Time out! Hey Ref! Time out!

In any sport…when a player becomes tired, if you aren’t Michael Jordon, Kobe Bryant or Donald Trump, the coaching staff instantly yanks your trunks from the game, replacing the prints tennis shoes make with what some call the sixth man or designated hitter.



In everyday life…you’re lucky to get two weeks a year to spin away from the action. By the time the body realizes it’s supposed to be resting it’s time to go back. Getting there requires demands which must be met or upper level decision makers trade your path for better ball handlers.



Even as parents, although in laws and neighbors seem available. Ultimately there’s no bench or backup team to take over during that mid-afternoon crisis when a single moment sends dedication, loyalty and compassion into a world of depleted nothingness.



The four walls that make up your career are completely governed by personal needs to figure out how to become a bigger, better player. The average person spends more time worrying about what they don’t have rather than concentrating on the strengths of what they’ve received.



Weekends are planned five hours after they’ve already happened. Monday and Tuesday's are blessed by negative vibrations carried over by the inner self you hide who wanted nothing more than to locate fifteen minutes of rest during the twenty four hour period but because there aren’t any designated hitters to rely on, such thought evolves into another reason why your dreams and wishes become weaker, eventually becoming nothing more than something you wanted to do back when you were younger.



I work harder today than I did at 21. The last thing I’ve ever been is someone’s wasted investment. The future has always been worth chasing. Every crack in the sidewalk is where the Mad Hatter lives forcing me to believe I’m consistently late for a very important date, then one morning I woke up and the crows feet spelled out, “You’re 48.”



Without designated hitters or sixth players available to help turn the simplest thoughts into reality…how does success squiggle its way through the veins of probability?



This is where my mother usually interrupts the conversation with dreaded Grim Reaper stories about Agnes down the street and Uncle Barney with his used to be fuzzy dog named Burp.



Our escapes from the game are through other people’s ways of sharing.



“Did you hear?”



“Can you believe?”



Living vicariously through them is our freedom from everyday pressures—Face Book, Twitter and constant cell phone conversations buy you a break but it doesn’t pull you from the game. Human drama reeks. It would be more relaxing to spend seven days at the city dump where you don’t have to think of something to say after every chunk of someone’s tossed out trash lands on your bare feet.



As incredibly giving as he is, former Charlotte Hornet Del Curry who picked up the NBA’s 6th Man of the Year Award during the 93/94 season probably won’t be knocking on your cubical wall today volunteering his efforts so you can take some time off.



If you need a break, it's time to take charge and it begins with gaining access to one of the seven human requirements of survival: the need to feel like you belong. Office cliques, neighborhood circles and family reunions are the breeding ground for the same old game but at a different park.



Now toss in those nagging worries about finances, making the kids, boss and spouse happy, the car needing new tires and a complete engine makeover, fundraisers that require new leadership, taking the trash out because someone put tuna fish juice in it, your favorite radio station playing back to back songs that have nothing to do with your like factor and the dog finally bringing up the tiny chunks of grass he’s been gnawing on for two days.



Don’t even think about looking under or behind the sofa!



Being a martial artist used to be my designated hitter—it was carefully designed to be my hiding place with tall walls of safety until everyday grew into a newer reason to be better than what I was yesterday and having to live up to those days when you couldn’t be anything more than a fresh from the cooker white belt.



Humbling is when you notice your first step in life is barely three quarters of an inch farther down the path from where you currently stand.



Not wanting to add more pressure but nobody’s got your back. Nobody knows when you’re ready to step out of the game. Jordon and Kobe had Coach Phil Jackson to rip them from the pages. Out they’d go for 25 or so seconds. That much solitude proved to be priceless.



What’s keeping you from your dreams becoming a reality? What if you stopped to rest? Maybe it’s time to send in a backup squad to do nothing more than maintain the origin of the plan then once you’ve returned you can bring the trophy home.



arroecollins@clearchannel.com

Worse than Tax Day!

Warning: Next Sunday you’re going to be cranky and not in the mood for people. It’s time to spring forward…which means the body is losing an hour of sleep.



No! We can barely get the malls and hardware stores to open at ten. McDonald’s doesn’t serve lunch until 10:30…steal an hour from the king of Mac Attacks and you might get a Whopper.



You’d think we’d be used to this…it happens every second Sunday during the month of March. Always the week after the Oscars…can you imagine how the stars would look and react if they lost an hour of sleep? The Avatar’s would look like Smurfs. There’s not enough Red Bull or Starbucks in the world to wake up Quentin Tarantino. Our luck Britney Spears would show up and accept the Best Actress Award for Sandra Bullock.



It’s all coming down next Sunday!



I knew we should’ve been stockpiling on the winks. Instead of lazily watching the Super Bowl and complaining about four rounds of snowflakes…every Honey Due list should’ve been replaced with sofa time…time to sleep, catnap and rob from the chilly air a two second dream.
Good sleep is priceless.



How do NBA stars like Kobe Bryant make the big switch? Maybe it’s not really him. Like the movie Moon…they’ve cloned the basketball great. You know Jimmie Johnson will probably win in NASCAR. The Dude’s always racing to get somewhere quickly…he’s been to the future and gotten used to losing an hour of sleep.



While NBC, CBS and ABC report on the affects of a slagging economy…Blackberries, Twitter and Face Book will carry the true untold story: I'm tired! I’m without energy! I’m a nothing in a world that wants everything. Something tells me Starbuck’s employees are running around their tiny coffee maker cubicles singing, “It’s Christmas time in the village!”



One week to get ready! 7 days to convince the mind to rest now or pay later! 168 hours until satellite clocks attached to walls that won’t bend move their big and little hands to places that are going to rock your world. What are you going to do?



The dogs will be happy…they get fed an hour earlier. Your boss will notice a spike in sales because compared to this week, you’re up and at it an hour quicker. And yet, the Southern accent remains the same…totally unchanged. Wow…that’s some powerful way to communicate.



How many more days until Fall? Can we please get an extra pillow to put over our heads to punch, kick and pull when the rest of our body is saying, “Nope…not gonna do it…give me another five, ten or twenty minutes.”



One week away from losing an hour of sleep…we are so busted because none of us saved enough rest for a rainy day.



arroecollins@clearchannel.com