A Love Letter to Japan. Please Give to the Red Cross.

A Love Letter to Japan:

Dear Japan:

I heard last night about the earthquake that has hit your shores. I heard about the hundreds of people who have died. I have heard about the devastation. I cannot imagine the pain and suffering your people have been through. I have never endured an earthquake, tsunami, typhoon(hurricane) or tornado. I do not know what it feels like to lose your home, your loved ones or your peace of mind, from such a disaster. I have been chased in a car by a tornado, as a child, but it never caught me. Something much worse caught you and all I can think to do is tell you what you have meant to me.

When I was eight, my father enrolled me in a judo class. Some bigger kids at school were picking on me. Scrawny and weak, my father wanted to make sure I could protect myself, if I fell, or maybe even flip somebody, if it came to that. I attended classes for a few weeks, until my father decided I needed to learn attacking skills. He then enrolled me in Tae-Kwon Do. This Korean discipline may have dominated my life for several years, but judo was my first. You never forget your first.

I learned to drive in a Toyota Corolla, at roughly the same time. My father's girlfriend, Heather Wicke, bought a two-door red model. My father wanted to trade in his old Plymouth Duster for one of the same, but had never learned to drive a stick-shift. Ms. Wicke drove around and explained to me when to change gear. She accelerated, pressed in the clutch and told me to move the gear stick. I became proficient at this. My father took turns driving Ms. Wicke's car, with me in the passenger seat. Nervous, I made him press in the clutch, while I changed gear. Once my father became used to the clutch, he then took over the complete operation of the car. He would accelerate and I would say, "now!" and he would change gear. He bought his own Toyota and I continued tutoring him in gear changes. One day he told me to stop and he drove on his own. Years later, my father enrolled me in defensive driving classes. He then sat in the passenger seat and watched me drive the same Toyota I had taught him to drive. I passed my driving test the first time. When I graduated from high school, my father gave me that Toyota as a graduation present. It served me well, until a few years later, when the axle broke. A tow truck hauled it away. You never forget your first.

First came Voltron, then Transformers and finally Robotech. Without Robotech, my childhood definitions of heroism and adventure would be incomplete; the first show with cool robots, laser guns and aliens, while simultaneously showing realistic human relationships. Rick Hunter became one of my greatest heroes. I cried when Roy Fokker and Ben Dixon died. I felt shock when the Zentraedi nearly destroyed the Earth. I cheered when Rick Hunter chose Lisa Hayes over Minmay. Nothing in my childhood, not even the triple threat of Star Wars, Star Trek and James Bond, could match the power of this series; bastardized as it was by Carl Macek, it still remains the epic story* of my childhood. I even still quote a line from it, as the founding principal I base on all my relationships: Rick Hunter, quoting his recently deceased brother Roy Fokker, once said, "Before you love someone, you have to like them." For a 13 year old boy to effectively hear "affection means more than lust or desire" shook my perceptions of reality and shaped who I am today.

Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind, Laputa: Castle In the Sky, My Neighbor Totoro, The Castle of Cagliostro, Spirited Away, Ponyo: what would the world be without Hayao Miyazaki? It would be a very dull and boring place. Just as Akira Kurosawa had managed decades earlier, he placed his imagination on the silver screen and our lives are much richer for it. Rashomon remains my favorite foreign film of all time. Without Seven Samurai, the American Western may never have grown up; what price Clint Eastwood, without Yojimbo? But perhaps of all his films, Ikiru may be the most devastating, the most emotionally rich and rewarding. The story of a dying man deciding what his legacy should be after he dies, is as astonishing and beautiful as when it first amazed audiences over fifty years ago. The world of cinema feels anemic, without Takashi Shimura's overwhelming performance. On the other side of the spectrum, a world without Tokyo Story is not even worth contemplating. One of the greatest examinations of "the gender gap", and the abandonment of the elderly, Ozu's masterpiece shows the uncomfortable reality of daily, little tragedies: Thoughtless words and actions, which lead to isolation and loneliness. Thank you for them all.

On the day I turned 21, I worked a split-shift at Boulder's Dinner Theatre. This meant that I helped clean the dining room, after the first show, and helped set-up for the evening's performance. I would return by 7:45pm to run a spotlight and go home. Not expecting to leave earlier than 5:30, I unexpectedly received the order to leave as soon as I had finished cleaning up from the matinee. This meant leaving nearly an hour early. I suppose my manager felt guilty that I had to work a nine hour split shift on my birthday.  I sat for a few minutes, wondering what to with my time, my coworkers walking by, wishing me a happy birthday. I then decided I would treat myself. I usually ate my meals at the Dinner Theatre. They were free and I had very little spending money. With a hole burning in my pocket from my Dad's birthday cash, I decided to confront an old fear.

Years earlier, my father took me and his current girlfriend to Sushi Zanmai, adjacent to the Pearl Street Mall, in Boulder Colorado. For a 15 year old, I had adventurous tastes: but I drew the line at raw fish. My father made me try a piece of COOKED sushi. I finished it, and spent the next two days sick in bed. On my 21st birthday, I took the local bus to 28th street and Arapahoe and wandered around, trying to think of what I wanted as my first drink. I finally noticed a neon Budweiser sign and made a bee-line. Yes, I still needed to work for a few more hours. Yes, my boss would fire me if she found out I had been drinking just before a shift. No, I did not care. I stood in the parking lot, the sign bathed in a gentle red, when I saw the sign next to the beer logo: Sumida's: Fine Japanese Food. Oh crap! Here we go again! Well, wait, I told myself. Maybe things would be different. On nothing more than a whim, I entered. Frightened, I told the server what happened the last time I tried sushi. The server then gently explained every aspect of the menu and recommended a good selection for "my first time". I started with miso soup, something I had never tried. I liked it. I then ordered an appetizer of fried soft-shell crab. I really liked that! Then, with a slight tremor in my voice, I asked for sake. The server asked me for my ID. I pulled it from my wallet and waited. She nodded and handed me back the card. A few minutes later, I received a California Roll and an Eel Roll, along with a warm flask of my drink. Sweet, sour, salty, savory: for the first time, I had experienced them all in a meal. I loved it. I finished, paid, and jumped back on the bus to return to work. After the show, my coworkers made me a "Flaming Dr. Pepper". I slammed it back, and then they took me to me first bar; a little Irish joint destroyed by fire a few years later. That night, we toasted my coming-of-age, as I tossed back martinis. We then ascended Boulder Canyon, where we stared at the night sky and romped around like idiots on the hillside. I will never forgot that night and my first drink as an adult, which only I knew about.

You have fed my stomach, my mind and my heart.

You will heal, Japan. You will rebuild. You will be stronger, for enduring this catastrophe. For now the pain and loss are too immediate and raw. Those of us who love you, hope for the best and wish you a speedy recovery.

Love,

Christian Chapra

Please give to the Red Cross.

*'Epic Story': I use the definition given to me by Professor Bruce Kawin, from The University of Colorado at Boulder. "An 'epic' is the story of the founding of a tribe."

"You don't know what you're doing! You don't know what you're doing!"

This chant, frequently heard at English Football(Soccer) matches, speaks to a dissatisfaction fans have with how their beloved sport is protected and regulated. The person this chant is always directed at is the referee. First, I need to explain how football(soccer) officiating is different from other sports.

Football(soccer) officials use no instant replay technology. Basketball, and Football(American) have referees who work together, when necessary, to arrive at decisions. There is a head referee in each case, but if a particular foul is difficult to interpret, they confer with each other and make the best judgement, with the available facts. In baseball, each umpire is responsible for a section of the field of play. These systems accurately illustrate the different systems in play, in American sports.

In Football(soccer), there are four match officials: one referee, two linesmen and one fourth official. The fourth official's responsibilities include assuring substitute players are legally dressed, wearing authorized apparel. This official also announces how much stoppage time will be added at the end of each half. Stoppage time takes into account any significant stoppages in play, because the official game clock never stops. A goal scored or a substitution usually accounts for 60 seconds of game time. An injury depends on the seriousness and treatment required. I have seen injuries dealt with in sixty seconds and players stretchered off with oxygen after five minutes or more. The referee makes an estimate of how much extra time must be added, to ensure 45 minutes of action has elapsed. The linesmen are responsible for the offside rule. To ensure that an attacking player does not gain an unfair advantage, the linesman ensures that at least two defending players are between an attacker and their route to goal, when the ball is passed or headed to the attacker by a teammate. The referee is responsible for punishing violent conduct and unsportsmanlike behavior. They also decide who has possession of the ball, if it is out of play, and a linesman has not seen who correctly has possession.

Every football(soccer) fan complains about referees. If your memory extends deep into the last century, you might suggest that complaining about referees is an integral part of the sport. Without the referee to complain about, all our passion would encompass the players. This is patently absurd, because we already passionately love our teams. In my opinion, the general attitude towards referees is Victorian at best, medieval at worst.

It is truth universally acknowledged that referees get decisions wrong. When a referee makes a mistake, the fan or manager or teammate must console themselves by divine intervention. At some point, the referee will get a decision wrong for the opposition and things will balance themselves out. You are not hallucinating and I am not drunk: that is an accurate description of referees and how you are supposed to regard them.

Does this mean if a referee makes a wrong call that the reciprocal call will benefit your team equally, to the call which damaged you? That implies that if a referee called a penalty kick, gifting the opposition a goal, that the next time you attacked the opposition, the referee would give you a penalty kick, in return for their earlier error. As every real fan knows, this never happens: NEVER EVER EVER EVER! The game is over and you lost because of the referees decision: what then? You are supposed to further console yourself that at some point in the season, you will win a game because of a referees decision; a game your team did not deserve to win, any more than your team deserved to lose the earlier one.

Why do referees make mistakes? I can assure you that 'diving' and general cheating is the result of bad refereeing, not the dishonesty of the players. For example, a player is kicked hard in the knee. The player hobbles off the field and imploringly looks at the referee, who shrugs his shoulders and waves for play to continue. There is no situation in the official rules that sanctions kicking a player in the knee. However, if the referee did not see it, they cannot take a player's word that a physical foul has been committed. If the ref didn't see it, it didn't happen. The player is still left with a throbbing knee and a sense of injustice. The physio determines if the player is fit to continue and, if they are, sends them back onto the field.

How does this player respond? Does the player approach their opponent, who committed the unseen foul, and foul them in kind, hoping the referee will turn a blind eye? The rush of blood to a player's head usually makes subtle acts of violence, such as this, nearly impossible. The player can always claim, "well ref, you missed the tackle on me. What was I supposed to do? Just sit and take it?" After a yellow card caution is issued (which comes with a mandatory $1,500 fine, in England), does a referee make any form of restitution? No. If the ref didn't see, it didn't happen.

To put it succinctly, most sport's referees are judges; Football(Soccer) referees are high priests. They are never to be questioned or disobeyed. They have nothing in their possession to help them except their senses and a knowledge of the rules. They must enter the field of play with a sense of infallibility. No rational person believes that they are incapable of making a mistake, yet football(soccer) referees behave with a piousness and all-knowing attitude that borders on the psychotic. In the 14+ years I have been a football(soccer) fan, only one referee ever showed the level of competence that warranted this other-worldly superiority: Pier Luigi Collina, from Italy. From 1991-2005, Collina refereed at the highest levels of Italian football(soccer).  From 1995 to the end of his career, he entered FIFA's ranks and eventually rose to the lofty heights of being assigned to the 1999 Champions League Final and the 2002 World Cup Final. He attempted to explain his magnificent gifts to Skysports, a UK news channel and to several newspapers, His efforts were all in vain: to own such superb gifts is to perhaps not fully understand them yourself. Suffice it to say, the two biggest games he refereed perfectly illustrate his prowess with a whistle. If you have not seen either of these games, they are perfect examples of good refereeing, regardless of the excitement between the two teams playing. Catch them if you can.

Contrast these shining example with the farce that took place this past Tuesday, March 1, 2011, and the differences between the sublime and the ridiculous become glaringly apparent. Chelsea Football Club hosted visitors Manchester United in a clash billed as a potential title decider. With a game of such importance, you would think the powers that be (the FA, which sometimes seems to stand for "F*** All", but in fact stands for Football Association), would assign the very best referee, at their disposal, to ensure the two teams, who desperately want to be crowned champions of England in 10 weeks time play as sportingly and legally as possible. Unfortunately, Howard Webb was not available; the recent veteran of the Champions League Final and the World Cup Final, in the same year; a privilege even Collina was never given. Instead Martin Atkinson took charge. An average referee (i.e., prone to mistakes), he had never been controversial enough to warrant much attention, in the newspapers, until now.

Graham Poll was England's top referee for several years. He controversially lost his status as an international referee after issuing three yellow cards to one player in one game. Two yellow cards are required for a red card and ejection from the game. Now he writes a column for the UK newspaper The Daily Mail, giving the referee's perspective on hotly debated football(soccer) matches. Recently involved at the highest levels of the sport, his insights are occasionally illuminating, despite frequently aligning himself with the referees, despite managers, players or common sense objections (the instant replays the TV audiences get to see, but the officials do not). What he wrote about this game, and in particular the referee, bears repeating:

"Referees are remembered for their big decisions in big games. Unfortunately Martin Atkinson got some wrong last night and they cost Manchester United.Atkinson failed to deliver consistency in similar incidents, the basic requirement for match officials.

In the first half, Manchester United were denied a penalty when John Terry handled a shot from distance. Although his hands were by his side, the ball travelled a long way and Terry ensured that the ball did not pass — a clear offence. Nothing was given.

However, when Yury Zhirkov took the opportunity to go over Chris Smalling’s outstretched leg, Atkinson had no hesitation in awarding the home team a spot kick. It was soft, but just about the correct call. An even clearer example came when David Luiz deliberately tripped Wayne Rooney off the ball — a clear cautionable offence.

As he had already been cautioned, Luiz should have been dismissed. Nemanja Vidic was not afforded such tolerance later in the game.

Last Saturday, Manchester United coach Mike Phelan asserted that ‘you can’t dispute a referee’s decision’. After this display by Atkinson, Sir Alex Ferguson is unlikely to agree."

-2 March 2011

To understand the implications of this article, it is important to understand that Graham Poll criticized Sir Alex Ferguson, while working as a referee, for how he tried to bully and intimidate the officials and the media. Here, as you can see, he is agreeing with Manchester United's boss, as to the negative influence Referee Atkinson had upon the match. Manchester United lost 2-1; a game that would have ended 1-1, with most competent referees. Now, Manchester United have been handed a defeat, allowing their closest rivals a chance to catch them in the points race for the Premier League title. If they do not win the title this year, this game and its psychological effect on the team will be sighted as a major contributor. The Red Devils need to shake off the sense of injustice they must feel, and try to win their next game; away from home against their arch-rivals Liverpool.

Manchester United's grievance is the entire sport's grievance. Teams are relegated from leagues (kicked out of their respective leagues for finishing as one of the bottom three teams), careers are altered, titles are lost, because the powers-that-be-FIFA cannot humbly admit that their policy towards referees (which every country in the world that plays football(soccer) (which means pretty much everybody) are required to follow) is archaic and adds nothing to the sport.

The referee does not need to take advice from any of their assistants. The referee does not need to listen to players and can punish them, or coaches, for "perceived" foul play. And, possibly worst of all, no player can run as fast as the ball can travel. Coaches and players know this; and yet, referees sometimes must make crucial decisions, regarding actions forty or fifty yards away.

It is time the sport grew up. Too much money, too many careers and too much anguish is at stake. I want to see athleticism, teamwork and creativity. If I want controversy, I'll get into politics...which will never happen.

Note: On the use of the term "football(soccer)": I refuse to out and out call this sport "soccer", as the name is an outdated term from the 19th century, used by only a few countries. Remember the power of the majority? I am  forbidden from calling it "football", because of the majority of the United States public. To paraphrase the Alabama-born comedian Vic Henley: "The rest of the world calls it "football". (Pointing downwards) That's a foot. That's a ball. Apparently this is too complicated for the rest of us."