This just happened. This is real life.

Last Saturday afternoon, I had time to kill. Amy and I walked down Hungry Harbor road in North Woodmere toward the footbridge. I was telling her about Purim by Daveo – now, just a few houses down from the bridge – and about visiting Munch to cap off the night – just a few houses further. We turned and crossed the bridge. We were actually on our way to see Yaron and his dogs when the Markfelds passed us on their way to a different friend (non-Jewball). Their plans changed. They welcomed us in to their home with such enthusiasm. Showed us their dogs and their incredible view. This is a guy who I had a Championship Game against the next day. A guy I killed on the chat all week. There is a context – one might say – where Yaron and I are enemies – or at the very least adversaries. But in the real world…I was thrilled to see him and he to see me. My wife and his wife bonded knowing their connection is powerful and permanent because of what Yaron and I have established. Seeing his kids destroy and abuse him in his own home was fun and made me wish I could share the news. We left Yaron’s house with the plan to follow Midway make our way to Branch. A few steps ahead is a frum looking family. Hair coverings and payis tucked begind the ears and lots of kids and strollers. The husband turns back for a second when he hears our footsteps behind him. 

“Hey!!! J! What are you doing here?”
My eyes light up: “Was actually just visiting my Jewballers.” 

Big smiles.

He gets it. He GETS IT!

It’s Adam Sigman (aka AdRock aka Sig) – as passionate a Jewballer as there ever was. Played in the late Renaissance and early Dark Ages. He was so into it and was such a pure animal on the field (Loganesque field etiquette) – I remember feeling bad that he missed our best days when the Renaissance was booming. Croton had begun. We were losing people and our consistency. Sig retired because of the disappointment. Twice. He became a family man. Put on the black and white. Grew payis. There is a context where we would otherwise be strangers – passing on the streets of Woodmere with a soulless Good Shabbos. But in the real world – we are bothers for life. Every time I see him. It is a lightning bolt of recognition sparking an inferno of blazing memories at our deepest core. He laments that Marino left the game and we didn’t have QBs of his caliber to step up. As if the loss was recent and sharp. He laments his physique. He comments that I am still skinny. I say you need to get back. I tell him about our great players and QBs now. That he would LOVE it. He says: Maybe I’ll come back since you have great QBs again. We pass some guy standing on his lawn in shorts and a t-shirt. Big mop of jet black hair on top. Squinting face. I hardly pay attention. Sig and I continue to reminisce about games that took place ten years earlier. Maybe more.

“Jordan?”
It’s the guy on the lawn, calling my name. I look over.

“Ike!!!”

I say to Sig, “Now, this, “ – pointing at Ike – “is a Jewball legend!”

And Ike really is. He, Klink,  Uri ,  and BD were the heart of the Golden Age. When we moved from Queens to the 5Ts….we were a bunch of Queens guys wandering in a new land trying to plant our flag and institute ourselves on foreign soil. Who were we? Nobodies. We had no claim to stake. No reputation to tout. But Joey had played softball with some of these kids…and he brought them in. And they came. They gave us credibility. They fell in love. They made it a family again. They had an edge. They played for fun. They were high as hell and they elevated us to levels we would not have imagined. That generation was the first “new” generation in my experience. It made me (and Rabin) realize that Jewball is not just OUR game, but it’s a desirable product. It’s an invaluable commodity. And there is market hungry for it. Starving for it. It was a revelatory moment in our evolution. Everything we have now emanates from that class of Far Rock kids.

I told Ike that Klink and I are playing in a Championship Game the next day. I told him if Klink is playing, he for sure can. He gives me that typical comic Ike laugh. The only thing aging him is the paunch. Kid was a rail in cargo pants back in the day. But he has the same face. Same hairline. Same glowing demeanor. He was the first to convince me to keep stats (so get on him!). He even created a spreadsheet on Excel which we called the Ike-omatic because it tallied up the stats and kept everything in neat columns. This is before Sledge made us website 1. And twelve years before Yaron made us website 2. Ike is part of the tapestry. As is Sig. As is Yaron. There is a context where Ike is someone I once knew – a long time ago – for a short period – and we have not only lost contact but are entirely indifferent to the tie that loosely binds us. A slipknot made from a tattered rope that has withered to nothing – and our encounter should be meaningless, if not awkward and clumsy. But in the real world – it is awesome and stunning. Considering how the day was going. Yaron of the Revolution, Sig of the Renaissance and Dark Ages, and Ike of the Gold Age.  Me – like a needle weaving them all together into that luminous tapestry – one to the next to the next. Ike and Sig share a few words. Try to do the math. See if they crossed over at all. Maybe they played in a game or two together. I neglected to mention that the very Marino who Sig was praising a few moments earlier is married to Ike’s sister. I invite Ike back. He says add me to the thing (by “thing” he meant chat I am sure). I will. Maybe we will see him again. We live in the time of fulfilled Jewball miracles. We will get to those soon.
I wonder what my wife was thinking as we buzzed through town, pollinating Jewball flowers – quite by accident –refreshing and revitalizing the growth of long ago sewn seeds. So much history that doesn’t feel like history at all. I feel like I’m on the field with Ike and Sig every time I am on the field. I really do. Because we are all bringing our pasts into the game. The people we played with. We learn something from every one, don’t we? Our games are creations in the aggregate. Who has taught us up until this point? Who will teach us next?

A day earlier I was on the phone with Legs, who has taught me a lot. Really. A lot. Both on and off the field. Our Man of the Year. He has a way of being incidentally wise. We were talking about Purim and I was telling him how great it was to celebrate with Jewball and how – by my simple gesture of inviting the guys over – it made my Purim more special and meaningful than it had been in a long time. I guess I expressed my surprise how impactful it was for me to see the guys come out. His response (of course with a doofy knowing laugh) “Jordan, of course it was great. These guys are your friends! I don’t understand” (He says “I don’t understand” a lot, but he understand everything.). This is a guy who took me into his family dynamic when I was alone in LA, making sure I had a proper Shabbos. When I kept thanking him and thanking him for the favor….he stopped me, and again – the same theme – trying to drive it home: “Jordan,  when are you gonna get it? We are friends.”

I’ll tell you why I don’t get it, Legs. Because there was a time – and for a long time – when Jewball was just a Sunday morning world. A great world built by great Jewballers; a world apart that had all the life-affirming rigors of kinship and competition – but it was relegated to its box. It was compartmentalized into an untouchable space and conscientiously kept secluded and apart. It was sacred, but it was not the real world. I once saw Dorothy in Mike’s Burgers and it was….weird. Jewballers were not supposed to exist outside of a patch of grass behind Woodmere Middle School. We weren’t supposed to see them in suits or yarmulkes. If I would have gone to a Jewballer’s kid’s bris – it would have been: Whoa, why is that guy from Sunday morning football here? Creepy. Did I leave something on the field? 
We shared the game we love. We were Jewballers and that meant something. For sure it did. But that’s where it was supposed to remain. That was the mandated limit as agreed between the parties. This is the code. This is the way. We did not share our lives. We were not actual friends. 

The Revolution started to change that. I’m not sure why or how. I’m not sure why we started relying on each other more – in more profound, complex ways. Expecting more. Being more comfortable with stepping over the lines and boundaries between Jewball and real life. Certainly, it has a lot to do with the kinds of guys that were coming in. Zez – for one stand out – has a tremendous heart. He made it feel like a family. He inherently doesn’t see the lines and allows you to ignore them as well. Maybe I changed. Maybe as I aged I became more sentimental and emotional and it started a chain reaction. One thing I am sure of is that this season changed us forever. It was building up for a few years, but it was cemented this past year. We are now something new. Something that permeates every aspect of our lives (depending on how interested you are in such things). Sharing occasions off the field is as natural as catching a pass on a Sunday morning. Sharing holidays. Celebrating marriages and births and whatever occasions Mighty has to leave for in the middle of a playoff game. Supporting each other when we are scared about what fate has thrown our way. Using our talents and skills and connections to provide a safety net to those who need it. It’s remarkable. We have graduated into something that is beyond where we were even a few short seasons ago. The Revolution was a phenomenal success. The most qualitative and quantitatively successful era Jewball has ever known. But at some point this season we crossed over to another era. One that pushes through a barrier we – for a time – believed to be not only impenetrable, but necessary. The walls between Jewball and the real world were made for a reason! They protect it, we convinced ourselves. They keep it safe! We bought into that premise. We don’t buy into it anymore. The Revolution is over. Long live The Enlightenment. 
This is the first time we KNOW that a season being over is not goodbye. It’s not, see you next fall. There is a loss, for sure. The football is our lifeblood. We would die without it. But, The Enlightenment is an era that recognizes and embraces that Jewball has SO MUCH more to offer – and that is okay! Not only is it okay, but it’s been our destiny all along. We just didn’t know it. 

And we are just getting started. We are only first accepting this new version of reality. Who knows where it can go?

I don’t need to point out all the benefits of being enlightened. Chanukah, Purim (even our canceled parties are great!), Softball, Sumer BBQ, TBI, Draft Party, Friday kiddush, the myriad of storylines that don’t even register for the entire group (like my Shabbos in LA). There is so much to look forward to. But today is also a day to look back. As I always say and will always say – no matter how enlightened I may get….

Jewball requires good, gritty football. Requires skilled and committed players. I think we have been extremely blessed. We always had the best people. Now the best people are also the best football players we have ever had. There were some lulls in the action this season. A lot of distasteful and unsatisfying ties. But the games were generally very good. I think. They feel like a blur right now. Spira coming back for the Bowl Games is an impossible dream realized. The addition of our EXCEPTIONAL Rookie Class gave us all so much pride (Bert, Ernie, Rook, and Waldo – Thank you!). Vets Rooks could make me cry if I dwell on it. I’m so proud to have battled with my Vets, but the Rookies wanted it so badly and their desire to win was and is so inspiring. 

Leagues can improve. We all know it. And they will. Feit will draft better as he knows the players better. We will have the League Schedule less spread out. We will have the playoffs in the middle of the season (like the All Star Break) so that players are not so broken for ‘em. We will just do what we always do, which is strive to be better and have things make as much sense as possible, Daveo notwithstanding. 

The League Playoffs, which were not recapped, were memorable, but Red Sunday, yimach shmo v’zichro, happened. Was a bit of a mess. In the end, Gronk beat Yaron in a rather boring Championship game and Maor took MVP. You know all this. We live in the post-TBI era. Recaps have become a bit antiquated and obsolete. 
In that final contest it was Gronk’s team – The Cronies, over Singer’s team – The Lionhearts, for the victory. Which brings us to a different contest. 

I have to go back to what we talked about earlier. And I have to get maybe as real as I get in these recaps (I have a bit more license to do so in the Season finale). I do not have a savior complex. This is not a cult. I am not a cult leader. I may have always had a sort of paternal attitude toward my Jewballers ever since I became Commissioner. And I’m sure that inclination only increased as I got older and some of the guys got younger. Listen, I don’t know the details and I’m no yenta. I don’t know what goes on in people’s lives. But I can tell when someone is a bit lost and is looking for an outstretched arm. For a lifeline of sorts. I saw that at one point with Gronk. And I saw that at one point with Singer. I reached out but I didn’t know if either would reach back. All I can offer is Jewball. And whatever goes along with it. The distraction. The support system. Gronk, I thought maybe – but he is always on his own trip – he is tough to read. Singer – I would have sworn it was a futile effort. I never gave up on him outwardly. But I gave up on him because I didn’t believe he knew who I was and who we were.

Singer was MVP’s boy. That’s how I knew him. That’s how I met him. I think Oren told Snow that there was this game called Jewball and Snow figured he could bring his Croton crew in pre-Croton-season and warm them up. He’d beat up on some Jewballers, get his timing down, run some plays – and move on. We were desperate. We said: Thank you, sir. May I have another. Singer was one of those brutes MVP brought down. Picture Singer ten years younger, ten inches slimmer, and I honestly think he was five inches taller back then. He was mesmerizing. I remember one time at LHS (grass) I made a really nice catch reaching up blindly at full speed and Singer said “nice catch” and it was like a celebrity crush had acknowledged my existence. Truly never thought he would play without Snow. I hoped, but it was unrealistic. A few years later, when Jewball was knee deep in darkness, I saw him in North Woodmere Park playing with a Croton team and I was walking by and he gave me a big greeting. I was like…This guy remembers me? And he’s like “I’m coming back!” Big Singer smile. I was like, sure you are. You don’t even know who I am.
Then I would see him over the years. Every time: I’m coming back. And he was in worse and worse shape each time I saw him. So my hopes of playing with Singer went from slim to none (no pun intended). He would always email me (was email back then) when I was counting up heads for the new season about his desire to play and comeback. I did my best to encourage him – still wondering if he knew exactly who I was. I knew him, of course. I knew what he could be. But I didn’t think he cared about Jewball. Because his connection to us was so ancient and tenuous. 

And then all of a sudden – like a resurrection – he was back. 

He flipped a switch and decided to change his life. Trying to regain his old form. Like a miracle. But he was not back like he was the first time. Not a part timer. Not someone just using us to get ready for something else. But as a regular. A committed, observant and proud Jewballer. And it changed everything. It changed everything. 
Gronk changed everything too. He joined us a few years before Singer reconnected. Also a guy that I couldn’t be sure his intentions. Were we a one night stand? Was he looking for a long term relationship? He was a kid. His brother was a former Jewballer who had actually ushered in the Dark Ages by starting Degel, which was in direct competition with us. His demeanor was sullen and aloof, but his talent was tantalizing. He seemed to get and appreciate what we were trying to build. I noticed that. It meant he had potential to stick. And stick he did. After a few seasons of good ball and great chat performances, he set Jewball on fire this year. His reluctant effort at QB embarrassed a trio of guys who take their craft very seriously. He won a lot and made it look easy. He was unstoppable. He walks away with a League Championship after a brilliant draft night and equally genius comprehension of the dynamics of offense and defense.  He speaks volumes in the huddle with his eyes, smirk, and the same two words. It was one of the honors of my life to play for him and The Cronies. Gronk, I could go on. I really could – and maybe one day I will – but this is about Singer. You made it a hell of a decision, but Singer is the MVP of this Jewball Season. 

Singer, you are the Jewball MVP and it has been a long time coming. You have been waiting in line and watching other people take what you believed was yours. That drive is why you are back. That drive is why you went from out of shape to first round draft pick and MVP. I don’t know why – I really don’t – because you came in with the MVP Mercenaries – but you always loved Jewball. You trusted in me before it was fashionable. You said you would be back enough times until it went from fantasy to promise to reality. There is a reason teams you are on consistently win. You do everything well, but with such humility. Now that I know you better – now that we are friends 

 – I understand why you “noticed” me way back when. Because you are celebrity to everyone around you except yourself. You see yourself as a soldier, but everyone sees you as a leader. You play with the fearlessness and effervescence of a child, but you know this is the business of men.  You are an inspiration to every Jewballer. I am sure of it. On and off the field. Bro! You flew in for Vets Rooks and played your heart out!!! If that isn’t the embodiment of a Jewball MVP, then the award has no meaning. Singer, my Veteran brother (first true Vet to win it in many years), my friend, my inspiration to keep going and to fight the voices inside that say a decline is inevitable – to give in – it is my utmost privilege to name you our MVP for the 2021-22 Season. 

Here is the part where I am I usually so emotionally fragile that I crumble and lose my shit as I attempt to type some final words about exercise and diet and seeing you in five months. But this is The Enlightenment. We no longer depart or take hiatuses or reconvene. We are caught in an eternal cyclone – and we spin around in it voluntarily. We participate actively in each other’s lives – and that’s not weird. It’s okay. It’s good. 
Life is hard and confusing enough. It’s an often arbitrary bitch that picks on us for no apparent reason. It does not ALLOW us to take a break. So we cannot. Jewball cannot have breaks. We stand united 24/7/365 – for as long as we draw beath. Even as one season ends and we prepare for a new one. We will miss the football. But we will not miss Jewball. Because Jewball – in the age of Enlightenment – has become as real as life itself.