Rutgers got their man in Schiano, but is it enough?

The ongoing saga involving Greg Schiano and the obvious flirtation with bringing the once-deified coach of the Rutgers football program back to the banks of the ole’ Raritan for a second go-round can finally come to an end. The Prodigal Son is returning home, much to the delight of everyone involved, except for the athletic director and administration, who tried their hardest to keep him away.

It started last week when there were discussions between Schiano, his agent Jimmy Sexton, Rutgers athletic director Pat Hobbs and members of the school’s administration and the Board of Regents or Governors or Directors or Wooden Soldiers.

The discussions started with all the demands that Schiano wanted in order to return – better weight training facilities and better assistant coach salaries – and ended with the extensive eight-year, $32 million contract, a deal that apparently Schiano received. Of the $32 million, $25 million of it is guaranteed, exactly the amount that Schiano stole from the Tampa Bay Buccaneers, when he left Rutgers for Tampa in 2011.

The demands started with Schiano asking for $5 million a year with a minimum of five years in length and finally with Schiano giving his former employers a bargain with the $4 million annual price tag. Either way, Schiano has immediately become the highest paid employee in the state of New Jersey by more than $2 million.

When Schiano abruptly pulled his name out of consideration last Sunday, it caused more of a furor than when Family Guy killed off Brian Griffin.

There were so many people who were up in arms about Schiano initially saying ‘No’ to Hobbs.

There were avid backers, big-time investors, in the Rutgers program that were stating their intentions to pull out of all donations and gifts to Rutgers because of turning their collective backs on Schiano. There was a report that one booster, who donated millions in the past, was poised to redo his will – a deal that was set to give an estimated $50 million to Rutgers upon his passing. He sent notice to Rutgers officials that he was not going to give a single dime in perpetuity because they didn’t hire Schiano. Imagine that.

There were all the Rutgers football alumni who were totally devastated by the news that Schiano was not going to come back. Some, like Eric LeGrand, Ryan Hart and the McCourty twins, Jason and Devin, were livid over the way Hobbs handled the Schiano situation. They couldn’t believe that a deal couldn’t be met to bring New Jersey’s native son back to Piscataway.

Through all the furor and anger, the Schiano side left the window open. Schiano didn’t speak for himself, nor did Sexton speak publicly, but word got out that Schiano wasn’t totally shutting the door on Rutgers, that there was a chance for a happy return.

But the predominant thought was that both sides couldn’t go through the entire Thanksgiving weekend without some sort of finality.

Late Saturday night, word trickled out that a deal was reached in principle. All that was left was dotting the “I” in Schiano – how fitting is that, considering Schiano’s personality.

First things first. It’s safe to say that Schiano is a significant upgrade over what was there – both the predecessor Chris Ash and any other candidates who were somewhat under consideration.

I might have been willing to give interim coach Nunzio Campanile a shot at being the head man – and at a significantly lower price tag – provided Nunzio was able to secure his two coaching brothers, Anthony (currently an assistant coach at Michigan) and Vito (currently the head coach at Bergen Catholic) into the fold and have them run the ship together.

One thing is for sure about a Campanile regime. Every single top New Jersey recruit would have been under intense consideration and scrutiny. The Garden State high school grid star would have received white glove treatment from the Campanile family.

That wasn’t the case under Ash, who came to Piscataway from Ohio State four years ago for his press conference and instead of heading to MetLife Stadium to meet and greet with the top coaches in the state playing for NJSIAA state championships that day, Ash flew back to Columbus to coach the Buckeyes’ offense. Sorry, that wasn’t exactly the way to make friends and influence coaches. It was a bad beginning to an even worse ending.

And sure, things will definitely improve in terms of recruiting with Schiano in charge. Schiano had an excellent rapport with the New Jersey high school football coaching brethren. He made sure that he was known by all the coaches in the state and made himself readily available to the coaches. He will ask the coaches with Division I talent to make sure that their players at least take one of their official visits at Rutgers – a request that more than likely the coaches will oblige to.

And it was Schiano who pushed for the upgrade of SHI Stadium, which was called High Point Solutions Stadium after a deal he brokered, after he was able to add an additional 11,000 seats to the place, which not only put more fannies in the seats in the now-52,000 seat facility, but also put more money in Schiano’s pocket.

But is Schiano a lifesaver, a miracle worker, the guy who will totally save the Scarlet Knights?

Let’s not get totally carried away here. In his coaching career at Rutgers, Schiano had a lifetime mark in 11 seasons of 68-67. That’s one game over .500 for his career – and that’s coaching in the now-defunct Big East Football League.

Sure, the first three seasons should be considered as washouts, because it took a while to get things going, and yes, Rutgers went to postseason bowl games almost every year over the last seven years of his stay, but the overall picture still shows one game over .500 for the entire career. Is that worth changing an entire state’s pay scale?

And here’s one other item: The man simply cannot be trusted. He’s a liar, a flat-out, look-you-dead-in-the-face and tell you what you think you want to hear liar. He’s a used car salesman with a whistle and clipboard. Schiano can sell you a 1976 AMC Pacer for $25K, simply because it was the car that Buddy Holly was driving when the rock and roll legend had that fateful car crash. You get the drift.

The man lied to me on several occasions during his first stint. I vowed I would never allow it to happen ever again. He choreographed some absolutely distasteful antics when trying to recruit kids, especially one where he got down on his knees and pulled fake tears from inside his head and pulled them out to try to sway the recruit and his mother. It was such incredible theatrics that even Meryl Streep wouldn’t have been able to muster.

So at this point of their obviously floundering program, does Rutgers need someone who can’t be trusted getting all that cash?

And one last thing: It’s practically a moot point. Because Vince Lombardi or even Bill Belichick couldn’t not coach the Scarlet Knights to victory in the Big 10. The program is always going to be a bottom feeder, as long as the school keeps its strict academic policies. You can’t build a football powerhouse with kids who need to get 1000 on their SATs and a 3.0 GPA in the classroom. It doesn’t happen.

Even when Schiano won the first time on the banks of the ole’ Raritan, he did so by allowing special admits to grace his football program. He went to Florida armed with a whole mess of scholarships to give to kids, good football players who were probably headed to a junior college before Rutgers gobbled them up.

Those days just don’t happen in the Big 10. The conference doesn’t allow it.

So if you’re an aspiring top-flight high school football player, where are you going to go to college? Ohio State? Penn State? Or Rutgers? It’s not even a debate.

Plain and simple, to make the football program a viable and competitive entity again, like it was under Schiano the first time, the school will have to lessen the academic stranglehold on its athletes and enable special admits and academic probationary student-athletes to play. Will that happen? Remains to be seen.

Greg Schiano isn’t exactly the miracle worker he has been made out to be this past week. He’s a head football coach with a career record of one game over .500 and now has $50 million of both the Tampa Bay Bucs and the state taxpayers of New Jersey in his back pocket.

And he’s packed up and left before. Who’s to say Schiano doesn’t run to Michigan or UCLA when those jobs open up? He’s got eight years worth and 32 million reasons to stay home. Question remains: Is that enough?

You can read more of my work at www.hudsonreporter.com and www.theobserver.com, follow me on Twitter @ogsmar and listen to the Hudson County Sports podcast on YouTube, with this week’s special guest, former MLB pitcher Mark Lukasiewicz, the Secaucus native.

Remembering 9/11 with my friend Donald Jodice's incredible tale

Here's the article I wrote about my good friend Donald Jodice's incredible journey out of the WTC. We both shared the story with the incredible students at Weehawken High School this morning. It was solemn, yet invigorating with the students hanging on every word and asking such great questions to both of us. And there is one important message that comes from it all on the 18th anniversary of the worst day of our great nation's history -- NEVER FORGET!

SEPTEMBER 21, 2001 BY HUDSON REPORTER

Escape from the 88th floor – on an artificial leg Port Authority worker tells of harrowing seven-hour journey home to Hudson

When the first plane slammed into the World Trade Center’s north tower two weeks ago, Port Authority employee Donald Jodice was on the 88th floor talking on the phone about Weehawken Recreation football. What followed was a seven-hour journey home that involved near-escapes, terror, and help from heroes.

"I’ll always have that vivid picture in my mind," said Jodice, who will not be able to look at the space where the towers stood for some time. "People are saying that so many people died. They didn’t die. They weren’t killed. People die of illnesses and are killed in car crashes. These people were murdered."

Jodice, a Weehawken resident who has worked for the Port Authority’s real estate department for six years, recounted his escape last week.

"I usually get to work around 7:30," Jodice recalled. "So I was at my desk, on the 88th floor and I was talking to my friend, Joe Light, about Weehawken Recreation football." Jodice has been involved in township recreation programs for some time. "All of a sudden," he said, "I felt this tremendous tremor. You couldn’t even imagine how strong of an impact and explosion. It rocked the building. The whole building was bouncing, shaking."

The next few minutes, perhaps a half hour at most, became crucial.

"I was in shock," Jodice said. "I heard people screaming and yelling. Our office was only half full at the time, but we all knew it was some sort of an explosion. My instincts told me that the explosion was above us and that perhaps we should try to get out, but the corridors were full of flames."

Jodice added, "Because I knew the Trade Center pretty well, I knew that most of the materials, the furniture, the carpets, were not flammable. They all had to meet fire-resistance standards. So I knew that everything wasn’t going to burn. But I could smell the strong smell of fuel."

Jodice then heard someone yelling in the office.

"They were saying that the stairwells weren’t clear," Jodice said. "They said that the stairwells were gone. So about 30 or 40 of us found a corner office and huddled together in that corner office. We put papers and rags under the door to keep the smoke out as best as possible. We didn’t panic. We just calmly stayed in that office for about 10 minutes."

Someone managed to open one of the doors just a hair, because he thought he heard something.

"It was one of our secretaries, burned head to toe," Jodice said. "She was burned so bad that I didn’t know who she was. I worked with her for six years and I couldn’t recognize her. She was in shock. Her hands were so badly burned that they looked like Playtex gloves."

Jodice and two other men pulled the woman into the office and the group remained huddled in the office for about 10 minutes, thinking they were safe and secure, when someone came into the office.

"He told us that he found a stairwell open, but that we had to move fast," Jodice said. "I knew he was a co-worker, but I didn’t know his name. He had more than courage to even venture out to look. We all filed out orderly and headed for the stairwell."

On each landing

The woman who was badly burned got up and walked out, without assistance.

"I don’t know how she did it, but she did it," said Jodice.

However, the man who found the stairwell for the others didn’t make it out of the building safely.

Heading for the stairwells was also a chore for Jodice, who lost his leg to cancer when he was 16 years old and wears an artificial limb.

"Honestly, for me, it’s easier to go down stairs than most," Jodice said. "More or less, I use my arms."

Before getting to the stairwell, the group walked through the corridor, avoiding burning debris. They had to avoid an open elevator shaft.

"We all made it safely to the stairwell," Jodice said. "And we proceeded to climb down the stairs."

Jodice said that the group was heading down the stairwell when the second plane hit Tower Two.

"I might have felt a little bit of a rumble, but I honestly don’t remember," Jodice said. "I think we were all focused on getting out."

When the group got to the 78th floor, they reached an area where there was a sky lobby, so the stairwell stopped. They had to shift to another stairwell on the other side of the floor.

"As we walked across the 78th floor sky lobby, the area was filled with smoke," Jodice said. "I noticed that one of our friends, Tony, was stuck in the elevator. I ran over to the elevator to try to pry open the door. Two or three other guys also tried. We saw him in the elevator and tried to get the door open, but without tools or anything, we couldn’t get it open. I never tried harder to do anything in my life, but we couldn’t get it. Some of the PA personnel were yelling that we had to go.

"Tony said, ‘The firemen are coming up here, they’ll handle it,’" Jodice said. "I didn’t want to leave him, but he insisted that we should get out. He was screaming at us, ‘Go, go, get out, please.’ Reluctantly, we left him there."

Jodice’s voice tailed off and began to break.

"Tony’s still among the missing," he said.

Logjam on the 40th floor

Jodice said that the group found the other stairwell and made their way down.

"The pace started to pick up a little, but the sprinkler system went off and everything was flooding," Jodice said. "It was like a waterfall coming down. There was plenty of light, so you could see where you were going. And it seemed like the lower we got, the less smoky it was."

Jodice said that they hit the 40th floor when the pace came to a complete stop.

"We hit a logjam of people," Jodice said. "The firemen were coming up the stairs, carrying their hoses and equipment. There had to be 100 firemen who went past us. They were babies. Some of them looked like they were barely out of high school."

Jodice paused again, his voice cracking with emotion.

"You could see they were exhausted coming up the stairs," Jodice said. "They lugged the equipment up 40 floors, but they were great, assuring us that they were going to take care of everything and we were going to get out. They administered oxygen to the elderly. Eventually, we kept moving and we got out."

The journey down took approximately 40 minutes.

When Jodice was outside, "I saw a bunch of pennies on the ground," he said. "And one of them was on heads. So I picked it up and put it in my pocket. You know, for good luck."

In the ensuing minutes, Jodice would need that luck.

"Within the first 30 seconds or so, our group got separated," Jodice said. "But I was walking outside. I was exhausted, but I was relieved. I made it out. I started walking and one minute later, people started screaming and yelling, ‘Run, run.’ I looked up and saw the tower was falling. I didn’t know if it was going to topple over the other way or what, but it looked like it was going to fall on top of us."

The tower was imploding.

"It created such a massive plume of debris, dirt and dust," Jodice said. "I looked over my shoulder and the plume looked like it was traveling 100 miles an hour. I knew it was going to catch up to us. I tried to run out of the way, but it caught me. I felt the debris hitting me on the back and head. It was like a million pebbles hitting you. Right there and then, I thought I was going to die. I was all alone."

Added Jodice, "I couldn’t see anything. It was pitch black. It was darker than midnight. I couldn’t breathe. There was soot all over my face. I couldn’t see, but I kept walking. I kept bumping into things, walls, cars. I knew I was walking east [along Vesey Street, next to the Trinity Church cemetery]. I was feeling my way up the block."

At that point, Jodice had only one thought in mind.

"I just wanted to see my kids," Jodice cried. "The whole time, that was all I thought about. If I could see them again, just for one minute. That’s all I wanted. I knew that they were watching this unfold and were worried about me."

Jodice has three children with his wife, Rosemarie – daughter Rianne (16), son Chris (15) and daughter, Sheana (10).

Jodice said that the conditions were so bad that he almost gave up.

"I stopped walking for a second," Jodice said. "I thought that was it. I was going to die. I was ready to quit. I couldn’t breathe. I figured I had maybe 30 seconds left before I dropped and I was going to fight like hell for those 30 seconds. I put my head down and walked, feeling the walls, looking for a door. The first door I knocked on, no one answered. I knocked on the second door and someone opened it and pulled me inside."

It was a clothing store on Vesey Street. Jodice stumbled through the door.

"The people inside were brushing me off and telling me to cough it up," Jodice said. "I was then able to breathe. They were very helpful. I was in there for about 10 minutes when someone else banged on the door and they let him in."

It seemed as if Jodice had a safe haven, but without electricity or a phone, the clothing store wasn’t useful to him.

"All I wanted to do was call home and tell Rosie than I was okay," Jodice said. "I peeked out the window and it looked fine. I had new life. I was ready to move on and find a phone. I already thought I died twice. I had to keep moving."

Jodice said that he continued to move east, toward Broadway. However, more obstacles ensued.

"The other tower was falling," Jodice said. "I took maybe 20 steps and here comes the other tower and another plume. I had no strength left, but I figured I could make it to the corner [of Broadway and Vesey]. If I could make it to the corner, then I could hide behind a building. I made it to the corner and made a sharp right. And the plume flew past me. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t know how long the plume was going to rumble and I figured I was out of lives."

The plume of debris stopped and Jodice began to walk north, but not completely knowing where.

"It was complete madness," Jodice said. "You couldn’t imagine what it was like. Everyone was running everywhere. I had one thing in mind, that if I could get to the Lincoln Tunnel somehow, that right outside the Lincoln Tunnel is little old Weehawken. I didn’t care how I got there, but I had to get there."

Dazed, confused and totally stunned, walking on one good leg, Donald Jodice maneuvered his way north, trying desperately to get home.

"I kept on picturing my wife and kids," Jodice said. "I was so worried for them, because they had to be watching this, knowing that their daddy works on the 88th floor and that he’s probably gone."

Jodice stopped and let out a sigh. Recalling the incident and his focus at that point was getting to him a little.

"I never turned back to look," Jodice said. "I didn’t want to. By that point, I had heard that two planes had hit the Twin Towers. And I heard the jet fighters flying overhead and I didn’t know if they were theirs or ours. It was like a dream, like out of the movies. I was hoping that I would wake up from it. But I was very determined to get home. The further north I got, the more determined I became."

Added Jodice, "Then, reality was setting in. I was starting to get mad, very angry, very upset. How could this have happened? I had to see my family."

Jodice said that he was asking people to use their cell phone, so he could call his wife. Because he was the first person to wander that far north, people looked at him very peculiarly.

"They asked me, ‘Where did you come from?’" Jodice said. "I looked like a homeless guy who walked out of a flour factory. I was white, head to toe. I realized I was at 8th Street and 6th Avenue. I don’t know how I got there. I saw a woman speaking on a cell phone and I was in tears, frustrated, tired, mad. I said, ‘Please can I call my family?’ She wanted to know how I got there. I told her that I walked."

Within seconds, Jodice said, the woman called a bunch of people over to help him.

"They all couldn’t believe that I made it out," Jodice said. "No one had come that far north, so they had no idea."

The woman dialed the phone for Jodice and it was ringing. The woman handed Jodice the phone.

"Of course, you know what I got, right? Rosie was on the phone," Jodice laughed.

The message at the Jodice household says that if someone is on the phone, to leave a message and they will return the call.

"Someone’s always on the phone," Jodice chuckled. It was refreshing to hear him laugh.

"I said, ‘Rosie, it’s me, I’m okay. Don’t worry about me. I got out of the building and I’ll be home as soon as I could."

Drove him toward the tunnel

The woman then grabbed her boss’ van and told Jodice that she would drive him to wherever he wanted to go. She drove him to the Lincoln Tunnel.

"Of course, it was closed," Jodice said. "I thanked the woman and told her that I would get home from there. I heard someone say that the ferry was running, so I started walking toward the water. But some police officers saw me and stopped me. They sat me down and told me that they could provide medical attention."

Added Jodice, "I explained to them that I was fine and I just wanted to get home. I told them that my wife might still be worrying, that she might not have received the message. I asked them to call Weehawken police headquarters, because my brother is a Weehawken cop and my father is a retired captain. The police officers were great, tremendous. They washed the white stuff off me and made me blow my nose about 100 times. When we got to the ferry, there were 50,000 people on line, but the cops moved me to the front of the line."

Soon after, Jodice was standing on the NY Waterway ferry, heading back to his hometown.

"Once I was on the ferry, I kept looking ahead at Weehawken," Jodice said. "I started to think back to what I went through and realized that I shouldn’t be on that boat."

Jodice’s voice cracked a final time.

"So many of my friends died over there," Jodice said. "I should have died as well."

Jodice said that all the people on the ferry just looked at him in amazement.

"There were 500, 600 people staring at me," Jodice said. "I was a mess. But I could never look back. I was only looking up at the Boulevard [East]."

Jodice climbed off the ferry and was recognized by his next door neighbor.

"She looked at me and said, ‘Donald, you made it,’" Jodice said. "She was crying."

Jodice found three Weehawken police officers who gave him a ride back to his home. By that time, the Jodice family knew that Donald was on his way. It was 4 p.m., easily the longest and most difficult commute home Jodice ever experienced.

"When we pulled up in front of the house, my son came running to me," Jodice said. "And it was the best thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life."

Young Chris ran to his father and picked him up off the ground, giving him the hug of a lifetime.

"My boy is getting a bit too big, when he can pick up the old man off the ground like that," Jodice laughed. "Rosie was there and my daughters were there. Everyone was waiting for me."

Calls from colleagues

Since 4 p.m. Tuesday, when Jodice made his way up the walkway to his family, he has tried his best to put the incident behind him. Many friends and colleagues have called, offering good wishes.

"They all thought I was dead," Jodice said.

Donald Jodice was asked if he felt lucky that he was able to endure so much in the face of tragedy.

"I feel more guilt than I feel luck," Jodice said. "How was I able to make it and others weren’t? Every time I look at my wife and my kids, I have a different outlook. I am fortunate and they’re fortunate."

Jodice said that he doesn’t know where he goes from here. Of course, the Port Authority, which has lost approximately 250 workers due to the tragedy, will try to move on. The PA already was making for provisions for its survivors to return to work sometime last week, either in Elizabeth or Jersey City.

"They’ll set up offices somewhere in Jersey and I’ll be there, if there ever will be a sense of normalcy again," Jodice said. "I know I have a great appreciation for the firemen who are over there. There hasn’t been a word invented to best describe their courage."

Added Jodice, "Will I forget it? I don’t think so. I will always have certain pictures in my mind and I’ll never lose that. So many people I knew were murdered. That I’ll never forget."

My friend Kimberly Borris' novel, a 'Natural' winner

I became friends with Kimberly Borris more than 15 years ago when we discovered we both had something in common – a passion for writing.

I was a little more fortunate than Kim. I already had a job as a sportswriter for several different newspapers. Kim was struggling with her life, a grandmother that needed constant care, parents that weren’t totally supportive and finally she was blessed with the prize of her life, her daughter Faith about 10 years ago.

But it can’t be easy being a struggling writer with a demanding child that needed Kim’s attention all the time. There just wasn’t enough time in the day to hone her craft. She had to make sure Faith had enough food on the table and clothes on her back. Kim also had to worry sometimes about where she was going to live, where she was going to work. Life was a constant struggle, never mind her passion for writing.

And there were times that Kim was about to give up on her dream of being a writer. She had enough. Life wasn’t fair to her and she just couldn’t concentrate on sitting down and putting her thoughts to print.

Last year, Kim found that incredible talent again and started working on a trilogy of books. This is her first novel, entitled Natural Causes, a work that cannot be described as anything but brilliant. She self-published the novel and I’m so proud of her that she found, not only the means to write it, but the opportunity to see it come to fruition in print.

Here’s the plot to the book, which is found on Amazon Books

Seventeen year old Alison Stockley has moved her whole life, back and forth. Now, in a new town with her beloved family, she has to start over again with a new school, new friends, and an OLD problem that seems to follow her everywhere. She always has to keep it hidden from everyone else and now it's no exception. A new best friend, new high school issues, a group of bullies and new crush will test her strength. How much strength does she have to keep going? She's always been brave and fearless, she's HAD to be.

Kim’s book is a mere pittance in today’s world of publishing. You can purchase it online for $12.99. Trust me, it’s well worth the investment. You won’t be disappointed in my friend’s first foray into being a novelist, one I hope and pray won’t be here last novel. Way to go, Kim! I hope it becomes a best seller somehow, some way.

Here’s another way to find Kim’s book:

https://www.amazon.com/s?i=stripbooks&rh=p_27%3AKimberly+Borris&s=relevancerank&text=Kimberly+Borris&ref=dp_byline_sr_book_1

Please purchase it and read. You will not be disappointed.

On the FASST Track in Lyndhurst

NOTE: This is a feature I wrote that unfortunately won't see print. But since it was my idea to do the story in the first place and it's already been written, I thought the best way to share it would be here on the blog, which is mine, all mine. So here goes. It's a fascinating feature about two hard-working young men who wanted to be involved in sports.

The association between Ryan Marshall (left)and Paul Johnsen (right) began more than 25 years ago, when the friends were teammates in Lyndhurst Little League together.

“We were on Cricket Converters,” Marshall said.

“Cricket Converters,” Johnsen said a few hours later. “I was a catcher, pitcher and third baseman. Ryan played shortstop. We became good friends.”

When it came time to go to high school, the buddies went their separate ways – Marshall to now-defunct Queen of Peace, Johnsen to St. Mary’s of Rutherford.

Marshall’s football career ended with a serious knee injury in high school. Johnsen, the younger brother of former pro boxer Wayne Johnsen (known nationally for his participation in the NBC-TV network series called The Contender with Sylvester Stallone and Sugar Ray Leonard in 2005), went on to play at the University of New Haven and later with the Arena football team called the New York/New Jersey Xtreme.

But Marshall and Johnsen remained close friends.

“We would cross paths every so often,” Johnsen said. “We were always friends.”

They both decided to become athletic trainers and strength and conditioning instructors becoming certified around the same time.

“I was getting older and I had to figure out a way that I could make a living in sports,” Johnsen said.

“Physical training was in my blood,” Marshall said. “I think it was something that I just had to do.”

They both secured positions with the famed training facility Sports U, located in Fairfield, for about four years, when they decided to do something on their own.

“We have similar personalities,” Johnsen said. “We looked into going into business together.”

In 2010, the birth of FASST – an acronym which stands for Functional Athletic Strength and Speed Training – took place, even though it had very humble beginnings.

“We worked with the St. Mary’s football team at different locations,” Marshall said. “We trained them on our own.”

But it was vital for the new business to have a central location. Marshall and Johnsen scoured the area for a locale. They wanted to stay close to home, because of their association with local athletes.

“A lot of it came by word of mouth,” Johnsen said. “Ryan is excellent on the social media side. I knew I couldn’t do something like this by myself.”

“I think I put a lot of faith in Paul,” Marshall said. “We slowly became well known and earned a reputation.”

Marshall and Johnsen worked on enhancing an athlete’s skills and cut down on the occurrence of sports-related injuries. They concentrated on increasing overall strength and speed, the proper way for athletic stretching, flexibility, endurance and cardiovascular health in order to develop a better overall athlete.

According to the FASST website, the goal is to “challenge our athletes in the aspects of leadership, work ethic, winning attitude, attendance and the ability to follow instructions.” The website continues by stating, “Through these principals, we will help develop discipline and develop the motivated leaders of the future.”

Marshall and Johnsen had the right plan. Now, all they needed was a prominent location.

They found a former garage on Park Avenue that was converted into a baseball batting center, but that didn’t succeed.

“It was right in Lyndhurst,” Marshall said. “It was a perfect location for us.”

“We just had to get the word out there,” Johnsen said. “The relationships we have developed are the key.”

The friends went to the area’s coaches and showed the coaches the facility and their plans. Slowly, but surely, the business grew. And so did the clientele.

Lyndhurst head wrestling coach Scot Weaver brought his teams (Queen of Peace, then Lyndhurst) to FASST.

“Coach Weaver was great to us,” Marshall said.

So did Lyndhurst girls’ soccer coach Kim Hykey and head football coach Rich Tuero.

Some of the Kearny wrestling team went to FASST for training. Stefanee Pace Kivlehan brings her Kearny girls’ soccer team to FASST on a regular basis. 

Marshall was already the strength and conditioning coach for the women's soccer team at Rutgers-Newark, so the R-N women’s soccer coach Ariana Ruela, a Kearny native, brought her team to FASST. Former Harrison football coach Danny Hicks trained at FASST when he was an athlete at FDU-Florham, so when he became a coach, he brought his athletes there.

Some of the local youth programs, like Ironbound of Newark and the famed Thistle program in Kearny, brought their athletes to FASST for proper training.

Another prominent local athlete is Kearny native Jacob Cardenas, the two-time NJSIAA state wrestling champion now headed to Cornell University. Cardenas has regularly trained at FASST since he was in seventh grade.

“Jacob started coming here, because other kids he wrestled with were coming here,” Marshall said.

And three former Observer Athletes of the Year – Petey Guerriero of Lyndhurst, now playing football and running track at Monmouth University; Dustin Huseinovic of Harrison, now playing football at Pace University and Giulia Pezzolla of Lyndhurst, headed to Monmouth to run track and field this fall – are all products of the FAAST training regimen.

That’s some ledger of success. All of these great athletes, the best that the area can offer, head regularly to a converted garage on Park Avenue, to train to make themselves better athletes. They must be doing something right.

“You have to build up the relationships you have with the coaches,” Marshall said.  “We put the product out there and parents see what we do. We put the word out on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. A lot of what we do is marketing. Some kids hear that their friends are coming here, so they want to join. I have kids who ask, ‘Do you mind if I bring my friend?’”

Marshall believes that FASST has a leg-up on the other training facilities.

“We do a lot with injury prevention,” Marshall said. “We want to keep the kids healthy. Of course, we value when a kid has to rehab an injury. But a lot of what we do is remaining pro-active in keeping an athlete healthy.”

This summer, FAAST’s membership level approached 500 athletes. The growth is astounding. Marshall and Johnsen work with kids as young as eight years old, teaching them the proper way to sprint and lunge on a soccer field. The middle school kids work with resistance training and the high school kids work more extensively.

“It’s all based on age and ability,” Marshall said. “It’s not based on sport. Some of what we do applies to gymnasts and rowers. And it’s not all just for athletes.”

Needless to say, the Lyndhurst friends remain very busy.

“We work long days,” Marshall said. “I honestly don’t have much of a social life. I may start with the Rutgers women’s soccer team at 7:30 in the morning and end the day with the Lyndhurst football team at 9 p.m. It depends on the day. One day just rolls into the next.”

But Marshall knows that FASST didn’t exactly take the fast track.

“We didn’t do this overnight,” Marshall said. “We knew that we had a good recipe here and it all added to a recipe for success with the right people in mind. If we keep doing the right thing, I think we’ll be here for a while.”

Johnsen knows he’s doing something he loves.

“My goal was to do something I wanted to do,” Johnsen said. “I knew I couldn’t do it on my own. It’s awesome. We can only help the kids. They’re the ones who have to put the work in. But I want to keep getting bigger. I’ll put the time in. I’m willing to work 20 hours a day. It’s great. My advice would be to find something you love to do and believe in and just do it.”

Sounds like a sneaker commercial.

Marshall knows that FASST is not slowing down.

“I’m beyond proud,” Marshall said. “I always believed in myself and I thought we could have success. I couldn’t be more proud. This is what I thought it could be. We’re beyond lucky to be able to do this. Part of me is amazed. It’s all about the kids. They didn’t stumble into success. For the most part, the kids control our destiny.”

For more information about FASST, located at 136 Park Avenue in Lyndhurst, and its programs, call (201) 933-0778.

Memories of the late Jim Bouton and the Met League

One of my biggest thrills in my lengthy sports writing career used to take place during the summer months when I worked for the North Jersey Herald & News in Passaic.

It was a tremendous sports staff, with people like Tom Guilitti, Shawn Roarke, Jim Brennan, Keith Idec, Ralph Vacchiano, Jim Carty, Sean McClelland, Mike Niebart, Tom Gatto, Ives Galarcep, Rosemarie Ross, Ken Pringle, Rick Resnick and the late Larry O’Rourke. That is clearly a superstar lineup of sports journalists over the last three decades.

I covered a variety of sports for the paper, including extensive coverage of the New Jersey Nets and New York Knicks, Seton Hall and Rutgers basketball, Rutgers football, as well as all high school sports. It was an incredible place to work and a stop in my career that definitely helped to hone my craft – as well as finding great joints to hit after work was over including Paul’s Bar and Bowling (my favorite, because there was no place like it in the world), the Fern Bar (don’t think that was the real name), Das Fleiglempouse or Das Lichtenstein (never knew the real name of that joint either) and Casey’s (I definitely got that one right).

Well, one of my regular responsibilities at the Herald & News was covering New Jersey’s premier semi-pro baseball league, the old Met League, which incredibly remained in existence for more than 40 years in Bergen and Passaic Counties.

The Met League definitely produced some of the best baseball in the area, filled with up-and-coming stars, some other standouts who were on the downside of their careers and then even others who were on the older side of old, but still managed to compete and do fairly well.

The games were played in places like Breslin Field in Lyndhurst, Nash Park in Clifton, Vander Sande Park in Saddle Brook and Veteran’s Field in Ridgewood. The games were old time baseball, played with wooden bats and nine innings long. The games were usually well pitched and definitely well played. The games were also highly competitive, which made the games extremely entertaining.

During the summer months, I covered at least four Met League games a week and wrote a weekly page devoted to the Met League, filled with features, notes, statistics, schedules, standings, you name it. I was extremely proud to have constructed that page (along with the help of colleague Gatto, who now works for the Sporting News) and it was a very well read and popular page with local baseball fans, especially the participants in the Met League.

Well, one of the regular players in that league was a guy who found success in the major leagues in two different stints. Jim Bouton, who died Wednesday at the age of 80, was an up-and-coming star with the New York Yankees in the early 1960s. He won seven games in his rookie season of 1962, then exploded in 1963, posting a 21-7  record with a 2.53 earned run average for the Yankees, earning a spot on the American League All-Star team and actually collecting votes for the AL Most Valuable Player.

A year later, 1964, Bouton won 18 games with a 3.02 ERA and won two more games in the World Series, helping the Yankees win the World Series title.

But then injuries plagued Bouton and led to his demise with the Bronx Bombers. In 1965, a forgettable year for the Yanks, Bouton won only four games, posting a dismal 4-15 record with an ERA of almost 5. Bouton would only win five more times over the next three seasons. Bouton was then sold to the expansion Seattle Pilots in 1969, a year that would eventually become a very influential one for Bouton.

While Bouton was with the Pilots, he began to write an extremely controversial book entitled “Ball Four,” which would become one of the best selling sports books of all-time. Bouton did the unthinkable, opening up the door to baseball clubhouses and off-the-field antics. He freely wrote about drug abuse in the locker rooms and massive drinking after games. He portrayed legends like the late Mickey Mantle, Whitey Ford, Joe Pepitone and others in unflattering lights, like constantly womanizing.

Before Bouton’s book, it was always considered taboo to even talk about what went on in the locker rooms. That was like sacred ground. What happened in the locker room generally stayed in the locker room. 

But Bouton wrote about players freely taking amphetamines to battle hangovers and to stay awake during day games and drinking in the clubhouse. That was considered a no-no. Bouton was opening up a gigantic can of worms by doing so.

However, Bouton’s diary of all that happened made for very interesting reading in 1970, because the subject was never before breached. Mickey Mantle was the icon and hero to practically everyone In America in 1970. It was hard to believe that Mantle was using illegal drugs and drinking all the time. But Bouton opened up that door and wrote freely.

It turned Bouton into somewhat of a pariah in baseball circles. A lot of ballplayers shunned Bouton. The Yankees refused to let Bouton come back to Old-Timers’ Day festivities for ages. Commissioner Bowie Kuhn called the book “detrimental to baseball.” People like the late Thurman Munson bashed Bouton for writing the book. Pete Rose regularly shouted, “Fuck you, Shakespeare,” at Bouton whenever he pitched. Sportswriter Dick Young penned Bouton as a “social leper.”

However, the book was a best seller. It sold millions of copies and was reprinted several times. The New York Times listed the book as “one of the greatest sports books ever written.” Time Magazine lists “Ball Four” as one of the 100 best non-fiction books of all time.

By 1970, Bouton’s baseball career appeared to be over. He was released by the Seattle Pilots and did not receive another contract. He took a job as a local sportscaster at WCBS-TV Channel 2 in New York and gained popularity there. My first association with Bouton came in the mid 1970s, when he was regularly covering the exploits of the Dickinson High School football team, which was in the midst of a lengthy losing streak spanning years.

I also got to know him from my days working with the Jersey Indians minor league team in Roosevelt Stadium in 1977 and 1978. Bouton would come from time to time to cover the Indians, but he was also considering a comeback to baseball as a player, predominately a knuckleball pitcher. Bouton sat with me in the press box of Roosevelt Stadium on several occasions. He wanted to possibly get a chance to sign with the Indians as a free agent, but that never materialized.

However, legendary owner Bill Veeck did give Bouton a chance to come back with the White Sox in 1977, but his comeback lasted only two months.

A year later, Bouton, at age 39 and eight years removed from Major League Baseball, made a comeback with the Atlanta Braves and pitched in five games, posting a 1-3 record. It was remarkable that he was able to pitch in the big leagues once again. He ended his major league career with a record of 62-63.

Bouton then returned to Channel 2 to do sports and was also the creator of the shredded bubble gum Big League Chew.  He was also briefly an actor for a Robert Altman movie and played himself in a short-lived TV sitcom called – of course – “Ball Four.” That show lasted all of five episodes.

Bouton never gave up his love of competing in baseball, thus his association with the Met League, an organization he pitched in for a remarkable 18 seasons, well into his 50s. Bouton was mostly a knuckleball pitcher in the Met League, but he was very successful, winning almost 100 games in his Met League career.

When I started to cover the Met League regularly in the summer of 1992, I approached Bouton before one game and asked him if he would consent to an interview. I asked him if he remembered me from my days with the Jersey Indians and it was like a light bulb went off over his head.

Bouton was more than gracious to do the interview. In fact, we went out after one game for a burger and a few beers at – where else – Paul’s Bar and Bowling, which was just a knuckleball’s throw away from Nash Park.

Bouton loved the fact that I was giving so much publicity to the league.

“You know, these guys play just as hard as big leaguers and get no glory from it,” Bouton said in 1992 about the Met League players. “It’s a joy to be around all these young guys. They make me feel young. I especially like it when I strike out a young guy who is looking for the knuckleball and I slip in a fastball. It’s a lot of fun and if it wasn’t fun, I wouldn’t be doing it for as long as I have been.”

I once showed Bouton an autograph I had of his from when I was a little boy. It was given to me by my confirmation teacher in seventh grade. The autograph read, “To Donna, Best Wishes, Jim Bouton.” He then grabbed my notebook and wrote, “To Jimmy, Best Wishes, Thanks for the Chats, Jim Bouton.” He said, 

“You’re obviously not Donna.” Bouton also autographed my copy of Ball Four, an old paperback version from like 1973. He laughed at the condition of the book.

Bouton left the Met League in 1994, when he was 55 years old, and moved to Massachusetts with his new wife. Eventually, he reconciled with the Yankees and returned to Old-Timer’s Day just a few years ago. 

Bouton was truly a baseball icon and his legacy will live on with the real first tell-all book, which nowadays, wouldn’t open as many eyes, because it seems like everyone is writing a tell-all book these days. Well, those authors all have Jim Bouton to thank for it.

And I will be forever grateful to Bouton for being as gracious and kind as he was to me – and grateful to the Met League for three great summers of fun baseball with fun characters, a lot of whom became good friends.

Well, the blog about the U.S. Women’s World Cup team the other day certainly started a firestorm, one that this blog rarely sees. It drew opinions on both sides, either agreeing with me or vehemently disagreeing with me. More than 400 people commented on Facebook, which is amazing. I’m glad that there were so many people who read it, considering that I don’t get paid to write it. It’s always rewarding when people read what I write. I’ve been extremely fortunate to have had been a part of my life for the last 36 years now.

However, the blog is not meant to stir up angry and nasty comments, like some of those that were fired at me over the last few days. I’m big enough to handle the criticism, but the personal stuff, either towards me or towards someone commenting or even the subject I am writing about -- is just uncalled for and unfortunately wrong.

There are ways to criticize and comment without making it personal and hateful. I appreciate those who disagreed with me and kept their opinions to the subject, without making it a personal attack. I hope that people continue to read, because that’s what the blog is all about.

One last thing: After writing that blog, I don’t know how the comments became political. Believe me, it was not the intent. And for those who don’t know better, I am a dyed-in-the-wool proud Democrat and will be until I die. Anyone who thinks I wrote that blog in support of No. 45 who occupies the White House right now is delusional. Just because I didn’t like the behavior of the U.S. Women’s Soccer Team does not mean I am a supporter of one Donald J. Trump. That’s the furthest from the truth. I just happen to – I guess – agree with him on this topic. But it was not at all intended to be political. Ok, end of subject.

I’d now much rather be writing about the Mets, who if they trade Noah Syndergaard, I’ll be really ticked off. I also want to offer Zach Wheeler an extension instead of trading him for a low level prospect that will never pan out. I want Wheeler to grow old with Jacob DeGrom, Thor and Steven Matz. I still hold on to the hope that the four of them will be a dominant pitching staff someday. Yeah, I know. Maybe I’m the one who is delusional.

You can read more of my stuff at www.hudsonreporter.com and www.theobserver.com and follow me on Twitter @ogsmar.

No celebrations here for the U.S. Women's Soccer Team

The United States women’s soccer team captured the World Cup Sunday, winning the world title for the second straight time and the fourth time since the inception of the tourney for women in 1991.

For that achievement, the team will be treated to a ticker tape parade down the Canyon of Heroes in lower Manhattan Wednesday morning.

It will be the second time that New York has welcomed the conquering heroes with the ultimate of celebrations, an event not only reserved for New York’s championship teams like the Yankees (last time in 2009), the Rangers in 1994 and the Mets in 1986, but also for Olympic gold medal winners, returning NASA astronauts and the hostages that were held in Iran for over a year and returned to freedom.

All of that is wonderful and it’s an absolute just reward for the achievement of the team. And it’s safe to say that there will be hundreds of thousands of young impressionable girls who will line the streets of New York, cheering and waving to the team on their statuesque floats.

But in this corner, there’s a dark cloud that hovers about this team. I know that I’m probably In the strong minority over this feeling I have. I know that it probably reeks of a lack of patriotism, which is the furthest thing from the truth.

I’m a proud product of a World War II veteran, a recipient of two Purple Hearts and a Silver Star for his service to the United States Army. The Stars and Stripes are proudly flown outside my home most days. 

Only on certain days (usually involving my favorite sports teams or a distinctive holiday) does the American flag come down. I bleed red, white and blue. My sentiments have nothing to do with my feelings for the United States of America.

But I have a strong disdain for this particular team. It borders on downright hatred.

And there are several reasons for my feelings. Again, I could be raising high holy hell against me by expressing the opinion, but I feel obligated to do so, especially when so many people have asked me my thoughts about the U.S. Women’s soccer team.

For one, let’s start with the so-called captain of the team, Megan Rapinoe. Sure, she is an excellent player and expresses herself with her multitude of ravishing hair colors, like pink and purple. She’s certainly allowed to express herself anyway she seems fit, even with her hair color.

But I for one cannot fathom the idea of someone representing our country either not standing for the National Anthem, which she did on several occasions this year, or not putting her hand on her heart at the playing of the National Anthem before the U.S. faced the Netherlands in the championship game on Sunday.

Here she is, playing in the most important soccer game of her life and she cannot even respect the country she is playing for, with USA on the front of her jersey? Rapinoe can’t stand with her hand on her heart for two minutes like the rest of her teammates?

Rapinoe said previously that she cannot respect the National Anthem because it was written by Francis Scott Key, who was a slave owner during the Civil War when the song was written.

“I’ll probably never put my hand over my heart,” Rapinoe said in an interview before the World Cup began. “I’ll probably never sing the National Anthem ever again. “

When Rapinoe was asked if her protestations were a contradiction to her captaincy of the United States team, she said, “Not really. Because I feel like I’m a walking protest. Colin Kaepernick very much inspired me and inspired an entire nation and still does, to actually think about these things. The way he spoke about them so clearly, so a matter-of-fact, wasn’t trying to convince anyone. I found it extremely inspiring and convicting. Like, how can you not support it? This is what it’s going to take for things to change, norms to change, conventions to change, to try to break down white supremacy and break down racial bias. Using this blanketed patriotism as a defense against what the protest actually is for is actually pretty cowardly.”

Rapinoe continued, “We can actually have a conversation, instead of just telling me that it’s a privilege to put on the jersey. Of course, it’s a privilege for me to pull on the jersey, but part of that privilege is representing America and representing America is representing all of America. So I feel like there was a major miss on that part, which is unfortunate.”

Now, if Rapinoe believes that there is a racial inequality in America – which unfortunately there is – then speak out in other forums. But don’t dare use the World Cup when you are representing the United States as that forum. It’s actually quite bogus and disgraceful to every single member of the United States military, many of whom have given their lives in order so Rapinoe can speak her mind freely and wear whatever color hair she chooses.

I’m all for freedom of speech and I know that’s what our great country is based on. But just like I didn’t like Kaepernick taking a knee before 49er games, I despised Rapinoe using the World Cup for her stage to express her feelings. It was the wrong place, the wrong time, the wrong venue. It sent a hideous message to everyone involved. Especially as the team captain, Rapinoe had the responsibility to represent her team in a true patriotic manner. Not by protesting.

My negative feelings about this team grow further. In their opening round win against Thailand, the United States won by the ungodly score of 13-0. Say what? They scored 13 goals? That’s just insane. And the players celebrated each and every one of those goals like they were World Cup winners, sliding across the field, pumping their fists, the entire team running onto the field to express their joy.

Was there any consideration given to the other team? In an international competition, where was fair play? That was totally embarrassing the opponent by running up the score like that. Someone pointed out to me that one of the tiebreakers was goal differential. Well, the U.S. didn’t have to worry about tiebreakers because they won every game. If they won even 8-0, no one would have blinked an eye. But 13-0 in an international soccer match? No one does that. Ever!

When the United States played England in the semifinals, in a very heated contest, Alex Morgan (who scored five of those 13 goals against Thailand) scored what proved to be the game-winner in a 2-1 Team USA win. And what did Ms. Morgan do after scoring her goal? She made a gesture like she was sipping tea to embarrass the English, much like the people in Great Britain do every day. That was just so uncalled for and actually ridiculous.

And it goes one step further. After Team USA defeated the Netherlands, 2-0, to win the championship match, three members of the team (one of which was Rapinoe) grabbed an American flag and traipsed across the pitch with the flag. When it came time to make a hand gesture for a photographer, Allie Long took the flag and disgracefully threw the flag on the ground, which is a complete no-no. Rapinoe actually stepped on the flag. Luckily, team member Kelley O’Hara picked up the flag quickly to properly respect Old Glory. No one is ever supposed to place the American flag on the ground. Ever!

And then there’s the entire team fighting over their thoughts of getting equal pay with the men. Are they kidding? FIFA’s grand take on the tourney didn’t come close to what the men’s tourney brings in, in terms of entry fees and sponsorship rights and television rights. Everyone is pointing to the Neilsen numbers that the championship game produced. Yeah, that’s because a U.S. team was in the finals. Would the women’s tourney draw those numbers if the Team USA wasn’t playing? No way. Sorry, but the women do not deserve the same pay that the men get. There should be no comparison.

I’m sure that’s going to bring about comments about me being a sexist. No, that’s just being someone with common sense. It has nothing to do with gender. It has to do with generating funds. It’s like saying that women golfers deserve the same amount as men. That idea is also silly. If you want to argue Wimbledon and U.S. Open tennis, then that’s a valid point. But not in international soccer. It’s not even close.

So there will be a grand celebration in lower Manhattan Wednesday. I will not be one of those in attendance. I think these women acted deplorably during this World Cup. Sure, they won. All the power to them. They just could have conducted themselves as proud American citizens, not protesting, unsportsmanlike hooligans. Good riddance. Let’s hope for better behavior when the U.S. goes for a “three-peat” in 2023.

I lost my fanatical feelings for the NBA ages ago, but after this free agent frenzy, where players actually dictated the way franchises operate is a bit over the top. Players negotiating with themselves as to where they were going to sign. Kawhi Leonard actually got the Oklahoma City Thunder to trade Paul George to the Clippers after Leonard, the NBA Finals MVP, decided to sign with the Clippers as a free agent. Leonard actually brokered the deal, forcing the Thunder’s hand into making the trade. The whole league is a mess. And the salary structure is out of control. To think, the Brooklyn Nets will pay Kevin Durant $44 million this year to NOT play. How wrong is that?

In closing, if the Mets trade off Zach Wheeler for a bag of balls like what’s rumored, then they shouldn’t be in the business of Major League Baseball. Wheeler is an elite pitcher and the Mets should be looking to lock him up long term, not disposing of him and not getting nearly equal value in return. But the Mets won’t re-sign Wheeler and they’ll get rid of him, like they did with their free agents-to-be in 2017.

However, all of the players that the Mets got in trades that year didn’t exactly turn out well. In fact, of all the players they got for Jay Bruce, Curtis Granderson, Addison Reed and Lucas Duda, only Jacob Rhame remains in the organization. And Rhame will probably never pitch for the Mets ever again.

Simply put, the Mets are a disgrace and it’s never been more embarrassing than this year.

It’s all on the heads of two people. Brodie Van Wagenen, who constructed the useless blob, and Mickey Calladoo, who is simply the worst manager the franchise has ever had. And believe me, the Mets have had their share of winners, like Jeff Torborg, Dallas Green, Willie Randolph, Art Howe, Jerry Manuel and Joe Frazier (not Smokin’ Joe, the other one). But Calladoo (called that because he’s a combination of his real name and Ben McAdoo, the hideous ex-Giants coach) is clearly the worst.

I can find better things to do for the rest of the summer than watching the Mets.

You can read more of my work at www.hudsonreporter.com and www.theobserver.com and follow me on Twitter @ogsmar.

St. Mary of Assumption in Elizabeth set to close July 30

Talk about your highest level of hypocrisy.

On June 11, officials at St. Mary of the Assumption High School in Elizabeth were told by Cardinal Joseph Tobin and his hierarchy that the school was not in danger of closing and had enough of an enrollment and financial base to remain open for at least another year.

Yesterday, the powers-that-be in the Archdiocese of Newark did an abrupt about-face and pulled the plug on the school, telling the St. Mary teachers and staff that they had four days to pack up their belongings; that the school was indeed going to close at the end of the week.

St. Mary had only been a fixture in Elizabeth since 1930. That’s 89 years of serving the youth of Elizabeth and its surroundings. Eighty-nine years!!!

How could that possibly be? How could the higher-ups say one thing two weeks ago and say another yesterday? What about the school’s 155 students? Where do they go?

Oh, in a gracious gesture, the Archdiocese of Newark told the St. Mary students that they could attend Roselle Catholic at the same tuition rate that they had at St. Mary. Isn’t that just special?

St. Mary officials said that they were going to try to raise the $2 million necessary to keep the school open, before the absolute final deadline next month. But that is almost next to impossible. Unless some charitable Superman swoops in and opens up his check book to make that miracle donation, the school is doomed, much like most of the other high schools in the Archdiocese.

It’s no secret that the Archdiocese no longer wants to be in the business of higher education. That has been evident with the incredible amount of school closings within the Archdiocese in the last 20 years. I can just rattle off all the schools that are within the confines of Hudson County, great institutions like St. Aloysius High, the Academy of St. Aloysius, St. Mary’s (Jersey City), St. Joseph of the Palisades, Sacred Heart Academy, Holy Family Academy, Holy Rosary Academy and last, but certainly not least St. Anthony all shut their doors within the last 20 years, all citing the same reason – declining enrollment and the rising cost of education.

But is that true at St. Mary of the Assumption? The school enjoyed a rebirth over the last two years. Freshman enrollment actually doubled since last year. The incoming freshman class for September of this year was actually 200 times better than the freshman enrollment of a year ago.

So that can’t be the reason, can it?

If St. Mary was indeed in danger of closing, then why make the announcement now? Why didn’t the powers-that-be make a determination in October or November, giving the dedicated staff seven months to try to raise the necessary funds.

No, the Archdiocese decided to padlock the doors this week, just two weeks after saying that the school was not in danger of closing.

There have been other schools that survived the decree of execution sent down by the Archdiocesan leaders. Almost a decade ago, Hudson Catholic was informed that the school was going to be closed, but the school decided to go co-educational, allowing girls for the first time. That move turned out to be a major plus for Hudson Catholic and the school is now flourishing.

Seven years ago, Holy Family Academy in Bayonne was all set to close, but parents got together to raise enough money to keep the doors open, but only for two years.

Three years ago, Marist, also in Bayonne, informed its parents that the school was going to close, much like St. Mary of the Assumption, within a very tiny window. But the Marist parents all rallied together and managed to keep itself solvent – and the school remains open to this day.

Two years ago, Queen of Peace in nearby North Arlington also suffered the same fate, with its doors closing just months after the Archdiocese told its school officials that enough money was raised by private funding to keep the doors open.

Now, St. Mary of the Assumption has suffered a similar fate.

It’s just not right to the 155 students that are still part of the St. Mary student body. If that school was indeed in financial dire straits, then they should have been informed months ago, not told one thing just two weeks ago and now have the rug pulled from under them today.

It’s beyond unfortunate. It’s just not right. The kids deserved better from the Archdiocese. Regardless of the Archdiocese’s position on not wanting to be in the business of higher education any longer, the kids deserved to be told the truth, not told one thing June 11 and another today. Is that being Catholic? Is that teaching these adolescents the right way to live a Catholic life?

It’s a damn shame that these kids have to search for a new place to continue their education. It didn’t have to end this way.

On its website, there are links to fundraising efforts in order to try to keep the school open. One can donate by clicking on to https://stmaryhsnj.org/save-st-marys.

The absolute deadline to raise the necessary $2 million is July 30. It should be interesting to see just how close the good people of St. Mary of the Assumption can get to keep the doors open.

One thing is for sure: the whole situation just reeks of hypocrisy. You can’t tell people one thing one week and another just two weeks later. It’s not the way to operate.

You can read more of my work at www.hudsonreporter.com and www.theobserver.com. You can also follow me on Twitter @ogsmar.

Happy Father's Day with my Field of Dreams piece

This column was first printed in the pages of the now-defunct Hudson Dispatch on June 29, 1989. It ended up winning several different awards from the New Jersey Press Association, the North Jersey Press Club and the Garden State Society of Journalists. It was also reprinted in Reader’s Digest later that year (although I never got credit, the paper did).

For several years, the clipping sat in an old Avon box in my basement. We had a major flood two years ago that ruined a lot of my old clippings, including several of the old Dispatch articles. But somehow, this one survived. It’s very weather beaten and faded, but it survived.

I’m re-typing it today and posting it, because after all, it’s Fathers’ Day.

I ventured to the movie theater the other day. No, not to see “Batman” or even “Ghostbusters II.” I’m not a trendy type of guy. In fact, I’m a little behind the times. I saw “Field of Dreams.”

OK, so the rest of the western world has already plunked down the cash to see “Field of Dreams.” We’re in the midst of a blockbuster movie season. “Field of Dreams” is old news to movie freaks. After all, it was only released nine weeks ago.

But “Field of Dreams” is about baseball _ sort of. And besides, “Batman” is not about Don Mattingly. I am a sportswriter _ at last check. And I’m a movie fan. Just a tardy movie fan, that’s all. I had to go see it. Who cares if I’m late?

I heard so many things about the movie. It was supposed to be the best thing ever to happen to baseball movies _ which wouldn’t be a hard feat, considering that most baseball flicks flounder.

I went with an open mind, waiting to be disappointed. I left feeling wonderful, feeling alive, feeling good. “Field of Dreams” touched me more than any other movie. It was clearly the best picture I’ve ever witnessed.

And my strong feelings about “Field of Dreams” had nothing to do with baseball. It had to do with life. Or, for that matter, afterlife.

For those who have not had the chance to see “Field of Dreams” _ like all seven of you _ you can stop reading here. Take my word for it, the movie is excellent. It’s the best thing you’ll see all year.

Now, for you other fortunate folk.

Let’s face it. “Field of Dreams” has its flaws. I mean, Shoeless Joe Jackson batted left-handed in real life and threw right. In this movie, the exact opposite. He batted right and threw left.

Brings up a good question. Do your extremities become mirror images after death? Only Elvis can answer that one. Remind me to ask him the next time the King is spotted at a 7-11 in Michigan. Elvis probably shoots at TVs with his left these days.

Gil Hodges is mentioned to be on the “Field of Dreams.” But there were no Brooklyn Dodgers uniforms to be found.

Still, this movie was absolute perfection to me, because it was able to touch me in a way that some people can relate to _ but hopefully not many.

Because of one movie, I got in touch with the huge vacancy that has been dominating my life for the last 18 years _ namely the absence of my father.

I was 10 when cancer snuffed Jack Hague away from me. He was sick, dead and gone within one month’s time in 1971. He was my everything. He was my inspiration, my motivation, my life. He was my Little League manager, my friend. He taught me so much about life in 10 short years _ and then he was gone.

It left me with a brother who was 60 miles away with his own family, a sister who was maturing rapidly _ and a loving mother, who had to be both parents from that point on. It was not easy.

Especially because of my obsession with sports _ something I shared with my Dad. We would watch ball games together, talk baseball constantly, play catch in my backyard.

With no father, those times came to an abrupt halt. I longed for the days of playing catch in the yard. They were long gone.

“Stop throwing like a girl, James,” I could hear him saying. “Step and throw.”

There were so many times in 1972, the first year after my father’s death, that I would stand in the yard, hoping he would come back. I just kept standing there, smacking the ball into my empty glove.

Little League was no longer fun without my Dad. It was a struggle to play for some other manager.

That summer, my mother bought me a “Pitch-Back,” the net that snapped the ball back to you after you tossed it. However, the damn thing never offered advice. It never told me what I was doing wrong. It just stood there.

And the “Pitch-Back” could never tell me what I was doing wrong in life. Of course, my mother did _ and worked hard at it. But living with two women and no man’s view of life certainly was no breeze for a moody kid who found his only release through sports.

As time went on, I tended to forget about my Dad. Not entirely, but enough that he wasn’t a major part of my life anymore. I lost his set of values, his standards. I forgot what Jack Hague stood for. I wanted to be independent, my own person. I couldn’t fill the shoes of a memory.

Sure, sports remained my one constant _ and still is today. Without it, I would be lost. But most of all the other values I thought I had disappeared.

People think I’ve lived a good life, an exciting life. But it’s been fairly shallow. I never realized that until recently _ and never more so until I saw “Field of Dreams.”

It was a total awakening for me. I knew how important my father was _ and still is. Sure, my father was gone, but I should never let him stop being my parent. I should have left his values live on in my life instead of being pigheaded and stubborn and wanting to be something and someone else.

“Field of Dreams” touched me so much that I wanted to build a field in my backyard, albeit a small patch of brown grass nestled in Jersey City. And all the greats of yesteryear who are now departed could come back. They wouldn’t even need an invitation.

Gil Hodges would wear a Met uniform and run the show. Thurman Munson would be behind the plate. Satchel Paige on the mound, Lou Gehrig at first _ and Jackie Robinson stealing bases all night.

And the players would leave a little spot where right field would be, just enough for a grey-haired man with a three-finger glove could throw some high hard ones to his son.

“Field of Dreams” did what it was supposed to do _ make us all dream. It made me dream _ of the days when my father taught me about baseball and life.

I almost took those days for granted. I look back now and cherish. I never realized how much I truly missed my father.

So this is somewhat of an open call to all our readers. Stop, take time out and realize how important your father is.

Sure, there may be some differences and there may be some strife, but the day may come when your father is suddenly not there _ and that vacant feeling of his loss almost gets a stranglehold of you.

I know what that feeling is like. I knew it 18 years ago _ and I rediscovered that huge gap 11 days ago. Yes, Fathers’ Day, the day I saw “Field of Dreams.” I had totally forgotten it was Fathers’ Day. It was so totally ironic I saw the movie on that day.

I’ll never forget Fathers’ Day again. That’s why I love the movies so much _ and why “Field of Dreams” is the best movie I’ve ever seen. I found my Dad. I’m grateful for Hollywood for that.

That’s why I’m asking all of you to find your fathers, too. While he’s still around.