Category: Sports Page 1 of 2

Tim Blake Nelson
Tim Blake Nelson Nelson at the 2016 Fantastic Fest
Born	Timothy Blake Nelson May 11, 1964 (age 60) Tulsa, Oklahoma, U.S.
Education	Brown University (BA) Juilliard School (GrDip)
Occupations	Actor playwright director producer screenwriter
Years active	1989–present
Spouse	Lisa Benavides (m. 1994)
Children	3

Tim Blake Nelson is the kind of excellent character actor around whom an indie film can be built, and Vincent Gashaw (“What Josiah Saw,” 2021) has done exactly that. Nelson is a Brown University graduate who has also studied at Julliard. I met him in 2019 in Chicago, where he appeared in support of “Just Mercy” in which he played Ralph Myers. His short stature ( 5’ 5”) marks him as someone who would make a great Lee Harvey Oswald in any future bio-pics dealing with the JFK assassination. His roles include Delmar O’Donnell in O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000), Gideon in Minority Report (2002), Danny Dalton Jr. in Syriana (2005), Samuel Sterns in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, Richard Schell in Lincoln (2012), the titular character of The Ballad of Buster Scruggs (2018) and Henry McCarty in Old Henry (2021).. His involvement in this film sold me on checking it out at the Nashville Film Festival, where it screened on September 20, 2024.

THE PLOT

In “Bang Bang” Nelson portrays a down-on-his-luck former boxing champion (Featherweight Champion) out of Detroit, Michigan, whose brother Bobby also fought. Bernard “Bang Bang” Rozyski and brother Bobby fought “so we wouldn’t catch a beating from our father.” Bang Bang is now many years past his fighting prime and living in a run-down house. He is still remembered in the old neighborhood as “the Pride of Poland.” Nelson even speaks a little Polish to the locals on the streets of his former neighborhood.

Bang Bang harbors a great deal of ill will towards his arch enemy, a Black boxer, Darnell Washington (Glenn Plummer, “Strange Days,” 1995), who is now running for Mayor of Detroit. As the story unfolds, courtesy of writer Will Janowitz (who also played Dylan in the film), we learn that Robinson was the fighter who battered Bernard’s brother Bobby into a nursing home. Washington was booked for a return fight against Bang Bang just 4 months after Washington had beaten his brother half to death. The outcome of that fight has haunted Bernard ever since. He has blamed all of his bad luck in life on Washington, whether justified or not. There is a classic showdown meeting between the two that takes place in Washington’s home.

The film opens with Bang Bang in a wheelchair and actually considering shooting Washington as the candidate is giving a campaign speech at a local church. The wheelchair is something that Bang Bang only needs at times, if at all. The other set of wheels that is highlighted in the film belong to a vintage gold TransAm that the fighter says he was gifted by local Detroit singing legend Bob Seger of the Silver Bullet Band (“Old Time Rock and Roll”). When Bernard’s daughter, Jen (Nina Arianda, “Midnight in Paris,” 2011) takes a new job in Chicago, she asks Bang Bang to temporarily watch over her teen-aged son Justin while she is getting established in the new city. By “watching over” she does not mean starting him on a path of training as a boxer, but that is the direction the action takes. It does not end well for Justin, his grandson (Andrew Liner, “Gray Matter”), his daughter, or him.

THE GOOD

The script was well-written and the fighting scenes—especially the climactic one at Washington’s house—are well done. The acting is good from one and all. Erica Gimpel portrays a cancer-stricken love from Bang Bang’s past. It was nice to see an actress portray a beautiful woman fighting cancer, mastectomy and all, who actually looks to be the right age to be Bang Bang’s girlfriend. Kevin Corrigan portrays Bang Bang’s best friend John Eaton, an alcoholic trainer who owns a small gym. He is also good in his part.

The sets, especially the mansion that Bang Bang revisits which he once owned and the gorgeous mansion in which Darnell Washington now resides are great set finds. Detroit is a character, itself. There are lines like, “This city may be down, but it most certainly is not out.”

The fight scenes were well choreographed and added vastly to the production.

THE BAD

Bang Bang is portrayed as so universally negative and depressed that it’s hard to root for him and relate to him in the light of his days of former glory. That’s the way the part is written. The entire movie turns out to be an anti-boxing polemic that is dedicated to all boxers of the past, present and future. Much blame for the brutality and corruption of the sport is laid at the feet of journalists who glorified boxing in print.

Bang Bang was released on June 11, 2024. It was entertaining, although the lead character’s failure to take any responsibility for his downfall makes him a hard hero to root for. “Rocky” this is not. It’s a grim look at the reality of the boxing game, as seen through the prism of one man’s shattered and battered life.

“The Herricanes” @ Nashville Film Festival on October 1, 2023

By Connie Wilson

On October 4, 2023

In Interviews, Movies, Pop Culture, Reviews, Sports

“Do not go where the path may lead. Go instead where there is no path and make a trail.” (Ralph Waldo Emerson) That quote appears at the beginning of the documentary “The Herricanes,” which played at the Nashville Film Festival on Monday, October 1, 2023.

Olivia Kuan’s Mom played football. Olivia thought it was something any girl could do. Upon learning how unique her mother’s experience was, the young filmmaker decided to document her mother, Basia Haszlakiewicz’s, participation in the female football leagues of the seventies. Basia played for the Houston Herricanes in the NWFL (National Women’s Football League.)

Ms. Kuan’s excellent documentary traces the origins of female contact football. She interviewed many members of several teams; she has done a great job of labeling each interview subject onscreen. Olivia Kuan’s research and editing team did an even better job gathering and assembling the interviews into a coherent whole.The archival production team consisted of Kelsey Carr and researcher Chris Morcam. Still photographs and film footage from the actual games take us back in time.

The documentary embraces the concept”it’s okay for women to be whole people.” Another truth the film underscores is: “It’s important to create a world that welcomes everyone.” Interesting timing. Olivia Hill, the first trans-gender woman to hold office in Nashville, was sworn in this very day as one of 5 council-members at large for the Metro area. (Meanwhile, the state of Tennessee has banned drag shows.)

Title IX

The entire idea of letting women play contact football grew out of the cultural shift of Title IX in 1972. Title IX said that no school could discriminate on the basis of sex in extra-curricular offerings in public schools. Today’s youth don’t remember what a sea change this was.

Olivia’s mother, Basia Haszlakiewicz, played for the Houston Herricanes in the seventies. To the argument women “don’t want to play contact sports” the rebuttal was,”They’ve never been given the opportunity to see if they want to play football.” Today, one of the early supporters of female football runs Gridiron Girls camps.

Be the Revolution

As the film emphasizes, it is not easy to be first.

Four National Women’s Football League teams were founded in 1974. Among the teams participating over the years were the Toledo Troopers, the Dallas Bluebonnets, the Los Angeles Dandelions, the Dallas/Ft. Worth Shamrocks, the Oklahoma City Dolls, the San Antonio Flames, and the Houston Herricanes.

There were initially 14 teams with 3 divisions. The power team was Oklahoma City. In fact, the Oklahoma City Dolls didn’t lose a game until their sixth season. The Dolls put a real beat-down on the Herricanes in their first meetings. Oklahoma averaged 35 points a game and routinely beat the early versions of the Herricanes by scores as lopsided as 40 to 0 and/or 56 to 0.

Director Olivia Kuan and her mom, Basia Haszlakiewicz.

But the Herricanes steadily improved and were competitive near the end of the league’s existence. The players had to buy their own equipment ($88,15 in Olivia’s Mom’s case) and it took $50,000 to keep a team afloat. There were more people on the field than in the stands. This did not help the financial situation of the league. The comment is made that parity for women in any sport is yet to be achieved.

The documentary also made it clear that support for women’s contact football in Europe is much stronger, citing the 2019 World Championship in Leeds, England. Teams thrive in countries like Sweden, Finland, New Zealand, Germany and England.

As for the original NWFL teams, they began to fold in ’78 (Los Angeles Dandelions) and ’79 (Toledo Troopers, Oklahoma City Dolls, Houston Herricanes,) Some (the Dallas/Ft. Worth Shamrocks) had folded earlier. The 1979 Championship game was canceled.

“The Herricanes” was a highly entertaining and engaging trip back in time. It has a great message for the future about inclusivity. One of the best documentaries here at the 52nd Nashville Film Festival.

Cubs Win Against Cardinals on July 21, 2023

By Connie Wilson

On July 22, 2023

In Health/Medicine, News, Of Local (Quad Cities') Interest, Science and Medicine, Sports, Texas

We are in Chicago and journeyed to Wrigley Field to watch the Cubs battle the St. Louis Cardinals today (July 21, 2023).

We took an Uber to the game ($40), which was probably in deference to the elder members of the group. (That would definitely be me and my spouse.) When we were going to return, the price was $60 so we took the ell, which turned out to be a free trip when the machine wouldn’t take my son’s credit card. The subway guru told all six of us to go on through.

The party included son Scott and wife Jessica and my twin granddaughters, Ava and Elise, age 14. Among other things, we’re celebrating my birthday on 7/23.

We were originally slated to have a seventh participant, but issues such as removal of a skin cancer and the delivery of plants derailed that idea.

Because we shopped for merchandise on the way into the park the bleachers were filling, but we successfully found a spot in the left field bleachers.

Mind you: I am not a big baseball fan.

When I returned from 3 months in Europe (People-to-People exchange student in 1967) my now husband—who had missed me, [as I had missed him], thought the first thing I would want to do upon my arrival in Chicago would be to attend a double header Cubs baseball game.

It was one of the longest days of my life.

The interesting thing, to me, was that everyone around me was speaking English. I had not experienced that in three months. I told my son not to get me a ticket for today’s game, but my daughter couldn’t join us; I hated to have him waste $80 x 2 for two unused tickets. We all suggested that he sell them, but they were on his phone, which seemed to be a hurdle. (How do you pass off a ticket that is on your phone to another person’s phone? Don’t ask me. I don’t know how to get them onto my phone in the first place.)

The weather was perfect—breezy, warm but not hot, just perfect. Plus, all of us had dressed for the occasion. The Cubs hit two home runs and took an early lead (4 to 1), but nearly blew it in the 8^th and 9^th innings. (And, yes, I made it through the entire 9 innings, and I want that on my record.)

The problem, for me, was that bleachers don’t have a “back” to lean against. I never had back problems until I took Anastrozole for 7 months, post cancer surgery. Or, at least, I didn’t know I had arthritis in my spine or whatever ailment it was that caused truly horrible back aches (and insomnia). The Anastrozole did a real number on my left knee and—out of the blue—my back would hurt so badly (right where you bend at the waist) that I searched through my left-over Oxycontin (root canal left-over) looking for some sort of pain reliever that worked. Unfortunately, you can’t take Oxycontin with a benzodiazepan, so no dice. Nothing ever did work. The other side effects included mood swings, dry skin, teariness, vision problems and vivid violent nightmares. So THAT was fun—(not).

Nothing helped. Ultimately, I had to discontinue taking Anastrozole or any other aromatase inhibitor. My left knee (injured in a biking accident in 1997 and in an Iowa City MOST knee study for 25 years) blew out on 9/15/2022. When I reported that to my Moline oncologist that the combination of old age and a previous knee injury, coupled with Anastrozole, had caused my left knee to quit working while I was simply walking along a Chicago street (“Cancer: the gift that keeps on taking.”) my Moline oncologist denied that there could be any connection between my back pain and/or my knee blowing out and said, in writing through the patient portal, “The only side effect from taking Anastrozole is a little stiffness in your hands, and it goes away when you quit taking it.” And if you believe that, I have a bridge for sale.

All my communication with the oncologist between February 8^th and August 8^th were through the patient portal and what I have come to call his “minions.” He never saw me himself in that 6 months, which has always seemed derelict. Yes, I was scheduled for appointments, but he was never there. The minions—at least 3 different ones—were interchangeably assigned.

I’m not sure the oncologist would have seen me on August 8^th if my surgeon had not called him up and said, “You need to see this patient.” . It is probably a good idea to see your cancer-stricken patient personally more than once every half year. And perhaps it would have been a good idea to have ordered an oncotype for me from the very beginning, since that determines the patient’s treatment path but also will provide some peace-of-mind regarding the possibility of a recurrence in the future. Why wasn’t it ordered? A different doctor in the system suggested, “He doesn’t like to be dinged by Medicare.” Which, if you are the patient, is not very reassuring.

My surgeon on August 7th suggested a Ki67 test, which would have determined the aggressiveness of the tumor and might perhaps given me some peace of mind. I asked the oncologist about it repeatedly through the patient portal. No dice.

And the oncotype, which my Texas oncologist said would have meant three bouts of chemotherapy for me had I been his patient, took 17 months to secure. The “minions” (all female… nurses, Physicians’ Assistants, etc.) were the only individuals who ever met with me from February 8^th until August 8^th and nobody seemed willing to order either an oncotype (considered Standard of Care since 2013) or a Ki-67. In fact, my Illinois oncologist—who had dodged me successfully for half a year—[while I had been asking about the Ki-67 test recommended by my surgeon for, literally, months through the patient portal]— said, “I won’t order that for you; you’ll have to get somebody else.”

So, I did. And I’d recommend to other future Unity Point (Moline, Illinois) patients that they remember that today’s mantra for medical care seems to be YOYO (“You’re On Your Own”). I certainly felt that way as I asked, time and time again, about ordering a Ki-67 and, time and time again, I was told by the minions, “That is a question you should take up with the doctor at your next appointment.”

Except that it didn’t seem very likely that I’d ever see the oncologist, in person, again.

And the minions did not listen well to anything you might share with them, such as the fact that I would not be in the Midwest for the April 6^th appointment they claimed I had made (when they called me in Texas to “remind” me of the non-appointment.) What about “I won’t be back in the Midwest until at least May is difficult to understand? And why did it take until May to do a bone scan, when I began taking Anastrozole in February? And why did Medicare deny the claim for that bone scan for literally months, when I had not had one since 2019? Someone should have taken a look at my weakening bones (osteopaenia verging on osteoporosis) before my previously injured left knee quit on September 15, 2023.

There is an entire study of medicine (AIMSS, since the sixties) devoted to aromatase inhibitor drugs and their effect on bones and muscles (especially if the joint has been damaged previously.) My oncologist—-finally learning of all of my side effects over half a year in— said, “Don’t take it then.” Then he walked out, leaving me to try to figure out what the next logical step should be for prevention of a recurrence of breast cancer (the purpose of Anastrozole.)

Since I was never ordered an oncotype when I began bringing it up (Dec.. 2021), and an oncotype is normally a guide to treatment as well as a guide to the probability of a recurrence, I had no idea how likely I was to have to go through another surgery. I likened my feelings of being totally and completely at sea to a small child standing at the edge of a frozen lake, wondering if the ice is thick enough to hold. An oncotype of my tumor might have yielded that kind of information, but I was simply told, “You don’t need one” and I tried very hard to be a good compliant patient for a very long (too long) time.

Was my tumor that small and insignificant? It was 11 mm. Why did I “not need one” when I only found one other woman (out of 60,000 on WebMD), who didn’t get one? Beats the heck out of me, but I will say that it took until March of 2023 (from my initial query at the very first appointment in December of 2021) to finally get an oncotype from a different doctor in a different state, who was not overly impressed with what I wrote down and presented to both the Texas doctor and the Iowa City doctor. (The Iowa City oncologist said, “Why do you think most of the Quad City patients come here?” Why, indeed.)

I asked for referrals to “good Quad City oncologists who listen to you” in Iowa City —citing remarks made to me (and others) like, “Last time I saw you, if you had had a gun, I think you would have shot me” and “After talking to you three girls (former employees of mine whose mother was a patient), I need therapy.” If those strike you as unprofessional remarks, no kidding.

To hear how Diana (my employees’ mother) begged her oncologist (also my oncologist) to run a test to see if her cancer had spread and to hear how he would not do it was upsetting. Her breast cancer, which had recurred after many years, spread to her pancreas and killed her. But when her daughters attempted to take her to the Mayo Clinic her oncologist said, “I interned there. I know everything they know.” O……K……

After 17 months, a Texas oncologist finally secured the oncotype I inquired about in December of 2021, which my Moline oncologist simply dismissed, saying, “You don’t need one.” Not only that, the Texas oncologist spent 2 hours of his time meeting with me, after hours, when everyone had gone home. (He was working late after hours because there had been an ice storm and all of his week’s appointments had to be canceled and then re-scheduled.)

The Texas doctor vowed to get me the test I asked about, which normally would have been done in January of 2022 after the 1/27/2022 surgery. It showed that my % of recurrence, according to the oncotype, would be 18% if I took Tamoxifen and 36% if I did not take this drug . The score of 29 was not a good one; 25 was the cut-off for chemotherapy/ I flunked an ultra sound test on 1/25/2023 at my one-year anniversary, and had to have a diagnostic mammogram on Valentine’s Day, during which I learned for the very first time that there was calcification on the left side as well as the (bad) right side. I had never been told that previously about the left breast and the thought that flashed through my mind was that it had taken 3 years for the calcification on the right to become a tumor and I’m coming up on 3 years of calcification on the left soon.

I suffered through a stereotactic biopsy in 2018 at Trinity (with no warning that needles were the order of the day, but a letter reaching me 3 days after the 2018 test telling me that I should “consult with your physician about your next step.”) A bit late for that. I cannot recall ever being given a “heads up” about the left-side calcification until the 2/14/2023 diagnostic mammogram.

Therefore, I have agreed with my Texas oncologist that taking one of the drugs that are considered adjuvant therapy (mentioned below) is in my best interests. However, the prevailing opinion is that I am one of the women who absolutely cannot tolerate aromatase inhibitors. (Clinical trials are underway in St. Louis at Washington University to determine who can benefit from them and who might become suicidal if taking them, which has happened.)

I am between the proverbial rock and a hard place. Iowa City seems to think that, “If it recurs, you just come back and we do it all over again.” (actual quote). My Texas oncologist said, “I’m not worried about it coming back on the contralateral side. I’m worried about it going some place else.”

My Moline oncologist never suggested taking any other medication after my 7 months on Anastrozole. He got up and left the room when I tried to share the symptoms I had experienced, saying, “Don’t take it then.” I thought we would discuss alternatives, but that didn’t happen.

I had to be wheeled in a wheelchair to my first post-surgical mammogram on October 3rd, because of my knee blowing out in Chicago on September 15th. I spent 6 months hobbling with a cane or using a wheelchair before my knee recovered from the inflammation caused by Anastrozole. Injections at a knee joint pain clinic in Oak Park (32 ml of an anti-inflammatory; 6 ml of Durolane) helped (on 9/21/2022), and four sets of orthopaedic surgeons in 3 states have weighed in. Tramadol (50 mg) was prescribed for pain. The precise cause has never been pinned down because I didn’t have an MRI. I would put hard cold cash that the Anastrozole was one of the reasons my knee gave up the ghost. My Moline oncologist—who is on record as saying the ONLY side effect is “a little stiffness in your hands”—would disagree. If he physically showed up in front of the 60,000 WebMD women, they would probably stone him.

My Texas oncologist said that, had I been his patient at the outset, I would have had three bouts of chemotherapy. That ship has sailed. It had been nine months of cold turkey no drugs at all before I flunked the ultra sound and was told “get thee to an oncologist ASAP.” I wrote all of this down in detail and gave a copy to both of my current doctors. I heard the Texas doctor discussing it with a female breast specialist in the hall. They were appalled. (They didn’t know I could overhear their remarks because the door was ajar.)

Now I am taking a different drug (Tamoxifen). It’s been around since the sixties and can give you blood clots that cause heart attacks and strokes and endometrial cancer. Not fun prospects. And yet the other survivors on WebMD describe many, many horrible side effects for every single one of the drugs (either blockers or drugs designed to stomp out estrogen in your body) we are told to take. It is difficult to understand why this wealth of 60,000 survivors is not being more fully utilized to let doctors who seem to be in denial into the information loop about what really happens to many female survivors on these drugs.

I’m not sure if Tamoxifen is implicated in the back pain at the ball game, or if it is simply old age and arthritis, but the over two hour baseball game, (which I went to in order to use my daughter’s ticket), will probably be the last time I sit on bleachers at a Cubs game. I am so happy that my son and family came to Chicago to cheer me on on my birthday. I’m so I’m glad it was a Cubs win. I’m happy I made it through the day and I hope I was a good sport. (I tried).

Meanwhile, if you are a cancer patient in the Quad Cities, take note:: YOYO.

“Citizen Ashe” Is Well-Done Sam Pollard Documentary at Chicago International Film Festival

By Connie Wilson

On October 24, 2021

In Movies, Of Local (Quad Cities') Interest, Pop Culture, Reviews, Sports

Arthur Ashe, from the documentary “Citizen Ashe” at the 57th Chicago International Film Festival.

Sam Pollard, who directed “MLK/FBI” and “Sammy Davis, Jr.: I’ve Gotta’ Be Me,” has teamed with Rex Miller— listed as both the Director and Cinematographer—to produce an informative 96-minute documentary entitled “Citizen Ashe.”

The film traces Arthur Ashe’s career as the first and best Black male tennis player. Ashe was the first Black man to win the U.S. Open, the Australian Open, and Wimbledon. Along the way, talking heads including John McEnroe, Billie Jean King, Ashe’s younger brother Johnny, and various luminaries of the sports world talk about this amazing athlete who was born In 1943 and died of AIDS-related pneumonia at the age of 49 in 1993. Ashe’s widow, Jeannie Moutoussamy-Ashe was Executive Producer for the film. The entertaining, thoughtful documentary testifies to Ashe’s spoken goal: “I want to be the Jackie Robinson of tennis.”

Born in Richmond, Virginia to a mother (Mattie) who died at age 27 from heart-related disorders when Arthur was only 6, it is worth noting that Ashe was the documented descendant of a West African woman brought to America in 1735 aboard the slave ship Daddington and subsequently owned by North Carolina Governor Samuel Ashe.

Growing up in the segregated South, Ashe was fortunate that his father was in charge of a Richmond, Virginia sports complex, Brookfield Park. The park included basketball courts, a pool, 3 baseball diamonds and 4 tennis courts. Ashe started playing tennis on the courts there at the age of 7 and was ultimately noticed and given instruction by a local physician, Dr. Johnson, a tennis enthusiast who had built a tennis court in his own back yard and had coached Althea Gibson.

Still, Black players were denied participation in many tournaments and could not use the indoor courts in Richmond, so Ashe relocated to St. Louis’ Sumner High School at the invitation of 62-year-old teacher Richard Hudlin to complete his high school education. While there, with Ashe on the team, Sumner High won the United States Interscholastic Tennis Tournament.

Ashe was offered a scholarship to the University of California in Los Angeles in 1963 and headed off to Los Angeles, while also involved with ROTC that would lead to 2 years in the Army to help him with college expenses (he was assigned to West Point and put in charge of their tennis program).

In 1963 Ashe was named the #1 player in the world and was #3 in 1965. His entire life changed with the much more accepting nature of racial interaction in California. Other athletes were beginning to speak out against racism, with moments like the raised fists of John Carlos and Tommy Smith at the 1968 Summer Olympics.

Ashe found himself torn between his own impulses, learned at his father’s knee, [“Don’t do anything that will hurt yourself later.”] and his sympathy for the Black athletes who were demonstrating and standing up for their rights. As Ashe said, “If you were a moderate, it was the same thing as being an Uncle Tom.” In an interview, Ashe acknowledges that, “Being the only one, I’m a drawing card, whether I like it or not.”

As a “drawing card,” other Black athletes were pressuring the tennis star to join them in protests against unequal treatment. He responded to calls to boycott the Olympics by saying, “That’s not my way.” But he allowed that hanging back from joining the movement caused him to feel that “I didn’t like myself very much.”

As the documentary puts it, “There was a new breed of Black athlete.” Arthur, as a child, had been taught to return every ball within two inches of the line and never argue with an umpire’s decision, so protest of a strident sort was not his upbringing.

In these years, the country seemed to be coming apart with the assassination of JFK, RFK, and MLK. Fifty thousand National Guard troops were quelling riots in the streets of U.S. cities. Robert F. Kennedy’s assassination hit Arthur particularly hard, as he had been with RFK on the campaign trail in June of 1968, just the day before he was assassinated at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles.

South Africa’s policy of apartheid also became a cause that Ashe invested in, with a sincere admiration and a growing friendship with Nelson Mandela arising from Mandela’s 27-year imprisonment for the cause of equal rights.

Just as President Barack Obama modeled on Mandela, so, too, did Arthur Ashe. It was, he said, a great honor and privilege to get to meet Mandela and to become a personal friend.

Ashe is quoted as saying that he wanted to rebut the commonly held misconception that athletes were “all brawn, no brains.” He did that with his masterfully planned victory over Jimmy Connors in the 1975 Wimbledon Finals. Ashe countered Connors’ technique of serving the ball by hitting it on the rise by taking the pace off the ball. He gave Connors only soft junk shots (dinks, drop shots and lobs) to deal with. Ashe won the match and the title at the age of 32.

He would retire four years later with 818 wins, 260 losses, 51 titles and $1,584,909 in tournament winnings, plus wins for the U.S. Davis Cup team three years running, in 1968, 1969 and 1970. Ashe coached the Davis Cup team from 1981 to 1985. He had to contend with obnoxious personalities who were the polar opposite of his own, like John McEnroe.

We see McEnroe acting like a jerk in old footage and commenting on Ashe’s supervision of him on the Rider Cup teams. (McEnroe consistently played on Rider Cup teams for 12 years, while Jimmy Connors refused to do so and even lodged a lawsuit against Ashe at one point over their differing opinions on what the Davis Cup play meant to the nation).

Arthur Ashe’s widow, Jeanne, ends the film sharing Arthur’s words: “We both want to distress the comfortable and comfort the distressed.” Commenting on how losing a kind soul like Arthur Ashe illustrates what a treasure he was during life, Jeanne talked about their adopted daughter Camera, who lost her dad at the age of 7, just as Arthur, himself, had lost his own mother to heart disease when he was only 6.

Arthur Ashe’s funeral attracted 6,000 mourners. Then- Governor Douglas Wilder allowed his body to lay in state at the Governor’s Mansion in Richmond, where an additional 5,000 mourners paid their respects. Andrew Young, who had married Ashe in 1977, buried him after a service held at the Arthur Ashe Athletic Center on February 10, 1993. Ashe was buried next to his mother, Mattie.

The action shots of Ashe and tennis contemporaries in action were well-chosen. His demeanor in all recorded interviews or appearances illustrate how a champion should behave A clip is included in the documentary that shows Obama saying that the two athletes that he most emulated and admired were Muhammad Ali and Arthur Ashe. It’s a great way to learn about this fabled athlete.

“Queen of Basketball” Is Outstanding Short Documentary from Director Ben Proudfoot

By Connie Wilson

On June 29, 2021

In Movies, Reviews, Sports

Ben Proudfoot (October 29, 1990) is a Canadian filmmaker from Halifax, Nova Scotia. He is most noted as codirector with Kris Bowers of the short documentary film A Concerto Is a Conversation, which was an Academy Award nominee for Best Documentary (Short Subject) at the 93rd Academy Awards in 2021. Proudfoot was named one of Forbes magazine’s “30 Under 30” honorees. In addition to being a world-class magician, he founded Breakwater films in 2012, primarily dedicated to the short documentary form.

Proudfoot attended film school at the University of Southern California School of Cinematic Arts and, in partnership with the New York Times, Breakwater Films has helmed “The Queen of Basketball,” the story of Lusia “Lucy” Harris Stewart. Skillfully interweaving film footage with Lucy’s own observations and with charming background music, this is a very well-done and insightful short documentary.

As Proudfoot says of his documentary, “The visual legacy of Lusia “Lucy” Harris, as told from memory in her own voice, painted a portrait of one of the most important American athletes of the 20^th century.”

Ben and his team digitized nearly 10,000 film negatives and 16,000 feet of film that had lain in the college vaults for 50 years to produce this 22 and ½ minute documentary. The film had its World Premiere at 2021’s New York Tribeca Film Festival. It won Best Documentary Short at the 2021 Palm Springs Film Festival, which is an Oscar-qualifying film festival.

Told in her own words, Lusia “Lucy” Harris, #45, from Cleveland, Mississippi, is living testimony to the inequities in women’s versus men’s sports that Title IX started to address in 1972. Lucy, at 6’ 3”, was a gifted athlete who led Delta State and Memphis State to three consecutive national titles with the AIAW (Association for Inter-collegiate Athletics for Women). Lucy was also on the women’s U.S. Olympic team the very first year that women’s basketball was admitted to the Olympics, snagging the silver medal and scoring the first-ever basket for women at the 1976 Montreal Olympics. Lucy, the 1976 Amateur Athlete of the Year, was the first woman inducted into the Basketball Hall of Fame.

Coached by Margaret Wade of Mississippi’s Delta State, the Lady Statesmen played to a packed 4,500-seat fieldhouse for the women’s basketball games, double the men’s following. They also flew to their games, while the men took the bus. The biggest rivalry, documented in Proudfoot’s film, was Immaculata College, which had been the two-time national champion before Delta State beat them 90 to 81.

And yet nobody today knows Lucy’s name.

As Lucy muses in the documentary, “If I’d been a man, there would have been options for me to go further” (after graduating from college). There were none. Instead, Lucy married her high school boyfriend, George, and turned down a try-out offer from the NBA’s Utah Jazz.

Instead, Lucy had five children, endured mental problems (including a nervous breakdown) after her playing days were over, and worked at her old high school (Amanda Elzy Panthers) as head coach.

This short documentary comes at the perfect time in history, when women are demanding equity in pay and opportunity. In much of the world, that seems to be happening, but in a world with Honor Killings and young girls like Malala mortally wounded merely for wanting to acquire a good education, a film like this is more than timely. It is necessary.

“Playing with Sharks” Features Fantastic Underwater Photography at Sundance

By Connie Wilson

On January 31, 2021

In Movies, Of Local (Quad Cities') Interest, Reviews, Sports

Filmmaker Sally Aitken took the glorious 16 millimeter film of Valerie May Taylor and her husband, Ron, and has made it into a 95-minute exploration of the fearless team, who braved the oceans of the world to study and photograph the alien world beneath the water, especially focusing on sharks.

It was not their original intention to become conservationists for the dwindling species of sharks, but that is what happened after the two first made their mark at spearfishing. Ron was four-time Australian champion and world champion in the sport and the beautiful blonde Valerie was a Pamela Anderson of the underwater oceans, inhabiting a male culture of the fifties and killing one Great White shark before she realized that the animals were beautiful in their own killing machine way and should be preserved.

In fact, Peter Benchley’s (“Jaws” author) widow Wendy offers up the sobering news that there are only 10% of the world’s sharks still swimming, since 100 million a year have been being harvested for the past 20 years.

Valerie, now in her eighties, tells us that “It’s not that I didn’t want children. I wanted to do other things. I waned to have my own special life.”

That she survived and much more. A polio survivor, she and Ron traveled the world, trying to make a living at what they loved doing most: diving. In 1974 Peter Benchley, who knew about the pair’s exploits, wrote a book about a shark (which his wife did not think would “work”). It became “Jaws” with 29-year-old Steven Spielberg directing in only his second major film.

Spielberg wanted the shark to be 25 feet long, although Valerie and Ron told him that Great Whites were normally only about 13 feet long. “That’s okay,” said Spielberg, “we’ll just make the diving cage half-sized.” This they did, hiring a half-sized actor to play the diver in the steel cage. Unfortunately, the very small man was not a diver and not a shark enthusiast. When he saw a real White Shark, he said, “I should have asked for more money!”

Valerie Taylor

Give-it-a-go Valerie, as she was sometimes called because of her fearlessness, is shown hand-feeding a Great White Shark off the back of a boat and her changed attitude towards preserving sharks is credited with the fact that 80 to 100 bull sharks are now back at the reef off the island of Fiji.

Now widowed after Ron’s death from acute myeloid leukemia, Valerie shares the thought that she will never give up diving and that she will “probably be diving from my wheelchair.”

The film has astounding underwater footage, remastered from the original film shot by Ron Taylor, interspersed with television appearances the duo made on talk shows around the globe. The scenes of a Great White shark getting hung up in the boat apparatus during the filming of “Jaws” is riveting (we learn that it was not in the script, but they used the footage) and the entire project reveals a world beneath the waves of which Valerie May Taylor, herself, said, “It was a different, alien world. I was just a visitor.”

Two Documentaries at SXSW On Professional Athletes & Retirement

By Connie Wilson

On March 16, 2018

In Interviews, Movies, Pop Culture, Sports

Scottish bicyclist tries to qualify for the Tour de France after a 2-year ban, at age 37.

Two documentaries showing at SXSW deal with the difficulty of being an athlete and hanging it up (i.e., retiring). Those two are “Time Trial” by Finlay Pretsel of Scotland and “Ali & Cavett: The Tale of the Tapes,” directed by Robert S. Bader. Cavett is 81 now and traveled to Austin with the documentary.

Scottish director Pretsel shot film of Scottish bicyclist David Millar’s final attempt to qualify for the Tour de France after a 2-year suspension for doping. It was shot, colorfully, from the point-of-view of the cyclist. We learn that Millar got his first road bike at 15 and, while he only wanted one win at the Tour, he has competed there 12 times.

Robert Bader, director of “Ali & Cavett: The Tale of the Tapes.

Millar won in 2003, but was later shown to have used drugs. He was banned for 2 years for using EPC. He has felt himself a cheat since that time and this is a story of redemption.

Millar’s trial is Pelleton, a tough gig and, ultimately, Millar is cut from the tour by Charlie, the team leader, and we see him shedding tears in a moment of extreme vulnerability. I, for one, felt he had the look of a haunted man, and I wondered if Lance Davenport looks this way when you meet him.

The director of the bicycling documentary said, “I feel like I’ve had this in the back of my mind for many years. The only UK cyclist in the Tour de France—the best Scottish cyclist ever.” He did share with us that he considered the film to be capturing “this bizarre sport in a microcosm” and that the rest of the crew that Millar rode for and with was not that supportive.

At the end of the colorful documentary, Pretsel was to take questions, but he was down the hall watching “Heredity” so the bicyclist, himself, got up and said, “Oh, well, I can talk about the film.” He was 37 when they shot the documentary and is 41 now. It was very late this night; Millar had the haunted look of a man who could benefit from counseling as he said, “I’m a very twisted human being.” He added, “I wish there was a film that existed of me winning.”

When I asked what he plans to do now, at 41, his cycling career over, he said, “I hope to do things that are worth telling stories about.”

Muhammad Ali & Dick Cavett: The Tale of the Tapes

In the Dick Cavett/Muhammad Ali tapes we also see a champion—-the only fighter to ever to win the Heavyweight Championship crown three times—who is loathe to stop fighting when he should. Cassius Clay’s early history is portrayed, and then the documentary moves on to the friendship between Ali and Cavett that developed because, as Ali said, “You’re the only one who ever asks me on when I lose.”

After one particularly brutal beating, Ali’s cheeks are as round and bulbous as a chipmunk’s. He is a gracious loser, giving credit to the fighters who have bested him. He calls Cavett his “main man” and the two are shown at Ali’s training camp, where, at one point, Cavett even dons green trunks and dances around in the ring.

There is also a notable tape where Joe Frazier and Muhammad Ali are both on Cavett’s show together and they literally pick him up, physically. All-in-all, the appearances, shown together like this, are like a time capsule of the sixties and the turbulent era of the Vietnam War, which Ali opposed. When Ali converted to Islam and would not fight in Vietnam, he was stripped of his title and lost years of his fighting career, after which he was no longer “floating like a butterfly and stinging like a bee.” I saw him on campus at the University of Iowa when he was not allowed to fight, and the Union was jammed with students like me who had come to hear what this icon had to say.

Both films treat the difficulty of a pro athlete adjusting to hanging it up forever. However, regular human beings also have to hang up their cleats at some point, in terms of giving up their day jobs, jobs which have also defined them. The thing that helps make it more palatable for a professional bicyclist or a professional fighter has to be the tremendous paychecks some made during their heyday, not to mention the adulation of the crowds, which we see in both documentaries.

The downside is that a sport like boxing can doom those retired from it to diseases like Parkinson’s Disease, which Ali suffered from during the rest of his life. The film is a powerful argument for more stringent protection for athletes in all contact sports. The image of Ali lighting the Olympic torch, arm shaking visibly from the effects of the debilitating disease, is both touching and historic.

I’d recommend the Ali/Cavett documentary to anyone who was alive in the sixties and remembers them, or to anyone who wants to learn what was happening in this country during that turbulent era.

Adventures from the New Computer Age

By Connie Wilson

On November 6, 2016

In Editorial, Humor and Weird Wilson-isms, Local, Movies, Of Local (Quad Cities') Interest, Sports

Well, because of the idea that installing a Windows 10 would be an “improvement,” I’ve been without ANY Internet service in Chicago since October 28th. A technician came out on a Saturday, but he needed access to a closet that is kept locked and can only be accessed by the building manager. (We have a building manager, but only Monday through Friday).

I was able to get a board member of the building to let us in, but more bad news awaited us in that he needed to “put a ticket in” to AT&T to do some sort of “upgrade” and, long story longer, he is coming back on November 14th to (hopefully) put an end to my computer woes at the condo and exponentially increase the speed of my new computer while reducing my bill by half. (I’ll believe THAT when it happens.) When he left, he didn’t make it clear that he had left me high and dry with no Internet AT ALL, so I was pretty much up a creek without a paddle unless I wanted to find a Starbucks. Since I was waiting on Deborah Riley Draper (director of “Olympic Pride, American Prejudice”) to respond to my questions, I decided to wait until returning to East Moline, 3 and 1/2 hours away, to continue with movie reviews.

We were hanging around in Chicago during the World Series hysteria. (In fact, my son drove all the way to Cleveland from Pittsburgh and was present at the 7th game last night; ticket price $998; and my husband and son bought rooftop seats at Wrigley for Game #4 for $1008 apiece.) The priorities quickly shifted from movies to baseball and I’m not sure if we are driving back to Chicago now for the homecoming or what. (Keep in mind, Chicago has waited for over 100 years for this!)

I am now using my desktop (Windows 7) in the basement, since it is not involved in the upgrade (yet) or the slow speed I had always blamed on my Vista computer when it seems it may have been the fault of the building’s Internet provider not being as fast as possible. While I have a laptop, it was affected by the same issues in Chicago and it is a Windows 10, which I am still learning how to fully operate.

No, I do not currently like it, but that’s par for the course for me and new technology, which is ironic when you consider that I owned and operated a Prometric Testing Center (computers) from 1995 to 2003 (along with Sylvan Learning Center #3301 in Bettendorf, Iowa).

I just got home and working on “Olympic Pride, American Prejudice,” which is now up. It opens in December on HBO. I asked Deborah Riley Draper (its director) if it was “okay” to run with a review now and she was more than positive on that idea, but she also has not sent back her responses to my 10 questions and my last words to her were: “I’ll wait to hear from you to write up the film.”

I’ve now given up on “waiting” for her, so I can get on the review, and I’ll do “Heartstone: from the film festival, as well, and I may write something on “Hacksaw Ridge.”

So, it’s been All Baseball, All the Time here. The son and heir got roughly 3 hours of sleep after deciding on the spur of the moment to drive from Pittsburgh to Cleveland for the game, with no ticket to get in. He then flew back home to Austin today and just called us from St. Louis.

Meanwhile, we will be flying to Austin on Nov. 15 to close on a house there that started being built for us in July. (No, we’re not selling the other 2).

Duke Lacrosse Team Ordeal Chronicled in ESPN Film @ SXSW

By Connie Wilson

On March 18, 2016

In Movies, Pop Culture, Reviews, Sports

“Fantastic Lies” is an ESPN film directed by Marina Zenovich that explored the Duke Lacrosse case that exploded into the public consciousness 10 years ago. Most television viewers or newspaper readers know that the 48 white, privileged Duke Lacrosse team members had the bad judgment to hold a party at their rented house in Durham and hired two African-American females to dance and strip at the party. The girls were contacted through an escort service and were to be paid $400 each.
What happened after that, if anything, was the crux of the criminal case that almost saw 3 young men go to jail for 20 to 30 years for a crime they did not commit. The female who accused the young men of rape was emotionally unstable. She had had treatment for same in 2005. She was also the single mother of 2 young children. When she showed up at the Lacrosse party high, she and her fellow dancer performed for less than 10 minutes, then locked themselves in a bathroom. Later, the woman making the complaint, Crystal Mangum, got drunk and passed out. She made a visit to the emergency room with minor injuries and a rape kit was administered. That visit might have led to questioning her line of work and her failure to be a proper parent, with possible loss of her 2 children to DCFS, so charging the team with rape may have seemed like a way to deflect authorities from knowledge of her line of work. [In 2013, Mangum ended up in jail for the second-degree murder of her boyfriend.]
The 28-year-old Crystal is described by her former Sunday school teacher as “someone who made up reality as she went along.” Crystal was not emotionally or psychologically stable. She was used as a pawn by the District Attorney’s office to gain publicity for the re-election campaign of prosecutor Mike Nifong. Nifong was not only fired for his railroading of the three boys, but was disbarred and spent one night in jail.
Many peripheral truths are revealed in the documentary. The presumption of guilt of the 48 players—none of whom had sexual contact with either woman—was drummed to a fever pitch by TV talking heads like Nancy Grace and Bill O’Reilly. One of the boy’s parents said, “It was as though a Molotov cocktail landed in the community.” Reporter Ruth Sheehan wrote an article saying, “We know. We know you know,” suggesting that the team members needed to rat out the three suspects within their ranks who were allegedly guilty. She later wrote an apology for making an assumption that is proven to be totally false.
Three young men from the team were ultimately selected from a photo line-up (a line-up which violated the North Carolina Durham Police Department’s own rules, as there were no non-lacrosse players pictures in the mix) by the accuser. She singled out Collin Finnerty, team co-captain Reade Seligmann and Kyle Dowd as the three who had raped her and claimed to be “100% certain.” The chief investigator on the case, Detective Mark Gottlieb, doctored Crystal’s initial descriptions of her assailants to fit the three she selected from the pictures.
Mark Gottlieb left the police department in 2008. He committed suicide in 2014. During his career, he had a long history of overly aggressive prosecution of alleged criminals.
The three families of the accused, most from Northern locations like Long Island, now entered the fray to try to save their young sons’ lives. Said one parent, “This was an all-out war that had to be won.” As one of the defense attorneys said to the defendants, “Whatever life you had before March 13th (the date of the party) is gone. That life is never going to happen.” One young man’s father is quoted: “Had they gone to a North Carolina prison for a week, they’d either be dead or wish they were.” The three families “lawyered up.” Teams of lawyers began poring over the DNA evidence, the cell phone records of both the accused and the accuser, and other evidence. The three law teams worked together for their clients.

A neighbor testified that the women had arrived at midnight. The cell phone records proved that one of the defendants, Dave Evans, was not even in the house when the attacks were supposed to have occurred (he was at an ATM machine and is seen on the video) and the other boys accused were on their cell phones when Ms. Magnum claimed they were assaulting her, (as was she.)
Sixty-three days after the party, Dave Evans, co-captain and one of the three defendants, said, “You have all been told some fantastic lies. This case has been taken out to the news media by a person seeking public office.” Even Mike Nifone’s campaign manager said, “I knew in my heart that day that all of this was a lie.”
The case really fell apart when one of the attorneys cross-examined the DNA expert. This particular attorney (Bradley Bannon) had bought the equivalent of a “DNA for Dummies” book and was absolutely obsessed with understanding and making sense of the over 2-foot high pile of papers involving DNA results dumped on the defense during discovery. This young attorney was able to get the DNA expert to admit that the District Attorney told him to exclude any evidence except that which would convict the accused. There were physical DNA traces of between 7 and 11 other men on fingernails. There was more DNA from the DNA analyst, Brian. Meehan, who conducted the tests, than from all of the 48 members of the lacrosse team combined.
When Brian Meehan admitted in court that there was no DNA evidence linking any of the lacrosse team to Crystal, “all of a sudden a central truth erupted. They had to work to get the place where these kids were.” Brad Bannon, the attorney who had made it his mission to understand the electrofarrigam charts of DNA evidence in a marathon week-long session, capably cross examined Mr. Meehan and said, “I felt like I was in a sports movie.” This was a reference to the fact that none of the defense team was aware that the DNA expert for the prosecution was going to be testifying that day, and only Brad had studied up on the DNA to such great lengths to be able to point out where the tests exonerated his clients.
As they left the courtroom after Brian Meehan’s testimony, Judge Smith staring at District Attorney Mike Nifong sternly, the defense attorneys said, “He (Nifong) seemed to not realize that a calamity had just occurred. I wondered if he knew his case had imploded.”
A JOURNALISTIC TRAGEDY
As one of the accused boy’s fathers said, during testimony, “There are no Walter Cronkites or Edward R. Murrows any more.” Even the local paper admitted, “We should have tamped our outrage and waited to see.”

Another telling quote from the film with political ramifications this presidential season was this: “None of it was true, but it got reported as truth over and over and then it became true.” Said another parent, “They wanted it to be true.” The usual suspects who come out of the woodwork—Jesse Jackson, Bill O’Reilly, Nancy Grace—were all over the case and all were wrong in rushing to judgment.
The team was forced to cancel its entire season and they had been an NCAA contender. Lacrosse head coach Mike Pressler, who stood by his team, was forced to resign; he had been at Duke for 16 years.
None of the lacrosse team members accused would be interviewed for the documentary, although their parents were quoted. Dave Evans, the co-captain of the team who spoke for his teammates during a press conference, said, “My ultimate aspiration moving forward is to make everyone know that they defended the truth. The facts are the facts. The truth is the truth.”
The University settled out of court with all members of the lacrosse team. The three accused players have become involved with the Innocence Project, which seeks to use DNA evidence to prove that criminals were unjustly imprisoned. Already, a former conviction of District Attorney Mike Nifong, a man who had served 20 years in prison, was exonerated by DNA evidence. Authorities are looking back over all of Mike Nifong’s cases to see if he railroaded more than one innocent person.

Wisconsin Cheeseheads Knock Off Unbeaten Kentucky on April 4, 2015

By Connie Wilson

On April 4, 2015

In Pop Culture, Sports, travel

Wisconsin’s Big Ten team knocked off the unbeaten Kentucky Wildcats in a frenzied finish that saw the Wisconsin Badgers emerge as the ultimate winners who will face Duke for the national NCAA championship on Monday, April 6th.

As we were in Cancun, the bar of the Royal Sands represented a cross section of fans from both Kentucky and Wisconsin, but I’d have to give the nod to the Wisconsin fans, who came with their red and white shirts and cheered noisily throughout.

Enjoyed the game.