Chip Shots: Wrong, Right, A Week In The Life
March 12, 2022 at 12:23 a.m.
Chip Shots: Wrong, Right, A Week In The Life
By Chip Davenport-
I read an “IHSAA Executive Meeting Minutes” post on the state’s athletics website. The document had Warsaw as a 2A softball semistate site, and I communicated my excitement about PA announcing that early June round.
I’m beginning to wonder if I should, like sports radio talk show host Colin Cowherd, feature a segment, “Where Chip Was Wrong, Where Chip Was Right.”
There would likely be more of the former, but I don’t mind whiffing on some of my swings. If I were always right, I’d be would either be authoring books, or my takes would probably not be challenging enough.
Anyway, when the Spring Bulletin was released March 7 on the IHSAA website, Warsaw was replaced by Frontier as the Class 2A softball semistate site; makes much more sense to me. At least this year I wasn’t telling you to move your clocks forward prematurely.
A gentleman running the scoreboard at the Triton sectional I covered last Saturday made a curiosity-stirring point during our conversation. Lakeland Christian Academy (LCA), located in Winona Lake for those who don’t already know where the private school is based, was battling the Southwood Knights for the Class 1A Sectional 53 title. He found it rather strange they weren’t in the Triton sectional.
Each sectional had seven of eight bracket slots filled. It seems easy to move LCA into one of the open Triton slots. I assumed, in my mind’s eye, there must have been a corridor-splitting line drawn between the two sectional fields running a little West of Indiana State Road 13.
It made sense until I saw North Miami and Smith Academy, respectively almost due South and due North of Triton, but assigned to the Southern Wells sectionals.
Good heavens; gerrymandering?
The IHSAA has a map in its website with the locations of all the state’s high schools. What would be sweet is if the association had one map for each basketball class level.
I didn’t have time to trace sectionals this last week ,but some rainy spring or summer Saturday might be a perfect time to set up my folding desk on the screened-in porch with at least one gin and tonic with an orange peel twist.
What else would the guy with one of North America’s WASP-iest names drink?
With the map on the desk, and my cocktail within reach, I’ll go bananas following the state’s logic for aligning basketball sectionals, at least until my wife asks me to stop my trivial pursuit to scoop the litter boxes.
North Miami and Smith Academy - for what it’s worth and from an East-to-West view - look geographically closer to the other schools in Triton’s field, so I’m already curious about what I’ll discover tracing sectionals by class.
I started my work week Monday morning at 8:00 a.m. and my brain was on such a roll my eyes grew wide when I saw the 3 a.m. foundry setup crew walking through the hallway. They gave me a knowing look as if to say, “again, Chip?”
My brain cried uncle at 5 a.m. and I had the good sense to drive to the Hampton Inn in the town where I work to get four hours of sleep. I knew if I tried to drive over 30 miles to get home, last week’s column would have been my last column ever.
I thought all-nighters would be hard to pull when I hit my late 50s, but they’re not because my brain still gets revved up and focused on seeing something to its completion. My wife does it, too, but she usually does it grading papers or revising curriculum from home, so there is no commute for her.
I read and hear about coaches at all levels putting in long hours, but I completely understand why it probably seems like a longer day for those waiting for up for them than it does for coaches focused on a challenge, especially if you like what you do for a living.
Here was the text volley between me and my wife Monday evening:
Chip: I’m not coming home until this thing is finished.
Shawna: Hampton Inn or Charley Creek Inn?
Chip: No, it’s not going to be that bad. I think I’ll throw in the towel by 1 a.m.
Shawna: See you Tuesday night. What are you going to do about your meds?
Pulling all-nighters reminds me of how my son felt when he played football. I don’t feel punished by my choice the day after I make it. Two days after I choose to burn midnight oil, however, is when it punches me square in the nose.
My son told me Sunday morning, not Saturday morning, during his senior football season was the day his body painfully reminded him what he was doing Friday night.
He usually rode the wave of Friday’s postgame adrenaline (they had a 9-3 season, so losses were fortunately rare). Saturday practices, film, and occasional pool time seemed just what the doctor ordered. Sunday, though, was his first uneventful morning, and it was the longest stretch of being sedentary, a stretch customarily beginning early in the evening Saturday.
I was fine Tuesday night when I returned home. I stayed vertical, too. When I came home Wednesday, though, I already knew what was going to happen to me.
The feline welcome wagon greeted me at the kitchen door at 8 p.m. Once I was horizontal, I believe before 9 p.m., one was cat was “making biscuits” on my chest, and the other cat was curled between my knees. I was so comfy.
I’m glad I pulled this all-nighter the week before daylight savings. I got that part right, at least.
I read an “IHSAA Executive Meeting Minutes” post on the state’s athletics website. The document had Warsaw as a 2A softball semistate site, and I communicated my excitement about PA announcing that early June round.
I’m beginning to wonder if I should, like sports radio talk show host Colin Cowherd, feature a segment, “Where Chip Was Wrong, Where Chip Was Right.”
There would likely be more of the former, but I don’t mind whiffing on some of my swings. If I were always right, I’d be would either be authoring books, or my takes would probably not be challenging enough.
Anyway, when the Spring Bulletin was released March 7 on the IHSAA website, Warsaw was replaced by Frontier as the Class 2A softball semistate site; makes much more sense to me. At least this year I wasn’t telling you to move your clocks forward prematurely.
A gentleman running the scoreboard at the Triton sectional I covered last Saturday made a curiosity-stirring point during our conversation. Lakeland Christian Academy (LCA), located in Winona Lake for those who don’t already know where the private school is based, was battling the Southwood Knights for the Class 1A Sectional 53 title. He found it rather strange they weren’t in the Triton sectional.
Each sectional had seven of eight bracket slots filled. It seems easy to move LCA into one of the open Triton slots. I assumed, in my mind’s eye, there must have been a corridor-splitting line drawn between the two sectional fields running a little West of Indiana State Road 13.
It made sense until I saw North Miami and Smith Academy, respectively almost due South and due North of Triton, but assigned to the Southern Wells sectionals.
Good heavens; gerrymandering?
The IHSAA has a map in its website with the locations of all the state’s high schools. What would be sweet is if the association had one map for each basketball class level.
I didn’t have time to trace sectionals this last week ,but some rainy spring or summer Saturday might be a perfect time to set up my folding desk on the screened-in porch with at least one gin and tonic with an orange peel twist.
What else would the guy with one of North America’s WASP-iest names drink?
With the map on the desk, and my cocktail within reach, I’ll go bananas following the state’s logic for aligning basketball sectionals, at least until my wife asks me to stop my trivial pursuit to scoop the litter boxes.
North Miami and Smith Academy - for what it’s worth and from an East-to-West view - look geographically closer to the other schools in Triton’s field, so I’m already curious about what I’ll discover tracing sectionals by class.
I started my work week Monday morning at 8:00 a.m. and my brain was on such a roll my eyes grew wide when I saw the 3 a.m. foundry setup crew walking through the hallway. They gave me a knowing look as if to say, “again, Chip?”
My brain cried uncle at 5 a.m. and I had the good sense to drive to the Hampton Inn in the town where I work to get four hours of sleep. I knew if I tried to drive over 30 miles to get home, last week’s column would have been my last column ever.
I thought all-nighters would be hard to pull when I hit my late 50s, but they’re not because my brain still gets revved up and focused on seeing something to its completion. My wife does it, too, but she usually does it grading papers or revising curriculum from home, so there is no commute for her.
I read and hear about coaches at all levels putting in long hours, but I completely understand why it probably seems like a longer day for those waiting for up for them than it does for coaches focused on a challenge, especially if you like what you do for a living.
Here was the text volley between me and my wife Monday evening:
Chip: I’m not coming home until this thing is finished.
Shawna: Hampton Inn or Charley Creek Inn?
Chip: No, it’s not going to be that bad. I think I’ll throw in the towel by 1 a.m.
Shawna: See you Tuesday night. What are you going to do about your meds?
Pulling all-nighters reminds me of how my son felt when he played football. I don’t feel punished by my choice the day after I make it. Two days after I choose to burn midnight oil, however, is when it punches me square in the nose.
My son told me Sunday morning, not Saturday morning, during his senior football season was the day his body painfully reminded him what he was doing Friday night.
He usually rode the wave of Friday’s postgame adrenaline (they had a 9-3 season, so losses were fortunately rare). Saturday practices, film, and occasional pool time seemed just what the doctor ordered. Sunday, though, was his first uneventful morning, and it was the longest stretch of being sedentary, a stretch customarily beginning early in the evening Saturday.
I was fine Tuesday night when I returned home. I stayed vertical, too. When I came home Wednesday, though, I already knew what was going to happen to me.
The feline welcome wagon greeted me at the kitchen door at 8 p.m. Once I was horizontal, I believe before 9 p.m., one was cat was “making biscuits” on my chest, and the other cat was curled between my knees. I was so comfy.
I’m glad I pulled this all-nighter the week before daylight savings. I got that part right, at least.
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