With many moments of glory, there comes a moment of tragedy that may be difficult to comprehend because that small moment of horror can change everything.

When I was nine years old I couldn’t believe that my favorite high school hockey player, Andy Carroll, scored the go-ahead goal in the state championship game for the Roseville Raiders. Then suddenly the camera pointed at his mom who was holding a red flashing goal light as she was jumping for joy that her son ripped the puck through an Anoka defensemen and goaltender’s five-hole. Yes, he scored a double five-hole goal in the state championship game. When I checked Instagram a few days ago, I had found out that he just had passed away at a young 32. That nine-year-old David Zosel looked up to that high school hockey star as if he was the greatest thing since sliced bread.

When you grow up being a high school hockey star like Andy Carroll was, you really don’t have the time or give any conscious effort to build a role modeling relationship with a nine-year-old when you are perceived as a hotshot hockey player. Andy Carroll was not that at all. I am writing about Andy Carroll because he was an absolute Saint. As I am writing this I cannot wrap my head around the question of why do bad things happen to such good people?

It doesn’t make any sense to me.

My relationship with Andy started at a very young age at Roseville’s Sertich Hockey Camp, which for me was great because a lot of the high school players became your coach for the summer. In hindsight, you could tell that most of those 16-17-year-old coaches were there to fill water bottles, carry a puck bag, move the nets, or to make a small paycheck during the summer. Not Andy Carroll, that is for sure. He took a notice of me, made me feel welcome, taught me how to shoot, sauce the puck, and much more. He treated every kid the same, making everyone feel important during his ever first stint as being an ambassador for young hockey players.

Being a person of color in a predominately white sport, at that age I felt very uncomfortable in being a part of a locker room atmosphere because I looked different from everyone else. Andy included me in the comradery, welcomed me to the locker room, and he made an effort to talk to my parents after practice. I’ll never forget the day that he went up to my Father and told him about how much my skating had improved. Boy, did I think that was the coolest thing ever in my nine-year-old head.

We’ve been friends ever since.

Changing lanes, I followed his hockey career when he played for the University of Minnesota Duluth, which was great because my friend’s brother, Jordan Fulton, played for the Bulldogs at the same time, who was another high school player that had a big impact on me.

Years later, when I had my big high school hockey moment, you better believe that I got a phone call from Andy Carroll. He was one of the first people to call me and leave a voice message. It wasn’t a text or any other form of technological-social media communication, but an old-fashioned phone call. What a class act. On top of that, it needs to be mentioned that he called me right after the game as well. As I recollect this memory of him, Andy was more pumped than I was and more enthusiastic than anyone else about my big glorifying moment as a hockey player.

Remember, my relationship started with him when I was eight or nine years old, and it organically grew throughout the years.

This is a guy who followed his faith, never swore, drank, did drugs, talked bad about anyone, he was always positive, passionate, and persistent. Andy only followed what he believed in and walked a righteous path in life. He only wanted to help others get to the next level not only in hockey but also in achieving success in life. Most importantly, his modesty and humbleness rubbed off on so many people.

When I got word about this tragedy, I texted a former teammate of his, Jordan Fulton, and I told him that he was lucky to have played on a team with him. I wish I could have played on a hockey team with him.

My favorite moment with Carroll was when he told me that he would do anything to go to Europe and play hockey with Marty Sertich; Hobey Baker Award Winner, Mr. Hockey, and longtime Roseville Raider linemate. I thought that was remarkable because I was jealous that he genuinely told me that with such honesty because the only person that I could say that about was him. I wanted to be on his line, playing for the Roseville Raiders back in the 2003 State Championship game. But, I never told him, and that is why I am saying this now.

There are very few upstanding young men like Andy Carroll in this world. Despite all of these great qualities that he had, he never judged anyone for their sinister vices. This says a lot because we as humans are very judgemental, therefore his ability to accept others for who they were without any judgment was his greatest quality that I admired.

We kept in touch throughout his hockey career, but it was incredible how I got the honor to reconnect with him in my early adulthood when I got to work in the same building with him in a hockey workout training facility. He was there anywhere between one to three days a week, and you better believe that those were my favorite days when he was there. Not every kid in the world gets to reconnect with his childhood role model to only be working beside him. Albeit we did not work for the same company, but I would always help him with drills, workouts, and his skills classes.

It was the best to be able to shoot pucks with him while we both had work breaks. Man, he could really rip the puck compared to me. Which is why he was a pro hockey player and I was not.

That being said, why do bad things happen to good people? I don’t know all of the details of what or why this happened to him. But, I never want to know the truth of such an evil that did this to the world.

It isn’t fair. Life isn’t fair. It isn’t even supposed to be fair. When something is not right, fair, or just, you have to speak up. You have to say something and this article is everything that I have to say about him.

There was nothing more important to me when I was a kid who didn’t really feel comfortable playing hockey to hear some encouragement from someone that you looked up to. A small act of kindness can really go a long way.

The world has lost one valiant upstanding class act.

May his spirit live on.

Remember, “The Zos Knows”. 

-David Zosel

If you want to support my writing and for me to be able to create more content you can make a donation to either of these links:

Venmo or Patreon

When the “Minneapolis Miracle” struck pandamonium in the aura of our Minnesotan hearts of whom bled purple for their entire lives, I realized that I may have been one of very few Vikings fans wearing a Case Keenum jersey. If there were others, then I am 100% ten fold certain of the fact that I am the only one who was wearing a Nike Color Rush special edition version of his jersey that we didn’t even wear this year.

Forever these words will be branded into the brains of the brave-bold-bodacious Vikings fans for the rest of our future history when Joe Buck utterly sang the “sanctuarious” song that sonically sounded:

“Keenum steps into it.

Pass…is…CAUGHT!

DIGGS!

SIDELINE!

TOUCHDOWN!

UNBELIEVABLE!”

I don’t own many sports jerseys unless the player resonates with me, has a cool number, and plays with my favorite team. Well, Case Keenum hits all of those hard to capture categories. Also, I have very frugal tendencies so I habitually do not buy things for myself ever besides gas, food, and gifts for loved ones. Investing in a physical item for myself, let alone a jersey of a player is a major honor.

Changing lanes, when I was a kid, during the ’98 season I wore a Cris Carter jersey that my Father purchased for me. Boy, I wore that loud and proud, letting everyone know that Cris Carter was the bee’s knees. Yes, I was 6 years old and if you didn’t have a Cris Carter jersey on the playground, then you were not as cool as me. No one had that jersey and that meant that I was the coolest kid in school. Even up to the fifth graders, a kindergartener was cooler than they were.

I wore that jersey at least once a week to school until I grew out of it in second grade. My Father is the reason why I am a die-hard Vikings fan, and this may be the reason why I am very passionate about it.

If you’re hanging out with me during a game, and I am ignoring you because of what is going on the television then don’t take offense. Rarely, if I engage with you on another topic than Vikings football then that probably means that I really like and respect you.

Throwing it back again, in third grade, my Father bought me a Patrick Roy jersey, my favorite hockey player of all time. I wore that jersey every day for six months as the Colorado Avalanche made their Stanley Cup run. You better believe that I didn’t care about what other kids on the playground thought of me when I wore that uniform every day. No kid in Minnesota had that jersey, and at a young age, I took pride in being an individual.

I learned the lesson of being a trailblazing non-conformist kid, which follows my spirit till to this day.

Kid’s made fun of me so much that it was a huge problem, where they stole my jersey, pulled on it, ripped it, and tried to ruin it with glue and so what forth. This gave me tenacity and a crazy amount of mental toughness when I was only 9 years old. It was so bad that the Principal had to come into our classroom to set things straight for my class. I’ll never forget as a kid when she said that everyone needed to understand that they didn’t know what it was like to be so proud of something in their lives, and what it was like for something so powerful to resonate with them. Mrs. Wyatt, my third-grade teacher interjected that it was so remarkable of how she has never seen any kid in her 30 years of teaching, a student that was so prideful in something in their life.

Due to my grandiosity as a child, it got me into a lot of trouble. I needed to find other ways to be cool, and after that experience as a kid, I learned that the only way to do that was to be a good person. Therefore, I never wanted a jersey for anything else, for any other player, for any other sport for the rest of my life.

But, my Father was always there for me. Eleven years later he bought me a Jared Allen jersey, my favorite player for the Vikings at the time. Last year for Christmas, he bought me a Harrison Smith Jersey. My Father is the greatest man I know, and I will cherish those jerseys forever but nothing will compare to my Case Keenum jersey; the first ever jersey that I have ever purchased in my life.

After the second half of the Tampa Bay game this past year (9/24/17), I became a Case Keenum believer as I understood what he meant to me because of all of our commonalities. When he takes the field and leads the offense down the field, I am doing it with him in spirit.

The following Monday I customized a Nike Color Rush, purple, and gold, number seven Case Keenum, Minnesota Vikings uniform.

SKOL.

If you own this same jersey and have written about Case Keenum, then you’re almost as cool as I am. We could possibly start our own club because together we are the coolest kids on the block.

Fast forward to right now (1/14/18), as my divisional round playoff party ended, we left my house and walked to the bars to celebrate with a drink or two. Once again, I was the only one wearing a Case Keenum jersey, and everyone noticed.

Thank you, Case Keenum,for making me the coolest kid on the playground again for the first time since I was 9 years old.

SKOL, and you cannot forget that this Case is Closed.

Remember, “The Zos Knows”.

-David Zosel

Recently, I released my mental health written in a real-time memoir about my experience with prescription medication for my bipolar disorder. I call this psychological adversity my “gifted curse”, which is an oxymoron just like myself. But, maybe we are all oxymorons? Who knows.

Reluctantly, I was afraid to put out this book and I had second thoughts about it because I would about to be putting a tiny wood chip of my suckling soul out there for the world. That is a scary thought for anyone, and for me todo it gave me anxiety leading up to the day of publication.

Why did I do this? Simple, I wanted to help people. There is a lack of awareness, information, and understanding of how mental health can cripple people from reaching their greatest potential. This book means a great deal to me, as I have been absolutely tortured by the monsters in my head which have prevented me from flourishing the way that I want to.

My goal with this book is to help someone who is lost. Psychiatrists to understand. To make therapists empathize. For parents to accept their loved ones. By putting out this extremely personal piece, in a three-part series, I now will have the power to help someone, and that is all that I want.

Here is the summary of my book:

“Gray Poopon” is the first volume of author David Zosel’s book series “Conquering the Gifted Curse of Bipolarism.” It’s a real time memoir of the changes that he goes through with prescription medication to aid his Bipolar 1 Disorder. Zosel slowly discovers powerful interior and exterior changes while taking his meds, which he refers to as “gray poopon.” Written during a time of serious lows in his bipolar cycle, he provides brutal honesty regarding his fears, current life adversity, self-betterment, and quest to finding balance. Join Zosel as he journeys to recognize that medication does not solve all life problems, but can be used as a partial guide to finding equilibrium. Learn how he finds sheer determination to survive and thrive with Bipolar Disorder.

Right now, there is a FREE Kindle download available until January 17th. Click here for the link to download.

If you would like the paperback version, click here for the link to purchase.

I just want to help someone and make a difference so that those who suffer from a mental illness can transform it into a superpower to survive and thrive in this crazy world.

Remember, “The Zos Knows”.

-David Zosel

If you want to support my writing and for me to be able to create more content you can make a donation to either of these links:

Venmo or Patreon

Here is a small excerpt from my first book, “Gray Poopon”, which is the first volume of my series, “Conquering the Gifted Curse of Bipolarism”. This is a real-time memoir of the changes that I go through with prescription medication to aid my Bipolar 1 Disorder. This is a documentation of slowly discovering powerful interior and exterior changes while taking medication. This is extremely personal information where I provide brutal honesty regarding my fears, current life adversity, self-betterment, and the quest to finding balance.

1/16/17

Mania has always controlled my life, and depression has severely prevented me from life itself. Now, it is time for me to stare this demon in the eye and take it down. I want to start this journey with an exercise. First, I want you to inhale and then exhale through your mouth. Do it again. Now, do it faster then scream, “ahh” every two times. Next, do this ten times fast. Last, imagine “William Tell Overture” slowly playing while you do that. This is how my life and mind work, causing me to never flourish the way that I wanted to. There are too many ambitions, ideas and aspirations that I wanted to obtain in this life, but this problem, my struggle of my severe bipolar disorder has caused me to encounter major setbacks in my life.

Now, imagine breathing like Darth Vader slowly when you wake up and then it continues like that for the rest of the day. Then your day feels hopeless as you move like a sloth. Depression is the worst when you’re bipolar because you are so far deep down on this spectrum that it is worse than being diagnosed with actual depression. Now, imagine feeling like this for nine to eleven months straight after a manic episode that recently occurred for three to five months of hearing, “William Tell Overture” in your head all of the time.

I hate waking up everyday feeling like a different person. The only person that I want to be is my best self, David. There are so many alter egos that I have when I wake up. This has destroyed me in my early adulthood, but I am tired of this stupid excuse because it isn’t an excuse anymore. Ever since my diagnosis of bipolar disorder two years ago, I have made an effort to neutralize and improve my mental health everyday through shear determination, willpower, and without medication. My therapist says that I am one of few who she has seen in 20 plus years who has worked so hard with no medications to get better. But, I can’t shake it at to sustain a state of equilibrium for more than a few days.

It is time to try something new because I need help. This demon is going to be destroyed, and it is time for me to take my life back so I can live with discipline, spontaneity, freedom, and the creativity in the controlled fashion that I want to.

Prescription medications are the worst. I have been diagnosed with bipolar disorder over two and a half years ago, and I have chosen to battle this demon or angel without medication. Nevertheless, it has been rough. The pills they made me take in the hospital made me feel like a normal person. Who wants to feel normal? It was disgusting. I wanted to kill myself. So, I decided not to take prescribed medications for bipolar disorder. You may have heard of Lithium and Depakote because those are mainstream bipolar disorder treatments. Those are stupid names. Do you want to hear an even dumber name, Lamictal? Yes, medication names are dumb. Let’s be honest; I am going to re-brand this drug calling it “Gray Poopon,” spelling it like the color and how I assumed it will make me feel, pooped on. Let’s be honest, taking Lamictal is either going to make me feel like a fresh jar of Grey Poupon or like a Gray Poopon. I don’t know what the answer will be to that is yet. But, this is going to be an account of my yearlong journey of taking Gray Poopon. Hopefully, by the end of the experience, I’ll be on your futon spreading your girl like Grey Poupon, not feeling like a Gray Poopon. Which one of those results do you want for me?

Want to read more?

If you would like to purchase a copy of my book on Amazon, here is the link to get your paperback copy.

Also, if you prefer the Kindle version, here is the link to purchase your ebook. 

 

Remember,

“The Zos Knows”

-David Zosel