heard from a guy at the office that there were newsstands that had “foreign newspapers”.

Monday lunchtime, I went “Sunday Paper” hunting.
I was rewarded by finding this particular newsstand that seemed to have every newspaper from every country in the world! I grabbed the Sunday Express, Mirror and News of the World. Cost, close to $20.
An expensive addiction, especially to read three different accounts of a West ham loss. But I had discovered a way to get the footy results, in a somewhat of a timely manner.

I am going to generalize here and say that the US in 1986 was a football (soccer here of course) wasteland. In NYC there are areas of the city (spread over 5 boroughs) that were then, and are today, football enclaves. But in general it was not easy (without calling someone) to find out anything about world football, never mind what was happening with the Hammers.

This changed forever once the US was awarded the 1994 World Cup.

The US would be thrust into the world spotlight, trying to promote a sport which wasn’t even on the radar of any major television network, never mind trying to compete against American Football, Baseball, Basketball or Hockey.

The entire World Cup experience was a huge success in the US, and it started the proverbial “snowball rolling down the hill”.

Thus began a revolution that has changed the sports landscape in this country.

Let me detail my weekend last Saturday and Sunday (October 6^th and 7^th) –

ESPN and Fox Sports (including Plus):
Saturday 6^th:
7:45am             Man City v Sunderland LIVE
10:00am           Chelsea v Norwich LIVE
12:30pm           West Ham v Arsenal LIVE
3:30pm             Swansea v reading LIVE
5:30pm             West Brom v QPR TAPED

Sunday 7^th:
8:30am             Southampton v Fulham LIVE
10:00am           Liverpool v Stoke LIVE
10:00am           Tottenham v Aston Villa LIVE
11:00pm           Newcastle v Man United

Plus LIVE games from –
La Liga
Serie A
Bunesliga
Champions League
Europa League

We now take for granted every game from the World Cup, including all England qualifying games, plus every game from the Euros. Add the obvious coverage for MLS.

I haven’t even mentioned the college games that we get too!

The transformation of the Football/Soccer Information Highway from 1986 – 2012 has been nothing short of “revolutionary”, except not a shot was fired and not a drop of tea was spilt!

I have seen it and lived it, and over the coming issues of Blowing Bubbles, I hope I can share some of my experiences.

#COYI