JF: Dancing With Braced Ankles

Dancing with Braced Ankles

Brittany Born, Loyola's star libero, balances her passion and the simple life

Ed. Note: Hey guys, I know most of you have met Britt before but I thought I'd share this with you before we all left for New Zealand together. I wrote this piece as an assignment for my Sports Writing class so it is a bit dated but I feel like it's an adequate description of her persona. I know it's a bit long but please take the time to enjoy it.

BALTIMORE - Before last Sunday's match against St. Peter's, Brittany Born meets trainer Steve Austin in his office to be treated. Austin places pads on her back, two on her upper back and two on her lower, and channels electric currents into her muscles.

She does this before every match.

The process takes 15 minutes and makes her quiver, but she claims it is painless. It stimulates her sore back muscles and allows her to bow with the grace necessary for the libero (pronounced LEE-beh-ro) position. After some icing, she is ready for warm-ups.

The rest of the team wears their home blacks but not her. As libero, Born, 20, is designated a lime green jersey that makes her more noticeable to the officials - and everyone else. By now, she is used to standing out.

Jogging lightly, Born ducks her head under the net and bounces up on the other side, swinging her arms like a willow in a windstorm as the rest of the team warms up. The song playing on the loudspeaker is House of Pain's "Jump Around" - her favorite. Born mouths the lyrics along, swiveling her hips to the beat as she fields serves to assistant coach Rich Zwolinski. He does his best to shake off a smile.

After the balls are shagged and the game is ready to begin, she stands off to the side of the net, beams bright and darts towards freshman middle blocker Taylor Koncelik. The two meet mid-jump, Born delivers an enthusiastic two-handed high five and lands soundly on her braced ankles. Electrified, she lets out a fervent cheer to rally her teammates for the upcoming contest.

"I live for game day," Born said, with a thin-lipped, knowing smile, "it's so exciting."

What you wouldn't assume is that this game is the last in a disappointing season that began with four straight losses and ended with the NCAA tournament still out of reach. You wouldn't assume that their opponent was a struggling St. Peter's squad who had also buried the hopes of a playoff berth, coming into the match with a lowly 8-21 record.

You wouldn't stop to think that this was Born's last time donning her ankle braces and lime green jersey before she skips the spring season to study abroad in New Zealand.

Brittany born is this enthusiastic every game - and she hasn't missed one of the 362 sets Loyola has played since she arrived three seasons ago.

"I calculated it and, during the season, it's a full-time job," Born admits, almost guiltily.

At times, the commitments of Division I college volleyball makes her feel restricted, tied down. However, she does not let this affect her. She maintains her constant enthusiasm - for the sake of the team.

"[I try to] be loud, you know, celebrate every point," she explains, "every game matters...nobody likes to lose."

"You'd go nuts if you had six of her," Loyola coach Scott Pennewill jests, "but she's got the ability to get people fired up."

Senior Kimi Gabriel subs in for Born during much of the match, but Born continues to cheer from the sidelines, never completely removing herself from the action. The Hounds dig deep to overcome a late rally by St. Peter's and finish off the Peahens in five sets.

Then, it's over.

The team wraps up another disappointing year, finishing 15-18.

Following the match, they hold a banquet to honor the seniors who won't be returning to Loyola for the coming season. The next day, Pennewill gets busy courting five new recruits signed on for next year and the team takes some much needed time off.

For now, the 20-hours of weekly practice and the early morning workouts are through.

"It hasn't even hit me yet that we don't have volleyball."

Brittany Born sits in her bed across from me, legs folded Indian style, and hugs a pillow in her lap. She dressed in sweatpants and a tank top, the outfit of a girl reviling leisure. no make-up, it's not worth the effort today. Her crimped silk hair falls easy on her shoulders.

She is taking her time, letting her weak ankles rest, and enjoying the good life

JF: The Postal Service is Not Accepting Applicants

Here at The Stairs that Lead Nowhere, we usually leave the musical critique to PT, but I got something I just gotta say. Since I lost my iPod last week, I've been listening to a lot of radio (thus my post on Lady GaGa yesterday). It hasn't been terrible but the control freak in me has been dying to hit the "skip" button every time I hear these clichéd words ring through the speakers of my '97 Nissan Shitbox:

"You would not believe your eyes/if ten million fireflies/lit up the world as I fell asleep"

The above lyrics are taken from Owl City's whimsical single "Fireflies." The song in-and-of-itself is unforgivably unimaginative. Adam Young, the MySpace baby responsible for Owl City, wrote the song in his parent's Minnesota basement last year (cute, right?) and has since found immediate acceptance from other trend-hoppers on the social networking site, ultimately leading to his signing with Universal Republic in 2009.

Since then, "Fireflies" has whirred up the charts, sharing airspace with the likes of Beyoncé, Lil' Wayne and our girl Lady GaGa. However, the digi-pop phenomenon stands out for its unmistakable indie influence - one Adam Young claims draws from Imogen Heap and Boards of Canada, among others.

Here's an example of those oh-so inspired lyrics:
"Cause I'd Get a Thousand Hugs
From Ten Thousand Lightning Bugs
As They Tried To Teach Me How to Dance"

If you're not yet impressed, try:
"To Ten Million Fireflies
I'm Weird Cause I Hate Goodbyes
I Got Misty Eyes As They Said Farewell
But I'll Know Where Several Are
If My Dreams Get Real Bizarre
Cause I Saved a Few and I Keep Them in A Jar"

Alright. A handful of overly-romantic non sequiturs looped over a poppy backbeat do not make you reflective. There's a motif aboutinsomnia and fireflies buried somewhere in there, but the connection gets abstracted by the song's blatant insincerity. Anything meaningful Mr. Young was trying to imitate here is lost in the awkward transition between lines. At many other points in the song, Young seems to be fishing for meaning, reaching to sound poetic and falling short. I won't get into the perils of writing a successful song while juggling verb tense (is this song written in the preterit or the imperfect?!) but suffice it to say there's something afoot here.

Yes, I am calling him a poser.

The only reason you're hearing Owl City on the speakers of your Shitbox is because of good ol' fashioned record label agenda setting (oh jeeze, here he comes with the conspiracy theories). Universal Republic signed and pushed Young to the radio stations because he fits the mold of almost-popular indie acts. Even the name "Owl City" follows the "Animal+Random Noun" model of edgy underground acts (think "Wolf Parade"). Just stir in some major radio syndication and a catchy hook miming something profound and...Viola! You've got a perfect abomination on your hands.

If I was Ben Gibbard I'd be a little pissed off. Not too pissed off, because I'd be marrying Zooey Deschanel, but pissed off enough that my passion project the Postal Service was being ripped off by some MySpace tagalong so he could make his millions with the fat cats standing behind him. Young's voice is a weak pantomime of Gibbard's and his lyrics wouldn't even make the leaf jacket of a bootleg Postal Service album. It's downright embarrassing.

Allow me to make an analogy. You remember when you were a kid and everyone had Adidas shell-toes, complete with the signature 3-stripe pattern on the sides? Every kid had them - they were a successful brand. Then, in an attempt to capitalize on the success of Adidas, countless knockoff brands began producing lookalike shoes with fur stripes. All the kids with four stripes on their shoes were laughed at - rightfully so. Owl City is the Payless brand of the Postal Service.

Inevitably, the song will persist for a few more months. You will probably see it on Now 45 or something, but then it should be just about over. Maybe the reason Ben Gibbard isn't pissed off is because he knows Owl City and "Fireflies" will be off the music scene before his honeymoon is over.

Stay warm,
JF

JF: Hopefully Leading Somewhere - Two Poems

Hey folks,
Welcome to the Stairs that Lead Nowhere. My name is Jerry Fagerberg and it's my distinct pleasure to be posting some poetry here on the blog to share with y'all.

Without further ado, here's a sonnet I wrote:

A Tug on the Line
Soon he’ll be still. He’ll quit slapping and flailing
and lay flat on the deck in tired defeat.
No more sideways dance, no more twisting of tail.
As soon as his gills stop grinning to breathe,
I’ll sloppily open a seam in his side,
disregarding the lipless gasp that escapes
and the sudden perk of his fins as my blade glides
coarsely through muscle and scales. I’ll scrape
and pluck the oily tubes in his belly and try to ignore
the weight of his eye – that marble, all veneration and trust,
that was blind to the hooks in the water before.
Now, blind to my guilt, my rigid disgust,
he’ll curse my hands in wordless speech:
You son-of-a-bitch, you tricked me

And, in the spirit of the recent blizzard I give you:

New England Winters
Every winter, the farmers flooded the bogs.
None of us knew why, but when the early-morning frost
made the water a mirror thick enough to
skate on, the mystery was lost.

Dad told the story of a boy who’d
slid ‘cross the Charles in a Styrofoam cooler back when
he was a kid. There was a a creak – forboding – and the ice opened
like jaws full of black water and swallowed the boy
before he made it to the other bank.
A fisherman found his mittens that spring.

But there was no caution in us. With every press of
a skate, we dared the bogs to open, to pull
us down to where the cranberries lay
dormant and purple, and make fables of us too.

And our challenge was met with no more
than scraped palms and knee bruises.

Hope you enjoyed! I'll be posting lots more.

Stay warm,
Jerry