MY UNCLE PASSES AWAY, AND I NEED TO PUT ON WEIGHT

I apologize if that title sounds a little self-absorbed, but trust that it will make sense as you read this post.

So about ten days ago, my Eldest Uncle, who had been fighting leukemia for more than a year, died. It wasn’t an abrupt end for him. By the time it was all over, the cancer cells had completely compromised his immune system, and a bout of leukemia left him bedridden. He lost weight rapidly, seemingly aging twenty years in a few weeks. He also developed a serious fever and, possibly during the delirium, reportedly tore out the tube that had been feeding oxygen to his burnt-out, non-functioning lungs in a bid to end his unimaginable suffering.

The viewing of the body took place last Friday. Not only did my parents fly in from Florida, but relatives I hadn’t seen since I was a small child also showed up to pay their respects. Although, as a collection of individuals, they came from disparate geographic locations and comprised a wide variety of rungs on the economic ladder, they had a common culture to guide them in their mourning.

And there was another thing everyone had in common: They all, without exception, took time out from their grieving to tell me I was getting thin.

I suppose everyone has their own way of dealing with death, especially when it befalls a friend or loved one. Some people shut themselves down emotionally; others get philosophical. Apparently, among my relatives and their extended brethren – those who grew up in the same village half-a-world away – you cope by telling other people that they need to eat more. Truly, I must have made for an easy target, having been blessed in my twenties with arms resembling pipe cleaners.

And so, as you can probably imagine, there came a seemingly-endless procession of alarmed comments from people I barely knew, or knew all too well: Uncles I hadn’t seen in years; aunts I had spoken to just the week before; friends of my grandmother who offered to hand-feed me barbecued roast pork; a woman whose home in Tampa my family once visited when I was in elementary school.

I hadn’t seen the woman since, although, if I recall correctly, she made pretty good barbecued roast pork herself. Unfortunately, our reintroduction came during what I considered to be an extremely inopportune time, when I was trying to console R., my cousin and Eldest Uncle’s older son. He had sat down next to me, and it seemed as if he had something he wanted to get off his chest, some catharsis he needed to achieve.

“So how’s my favorite cousin?” he had asked. For the record, I am not his favorite cousin, and I’m sure he knows that I know. But the fact that he said it convinced me that an unburdening was at hand. I told him that I was sorry for his loss.

“Nah, it’s okay,” R. said. He explained that his father’s passing had been for the best. Although he’d miss the old man’s presence in his life, he was also glad that he wouldn’t have to visit the hospice anymore, would not have to see his father crumpled up in pain, hair fallen out, skin covered in bedsores, a depressing mass of tubes attached to his head, arms, and chest indicating how fleeting his time really was. I knew exactly what R. was talking about, having seen Eldest Uncle on the night before he died. I had been shocked by how irrevocably broken he looked. His once-sturdy limbs had atrophied, gnawed down by disease until they were as unhealthy-looking as, I suppose, my own.

I thought I could detect something more that my cousin wanted to say. But then my mother intervened, practically shoving this old acquaintance into our midst. The stranger barely paid R. any mind at all, despite the fact that we were at his father’s funeral. She just gabbed on and on about how thin I had become since that fateful family visit, when I had been eighteen years younger and, admittedly, a bit on the chubby side.

By the time I managed to break free of her, R. had disappeared. I managed to talk to him some more later, which probably didn’t matter in the grand scheme of funeral-related things. Everyone, save my mother’s old friend, gave him words of encouragement, told him to keep his chin up, etc. What else do you tell someone who just lost their dad? To be honest, I was upset at my mother, and that woman whose name I cannot even recall, until I came to terms with the fact that everyone has their own way of dealing with death.

Now, when I look back, I actually find sources of amusement in that terrible time. The day after the viewing, there was a funeral service at Greenwood Cemetery, then a banquet, during which everyone encouraged me to eat more of everything. Now it almost seems like a happy couple of days, given the abundance of distant relatives, hugs, laughter. I guess the second lesson I learned is: Life goes on, and we’re all going to be okay. We just need time to regain our bearings, to recover from the momentary loss of equilibrium.

I really do think R. is going to be fine. The first inkling of hope turned up towards the end of the viewing, after I rounded the table with the shrine dedicated to Eldest Uncle, thin ribbons of fragrant smoke hovering above the ornate tribute. I faced the casket containing my dead relative’s body, said good-bye to him one last time. Then I walked a few more steps to where his immediate family, including R., awaited my words of comfort and consolation.

They did not need them after all. “It’s going to be okay,” R. told me, to my own surprise. But then, as I should have expected, he looked me over and added, “Man, you’ve lost a lot of weight lately.”

QUEENS: KING PONGS OF TABLE TENNIS

I wish I could take credit for that headline, but alas, it was managing editor Blaine who came up with it. I had originally titled my article on Saturday's tournament in Chinatown, "Queens: Kings of Table Tennis." But "King Pongs?" A stroke of brilliance.

Anyway, you can find a transcript of what I wrote listed below. In summary, it was a lot of fun, and we should all get-together and learn how to play ping-pong. Then we can rent cars and run them into each other.


Queens: King Pongs of Table Tennis

This past weekend, Queens officially stated its case as the next hotbed of young table tennis talent.

At a tournament hosted by Focus New York magazine, the outer borough made a stellar showing behind first-place winners in the Men's Single, Women's Single, Boys Single, and Men's Double tournaments. In fact, if not for the participation of a former Olympic Table Tennis champion, a Queens resident might have also taken home first place in the Senior Men's category.

Yan Jun Gao and Ivan Quek of Flushing were each double-winners in the daylong competition. Yan took first place in the Men's Single tournament, and shared first place honors with Quek in the Men's Double tournament. The championship round of the Men's Double Tournament was the final event on the schedule, as Yan and Quek defeated Li Yu Xiang and Mr. Ort, who also came from Flushing to participate.

The final match in the Boys Single tournament also featured an intra-Queens showdown. Quek, who inevitably took first place, split the initial two rounds with opponent Chongming Huang of Elmhurst, before winning the next two.

Speaking to the Examiner afterward, Chongming gave his opponent credit, but also blamed the loss on an ineffective return serve. "Sometimes, when I'd chop, [the ball] would go up in the air, and Ivan would [hit] it with his forehand," Huang said. "Ivan's forehand is very good."

On a whole, so was the tournament, which Focus New York - formerly known as the Chinatown Guide - used to entice folks indoors on a Saturday afternoon. Tony Liu, the president of the magazine, said that hosting special events is yet another way that his company tries to draw visitors to Manhattan's Chinatown. "[The tournament] is another way of bringing people down to this neighborhood," Liu said. "It also means more exposure for our magazine, and, of course, more exposure for our advertisers."

When asked to rate the turnout for their first-ever ping pong competition, Liu said that it was better than expected. The tournament, he claimed, attracted more than 60 participants - a solid foundation for an even bigger event next year. "There is a national competitor who wants to work with us at our next one," Liu said. "Hopefully, next time there will be an even greater turnout, as well as [greater] size and notoriety."

This year, the closest to a national competitor was Olympic Table Tennis Champion and eight-time African champion Atanda Musa. He defeated Flushing's Li Yu Xiang, himself a former Chinese National Table Tennis Champion, in what some spectators described as a clash between titans. Each claimed two rounds in the best-of-five series before Musa jumped out to a 7-1 lead. At that point, Li appeared to lose his poise, deflecting several balls out of bounds and falling, 11-6.

Vindication for Li was possible in the Men's Doubles tournament, where he and his partner, Ort, also made it to the final round. Once again, the match was tied at two-rounds-apiece until Quek and Yan pulled out the decisive fifth, 11-4.

Li, who won the World Veterans Championship for table tennis in 1996 and 1998, had a much better day as a coach, guiding 12-year-old Jessica Truong to first place in the Women's Single tournament, and Chongming Huang to second place in the Boy's Single tournament.

After play was finished for the day, Li said that his own performances took a backseat to those of his students, who had acclimated themselves well. He credited their success to the discipline that his school instills. "I am glad that New York International Table Tennis Center won," he said. "Every day, all year round, we have two-to-three-hour training camps."

SOFTBALL: IT’S HARDCORE FUN

If you’ve been reading my blog regularly, you know that the newspaper I work for participates in a softball league. It’s comprised of us, plus three other periodicals based in Brooklyn and Queens, although we are easily the best. No, I don’t mean that we’re the best newspaper, even though that’s also probably true. I mean that we have the best group of softball players who happen to work day jobs as reporters.

For proof, you need have gone no further than Flushing Meadows Park last Friday. There, before an enthusiastic crowd of about ten people (mostly relatives and friends), our team defeated – no, make that demolished – the Queens Chronicle, 15-4. But the game was never remotely close. It might have been over by the fifth inning, thanks, in some small part, to a solid overall game from plucky rookie Phil X.

Yes, it’s true. I played softball. Not only did I play, but I had a good time, too. As far as offensive statistics, mine weren’t particularly glossy. I hit two-for-four, with two singles and a couple of runs batted in. I only scored a single run myself.

Indeed, if the Phil X magic inevitably came through, it was on the defensive side. Now, I would have been content if my managing editor, Blaine, who seemed to be doubling as coach, had stuck me out in left field. However, he had other ideas, like having me cover second base. Second base! I think he was desperate to not have to play a girl in that spot. Still, I hadn’t played softball since grade school, and there I was being entrusted with the most pivotal, high-pressure position in the entire defensive configuration.

Okay, maybe first base is more stressful. But that’s not the point! The point is, my job was playing second base, and after being lost a little bit during the first inning, I quickly ascertained my role. In fact, not only did I ascertain my role, I made plays!

One involved fielding a grounder, then throwing out a runner at first. The other occurred later in the game, after a Queens Chronicle player batted a hit up the middle of the field. As Rick, the community editor, sprinted to catch it, I flashed back to the drills we ran a few months ago in a local park, under the guise of researching a story. I quickly ran to cover second base, my foot touching down upon it at the exact same moment that Rick picked up the bouncing spheroid. He turned, whipping the ball back to second, where I was standing, glove raised, to tag out the runner.

“What a play!” I heard the owner of our paper say.

“You’ve never played softball before?” Rick asked me incredulously.

“I’ve watched baseball on T.V.,” I replied, shrugging.

Since K. contributed roller derby photos in the past, she got to play for us, too, and had an even better game than me. Every one of her at-bats became a near-automatic base hit. But you can’t accuse my girlfriend of being a mere singles machine; no, she also batted in her share of runs, helping our newspaper build a commanding lead over our hapless opponents.

Indeed, K’s stats would have been even loftier, except that she had the disadvantage of being situated two down from me in the line-up. Being a softball neophyte, I occasionally suffered a lapse in concentration, which led to my running to second base when I probably shouldn’t have. Doubtless, my being tagged out robbed K. of numerous chances to continue her rampage around the diamond. Luckily for me, K. doesn’t take sports too seriously, and has only mentioned my flubs three times to-date.

Anyway, having good rapport and team camaraderie is infinitely more important than individual achievement in sports. I learned that much during two hours of relatively-non-competitive softball. Without positive energy in the dugout, you simply cannot succeed. Is it any coincidence that we were the ones slapping high fives and cracking jokes while up by 10 runs in the second-to-last inning? Meanwhile, those guys at the Queens Chronicle were all standing around looking dejected. I had half a mind to walk over to their dugout and say to them, “Hey, you milksops. If you could field anywhere near as well as you mope, you might actually be able to cut this lead in half before it’s all over.” I mentioned my motivational speech to Blaine, who, to my surprise, convinced me not to venture past our team’s bench.

“I wouldn’t go over there, Phil,” he said. “Those guys have bats.”

Yes, bats! And bats, incidentally, brings me to what I believe is the most fun aspect of softball: the violence. Not actual violence, mind you, but imaginary violence. Up there in the batting cage, I experienced a sensation akin to catharsis while pretending that the softball was the head of someone I didn’t like. Swinging my bat at that offensive skull with all my might, then actually connecting – oh man, it was like all my primitive urges drained out of me.

We must all play softball together sometime. Then we should rent cars and crash them into one another.

BAILING OUT MY “LIFEBOAT” REVIEW

My first review for Alfred Hitchcock’s “Lifeboat” is included at the end of this post. Meanwhile, if you click on the following link, you’ll go to the sister blog, where you’ll find my second review. These are different reviews of the 1944 suspense thriller, which starred Tallulah Bankhead and Walter Slezak. They are different reviews right down to the core, a fact that I find fascinating considering that I wrote both of them.

How to explain the difference of opinion? Well, maybe the opinions aren’t necessarily refuting each other. I still agree with everything I wrote in my first review of “Lifeboat,” but I’ve had longer to consider the movie, and I realized that those minor quibbles don’t matter. So what if the ending is preachy? So what if there are – I didn’t list them below, but I hold the argument to be true – a few far-fetched contrivances in the plot? Frankly, I thought the same thing about “Vertigo,” but it was still entertaining. As is this movie.

And the bottom line is that these are movies, meant to thrill and stimulate the masses. Hitchcock, one of cinema’s foremost masters of mise-en-scene, editing, and sound, creates an atmosphere that positively draws you in, and almost makes you forgive some lapses in logic. Also, it’s sometimes the flaws that make a masterpiece special. “Lifeboat” features some sinister goings-on that seem impossible, but without them, the filmmakers may not have been able to wrap up various themes in a satisfactory way. That might have badly blunted the movie's overall impact.

So, is “Lifeboat” a masterpiece? Personally, I still feel that it’s a very, very good movie, great until midway through the second act. It’s no “North By Northwest,” but has fine acting and technical credits, and at only 97 minutes, still represents a decent way to kill time.

LIFEBOAT (1944), dir. Alfred Hitchcock

Not a great movie, but entertaining nonetheless. While the action is restricted to a small space, Hitchcock manages to wring genuine suspense from this tale of ordinary men and women trying to survive the ocean, and one another.

A wealthy socialite, several merchant marines, a doctor, a servant, and a millionaire industrialist are among the survivors of a Nazi attack. They climb aboard a boat that has little food and a non-functioning compass. Tensions between individuals of different social classes cause feathers to get ruffled. Then, as if things were not complicated enough, into the mix comes the captain of the same Nazi submarine that sank them.

Are the survivors willing to trust the officer, who has experience on the high seas, but is also their enemy? “Lifeboat” starts off following the same well-tread formula that has since become a cliché: Characters from various walks of life band together to reach a common goal. But the movie ends up being preachy instead, basically warning viewers to never, ever trust a Nazi. Personally, I have no problem with a movie that exists solely to teach me that moral. However, the way Jo Swirling’s screenplay arrives at the conclusion feels forced, as if changes had been made to meet a studio’s satisfaction.

Hitchcock made a few terrific suspense thrillers in his day. With this one, he continues his pattern of melding the terrible with the innocuous, the horrific with the mundane. To his credit, he turns a tranquil ocean into something isolating and dangerous. Meanwhile, the director scores a casting coup with Walter Slezak as Willy, the Nazi officer whose cherubic face hides a cunning guile.

LOCAL NEWSPAPER, LOCAL SPORTS TEAM

From the (online) pages of The Brooklyn Downtown Star:

Some Pretty Girls Play One Ugly Roller Derby Game

Last Saturday, the Gotham Girls Roller Derby League returned to the Schwartz Athletic Center at Long Island University’s Brooklyn campus. For the season’s third match, the Bronx Gridlock lived up to their name against the Brooklyn Bombshells, stalling the home team’s effort to claim their second victory in a row.

Thanks to strong defense, a terrific effort from star Gridlock jammer Bonnie Thunders, and aggressive – some might argue too aggressive – blocking all-around, Bronx routed Brooklyn, 87-69. Thunders led all scorers with 46 points on 13 jams.

It was the Gridlock’s first victory in their inaugural season, after losing to the Queens of Pain by three points back in May. Their manager, Captain Easy, said his team showed improved focus this time around. "We’ve had a lot more practices, and as far as [team] chemistry, we had a chance to really get it back together," he said.

His team came out with a greater sense of urgency than Brooklyn, which still seemed to be riding the high of defeating Queens in their last bout. But overall, it was a messy, foul-ridden match, as skaters from both sides spent significant minutes in the penalty box.

After the game, Bombshells Captain Anne Phetamean admitted that Bronx did a better job taking advantage of her team when they were undermanned. "Bronx had lots of penalties, too," she said. "We couldn’t capitalize on their penalties, like they capitalized on ours."

Ejections proved particularly costly for Brooklyn during an early second half jam. Three of the Bombshells’ five skaters landed in the penalty box, leaving their team at a severe disadvantage. The jam started with physical defense from the Bombshells’ Li’l Red Terror and Penny Larceny on Thunders, which escalated when Terror put a hit on the Bronx jammer. Later, a Bronx skater retaliated, knocking Terror aside.

Eventually, Thunders would rack up ten points to Brooklyn’s zero, putting the Bombshells in a deficit that they would struggle to climb out of.

The sight of a Bronx player rallying after getting knocked down, as Thunders did, was symbolic of the entire game. At the same time, the physicality seemed to take Brooklyn out of its strategy. Bombshells’ Co-Captain Ariel Assault was limited to five points, all of which came on her first jam. Midway through the first half, she received a vicious shot from a Bronx player, and appeared upset at the officials in later rounds.

Clearly, certain Bombshells felt that Bronx’ playing style transcended physical, becoming downright dirty. Following the defeat, Brooklyn manager Richard Cranium declined comment, while one of the Bombshells’ top skaters, Sassy Hipsaw, commented that "the old Gridlock had better blockers."

But her teammate Phetamean was more gracious in defeat. "Bronx was a closer match [than Queens]," she said. "Queens was not all there. Bronx has a deeper team, they’re new, they’re scrappy, and they play real hard."

Still, one expected a better showing from Brooklyn, given how they handled their last opponent, which also relied on one skater for most of their scoring. Thunders, however, got solid support from teammates Pop Rox and Brigitte Barhot, who racked up 34 combined points on ten jams. For the most part, they were able to score at will against the Bombshells’ lackluster team defense, while Brooklyn, paced by Hipsaw’s 20 points on six jams, could not keep up.

Bronx began overwhelming its opponent towards the end of the first half. With the Gridlock up 23-21, Barhot scored two points as her teammate Beyonslay sent Brooklyn’s Leggs Luthor flying into the crowd. One jam latter, in a face-off between both teams’ star skaters, Thunders outscored Hipsaw seven-to-four, despite stout defense from the Bombshells’ Anne Phetamean and an especially ugly check courtesy of Li’l Red Terror.

While she delivered plenty of ear-ringing collisions, Terror also occasionally brought Brooklyn to life on the offensive end. Shortly before halftime, she raced through a cushion created by a Phetamean hit on Barhot, circled the pack, then managed to sneak past Bronx’ blockers along the inside lane. The tactic yielded nine points, and left the Bombshells down only five.

During the second half, Terror showed tremendous skill again, alternating between the inside and outside lanes of the track. After maneuvering past Bronx’ Beyonslay and Beatrix Slaughter, she burned Sugar Smacks for five unanswered points and brought Brooklyn within three. Unfortunately, they would not sneak any closer. The Gridlock outscored the Bombshells 28-13 over the remainder of the game, with 16 of those points coming from Thunders on four jams.

In the wake of what must have been a physically and emotionally-draining bout, Phetamean, described by announcers as the "heart and soul" of her team, made sure to mention that the Gotham Girls are still looking for a full-time practice facility. Right now, the league rents the LIU athletic center for bouts. Phetamean, however, said that the venue is not always available when the university goes on summer hiatus.

The Bombshells captain did expect things to get better in September, once the fall semester begins. In the meantime, she said that the league, which is young but growing in popularity, would continue to train wherever they can find space. "Right now, we’re practicing outside in the rain," Phetamean said. "It’s tough. But we’re here, and we’re not going anywhere."