Opinion

Proud To Be One of Those Guys

By Steve Lawrence

Ihope Jonathan Donville — the Cornell lacrosse player who just went #1 in the 2021 National Lacrosse League (NLL) Entry Draft — will not object to sharing column space with a guy who plays Division III lacrosse (at St. John Fisher) and was drafted in the fourth round, but the fact that Nick Miller is an Ithaca born-and-bred player and a 2017 graduate of Ithaca High School makes his story a compelling one.

Donville is the second Big Red player to be the first draft pick in the last two years, as Jeff Teat heard his name called first last year. It comes as a surprise to no one that Teat has gone on to light up the board as a pro player (for the New York Riptide), and has in fact been mentioned in many MVP conversations.

I caught up with Nick Miller (who is the son of ICSD grad, teacher and coach Dan Miller and Susie McDaniel Miller) who was just drafted by the Buffalo Bandits of the NLL, and he said “I watched the first two rounds of the draft, and after that I followed it on an app. When my name came up, I was surprised and I was really happy that it was Buffalo.”

Had it not been for the pandemic, Nick would have wrapped up his college career in 2021, but he is using his final year of eligibilty while pursuing his MBA. After graduating, he said, “I’ll learn the next step, which will likely be to go to one of their training camps and fight for a spot.” As for a pro team drafting a college student with a year of eligibility, Nick explained that “Technically, it means that they have my naming rights for two years, and how it goes will depend on how I do in training camp.”

Miller said, “I have followed the college careers of some of the players on Buffalo’s roster, and it’s crazy that I’ll be able to compete with those guys.”

Asked if he will change anything about his approach to the game, Miller offered, “Frank Welch, (Nick’s high school coach) and Coach Dobbins (his college coach) have both taught that you have to be able to find the next gear.” Clarifying that any player can find that next gear early in a game, but only the best-conditioned athletes can sustain it, Nick added, “You have to be able to push yourself in the fourth quarter and overtime, and that’s what I’ll be working on.”

Nick stated that he is very grateful to many of the players who have — like

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In Search of Wisdom

By Charley Githler

With the relentless cascade of horrible news lately, I was desperate to find wisdom and perspective. A pilgrimage was in order. Located above another relentless cascade — Ithaca Falls — is Ezra’s Tunnel, and dwelling therein is a person who just might provide the wisdom and perspective I sought. Swami? Hermit? Guru? Homeless dude? The man defies easy categorization, but he had never failed to enlighten in the past. It was time to seek him out.

Access to the tunnel isn’t easy, and I won’t reveal its secrets here, and the rules of engagement are simple: I am allowed a single philosophical question, followed by a short dialogue. When he closes his eyes and folds his hands, we are done.

It was a hot, muggy day last week, and I entered the tunnel expecting it to be cool. It was not. Sitting cross-legged, with his back to the wall, the sage acknowledged me only by meeting my gaze. It was not an unkind look, and I sensed that he had been expecting me, but I knew no formalities were required and that we should get right down to business.

“Here is my question,” I said, sitting in the center of the tunnel floor. “In what sense could it be said that the world is not going to hell in a handbasket?”

“Look around you,” he gestured. “These rocks are 400 million years old. Where we now sit was once a vast sea. All things shall pass.”

“But the delta variant...COVID won’t go away, and half the country thinks vaccinations are a conspiracy or a hoax or some other nonsense.”

“Southerners, am I right?” he chuckled, but then remembered himself. “Until very recently, plagues were a constant in human existence. This is but a reversion to the norm. P.S., the plagues of old were much worse.”

“Look at Afghanistan. It’s a disaster! The Taliban’s back before we’re even out the door.”

“Indeed, the tribes in those mountains have been resisting occupiers since the Persian Empire. Ask the Soviets, or the British, or the Ottomans if it were not a fool’s errand to try to subdue them.”

“We’re not really askers,” I said. “Speaking of which, Donald Trump just won’t fade out. He’s even starting to look like the voice of reason compared to his base. These people are really freaking nuts.”

“Yes. I, too, am stumped by that one...” he said, stroking his beard.

“And it’s just a matter of time before some ransomware douchebag shuts the whole grid down, and why does nobody ever seem to talk about the fact that all the nuclear weapons of the Cold War are still armed and ready to go at a moment’s notice, and I dream of a day when we’ll have a governor who doesn’t resign in disgrace, and there’s this stupid milk crate challenge, and freaking Mitch McConnell, and...” I paused to catch my breath.

“Well...”

I wasn’t finished. “And can we talk about climate change? It’s even hot in this tunnel, and it’s just a matter of time before a flash flood washes you out of here. The odds of the human race getting its poop together to do anything about it are nil.”

A long moment passed. “You win, A-hole,” he murmured. “Thanks for bumming my high.” He closed his eyes and folded his hands.

I got up and left without a word, and made my way back to my car, resolved to pursue Plan B — a pilgrimage to Meyer Farm Distillery. Surely, wisdom and perspective could be found there.

Fall Creek, tunnel, Ithaca. Photography Collection, The New York Public Library.