Out-Punting Our Coverage
March 19, 2013
Any traveler to the Atlantic coast of any Central American country will witness firsthand the arrogance of the human race.
Strewn along almost every shore is the waste of nations outliving their means. Plastic in all shapes and colors, from products of all types – bottles, toys, sandals, tools.
Island nations to the east, unable to cope with the volume of their waste, cast it off covertly under cover of night. Oceangoing vessels large and small heave it overboard.
My wife puts it this way: “We’ve gotten ahead of ourselves.” Humans have fantastic abilities to create, but we do so without conscience, without caring enough about consequences.
This clearly applies to the world’s waste problem – from cast-off containers to used cars to computers made obsolete in a matter of months. We keep producing more and more, without plans for the waste of producing new products or the waste created by making existing things obsolete.
In the Pacific Ocean, a mass of trash the size of Texas is circulating as if there were a drain. But there isn’t one. No easy answer to flush human waste – the excrement of our greed – to some other place where it will do no harm.
In Chinese cities today the air, water and land are toxic – much as it was in developing US cities around 1900 – as China takes its turn to poison its people in the name of progress.
That we can do something doesn’t mean we should do it. In sports terms, the human race has out-punted its coverage, and the consequences are far more dire than a punt return for a touchdown.
In An Instant
August 4, 2015
The icebergs that enter the harbors along Newfoundland’s north shore started to form thousands of years ago. They broke from ice flows 10 times their size and then got caught in a current that carried them on a 1,000-mile, two-year journey to “Iceberg Alley.” Some of them drift into harbors and, with seven-eighths of their mass below the surface, they get grounded. Eventually they break apart and disappear.
My wife and I “discovered” one of these grounded ‘bergs near the shore of cozy little Coffee Cove. After a 15-minute hike, we got closer to this sparkling monster than third base is to home plate. We each snapped dozens of pictures.
Just as we were turning to begin our hike back to “civilization,” we heard what we thought was a loud gunshot. But what actually occurred was a portion of the iceberg breaking off and falling into the water.
What we had taken pictures of moments earlier no longer existed as it had at that time. In an instant, the iceberg had changed, without respect for the thousands of years in the making and the hundreds of miles of traveling.
A few days after we returned to Michigan, Rich Tompkins died, apparently healthy, just after waterskiing. Death came without respect for the miles Rich had traveled to serve student-athletes and coaches, and without regard to all the victories his teams had earned and MHSAA championships they had won.
I last saw Rich on Valentine’s Day at the first-ever Fremont High School Hall of Fame induction banquet where Rich and many of his athletes were honored. The pictures taken that night are of people and circumstances that can never be reassembled.
We need to more fully appreciate the miracle of such moments. They can be gone in an instant.