Deja' vu

It's funny, really.

Two years ago, a month before my 40th birthday, I began this blog, believing at the time my journalism career could be in jeopardy.

I had worked for 17 years, all in newspaper, working my way toward what I hoped would be the job of my dreams. After four years at the Ann Arbor News, I was a Big Ten beat writer, covering a team that was making its first NCAA appearance in eight years. This is what I wanted. Then, it all changed.

While in Kansas City, I learned the Ann Arbor News was closing and giving way to a new media company. I didn't know what to make of the news. No newspaper in Ann Arbor? A website-driven news source? I was determined not to investigate it any farther.

But I knew if I didn't, it could spell the end of my career. It's not the way I wanted it to end. So I applied (albeit with great hesitation), landing a part-time job with AnnArbor.com hell-bent on trying something news.

Less than two years later, the things haven't changed.

Again, Michigan's basketball team made the NCAA Tournament. I was still a beat writer, covering hockey, prepared to cover Michigan's 21st straight to hockey's version of The Big Dance. The day before the playoffs began, I learned - this time first-hand - that my time working as a journalist in Ann Arbor was coming to an end.

Maybe, as my colleague Lon Horwedel wrote this week, I shouldn't have been surprised. Perhaps, the little subtle changes this year signaled something bigger. Maybe, there was a way I could survive this.

But two weeks after being laid off, I again find myself at a crossroads. The past two weeks have been a hellish roller coaster ride. A byline on SportsIllustrated.com. Another for ESPN.com, which I have been a contributor on for more than two years. Freelance hockey assignments and story-telling that makes me think maybe there's still something left.

But mixed into all of that was a lot of uncertainty and angst. The thought of filing the first unemployment claim in my life leaves me feeling unsettled. Wondering when the phone will ring with an prospective editor waiting to talk to me leaves me wondering if the phone will ring.

My faith tells me everything will be taken care of in due time. Be anxious for nothing for tomorrow will take care of itself. Deep down, I know that to be true. But somehow, that message from my heart hasn't yet reached my head.

The next weeks and months will be telling. I am determined, as I was two years ago, not to allow people that barely know me to tell me when my career as a journalist is over.

The people who know me best, the ones that have called, emailed and texted me over the past two weeks, know what I am capable of.

It's too bad the people making the decisions never realized what they were losing.

But if I have anything to say about it, they will soon.

Elimination Saturday: Reflections from an empty rink

Hockey history is everywhere inside Munn Ice Arena.

Three Michigan State national championship banners hang over the rink, honoring accomplishments of teams past.

At present, though, the Spartans immediate playoff history is anything but certain. This, a night after rival Michigan delivered a stunning opening game punch to the mouth – a 5-1 victory that gave the Wolverines an early edge in the best-of-three playoff series.

The game was played in an arena that normally draws standing-room only crowds for Michigan State's tussles with its in-state rival. But on this night, the stands were half-empty, the crowd lethargic.

"I was disappointed," said Red Berenson, who has overseen Michigan's storied program for the past 26 years.

Disappointed. That, in one word summarized a crowd of just more than 3,000 that sat stunned for 2 1/2 hours watching their beloved Spartans picked apart by a lower-seeded Michigan team.

Two hours before Game 2, the rink is empty. The ice glistens after being freshly cleaned by a Zamboni, which created the only noise other than pop music that echoed out of arena speakers. In the belly of this old hockey barn, players will dress, preparing for what could be Michigan State's final hockey game of the season.

In a place where hockey's excitement brings out the fanatic out of those who fill the stands, lights are dimmed and signs of Game Day life are just beginning to stir. It's an interesting sight. A lifeless hockey rink hoping to see its season-long activity span extended for another day.

Only time will tell whether that happens.

Linking the present to the past

The shirt was part of my regular go-to clothes routine.

When you're a kid, two pairs of jeans and two or three shirts make up your weekly school wardrobe before your favorites get washed and thrown back into the rotation.

For me, a blue Michigan football "number shirt" as I called it then was one of my favorites.

It was blue with the word "Michigan" printed across the front and with a Number 1 prominently displayed on the front the back and on the sleeves.

In the world of recess and backyard Nerf football, Anthony Carter was the ultimate hero.

As young boys, we'd watch the Michigan receiver line up on Saturdays, making one spectacular catch after another.

We didn't consider he was only 19 or 20 at the time, but Carter was the player that all of us wanted to be when we grew up.

When we'd pick teams, we would also pick players. My group of friends was split right down the middle - half claiming Michigan as their favorites and the other half leaning toward Michigan State.

Depending on your position, you always had your favorite player. Mine was Anthony Carter.

After all, I was the only one at the time who had the No. 1 jersey.

We'd play football for hours, staining the knees of our jeans in the grass and running up remarkable scores like 52-48 before we'd call it quits.

On Monday mornings at school, we'd talk about the games our college heroes had played two days before, often starting sentences with the words, "Did you see....."

Now, all these years later, I have grown accustomed to talking to people associated with college sports. It's just what I do.

I haven't been star struck by interviews since my early days as a sports reporter, seeing my interview subjects as just everyday people who just happen to play sports.

But on Saturday, a little piece of my childhood came back to me as I stood on the sidelines at Michigan Stadium. Thirty years ago, Anthony Carter and Michigan quarterback John Wangler connected on a 45-yard touchdown pass to beat Indiana as time ran out.

I was 10 at the time.

But as I stood in the back of the end zone talking to Carter after he, Wangler and former Michigan running back Butch Woolfolk were recognized as honorary captains, I couldn't help but to think back to those backyard football games.

Carter, who is now almost 50, spoke of his days of playing for Michigan like they had just finished, never mentioning his days in the USFL with the Michigan Panthers or his brief stint in the NFL.

He spoke while 108,000 fans surrounded him, reliving the past glories of playing for the Wolverines while watching a team that is undefeated this season.

During a brief in-game ceremony, Carter was called "College Football's Original No. 1".

I knew what they were talking about because after all, I once had the shirt to prove it.

Left turns, ear plugs and people watching

There's nothing quite like life around a race track.

It's hot. It's noisy. And most of all, it's loud. Painfully loud.

But on race day, it's passionately energetic.

Fans wearing baseball caps with numbers embroidered on them snake through large crowds, hoping to get a closer look at NASCAR's main event.

For those willing to pay, pit passes allow fanatics to maneuver through the garage area – a virtual backstage pass to the sport's biggest names. Fans carry digital cameras, snapping photos of cars and their drivers, hoping to get a glance at their favorite NASCAR characters.

Jeff Gordon. Jimmie Johnson. Dale, Jr.

In racing circles, drivers are known either by their first name or their numbers. In NASCAR parlance, drivers are identified by the number painted on the side of their cars.

"The 24 car just got loose on Turn 4," race announcers report.

And without any sort of master roster, fans know where to look and who's in trouble.

On steamy summer days, fans pack into seating that overlooks the main stage. They whoop and holler, cheering on their favorites.

At track level, the most passionate of fans walk around with earbuds blaring radio traffic into their ears, keeping track of communications between driver and their crew chief.

The reporters who cover NASCAR range in knowledge from veteran know-it-alls who have worked in each of the circuit's media rooms to newbies just trying to figure the sport out.

But spend time walking around the pits and around the garage area and one thing becomes abundantly clear: People who love NASCAR are among the most passionate sports fans that exist.

On some level, they connect with their heroes – whether it be by wearing the same number they do, drink the same beer they do or drive the same make of car they do. They are self-admitted rednecks, unashamed of their love for auto racing.

And there's nothing wrong with a little passion for something that gets your engine revved up.

A different perspective

One of the greatest aspects of my journalism career is the people I meet.

At times in the past while rushing to chase after the biggest paper and the best beat, I neglected to truly tell stories of the people I met, satisfied to take them at first blush.

Sam Meija is different.

I met Sam this week in the offices of a Washtenaw County social services agency that serves the area's homeless population.

I had read briefly about his story on ESPN.com and in the Detroit Free Press, chronicling a journey that started in North Carolina and that continues at the University of Michigan. In between, Sam - who is 35 – endured being homeless, often spending nights in the woods behind the University of Michigan hospital.

In the woods, Sam felt safe, creating a barrier between himself and the cruel stares of those who judge people like him.

Until you get to know him, Sam is quiet and unassuming. But as his personality begins to blossom in front of you, you come to meet a man determined not to be defined by the hand life has dealt him.

At one stage of his homeless existence, Sam decided that for some reason, he had been cast into this life. But after examining what is inside of him, he found that life's circumstances wouldn't keep him from reaching his full potential.

He started by completing his GED. He enrolled at a local community college and then transferred to Michigan. He is now studying mechanical engineering – a year after Sara Silvennoinen discovered him in an Ann Arbor homeless shelter.

Like Sara, I am amazed at the turnabout Sam has brought in his life. Undeterred by his hardships, Sam is determined to make a life for himself – all the while overcoming the odds that have been stacked against him for much of his life.

So Sam, thanks for the life lesson and thanks for teaching me the valuable lesson that people are often so much more than they first appear.

The new adventure begins

Today, I turn 40.

So far, I have gotten one humorous birthday card reminding me of how things were when I was younger. I have gotten my share of Facebook greetings referring to me as Old Man. My favorite came from a college roommate who simply wrote, "Good Lord, you're old."

It's all good.

I am sure I pestered friends older than I when they turned the dreaded 4-0. Turnabout is fair play.

For the past year now, I wondered what my big great adventure would be. One of my college friends climbed Mt. Everest when he turned 40. This summer, he was planning to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro and invited me along.

I'm not sure he ever made it. Obviously, I did not. But the thought of traveling to Africa to climb a mountain was romantic to think about, leaving me to live vicariousy through my friend Nathan, who traved to Africa to make his own great climb only to discover a much bigger adventure.

In one of our discussions, Nathan told me not to worry, I would get to Africa one day.

My Africa, it turns out - at least for now - is finding that my adventure isn't so much a destination, but the greater story discovered on the way.

In the past few weeks, I have watched my newspaper close, I have begun a new venture at AnnArbor.com and have considered doing some freelance public relations work for friends. I have also been asked to consider working part-time at our church, helping new members become engaged in our congregation by using their gifts to serve the greater good.

My new adventure includes a change in priorities. After years of defining myself by my journalism career, I have learned that work – while still a passion – can no longer be my identity. There are greater sources of happiness and a greater purpose.

I will no longer choose to find complete satisfaction in marquee assignments or high-profile bylines. There is more inside of me that is begging to be used to serve a higher purpose.

The journey to the top of my mountain won't be a short one. Nor will it be completed overnight. But my recent first step into my 40s has reminded me that it's OK to stop and take a glimpse of what's around me rather than focusing solely on the final destination.

Next stop, Africa.

And yes, Nathan, one day I will get there.

Not a bad day at the office

Part of getting used to the new gig is learning to live without deadlines.

As a 24-hour news cycle, Ann Arbor.com thrives on having new stories each time readers log on. So when my editor sent me up to the Buick Open Pro-Am today to see Ann Arbor native Bob Seger play golf with Tiger Woods, I figured it would be an interesting day.

After finding Woods' group on the 8th hole, I started following them inside the ropes thanks to the media passes the PGA Tour offers reporters.

Inside the ropes gives reporters access to more of the small talk and informal moments of a round of golf. While much of a country club's decor stands up during a pro-am, players tend to be a bit more relaxed.

Seger - who was inducted into the Rock &Roll Hall of Fame in 2004, spent much of the day grinding around the course. Before teeing off, he'd often toke on one of the eight cigarettes he smoked during the first 12 holes.

He played to the large gallery following the group, taking time to sign autographs and joke with fans as he played with the world's No. 1 golfer.

Three holes after I, along with an Associated Press intern started following Woods' group, Tiger used a small waiting period to come chat.

It was nothing special - just small talk with a surprisingly laid-back golfer who has the reputation of sending F-bombs to photographers who interrupt his golf swing with their clicking cameras.

We talked about how Seger was playing and he offered up a hilarious Pro-Am story that is best saved for talk over beers.

Woods' group ended up shooting 11-under par. I huddled into a cramped interview space to record Tiger's thoughts of coming back for what may be the final Buick Open. He spoke of a lot of joke-telling and story-telling during his Pro-Am round and talked of how being a father has changed his perspective on his line of work.

From there, it was on to Seger's press conference, which included a lot more laughs and his thoughts of getting his 64-year-old body to last 18 holes of golf.

On the days when this business offers a less than desirable assignment or an unhappy reader that calls to offer up his option of my latest work, I will think back on this day.

There's an old analogy which claims that your worst day on the golf course is better than your best day at work.

Today, I combined the two and enjoyed every minute of it.

Our little 5-minute chat with Tiger was just the icing on the cake.