Bell Stadium to undergo major renovation, name change

--- million-dollar facilities aimed to improve Wildcats’ quality at the highest level

For many years, Dwaine C. Bell Stadium has been one of the most visible landmarks of Lawrence North. The stadium is home for the Wildcat football and track teams, as well as the host for many school and community events in Lawrence Township.

And there is one problem: it is very old. “Like any 40 years old structure, there is a lot of things that need to be done in term of maintenance,” LN athletic director Mike Penrose said. It was built in 1976 for a school of 1.500 students; today, the school has indeed grown much than forty years ago. “We are long overdue for facility upgrades at the stadium,” said Metropolitan School District of Lawrence Township athletic director Dr Grant Nesbit.

The district has announced a major renovation plan for the stadium and surrounding athletic facilities as part of its Blue Ribbon Facility Plan; a multi-year, million-dollar facility upgrade program aimed to improve infrastructures of Lawrence Township schools. All schools at Lawrence Township had saw major renovation of their facilities since the project kicked off in 2015.

The renovation for LN football stadium itself would begin as soon as the football season ends in November and scheduled to be done by spring next year, after being delayed for two months due to permitting issues. “We did have some delays on permitting,” Dr Nesbit said, “You will see that Lawrence Central is ahead of Lawrence North. The LC permits went through the City of Lawrence and the LN permits went through (City of) Indianapolis. The latter just took longer.”

One of the most significant change would be construction of a new multi-purpose building, located at the southern end zone of the stadium. The proposed building will include a large locker room, hospitality room, team conference room, modern training facility, office spaces for coaches and officials, as well as additional storage and support facilities.

New restrooms and concession buildings will be added, as well as new entrance system and fencing with better access for home and visitor side. “There is a safety issue (with current entrance system) because you have a kind of bottleneck in term of traffic,” Penrose said. Visitors entrance will be concentrated at south side of the stadium. “We are always concerned with how people come and go.”

And finally, there is bleachers: the old concrete grandstand at the home side will be demolished, paving way for new aluminium bleachers equipped with press box. “We have a lot more people who want to to use the press box, like radio and TV,” Penrose argued. The visitors’ side will be renovated to comply with handicapped accessibility rules.

In Master Facility Plan released on May 2015, the district allocated a total of $91.9 million for the five-year plan; $10.8 million goes to Lawrence North and $4.7 million will be spent for the stadium renovation. The sole source of funding is from general obligation bonds; for 2016, three $10 million bonds are issued to fund ten different projects at four schools and other district facilities. “That's important for people to know: we did this construction without asking the taxpayers for more money,” said Nesbit via an e-mailed response.

Ed Martin Automotive Group, a long-time supporter of Lawrence Township schools, won naming rights for the new stadium in exchange of $500,000 gift which was approved by school board meeting on late August. “The board put a Request for Proposal so that any entity interested in naming rights would have the opportunity to secure them,” Nesbit claims, “Ed Martin is a long-time supporter of the school district and came with the best proposal.”

As part of the deal, they captured naming rights for another stadium renovation project at Lawrence Central; previously, the group had sponsored the Automotive Service Program at McKenzie. Despite being started earlier, naming rights at LC will not officially begin until next year due to the school’s contract commitment with previous naming right contract held by another car dealership, Ray Skillman.

Asked about how important this project for the district as whole, Dr Nesbit responded firmly. “We consider it very important. On top of that, it's a visible feature on campus that is visited by the general public. We want excellence for our students and believe that's what we're getting out of this project.”

The school itself hopes to use this project to accommodate more sporting talents and improve the Wildcats’ luck. “We want to make the student athletes play comfortably and safely, so we can continue to have the success on and off the field, that we were accustomed to,” Penrose said, “in order to compete at the highest level, with the best student athletes around the state, you’ve got to be able to provide the best facility.”

The edited version of this story was published by LN North Star in its 30 September 2016 issue.

How I survived my first debate — and some advice for noobs

I still remember my first debate tournament. It was at a private Islamic school somewhere in downtown Pekanbaru. It were of Asian parliamentary format, which means that there are three debaters facing another three. It was held for two (or three?) straight days during school week, which means that all the student participating would miss classes back at school because there is no chance to going back, the tournament starts in the morning til afternoon. I was in my tenth grade of high school, a freshman. My teammates were a more experienced sophomore, and another (innocent) freshman.

I know nothing about debating by the last hours I stepped into the school. I wasn’t prepared. The sophomore who invited me told that all we need to do is arguing. We have no idea what the rules are, we have no freaking expectation who will we face and what we are going to debate. In my usual procrastinating style, I don’t even remember that I need to go to the tournament until someone from the English Club reminded me.

Suffice to say that it was a recipe to disaster.

I wasn’t really intimidated, though. The school where the tournament were held, I used to won an academic quiz there back when I was in junior high. I got some friends there, of course. The spectators weren’t really a problem for me.

But the biggest problem was myself. When I entered the debating chamber — you know, they always gather the debater at one special room for announcements after each rounds — , I completely freaked out. I can speak in front of a group of people, sure. But it should be a group of people I really know, I really understand. But delivering argument and persuasively convincing a judge — a stranger — to defeat argument of the opposition team — often completely strangers, too — ? Heck, no.

I reserved five minutes for myself to be freaking out. That’s it.

One lesson I learned from many, many years of participating in anything competitive, that it is okay to completely shocked or freaked out. You might be really nervous for your first competitive debate; heck, everyone are, at some point. You might think you will end up embarass yourself in front of the judge, in front of the strangers.

But the key is to control it. Give it a limited amount of time. I gave myself exactly five minutes to control my nerve whenever I need to face something huge, important, or possibly life-changing: first debate tournament; first interview as journalist for the school magazine; student exchange interview; even swimming. Five minutes is all you need. Then, you need to get over yourself. Like, really get over yourself.

The tournament was supposed to resemble a round-robin format, but I’m not quite sure of how things work at that time. The participants were from all over the city. There were team(s, they sent like three) from a neighbouring school who for last five years had excelled themselves from being one of the most excellent (and snobbish, to some extent) school in the city. There were team(s, again) from the school where all Pekanbaru’s bourgeoisie class gather with their (snobbish, to some extent) behaviours. One of them had represented the province for national debate competition.

Now I could barely breathe.

Lesson number two: if you can’t think, make up something.

Like really. Our first motions were really, really crazy. We got debate motions that sounds, at very least, like this:

THW allow construction of brothels at military bases

Like, WHAT?

Believe me, there is no debate prep guide that will prepare you for motions allowing construction of freaking brothels at freaking military installation. Believe me.

But boy, being a debater means that your mind must be prepared for the worst, for the craziest motion they will give you. Use your genius brain to think something. If you can’t, make it up. Seriously, make it up.

I don’t know whether it is a good idea to have brothels at military base. I don’t even know whether 

military base should be an appropriate place to build a brothel. I seriously don’t know.

But if you don’t know, make it up. Come with something genius.

I began by lining out what should we define this. Is this brothel public or private-run? Why should military bases? Why not here, here, or here? Can we relate it with something that sounds more convincing? Sexual diseases, maybe? HIV outbreak? When it is time to present my argument, I sounded really like a WHO official presenting a world-class presentation to some European military on why should they build brothels at their offshore military bases. Seriously.

The point of being a (novice) debater is to be quick-witted. You cannot complain on the subject you’re going to be debate; often, moaning and complaining are the worst way to express dissatisfaction and protest. You’re going to complain in vain. Instead of complaining, why don’t you make something up with your genius brain?

And do y’all know what the final result was? We ended the journey at quarterfinals, kicking out two teams in process, and learnt the lesson of our lifetime.

Debating is easy. Just control your emotion. Just be quick-witted. Don’t complain. Use your brain. There is no need to be upset. Just enjoy yourself, and you’ll be fine.

23:57 PM, Indianapolis. Slowly being cold here.

On being a minority: a short Eid notes

Have you ever been a minority in your life?

For most part of my life, I’ve never been categorized, by myself or by the state, as a minority. I’m a male. I’m a Muslim. I come from a middle-class family with middle-class background and lead into middle-class life. I went to public school. My parents work for the government. I love football. I watch badminton.

All of it symbolizes a majority. In a certain sense, it feels almost like a privilege. But not here in the United States.

I woke up last Monday with mixed feelings. Back home, Idul Adha is one of the most important holiday in one year. Schools and offices are closed. Everybody enjoy the cheerful festivities with colorful clothes, happy songs, and delicious foods. The joy of living the same life almost everyone you know are living, too.

But that life is a life as a majority. Here in America, I’m living a life as a minority.

I went to the ISNA Mosque in Plainfield, fifteen minutes away from home. Everything seems very normal that Monday morning: yellow school bus full of students, trucks and cars cruising over the Interstate, the sun shines brightly over a pleasant fall weather of suburban Indianapolis.

Arriving at the mosque (which is located in the middle of a corn field!), I was struck with a familiar sight. Colorful clothes. Cheerful kids. Assalamualaikum and wa’alaikumsalam. The Eid is here!

The mosque itself is not very large. It can easily accommodate 100 to 150 people, I think. All kind of people was there. Moroccan. Egyptian. Syrian. Palestinian. Iranian. Afghan. Pakistan. Indian. Bangladeshi. Malaysian. Indonesian. All kind of clothes are worn. Abaya. Ghamis. Shalwar khameez. Baju Melayu. Batik tulis.

The Eid sermon was delivered by a young imam from some Arab countries who spoke clear and precise English. Like every Eid sermon, it was opened with a fateful reminding tale of Ibrahim and Ismail. It lasted fifteen minutes.

One part of the sermon struck me. The imam said something about redeeming yourself. You will never understand a thing until you experience it, he said.

I am. I never understand how it feels to be a believer in the middle of foreign land. I never understand how it feels to recite the takbir and shalawat in the middle of Indiana corn fields. Until I experienced it, I never know, I never understand.

Now I know how it feels to be a minority. Now I know.

Indianapolis, 10:09 PM

The comfort zone and some wonderings after Murakami

Two months ago, I’m still procrastinating at my room back in Pekanbaru, wandering around school like soulless ghost of the past with no future, staring at the calendar to see my date of departure for the regional orientation. Tonight, here I am, sitting in a room which temperature measured in Fahrenheit, with unfinished reading of Haruki Murakami’s The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle.

Get out of your comfort zone, they said. But why the heck it is called “comfort zone” at first? Because you’re comfortable with it. Because you know what you’re supposed to do, because you know exactly what are the consequences of your action. Now you’re out of that zone; you’ve exited that circle. Everybody’s stranger, everything’s peculiar. Welcome to the jungle, my friend.

I have to admit that the past two months has been one of the most hectic in my life. I’ve been out of my comfort zone. The zone I’ve taken for granted for many, many years; family, friends, teachers, colleagues, enemies. I live in the same city, same neighborhood, same community, same social circles. The same cinder block of routines, the ole’ ecosystem of repeated melancholy.

Then I voluntarily, in my own free will with no compulsion whatsoever, to exit that zone and enter the area of uncertainty. The zone of strangeness, bewilderment, hesitance, and fear. But at the same time, it is the zone of excitement, amazement, and curiosity. Same thing did apply to Marco Polo or Ibn Batuttah when they traveled the world, or to Armstrong and Aldrin when they landed in the 

Moon.

Why would you leave your comfort zone?

I don’t know. Honestly, I don’t know.

I’ll find out here, out of that zone.

See you around.

Indianapolis, 10:16 PM. Fall is still here. Winter is coming.

A colleague of mine, Nurul Zamzami, posted this beautifully-written essay of her own soul-searching. I sincerely recommend anyone to read it.