You Are Not Worthy

82 cross country skiiers left the stadium on Sunday mornings 50km race in Turino for one last chance at gold. Half way around the world, I would be having breakfast at the same point on the sundial.

On Sunday morning, I woke with tired legs and a sore back. I hobbled out of my house and climbed into my truck and started on a pilgrimage to a place that only the worthy are called.

The previous morning I had helped to coach Tee Ball with Andy and while Andy stood quietly while his kids threw the ball at the backstop, I stood in the center of the field and ran after balls thrown from errant kindergartners - wrenching my back left, then right, then up, then down. It was easy to see who was the head coach and who was the assistant coach. Other than a few aches and pains, it didn't really bother me. I was not worthy of head coaching status - especially not to a guy who taught his son the names of all the Giants players. I've been a Giants fan my whole life and I doubt I could name half the Giants players. Andy knows the game, played the game, and loves the game. He is worthy.

After the game, I rushed home, took a shower, and then headed out to call the last home game of the USF Women's team this year. Knowing that the next opportunity I would have to call a game for the stats team would be during the Sweet 16 round and since I hadn't called a game since early December, I decided that I needed a little practice before the important games in March. I usually just keep track of the players who check in and out of the game, but I'm the back up for calling the game and need to be ready at a moments notice. As I listened to the fans and alumni quietly grumbling behind me about another wasted season for the USF Women, I heard several people question whether they could coach better than the head coach. Anyone could do a better job, they said. In Idaho and Las Vegas I had been assistant coach to my good friend Russ's Jr. High teams. My main job had been to keep the stats book for him so that he could keep track of fouls and shots and time outs not only for us but for the other team as well. My other, very important, job was to keep my friend Russ's anger in check. If he got kicked out of the game, it was my job to take over as coach. And while I had picked up a great deal of education about the way the game was played, I was not worthy of being head coach of a Jr. High basketball team - not even for five minutes in a losing effort with questionable reffing. I decided that anyone questioning whether they could do a better job of coaching the USF Women, probably didn't know the first thing about coaching.

By the time I got home on Saturday night, I could feel my legs stiffening and my back tightening. I collapsed into bed and went to sleep.

Sunday morning, I and my brother-in-law went to a little hole in the wall in the Inner Sunset that has played host to countless future Nobel prize winners for a little breakfast. Specifically, there is a Teriyaki omelet at this place called the Samurai. It is just this side of Heaven - a sinful concoction of eggs, cheese, teriyaki beef, and onions. It is served with a healthy side of hash browns, wheat toast, and a cup of pretty good coffee. For most people, they are not worthy to eat here.

This particular place is so small that only about fifteen to twenty people can eat at a time. It is a single counter restaurant - like an old diner - with only stools as your seating option. The entire counter top is covered with old photos and postcards from people who make the regular pilgrimage to this place. The postcards are from literally every place on the globe, showing that this small place has a world wide reach. You come in and sit down at whatever spot is available on the counter. If you have two people and the only two spots are not together, a patron will be asked to move so that you can sit. In the many times I have eaten here, I have slid from one seat to another almost every single time. Its crowded. But its worth it. However, with such small space, I am reluctant to bring new people to this place. I am reluctant to share the Samurai experience with them. I will not just take anyone. I figure they have to be worthy first, worthy of such a culinary experience.

I knew Carl was worthy the day I tasted the wood fried Salmon steak that he'd ordered at the Artist Point. I knew this man understood good cuisine. He also makes a good cup of coffee.

I am worthy, of course, because I've actually sought out and visited four of the locations shown in The Hot Dog Movie. I not only like a good meal, I'm willing to travel to get one. (I won't even mention the 7/8ths of the World's Largest Hamburger I finished).

We are all worthy of certain things. We all have talents and we deserve to use those talents - not for the collection of accolades to follow, but just because we've done the time, we've put in the work, we've struggled to achieve. Worthiness is not a judgement of ability, its a quality of justice.

I watched the Olympians struggle up the hills on little skis - 20 miles out of 30 accomplished and I realized that this was something that I would never be worthy of doing. We all like to joke about Jamaican Bobsledders and Kenyan Cross Country skiers. We like to think that somehow because there is no snow in their countries that they are an aberation of the sport - that they are only in the Olympics because they come from a country where there is no competition to compete. While they may not be the best athletes, while they may never win any awards, they are worthy of being called Olympians.

P.S. If you feel you are worthy of a Samurai, and would like to go with me sometime, please post a comment on why you feel you are worthy for this culinary masterpiece. Many are called, but only a few will be chosen.