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Parks & Rec Business
| Dream Chaser A magical night at the end of a long journey By Ron Ciancutti Editor’s Note: Ron’s e-mails always started the same way, “Hey gang, if you’ve got the time, please click through on this web site to vote for Nicco for player of the week or to get his game broadcast on TV, etc.” To those of us on the outside, it was an interesting perspective. We saw two people, father and son, working side-by-side, hand-in-hand, to do something extraordinary. For a brief moment, sandwiched between a cup of coffee and the next phone call or e-mail, we got to take part in the process. Like all good stories, this one has a happy ending, told as only Ron can tell it. I hope you enjoy it—I feel it offers a positive message and coincides nicely with this magical time of the year. Merry Christmas! It seems like yesterday, but was, in fact, late in the fall of 1997. Most of the leaves had fallen, and the air had that familiar, crisp, Ohio bite (rainy and bitter) as I walked into Lakewood Stadium and joined 30 or 40 other fans in the stands. Ranged across the wet and slippery field below were two eight-year-old flag football teams set to face off for the season’s championship game. In the center of the huddle was my son, Nicco Maddaluno, who had been thinking of nothing but this game since the season started. Painted down the middle of his hair was a thick, red stripe, right where a real stripe would have been if he had been wearing a helmet. Needless to say, Nicco was more than a little pumped up for the game. Like all good games, this one came down to the final touchdown attempt (Nicco had already scored three times). Nicco caught the ball in the end zone, but came down on his belly and dropped the ball. Game over. Season over. Big trophy goes to the other team. Everyone “oohs” and “aahs” and by the time they get home, both the kids and the parents have forgotten about the whole thing. Not Nicco. As everyone left the stadium, he stayed on the bench staring at the field, tears welling in his eyes. I let him sit there and then just sat by him for a while until he was ready to go. I had already said all of the things a dad is supposed to say about fair play and good sportsmanship. Stuff he knew and frankly stuff that didn’t matter at that moment. The family stopped for pizza, and we went to a movie that night, but he never took that look off his face. He and I locked eyes intermittently for days to come and, inevitably, his would swell with emotion. “Let it go, Nicco,” I said. “I can’t,” he replied. 1997 Redux Fast-forward to the fall of 2006: same rainy and bitter Ohio weather, same Lakewood Stadium, different night—Friday night, high school football night in football-mad Ohio. The final game was Lakewood vs. Maple Heights and, possibly, the wettest football game I ever sat through. It poured from start to finish. It was also parent’s night, so we were all out on the field before the game. I felt the condition of the field and turned to Nicco and said, "Don't go for any records tonight, you'll be slipping right on your tail. Just play a controlled game." He smiled at me and just shook his head. He needed 97 yards to reach his 1,000-yard season, which had been his goal since he started playing football 12 years ago, and one that he renewed again in June when we started traveling to college mini-camps for scholarship consideration. Throughout the game, the weather worsened, and by halftime he had struggled but only gained about 50 yards in two- and three-yard spurts, including one three-yard touchdown run. Midway through the third quarter, he broke one open for about 40 yards and suddenly his goal was within reach. In the fourth quarter, I went up to the booth and asked the statistician how close he was to getting his 97-yard night accomplished. I was informed he had 90 yards so far. On the next play he ran for six yards, getting to 999 for the season. On the next play, the quarterback fumbled, and the ball was turned over. After a long series, Lakewood got the ball back, and Nicco was stuffed at the line of scrimmage for no gain. On the next play he lost two yards. On the next play he gained four yards, putting him at 1001 yards for the season. Our guys punted deep into Maple Heights territory, and the announcer told the crowd that Nicco had accomplished his 1,000-yard season. The sparse and soaked crowd stood and applauded, and I stood there in the rain, completely spent, watching him accomplish a goal he established years before. As it turned out, the offense never got back in, so he accomplished this number on the very last play he ran for the high school season. Couldn't have cut it any closer. (Final stats for the season: 1001 yards in 10 games, with eight touchdowns, two wins, and eight losses.) I stood there as he trotted off the field and smiled at me. Through the rain dripping off the brim of my hat, I laughed out loud and gave him a confident but subtle thumbs-up. Our family, huddled together under a colorful array of umbrellas, stood and cheered along with all of the other loyal parents who had supported each other for so many seasons and were proud of how hard the boys worked, despite a disappointing win/loss record. The Power of Dreams I adopted Nicco when he was six weeks old and, like all proud parents, I’d like to think his mother and I had something to do with the character he showed this season. But the truth is he did most of it on his own. He’s the one who worked his body and found the determination to pursue his goals even when he was battered, bruised or tempted by more leisurely pursuits. Like all good stories, this one is still evolving. There are some colleges who would like Nicco to run the ball for them next year, but he has decided to take a month or two to catch his breath and just enjoy the accomplishment. In the end, that is the lesson I hope Nicco takes from this experience. His accomplishment isn’t the yardage or the touchdowns or even the leadership he displayed this year. Rather, his accomplishment is learning the importance of setting goals and striving through difficult odds to achieve them. In a 1957 speech, Dwight D. Eisenhower said, “We succeed only as we identify in life, or in war, or in anything else, a single overriding objective, and make all other considerations bend to that one objective.” My son, a student, has come full circle at 17 years of age. He’s become my teacher. While his accomplishments speak volumes about talent and ability, I am endlessly proud of the character he has shown and continues to demonstrate. His one “overriding objective” is clearly living a quality, humble, respectful, faithful, determined life. Congratulations #27. You are a constant source of pride and joy. Ronald D Ciancutti is the Purchasing Manager for Cleveland Metroparks. He can be reached via email at rdc@clevelandmetroparks.com. |
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