Anthony Delcore reaches for a volley.

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*Beginning in 2010, I started writing a bi-weekly column, “From Richard’s Oft Cluttered Desk” which appears every other Wednesday.

Four days ago we said good-bye. And thank-you. It happens a lot to me when I say farewell to my friends. I am very thankful for them. Of this I am very public about. But it wasn’t my friends this past weekend. It was an athlete.

Rarely in sports do we get to do the same thing we get to with our closest friends. I can count on two hands the athletes that I said farewell and thank-you to – at the same time. It would take a whole stadium packed full of painted-faced crazed fans to count how many times I’ve only said “good riddance.”

There was the man whole grew up in front of America and the world’s watchful, and quite often, scornful gaze. He won, then lost. He won, then lost more. He fell off the face of the earth. He reclaimed his glory and became one of the game’s best ambassadors and philanthropists.

I recall an athlete who just played because he loved it. He played for one team his whole career. He won three championships and was a complete gentleman on and off the ice. His career ended possibly prematurely with an injury, but he left with grace and compassion.

One of his competitors did the same. He also played for one franchise his whole life. He was captain for much of his career and won two championships. He didn’t fight, he just played with a quite poise, worked in his community, and was a man of his word.

An athlete who isn’t retired, but will probably be the next person who makes my list recently signed a new and quite massive contract with his hometown team. He could have taken ever larger paychecks in the glitz of New York, but he stayed true to his roots. He plays the game with passion and kindness in an unforgiving position. And he’s good, but doesn’t act like it.

Andre Agassi. Steve Yzerman. Joe Sakic. Joe Mauer. Do those names ring a bell? Those are the first four names that come to mind when thinking of athletes I’ve said good-bye and thank you too.

Another one was just added to this list, but has been on his way there for nearly a decade. He won his sports grandest prize seven times. Seven straight times. That is LA Laker or Chicago Bulls dominance. But think about that. For seven years this person was the best of his sport.

Even better, he did it with a constant, and still never-ending barrage of questions about doping. For the last 21 days of his career, it seemed each day was filled with another accusation from a former teammate who is swearing to anyone still listening that this man doped. And we have all been duped. I don’t buy it.

First of all, this man has put hundreds of thousands if not millions of his own money to finding a cure for cancer. He’s done that for nearly a decade.

Secondly, he has never, not once in his life failed a drug test or even received a false positive. Hell, even I’ve had false positives in my blood tests!

I never forget an advertisement after his third or fourth title (yes, I know it is an ad!), but it says everything that needs to be said. People ask me what I’m on. I tell them I’m on my bike six hours a day busting my ass. Yeah, that’s right.

One final item must be pointed out that is often forgotten. I read this person’s first book and in it he wrote about when he was younger and just getting started in his sport. He was given a full and comprehensive physical. They tested and prodded everything and one thing they found stands out above all the rest. He had a lung capacity high than most humans, as well as an ability to keep oxygen in his muscles longer (or something to that effect). He was destined for this.

He made us proud. He made us care. He paid tribute to where he came from and where he had been. He’s still fighting for Cancer. He uses his celebrity for good – and not reality television shows.

So, as his career came to an end this past weekend, I said a silent, and now very public good-bye and thank-you.

Good-bye Lance Armstrong.

Thank-you Lance Armstrong.

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*Beginning in 2010, I started writing a bi-weekly column, “From Richard’s Oft Cluttered Desk” which appears every other Wednesday.

As I worked last week, my mind kept thinking about what I wanted to write for this column. There were so many options from the last week. Just look at the sports world. The US Soccer team made not one, but two dramatic comebacks in a matter of five days. Yes, I was sad to see them lose on Saturday, but in my opinion, they played better this time around than in 2006. I could easily write about the day when I lost more work time to television than ever before. Yeah, I am talking about Wednesday.

I was getting caught up on e-mail, listening to Radio Wimbledon (since I don’t have a television in my office) and I happened to glance at the scoreboard. John Isner and a guy I’d never heard of, Nicolas Mahut were around (I say around because who knows anymore after the tennis we saw between the two) 14-14. I knew I wanted to see the end, because any match that reaches that level deserves a sportsman’s support.

We got a bunch of people into our conference room to watch. The match kept going back and forth. Then I took control of the remote because I knew the US Soccer team was nearing the end of their game versus Algeria; and I knew we were down. Every chance I got, I went to soccer – then back to tennis – soccer – tennis.

But the match was in a tight spot… and the soccer game was going into extra time. Then Brad Gilbert, the tennis commentator, who was obviously watching the soccer instead of the match right in front of him screamed, “g … gggooooooaaaaalllllll!” We quickly changed over to the soccer game to see the celebration. There was immense pride in our team.

Then we went back to tennis. Then back to our office. Then we ordered pizza. Then back to our offices. Then back to the tennis. Then it was called at 59-59 in the fifth set. Of course, the rest is history, 70-68 in the fifth set. 11 hours and five minutes. But I feel I must comment on soccer.

I remember watching the US Women win the Cup in 1999. It was awesome and amazing! And I remember watching the men back in 2006. A co-worker and I talked soccer all the time during that month. She was a bigger fan than I, but I am a Patriot. I do remember watching us play and we were, in my opinion, terrible. We couldn’t get shots to save our lives.

But 2010 was different. Yes, the results are essentially the same, but here are the differences.

First, we made it out of the group stage. That is a pretty big feat in all honesty. You have to play well for three games against the top teams in the world. Not only that, we won the pool for the first time since 1930!

Second, we did score goals. Of the two goals we scored in 2006, only one was off our foot. The goal we scored against Italy was scored on themselves. In fact, in 2010, we had two goals that were incorrectly disallowed (but didn’t end up factoring into anything). This year, we scored five goals. Not bad in this writer’s opinion.

Third, the country was a part of it. I don’t remember any excitement four years ago. But it’s coming. 2014 could be a banner year for US Men’s Soccer. Dempsey and Donovan will probably be playing in their final World Cup and our younger guys will have four more years of experience.

Fourth, they are starting to believe. You could see it.

Just wait … amazing things are around the corner for this team.

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The question isn’t who is going to let me; its who is going to stop me.
-Ayn Rand

The book was published this past January, but in my next motivational book, I will definitely use the story of the 2009-10 Men’s UNI Basketball team. Do you remember them? Maybe this will refresh your memory…

I am a graduate of Northern Iowa and I bleed Purple and Gold (not the Vikings, by the way, the Panthers)! The reason I bring them up is because they are perfect examples of this quote. They were a No. 9 seed going up against a prohibitive favorite for the Final Four. But they didn’t blink. From the opening tip, they played with organized abandon. Kansas had been their before. Maybe they thought that no matter how hard the Panthers played, in the end, they were the better team so they would end up on top.

But the Panthers didn’t quit. They didn’t take their foot off the gas. They played their hearts out. It has gone down in Cedar Valley history. This Panther squad was the perfect epitome of Rand’s quote. Who was to stop the Panthers from not only believing but from living their dream? Ultimately, no one but themselves.

Picture this: let’s say the Panthers lose that game by four points. But the guys know they played their hearts and out and left every shot, every drop of sweat in their bodies on the court; sure they lost, but I think years from now they would look back and say they lived their dream. It’s cliche, especially in sports, but it’s true. For athletes and anyone with passions.

Who is to stop you? Who is to stop me from picking up a paintbrush with no training in the medium? No one. Just me.

So, what are you going to do?

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*Beginning in 2010, I started writing a bi-weekly column, “From Richard’s Oft Cluttered Desk” which appears every other Wednesday.

The sandlot makes a ball get very dirty. But it is that dirtiness, the story only a ball, a used ball can tell. Picking up a used ball from any field in the country, I can tell. I can see the story. Home run. Perhaps. Strikeout. Possibly.ground ball. Fly ball. Line-drive. All possibilities.

Maybe it hit a batter like what happened to me years ago. I tried to turn away, but that pitch, I think it was Jeff Horner pitching, maybe not. But it hit me right in my left elbow as I turned away. That ball has a story.

It flew through the air, probably no more than 60 mph, and even that may be generous, but to me, all of 12 years old, that ball was getting bigger and bigger as it got closer to contact. Contact. That was the gaol. But this particular ball was a freight train headed straight for me. I tried to get out of the way. But is came too fast. Or maybe I was too surprised to get out of the way. I turned, smack. Crack. Not the bat. Me. Elbow. On the ground.

I was 12. My game was over. Benched for the rest of the game. But that ball still has a story. It knows my elbow very intricately now. Probably more than I. Hitting me at 60 mph, it felt bone, skin, tendons and the few muscles I had at that age. It probably crushed a few blood cells too.

But that ball. The feel. Oh the story it holds. Any ball. Every ball. They all tell a story. It’s what makes it great. It’s what makes kids go chasing it … they want to be a part of the story … the pitch … the swing … back … back … back …

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