Miles To Go.

Largest on water cleanup- Ever.

News spread pretty quickly that the Shell Oil LNG platform destined for Long Island Sound sunk back into oblivion last week, likely for good. In its proposed form, it would have towered above all other structures on either side of that great body of water and inspired the curses of generations to follow. It should have been a procedural layup, with the interests of the Sound split between two states, both struggling with budget and resource constraints, and zero organized advocacy to oppose the revenue generating and cost saving proposal.

Now the legend of how that didn’t happen continues to grow, just as quietly as it snuck up on everybody before the battle began.

Begin with Leah Schmalz, a delightful director of legal and legislative affairs for Save the Sound, a program of Connecticut Fund for the Environment who began the opposition eight years ago with meager resources and virtually zero platform to get the word out. She picked her punches wisely.

Then, out of no where, Kayak for a Cause jumped in, ostensibly because ”Save the Sound” had the brand that most directly fit the core values of the organization. But as KFAC learned more, both organizations realized the symbiosis of their existences. What followed was a virtual marching band of support for Leah and her work at STS. When STS needed to get the word out, KFAC designed an “on the water clean up” over 14 miles of sound. When STS needed a platform to gather more supporters, KFAC was there with a stage, a microphone,and a tremendous crowd ready to listen. When STS needed promotion during a crucial state senate vote, KFAC rallied its 10,000 donors to flood the capital with expressions of concern. And when STS needed financial resources to back up Leah, KFAC was there with five figure support, year after year.

Was is most amazing, perhaps, is that all of this was started with nothing, and done for love: One simple bet, and a few guys redirecting the proceeds to charity became an annual tradition along the Sound.

It’s now hard to fathom that KFAC has always been an entirely volunteer organization which somehow fields a crew of 500 committed souls every year to manage the logistics of a modern day Normandy with a beach party at the end. The leadership and organizational talents of this group are stunning. People like Shirleen Dubuque and Steve Showalter organize provisions, supplies and people with sublime, 11th hour hijinx. Kim Beaumont at DownUnder and Dave Haddox from Purdue have likely trained hundreds of kayakers to be safe enough to make the voyage. Tad Jones worked stage miracles for years, packing thousands of people into legendary beach parties that rallies the troops around the charities. Patrick Sikes was a master magician at logistics. Amy Rule and Kathy Foreman wrangle hundreds of volunteers to do undesirable work details at unmentionable hours. And Adam Uhrynowski and Brian Russell have this magic touch capturing the whole thing on film for us to replay over and again in the long winter months of  frozen water.

All of this energy was harnessed and directed to something good, for years on end. And then last week…

“In sending a letter to the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission requesting to vacate their certificates, Broadwater has signaled that their proposed floating gas plant is finally dead,” said Leah Schmalz. “Eight years ago, the citizens of Connecticut and New York recognized that this proposed project was not good for our environment or our livelihood,” Schmalz said. “It took years of fighting, partnering with federal and state officials on both sides of Long Island Sound, but now we can say that the health and safety of our Sound will not be compromised by the proposed industrial complex.” More here

Years ago, another KFAC treasure named Morley quoted Pete Seeger  in “Where Have All the Flowers Gone” from the stage, as she had witnessed KFAC grow from dozens to hundreds and then thousands.

I’ve been surprised by some good things happening in my lifetime. Sometimes quite suddenly.

Imagine a big see-saw, with a basketful of rocks sitting on one end. That end is down on the ground. At the other end, up in the air, is a basket half full of sand. Some of us are trying to fill it, using teaspoons. Most folks laugh at us. “Don’t you know the sand is leaking out even as you put it in?”

We say, that’s true, but we’re getting more people with teaspoons all the time. One of these days that basket of sand will be full up and you’ll see this whole see-saw just tip the opposite way. People will say, “Gee, how did it happen so suddenly?”

Us, and our little teaspoons.

Leah Schmalz is now working on controlling emissions and ecoli bloom from the Bridgeport harbor. Kayak for a Cause launches for its twelfth year on July 21th. And Long Island Sound is that much nicer because they do what they do.

TY New Sign: speech is over!

Continued from Moneyball and TY #1… Choate will soon honor Baseball legend Tom Yankus in an as-yet-undisclosed grand gesture. But lifetime winning averages on the diamond are one thing. Winning averages over a lifetime are quite another. As Rod Serling once said, there were signs along the way.

So thirty years on, what I have learned is that the signs he gave us, and the strategies we executed, were actually great lessons in life.

One note: in an act of stunning simplicity and ultimate cunning, TY ”changed the signs” every year- to the same signs! From from 1958 to 2010! No one on another team ever stole, in spite of their simplicity, because no one would have been stupid enough to use the same ones every year. And as TY adds “We made them simple to be certain that OUR guys got them right!”

Here are a few of my favorites:

1. Thumb to chest was a Delayed steal. A unique move where the baserunner waits until the long after a normal stealer would take off, and then takes off. No-one alerts anyone of the steal, and the result is everyone on the opposing team yells at each other. No sweeter song than listening to that while standing on second base. The lesson was to Stay alert, you may catch them napping.
2. Red hankee out on the clipboard was a suicide squeeze. I loved the finality of it. We needed a run, and we had a guy on third. Everyone had to execute and it was a walk in the park: anyone chickens out and its an out, a double play, out a bat in the head. The lesson, of course, have confidence in yourself.
3. Arms Behind Back was a hit and run. It was a great way to get things moving, and take a chance when the upside is there. A missed sign here meant a sure out, but execution meant you could score from first. The lesson was to measure the risk against the upside (or downside)… and run like hell.
4. Hand to the Shin was a bunt. It was a way to get things started, to build a little momentum and confidence and perhaps manufacture a run. It taught me that Rome wasn’t built in a day, and taking it bit by bit was not a bad way to get things started. Particularly with younger ballplayers, getting a little confidence under the belt was key.
5. And finally, hands on hips meant, invariably, “kid, you still have a lot to LEARN”!

Did I have any clue that, as I took my lead off first and peered toward the Choate bench for TY’s next move, he was actually giving me signs I would use the rest of my life. The way I thought ahead, maybe so. Which would explain why I was picked off first once or twice, daydreaming. But, by and large I put the signs to good use. Still do.

Next: TY the interview:What did he kids teach teach the coach? And finally, likely, some details on what’s coming down on the honors front.

TY: Serving BP meatballs since 1958

MoneyBall got some Oscar nods recently; “Hollywood newcomer Brad Pitt may have finally arrived” quipped George Clooney from his Golden Globe podium. Meanwhile, another great baseball story 50 years in the making is now becoming an overnight sensation:  Choate legend Tom Yankus is due for some honors we can only mention once Choate’s PR cranks up, or the end of this series of blog posts, whichever comes first.

But first, here’s just a little bit about the why:

First off, my personal experience. I am one of a thousand or so athletes coached around the bases by TY. And the one thing that sticks with me is the comment I heard from my College coach after my first day on the field there: ”one of the best coached players around”. I shrugged, as I knew I was pretty normal coming from where I did.  It had very little to do with me, and everything to do with the coaching. Imagine the impact of good fundamentals and leadership lessons when multiplied by a thousand.

But the legend began way before the coaching started. Most of these Legend of Yankus facts have been verified, or the statute of limitations on appeal have long since expired:

• He visited Choate’s Winter Ex to watch the Boston Braves’ spring training in 1943, borrowing a jersey for later use because he wanted “to feel the glow.”
• In his Fifth Form year he won the junior varsity baseball award for outstanding improvement.
• After graduating in 1952, TY attended Williams College where he played varsity baseball, for which he has since been named to the Williams College All-Time Baseball Team.  
• TY was at Yankee Stadium in the summer of 1956 trying our and searched around the changing room for a blue sweatshirt, having not brought anything of the sort. Seeing him looking around, Mickey Mantle said, “Here, kid,” and gave Yankus his own sweatshirt, with the number seven embroidered in it. That year, Mickey Mantle went on to win the Triple Crown and the World Series. Now word on the shirt’s whereabouts.
•  Yankus signed with the Yankees and began a minor league career with the Missoula, Montana Timberjacks of the Class C Pioneer League. He later wrote a book, Montana Summer, published in 2000, about his experience in the minors. Turns out, he was pretty good with a double clutch on the team bus. Slider, maybe not so much.
• He pitched for teams such as Harwich and New Orleans in the Cape Cod Baseball League and later managed the Orleans Cardinals for nine years. 
• TY had been around Wallingfrd for a long time and at Mem house, most 3rd formers thought the New York Yankees were NAMED AFTER YANKUS!
• During his coaching career outside of Choate, he helped several players join the major leagues, including Aaron Boone, Todd Helton, Nomar Garciaparra and Frank Thomas. At Choate, Yankus coached Chris Denorfia ’98, who currently plays left field for the San Diego Padres. He has also sent numerous Choate baseball players to Division I colleges, such as Princeton, Harvard, Yale, Dartmouth, Columbia, and Duke.
• After forty-five seasons as head coach of varsity baseball, Coach Yankus heads to the locker room with 503 wins, 288 losses, and 11 ties, giving him a .627 winning average.

But lifetime winning averages on the diamond are one thing. Winning averages over a lifetime are quite another. As Rod Serling once said, there were signs along the way. Next: TY’s favorite signs for baseball- and life!

Hopes. Dashed.

Ugh.

I grew up in the shadow of PSU, the veritable Emerald City for athletes like me. For my  generation it was hope incarnate; now it’s blown to bits.

Let’s face it, most of us in Western PA were headed for the coal mines or the steel mills, and distinguishing oneself on the gridiron was one way out, longshot but true. (See an early Tom Cruise in All the Right Moves for a taste of what I’m talking about). Every kid on my team knew that Beaver Country, PA produced an incredible number of NFL QB’s, (Namath, Unitas, Marino, Kelly, Hanratty, Blanda, Gannon top the list) and perhaps one of us would have the chance to join them.

I love the quote “Man never forgets where he ran as a boy”. No doubt, this is one reason why.

If we could just get a break we often thought to ourselves, and get noticed at one of the big programs… Hope can be so powerful, but so misleading at times. It was that hope that lured and betrayed young men at Happy Valley. And it was the almost deific influence of one man who allowed people to replace doing what’s right with doing what must be done. Penn State will never be the same, but that’s probably good in the long run.

Greg Matusky covers it perfectly in a larger piece in his Gregarious blog: (his words)

Penn State, like many colleges and universities, has become the ultimate bubble. Where football trumps education. Where binge drinking is celebrated and institutionalized. Where on any given fall Saturday, 100,000 people engage in a false culture of alcohol-fueled friends and good times. It’s where the 84-year-old head coach, who isn’t really coaching, has that fact covered up by assistants. Where students are encouraged to mortgage their futures by taking on mountains of debt. Where too many families part with their lives’ savings to fund educations that employers don’t want, while jobs in engineering and the sciences go begging.

It’s where tuition dollars fund climbing walls. Where free laundry service has more promotional value than a new physics lab. And it’s where  uality is set by a ranking in U.S. News & World Report. In this alternate reality, is it any wonder that a coach, an athletic director, a college president could overlook child abuse to protect one of their own? Two years ago, Chicago Public Radio’s “This American Life” ran a horrifying piece about Penn State and its love of alcohol and abhorrent behavior. When I told my Penn State friends about it, they denied all of it. When now-disgraced former Penn State President Graham Spanier came to power, it was as a reformer. But he soon caved to alumni and  hometown pressure to keep the wine flowing. The party going. In the “This American Life” segment, Spanier almost sounds proud that PSU was named the top party school in America.

Need further proof of just how far colleges have distorted our perceptions? Google “the best college in America.” You get thousands of hits by schools identifying themselves as the best. Google “the worst schools in America,” and you find few lists or reporting. Clearly marketers have swamped objective reporting and commenting when it comes to reviewing colleges and universities. In their world, they are all the best.

But long before Greg’s piece was Peter Thiel who has railed against the Higher Education Bubble for some time now, for reasons outside of sport. But if you tie together his arguments with Greg’s, it becomes more clear.

 …for Thiel, the bubble that has taken the place of housing is the higher education bubble. “A true bubble is when something is overvalued and intensely believed,” he says. “Education may be the only thing people still believe in the United States. To question education is really dangerous. It is the absolute taboo. It’s like telling the world there’s no Santa Claus.”

Like the housing bubble, the education bubble is about security and insurance against the future. Both whisper a seductive promise into the ears of worried Americans: Do this and you will be safe. The excesses of both were always excused by a core national belief that no matter what happens in the world, these were the best investments you could make. Housing prices would always go up, and you will always make more money if you are college educated.

Like any good bubble, this belief– while rooted in truth– gets pushed to unhealthy levels. Thiel talks about consumption masquerading as investment during the housing bubble, as people would take out speculative interest-only loans to get a bigger house with a pool and tell themselves they were being frugal and saving for retirement. Similarly, the idea that attending Harvard is all about learning? Yeah. No one pays a quarter of a million dollars just to read Chaucer. The implicit promise is that you work hard to get there, and then you are set for life.  It can lead to an unhealthy sense of entitlement. “It’s what you’ve been told all your life, and it’s how schools rationalize a quarter of a million dollars in debt,” Thiel says.

This bubble was fueled by sport and its spectacle. More specifically, football.

Joe Paterno was the golden goose (some estimate he raised $1,000,000,000 of revenue for PSU in his time there). He spent 60 years doing what was right. He brought dollars to campus, hope to aspiring athletes and their hope-fully promoted coaches, and unfortunately, through an assistant coach to whom he was too loyal, brought young boys into the care of moral monsters. That the whole PSU system was unable to summon the courage to do what must be done- instead of simply what was simply right- is a tragedy.

It may well change higher education forever. It saddens me that so much had to be abused, from young men to good names to hope itself- before real action is taken. I mourn the victims.

Søren Kierkegaard said: Life can only be understood looking backward, but it must be lived going forward.

Huana AKA Sugar loaf

I was in Deer Valley recently for a Pelion LP meeting and the topic turned to high- altitude climbing. Entrepreneurs that I work with know that I constantly use the experience as an analogly for building companies. (I have analogies for everything, some more crazy than others.  At least, that’s what I’m told).

The basic premise is that, as you get to higher  altitudes, your mind and body play tricks on you. Cognitive powers are altered. Moving carefully and deliberately is important, but so is having a guide to help you move quicker and avoid mis-steps. For a look into real-world mountain climbs, there’s a great book called Into Thin Air by Krakuer that covers it well. (and the rebuttal by Anatoly Bukareev is just as good). As for entrepreneurship, there are very few books about a company’s pending danger and death; most focus on reaching the top. I wrote a bit about that aspect in a prior post called Let ‘em Crash. I personally have been to what I define as” high altitude,” both in climbing and entrepreneurship. (Over 10,000 and over $100M+ in valuation, respectively.) Here’s a hairy story from one climb: entrepreneurs, see if you can pick out the analogie(s).

A trip to Peru brought me to the Machu Picchu lodge and my altitude adjustment was fully set, having begun the trip in Cusco at 11,000 feet. I had climbed Huana Picchu earlier that day, at dawn. I saw the most spectacular sunrise, as many Inca priests had before me (hint, these would be VC’s), and marveled at the symmetry of the Sun Gate and the other temples in the complex. I returned to the lodge for late breakfast. It was there we began talking about Cerro, the peak I had seen obscured by mist from Huana, with a giant flag fluttering at the top. I did some quick calculations and decided I could make it by sundown.

Cerro is the highest immediate peak above Macchu Pichu, but there’s nothing technical about it.  Like most of the Inca trail, .ost of the path is carved rock.  A little slippery at times, and occasionally requiring pull-ups, but mostly the climb is a mental one. I say this because the Urabumba River roars on three sides of the peak, and the drop is about 1,000m, sometimes straight.  After a few thousand feet, the mist socked me in. All there was in front of me were stones, laid by Incas many hundreds of years ago, and vines. And the sound of the river. It became my navigation.  As I heard it down and to my left, I knew I was on the west face; at it switched to my right, I knew I the path had traversed to the west. Half way up, I met two Japanese who were on descent. You alone?, they asked. Yup. Even that small exchange heartened me, not for the guidance, but for the fact someone else would know where I was on the mountain if things got bad. As it was, their estimate was a bit off.

 Ninety minutes later, I came through a skree field of snakestone (awesome green stuff that looks like malachite, but softer) and arrived at a gate of carved rock. It was the first clue I was entering a holy place. From there, I experienced my closest-to-divine moment. The path became flat, and the mist enveloped my feet, such that only my footfall revealed the path in front of me. I was on the spine of the peak, so the sun, or what was left of it, made the way brighter. I noticed orchids, which grow wild at that altitude. And hummingbirds which fluttered around like some  Natural History Museum display. Summit euphoria was taking over, as I heard the flag flapping in the wind in front of me. As I reached it I sat still for twenty minutes, precious time given the daylight. It was total peace. (Have you guessed? This is an exit!) 

When I turned to go, I notice the river roaring about me not on my left or right, but on three sides. With the dimming sun, the mist, the flowers and birds it was truly heaven. The euphoria lasts through the first fifteen minutes of descent, as I passed markings I had made in my mind during the ascent. I allowed myself to gain momentum, feeling free, and frankly as good as a teenager in springtime. Then I mis-stepped. In an instant, I was hurtling down one side of the face, when I instinctively grabbed on of the vines hanging from the face. It caught me, and I quickly recovered, with not a small amount of briars — and a pulse suddenly 2x. I kept rolling, and reached the main Inca village by dusk.

Llamas get around without Merrils

At dinner that night back in Macchu Pichu, one of our guides, Juan —- asked if I had walked or crawled on the spine of Cerro. I told him, and he was surprised. Most people crawl, he said. The spine is only 2m wide, and the drop to the river there is about 800m on the right side, and 1,200m (4,000 feet) on the left. Well, I walked the whole thing… maybe leaning a bit to the right to compensate for the difference…

But the most interesting thing about that climb was what it taught me about the entrepreneurial climb: the height of the ascent is an optional objective… but the return is mandatory!

» Monastario-Cusco
» Machu Pichu Lodge
 and ask for  Juan and Lourdes Sotomayor

Compo Beach Volley. The serve was in...

Beach volleyball taught me something very valuable in angel investing: how to guess.

I’ve been playing since the mid-90′s, when I discovered an open court in Aruba and fell in with an old Choate pal, Nick Webb, who ran Connecticut’s largest tourneys at Sherwood Island. For those not familiar, beach volleyball is a game of two-on-two, played on a regulation sand court. The balls are served and slammed at incredible velocity, and the reaction times are akin to those of a  baseball player at bat. There’s nowhere to hide, and only one partner to save you. Many volleys take a Herculean effort to keep alive; no wonder most beach volley players end up in pretty good shape.

One great example is defensing a good hitter. My partner would generally block, meaning he would be up in the air roughly covering one-fourth of the court, and unable to further adjust. This left the remaining 650 square feet of sand to me, an entirely indefensible area when the ball is coming at you at 120 mph. And even if you are in the right spot, you have to have your hands in the right place to even have a prayer of digging the ball.

Sounds hopeless, right?

But as the years roll by, one thing emerges that saves you : how to read the subtleties of the game and use them to Guess Well.

In beach volleyball, there are a ton of subtle hints that inform your guess while defensing a slam: how tired is this guy? What did he do to win the point last time? Does he look up (and see me) before he jumps? Does his partner scan the court and tip him off? Is he young and prone to swinging as hard as he can, or is he wily and likely to try some slop shot?  How high does he jump and at what angle can he hit the ball down? Was my partner able to block him earlier? Was his approach clean or not? How close to the net is the set? Would this slam be the game winner?

Answer these questions instantaneously and you can make a pretty informed guess as to which few square feet the ball is heading into and at what speed and arc. Arrive there in time to dig the smash and you look like a magic lightning-cat capable of tracking down anything on the court. Dig a few in a row this way, and you really have an advantage.

Likewise, there are a ton of reads in backing successful entrepreneurs- none of which I am going to give away today. Most of them are imperceptible to the untrained eye. But they are huge clues to making good guesses, and if you can read them well, you can cover a lot of court.

Editors note: The Compo Beach volleyball courts still among the best in Southern Connecticut.  Come by and see what real beach volleyball means- at least on the East Coast. (We know the gods live and play in Los Angeles and Rio).

Coordinates
» Compo Beach, Westport, CT

KFAC X features Maori island images... sorta.

I was sitting on my porch, listening to the water gurgle peacefully in the pool as it does when I don’t change the filter right proper. I tried to figure out how a fifty dollar bet could end up, years later, launching a small armada of kayaks and a charitable phenomenon. And that’s when I put two and two together.

Kayak for a Cause, the Foundation I founded with Scott Carlin, has been pretty well documented in the press- thank you very much Greg Matusky. But one story that hasn’t been written is this: things happen when they are ready to happen. While I prefer my destiny in my hands, crossing Long Island Sound in a kayak definitely puts that destiny somewhere else. How you deal with it makes all the difference I believe.

KFAC III and KFAC IV illustrate my point.

KFAC III was a death march on water. We put 8 boats in the water. It took most of us 6+ plus hours in withering heat. Some finished in 7+. Some did not finish. Most of us needed transfusions in Long Island. My arm was mummified from the elbow to the thumb, a condition that looks as idiotic as it sounds. (I pulled too hard with the right to compensate for an uneven paddle stroke). We retuned to Connecticut, mumbled a few goodbyes, and headed for home. And half of the paddlers did not- would not- do it again.

KFAC IV was different, you might say. We put 40 kayaks in the water. I personally knocked four hours off my time, and I was basically the middle of an amazing pack that ranged from 2:00 to 3:10 total time. We stuck together, we had a nice reception in Long Island, and we posed for pictures for the media. When we got back to Norwalk, we were treated to a lobster dinner on the beach and the luscious sounds of a diva named MORLEY and her band. We raised over $70,000, about 700% over the prior year. We thought that was a lot.

Since then we have put 1,5000 butts in kayaks and lead them across Long Island Sound. We’ve raised over $1,000,000 for charities tha support our community, environment and leasdership. We have an all volunteer organization of ~50 people to produce the event. And we have a blast doing it.

So, what gives?

Truthfully, it was just the tide, doing its thing both literally and figuratively. Before we hit the water, we caught some good swells. A committed volunteer organization* rallied around us and created our look, vetted charities, recruited paddlers, sourced kayaks and chase boats, arranged land transport, found entertainment, and managed donations. We let it happen, I’m proud to say, by answering most every challenge with simply this; let it take you. We were able to deal with near disasters like being short 15 kayaks at 05:00 and logistical challenges like returning 40 kayaks by land when they had arrived by sea. To match the swell of support on land, we let the currents take us at sea: we enjoyed 3 knots tides, both out of Norwalk and into Northport, with a 5mph tail wind to boot. It was fun.

Where will the tide of KFAC take us next? One thing’s for sure, we’ll stick to the spirit and fun of that $50 bet. And we’ll let the tides take us from there.

Sharks are cool. Really

I’ve gone nuts for oxygen! It was a gradual attraction, I’ll admit. We have been to so many wonderful places in the world, and I haven’t have the proper training to get underwater it seemed like a waste. When I was booked to the Galapagos last fall, I was determined no to miss that one.

A word about training: do it. I was trained by some of the best, Capt. Saam right here I Stamford, CT runs a sick three Saturdays NAUI class that had me off and running. Don Lapore kicked my butt all over the Weeki Watchi Springs (they filmed Sea Hunt there- it was like coming home to my western PA sit-com roots) and I was ready for the Galapagos, or so I thought.

For those that have not been, I can’t say enough about a Galapagos trip. Start with the fact that Darwin thought up Darwinism there. Adapt or die. Be strong or die. Be lucky or die. And eventually, if you are all those things, grow old and die. And you win!

I kicked off the back of the Scuba Iguana boat my first time at Cousins Rock. Bam!100 tuna in my face, swimming like they were late for work. Reason soon to follow: 50 hammerhead sharks right behind them. I felt like I was on the track at the Indy 500 of finned fish! We sank like stones (not quite, I don’t equalize well) and we at ~30M pretty quick. We come around a corner and? what’s this? guys from national geographic that my dive partner hadn’t seen in 6 months. So they strike up a conversation, at 30M under cousins rock, about their latest project with seahorses. And there are tow of them now! I was so overwhelmed I consumed 2,800 psi within a half hour, which is an embarrassing rookie performance. But I was a rookie, in the Galapagos, with the greatest collection of mammals, fish, currents, and friends one could imagine.

The trip just keep getting better after that. We night dived in Academy bay, hit Gordons Rock, Cousins again, Floreana, and then Gordons. All the while I felt I was in the most serious, capable hands of Richard and Pepo and the crew from Iguana. Diving is serious stuff, and the Galapagos is doubly so. If you are lucky enough to go, be prepared. And be prepared to have a blast.

If you go
» Scuba Iguana- just the best
» Galapagos Hotel- adjacent, and awesome
» Zarapata Caf?-La Panga- food, lave rocs, and Jack Johnson, best pool players in the pacific. Bring your wallet!