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AUGUST 2011 Man Cave When The Innings Get Tough By Dominic Valentine It has been a rough inning.


The starting pitcher has a one run lead, runners on first and third, no outs, and is behind in the count 3 balls, no strikes. The manager plods to the mound. The first and third basemen are there. “Your arm looks tired,” says the manager. “I’m good,” retorts the pitcher. “There’s no shame,” says the first baseman. The third baseman launches into one of his anecdotes. “This reminds me of a game I played . . . ” The first baseman rolls his eyes, the pitcher puts his head down and spits. The manager interrupts, “Really, you are go- ing to tell that story here, now.” The first baseman belches. “Oh man, Gatorade and egg salad,” he says. The pitcher gags and giggles. The third baseman begins again but is warded off by the glance of the manager who throws up his hands and says, “That’s it. I’m going to the pen.” The bullpen, like an all-


sports television network, is a male concept. It is male ritual— the masculine version of ask- ing for help. Men struggle to acknowledge when they need help. The first sign is the pro- test. “I’m fine.” The early innings are the


easiest. It is when life’s compli- cations start that the sermon at the mound is a necessity. As a man, you can feel it coming, you might even want it to hap- pen, but you will never ask for it.


On a recent trip to Dallas,


my traveling companion is the D-man, a former little broth- er whose friendship spans 30 years. I casually mention that I am, once again, in the midst of a life changing relationship breakdown. It is hard to tell if he is upset about this news or the fact that I was late and we missed our flight. “I have never missed a flight in my life,” I say. “I don’t believe you,” he says. His tone carries a double mean- ing.


Being typical men, the sub-


ject of my failing relationship does not come up until three days later at a Hooters. Wom- en, judge not the man by the boy within him. You may think it is super-chauvinistic, but bonding between men always starts with the least common denominator. Before Einstein and Besso spent long evenings discussing the possibility of a unifying theory, they shared a giggle over flatulence. And so, my mound moment


happens at Hooters. The play- ers are the D-man and Alberto, a native Ecuadorian. The D- man and I taught with Alberto in Guayaquil many years ago, and recently reconnected via FaceBook. We last saw each other at the airport in Guaya- quil, balling our eyes out saying goodbye after having spent an intense four months together teaching. Within a year, noth- ing in our lives would be the same. I would be married and Alberto’s first child would be born. The D-man would lead the bachelor’s life in Federal Hill, the hippest neighborhood in Baltimore. Fifteen years lat- er, we sit in a booth. I am the pitcher, the one behind in the count.


Alberto, like the manager,


asks the most direct ques- tion: What happened? “She’s splitting,” I say. We talk about how we don’t understand the culture in which we live. We blame women, how they expect so much, how they don’t seem to want to understand how we feel—it’s the typical opposite- sex bashing. Then they dissect my be-


havioral tendencies, the flaws, the admissions, and the limi- tations. We make like an FBI


Top 5 Guys To Have In Your Bull Pen ADULT ADDICTIONS COUNSELOR- they have heard it all


DEFENSE ATTORNEY- a bottle of scotch takes care of misdemeanors and they always know someone worse than you


BARTENDER- Free drinks-Duh? DIY GUY- tools, pickup truck, and know how SINGLE GUY- Ah, life before compromise


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personality squad and design a profile for the perfect mate for me, given all the parameters of my personality, good and bad. Arranged relationships seem brilliant. Who better to choose the right mate than those who know you? It is challenging to be ob-


jective with yourself about yourself. We all have our win- ning formulas. They are not necessarily who we are on the inside. Accepting that people with above-aveage intelligence in most areas can often mis- calculate in others, I suggest there be a committee formed to


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nominate and screen potential romantic candidates. Trusting others with the ten-


der details is never easy. Alber- to says when he is hurting, he withdraws. He says that when a man withdraws, women see this as an offense, as a sign that they want to pull away, when in reality this is the time we most desire intimacy—the time we most want the call to the bullpen to see how we are do- ing, the time we want to have the larger conversation about dreams of who we wanted to be and who we are, the time we want to hear how important we are, that our integrity and commitment are what make us special. We all want to be lifted in life. The D-man and I are sur-


prised when Alberto confesses he does not have many friends. I think to myself how lonely he must feel without someone like himself, an ace of a man lending his knuckleball in the game of life. The D-man and I sign up as his relievers. We all walk out to the mound alone and the balls and strikes are ours to throw, but the bullpen is there when the innings get tough. And they will.


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