A Bronx Tale

My New Home: The Bronx



For the next four years I would call the Bronx my home. I fell in love with Fordham's campus the moment I walked through the gates. It is full of neatly manicured lawns and well-landscaped flowers, trees, and plush bushes. From the inside looking around, you would have no clue that you were surrounded by the world's largest metropolis. Two years earlier I was lucky enough to meet a friend, Steve Casey, that would also be attending FU. We decided to be roommates figuring we had gotten along well enough. In addition our personalities harmonized very well. It turned out to be a  great decision because we went onto live together for all four years. I knew exactly what I wanted out of my forthcoming experience; an opportunity to further develop my character. Away from home for the first time, I was finally able to truely become the independent author that I always desired to be.

If you haven't figured it out yet, I like to compartmentalize my life into three very distinct divisons; mind, body, and spirit. In my world as a university student, the mind was academics, the body was baseball, and my spirit was the party. I was told upon entering that it would be impossible to balance all three, but as a thick-skinned libra, I tried my best to utilize my trusty scale. For this reason, my story will be told trilaterally.

Academia

I feel it is very unfair to force an 18-year-old boy to decide what he wants to do when they grow up. If you asked me at the time, I would have told you that I still wanted to be a professional baseball player. I began my collegiate career by announcing my major as "liberal arts" but I barely even knew what that entailed. I knew that I had interest in the human mind so my natural inclination was toward psychology. However, in choosing psych, I would need to take a plethora of science courses of which I had zero interest nor ability. Luckily, I would be able to procrasticate my declaration for another few years. My first semester I was placed into an aweful set of classes. I was never a morning person, but my rigorous baseball schedule required me to take most of my classes in the am. This was my schedule:

• Middle Eastern history taught by a nice Turkish man with an impossibly difficult accent and a lisp.
• A relatively easy sociology course with a strong-willed, feminist black woman. 
• A course on historal religious texts taught by a mean, antique version of "The Flying Nun".
• An intermediate Spanish course with a former "Telemundo" actress that spent more time skipping class then the stoner across the hall.
• And my favorite, an introduction to philosophy class that was expertly run by a dude named Josh with bloodshot eyes and a tendency to walk up stairs half a step at a time.

I have nothing against the Jesuit philosophy of education, in fact, I love their architecture of a well-rounded education, but seriously? Needless to say, my first semester was more like a sitcom than reality. If I knew better, I would have dropped at least 3 of the 5, but I didn't, so I weathered the storm. Keep in mind that I was able to keep a 3.0 gpa while attempting to show my new coaches I had what it took to contribute to their ballclub. Somehow, through many office hours, study groups, and ass-kissing I was able to do it, but the prospects of business school became very intriguing.

At the end of my freshman year, I met with the dean of Fordham's school of suits(CBA) and informed him of my intent to transfer. He obliged and quickly made my move. The problem with this decision was that it was heavily influenced by my roommate and teammates. I never had any interest in becoming a businessman, in fact, I hated the idea, but it seemed like the easy way out at the time. Turns out, it absolutely wasn't. My gpa was under 3.0 for exactly 1 of the 4 years. I bet you can guess which one. I was a pretty good cheater so I was able to get through stats, and a good enough bullshitter to get through math, but accouting made me want to rip out my hair and donate it to Rogaine. I simply couldn't bring myself to pay attention because it literally gave me a stress headache. Later I would find out that there is something called "math anxiety", and if I wasn't the poster boy for it I don't know was. I made it through 1 year of CBA, enough to call business a minor, but it was time to stop procrastinating, I needed to declare a major.

At the time, I was living off-campus with Steve and two other fantastic young men, Smokin' Joe and Dufe. Steve was a suit, but both Joe and Craig were studying communications. They seemed very happy and gave me a persuasive recommendation, so I decided to choose that. Can you believe that was the way I chose my major? Paying almost $50,000 a year for tuition and room and board, I mindlessly chose what my roommates were doing. I told you, it is irresponsible to allow young men at that age to choose something that had such a huge bearing on their future. All joking aside though, I really enjoyed the courses that I took and the opportunities I was given. I focused on journalism and television production which gave me a chance to write for the sports section of the school newspaper and anchor the sports segment on the Fordham Nightly News. I knew that I didn't necessarily want to pursue a career in the media, but I liked to write, and I developed a skeptical eye toward popular culture. If not anything else at Fordham, I learned how to hate commerce and the media, not a bad lesson after all.

Athletica

I had a lot of work to do on the baseball field. The game had been such a huge part of my development that even at 18, I was still chasing my childhood dream. I definitely had a strenuous hill to climb as I needed to prove myself worthy of the same attention of the top recruits, but I was open to the challenege. I thought I was being brought in as a pitcher, but during my first practice I was moved to third base, a position that never felt comfortable to me. I was happy to learn though that my only competition for playing time was another incoming freshman named Jordan Lert. Jordan and I spent a lot of time together and we developed a very good friendship despite the fact we were competing for the same position. I did failry well my first fall, impressing my coaches with a strong arm, a fearless fielding style, and a scrappy bat that could translate to the bottom of the order. I literally worked my ass off in order to make sure the coaches didn't feel they made a mistake with me. I made it all the way through the fall season, well on my way to contributing to some solid playing time, but of course, no dreams are achieved that easily. In the last week of the season I experienced a feeling that can only be described as "dead arm". I put so much effort into my skill that I ignored the signs of a shoulder injury until one day, it died. I saw the trainer, he sent me to the doctor for an MRI, and I was shut down immediately. I was diagnosed with a partially torn rotator cuff, and I would be out of baseball activities for the next 3-4 months. This meant no hitting, throwing, or lifting weights. My hope for contributing that year were virtually over. The fall season ended, and the difficult task of rest before rehab would ensue.

The spring season began, but I was able to do nothing more than sit on the bench and chart the tendencies of opposing hitters. This actually turned out to be a pretty good job because many of my benchmates were really good guys. The camaraderie of a baseball club cannot be given justice through words, it can only be experienced first-hand. I had never had the experience because I was always on the field, but the friendships I made on that bench were some of the strongest I would develop at Fordham. Many of the guys were seniors, experienced all there was to experience, and more than happy to share their wisdom. I actually learned some of my most valuable lessons about college life cheering for my teammates, filling out charts. We did pretty well that season hovering around .500 and did well enough to make the Atlantic 10 Tournament. I was finally healthy enough to play. Because our skipper had gotten angry at the starters for underperforming down the stretch, I was actually given a couple of spot starts going into the tournament. I did the most with my playing time, getting a few timely hits while saving a few runs playing second base. I finished the season on a strong note, but it would start going downhill from there.

That summer I made the worst decision I could have made as a ballplayer. Given that I was out of shape from my lack of physical activity while rehabbing, I decided to forego playing summerball, choosing instead to focus on building my strength and conditioning. The idea made sense at the time because I ednded up putting on 15 pounds of muscle over the summer. I came back the following fall the strongest I had ever been, impressing everyone at our incumbent strength test, and getting excited looks from my coaches. Then baseball activities began, and for the life of me I couldn't get the timing of the game back. I struggled at the plate, strained muscles trying to run, and babied my arm to the point of near embarassment. The coaching staff was very helpful, giving me every chance to get my confidence back, but it was gone. I played more during my sophomore year but did less with my chances. I finished the season as a major disappointment to myself and my coaches.

That summer I made the easy decision of playing ball. I decided to join a league in Boston on a team called "The Town Club". I made the team at my natural position, shortstop, and battled the unpredicatble infields to a near all-star season. For most of the summer I even remained in the top-10 batters, helping my team to a playoff birth. I went back to Fordham that fall with my confidence back, feeling the best I had since the middle of my freshman fall. I performed well and got back in good graces with my coaching staff. I switched positions, but I was open to the change; anything to get back on the field and compete. I did very well that fall, becoming a clubhouse leader and someone that could come in and play any position on the field. I made the team again and started to prepare for the upcoming spring. That winter it all changed.

The night before our indoor practices started we went out together as a team. We partied at a local bar, consuming ample amounts of alcohol knowing that we had to get down to business for the next few months. What came next is a whole entire story in and of itself, but I will keep it short for now. I was involved in a fist-fight with a friend who lived at the baseball house. Nobody took us seriously because we had always gotten along in the past. That night however, he seemed to have something to prove. He ended up calling an ambulence and I went home unscathed. He had claimed that I sucker-pinched him but that's not how I remembered it. I tried to exercise restraint, but that proved to be difficult after getting slapped and spit on multiple times without acting. Finally I made my move and the fight didn't last very long. I went to practice the next day with a sick feeling in my stomach, the one when I knew I had done something wrong. In a fit of rage, my opponent called the police and security at Fordham. Eventhough the fight happened off-campus it got back to our coach. I arrived in the locker room and was immediately approached and told to go to security to give my side of the story. I remember what happened that night perfectly, but I wasn't the one with a fat lip and two black eyes. Unfortunately in this world, a man's word doesn't count as much as someone's reputation. My opponent was a well-connected, pre-law student that worked in the president's office. I was a baseball player, a newspaper writer and not much else. I was suspended indefinitely until the problem was resolved, and 6 weeks later I was finally found to be innocent. My opponent had taken responsibility for losing the fight, but the damage was already done. I feel out of graces once again with my coaches and they never again took me seriously as a baseball player. They allowed me back on the team, but it was obvious it was only because they felt bad. I decided to finish my life on the baseball field while we were on a trip to Miami. I remember telling my parents of my decision through tear-filled eyes over a late night meal at Dennys. It was time for me to move on from the sport I had dedicated my life to.

The Party

Like most freshman, my first home away from home was a dorm room. Mine was in the basement level of Alumni Court South. Many people have a difficult time transitioning to life in the dorms but mine was easy. I loved the idea of being surrounded by people my age, from all over the world, looking to cause the same kind of mischiev. Coming from a single-sex, strict Catholic high school I was curious to be a part of a social scene of both young men and women. I also had an advanced approach among my peers because I already new many upperclassmen that lived off-campus. This way I was able to introduce my fellow freshman to the lifestyle of our elders. I saw some unbelievable things living and partying in the Bronx. First off, the place was a virtual candyland for 18-year-old "men". Bodegas were at every corner stalked with cold beer, cheap sandwiches, and a no close policy open 24/7. The Bronx was also famous for it's pizzerias and dingy bars that were open all hours of the night. Unfortunately the Bronx has a reputation as a dangerous area, but really, I only came accross one dead body. We also had access to some of the most beautiful and lesser-known tourist attractions in NYC; The New York Botanical Garden, Bronx Zoo, and the real Little Italy (Arthur Ave). All of this was only a short walk from easy access to Manhattan. We even had a van service that ran every 30 minutes in and out of the theatrical Lincoln Center neighborhood. Our world was a playground, and I had 4 years to squeeze the most out of it.

I lived on campus, following the strict set of Jesuit rules for two years. In that time I was able to ring the victory bell signifying the first World Series win for the Red Sox in 86 years, explored the secret tunnel that stretched from Keating to Finlay, and witnessed the most controversial and entertaining indoor snowball fight in the history of the United States. I can't even begin to list the rest of the memories I made because they're either inappropriate or escape my memory. My last two years were spent living off-campus in a small, sloped apartment at 2488 Hughes Ave. I lived there at first with Steve, Joe and Dufe, but we gained a following of 6 other friends once our roach-infested neighbors moved out from below. We were known as the "Hockey House" because 5 out out of the 10 of us had spent time on the championship earning, club hockey team. We attended most games, threw intense victory parties, and earned a reputation for bringing down the house while dancing maniacally to "Shout". Life was good. I can only imagine what our landlord must have thought of us. Some of what we put him through:

• I woke him up at 7 am once after coming to life during an ice cold shower. In trying to turn it off I somehow pulled the faucet out of the wall (don't ask), and proceeded to flood the bathroom. My immediate reaction was to call 911, which I did, and was instructed to call my super. I followed the dispatcher's directions, and when he showed up I was running back and forth stark naked from the bathroom to kitchen with a bucket of water bailing out the tub.
• We threw two epic parties which were raided by the police; A New Years Eve party in September, and a Dukes of Hazard Party which ended with a semi-professional hockey team from Canada banging pots and pans until the sun came up.
• Our friend, Bubba, once stole my roommates mattress, brought it to the roof, and slept with the granddaughter of a very affluent New York business owner.
• The same friend, and the one whose mattress he stole, spent one Halloween breaking every glass item in the entire first floor apartment.

Those are just a few of the many stories from those two years. I look back and think that we were pretty irresponsible, but who the Hell cares. None of us got hurt, we all graduated on time, and we can all say that we made the most out of our experience. You don't have many chances in life to live like a rock star, and for those four years, we absolutely did.