The Face in the Crowd


EVERY BALL player worth his jersey will tell you that,
for the entirety of a championship game,
the roaring crowd will be reduced to one
enveloping, panoramic blur.

And from that undulating haze of humanity,
he will recognize only one face —
that of his father.

(missing you)

8 thoughts on “The Face in the Crowd

  1. You were MIA for a bit but yes I hav been absent as well from other bloggers posts. Selfish? I love reading them, I just .. It’s hard balancing time w work, writing and oh not having Internet at home (yet, coming this week!) so it’s all on the iPhone which is just straight annoying sometimes!

    The race was hard. Reaching the finish line and no one there.. I just walked to the subway took the hour long ride home in my sweaty clothes, walked the 15 min uphill climb from the train my house after that 10k and… He always would do races.. Sadly w his illness there is no “better” there is only getting better at accepting that there is better. He is… So much worse. I don’t see him often we talk and half of it… I dunno. It’s all hard and fked up a bit.

    I’m gunna be back, reading it all soon! I promise


    • i can understand that — how work gets in the way of blogging. same reason why i hibernate sometimes like a grizzly in winter.

      it sounds like a lonely race you had. having read your more recent posts, it seems like you grown into doing things by yourself. much like me (being away all the time). or maybe i just misunderstood.

      i wish your dad well. looking forward to more of your posts.



  2. :( wow pretty impressive there. Taking a basketball ref and making it so profound.

    It def… Damn tears.. My dad used to play bball every tues. sometimes as a kid he’d have to take me cuz mom was workin late. Bball has always had that “daddy reflex”. Running too. I bawled when he wasnt there to see me finish my first race

    I miss him too (even though physically he is still here)

    Hope you feel better


    • thank you, j. i’ve missed you here in my modest blog. fathers always have a way of sneaking in a game. you leave home to play and he’s there pretending disinterest. and then you’ll just see his smiling face in the row of seats under the ring before you shoot a free throw.

      i feel you. running is more personal than team sports and having your “team” sitting by the bleachers means a lot. i remember your story about your dad. hope he’s better.

      and, thank you, i am better. hope you are too :)


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s