A picture is worth a thousand cliches. (courtesy of revcowboy.files.wordpress.com)

My employer and I parted ways last October. I wasn’t blind-sided or steamrolled by the layoff, but the hit really cleaned my clock and rung my bell. The incident was unfortunate, though inevitable. With the failing economy, the company wasn’t getting the job done on either side of the ball. They were in search of an identity. Management was in the hot seat and under fire (over fire too, I suppose), but in no position to turn on the after-burners. The writing was on the wall, and something had to change. Heads rolled. It is what it is.

The company may not have been the right place for me, and I was looking to explore other options. After all, I need to feed my family and make a living… this is America, where everyone deserves a second chance. But I always gave it my all at work – 110% – leaving everything on the field and nothing on the table or to chance. I came to play, mentally prepared for each day, and worked as if it were my last. I never lost focus, and was never flat. Is it possible that I was part of the problem and not the solution? No. I’m a difference maker, have been at every company I’ve ever worked. I’m a scrappy and unselfish player, but also an impact player who can take over a game. I have great vision, owing to the eyes in the back of my head. Who does the boss call when the game is on the line? Me, the go-to guy, the team player who can carry the team on his shoulders. I’m a proven winner, the real deal. Former employers can’t say enough about me. I may bring a lot to the table, but I’m only human; I’m only one man. My last company was missing some other pieces of the puzzle. They needed to circle the wagons, take stock and get back on track.

I’m not pointing fingers. In the end, my boss did what was best for the team. I tip my hat to him for making a difficult decision at a difficult time; he didn’t want to dig himself a deeper hole. In the end, I can really only blame myself – the man in the mirror – for not taking my game to the next level. Mistakes may have been made. Ultimately continued employment just wasn’t meant to be, nor was it in the cards, stars or offing or written in the sky. I learned a lot in my time with the company and made a lot of friends. I can hold my head high, knowing I did my best. But the time had come to move on, hopefully to greener pastures.

There is no “i” in “team,” or “paycheck,” which I no longer had. There is an “i” in “bills” though, which would continue to show up on my doorstep. Coming off a heartbreaking loss, what would be my next step? Could I pick myself up by my bootstraps? Could I get back in the saddle on that horse and ride, or at least lead it to water? While my job loss was a bitter pill to swallow, I just had to put it behind me… move on with my life. Whatever mistakes were made were in the past, and I’m not here to talk about the past. This was my wake-up call. Opportunity was knocking, and I had to answer the call.

Without a job, I had room to operate and play my game, let Norm be Norm. I had a solid foundation to build on. The first step was to collect my thoughts, get my act together and put my ducks in a row. My resume had to be whipped into shape. It needed to show my mental agility and toughness, along with my depth of character, to silence all the naysayers. The next step was to go out there and execute. If I could bring my A-game while firing on all cylinders, a new job would be as good as in the bag. After all, the game is won and lost in the trenches, where the devil is in the details. I would march right down the field and score, then leave the rest up to God. I could afford to take my time, one day at a time. But I couldn’t afford to milk the clock. I didn’t have all day.

I know how to play the game. I wasn’t coming out of nowhere as a job candidate. I’d been around the block a few times, seen some things and given a lot back to the community. But events of the past year really took the wind out of the economy’s sails. There were no jobs to be had, not even as a speed merchant, field general, play maker or workhorse. Even the best in the business were having trouble navigating these difficult waters. My layoff hasn’t been all bad. It’s let me spend more time with my family and pursue other interests.

These days, I’m down but not out with my back against the wall, in a do-or-die situation behind the eight ball. Things are tough out there. It’s been a long job search journey, with nothing to show for it but an excel spreadsheet filled with notes about all the resumes I’ve submitted. New York City and its employers haven’t exactly rallied around me. Maybe they think I’m past my prime, not a wily veteran or elder statesman, but someone who doesn’t know when to quit. I feel like there’s a monkey on my back and an elephant in the room, both staring me right in the face. The ball just hasn’t bounced my way; I haven’t gotten any breaks. Sometimes that’s just how the cookie crumbles, even for the Norm Elrods of the world.

But I suppose we make our own luck and control our own destiny. So I just have to remember what got me here, dig deep, stay focused, step up and make plays and then play to win. It’s a whole new ballgame, and I will not be denied. I have a strong supporting cast, who have rallied to my side in this time of need. I’m heading in the right direction, playing with confidence and doing all the little things I need to do to win. All that matters is the final score, and the game isn’t over. Finding a job takes time. But I’m just one big play away from the promised land. To get there, I just need stick to the game plan and keep the drive alive. No one’s throwing in the towel just yet. So let’s look on the bright side and call 2009 a rebuilding year. Tomorrow is another day, and the sun will rise. Maybe I’ll find a job… that’s why we play the game.

Who’s ready for some football, and all the laughably cliched interviews that precede and follow each game? I know I am. Go Skins!

Help, someone get this large man off of me! (courtesy of espn.com)

Are you ready for some football? Why, yes, Hank, thanks for asking. I’m actually ready for a lot of things, and football is chief among them. Here’s a quick list…

• football (like I said)
• a paycheck
• this
• the end of summer
• a new Boards Of Canada album
• The World
• the end of the “Obama isn’t a U.S. citizen” nonsense

Football is on my brain these last few days, as training camps everywhere get underway. That the season is only a month away really hit me yesterday. I was sweating on the elliptical machine, like an offensive tackle waiting for the buffet line to open. (My gym has been skimping on the air conditioning lately.) Various ESPN analysts droned on about what team would sign Michael Vick. My guess is the team won’t be named after an animal… just saying. The volume was too loud to concentrate on a magazine, so I watched and didn’t care. Then they cut to the “Tom Brady watch” to show the wunderkind picking a wedgie and discuss how his technique – thumb and forefinger followed by a quick shift of balance – might affect his rehabilitated knee. I continued to watch and not care.

At home and showered, I wandered over to The Washington Post site – one of my usual procrastination destinations – to read about my beloved Redskins. During the off-season, it usually takes about three seconds to catch up. Nothing is happening. But what was earlier in the week a page of stale articles was now a fount training camp “news.” I read that the team signed its first-round draft choice, the quarterback is ready for a new season and many other stories that don’t change year-to-year. Sportswriters must just have these articles written and swap out the names and a few verbs each year. I looked at pictures of players working out, talking to coaches and signing autographs. I watched videos of reporters discussing how the team would fare this season. Everything was pretty stock, but who cares? I was experiencing football for the first time in months. A starving man will eat anything and love it.

My next stop was Chris Cooley’s blog, where he talked about the first day of camp. Cooley is the Redskins tight-end who blogs about his life as a professional athlete. He offers access into his world that few celebrities are willing to. The tone is very average Joe rather than “Cribs,” this is my Bentley, this is my king-size water bed where the magic happens. It’s obvious this guy has money. It’s also obvious he’s an interesting character with a sense of humor and a good heart. Fans – this one included – eat it up. Wifey probably thinks I have a man-crush, given how often I bring him up in casual conversation. She listens and nods, because marriage means she has to. But she really couldn’t care less. An hour later, after taking in all the football info I could process for the time being, my workday started. Ah, football, welcome back. How I’ve missed you so.

The Redskins actually began training camp a couple days ago. Very large men convened on Redskins Park in Northern Virginia to toss around a ball and beat each other senseless twice a day for the next six weeks. Between practices, they’ll spout cliches to the media about giving 110% and taking it to the next level. Fans clad in burgundy and gold will cheer their every move. Today, I joined them, in spirit anyway. The opening of training camps brings a deluge of football news. Up-to-the-minute team-related news is available online whenever I want. I can even follow the team’s practices via Twitter, which seems completely and totally useless.

The distraction from my routine is welcome, invited even. Football is the perfect break from the daily grind. Pretty soon I’ll be drafting for my fantasy team, following injury reports and watching games in bars filled with screaming idiots. Wifey will have to endure my stories of player exploits on and off the field. Few things make me forget unemployment. Few things take me out of one reality and put me in another. Football is one of them. So I am definitely ready for some football.

I don’t wish I were a woman. Being a manly, guy-type creature of the male species works for me. It’s nice to have a built-in excuse for my noises, smells and propensity to stop channel surfing on any sports-related event. (I actually just watched a replay of an all-star high school football game while eating dinner.) The common drawbacks, such as body hair, male-patterned baldness and a complete lack of fashion sense, don’t bother me much. And the double standards tend to net out in my favor. So why complain? But on some days – like, say, any summer day in New York City when I have to go to work or a job interview – I’d rather wear women’s clothing. It’s just cooler.

Today’s weather wasn’t that bad for July; 78 degrees and sunny, with humidity thicker than Heidi Montag in math class, is practically Fall in this part of the world. We usually get temperatures 15 degrees higher to go with our atmospheric soup. But it also wasn’t suit weather. I had a job interview (yeah, me!), which meant putting on my finest (boo, me!) and hopping on the subway (again, boo, me!). The meeting seemed to go well, but my travels were less than pleasant.

A couple of my suits are dark and made of heavier fabric, perfect for all my Wall Street power lunches. A couple are light and made of lighter fabric, more suited for summer evenings sipping Mai Tais at the yacht club. Heavy or light, the bottom line is they’re all made of wool. And they’re all really, really, really, really hot. People keep telling me that wool breathes because it’s a natural fabric. It pants… maybe. Breathes… no. Wearing a wool suit in the summer is like wearing fiberglass insulation with slightly less itch. Would someone please bring back the Miami Vice look, and quick? I’ll happily embrace the feathered hair.

I opted for my favorite suit – a charcoal, pinstripe number made famous in a certain New York Times article – matched with a white button-down shirt and a blue tie. It may have been a tad conservative, though entirely appropriate for the occasion. This was a job interview, after all. I considered going with a blue-gray “summer-weight” number. But I opted to sweat out an extra half pound of water weight and not risk being under-dressed.

I managed to remain cool while waiting for and riding the 7 train. My station is above ground and attracts a nice breeze, and the train car was air-conditioned. The Grand Central station – where I transferred – was a little warm, though much more bearable than it will be as summer drags on. Subway stations are like oceans in that they maintain heat long after the weather changes. Some sort of giant fan thing circulated the air. That helped a little, until the cool-ish air mixed with the heat generated by other trains sitting in the station. I draped my jacket over my arm. Sweat began to form on my brow and drip down my shirt. My collar chafed my neck. That was the beginning of the end. I wiped myself off and boarded an uptown 4 express train for a little relief. Hopefully it would catch the uptown local 6 train I’d just missed.

The 86th St. station was much worse. I steamed for another ten minutes, until the 6 train came along to take me to 110th St. There I began walking and continued sweating. I arrived at the offices for my interview dripping. My shirt sleeves, where I’d draped my jacket, were soaked through and stuck to my arms. My hair was wet with sweat. My face was on fire from the razor burn. Oddly enough, my nerves were calm. I found a spot under a tree to cool off, without much success. Shade doesn’t relieve humidity.

But air conditioning does. A few minutes in the bathroom was enough to sponge off and become presentable. My suit jacket would cover my soaked shirt; I’d be fine as long as I kept it on. The interview seemed to go well from that point. The ride home was also infinitely more pleasant. I grabbed a downtown bus to avoid a sweaty backtrack, and transferred to a Queens-bound train at 59th St. without waiting. And then I was home, to bask in the coolness.

Today was sort of an extreme example. I don’t generally wear a suit in the summer, or at any time of year. But when working, I still have to wear slacks or khakis, a button down or polo shirt with an undershirt (can’t have those giant sweat marks) and shoes that cover my feet. Imagine how much more comfortable a breezy skirt and a light blouse would be. Maybe you don’t have to. Some sandals that let the air dance across my toes would be just divine. I’d happily paint my toenails if I could get away with flip-flops in a business environment. And what about capri pants? Aren’t these just shorts by another name? A friend from a previous job and I used to joke about wearing shorts to work and claiming they were capri pants. They’re becoming all the rage in urban areas, so maybe I’ll get my chance, under the guise of “fashion.” Until then, I’ll just have to deal with my sweaty manliness, all the while wishing I could just dress like a woman.

Boy that snow sure looks tasty.

Last night while lying in bed, I tuned my old clock radio to the only news station it picks up. A commercial came on for something forgettable and far away – a car service or business software maybe. But the weather report was on its way, on the eight, right after the break. I knew what they would say – six to ten inches of snow expected in the greater New York area. I walked through the beginnings of it earlier and had since checked weather.com. But I wanted to hear the forecast on news radio, complete with chimes and the bustling newsroom in the background, sounding like it has forever. I wanted to be sure before falling asleep that school would be canceled.

One peek out the window this morning and I knew. Today is a snow day. Snow was piled high on the fire escape and still coming down. Wind blew it right to left across the Queens panorama that I see out my window – apartment buildings to stores to subway tracks to hospital. The plows were out; merchants shoveled their sidewalks. But the snow piled up faster than they could clear it away. Still it didn’t seem like a blizzard from up here, more like an almost life-sized snow globe of someplace that would never be in a snow globe. Everything seems separate and more peaceful when you’re above it.

But it's ok to write on the snowy buildings in Queens. In fact, it's required.

As a kid, today would be a free day… no school, no homework just hours of sledding and snowball fights. We’d all be out playing at the park by 10:00 in the morning. Maybe someone would get together a neighborhood football game in the afternoon. And when I got home – cold, wet and tired – Mom would make hot chocolate and cookies. Sound a little too perfect? Maybe so, but that’s how it was.

Snow days are pretty damn awesome for unemployed 36 year olds, but in a different way. I have license to stay home and do nothing, and not feel guilty about it. I can curl up in a blanket and watch that Netflix movie I’ve had for three weeks.  I can put on my boots and go take a look around. I can even (gasp!) take a nap. The snow softens everything, covers up all the worries and problems like a warm blanket. Nothing is visible except white. Later cars and buses will drive through it. People will stomp on it and kick it around. And life will surface. But for now it’s a snow day. Enjoy it for the reality holiday it is.

The desperate pursuit of mediocrity is what dreams are made of.

Football season has been over for weeks. Pittsburgh fans are still starting fires in trashcans, though these days it’s to keep warm, not to celebrate their team’s championship. The Washington Redskins still managed to make headlines yesterday, with the start of the free agent signing period. On the day teams begin talking to available players, the Skins went ahead and dumped large piles of money on players’ doorsteps. If only I were a player… or had a doorstep…

The team signed or agreed to terms with three sought-after free agents. The contracts will total $182 million, $72.5 of which will be guaranteed. Pro football contracts are generally not guaranteed, due to the sport’s high risk of injury. Otherwise teams would be stuck paying players who had stopped playing due to injury. And we wouldn’t want injured unemployed people collecting money now would we? That would be Robin Hood Socialism or worse, France.

The annual Redskins sweepstakes winner this year is stud defensive tackle Albert Haynesworth. The most coveted free agent signed a deal worth more than $100 million. That amount includes $41 million in guarantees – the highest amount in league history. Cornerback DeAngelo Hall agreed to a $55 million deal, with about $23 million guaranteed. He played for the Redskins half of last season after the Oakland Raiders – his former team and maybe the NFL’s most dysfunctional team – cut him for not being a team player. Offensive guard Derrick Dockery will sign for $27 million, $8.5 million of which is guaranteed. Dockery started his career in Washington before a two-year stint in Buffalo.

Congratulations to these players for taking what they can get. I would happily sign away much more than they did for much less than they’ll be paid; I’m not getting much use out of my spleen these days anyway. But this spending spree begs a couple of larger questions…

1. Why would anyone ever think education is the path to success and give up sports? (I really blew that one.)
2. Why did the team lay off 20 team employees (not players or coaches) earlier in the year if it has all this money just sitting around?

The answer to the first question is pretty easy… I was never that good of an athlete. I could catch a football, but didn’t much like getting hit. I could field a groundball and catch a throw in the dirt from third base, but was average at best with a bat. My sports career was over with high school. Education seemed to provide opportunities for me – a determination a lot of people make. Good grades and test scores, as I’ve discovered the hard way, don’t lead to financial security. They don’t even ensure employment. But running into people at full speed sure seems to. Pro athletes are receiving and signing mammoth contracts while the rest of us are losing our relatively low-paying jobs.

The laid off include rank-and-file Redskins employees. The huge contracts proffered to players make this hard to explain away. Maybe the layoffs were a PR move. Fans identify more with their team if they see it experiencing troubles similar to their own. And this builds fan loyalty, and leads to dollars down the road. Big organizations also have different budgets for different things. So staff salaries might be drawn from one pot and player salaries from another. Given that owner Dan Snyder lords over everything and can do whatever he wants, I don’t buy this explanation. A mere $1.5 million could have kept all of these people employed for another year (assuming an average annual salary of $50,000 plus another $25,000 in benefits). And that’s pocket change to moneybags Snyder.

The signings are likely designed to make money in the long run. Big-time talent gets fans excited in the off-season, driving sales of tickets and merchandise, regardless of the economy. Big-time talent wins games (at least that’s the thinking), which will excite fans and again drives sales when the economy is better. And good teams get more national exposure and more advertising revenue. In practice, the Redskins rarely get their money’s worth.

Big-time free agent signings have never made the team more than average. And that will be the case this time. Individual players get hurt and have bad seasons. Rarely if ever do they make mediocre teams into Super Bowl contenders. They just expose weaknesses in other areas. So I can look forward to disappointment when football season comes around again.

But this fan is a little pissed off for another reason. It’s not the staff layoffs, nor the high player salaries. Businesses do what they feel they have to. I understand that. What bothers me is when businesses blow smoke up my ass. The team laid off staff to save money and then turned around and overspent on free agents. Haynesworth is a great player, and was due for a payday. But even he was surprised by the offer, meaning he would have signed for a lot less. Making a huge splash like that when many of your fans are struggling makes the owner look out-of-touch. Given that he still thinks he can buy a championship through free agency, I guess that shouldn’t surprise me.

Throwing around record amounts of money at a time like this (and after laying off average people for purported financial reasons) is also disrespectful to the team’s fans. Athletes, as employees, deserve every penny someone is willing to pay them. But they’re not like the rest of us. Laid off office workers are. And this is an insult to them, and everyone else suffering through difficult times.

Thanks, Redskins, for thinking about your fans. That’s some good looking out.

The Washington Redskins – the football team I grew up on and still follow – was eliminated from the playoffs last week. This week they lost their final game to the San Francisco 49ers on a last-second field goal. It was another disappointing game and another torturous season from a talented team that, at times, showed signs of becoming a contender.

The season turned south right after my layoff. At the end of October, the Skins were 6-2 and poised to make a run at the postseason.  The running game was working, and the defense was snuffing opponents. They were playing Redskins football, as it’s called in and around DC. I lost my job, and the team dropped 6 of their next 8 games. Critical breakdowns in what once worked led to an 8-8 finish. By many accounts, the team had lost its way.

This isn’t a post about how football (or any sport) is an allegory for life. That’s been bandied about ad nauseam. Maybe it’s true, maybe it’s not. Who cares? And, obviously, my layoff had nothing to do with the team’s misfortunes. The timing is purely coincidental.

Football is entertainment. And the ups and downs of your favorite team is a distraction from life’s larger problems. For me, it’s one of the few things that can get me out of my own head. During Redskins games, I don’t worry about finding a job or paying the bills. For three hours I submerge myself in a world that exists on a TV screen in my living room or in a bar. I get a break. And now that their season is over, I have to wait 9 months for that weekly distraction.

I know the playoffs are coming. And you could argue that some of the best football is played in the playoffs. Maybe so. But as any fan of a team will admit, it’s just different when your team isn’t playing. You don’t get as excited for the kickoff. You don’t cheer as loudly at the touchdowns. You don’t complain as much about the little mistakes or revel as much in the little successes. You just care less.  And more importantly, you don’t lose yourself in the game and forget about your reality.

I am fully aware (and extremely thankful) that my problems aren’t that bad in the grand scheme of things. I have my family, and I have my health. I’m in no danger of going hungry or sleeping on the street anytime soon. Unemployment can be overcome, though it will take some doing in this market. And the bills will get paid.

Without my team to root for, unemployment gets a little harder to take. Still, I wouldn’t trade this season for anything, except maybe a better record and a playoff spot (i.e. another week or more of football). Thanks to the Redskins (and everyone else’s favorite teams) for the welcome distraction. I really needed it. And thanks for making life a little better. See you next year.