Marshall Ramsey

July 1, 2020

I remember piling into the little room under the stadium at halftime. We’d be behind and felt like every eye on the home side was glaring at us. We sat down, tired, sweaty and dirty, waiting for for butt-chewing that was to come. Cokes would be handed out and we could hear the muted sounds of the band. (Side note, I enjoyed it when my son was in the band — I got to see halftime shows!) The coaches would then talk to us, chew us out if we needed it and then give us a pep talk. Then they’d make adjustments for the second half. Then we charged back out onto the field with a new sense of purpose.

We won a lot of those games which speaks highly of both the coaches and my teammates. There wasn’t a lot of quit in the Class of 1986 — something that has been proven over the past 34 years in our post-football lives.

Since then, I’ve been fascinated with one specific aspect of football — making halftime adjustments. Some coaches are brilliant at it. Some? Well not so much. But the point is, the game lasts four quarters and the team who adjusts and plays with heart can come back and win.

A couple things are required, though. You can’t live in the first half. Second, is that you have to have the conditioning to be able to have the strength to change and fight on.
Today is halftime. 2020 is halfway over and we are about to head out onto the field. I wrote about this yesterday and I will say it again — I feel like I’ve had my butt kicked. I know you probably feel the same way, too. What we are experiencing is hard. It is OK to say that. But we all have it in us to not only survive the challenges that are being thrown at us but soar. So take a moment today and reflect on this year so far. What has gone right and what has gone wrong? Take inventory of your health, your bank account and your job. Look around at your relationships and your support system. Write down on a piece of paper the primary threats you face and the opportunities that are out there for you.
It’s time to charge back out onto the field. 2020 is tough foe — one of the toughest we’ve experienced in years. But by the time the clock counts down to 2021, we will be victorious.

Count on it.

Judging by my Facebook feed, most of us are going through the five stages of grief because of this damn virus: Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I know I am. I have flirted with anger, felt depression’s hot breath but am now, for the most part, in acceptance.

Does that mean that I’m not afraid? I am sometimes — my sleep cycle has been out of whack and I am very tired. I was sick early on and was terrified. And anger? There are days when I have to walk away from my phone because I am so pissed at something stupid someone has done or posted. I am sad because of the over 50,000 deaths that have happened, the friends that I know who have been sick or lost jobs and know that it will be a while before we go back to where we were — if ever. I mourn for concerts, track meets, meals at a nice restaurant and standing up in front of 1,000 people and speaking. Thankfully I’ve avoided denial. I knew Dr. Drew was full of crap from the get go. But it is exhausting bouncing around from stage to stage and trying to accept watching the world unwind.

It’s hard to accept the unacceptable.

But acceptance is where I have to be. I know it. I must accept what is happening. But that doesn’t mean I like it — it’s just where I have to be to survive.

It’s a skill I learned in the newspaper business

As much as I hate the saying, “it is what it is, I find myself saying it a lot these days. I started saying it nearly every day while living through the collapse of the newspaper business. As it became very clear that my “dream job” was going away, I had to learn new skills. But I initially fought change and refused to do anything but draw a cartoon a day. I shudder to think where I’d be if I hadn’t learned new skills. Finally, I accepted that acceptance (I needed to change) was the only place where I could move on to whatever was next. I knew that I was time to experiment and try new things. I find myself in the same place today. What can I do at work that is better for the company? How can I use my skills to help them survive? What I can I do to make myself stronger? What new skills can I learn in the short term to make myself more valuable? I accept that these times require the best of me.

I want to look back on this year and say, “that was the year a virus made me step up and get better.”

I don’t know where you are in the five stages personally but I hope you can get to acceptance, too. Be strong and stay healthy. You are a survivor. And remember, this too shall pass.

Christmas and Easter were the big days in my childhood church-going experiences. Christmas was a Christmas-Eve communion — grape juice and homemade bread. I was a kid and was more interested in Santa than the baby Jesus but I went and tried not to grab too big of a piece of bread (my mother said I’d see Jesus if I did). Easter brought funny hats, a bowtie for me and an Easter basket full of sugar. I didn’t particularly believe in a giant rabbit — mainly because I was scared of ever meeting one. At least Harvey was invisible.

After looking through our baskets, we’d load up in the station wagon and head down to the Presbyterian church and listened to the hallelujahs and were grateful for the risen Christ. It was a beautiful service.

I have fond memories of my childhood church.

A few years ago after Amy and I moved to Jackson, we switched churches. It was then that Lent and Holy Week became more important parts of my life. (My mom asked me why I switched and I said I was predestined to — she just looked at me and didn’t say anything). One of the most moving services I’ve ever been part of was a Good Friday service where I carried the cross during the Stations of the Cross. As we (there were five of us — can’t imagine the pain of carrying it alone) put the cross into its holder, the sun set, darkening the giant stained glass above the alter.

Darkness had blanketed the world.

My next piece of art (that I do at night) is for a friend. He recently lost one of his dear friends to COVID-19. His friend was a minister and was a giant of a man — physically and spiritually. He healed individuals and communities alike. And thanks to the damn virus, he died alone in a hospital bed, gasping for air.

“My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?”

I didn’t know my friend’s friend — but him dying without the thousands who loved him by his side has haunted me. But as I will show in my drawing, Sunday is a reminder that there is good news. There is hope. That his pain has been overcome.

Easter became more meaningful to me once I understood Good Friday. And Good Friday — and all the pain in the world — became more bearable the more I understood about Easter. In this time of fear, I need this week more than ever.

I hope your faith, whatever it may be, can lift you up during these frightening times.

According to recent data, Mississippi currently has the highest COVID-19 hospitalization rate in the nation, at 31%. That’s 11% higher than what we originally told. That’s because of a combination of reasons: High co-morbidities (Obesity, diabetes, heart disease, immune issues, cancer all seem to be factors in how your body reacts to the disease.), public policy choices, poverty, access to health care, etc.

Models show that our hospitals will be flooded with patients in the next couple of weeks. And the best thing we can do is avoid being part of that flood.

The preferred plan of action is to avoid getting COVID-19 (the people who’ve had it say it is not fun — that a “mild” case will kick your butt). We are (well some of us) are social distancing, washing our hands, not touching our face, wearing masks and gloves and wiping down surfaces. Those are the arrows in our quivers. But since it is more contagious than the flu and cases are growing, that is getting harder and harder to do. We don’t have any immunity; chances are we’ll get it before a vaccine comes out sometime next year.

I want to be part of the 69% who don’t require hospitalization. And to do that, I need to build up my immune system to be the best it can be.

I will exercise, eat well (nutritious food — not the kind of eating well I am normally good at), reduce stress through meditation, lose weight (since obesity plays a role in outcomes). I will use my time in shelter in place to get stronger. The virus may kill me but not before a hell of a fight.

I’m committed to being one of the 69%. That’s one number we want to grow.