Benny Jay: Monday Night Fights

Bowling starts at 7:15, but my team's running late. We're always running at least ten minutes late -- always rushing to keep up.

Most of the other teams are cool with it. In fact, some of them (the High Rollers and Hawaiians, come to mind) are usually late themselves. But this one dude, he's got a hardon for us. Lumpy guy, looks like Curly from the Three Stooges. Always wears the same purple shirt. I'm starting to wonder if he washes it. He's a really weird duck. Always making snide comments when we miss a shot. He doesn't say them directly to your face, but just loud enough for you to hear. Another thing -- he's a snorter. I'm not sure why. But he stands over me while I'm keeping score and snorts. Okay, I understand if he's got some sort of nasal defect -- but why's he got to snort in my ear?

Anyway, he hates waiting for us. Drives him crazy. He's walking around the bowling alley looking at the clock and muttering to himself and talking about us to anyone who will listen.

So it's already a little tense and then he goes ahead and marks our names on the scoring sheet. Norm takes exception and says something along the lines of: Don't mess with our sheet.

And Curly says something back, which I can't hear.

And Norm's in his face, saying: "What did you say?"

And Curly says: "Let's take it outside."

And I'm like, oh, no. The last thing Curly wants is to take it outside with Norm. For one thing, Norm's way stronger and tougher. For another, Norm's not taking no shit from nobody -- especially Curly!

So next thing you know, Cap's the only thing keeping Norm from getting at Curly. And Norm's banging up against Cap's chest, fire streaking from his eyes, saying: "You wanna go outside, let's go. C'mon, you the big man, and all...."

Curly's backing up, but he's still talking shit, like he figures that push come to shove, Cap will hold Norm back. I fear we're on the verge of a major incident cause Norm's almost mad enough to push past Cap and really beat the crap out of this guy. So I step in -- yes, me -- and I put my back to Cap and tell Curly: "Just get out of here...."

He moves away, grunting, snorting and shaking his head. And I walk with Norm over by the TV and we stare at the Bulls (who, by the by, are losing to Washington, damn it). I tell Norm: "You're my guy. I love you like a brother. And I can't stand that piece of shit. But I'm not gonna let you hit him...."

And Norm says: "I ain't gonna hit him, Benny. I got too much respect for Bob [who owns the bowling alley]. But he's pushin' me...."

As we watch the game, I try to remember the last time I got into a fight. It had to be years ago. I've never been a fighting man -- too afraid to get hit. But when I was a kid -- I'm talking grammar school years -- I had this notion that I had to win a fight to survive. I figured that if word got around that I won a fight no one would ever want to fight with me. So I picked a fight with this girl, figuring I could beat her up. She slugged me in the stomach and I ran home crying like a baby. After that I learned my lesson. If you don't want to be beat up, don't look for someone to beat up. And I found other ways to avoid fights.

Norm and I go back to bowling. I hit a strike. So does Norm. Then Cap. Then Young Ralph. Soon we're stomping on Curly's team. And the hotter we get the more irritated Curly gets. After each strike we stand in the alley and exchange high fives. Sometimes Young Ralph and Norm will exchange high fives two, three, even four times. They block Curly from getting to the lanes. Pisses him off even more. Not that we care.

We're really loose -- all fired up. Cap heads to the juke box and plays one great song after another -- The Dells, Tower of Power, Mary Wells. Young Ralph puts on "Atomic Dog" -- the fifteen minute version -- by George Clinton. We're jumping up and down, doing the Dog Dance, and chanting: "Bow wow wow, yippie yo, yippie yay...."

I show my guys my new dance moves and they can't get over how good I'm getting. We make plans to take our wives and girlfriends to Summer Dance over in Grant Park, where we will dance under the stars to live music.

We pretty much forget about Curly, who's walking around muttering to himself and snorting. Like I said, he's got to be the weirdest dude in the league, and, trust me, that's saying a lot.

As I head home, I'm thinking what a great night. We annoyed him more than he annoyed us, basically winning the fight without taking a swing.

Big Mike: Snap Out Of It!

The Louisville area got four or five inches of snow last night, the equivalent of 25 inches in Chicago. Schools and businesses were closed today, most streets were treacherous, and hardly anyone was on the road.

I got up at the crack of dawn to shovel the driveway. It's about fifty yards from the garage to the street so it took me a good two hours. It was only after I'd finished and was peeling off my sweaty layers that I thought, Hey, I've got freakin' congestive heart failure!

As usual, I overdid it. I drove over to Barnes & Noble for morning coffee and the New York Times but the place was closed. Most of the shops in The Summit - one of only three malls in this city - were closed. Jeez! The Starbucks was open - phew! - so I sat down and began to read. Then it hit me. A wave of exhaustion. I could hardly concentrate. My legs and arms felt like lead. I thought I might pass out.

That's what happens when a CHF sufferer goes overboard, as I did. It didn't alarm me; I knew it would pass after a few hours. I sat back and breathed deeply. Then, suddenly, I started thinking about the last year and a half.

I've gotta confess - I went through yet another of my patented, fall-off-the-face-of-the-Earth depressions last year. The realization that I'd experienced another lost six months was as jarring as if I'd recalled that I'd lost a loved one.

This kind of thing has happened to me before. Somehow, whenever I've found myself extraordinarily worn out by physical exertion, the sun,or some emotional strain, the reality of my depression floods into my consciousness. The first time it happened was way back in the fall of 1979. My little nephew Doug, 11 at the time, wanted to go downtown to see the Pope at the Petrillo Bandshell. I considered counseling him to shun the gaudily-attired leader of the world's most pompous mythology but then decided, hell, it'll be an event and I can disillusion the kid another day. So we went.

The day was unseasonably warm. Doug and I stood out in the sun for eight hours. When we got back home, we collapsed on my mother's sofa, spent and dehydrated. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed by the memories of my first real cyclical depressive episode, one that I'd just been emerging from. I'd been feeling fairly decent the last few weeks but sprawled on that sofa, the feelings of alienation, loneliness, dread, uselessness, and all the other classic symptoms washed over me. I began to sob uncontrollably. I told my mother that day that I wanted to kill myself, the first time I'd ever revealed the secret I'd been holding in throughout the just-passed episode.

I got over it, of course, only to go through the same process all over again more times than I care to recount here.

Today's realization was an epiphany. Here's what I learned: the amount of energy I expend fighting depression, running from it, arguing with it, pretending it isn't there, trying to fix it - all the strategies I employ against it - is enormous. Sure, I see shrinks, I take anti-depressants, I repeat affirmations, I seek joys and answers - I do, in short , what every depressive does to survive. But the most important thing I do each day, every day - every minute - is pretend it isn't there.

Were I to remain in constant cognizance that I carry this gray-matter burden, this six-ton anchor on my heart, this emotional Rubik's Cube, I'd never have a moment to wash my face, write a story, or, well, shovel the snow. It takes gigawatts of energy to shove the melancholia into an unused corner of my brain so I may pursue everyday life. Then, when I'm exhausted, when my energy reserves are depleted, that melancholia breaks out of its closet.

I'll be participating in a gallery show at the Lakeside Legacy Arts Park in Crystal Lake, Illinois in May. The opening reception will be on the first. The show is entitled "Snap Out Of It!" and will feature highly personal works about the artists' battle with depression. I'm doing a video piece. Keep an eye on these precincts for more info.