What we know about Manti Te'o

Tom Geiger

A guest post by my friend Tom Geiger. In addition to being a Notre Dame fan, he's one of the most insightful people I know, so I had to get his thoughts on the Te'o story. The best way to describe Tom and I's relationship is that we once considered entering Kenyon's Battle of the Bands and rapping Forgot About Dre. He was Eminem, and I was Dre, obviously. We would've won in a landslide but I was too chicken to go through with it. Picture captions are my sidenotes and not the opinion of Tom Geiger. Enjoy.

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So being a Notre Dame fan over the past two decades has been a Sisyphean endeavor, and the past two weeks have clearly demonstrated this: from going undefeated in the regular season out of nowhere and becoming popular underdog picks in the BCS title game, to getting dismantled by a much better program for the one game everyone decides to watch, having their savior head coach nearly leave for a job in the NFL, and yeah, the star player is a total weirdo and potentially a fraud. It's definitely the sort of thing that makes you wonder why you care about sports to begin with, and whether it's a worthwhile use of your time. It probably isn’t, but whatever, go tribe.

don't worry, you're still a future millionaire

I’m not sure if I’m in the minority here, but to me it seems kind of obvious what went down. Te’o was legit duped, eventually figured out what was going on, and became too embarrassed to discuss the matter in public so he kept it going. That definitely doesn’t clear Manti 100%, but, well, he’s young. Stop and think about that for a second. And think about what his buddy over at Texas A&M is getting done (fun: google ‘Johnny Football halloween’). Or what every other DI athlete is doing every Saturday night. This is remarkably embarrassing.

What bothers me about my passion for sports is that I get caught up in instances where fans fail to use logic. I root for the shittiest teams in sports, which sucks, but it gives me an opportunity to watch most games without much of a vested interest. And when a team I like happens to find itself in an opportune position, like a national championship game, and proceeds to embarrass itself, it gives me a chance to reflect on the ways we can interpret sports from biased and unbiased perspectives.

Lance Armstrong being involved with this 
scandal is my favorite conspiracy theory

Regardless of whether Te’o lied or not, the argument that nobody could be delusional enough to believe in Lennay is bullshit for three reasons. One, more often than not, that statement is predicated on a hatred for everything Notre Dame. Two, we're talking about a guy who mentions “heavenly father” at some point during every sentence that escapes his mouth. He’s…kind of crazy. Three – and more importantly – we don’t know anything about Te’o. In fact, we don’t know anything about anyone in sports. They aren’t our friends. They don’t really give a shit about us. So why do we let our hearts get broken when they “betray” us? 

There’s an important lesson here. It’s useful to take a step back every once in a while and acknowledge that we’re watching grown men play games for money (and in this case, they aren’t even being paid). Before we get all bent out of shape and let our emotions get the best of us, let’s try and acknowledge reality. So as much as it pains me, I’m going to demonstrate how to let reality supersede subjectivity:

I don’t know if Lebron James is a total ass hat. He probably is. He pulled his pants down and took a horrendous shit on the team I like. No, I don’t like Lebron James. However, I do know that, objectively speaking, he’s by far the best player in basketball, so I’m going to acknowledge that because it’s true. I don’t solely attribute his success to the refs (when did everyone forget about Jordan rules?), and I’m not dense enough to believe that he’s playing second fiddle to anyone on his team. Lebron James is awesome at basketball.

pictures speak louder than words

I called my brother after Notre Dame beat Oklahoma and told him that Manti Te’o was the best player I’ve ever seen in gold and blue. He concurred. We both really love Manti Te’o. Now, I don’t really care much for the guy. He seems like a strange bird, and it appears that he’s an attention whore. But rationally speaking, it seems like he was actually duped in this situation. If you take a good look at the evidence, it stacks up heavily in his favor. It also strongly suggests that he let things get carried away. If something comes out in the future that contradicts this viewpoint, I’ll be the first to acknowledge that I was incorrect. And hopefully most of ND nation will do the same, though we’ll probably never get the full story.

Hopefully this is something Manti Te’o will someday learn from. On the other hand, I don’t give a shit if he learns anything other than an NFL playbook. I still think he’s the best player I’ve ever seen at Notre Dame, and I think he’s going to be an outstanding linebacker in the NFL. Why? Because he has the right fundamentals, puts up good numbers, and he reportedly rallies his teammates pretty damn well. So, objectively speaking, Manti Te’o is awesome at football. And objectively speaking, he desperately needs a girlfriend. These are basically the only things we know for sure about Manti Te'o.

The End

A guest post from my friend from Kenyon College, Sean Edelman. The two of us, pictured handsomely, below.


Over the crest of the hill, the familiar flags, people, and noise come into view. After laboring for what seemed like an eternity, the runner could finally see the physical goal; the one he suffered through the summer heat and winter snow to reach. He had climbed mountains, crossed plains, and conquered his demons. Yet, with his goal finally appearing like the sun over the horizon, he can only feel emptiness and longing. Was this it? As he approached the finish, this particular thought echoed throughout his mind, bringing doubt to his soon-to-be achievement.

Over the last 6+ years of my life I’ve been a runner. What began as a placeholder for not making the high school soccer team became one of my primary identifiers. Back in high school I proudly displayed my identity by wearing t-shirts I had won or purchased at meets, I spent my afternoon sitting with my runner friends discussing other teams and their runners, and I would gladly spend my free time in my coach’s office hoping that some of his knowledge would pass down to me. Every fall I toiled through the long miles, steep hills, and unfortunate weather of cross-country season, counting down the days until the first winter track practice. I lived for that feeling of lacing up my spikes and tearing around the oval. I gave up parties, weekends, and countless hours to nothing but running. The competition kept me going each day. I loved racing and the palpable sense of accomplishment drove me to worker harder and harder. Never would I have thought that my attitude towards the sport could ever be changed.

The realization came around last February.

With only a couple hundred meters standing between him and the finish line, the runner’s thin muscular frame remained upright and focused, hiding the mental turmoil that dwelled underneath his skin. The single thought of doubt that troubled him wasn’t a new phenomenon. He had managed to suppress its growth in his brain by thinking that it was only a passing attitude. However, as the finish line got ever so closer, he could no longer ignore his own demons, and they began to overwhelm his thoughts.

It was a Friday night and with a meet the next morning, I was spending it sitting in my room watching a movie. A knock came on the door; it was a friend of mine coming to get my roommate to head out to the party scene. As the door shut behind them a question crossed my mind: Why was I depriving myself from the fun that I knew was out there? Was a track race worth really worth this?

I was appalled by the thoughts crossing my mind. Track was who I was. My once stable identity was now at conflict. The sacrifices, which I had once made without an afterthought, now had to be justified. I realized the personal achievement gained with racing had long left my body. Just like an injured runner’s tendons may hang by threads, my connection and love I had for the sport of track had withered away to small, decrepit strands.

Like a virus, this string of thoughts plagued me throughout the rest of the season. I found myself just going through the motions that I had once put all of my effort into. For the second straight year, I didn’t see my times drop. Races became something I felt forced to do. The glow of accomplishment no longer surged through my body. Emptiness replaced fulfillment. Change had come and I was reluctant to accept it.

A few weeks ago marked the first day of fall track for the runners who don’t participate in cross-country. As I stretched in the autumn air after a long distance run, I watched the fall trackies finish up their workout. Eagerness and excitement was flowing throughout the bunch; they were elated to be back doing what they love. Watching them brought back memories of the sensation one feels at the start of a season. It was a feeling I once longed for and the thought of it used to make my heart race. Sitting in the warm sun observing them, I realized I no longer pined for what they were currently experiencing. I finally recognized that I had moved on.

Serenity and peace came to my troubled mind. Acceptance finally spread its roots.

As the runner crosses the finish, the aches and pains that he had ignored begin to throb throughout his body. He wants nothing more than the soreness to stop but he knows that the suffering has just begun. As he starts to walk away, the feeling of emptiness disappears from his body. The race is over and although it didn’t end as he once anticipated, he is now filled with a sense of pride and accomplishment. It had been a good run. He had made it. The uncertainty of tomorrow no longer bothered him; it excited him. Although the pain in his body had become nearly unbearable, he cracked a smile.

Are you trying to change your life? I'd love to post your thoughts here, email me! ken.e.noguchi@gmail.com

Portland Marathon 2010

At seven in the morning, it was pouring rain, frigidly cold, and pitch dark. I was just counting down the seconds until the race would start. I kept trying to cheer myself up, but between the rain, cold, darkness, and EVERYONE complaining about it, it was tough to keep a bright attitude. I think we were all thinking the same thing, “I should’ve ran the San Diego Marathon.” This race was going to suck.

Then just as the gun went off, I overheard the woman next to me exclaim, “DOES THE RAIN MAKE MY TITS LOOK BIG?” After that, I knew this was going to be a good day.

To preface this post, I was training semi-seriously in the beginning of the summer, doing consistent long runs up to 15 miles. But the past couple months I’ve probably been running less than 20 miles a week. If I was even going to finish this marathon, it was pretty much going to take a miracle.

Oh, and it turns out, running a big marathon, I’m guessing any with 10,000+ people, is really a big celebration for all the running you did to get there.

Coming from the Boston Marathon, I wasn’t expecting too much support, but I was pleasantly surprised at how much of the city came out to support the runners. There are bands and water stands filled with enthusiastic kids along the way. Some runners even dressed for the occasion, including a green tutu wearing fairy, complete with wings and wand. I’m assuming he lost a bet or something, but then again, Portland’s pretty weird, so you never know.

Miles 3 – 16 pretty much went on like this, I was enjoying the celebration, smiling and all. I felt smooth and comfortable, but I knew somewhere around 2 to 3 hours I was going to hit a wall.

Around mile 16, some bulky looking tough guy rolled up next to me clearly running faster than everyone else. I was still feeling pretty good at this point, so I lined up behind him and we must have split out some sub 7 minute miles. Sidenote: I feel like I was just doing long runs at that pace, but not running competitively makes you appreciate how fast that really feels.

He kept stopping for water at every station, so I used those seconds to catch my breath until we were chugging along again. I kept at it though, and eventually after one water station around mile 19 I dropped him, and I was feeling strong.

It was right around this point I knew the wall was inevitable, so I started slowing down at more water stations to grab the rip-off Gatorade and gummy bears. With all the sugar, my energy level was staying high, but right around mile 22 my quads slowly tightened more and more.

I figured, if I can’t stride normally I’ll just increase my stride rate! This sounded like a great idea at the time, but the awkwardness of my stride was probably somewhere between a goose and Jackson Cabo.

This worked for a while, until the 23 mile mark, right at the beginning of a downhill, when my left hammy cramped up with the kind of intensity that shoots you out of bed. Probably as a result of overcompensating for my tight quads. My running intuition told me this would pass, so I just massaged it out and walked around in circles for a few minutes before starting up again.

From there, I kept tightening up more, and slowed, and slowed, as all the people I had overconfidently blown past from miles 16 – 22 slowly came whipping past me on the decline back to downtown.

As everyone raced past me, I was trying to figure out if this sucked, if I felt helpless, or regretted my lack or training, but then I realized, I was at mile 24! There was really no way I wasn’t going to finish. It felt surreal, both easier and harder than I imagined.

Before I knew it, I could see the finish line. I kind of had this image of kicking past a ton of old guys here, but at this point my top speed was probably around 10 or 11 minute mile pace, so I was the one getting kicked on. I crossed the line at 3:35. And stopped. It felt like most milestone accomplishments do, great but not quite on par with what you imagined.

So am I done running forever? Well no, I signed up for a race next August called Hood to Coast, a 12 man relay race from the mountains (Mt. Hood) on the east side of Oregon, to the coast on the west side. But I am done letting running limit my freedom.

So, in the famous words of Caleb Roupp:
Friend: Ken, are you cooling down? (Ken plugs in headphones and prepares to nap)
Ken: Welp, I’m not running again till August.

from ken

Are you trying to change your life? I'd love to hear about it! ken.e.noguchi@gmail.com

photo by kk+

Thank you, running

I’ve been running for longer than I can remember doing anything else in my life.

I ran cross country and track in college and high school. I was elected captain, not because I was good but because I cared. I spent one summer running 1000 miles, putting in week after week of 90 miles, just to prove to myself that if I was going to be a nothing at running, it wasn’t because I didn’t try. At one time in my life, I owned more track spikes than my girlfriend owned shoes. I once ran a hundred mile week, finishing with a Turkish soccer player who could barely speak English and had never ran more than four miles, but as we finished the seven mile run he was sprinting and yelling NEVER GIVE UP, NEVER GIVE UP.

But over the past few months, I’ve come to see running almost as a relic of the person I used to be.

After that 1000 mile summer, I had the best running season of my life. I ran over 90 seconds faster for 8k than I ever had, or would. That season I was a far greater athlete than I ever imagined I could be.

At the end of that season, I ended up being the alternate on our regionals squad. The alternate basically travels with the team and hangs out with them as everyone else broods over the race before them. It feels helpless because there’s nothing you can do to help the team, except through supporting your teammates.

It was at this point that I realized, this is the final lesson running has to teach me. I am not a star, nor even a player. My role in my life is to be the ultimate cheerleader. My life was supposed to be sacrificed for the people around me.

After that season, my running was never the same. I lost the heart for it, I still fought tooth and nail, but my soul didn’t bleed for it like it used to. Mostly I ran to support my friends and teammates, I wanted to see them succeed more than they could’ve ever imagined. And more, I wanted to support their lives and cherish their friendships.

In the cult classic running novel Once A Runner the protagonist refers to demons that haunt his running. I remember feeling these demons in my own life .

The demons would come on in those few minutes just before a race, when you’re waiting on the track, having stripped off your warmups, spikes on, the race before you coming to and end, and feeling like you have to pee for the fifth time in the last fifteen minutes. I remember telling my friend, if I ever stopped feeling like this, I would stop running.

I think, maybe, the demons in your life are where your heart is. And wherever your heart is, that’s where your life should be.

Well, the demons in my life don’t haunt my running anymore.

Tomorrow, I’m running the Portland Marathon. And I see it as my farewell to running. It’s the last running feat I want to check off before being prepared to leave it, maybe forever.

For those of you still running, I really really wish you the best of luck. It is truly amazing what it can teach you, and I hope you enjoy the ride.

And of course, to my old teammates, those of you from Kenyon and those from Needham, I hope to enjoy a leisurely run with you again some day. Or maybe just a leisurely beer. But the days of heart-breaking training, 12 k threshold workouts, 5 x 1200, conference races, those days are far gone. And man, it feels good.

from ken

Are you trying to change your life? I'd love to hear about it! ken.e.noguchi@gmail.com

photo by boliston