My Dougly; catch you on the backside?


mofugly

Two months ago a very good friend suddenly left this plane, and though it had been some time since I last had heard his voice, I often wondered how he was doing. But now I think about him several times a day, though not in the blame filled guilt trip kinda way, just sadness, a sadness in that I never knew he was even sick. I’ve always joked (not joking) that I am the sanest person I know. With Doug though, if pressed I might have given him a slight edge on me. He had his shit together before I moved away from Greensboro, NC 13 years ago, when we ran hard and worked even harder, and then sometimes ran even faster again. Doug and I shared the work hard-play-hard life philosophy of “buy the ticket, take the ride”.

Now I feel sympathy for him and empathetic to his partner (Christina) and their son Noah, who is one year older than my 10-year old first-born son. I’m sorry that one of the finest persons I’ve been lucky enough to have called my friend found himself trapped inside one of the most vile twisted and horrible conditions in psychiatry today. And one that would eventually strike and unravel, deciding his fate. I know it must have been unbearable suffering, because the Doug I knew rarely lost at anything in life, his natural constitution was using his considerable talents to find a way to win. And a winner he was in every respect.

2dougnnoahIronically in 2007 we discussed some of these same issues that later haunted him, issues that from all accounts he later apparently struggled with mightily. He and I talked about it over a couple of long phone calls when my two-year old son’s mother died, ironically in the same out-of-the-blue mind-fuck way in which he later succumbed. It was only after some time that I was able to personally heal enough not to be mad at her when I looked at my son’s beautiful face, but I eventually researched it enough (with counseling) and studied the disease (manic bi-polar dis-order) enough to understand how she had been very sick, and her’s was not a selfish act… in some ways heroic. I admit to being mad at Doug too for those first couple of days as it is only a normal reaction. But, I hope that those who loved Doug will find it within themselves to forgive, and give Noah the love he will need going forward.

I’m now certain she (my son’s Mother) thought she was doing me and our son and maybe the world a favor. How could it happen only a few years later that Doug apparently didn’t recognize the symptoms he was experiencing as being eerily similar, and NOT seek immediate medical help?

Perhaps the greatest faculty our minds possess is the ability to cope with pain. Classic thinking teaches us of the four doors of the mind, which everyone moves through according to their need.

First is the door of sleep. Sleep offers us a retreat from the world and all its pain. Sleep marks
passing time, giving us distance from the things that have hurt us. When a person is wounded they will often fall unconscious. Similarly, someone who hears traumatic news will often swoon or faint. This is the mind’s way of protecting itself from pain by stepping through the first door.

Second is the door of forgetting. Some wounds are too deep to heal, or too deep to heal quickly. In addition, many memories are simply painful, and there is no healing to be done. The saying ‘time heals all wounds’ is false. Time heals most wounds. The rest are hidden behind this door.

Third is the door of madness. There are times when the mind is dealt such a blow it hides itself in insanity. While this may not seem beneficial, it is. There are times when reality is nothing but pain, and to escape that pain the mind must leave reality behind.

Last is the door of death. The final resort. Nothing can hurt us after we are dead, or so we have been told.

Patrick RothfussThe Name of the Wind

dougfricksOur friendship was special in many ways, and I never doubted it was one that was built to last despite wherever our individual paths would lead us. The few times we did talk in the last 3-4 years it seemed like yesterday that we were laughing, golfing, partying, or talking through long hours of a weekend night, building a unique bond of brotherhood. And, so times remain in memories too, and though we’ve duffed our last good times together on the front nine of this “good walk spoiled”… My Dougly, I’ll catch you on the backside.  

Doug will always seem near, and I doubt that feeling will ever yield, serving as testimony to all that we weathered together and how at one time we were bonded as if tethered. Time passed, and distance drew us further apart only in this physical realm, his life essence today as clear to me as anyone I’ve ever encountered who has passed my way..

In my minds eye I still see those bright sparkling sea blue eyes smiling that eternal grin, a slightly toothy and twisted grin that always uttered a quick shortish chuckle like a verbal wink, not a sneering snarkle.

I can still hear him saying…

“My Tommy-boy, what’s happen.n…in’…huh-huh-hnn” his standard opening line in modified uptalk.

“You, my brotha…  you’re happenin’. What might we do to make this sunny Friday good reason to call it a week? I make an air-golf-swing and give him an inquisitive look as if asking a question?

(Laughs out loud)” You’re on, but let me take care of a few things first. Let’s meet at Stoney Creek in an hour… they’ll squeeze us on. But, not before I buy you an ice-cold beer,” he offers, pulling one out of the small cooler in his tiny back office.

“Schweet, See ya’ at 12:45ish”, popping the top for a cool swig of cerveza.

The golf the excuse, the time spent laughing and chatting it up (and a few cold-uns) the real reasons we were playing. Of course, he almost always won, and I almost always got the tab later. Usually, he paid half anyway.

And so it was, that we sometimes were out late-ish. Closing time.

__________________________________________________________________________________

We sometimes but very rarely meet a person who shares a common natural vibe, manifesting itself as a subtle synchronous one-man-ship. Perhaps it is luck when two minds and hearts of like kind can instantly formulate and understand the other’s deepest thoughts and bind effortlessly in such a short time? True friendship, lastingly rare as it is, transcends the world we think we see and enters into a more sublime reality; where life and death are no different than time and distance, just a weird cohesive illusion. Maybe mind stays fresh for a time in the Consciousness of the Great  Immensity? People who have died that I knew well never do seem as far from me as those whom I am merely acquainted with. Then again, maybe its just a function of the brain’s electrical neurotransmitters and neural networks, and there’s no big truth to discover after death? For now, I’ll take what I can get.

With Christina,,Doug's partner and mother of Noah
With Christina,,Doug’s partner and mother of Noah

Neither of us a nihilist, and both always too real, we never disagreed about what is here and now, though we differed on the eternal spinning of the wheel. Doug, a religious believer, and me a skeptic… one never cared to convert the other, because we agreed that hey, “it is what it is”. Apparently Doug had one year earlier sold his restaurant, a business that started as a tiny cramped sandwich shop that he nurtured into a large, thriving, one-of-a-kind place to eat by the time Doug had hit 35. It was the epitome of the term “cash cow”. I often wonder if his having sold his life’s work recently and somewhat stumbling around free and without a solid plan for his next big move contributed to his fall from grace. “Idle hands are the Devils work”, they say, but then one must first also believe in the Devil. Doug did, not me. May be I’m just lucky? Lucky?

Well… curiously enough, I too “retired” from a successful career with the intent to take some “idle time” first before embarking on another big challenge at around the same age as Doug did (47). That was 12 years ago, and I’ve not worked at a job since then. But, don’t sleep on the fact that the years surrounding age 47 can be a difficult period for many men, as it is around the time we experience one of our greatest “changes of the seasons”. It is a time where questions outnumber answers, reason gives in to fantasy, and suppressed Jungian archetypes arrive unannounced to ring a gentle alarm, seemingly without an off button but a relentless snooze reminder.

For me, an avid reader from way back and a suction for knowledge of all things anything, I trust that this malady of Doug’s will stay at bay throughout my less-than-ideal projected number of remaining days. Smart and stubborn, when told in January ’06 I had “less than five years” to make my indelible mark on humanity, I simply refused to accept it, or believe it was a possibility.

After all, after 50 years of child-free living and loving it… I had become a father. I was a single father, and this wonderful life-giving “reason for reasons” became my duty bound refusal to leave as scheduled. I mean, to me it was as simple as, “No, I have a little boy to raise.”

Maybe in the twisted end we’ll all find that in sublime irony, “living is dying, and dying is living, or something a thousand times more weird. But, NOW is the only sure bet we have. It pays to have hope, reason, and expectation of a future… but we should never take our eye off the ball of NOW.

“The human being cannot live in a condition of emptiness for very long: if he is not growing toward something, he does not merely stagnate; the pent-up potentialities turn into morbidity and despair, and eventually into destructive activities.”

—  Rollo MayMan’s Search for Himself 

_________________________________________________

infinity

I admired a man named Douglas Fricks, an honest and loyal friend killed by one of (god’s) nastiest tricks. Smart and funny, happy and caring, humble, sharing, compassionate and never once was he over-bearing. Confident and cool, his actions were the example his employees didn’t learn in school. He didn’t worship money, he worshiped Noah and (sometimes) even his honey.

He spoke the truth and he knew its limits, but he never seem to pass on one more ice-cold beer… and I was right there, but we always usually sometimes held it together.  He was “My-Fugly-My-Dougly”, and my “Friggy-my Diggy”. And me, to him… just “Tommy-boy” (my habit of nicknaming and his return sally).

I hope you found your peace my brother, I’ll always be your biggest fan. You in the fairway and me the woods, your smooth swing had you dancing, and me hacking, whacking, hatchet thicket smacking… but you never let me know how far down I stood. I loved YOU for the you that was you… and you, My Dougly… I always will.

-30-

Wisconsin Re-Dux, a Kentucky “if only” Moment


History in the NOT making, as Wisconsin gets revenge at the 2015 F4 against Kentucky who was 38-0. and searching for history's first 40-0 season. kentucky won the first F4 game vs. Wisky in 2014, setting up the re-match.
History in the NOT making, as Wisconsin gets revenge at the 2015 F4 against Kentucky who was 38-0. and searching for history’s first 40-0 season. kentucky won the first F4 game vs. Wisky in 2014, setting up the re-match.

From Psychology Today we have this:

The phrase “if only” is the spandex of rationalization. It can stretch as far as we need it to in order to accommodate the list of considerations we want to include.

The danger of “if only” is that it may breed too much regret or function to deflect or displace responsibility. At times, the “if only” may attach to a person’s actions in her own past. It can also attach to the actions of another. And finally, it may attach to factors and considerations that are largely beyond our control. An “if only” may be accompanied with regret or resignation, or it may be conjoined with defiance and accusation.

This same idea is sometimes expressed in my circles as… shoulda’, woulda’, coulda’. So, realizing from the git-go that it is easy to criticize and second guess in hindsight, the following is simply an observation without intent to criticize. This was a most remarkable year for The Big Blue, and I could only barely be more proud of what they accomplished.

Dekker had his way with Kentucky's all-time best defense getting to the rim for and1's and busting a pressure three point shot late in the game to ice the victory.
Dekker had his way with Kentucky’s all-time best defense getting to the rim for and1’s and busting a pressure three point shot late in the game to ice the victory.

This year’s Wisconsin Final Four best version of themselves (v2.0.W2015) was a much improved and more formidable foe than (v1.0.W2014), and who re-matched up well and played even better, and deserved to win the game against our own new and improved Wildcats. And yet, before game time, and even late in the game I was quite confident of a Kentucky win.

What went wrong? Was it outlier shooting? No. Rebounding? Little bit. What?

Relaxed and ready, this the Tank didn't, beating Kentucky inside on multiple Gumby type stretch moves on the low post and hitting big threes.
Relaxed and ready, this time the Tank didn’t, beating Kentucky inside on multiple Gumby type stretch moves on the low post and hitting big threes.

As my amateur analytics nickname among friends (Nostrathomas) faithfully represents, I think I can with some extra effort consistently and accurately “remote view” how critical games will most likely be played out… by simply but thoroughly using each team’s season statistical (team and individual) data for reference. Now, I may or may not ably predict the winner of every game, since reality has its funny way of creeping into statistical equations and never have I seen both team’s match their norm within one contest. Even so, I think I can reasonably assume that I understand what both coaches will (need) to do strategy-wise in order to enjoy their best statistical chance of winning since it is based upon those norms.

Of course, the game is played on hardwood not paper, but statistical analysis has proven its worth time and again in nearly every sport where enough crucial data is available. Sorry Mr. Barkley, but it is The New Paradigm.

Think of Backgammon. The dice, with their built in statistical odds always contain a measure of luck, while in-game strategy represents how to move your side once the roll is performed in order to achieve the best statistical position to best compete to win. While you can’t control the dice, you can control the move if you understand how and can calculate odds. It can be summed up by saying ‘move your side to your opponent’s roll’s worst statistical advantage, and to your next roll’s best statistical advantage.

With proper weighting of statistical averages in enough critical categories using two team’s defensive and offensive strengths, some knowledge of the game’s “intangibles”, and taking into account a number of obscurities which can sometime affect outcomes, one can pit strengths vs. weaknesses of both teams and usually find areas for both teams to exploit and the odds for/against. There is a degree of subjectivity involved, though it is relatively small.

Against Wisconsin, somehow my tea leaves apparently didn’t match those of John Calipari’s analytics guy, or maybe JC didn’t listen, or ask his advice. My analysis was quite clear, and I believe Kentucky’s game plan and/or lack of recognition in-game of the proper statistical strategy was flawed enough to allow for an upset, despite us playing pretty decent basketball. I disagree with those who feel Kentucky played poorly, and contend that we didn’t prepare the most likely proper coherent winning strategy based on the numbers, nor did we adjust in-game situation strategy at critical junctures.

John Calipari may be the only one who could stop Devin Booker from shredding Wisconsion from deep, as they were a poor defender of the 3 pt. shot all season ranked #301, and they sagged off of the perimeter permitting Kentucky to look for the three ball. For some reason, The Cats only took 4 threes, making 3 of them all game, and forcing the ball inside.
John Calipari may be the only one who could stop Devin Booker from shredding Wisconsin from deep, as they were a poor defender of the 3 pt. shot all season ranked #301, and they sagged off of the perimeter permitting Kentucky to look for the three ball. For some reason, The Cats only took 4 threes, making 3 of them all game, instead forcing the ball inside.

Kentucky’s lack of attempts at three point shooting was critical to the outcome of the game, especially considering the poor in-game rebounding numbers as it unfolded. Wisky was one of Division 1’s worst (#301) at defending the three. Kentucky had three guards (Andrew Harrison, Tyler Ulis, Devin Booker) who had a 40% combined three point average for the season. Ironically not included was Aaron Harrison, who was widely known as a big-shot maker under pressure. Harrison shot under 30% threes over the season, however, he was shooting the three at a 60% clip during the NCAA tournament. Go figure?

Wisconsin’s sagging defense from the outset to eliminate entry passes to the bigs and clog the lane opened vistas of opportunity for a well coached offense wanting to the exploit the three point shot. Yet Kentucky took a dismal (3) three-pointers during the entire game (save a 26 foot heave with 8 seconds left that wouldn’t have likely mattered), and made all three of them. Hmmm? The perimeter play and in-game passing clearly spoke to the idea of forcing the ball inside, and not the quick crisp passing one would expect to see if the idea had been to free up shooters on the perimeter. The Wisconsin players post game confirmed the idea of sagging and wanting to limit KAT’s touches down low.

Personally, I would have expected that having a nuclear weapon like Devin Booker available demanded that we attempt to free him up with a set play or two. We not only played a whole game with his big gun in the locked position, but it meant we would suffer his only perceivable downside (single coverage defense). I don’t think that Devin was allowed to be the best version of himself against Wisconsin. I expect he was disappointed in not getting some open looks behind the line and my money said he would light up Wisconsin if he had. Shoulda’, Woulda’, Coulda’.

Did Calipari’s pain after the 2010 West Virginia debacle (3-28 3pt. shooting) affect his decision making in 2015? He had stated publicly that he wasn’t going to lose another tournament game at the three point line. Did he just lose one at the three point line… by not shooting them?

The 2010 Elite Eight game may have sabotaged the 2015 F4 against Wisconsin when Kentucky made only 3 of 28 threes, prompting JC to state that it would never happen again (to get beat by the three).
The 2010 Elite Eight game may have sabotaged the 2015 F4 against Wisconsin when Kentucky made only 3 of 28 threes, prompting JC to state that it would never happen again (to get beat by the three

The mere fact that it seemed Kentucky took the air out of the ball after forging a 4-point lead and subsequently committing three successive clock violations is enough proof to me that players were instructed not to look for the three, despite our clear advantage in this area. Three point shooting teams in the hunt rarely, if ever have to worry about shot clock violations.

Interestingly, in my game analysis there were no other serious red flags, and the teams appeared much more alike than they were different, with Kentucky holding a slight but perceptible edge in a few key areas. Wisky’s offensive numbers essentially nullified our defensive prowess, and so any small advantages were to be on the offensive end. I figured that in a 7-game series, Kentucky would likely win in six games with one in double figures, if there weren’t any outliers. The first game is typically the favorite’s best statistical advantage in a series.

Personally, I love John Calipari as coach and I hope he never leaves (at this current performance rate). Usually he adjusts in-game according to other team,  dissecting the flow and dynamics of the game. And, it would be unfair not to mention that his game plan brought us back from two large deficits, and captured the lead mid-way through the second half, all without looking for the three-ball. And, we nearly won despite not taking advantage of the only glaring statistical difference we owned.

Regardless, for me this game will forever be “the one that got away”. If only…

Carolina (still) on My Mind


With the recent passing of basketball coaching legend Dean Smith, memories of being a KENTUCKY/Louisville fan in the heart of Tobacco Road flood my memory. To me, Dean was the best basketball coach I’ve ever had the joy of watching, but then…

deano

I remember the moment I became an ABC’er (Anybody But Carolina) as clear as if it were yesterday, although it happened almost 37 years ago.

It was March 3rd, 1978…

Having grown up in Louisville, Kentucky and ripe with a BA from J-school at Morehead State University, I had three days earlier piled everything I owned into my 1973 Chevy Impala, weathered 30″ inches of fresh Kentucky snow through the craggy West Virginia coal country, zagged Southerly down Interstate-77, and finally zigged over the foggy Southern Virginia Appalachian mountains.

In a lush green North Carolina valley I finally unloaded my gear to begin my new life, and new job in Greensboro, NC. Though I’d only been there briefly in the month before (for my job interview), it had then seemed to me to be a friendly, habitable place. You know, well lit.

This was my first day in my new position as Sales Trainee for a small fast growing real estate publisher. It was around 4:30 p.m. as I sat in my sparsely furnished office, shuffling papers around wondering what I might pretend to be doing for the next hour or so.

After an eager tap on my door, a toothy well-dressed man slid in, smiling and shaking hands.  “Hi I’m Geoff Wolfe, the VP here. I hear you’re from Kentucky? Me? I graduated from Chapel Hill, that’s as in No..r..th Ca..ro..li..na. Basketball,” he offers and grins Cheshire cat-ishly.

“Pleased to meet you, and yes I’m from Louisville, went to Morehead State University. Uh, that’s as in Kentucky… as in Big Blue Bas..ket…ball,” I chided, eager to see that I’m talking to a basketball fan from another great traditional power. (At that time in March 1978 Kentucky was ranked number 1 in the country, with Twin Towers so big that airplanes could never bring them down).

“Well…”, he frowned then looked serious for once. “You know… Kentucky couldn’t play in the ACC”, he says matter-of-factly. “They’re number 1 right now only because they play in such a weak conference. They could never play our schedule.”

Then he shot a few ‘air-free throws’ looking away, he had tuned me out before I could offer rebuttal. He propped his shoes up on my desk. He shoots from deep.”Ford, from Franklin Street. “Yeesss”.

I gulped. I stuttered. My face flushed and I suddenly could smell my underarms overpowering my deodorant. I was stunned as he played his semi-silent game of air-shoot-ball, complete with the “hRaaahh” of crowd approval after each made shot. He made ’em all.

Looking somewhere in the distance, out the window I imagined being back over the NC mountains in the friendly confines of Kentucky. I sat silently while my brain lurched for clever, nervously ‘doing the math’ on what to say, on what could I say to this 4-corner Neanderthal. And, one whom it seemed, owned me…

Finally…”Uh, well… Uh Mr. Geo… uh Smith, that’s bullshit about how we can’t play in the ACC. Really, I mean that’s kinda…. stu…pid. No really, that’s f**&king stupid,” I muttered very low and gravely, but mainly to myself.

“Yeah… well, welcome to ACC country”, laughed Smith with his stupid smirk, still grabbing rebounds and making cheering putbacks. Then just as quickly, he’s up and out my door, his arrogance forever starting a fire in my heart known only to a true ABC’er.

————-

One month later I celebrated both Kentucky’s fifth Natty against a formidable Duke team, and the recent news of Geoff Smith’s firing… by yelling and hooting it up at the then-and-now famous “Four Corners” bar, in downtown Chapel Hill, North Carolina. 

“Hey everybody”, I squealed to an uninterested few with both job and basketball safe from the idiocy

“I hear that Kentucky couldn’t play in the ACC! Well, looks like we just did!”

jack

I lived in North Carolina for most of the next 24 years, enduring the basketball I.Q. equivalents of some 17th Century cultists, sometimes arguing college basketball religion along the way. Though I made many friends in NC, I’ve hated the Baby Blue with a fervent passion since that first Geoff Smith swish.

I worked with Duke University and the University of North Carolina during many of those years, but rarely talking Kentucky basketball with the infidels. I had a press pass at Cameron Indoor for many games/years and witnessed some thrilling Duke-UNC tilts there. The truth is, just as we Kentucky and Louisville fans have and understand, they both have much basketball tradition to be proud of.

Though I was always careful not to root for Duke, and always against the Tarheels, I admit to a little Dean Smith envy during much of that time. No one could get more out of the last 30 seconds of a game than The Dean.

But in all that time I loved the Cats and Cards and Kentucky basketball, traveling to see them play wherever and whenever I could, and partying years with the rest of Big Blue Nation.

Having lived in North Carolina for so long, I came to know every argument for/against Duke, Wake, NC State and UNC upside down and backwards. Though it got to be a tougher argument through the years, there’s one thing I can say from true life experience, and from having lived in and being around both basketball crazed states… Kentucky and North Carolina. At the end of the day…

“THERE’S NOTHING LIKE KENTUCKY BASKETBALL.”

A Word about Friends…


Winter, Spring, Summer or Fall… yeah, yeah, yeah…

all you’ve got to do is call (but, just not right now)… (yeah)…

you’ve got a… friend-ish.


applesto oranges

I clearly remember thinking once that “friends” were the most important possession one could have, and as such I would never EVER forsake my (then) friends for anyone else (like a wife, siblings, parents, or kids), and that our friendship(s) would likely last until my last remaining breath, right before meeting my (player to be named later – well, I hadn’t figured that part out yet).This was right after a good buddy refused to go out drinking with the boys, citing “a problem” with “his second grader’s homework.” The nerve of that guy, putting family before friends. I know, right?

TA and RonnyAs a card totin’ certified ‘late schedule maturing adult’, I think I was almost 40 when that brainchild hit me. By then, I had managed to collect and keep a handsome collection of assorted friends and a loyal wife, while sporting zero liabilities… I mean kids. We lived a busy but exciting life, but it wasn’t exactly hassle-free. Staying connected to friends was important to both of us, and we had a contingent of childless like-minded couple friends. Always the man’s man, I managed my guy friends (buddies) with a deft touch, all having been dutifully earned and cultivated throughout different time periods in my life. And dude, I was always there for them at a moments notice. Cheers. (Note: It may be a Darwinian trait for us to heavily imbibe alcoholic beverages among friends at gatherings).

Sc Myrtle Harley Octoberfest

Problem with spouse? No worries mate, let’s go have a beer. Job pressures? Meet me for lunch and we’ll hammer it out. Uh, you told her you didn’t love her anymore after driving home from her birthday dinner and that you wanted a divorce? Hello? …Wha? sitting in the garage? She hit you with what?

OK. Sit tight. Let me check on the next flight to ‘Mozambique’… I’ll be there by Friday night.

Yes, actually the above conversation did take place, and so I dutifully spent about a grand+ to travel (to offender city) that same weekend, then spend 12 hours Saturday loading a full size U-haul, and drive it all day Sunday to Kentucky while listening attentively the-entire-way to my bud’s complaints about (soon to be ex-wife), and how he had been victimized by the whole affair. Right. Check. I see. Oh, and you’ve been having a secretive affair with the next Ms. Right (in Kentucky) for about three months? Got it. He did thank me before we parted ways on Sunday evening, and I left town feeling like a real man and loyal friend.06-makingchanges

Unfortunately, almost a year later he blew through my hometown one night (travelling, work related) during a fresh self-inflicted marital crisis of my own. Instead of giving me the blind emotional support I felt I deserved (True, even though I was the offender), as he sat down to our dinner table he spoke with an assumed authority that he had not been granted: “My brother, it is well known that thou reap-est what thou sow-est.” Then, he added something about how I might want to do a gut-check on my guiding principles, or something? I don’t know, because by then I was too dizzy to hear anything.

Red faced and shaking I looked at him incredulously, “No, you didn’t just say that did you…huh? No, you didn’t,” then got up and went to my office to try and calm down before I strangled him. Luckily, after breathing deep I decided not to make a scene and calmly sauntered back to the table and struck up a more positive vibe by talking basketball.

After dinner, (smoking my expensive cigars) he waxed philosophical about how happy he had been since his recent divorce. Though in principle he was right about me, on pure friendship terms he had committed the rare but egregious ‘simultaneous intentional personal and technical fouls’. After 15 years now I haven’t forgiven him for it, nor has he asked forgiveness. In fact we never discussed it. Tilt. (-1)

THE BEST FRIEND COMPETITION

This topic alone could fill an entire book, but I will try to shorten it. As my life progressed with new places and people, changing values and beliefs, and professional and economic status, I realized that ‘best friend’ is at best a relative term. Much like one’s memory of a first lover, it can be hard to shake the impressions a childhood or high school best friend leaves on one’s psyche, even in lieu of overwhelming evidence that life’s meandering ways have left you two once best friends with little in common today. Maybe dougfrickseven directly oppositional in philosophical terms. Even with the effort of a late second half struggle to keep the “oath” relevant, many times it can meet with a resounding… WTF, or just fizzle out. (-½)
Soon though you realize that one can have best friends categorically; as in a best friend from childhood, best from college, best conquering the real world of work, best in mischief, best unknown known (hat tip to Rumsfield), best known unknown, etc. The mighty Christmas card list grows and it becomes a full time job to keep it fresh. It can sometimes become a revolving and relentless golf outing/Vegas/ball game annual boys weekend that seems endless; and it must all be squeezed neatly into an already packed vacation calendar. My ex-wife, god bless her, merely shrugged in complete non-judgment as I friend hopped around the country like an idiot at a fire drill. (I’ve since given up golf, can’t afford gambling, and watch games at home or out with friends).

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAOf course, no friend post would be complete without the venerable ‘opposite sex’ friend comment. Despite the issues and aside from avoiding ANY wrongdoing, if one is married or in a relationship, my advice is as it has always been, “just don’t go all Freemason” on this situation, and discuss it openly with your partner/mate. As in… a secret friendship does NOT accord with a viable platonic friend. By lying/hiding… anything you say can and will be twisted into impropriety. A good friend becomes, “Friends with penalties”.

In fact, it somewhat pains me to suggest ‘just forget it’ when/if you later become involved in a romantic relationship. It pains me because friends are too dear to forsake them for innocent misunderstandings, but then life is too short to be miserable with the one you love. What’s weird is that when I met my current partner nearly ten years ago I had several platonic girlfriends. In fact, my partner and I were platonic “friends with possibilities” for 2-3 years before becoming romantically involved. Once the romance began the issues over these friends seemed to escalate.

Life it seems, is full of choices. (-5)

19-tabu_orlando_022209%252048I don’t get the “friends with benefits” concept at all. To me the act of making love is maybe the single most important factor in a sustainable happy relationship with a romantic partner, and the act alone involves a heavy emotional investment from both partners for complete enjoyment and satisfaction. It seems like “sport sex” simply cheapens the product to me, but like everything else I understand that everyone doesn’t have to think the same. If you can do it without hurting someone and with a clean conscience, go for it.

For many (men) there can be some life altering shake-ups of monumental proportions as we transition into our late-middle years, and ones that blow the ‘we’ll always be friends’ theory clearly out of the water, and into altered reality status. Afterwards, old friends, new friends, everyone is scrutinized with a “who the fuck is this person” freshness. In the meantime no calls are returned, no messages answered, or doorbells heard. And you, operating within a shadow of your former self, might simply be staring at walls for hours… contentedly. This twisted fog, a mangled mess of mayhem (some call the mid-life crisis) eventually passes, but now its your friends who have begun the slice-and-dice on you. Re-appraisal time from both corners. (-15)

Once one steps away from the BIG LIE buffet of success and begins that inevitable slow melt into the masterpiece (hat tip Leonard Cohen), or much earlier for the family inclined statistically normal folks who marry and have families around their late twenties, a certain ‘friend’ re-evaluation period becomes a born again necessity to you. (-75)singing with the nigerian nightmare

For these latter case upwardly mobile (family types) it likely becomes apparent that life’s (commitments plus time-to-accomplish) have squeezed out all (time potential for fulfillment success) in every 24/hr day, leaving the potential fun bank busted (0/24) and the great pairing down commences. But, as for the former (masterpiece melters) who may also have endured a train wreck of sorts, it simply comes down to a re-factoring of the current value proposition, in which the erosion of (ideals to value system) have been modified over time… enough to red-line at high disparity levels, thus begging the question, “WTF, how/why we saw fit to become ‘friends’ in the first place?”

The second law of thermodynamics spares no one my friend. Entropy always wins at the end of the day.

last fuckThat disturbingly segues into answering the ‘why have we remained friends’ question, and given the obvious conflict in world-views on so many levels we realize that we’re actually not very fond of some of our supposed friends; an idea that hadn’t occurred to us until (now). At this point the ‘pairing down’ becomes a ‘lopping off’, with the understanding that most friends weren’t actually friends in the first place. Most likely they were ‘acquired’ by a sort of proxy through groups and organizations or circumstances and activities in which you were mutually involved at some earlier point in your respective pasts. And, one that is continuously passing, renewing, eroding, re-configuring, evolving. (-100)

I suspect that Facebook has brought this reality home to roost to many people more than ever, as I am so often perplexed by some of my ’friends’ beliefs, observations, and ideas enough to make me, uh, lol. And while a biting wit and sarcasm does well to satisfy my own sinister cynical derision, it sometimes leaves me with that half-empty feeling that once crept in while listening to some hilarious and cynically funny but darkly laced anecdotes from peers, during their retirement speeches to which I’d been treated.OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

There was something sadly comical about several of these (old) guys, who had obviously dug up their buried hatchets, after long sitting on their unique personalities, and likely bitten their bottom lip for so long they had almost been forgotten. But now, in their twilight moment they were exposing themselves as the company heretic hiding in the closet. “Finally,” these folks must have reasoned, “the chance to tell-it-like-it-is, and without fear of reprisal. Ain’t holding nothin’ back.” After a few drinks at the head table, I’ve seen some guys I considered eunuchs grow huge balls right before my very eyes and put them on full display. (+5)

17-saeletters

FACEBOOK (+20)

scotty and jerry kidwellI see some real benefit in using Facebook (if only because I really am a nice guy and enjoy hearing of others important moments in life), and perhaps sometimes like to show off my own family pride (without the warts) to the adoring masses, or just to sometimes openly vent about some wrongdoing or situation, and to anyone who’ll listen (all without an encryption filter despite Ed Snowden’s warnings ). Still, I try to maintain a tiny degree of modicum, with highly acute don’t give a rat discretion.

It may be no surprise that (*open honesty) in today’s vernacular actually translates to: ‘subversive anarchist who attempts to discuss reality with those who refuse to listen and wish NOT to know conflicting sides of anything they want to believe in and those who would rather SA just shut up and enjoy FREEDOM in the USA with all its pretensions, rights and vain-glories’. (*Your mileage may vary. Illegal unless otherwise stated herein, Please read the fine print. ( i.e. Either way you’re fucked, bitch).

I do like hearing other’s opinions of the facts, but I have my limitations. First, I must pre-suppose a commenter’s knowledge of subject matter. Please do your homework first. You know, like not saying “there’s no Santa Claus’ cause’ December 25 is Jesus’ birthday,” and shit. Second, leave all war-mongering at the door, or better… leave it with the military industrial complex. They’re doing it well enough without any popular support. Third, when in doubt, it’s time to STFU.

powerburchett

MY FACEBOOK RULES FOR COMMENTING and DISCUSSIONS WORTH NOTING (this is imaginary but who knows?)

The best compliment I ever got on Facebook was from a friend who said, “…that’s what I like about you… you’re abrasive.” That’s me. You can be too. Remember, abrasive, sarcastic, funny, but not repetitive.

TALKING POINTS

Political expression is fine, as long as you can agree to a few things first: 1.There is no such thing as a liberal or conservative or Democrat or Republican, and Libertarian is dying in favor of Authoritarian. And, in truth there is only one party: The Green Authoritarian party. BTW, also that the ‘Party’ is controlled by a short list of well-healed extreme right and extreme left minded criminals who double as honest people, and who use our government and it’s officials as puppets to further their own secretive politico-economic agenda.unfriend

Whereby thanks to these fucks, ER + EL does not equate to Extreme Middle statistically, economically, or politically. That’s the place where you use to live, but they burnt it down using play money and THE US Constitution as kindling, thus it no longer exists.

If you agree with the above check YES, otherwise refrain from posting dumbass Fox News clips, or stupid bi-partisan drivel or discussing/arguing Politics and Policy with me. And yes, I have done my homework. Have you?

On my Facebook page please try to: Imagine there’s no heaven, and no hell below us (hat tip J. Lennon). It’s easy if you try. Violators will be consigned to the archives of evangelical lost souls. If you insist on quoting Jesus, only original sources are allowed. By virtue of sticking firmly to this rule, Jesus issues should OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAcare of themselves.

Remember, religious worship is a world-wide phenomenon (and IS NOT relegated to yours exclusively), a nefarious idea that alone creates and supports divisive intolerant ignorance, and mostly leaves blood in its wake. You are urged to be mindful and careful when posting this sensitive topic.

Profanity that’s profane is both tolerated and encouraged. Say what you mean and mean what you say, with profanes. Sarcasm is appreciated, but ironically funny wins the day. Double entendre’ is my specialty.

And BTW, this page is a Tin Hat friendly site, but have facts to back up any incredibly unlikely scenarios. And while unlikely is relative it draws closer to likely than ever before.

Above all friends, lighten up and enjoy the moment… try not to over post “share this if you agree” comments, and please turn off those “where you’re having lunch’ notifications. It only notifies me that you’re a tool. But hey, ignorance can be cured… it is stupidity that leaves its indelible mark.

Don’t hate sarcasm or you’ll end up hating me too, and I need ALL the friends I can get. Or, another hole in the head?


EDITOR’S NOTE:

family
As expected my Facebook page is now safely ignored by 99% of my Facebook friends. That’s what happens when you set the Facebar too high, I guess.

Final word. I’m not exactly sure what the definition of a friend is today. There are people I’d like to call my friend, but I’m not sure it is appropriate when we know so little of one another, and there’s little time and not enough beer for that to happen. It’s probablt too late for us. There are some whom I think I know and who know me well… but even then our communication goes silent for long drifts of time. Locally my friends feel more like ‘strong acquaintances’ to me. There’s a connection, but how strong is it? It seems to me that my family have become my friends, and sometimes to my chagrin.

But hey, that’s what makes a real friend a real friend. Someone you can count on (and vice-versa) to hear you out if/when the shit storm hits the fan. Remember, friendships are best served as a two-way dish and lukewarm to the touch.

To all my friends, wanna-bees, and wish-the-hell-they-never-met-mees, Cheers!OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERAcollier

(+1)

Peace

Re-post: Why Americans aren’t completely into soccer… yet. (opinion)


watermarked_thumbnail

THIS was written shortly after Spain had beaten Netherlands 1-0 in the 2010 World Cup final. It is a re-post, but the ideas are still prescient

You may have heard that FIFA, the governing (futbol) body in World Soccer has announced the use of “goal line technology” to be deployed soon at a pitch near you (or at least in the 2014 World Cup). Its funny, because my ideas (below) caught a rash of shit from the nay saying purists (read: foreigners) who bellowed that it would never happen…  and hell, it wasn’t even on the table back then. I mean, should an American even have the right to suggest changes to this venerable game?

When it comes to Soccer, Americans know nothing, right? But does America really  hate “the beautiful game”? Soccer is the second most popular sport by participation among children under 15 in the U.S. Our Women have dominated the sport for years, becoming the most dominant team in any international sport. Is it long before our men catch up with the rest of the world and make a WC finals? Probably, but give us another 12-16 years and…
2010 FIFA World Cup South Africa (video game)
2010 FIFA World Cup South Africa (video game) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

2010. I’m American and a soccer fan.

Unfortunately, I’m already feeling withdrawals from the thought of four years of semi-hibernation sans-soccer about to commence.

Like many soccer fans I watched most of this year’s World Cup, read a ton of internet articles, and listened to this year’s flavors of talking head, who all weighed in on “the beautiful game” and America’s ambivalent attitude towards it.

Though I’m not an expert by any stretch, I am a fan who has watched soccer from the outside for many years. I played American collegiate soccer over 30 years ago at a Division 1 college in Kentucky, though back then the game was nebulous as to the meaning of “American”. Like many American college teams, we were a collection of decent foreign players and renegade American sports athletes who for various reasons no longer graced their once chosen sport, or who had played high school soccer at one of the few schools who fielded a team. I was an ex-distance runner with average soccer skills who was recruited on-campus after I decided to forgo my track scholarship. After graduating, I played club soccer in North Carolina for about 10 years. Now, my experience comes exclusively from my thousands of hours addiction to playing video game maker Konami and EASports PES and FIFA soccer on my PS3.)

What changes are needed to create more fan interest in the game here on American soil?

Besides America actually winning, American sports fans care about two things in sports: excitement and fairness. World Cup watchers got a first-hand look this year at how the lack of these two things can drive Americans crazy, and perhaps keep us from embracing the world’s most beautiful game. In fact, the World Cup has been rife with “cheating” in the past, in the form of egregious “flopping”, sometimes changing the complexion of the entire Tournament. Scoring? Oh my. Last year’s final was a 1-0 affair with the winning goal (Spain) softly rolling off the goalie in the side of the net after a gentle Iniesta nudge. But was it boring? Not to anyone who actually watches the game with interest.

I personally don’t like penalty shootouts and don’t feel they are the best way to find the real winner of matches. I like better the Golden Goal rule where the game is played on the pitch until one team scores… then it’s ballgame. Also, weaker teams can play for a tie in hopes of winning a shootout. Playing to tie makes it much easier to actually end in a 0-0 tie, giving the weaker team almost a 50-50 opportunity.

1. Scoring –

People all over the world love GOOOAAALS, yet Americans are criticized for their “lack of depth” because they want to see more of them. To say that Americans under appreciate the richness or unseen nuances of soccer is to trivialize our ability embrace sporting value, without giving serious thought to the underlying issue. Long gone is the day when to be an American at a world soccer event was a curiosity. I’m tired of apologizing for our soccer to the world, and listening to people from everywhere tell me how we just don’t get it.

It is true that I found the Spain-Netherlands game the most exciting game of all even though the final score was 1-0. The final game may have been a let down to many, but isn’t that the way finals go many times, with over-expectation? The entire event was a low scoring affair, as it is many times when quality teams play one another.

The problem with this as I see it; unless there are changes made we are doomed with 1-0 or 0-0 finals forever. Great teams are not about to give up 2, 3, 4 goals in today’s game, and two great teams…well…?

The world wants GOOOAAALS!

During the World Cup I heard all kinds of opinions concerning America’s attitude toward soccer, many of them ridiculous. If America thinks soccer is boring how do you explain our obsession with baseball? If it’s just that we can’t understand the game in its’ totality, who is going to tell our women, who are the most dominant sports team in the history of International Sports?

FIFA, the governing body for International Soccer must agree that scoring more goals is important to the future health of the game, and not because of the “stupid” Americans. The Jubillane (ball) was introduced at this years’ event for one reason: more goals. It failed to produce.

I suggest that the goal be made two or three meters wider and a meter taller to allow for more scoring opportunities with well placed shots. Many goalies today are superior athletes and can block even the best aimed, most twisting and screaming shots, resulting in many games being decided by fluke goals or lucky, but weak chances. It also means that there are more terribly bad shots because of the increased pressure added for the low margin for error. This is not how sport is supposed to work, and I suspect many Americans sense it.

Why not give these great athletes a better chance to display their talent to the world? A great shot should be just that… an untouchable missle blasted just outside the even the swiftest goal keeper‘s reach, something rarely possible in today’s game. Even the final WC goal by Spain was knocked down before landing softly inside the goal. I dare say more goals roll into the back of the net than ripple it.

With a slightly larger goal there will still be the finesse of the flip shot in one-on-one situations as goalies will adjust to the larger goal area with earlier, more aggressive charges in order to cut down angles. Forwards and halfbacks will try slightly deeper shots once again with hopeful success; something rare in championship soccer today because of the evolving skill of today’s goalkeepers. a larger goal means the game will not be considered over when a team goes up by two or three goals,unlike it is today. The “hope” of scoring is just as important as the notching the goal itself to the fan of soccer. I think FIFA should give everyone more hope.

2. Officiating –

I am continually amazed at how many sports governing bodies have been able to ignore the onslaught of new technology when it comes to officiating. It seems that human officials have become the “sacred cow” of many sports; the one thing that must not give in to change. Frankly, I don’t understand the value proposition. What good reason or reasons are there for not getting more accurate results in a sporting event? The 2010 World Cup was an example of how protecting the purity of a sport may also be how to eventually destroy it. Game after game missed calls affected or potentially affected outcomes, leaving one to wonder at times which team was pre-destined to win?

Having played competitive soccer I know that every game endures bad calls and good calls, some favorable and others not. It is sometimes very difficult to identify the offender and the offended in a physical game like soccer where neither player owns possession in a strict sense. The World Cup officials were criticized for many calls which were made that might not be questioned in a regular contest. The magnitude of the event rightly or wrongly leads to magnification of every call and the WC officials are somewhat always in a no-win situation. Yet, at this year’s Cup, it seemed yellow cards were shown to players for simply playing hard, and even worse: Hollywood style faking by their opponents. Video captured these moments to FIFA’s embarrassment several times during the competition. Yet, there was no make-up call for the actors and the tragedy unfolded in horror for those falsely accused and their fans.

In soccer it is mandatory that calls be correct near the goal (inside the box) due to the excessive severity of a penalty. Time and again video replay busted the official calls or no-calls in the area, one of the most debilitating events which can happen to a team in soccer. Though the officials didn’t prejudice one team, they missed calls on every side.

Hey FIFA, what’s up? Can you explain this…?

Is it merely cost that stops FIFA from using video to insure that teams and titles aren’t lost simply over bad calls? Is it time? Techno-phobia? Why are we so entranced by humans who are only all too “human”? I could go one here forever, but I’ll constrain myself to this:

America will never love a sport where such contradictions exists. Yes, we hate to lose badly, but mostly we hate to lose unfairly. And who wants to win a Cup marred by so many blatant mistakes by officials? OK, you won’t hear any Spaniards complaining, but that’s about it. There are a number of teams this year who could say that the whistle cost them a game and maybe the Cup.

I hate crybabies in sports and believe that the mistakes somehow seem even out over time. But I think FIFA owes the sport a better deal.

FIFA should “embrace change”, America’s mantra of the eighties and nineties when we finally convinced ourselves that technology and change does not always mean bad. Almost every industry experienced game changing rules at record setting pace as technology advancement forced us to reconsider our most cherished and hallowed traditions. In sports we witnessed technology’s effect with a wary eye and slowly made changes where needed. Golf, one of the most traditional sports lengthened and re-designed courses to offset better equipment and stronger players. Basketball keeps moving the three point line and reducing the shot clock. Baseball built bigger parks and limited ball and bat technology…Every sport has had to re-evaluate and make needed changes to enhance and maintain their core value.

I think some limited use of replay has a place in soccer RIGHT NOW, not next time around. It’s imperative to get the calls right and to keep the game honest if America is to participate on every level. But for this to happen changes must be made, if only in small increments. FIFA seems to be unmoved by the controversy but changes might help America’s attitude toward the game improve.

Evolution has taught us that life, the world, and the universe is dynamic. Small improvements over time lead to larger overall positive results. Listen up FIFA!

Nowhere did it exclude the beautiful game of soccer.

-30-

I picked Holland over Spain in the final of my ESPN Soccerpick fantasy bracket based on a junk “home-team” theory I developed when I realized no African team was strong enough to win it all. My other picks were pretty good too, except for one glaring mistake: USA. Even though Uraguay won my WC when I played a completely computer driven WC Simulation with PES2009 on my PS3, my heart said USA would make the final four this time. Never listen to your heart when picking sporting event winners. You can check out my picks (mostdiggity) at http://games.espn.go.com/knockout/en-us/frontpage.

In 2014 you will see USA escape the Group of Death after Beating Ghana (finally) and tying Portugal and Germany. The USA will advance one more game before getting Gobsmacked by Spain. Germany (I think) is destined to advance and spoil Brazil’s party, then beat Spain in the final game 2-1 for their 4th World Cup win. I was in Germany in 1990 and 1994 when they were at their strongest. Germany plays like a fine uh… German Automobile. With precision.
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18 COMMENTS

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THERE ARE 18 COMMENTS. SHOW SPEED READING TIPS & SETTINGS ↓

I do agree with better officiating but….
I don’t think we need to have higher scoring games, that’s just ridiculous and takes away that intense feeling that these players can score at any minute. I think what Americans fail to appreciate is the fact that they can score at any minute, instead of having the mindset of “when are they going to score”. A lot of my friends were very bored by the final, but honestly I thought it was good solid game, it was physical, it had the right momentum, and it all culminated in an amazing shot. If you can watch baseball, why can’t you watch soccer? that’s one of the most baffling points that I also fail to understand. I do think that people are becoming more and more interested partly due to the FIFA and Pro Evolution Soccer Games, It tends to teach people the basic rules, strategies, statistics, things Americans love, but often misunderstand.

by TerpsAllTheWay on Jul 12, 2010 12:31 PM EDT actions
I think everyone who was watching learned just how amazing a 1 goal game can be when landon put the winner in against Algeria. I’ve said it many times, so i guess i’ll say it again, the reason soccer isn’t wildly popular in America isn’t because Americans don’t like soccer, it’s because theres such obscene amounts of money to be made with football. Why? because theres a thousand opportunities for commercial breaks during a football game. Soccer has precisely 1 break for commercials. ESPN and the like will pay attention to soccer during the summer when sports are slow, and they’ll pimp the EPL because it’s on early in the morning, and they have nothing else going on at that time so it’s better than nothing. But when college football or the NFL is available? You’ll never see the big sports networks get behind soccer, theres just not as much money to be made.

by GKINMD on Jul 12, 2010 2:19 PM EDT actions

Premise of the whole article is wrong
MLS is having great attendence – up 10% in a down economy that has MLB down 2%. TV ratings for MLS are even with NHL when put on comparitively accessible tv stations as well.

Records were set for American viewership of WC’10 South Africa. With all its time zone differences and what-not it was the most watched World Cup in US history.

So if this is going to be the best year for the domestic league, and the best WC why are we claiming that Americans don’t care?

I am not a Supporter | I am not a Fan | I am a Sounder
Sounder At Heart
by Dave Clark on Jul 12, 2010 3:20 PM EDT actions

I think one way to can increase scoring in soccer is to eliminate the offside rule. I don’t know how controversial this would be, but it seems like it would do the trick.

As to officiating, I think having one ref for each half of the field (they’d both be on during play) would eliminate some of the bad calls that seem to happen simply because the ref was far away and couldn’t do anything about it.

Hockey Blogger at Pensburgh.com
by GoPens! on Jul 12, 2010 6:25 PM EDT actions

Eliminating offsides
would change the game in a horrible horrible way, the game would suffer sooooo much

by I need more Esteban on Jul 13, 2010 10:19 AM EDT up actions

Yes, slow ass piss poor defenders would no longer be bailed out
by Cool Dudes on Jul 14, 2010 1:32 AM EDT up actions

Seriously?
slow ass piss poor defenders? How about the offsides trap? How about cherry picking? Offsides is intricate to fielding a good game. What fun would it be if someone just stayed at one end of the pitch and continuously fielded balls after a long kick? That would make the game terrible.

“I will never have my best season,” Brian Dawkins
“There are no limits. There are only plateaus, and you must not stay there, you must go beyond them.” Bruce Lee
“This fucking game is over!” Chuck Bednarik
“Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth” Mike Tyson
by Talon Talent on Jul 15, 2010 12:41 AM EDT up actions

Yeah, the “offsides trap”
A defense that rely’s on the proficiency of the linesman to actually be competent AND see perfectly to ensure that a goal is not scored.

Fucking brilliant! You should coach France! You would be great!

by Cool Dudes on Jul 16, 2010 12:37 AM EDT up actions

wow didn’t realize you could simplify it so easily.
The offside trap is not without risk as a perfectly timed ball will leave a defense watching the cleats of a forward as he streaks for a one on one opportunity. It may not be a “brilliant” defense, and yet how often has it saved a team? Anything that works as well as it does might very well be considered brilliant.
And it also amazes me that with everything I wrote there, the only thing you could dispute was the offsides trap part of it.
Simply put, soccer without offsides would be terrible. If you are looking for high scoring games watch basketball I hear they score like 80 points on average or something.

“I will never have my best season,” Brian Dawkins
“There are no limits. There are only plateaus, and you must not stay there, you must go beyond them.” Bruce Lee
“This fucking game is over!” Chuck Bednarik
“Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth” Mike Tyson
by Talon Talent on Jul 16, 2010 10:59 AM EDT up actions

Dude
There’s not enough time in the day to dispute everything you are saying that’s wrong. I just concentrated on the funniest part.

by Cool Dudes on Jul 16, 2010 2:46 PM EDT up actions

Nice. I take that as victory. Thanks for playing

“I will never have my best season,” Brian Dawkins
“There are no limits. There are only plateaus, and you must not stay there, you must go beyond them.” Bruce Lee
“This fucking game is over!” Chuck Bednarik
“Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth” Mike Tyson
by Talon Talent on Jul 16, 2010 10:04 PM EDT up actions

I disagree and disagree. Goals should be a treasured event. The scoring of a goal in soccer is one of the best moments frowarded to the players and the fans watching. It is because they are harder to come by. I mean if the goals were coming by the handful who the hell would want to be a goalie for the sport? All the attention would be put on forwards (as it often is now) and at the core of humanity is the need for recognition and love. This is why offensive players are usually more coveted in every sport. if anything soccer gives the defenders a more equal chance to shine.
Instant replay for soccer is always and always will be a bad idea. To put it brief (because I already explained it in Disappointedleafs fan World Cup Controversy fanpost) The fluidity of soccer can not be messed with. The momentum part of soccer is so crucial and Instant replay would take that away completely.

“I will never have my best season,” Brian Dawkins
“There are no limits. There are only plateaus, and you must not stay there, you must go beyond them.” Bruce Lee
“This fucking game is over!” Chuck Bednarik
“Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth” Mike Tyson
by Talon Talent on Jul 12, 2010 10:04 PM EDT actions

disagree
only in part.

I definitely agree that the fluidity should not be messed with too much but there HAS to be goal-line replay and replays on offsides when they involve goals.

You will have an official in the booth who watches a replay and relays the outcome to the head official in a matter of seconds. This would not mess with flow by any means, in fact, it might speed things up because you wouldn’t have to wait as 6 players argue with the official. This is 2010, you can make these things happen fast.

by I need more Esteban on Jul 13, 2010 10:23 AM EDT up actions

Somehow the NHL seems to be able to recruit goalies and keep their players from taking a smoke break during goal reviews
Not sure how they do it. Maybe we need some sort of secret Canadien technology.

by Cool Dudes on Jul 16, 2010 12:48 AM EDT up actions

The Final Was the Most watched soccer match in U.S. History with a record 24.3 Million Tuning in.
by TerpsAllTheWay on Jul 12, 2010 10:59 PM EDT actions

Agree or Disagree
This was a well-written post.

I don’t think I can jump on board with the widening of the goal. Like many have said, the rarity of goals are what make them so special when they do happen. What more Americans that don’t like Soccer need to realize is that the excitement of the game comes on opportunities to score. With every cross into the box of the opposition, you hold your breath that this could be the one that loses you the game, maybe even in the first 10 minutes! That’s why every minute matters and every opportunity is so special. When Americans that don’t enjoy the game realize that they may jump on board.

But hey, not everyone likes every sport and that is fine. I just wish our society could get past hating so hard on soccer. There is not a sport in America that more shit is talked on than soccer. Although, I do know a lot of people that hate pretty hard on baseball these days. I live in Kansas, though, so I run across my fair share of bumkins who throw out, “err soccer is so f’n borin’, let’s go watch us some g’damn Nascar!
End rant on that.

Agree with you about technology. Get with the times FIFA. I said it above, but goal-line technology and technology on offsides involving goals should be implemented in some ways. I mean the goal that England didn’t receive and the goal that Tevez scored on the non-offsides call were inexcusable. Do it incrementally, experimentally, just do something.

by I need more Esteban on Jul 13, 2010 10:31 AM EDT actions

If Soccer Had Just Been, or Was Just Being Invented
You would be totally correct. They made the goals too small, the advantage the goalie has using his hands over players using their feet is too much. But the goal is the size of the goal and I really doubt that will ever change (except perhaps as a good way to break a tie in extra time).

But, I really think there are some less drastic rule changes that could be made. A ridiculous number of goals get called off because of the offsides rule, and a lot are really borderline calls. I would really like to see offsides become more of a zone rule not unlike what they have in hockey. The intent of the rule is to prevent poaching and continous longballs, but it wasn’t well thought because a lot of calls are made after the ball is already in the box, which really makes no sense. I would really like to see this rule changed.

While the size of the goals may be sacred, I really don’t think the offsides rule is very universally loved and people would be far more willing to change it.

by Cool Dudes on Jul 14, 2010 1:39 AM EDT actions

No…
I think that the majority of Americans would watch it. But they refuse to watch it out of fear that they might like it. And that is enough for them not to give it a chance.

The Once and Future King
by FlaGators on Jul 21, 2010 3:53 PM EDT actions
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Lyrics and commentary 1111, Tiller Wills


Again and again, when confronted by the many serious problems with which humanity has been struggling since the First World War and is still facing, the almost despairing question is often asked, even in anthroposophical circles: ‘What can I do? What can the individual do about the machinations of these secret groups, if indeed they exist? It’s all too much for individuals.’ Rudolf Steiner’s answer in these lectures is bold and clear:  ‘The only defence against these things is knowing about them. If you know about them, you are protected … But you must not be idle about acquiring real knowledge of these things.’
Secret Brotherhoods  And the Mystery of the Human Double

It’s pretty ironic that the so-called ‘least advanced’ people are the ones taking the lead in trying to protect all of us, while the richest and most powerful among us are the ones who are trying to drive the society to destruction
― Noam Chomsky

He who is not angry when there is just cause for anger is immoral.  Why?  Because anger looks to the good of justice.  And if you can live amidst injustice without anger, you are immoral as well as unjust.
― St. Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274)

I would add; if you’re not enraged, concerned, indignated, or/and compassionate, etc. you are either sleeping or a human whose humanity is lost. THE FUTURE OF ALL depends upon YOUR awakening. And the lyrics in the song point to that awakening:

11:11

https://soundcloud.com/tiller_wills/08-11-11a
Tiller Wills is a Chicago based Hip-Hop artist. His debut LP 11:11 is available everywhere. Tiller’s lyrics hit hard and fast while covering a wide range of topics, ranging from summertime fun to government corruption

Don’t worry, most of the second half is ‘positive’ but the first ‘negative’ part is the most enlightened (because knowledge about the crucial topics in the lyrics are still being kept in the dark on the part of the majority. And conversely; the minority is therefore – in terms of knowledge, being more informed – more ‘enlightened’. And the lack of knowledge about the negative prevents the positive from flourishing fully which is why we need to be cognizant of the things mentioned in 11:11). I am not denigrating the expression and intention of love at all in the second part of 11:11 but tend to agree with the following statement:

“The first is to open our minds, start taking responsibility back, and remove this edifice of control and suppression of information which will allow the full flow of knowledge of who we are to flood into the public arena…Once people start to realize who they really are and the nature of life, thenwe can go into stage two which is the incredible consciousness shift that is going to happen, and is happening for many people already, but can happen for everybody if we open up to the knowledge of what’s going on and to do that the edifice of suppression has to go. And what I see so often in … what we call New Age movement is that they’re focusing on the second bit and they’re in denial about about the first. And the second is not going to happen for many people unless we remove the edifice of suppression cause most people are going to think what the heck’s going on and they’re going to go through this great change in a complete fog of what’s happening. …Two things to do here. One is to start focusing on how the world’s controlled, identify it and remove it. Secondly, then we can concentrate unhindered on the transformation spiritually that is unfolding ”
– David Icke


Analysis and commentary:
After some surveys and crowdsourcing I have now come to the conclusion that most people’s brains are so conditioned by the phonetic sound of the utterance ‘fuck’, that they are unable to listen to or understand the lyrics or read between the lines of the lyrics, while the already informed about the issues at stake are rejoicing big time! The great irony is that the people who think that the lyrics are ‘primitive’, ‘vulgar’, etc.  (because of the repeated word ‘fuck’) are missing the profound point which is; no other lyrics on any track in contemporary culture are so jampacked with very important suppressed censored key topics, which somewhat constitute a compendiary of key events, entities and concepts for the freedom/truth/justice/activist-movements all around the world.

The protest (fuck) is simply the morality/indignation of the lyrics, a very necessary Jeremiad considering the topics – and the word ‘fuck’ is only an expression of a protest against things which takes a vigilant mind to detect, especially when populations are confronted with massive censorship, manipulation, omission, and suppression of the topics in 11:11 by mainstream media, governments and institutions.

Tiller Wills describes some of the most significant but censored world  phenomena and dangers of our time, is versatile and apparently highly knowledgeable but one cannot see that if one isn’t in the know. 11:11 is a clarion call for freedom, justice, truth, inquiry, revision, empowerment – a reflection of a huge but imperative body of knowledge and enlightenment, key events and entities, which should be mandatory knowledge, understood, dealt with, not suppressed or ignored (what’s the alternative?). And it is a moral duty to say ‘fuck’ to most of the things in the lyrics (the first half). Actually, if people knew, they wouldn’t hesitate to declare themselves in very strong opposition to the things mentioned in the lyrics as a matter of life and death. That’s why the word ‘fuck’ is used as it’s the shortest and strongest exclamation of outcry – however banal – in our culture, etc. (apart from sex, and other few colloquial contexts). Whereas the word ‘fuck’ is being used in the context of callous inane rap music, 11:11 is using the word in its highest moral justification.

That’s why 11:11 is a real very rare underground rebel rap track in the age of the Internet Reformation  – thus it is a pioneering feat, regardless of much rap being accused of monotony, litany, etc. 11:11 is quite a different rant but you can’t see it if you are in the Matrix so to speak. Of course the ignorant cannot see what the words point to, only focusing on ‘fuck’ without meaning, dismissing the content out of hand because of this, unable to connect dots, many people being ignorant in their own decrepit dangerous illiteracy, and lost in space in regard to why the lyrics point to (mostly) highly significant phenomena in our time. And I don’t have the energy to insert +200 hyperlinks in the lyrics right now, but it would be a good idea if someone did (Update; I inserted links)

People blindly follow the path of useful idiocy and unwitting destruction, not knowing that they are – in varying degrees – controlled by the normalization of diseased socio-cultural entities, institutions and unacknowledged collective psychopathology, not to mention political masters of perception management: deep politics anddirected history defining much of their reality (perhaps the essence of the lyrics). It’s the most diehard hardcore enlightened lyrics so far because of the above-mentioned things by the way, not the word ‘fuck’….but it’s also deeply moral, if not spiritual, exactly because of the word ‘fuck’ in the context of what should be (mostly)‘fucked’ (anathema)…..if only more people knew…..

Fuck ignorance!

PS: And a commentary that encapsulates the mindset of millions within a growing global underground movement:

‘Those of you who are active members of the secret war are already aware of it. You’ve had no choice but to recognize your part in it. You may wonder why you have been targeted, and what you should do.

They are afraid of awareness, awareness is infectious and very powerful. Those of you who fully possess your spirit and mind have the ability to throw a wrench in the social machine. They don’t want you to know about your power. They would rather that you be afraid like everybody else. They will ambush, sabotage, assault, and confuse you until you no longer present a threat, or you are advanced enough to bypass their mental barrage. If you reach the level where you can no longer be controlled by fear, they will merely censor you entirely so you do not disrupt the power structure.

Whether you know it or not, we are at war. This isn’t a war that is spoken of, it concerns the human race, rather then respective countries or nations. As some of you know, it is a war of perception and information. As others of you know, it is a spiritual war, taking place on higher dimensions and reflected in physical form in global affairs, the media, and even the internet.

In essence, this is a war of control, and it is everywhere. The ultimate power is to take control of perception and eventually the mind and spirit. By controlling the media, TPTB can directly influence the ideas, hopes, dreams, and fears of the public. This control is not limited to mainstream media. It is at full scale even in the places you Might Least Expect.

Do not be fooled by public opinion. Let nobody dictate to you your reality. Not teachers, preachers, scripture, politicians. Train the only weapon that will be effective – the spirit and mind.

If you have been targeted by this game, remember that you are not alone, even if it sometimes seems as if you are.’
– anonymous

11:11 – Lyrics:
I guess there’s been some things on my mind so…

Fuck president Barack Obama, fuck his office, fuck his Cheshire cat grin, fuck his promise,
fuck all the politicians, fuck congress, fuck every senator that ever turn his back on us,
fuck Dianne Feinstein and fuck Max Baucus, fuck Harry Reid the senate leaders caucus,
but I fuckin loved when the stenographer started talking, I wish that bitch would run for office, for real,
fuck Jay-Z, fuck yeezus, this arrogant mother fucker actually thinks that he’s Jesus,
fuck Rockefeller, both the man and the label, fuck the deal that they made to put some gold on they table,
and fuck rain man, your inspiration is fake so, your nothing but a puppet for the devil to take yo,
and fuck Catholics, you gunna murder um Hove? fuck your bad back, mass whack, Lucifer flow,
and fuck the Luciferian imagery that you show, fuck your money and the scars on your souls,
fuck Ka$ha, fuck Katy Perry, fuck the dark horse that she rode, I see the owl on your album cover, Drake we know!
fuck Moloch, fuck Bohemian Grove, fuck your blood sacrifice rituals, fuck cults,
fuck the Bush’s and the Clinton’s, fuck Hillary most, fuck don Rahm Emanuel, and fuck George Soros,
fuck GMO‘s man, fuck Monsanto, fuck the chemtrails and the poisonous airflow,
fuck eating food that the transhumanists grow, and well, fuck you if you don’t know, so,
fuck HAARP and fuck weather warfare, fuck a 5 vortex tornado that Joplin had there,
fuck Sandy Hook, fuck the lies, fuck the crisis actors actin at the Boston finish line,
fuck Martial Law, fuck checkpoints shit, fuck illegal suspension of Posse Comitatus,
I guess just fuck everything that our founders taught us, fuck throwing guns in the garbage,
fuck your roundups, fuck your amendments to the 2nd amendment, fuck NDAA and your government prison,
fuck the Federal Reserve and the money they printin, fuck the monetary slave system, check it
fuck the FBI, Federal Bureau of lies, fuck the NSA, and fuck their spies,
fuck the Pentagon, fuck the CIA from behind, fuck everything that’s every been classified, yup!
fuck the IRS, fuck Lois Lerner, fuck Holder and the guns that he’s running over the boarder,
fuck drones, fuck torture, fuck waterboarding, fuck the American homeland security disorder,
fuck FEMA camps and the FEMA regional governance, fuck the guillotines they have in storage for us,
fuck BP and their oil exploding, fuck 9/11 and the stories they told us,
fuck building 7 implodin, fuck the militarization of all our police forces,
fuck warrantless door to door searches, fuck the system and fuck how they hurt us, it’s like we talking, but they never heard us,
fuck the New World Order, fuck the petrodollar, fuck the UN, fuck NATO, fuck all of it,
fuck the Trilateral Commission larsonists, fuck blaming Al-Qaeda when the West started um,
fuck false flags, fuck Gulf of Tonkin, what the fuck every happened to talking?
fuck flossin, fuck the superiority complex that we lost in, fuck Miley Cyrus, fuck abortion,
fuck FISA courts, and they closed doors and, fuck the Justice System, fuck lawyers,
fuck Bank of America, fuck J.P. Morgan, fuck Blackwater and their wanna-be soldiers,
fuck black ops, DARPA, and all of they programs, fuck Dick Cheney, and fuck Rumsfield too man,
fuck Chertoff, the TSA scanners and groping, fuck the police they growing here in the homeland,
fuck biochemical experimentation, in other words fuck vaccination!
fuck color of law, fuck implied consent, fuck wherever the Haitian earthquake money went,
fuck the EPA, fuck Fukushima, maybe Edgar Cayce was right, I guess we’ll see huh?
fuck Jon Corzine, fuck Wall Street, fuck CNN, Fox, fuck MSNBC,
I guess fuck ambassador Stevens and fuck his embassy, and fuck the Muslim Brotherhood beheading all their enemies,
fuck the American regime change policy, pardon me, I mean fuck our gift of democracy!
fuck order out of chaos, fuck the Freemasonry, fuck Skull and Bones, fuck your secret society,
fuck 322, and your 33 degree wizardry, fuck you for destroying what my ancestors give to me,
fuck a short beat, keep listening, fuck the hormones in the beef, pork and chicken,
fuck DNA manipulation, fuck leaving trillions in debt to our children,
fuck putting Fluoride in the water we drinkin, fuck the millions of homeless left freezing,
fuck any other option but to feed them! fuck the VA hospital budget restrictions,
fuck Homeowners Association evictions, fuck State and Federal for-profit prisons, fuck the Hollywood Bin-Laden mission,
fuck Madoff and his fuckin investments, fuck fuckin children off ad’s on the Craigslist!
fuck Credit Cards and fuck they interest, fuck Morgellons disease symptoms,
fuck the Saudi Arabians for the way they treat women, fuck the Sheiks and fuck they Kingdom,
fuck the deal Henry Kissinger gives them, fuck Henry Kissinger and fuck his wisdom,
fuck Zbigniew Brzezinski and his strategic vision, fuck one world religion, fuck Zionistic Globalism,
fuck the Illuminati, fuck they symbolism, fuck their pop culture mass hypnotism,
fuck Lil Wayne and fuck Cash Money, and fuck every single insurance company,
fuck marketing, fuck poverty, fuck the erosion of our National Sovereignty,
fuck humanities unnatural apathy, fuck Abercrombie, fuck Bircher Hathaway, and fuck you if your mad at me, yup!
fuck implantable RFID chips, fuck human trafficking, fuck sweat shop management,
fuck foxconn, fuck they suicide nets, and fuck Apple for their silent compliance in it,
fuck the suppression of human history, fuck the glaringly obvious contradictory imagery,
fuck NASA and fuck they secrecy, fuck Pfizer, fuck Merck, fuck Patent supremacy,
fuck the exclusion of natural remedies, and the same goes for Tesla’s technologies,
fuck the abuse and adolescent Psychology, fuck Ritalin, fuck Adderall, fuck Amphetamines,
fuck the over-prescribing in all of Psychiatry, fuck the paedophilic archdiocese,
fuck symptoms of acquired immune deficiency, fuck Cancer and fuck HIV, fuck me!
fuck the assassination of JFK, fuck anybody that ever got in the way,
fuck Richard M Nixon, and fuck his Watergate, fuck all the Bilderbergers and fuck the G8,
fuck Christine Lagarde, fuck her monetary funding, fuck never standing for something,
fuck abandoning your brethren, fuck Bel Air, fuck the Hamptons,
fuck what happened to Breitbart, fuck accidents happen! fuck burning Chris Dorner alive in the cabin,
fuck the Albuquerque police murdering people for Camden, and fuck the Albuquerque police captain for backin um,
and fuck his retraction, fuck his words, men speak with they actions!
fuck the corporations illegally purses, fuck feeling totally worthless,
fuck planned obsolescence with everything that you purchase, fuck empty wallets, and fuck empty purses
fuck no jobs in the cities for workers, fuck the local political circus, its not workin!
fuck Halliburton, fuck preferential Government contract distribution, and fuck ethical confusion, fuck that they know what they doin,
fuck class its cool to be stupid, fuck the Common Core Curriculum movement,
fuck budget cuts to arts and music, fuck not knowing words or how to use them,
fuck passively ignorant students, fuck parents to busy to tutor um,
fuck the collapse of the family unit, fuck the Aurora Colorado shooting,
fuck the Global Warming myth, fuck the Inconvenient Truth surrounding it, fuck the companies that positioned themselves to make money off of it,
fuck carbon offsets for profit, fuck Al Gores obnoxious, fuck the Matrix and fuck being lost in it,
fuck Heroine, fuck Oxycotton, fuck Dennis Rodman and fuck Michele Bachmann, fuck Google glass for always watchin,
fuck schemin and plottin, fuck dying old, alone and forgotten, bone growin mold in the coffin,
fuck being too hard or soft and, fuck being to cold to blossom,
fuck the Californication of Austin, and fuck the death of Philip Seymour Hoffman!
fuck what they did to Michael Jackson, fuck predatory Scientology brainwashing,
fuck being still over in Afghanistan, and fuck the UN Agenda 21 plan,
fuck not learning from our mistakes when we make um, fuck kicking the same damn can down the same road again,
fuck being cattle, fuck our controllers, fuck letting these mother fuckers control us, fuck dying young, but fuck getting older!

But there’s a lot to love …

But there’s a lot to love (Music Change)
But there’s a lot to love
But there’s a lot to love
But there’s a lot to love

I love the innocence in a newborns laugh
love the thought of being a newborns dad
love every baseball game I ever had
love the gravel and the grass
love the strawberry shasta that my grandmother had
I love the old cowboy hat on my gramps
I loved hearing him when I was at bat
I love the wrinkles on the back of his hands
And I love that I was there on the day that he passed
I love the freedom in women when women dance
I love optimistic romance
the magic it captures when you live in the moment
I love thanking the soldiers
welcoming them home again
I love the smell in the air when the rainstorm coming

love playing with my sister and her easy bake oven
I love shrinkie dinks, I love to color ’em
I love the tender touch of my mothers skin
I love that she stayed when my dad was a runner
love having a younger brother
love building forts out of leaver, out of lumber
love learning how to be men together
love the bond that we built forever
love playing the games on the Sega
but we were Super Mario Brothers when we got the nintendo
I love to think that we are still

I love stillness speaks by Echart Tolle
I love the way the pages made my eyes so open
I love the kindness of strangers when their hearts open
I love never stopping hoping
I love the thought of where we go when it’s over
I love honoring another’s culture
I love sponsoring the notion that there’s honor-in-culture
I love to make fun of Ann Coulter
I love lemongrass soup when the weather gets colder

I love the view of the lake from my porches
I love being okay that I don’t drive porsches
and I love that my baby also knows what’s important
See It’s important that I love and support her
and I love that-we-fell-in love when we were poor as a pauper
I mean we couldn’t be broker
no joke, and I love that it never broke her
I love that we still grow closer
and I thank God everyday for the opportunity he made for me to know her

I love music
I love the symphony that plays in your brain when you listen to it
I love the effect that it has on a Human
love that it heals us better then drugs do
love the rhythm a heartbeat beats to
I love being in audiences that Jeff Tweedy sings too
and I love Jack White without the raconteurs
I’d love to see Garth Brooks go back on tour
he’s been a friend when I’ve been in low places before
I love the thunder rolls but I love the river more
I love the architecture of the hollywood biltmore
I love buildings that were built back when we built more
I love waking up each day to find out what I’m still here for

I love the comedy in tragedy
and I love that when I point it out everybody gets mad at me
like I love wilford brimley before diabetes
but I hope his infomercials help him pay for his surgeries
I love getting harassed by the target security
I love that my jacket make them follow me
I love hearing my description on there walkie-talkies
I love letting them search me while the manager watches
I love hearing them say pardon me, please accept my apology
I love the vulnerability in Humanity honestly
I love using my TV to argue with sean hannity
I love fantasizing about back smacking him hard handedly

I love the blessing of the food in my pantry
I love finding a begging veteran and handing him twenty
I love that he was really ready to go die for my country
I love the feeling inside when he cried and he hugged me
I love the angels among me and I love that they love me
I love the conversations, I love the company
and especially
I love it when they come say whats up to me
I love Archangel Michael and I love what he’s done for me

I love doing theater in college (music start over)
I love the energy created in a building of knowledge
I love the lessons in the building of knowledge
I love that you could live forever and never know all of it
I love Halibut. I love smoked salmon fish
I love that people emphasize the L when they sounding it
I love hide and go seek and I love when I found it
I love when the Los Angeles police department had me surrounded
I love paying my bail with 10% and a promise
to appear before the Judge and be honest
let’s be honest, I forgot all about it
I love that I prioritize that shit way down at the bottom
I love smoking marijuana in autumn
I love Paramahansa Yogananda

I love to believe that we get to do this again
I love the Akashic Records, I’d love to read them
I love multidemtional theoretical theorems
I love redundancy I love redundancy
I love Los Angeles but I don’t love what she done to me
I love that I left and I don’t have a day of regret
It wasn’t meant to be but I love the memories yup
And I love my enemies don’t have my new Chicago address yet

I love the first amendment
I love the second
I love the third, fourth, fifth
I love the seventh
I love the sixth, eighth, ninth
I love the tehth-ith
I worship the church of the constitutional ten commandments
I love the rest of them too but they weren’t as dramatic
I love Minneapolis.
I love it.
I gotta have it.
I love Chicago too but its second on my love list
Aw, forget this
I love all the midwest
I love the tobacco smell when the splif lit
I love the music that second city audio machine did
I love nachos and cheese dip
I love knocking back a few double bottles of sharp cheddar cheese wiz

I love that its been 11 years since my last sip
I love that my sobriety’s lasted
I love that my old friends think that I am less of a bastard
now that I put down the Jack and put down the Captain
I love laughing
love that I was sober at my little sisters wedding
love that the details aren’t hard for me to remember
love the way the wind blew in from the harbor
I love that me and my brother proudly walked her up to the alter
I cant recall having ever felt such a swelling of honor
like the building of a chorus on the grandest piano
and I love that I felt sad for her father
I love that he didn’t come ever though we invited him and we tried to surprise her.

I love David Copperfield
I love magic
i love the mystery in the supernatural
I love the first bite of a crisp red apple
I love gatorade
I love snapple
I love when the test results say that its NOT cancer
I love the first breath of air right after
I love to often question the answer
I love my elementary pastor
he was responsible for me leaving the church faster

I love rocks and crystals
I love glock pistols
I love knock knock jokes
I love riddles
I love my wizard staff that I whittled
I love the first light of the sunrise when it crawls in my windows
I love going back to the dream world
I love leaving my body behind on my pillow
and flying over the top of a forrest of willows
I’m a master at astral-projecting. Love its potential.

I love exploring the metaphysical
Love the theories composing its principles
I love the subconscious and love the subliminal
I love the bible and I love that its biblical
I love to get analytical on whether its literal
or is its messages more metaphorically poetical
I love atheists
I love that they’re cynically critical
I love the right to think that what each other is thinking is pitiful
and I
I love to dance when nobody is watching
I love when my fiance dance. I love to watch it.
I love the soft skin on the side of her stomach (pause)
I love to love her and I love being lovers
I love pancakes smothered in butter
I love the last day of school and I love the first day of summer
I love that there is still so much more for all of us to discover
but the most important thing to love is love one another.

For real.

moneyball- the-rabbit-hole-continued


moneyball

It’s been three years now since Greensboro Attorney Vance Kinlaw, a friend and ardent supporter of his alma-mater, UNC-Law told me that he had sold his season tickets which had held forever, disavowed his relationship with the sports programs, alumni association and the university, and does not follow UNC sports anymore. PERIOD. Vance explained that his growing difficulty with supporting the Tarheels because of the blurring lines of amateur sports finally reached its zenith at a home game when he noticed that the press row tables had suddenly become advertising space during games. He was disappointed to find little support among the UNC Board of Governors, who were adamant that the signs were not infringing on the idea of amateur athletics and were necessary to insure financial success of the program.
Vance Kinlaw, having his undergrad as a Phi-Beta-Kappa Dartmouth, is a man of principal who sees college athletics from a pure and ethical moral perspective. He threw in the towel, disavowed his association and financial contributions to the school altogether. Hmmm? Are there others? Will enough follow?
 

EDITORIAL opinion / MONEYBALL

Someday, when the doin’s done someone may look back at the 2014 NCAA basketball tournament and identify it as the time when the big ship’s hull was breached and the rushing water could no longer be kept from flooding the “unsinkable” NCAA organization. For now, the band is still playing but there have been some reports of icebergs, and the captain hasn’t fully disclosed these troubling issues to the passengers. It’s full speed ahead.

If one needs some blatant signal to consider if the NCAA has stooped to cashing in on every angle this year one has to look no further than ticket prices. This year over last, prices are up 33%. Did anyone announce a basketball shortage? The NCAA has finally caved to the idea that it’s all about MONEY and is only barely trying to hide it.

They are acting like a deposed dictator who is scooping up as much as he can carry to make a last second smash-and-grab before the inevitable flight to asylum.

ncaachart

Of course, everyone knows that there are serious cracks which Ed O’Bannon’s class action suit has exposed, and the lengthy legal proceedings have limits to the amount of time they can be forestalled. O’Bannon’s legal team is nothing else if not persistent, matching the NCAA’s legal stable motion for motion answer for answer for several years. Some expect that a hearing looms low on the horizon. Several legal experts also feel O’Bannon has the upper hand. If so, many think it could be the organization’s fatal blow.

Could this year’s tourney be a sign that there’s blood in that rushing water too?

NCAA-money

If not, then the NCAA has blatantly announced that they are in TOTAL control of the situation by offending the fans, their constituents, the media, and even many of those who earn their over-the-top salaries under their sponsorship with the obvious unfair manipulation of the tournament brackets, seedings, and (both immediate and possible) matchups.

This year, they have run out of excuses that could mitigate the vitriol spewing forth from the public. Of course, hurting one team always helps someone else so they have their supporters too. But, this year they have defied ALL LOGIC despite what happens in the tourney (we all remember VCU in 2011 reaching the Final Four from the play-in game, although many argued that they hadn’t done enough in season to qualify). And though while that may have been true, Shaka Smart may have unwittingly given the NCAA a future license to steal.

ncaa-tournament-statistics

The “selection committee” meets for hours behind closed doors in strict confidence, allowing no one to witness the “incredibly tough” job they are thanked for doing each year. And, I know that it must be a tough job even if they’ve already pretty much got the framework together by Selection Sunday. I mean, Athletic Directors are supposed to be paying attention all season long, right? This isn’t exactly Talent Search, where there is no historical reference point for each contestant. No, they ALREADY  know and have alluded to as much by suggesting the Sunday games really can’t change anything except perhaps a swap of seeds with two teams in the same conference.

Last year, as always, NCAA scapegoats justified unfortunate seedings to disgruntled fans and experts by pointing out the obvious cases where their mistakes made them look good (as is inevitable as the Sun rising no matter who does the seeding), adding for the still skeptical that beginning 2014 they would finally de-emphasize (the old RPI algorithm) in favor of more advanced metrics used by many teams both  professional and college; The  likes of Ken Pomeroy, John Gasaway, and Dean Oliver to make these “important” decisions. Why not eliminate the RPI altogether since comparatively it was written on papyrus? Of course, because this simply gives the unfortunate bearer of bad news (the committee head) another potential excuse to use when all others fail, though time and time again the RPI has been shown to be an unreliable predictive measurement tool.

Instead, they ignored all of these expert’s statistical tools, even dissing the ESPN BPI metric (a highly sophisticated product which takes into account many subtle metrics that have been used by professional gamblers for years to gain a slight “edge”.

If you’re a betting man, pay close attention; Can you say, opportunity?

dome

This year committee chair Ron Wellman (Wake Forest) confidently answered detractors by using double talk and blatantly lying to the public stating that “of course we used the eye test when considering Louisville’s 4 seed”. But….(cue excuse metric). What had Ron failed to disclose? That he was blind? No, and not ignorant… but stupid seems to fit fairly well.

First, that the committee doesn’t really review much basketball in their 4-6 hour closed meeting finalizing the pairings. They do work hard though, sifting through piles of financial data, seating charts, driving distances, expected fan base participation in ticket sales, community resource income opportunities, popcorn sales, etc. I could go on, but I think you get the picture. But the biggest job is uncovering the “storylines” and potential storylines if certain matchups occur. While one may not consider this as important or useful, remember that the NCAA is paid an astronomical amount in dollars (see above chart) by the media organizations, who all  expect to make profits by sponsoring the extravaganza on TV, radio, internet, print and cable. The media makes money on viewer and readership, by converting numbers to advertisng dollars. The NCAA gets a percentage bonus against a fixed income.

Every dollar counts as reader/viewers/ attendees/ hits, even if it is insignificant enough to pit the defending champ against a team coached by an ex-ball boy for Louisville coach Rick Pitino, ex-player, and ex-assistant coach against his mentor. What a story if Steve Maseillo who coaches Manhattan with a 13 seed can defeat his mentor the defending Champ? Since Maseillo learned everything he knows about the game from Louisville and Pitino and carbon copies EVERYTHING they do, who stands a better chance of an upset? Not many teams in the entire field. Big stories mean big money.

Sorry ‘bout that Rick.

Wellman didn’t fully explain why he inserted NC State in the tourney over SMU, a move no one expected but subtlety understood after Coach Krzyzewski of Duke went public to whine about his conference deserving more teams. Viola, Wake Forest man delivers, keeping the ACC family safe and K on his good side. Of course, there’s no way K would have had to play his ex-players like Harvard and ex-Dookie stars Tommy Amaker’s team, or Johnny Dawkins team from Stanford. Like the legendary Dean Smith before him, Special K and the ACC is Golden with the NCAA (see infractions committed but not sanctioned), and K is King and gets his way at the NCAA. Doesn’t hurt when the Head man is a Duke grad himself, huh?

Most people outside of SMU yawned, notably Larry Brown who knows EXACTLY how it works with the NCAA. It is better to stay silent lest you end up an 8-seed, or 4-seed while qualifying as a 4 or a 1. But Larry and others miss the point. As in any political arena the losers attitudes ARE always more than offset by the winners perspectives when they conform to the accepted media narrative, insuring that “right or wrong” is not just an uncertainty, it’s practically irrelevant (well… by Monday). Then somehow an upset or two will make the media gush over the committee genius, without mention that there are STILL some walking around feeling as if a long stiff object has been lodged in the wrong place… Onward, we march into madness… Truth is, the DISS usually backfires into a determined rage by the most offended.

ronwellman

Ron Wellman, Wake Forest Athletic and Director (of the ACC) explains how the

seedings were “the most accurate in his five years on the committee.”

What is it about the four teams listed on the eraser board?

Call me crazy but it appears that eventual Mid-West Region 8-seed/Kentucky is listed with an eventual 4-seed, Louisville… and then eventual 5-seed St. Louis.
Above these teams is listed an eventual 1-seed Virginia, who was apparently later “replaced with 1-seed Wichita State. Why?
Question: Why would these teams (1,4,8,5) be listed BEFORE THE SEEDING PROCESS without any other participants?
And, whatever happened to the idea that a 5-seed doesn’t get to play a “home” game?

Here’s my take on a fictional conversation (which could… but would never happen, since it is silently understood by both) between Wellman and Rick Pitino, who was upset about being paired with 16-seed Manhattan whose Coach Steve Masiello was his old ball boy, player, and assistant coach. Maseillo “carbon copies” Pitino’s system at Manhattan.

“Nothing personal Rick but the first round lacks stories and CBS can spin this into a million website hits on a bad day this time of year. If nothing else it makes a nice headline, and with hypertext it might turn lead into gold. New York to Orlando flights are on-sale so we expect to fill the allotments there. Of course, you get first dibbs after they return the unsolds. Plus Rick, we like the potential Calipari-Pitino angle… but you know we’d rather not have it in the final four. With both of your passionate fans bases there’s still only 12 million viewers which is small potatoes since they are practically all from the State of Kentucky. But we know they would fill up that cavernous Dome in Indy, and no other two fan bases could come close.

We need big market dramas/story-lines for the FF. Thanks for being a team player. You’re a solid pro and we all like you here and at CBS. They will ask you to do color in some games if you go out early, a nice consolation prize. I know, it’s not winning but it’s compensation (for playing ball, you know… with us). CBS promises you’ll be happy with the coverage they’ve allotted you for special interest stories about the great job you’re doing. Remember, they have faithfully not mentioned your little scandal in three years Rick, out of respect for you and the great job you do. How about some love? You know Rick, if it weren’t for this tourney, your 5 million a year would likely be like 1.5.

Thanks for your understanding and not letting too much of this cat out of the bag. Don’t make us an enemy, instead consider us partners. Steve’s a great kid and we know how you feel about him, that’s such a great story to tell. Even in losing, the publicity is a win for him and I know you love seeing him succeed.

And, of course Kentucky may not get that shot at you, so we like the potential undefeated vs. the defending champ angle if W-S wins that one. And BTW, Kentucky-Wichita State ain’t so bad either but hey, you’ll have the “revenge” factor and “chip-on-shoulder” factor going for you.

Sliding Kentucky into an eight hole can be explained, even if strong rational discourse would annihilate any attempt at justification. There’s a lot of hate for Kentucky right now, so we could have left them out completely and no one would care but BBN. But BBN is where the money’s at, as you already know Rick.

Surely you agree that Calipari needs to be knocked down a notch or two by foiling our last three attempts at bringing him to his knees, and then mocking us on national TV? We’re still seething about 2011 when they lucked through our gauntlet of number 1 Ohio State and then #2 UNC-Chapel Hill. Roy is still peeved. If anybody, you’re the man with the team to do it. It would make your season Rick. Problems are opportunities. Look at the positives. And, of course, if per chance they advance past Louisville?

No worry, we have Michigan and Duke waiting to take care of them, and we both know you beat both last year and have as good a chance of doing it again.

Besides, Kentucky and Louisville have the two best traveling fandom. We need to insure one of you two play in that Dome if we’re to get close to a sell it out. One more thing before you shut the door behind you Rick. Kentucky won 2012, Louisville in 2013. If one of you two wins this year, we’re seriously worried the game itself might suffer. This isn’t John Wooden’s America. Hope to see you doing some TV by the end of the tourney. If not we’d love a Donovan-Pitino story again. That one was BIG last time. Hey, you’re already in the Hall and I’ll bet that extra money and TV time could come in handy. Louisville fans worship the ground you walk on as it should be. Good luck Rick.”

And, my imaginary instructions from Wellman to Committee before/during the seeding on Wichita State:

“But… what about the undefeated returning Final Four team, uh… Wichita State? Great story. Huh? Everyone will tune in. Make ‘em run the table, and the story expands exponentially after every win. But please folks… be sure they don’t waltz into another FF with what a terrible TV market that dreadful town will be. With Michigan and Duke added for seasoning we have guaranteed high-dollar value storylines from day one in the Midwest. And we all know that media/fan bucks are always the highest in the Midwest, IF we get some good markets in play there. But IF W-S makes the finals it will be huge after beating ALL those teams and still being undefeated. Bob Knight will shit bricks! He’s such an ass, I’d love to see his face on national TV if W-S goes undefeated, but I’d still rather ESPN keep him out of the CBS studio.

I won’t bore you with the other regions but they have their built-in stories too, albeit not quite as many. Maybe someone suggests Cincy-Harvard is dubbed “Neanderthal vs. Humanoid”? on their bulletin board and in their storyline notes? Jus’ Kidding… but you see what i’m saying. I personally wouldn’t be surprised if this year the Big Brother-Little Brother theme wins the day again with so many more of those possibilities… and folks love David vs. Goliath, especially in their local markets. There are several more possibilities you should…”

Though the above conversations are fiction, do you believe in the plethora of random chance storylines? Uh, right. With the intertextuality and over-the-top typology inserted into this years tourney, there’s enough “story” to rival the Septuagint-New Testament typology (I mean prophesies).

Of course, Wellman attempted to confidently explain the issues that MOST EVERYONE immediately denounced with double-talk, contradiction, false statements, and inconsistency. It is if he studied the famous book on quantitative statistics by Darrell Huff, “How to Lie With Statistics”, but forgot to read his sequel, “How to spot Cheaters using Statistics.”

The secret revealed? This secular “church”, who is protector and supporter of the student-athlete and proponent/supporter of “One-and-Done” being all about the Benjamin? No. Why? In any large organization today it’s grow or die, and so MONEY becomes its God. The NCAA sanctions the bracket manipulation and the publicly vilified O-&-D because they both mean more money. Publicly though they decry both so as not to alienate too many fans (I mean readers/viewers/hits/etc). What are fans anyway if not a means to an end?

Hypocrisy at it’s finest and highest level thrives at our most hallowed institutions.

————————————————————————————————————————————————–

A cursory look at UCLA’s Alumni position on hiring Steve Alford over moral/ethical conflicts reveals the fact that ethics DO matter to many… win or lose. Many important supporters of UCLA could care less if UCLA wins another Natty, that is if it is done under new Coach Steve Alford. Yes, greed is rampant, but perhaps not totally pervasive at a school with the tradition of pride and excellence John Wooden instilled among their faithful followers during his career span. UCLA supporters don’t count NCAA banners unless they are achieved with a Coach who can emulate the character of Wooden the man, not the Coach.

For Vance Kinlaw and his issue with alma mater UNC, I say… go UCLA fans! And, I venomously hate losing to both those teams.

The NCAA is a proud organization who isn’t accustomed to answering to its detractors and smugly refuses to grant concessions, even when there is little support of their stance from the outside. They are defiant, and  the notion of their being greed driven is scoffed at and discounted as “heresy” by their better-than well-paid executives.

money_god

Reminds me of the Catholic Church, venerable yes… powerful still… but, beginning to struggle with new paradigms that insist on Priests, Bishops, and Cardinals practicing what they preach, and punishing those who don’t or attempt to hide the truth. For too long these problems have been swept under the rug in a veil of silence. Large organizations can and do fail when they resist the notion of transparency, integrity, and fairness or react too slowly to overwhelming disillusionment among their faithful (read: the fans who buy tickets, or the Alumni who donate to Universities).

If I were running the NCAA today, I’d be worried instead of defiant, and honest instead of elusive. Instead of gouging fans of college sports at every opportunity without the  extreme expense of paying players like their Professional counterparts must, or manipulating bracketing and seeding with lame-ass excuses to pacify the media outlets who agreed to the ridiculous contract dollars they demand… I’d take the humble road (never) travelled. I’d have public discussion with college presidents and athletic directors instead of the many back room deals worked out between power players in exclusion. Just ask Rick Pitino about he and Rollie Massimino back in the early days of the Big East. This is high stakes poker.

But their smug, nattily dressed Captain, like his Titanic counterpart is staying the course at full speed ahead. And we all know how that worked out…  I can already feel the drip of water…and hear the muffled sound of rivets popping loose… and too… there’s not enough lifeboats.

This may no longer be John Wooden’s America, but it should be.

Is it my tongue, or is a tail wagging the dog?


zemblanity

held my breath
too long it seems
finest place was just a dream
rose to the top jus’ like the cream

but virtuous… a lonely theme
the lies are told through smiles they beam
as curtains hide the actors scheme
gag the truth or it will scream.

you are just one and they are a team
wrinkled shirts will get the steam
so money’s god, but god ain’t green
while power wins, fine ass is reamed.

play or lose you finally gleam
know the truth but go mainstream
but every crack will find a seam
times gettin’ bad when good’s extreme.

-30-

kalopsia

FACEBOOK IT. (A recent comment to friend’s Facebook post about America.)

America? Where is it anyway?

I had a dream that I grew up there, but when I woke up… oh shit!?! I lived in a foreign land that existed only in the minds of an ignorantly deluded multitude, but in the “pockets” of a few greedy intellectual snake charmers with some bizarre ideas; who manipulated us (through their control of the monetary supply-system which they did privately own yet had surreptitiously presented as one being Federally regulated/owned), by using their powerful political, deadly, and financial force to corrupt and control this so-called “AMERICA”‘s political morally bankrupt leaders years many before my birth.

After a cup of Java or two had really opened my eyes and re-started my brain I learned that they had used lies and manipulation to hypnotize the masses into believing that we were living in and freely participating in the affairs of an ethically righteous political Republic; and one whom God had somehow annointed as “policeman to the world” due to our extreme technologically advanced capability of forcing will on nearly every aspect of the world’s populations through intimidation, blackmail, and destruction.

Sad that I had only dreamt about America’s greatness instead of actually having existed in an honourable country espousing freedom for all who wished to FAIRLY and HONESTLY excel through individual effort, determination, and innovation like I had been indoctrinated to believe…

I retreated, to the only real and local environment that I truly felt I could trust and love… my family and a few close personal friends.

So here I am… and here I’ll stand.

-mostdiggity

raiseawareness.gif-1 - Copy - Copy

Politically Incorrect Ahead


Image

(Below is a preface to a post I’ve been thinking about, researching and studying for quite some time. I haven’t written/posted it yet because of the potentially negative implications it may have on many of those whom I consider friends, and whom I deeply respect. My intention is for edification purposes only, not to hurt feelings… and I’ll welcome any dissent and discussion. The entire story runs deeper than what you read below but the implications and details of what I’m suggesting will be detailed in future posts…)

Love me or hate me but… always know that, “I callz it like I seez it”. I could be wrong, but I don’t think so. -mostdiggity

A friend of mine (professional comic Kier) was once described as being “seriously funny”. It was apt, knowing his capacity for reducing our complex culture biases and common personal anecdotes into simple… but very funny shit (ala: George Carlin without the facial body language and black mock-turtle). Kier is talented, smart, unassuming and compassionate…

But mostly, he’s for REAL. And that can sometimes scare the hell out of anyone of us. I think in the end, much like life itself, REAL is complete with good, bad, happy, sad, etc… but it is also a place where in self-reflection our lives can seem hilarious in the self-deprecating way that talents like Kier affords us with his uncommon wit and style.

I like to think it (being for REAL) mostly describes me too, although I realize that my viewpoint is narrowly perched on a perspective that only I (and sometimes special folks I share it with) can witness as a biting ironic humor. Even then, it is with somewhat cloudy vision and never enough information. And sometimes, it is taken out of the context with which it was meant. It’s just that I find that we all have weaknesses, and I can be the first to admit mine… but in a way that is humorous, not hateful. Others are not as forthcoming, and there many times seems to be a disconnect.

I try to allow others to reach conclusions about me without trying to sell to them (like this maybe?). Sometimes I succeed, other times… not so much. Either way, I believe the concept is solidly based on some simple basic terms: my ethical integrity, overt self-confidence, and brutal self-honesty that all highlight the folly of wanting but not having the “perfect life. Sometimes we laugh, sometimes we cry.

Image

In other words, I can handle the idea that sometimes I fuck up and look stupid, and all with self-image intact. I can accept that money and god are not related (while both or neither may in fact be real) and it doesn’t reduce my self-worth (though it can make navigating the endless requirements of runaway capitalism infinitely more challenging having considerably reduced my net worth).

One must accept that this “wisdom” doesn’t always jibe with today’s more conventional cliché of the century, political correctness… which seems to support the idea that image is everything and image is closely tied to money and unbound consumerism. And that translates somehow to the love of god?

I think it also breeds a narrow worldview supporting the selective reasoning of “it’s better not to know some things” unless the issues fit one’s cultural belief system, local and community lifestyle, tax bracket/job description and career goals, or their antiquated religious belief system if they expect to reach that holiest of Holy Grails: financial security and worldly success and god.

I suspect that choice is made (yes, I admit that I once bought in to that BIG LIE) by most of us rather than having to personally seek real truth or perhaps finding it to be distasteful and difficult to reconcile with our learned core values, and sense of place, and future in the world.

Image

PC tends to add untidy information supportive of many of its own inflated self-deluded issues of its own deemed importance, and ignore untidy information about other issues which might nullify support for what it subjectively considers meaningless or mundane, (i.e. it does not further its nationalistic/ materialistic cause). One example might be an but unspoken “required” support for US invasions which kill innocents abroad, while condemning international dictators who (surreptitiously) use our US support to help kill the same, but without paying the U.S. ransom dictates.

The truth is that PC does taste pretty sweet in many cases (like at a party your boss attends, or a fundraiser for a worthy charitable cause that uses your contributions honestly), but many “good causes” can quickly putrefy from innocent ignorance into egregious hate or simple financial scams. And, when heated to a boil they can become a hate soup. I refer to it as an “Ignorant-Hate-Stew”.

It is worrisome today that political correctness salt and peppers our entire diet of issues and vocabulary, and few are willing to say “no thanks”, perhaps feeling some unseen but real political pressure to smile, swallow hard, and agree. Some of us gag at the notion. Others are gagged on the swallow hard part. Yes, I said that.

The rest, it seems to me either remain ignorantly aloof or reach for a strong drink of “group-think”. Clubs and Organizations (secular and non-secular alike) either real or disguised as community resources for fellowship tend to propagate and project their “subjective” idealism on everyone as TRUTH… which in turn is more readily accepted by the individual members. Indoctrination of the masses.

The “Ignorant-Hate-Stew” tends to leave an after-taste of spicy self-righteousness, and when drunk with too much group-think reduces vision and open discussion, narrows options, and distorts basic notions of good and bad. The next step is buying influence and forcing it down our throats… and the march goes on…

The seriously unfortunate truth is that many of these organizations have goals which are hidden from their general membership, sometimes to the point of being in exact contradiction to their stated purpose. It can be said that in some cases their leaders (or leader’s leaders) use the IGNORANCE we’re drinking as weapons of our own mass destruction.

This is nothing new. It has been going on for centuries, passed down by governments, secret societies, self-appointed intellectual visionaries, and others. The means and methods vary but the idea remains constant; control of the masses by deluding their thinking, playing both sides of every conflict but remaining vigil in their ultimate goal of keeping and remaining in control. At any cost necessary.

They use religion for propagating hate and oppositional violence. They use religion to sedate for peace or to incite for war, whichever is more beneficial to their cause at any particular moment. Religion to divide us, religion to conquer us.

Political Correctness is just one of many ways propaganda can be utilized to further the ideals of a few while poisoning the TRUTH as the masses live their lives drunk on Ignorant-Hate-Stew. The less “control” the masses feel over their own destinies, the more “Politically Correct” they become. And, the further from REAL TRUTH they drift…

 Image

So please, be a responsible individual, and always… think before you take that drink.

-30-

 

 

(The rest, as they say is history. Stay tuned for THE REAL BIG PICTURE).

I Ain’t done with “One-and-Done”


basketball

A comment/letter to John Gasaway, ESPN Columnist

John,

Great work you do for the game and helping folks put in perspective what matters statistically and otherwise in a game played on hardwood, but much better understood on paper. I’ve read you and other number-crunchers for a long time and (mostly) agree on your take. For a betting man, it’s the only way to fly.

As a Catbird (my word for a Kentucky and Louisville fan), and a fan of the college game I grow more and more disgusted with the ignorance, hate, venom, hypocrisy, and irresponsible chest-thumping spewing forth from folks who ought to know better as it relates to issues like “one-and-done”, or whether or not certain coaches are ruining the game (guess who?) by recruiting the nations top talent.

I mean, I was once a “student-athlete” and graduated from a fine University, later became employed, worked my way up from the bottom over the years, and eventually earned the experience and respect to become one of the top individuals in my industry. Somehow all that was factored into my choice of going to college versus working in the sheet metal factory which had held many of my summer vacations captive.

I loved college and everything it was about, especially sports, pot/beer and pussy. But, my ultimate goal from the git-go was that piece of paper (my degree) which admiringly adorns my closet today. I was convinced it was a ticket out of the blue collar world of which I had grown accustomed, and that it would someday pay its promised dividends in cold hard cash. I guess you could say I was about the dash, the grass, the crash, and the gash… but mainly the cash.

And although I won’t go into how I really feel about the “state of the union” and it’s proclivity of injustice for all, I do remember what I thought I knew about a country that espoused freedom, capitalism, equality, and the ability for each individual to choose their own destiny, and then try to make it happen.

Now, how is it that so many seemingly intelligent so-called Americans who grew up on the same diet of (propaganda) as myself feel comfortable assessing the decisions of one-and-done college players as somehow being “their” problem? I mean, if for example Eric Bledsoe doesn’t read as well as you or I, is it his problem or ours? If he tests free agency at year’s end and signs for $12 million a year, was it his opportunity, hard work, and talent that earned it, or ours? Is it his problem, or the Phoenix front office, or the fans who screamed to no avail to get him on contract before the deadline? Of course it’s his, and with his lunch pail in hand he goes to work ALONE every night, and likely has just earned a huge raise for an outstanding job. Now who’s got the problem Phoenix?

You know Eric, how true that problems can be seen as opportunities, huh?

Haters Gonna Hate

So, if a kid and his coach agree that his (and likely his family’s) best financial interest would be better served by leaving the team and going professional, even if after only one year of (that almighty holy grail) of higher education… who am I, or you, or anyone else to feel the need to weigh in NEGATIVELY on his own personal decision that he made based on the information available at the time?

In review, remember that I went to college to ultimately earn more money with my job being the caretaker of that goal. Don’t we all? How many of us degreed princes make $12 million a year? Not many, and damn sure not me.

And what about that scoundrel of a coach who let him get only one year of schooling before shooing him off to future riches and fame? But then, why wouldn’t that scoundrel want to keep him around for another year or two? If I’m a scoundrel, I damn sure would.

Hmmm…?

I realize that fans can be viciously jealous and many times jump on ANY opportunity to spin a situation to their liking. But folks like you (but not you) and the plethora of other so-called “experts” who blindly bandwagon without logic, reason, or considering another perspective are simply irresponsible mouth pieces who feed the delusional masses their daily dose of “what they want to hear”. They sicken me with all their Doug Gottfried arrogance, who all of the sudden knows everything, but can’t seem to ever pick a winner? Oh yeah… good for TV, right.

It isn’t the one-and-done ruination of CBB… it’s the dumbass bloggers, announcers, and writers who are spinning this game into the stupidity garbage dump of hate. And, all because they’re too ignorant or chicken shit to speak the truth. It is the height of hypocrisy and the bane of our existence that we are spoon fed our beliefs without more careful analysis (much like what you, Ken, and Dean have championed over the last 5-10 years). I salute you in the name of OBJECTIVITY, Howard Roark.

Sure, there are ratings and networks and back room deals that suggest that a narrative of disagreement is good for the level of fan interest, thus network stock prices, and thus the NCAA bank vault.

But, WTF?

Can no one with an audience and a pair of balls ever stand up and tell it like it really is? Are we to listen to endless moronic red-faced Bobby Knight diatribes about situations of which he has no knowledge or experience with just because ESPN thinks he’s good television? I can almost hear the ESPN back room snickers from my couch when he starts into his the-way-it-is-ramble-mania.

This talk of “ruining the game” is so ridiculously far-fetched that I have fits of lalochezia just hearing the CBS theme song, but then I mostly revert to a couch burning “tacenda”. Smoldering…

John, I realize numbers are your game and this comment defies strapping it to a chart, and mapping it for visual appeal and understanding. Big data it ain’t. But please, weigh in on this subject with all your objective intelligence so that the common fan can “get a grip” on this thing we commonly agree on as reality.

If you or anyone else happens to disagree with my position, so be it. I am happy to publicly debate the matter anywhere, anytime. But, be fore warned… I’ll come loaded for bear.

A letter to Dylan Thomas Adams-Brace


Dylan,

You wanted to know what it means to be The REAL DEAL?

Being REAL is acknowledging your mortality, but not succumbing to the negative vibe which we learn from others throughout our lives.

One cannot know anything about life unless one understands that by living, one accepts dying. Don’t deny- rather embrace that fact. Experience your subtle perceptions of pleasure and of pain as lessons in living. Examine your inner feelings, get to know yourself. Be who you are and want to be.

Any critique of anything you make is only as good as your understanding of how opposites need a counterpart for their own existence, their own survival. Thus any comment on good or great is dependent on your experience with bad and terrible. Lose the hate and embrace everything as your personal playground. Try to always feel yourself in the moment.

Being REAL is being thankful for your existence, whatever that is. Its all you’ve got. Learn to laugh about it. Enrich it with lasting love and friendships, and especially family. never forsake another person in need or seeking your help. Someday, you may reverse roles.

Awareness of self and of your own individual agenda as a human of good moral character is key. If you always stay true to the moral creed I’ve tried to instill, you will never have to remember what you say or how you act, as you’ll know that you have nothing to regret. No apologies will be needed. You are being you through and through, and that’s good. As my good buddy-man Tipster likes to say, “if you’re right, you can’t be wrong”.

Having and developing a keen sense of propriety, common decency and equality with everyone is important no matter what your or their station in life or social status. Or age, gender, creed, code, or religion… as it will serve you well throughout our life. You can’t read a book by it’s cover.

Being REAL is being ageless, and though you may comprehend the basic natural order of things, never succumb to pre-destined rules of order or mindset that needlessly limits openness, creativity, and love; yet neither should you worship youth as perfection. You are my greatest example of that premise since I was twice your mother’s age and look at what we produced together.

The entropic forces of time may affect physical beauty, but never assume this is related to better or worse. It is an entirely separate issue.

Your personal truth can only be found in your own personal life experiences, so cherish every moment and find your way on your own time… and make your own path if needed despite the brambles, bushes, and briars. You can follow or lead, or like me prefer to create your own path. The choices for you are all REAL and pertinent in your ever expanding journey through space/time.

Above all… Have fun and enjoy! That’s REAL.

DadFuture

the sound of one hand clapping?


Ask the question…
get the answer
it is true

do the math n…
add it up n’
feel it move

on the mountain…
in the valley
of the shrew

there’s a moment…
in the garden
at the zoo

smell the textures…
taste aromas
that you knew

hearing colors…
making noises
every hue

take your socks off…
taste a drop of
morning dew

time is wastin’…
for the many
and the few

you can’t stop it…
in the church or
in the pew

snowy blanket…
out your window
fresh and new

dusk is falling…
to the darkness
cold and blue

warm your fingers…
build a fire and
drink it too

take it inside,,,
feel the power
light a room

you bear witness…
to the knowledge
gift it too

breathe the lightning…
light the city
that you choose

U B IT

N IT B U

N U B… schmoove

teach the children…
every moment
never rue

n there is money…
n there is happy’
n they are two

there is love for…
all the children
at the zoo

when you feel it…
share the wisdom
you once knew

you were it and…
it was us and we were 2

I am paper…
you are scissors
we are glue

they are them and…
they are us and
they all grew

in a pot of…
everybody
it’s a stew

tasting sweet and…
tasting perfect
tasty brew

tasting now and…
tasting then and
someday soon

taste like chicken…
it’s a worldly… barbecue

when you live it…

you don’t eat it

it eats you

all the memory… all the knowledge → bursting through…        

you were it and…
it was us and
it is new

on the doorstep…
no more waiting
come on                           → through…                      

-30-

 

Who?


who knows the story

who needs the glory

who hits the knuckle

whose knees will buckle

who calls it crazy

whose smile too lazy

who bellows Jesus

who’s dressed like Regis

who knows what time is

whose truth sublime myth

who fools the mirror

whose friends are dearer

who carries snail mail

whose apt to fail well

whose yard is greener

whose money’s cleaner

who loves the hater

who’s hate is greater

who needs the reasons

who waits on seasons

whose rhyme too simple

who squeezes the pimple

who strives for happy

who thinks it sappy

who lives for power

who hides like cowards

who has great posture

who won then lost her

who says NOT EVER

who thinks NOT NEVER

who thinks it’s possy

who glosses glossy

whose teeth are whiter

whose abs are tighter

who talks a pre-nup

who throws a change-up

who gets all dirty

who quits 4:30

who wears a big smile

who’s shoes walked my mile

who knows the tao chi

who will the bee sting

who rides the coaster

who lives to toast her

who breathes the fresh air

who cares but don’t care?

Top Floor


garden

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

clean polished desk

no pending issues

too untidy here

starched shirts, perfect hems

shiny shoes

dresses almost shaking I’m sorry

manicured pedicures

the rule not exception

neatly combed coiffs

tacit smiles, as real as their

intended pretense belies them

firm handshake

pleasant greetings

quiet nods of resolution

mimicking

sweet lovely pink breezes

wafting up

from the indoor garden

thoughtfully placed

to hide the ugliness

behind them.

I confess I guess


The first rule of law.
Part One of: Philosophically confused… Confess, I guess.

Read the book Dress for Success so I did, I guess

Wore expensive clothes drove nice cars lived at the right address

Now some days I don’t shave or even wear my best

I’m aware that it works for me not for the rest… it don’t impress.

When I undress I feel no less, not a naked unsuccessful mess

So that’s all fair, I guess. More or less. I Confess.

I like to think I do more with less

I do with less than I did with more, I guess. More with less.

In me there’s a big ticking heart, a time bomb in a treasure chest

It’ll burst if I get too stressed, so I don’t worry and I don’t press,

Go straight ahead and don’t regress, without duress I guess. No less.

Invest less time making money than making love, oh yes. I Confess.

Once met a girl who had some great big breasts

We had some fun, and… well, you know the rest.

I like sex more than I do less, but with us more was less I guess. I Confess.

She liked sex more not less, and though I loved her yes she could be a pest, more than less.

To my ex with the great big chest; your’s may be fake but I ain’t… depressed, I guess.

I was in a zone you a full court press. So less is more, I guess. I Confess.

Say I ramble or I digress, but I suggest a point to this ole mess, I guess. More or less.

U can travel East or you can move out West, build a great big house or small cozy nest

Work real hard and fail life’s big test, but cheat yourself it’s you who you’ll detest, I guess. I Confess<.

Eat my WORDS and if you do ingest, when it all digests

you’ll know for sure that I DO NOT jest. I Confess. 

Upon my death I have this one bequest:

“Do what makes you happy, try your very best with all your zest

You’re in a game that you can’t win, but you cannot lose unless you choose, I guess.

So, more or less at my behest I ask of you, Confess.

Give thanks for each new day for each new moment for ALL your life, and when you do… you’ll be blessed
And I guarantee that its never less, and its always more than you could guess. To that I do hereby…

Confess I Guess…
humorous-quotes-sayings-job-done-deep-work (1)

Vida después de su muerte mi amigo


life after their gone my friend

Written a few years ago for a friend whose boyfriend was suddenly killed in a bike week motorcycle accident. I too was struggling through a recent sudden loss, making the moment even that more poignant… I thought I had lost the poem, but found (some of) it in a file drawer the other day.


life after their death, my friend

Sitting here by Kimberly’s grave
thoughts turn to you and Tony
life too short for both of them
our grief the testimony.

Who lives or not whose choice it be
or just the dice who say?
does God play poker, is he the Joker
is it black and white, or grey?

And who am I that thinks of you
does the mirror speak the truth?
etched names in granite destroy the planet
is going uphill downhill too?

Does our vibration on this narrow playing field
prove we “exist”, or merely “sense” we do?
manifesting our real not by, “dead and gone”
instead “always in our hearts, to see us through?”

In the end don’t we create our own real
realizing ourselves in our think, our say and do?
we’re exactly who we think we are
so there will always be Kimberly in me

and I think… some Tony… in you.

Yes, maybe, not-so-much.


thomeverythingheart

When folks ask me what I’ve been up to lately, my answer usually lies somewhere between everything and nothing, specifics being a bit hazy as they can be these days to a late 50’s POP (permanently overripe personality). (Read: unemployed old fart without prospects). And this from the man who was once the chalk (outside Kentucky that’s a sure thing) to be the eventual ruler of the free world (thanks, mom).

I like to say “free is where to find me, but Fun is where I’m from”.

But then as a rookie Father to 6 and 8 year-old boys, these days my official title ranges from, “Dad, can I…” to “hey, I think I’m gonna…”, instead of the more respectfully appropriate but more formal titled, “Duke of The House on Worthington”, or “Most Benevolent Domain Master”, or even… “Dude-meister of the Microcosmic Universe daddy that we call our home-dad.” One size fits all three.

My duties on this Starship are both boundless and boring, and as easily doable as they are unthinkable in doing, and all ranging from the absolutely necessary to the supremely sublime. Others call them “just normal stuff”.

I do seem to fumble some of life’s simplest hand-offs, and show a unnatural propensity to throw interceptions to some of life’s most wide-open receivers. I may call too many audibles and use too many trick plays, but I still hate football anyway. Go figure… a boy from Louisville, Kentucky. Who’d a thunk it?

So, ‘round here I’m paid to analyze, decide, motivate, invoke, critique, and hand out passing grades to everyone despite in-game homework performance or practice attitude, sideline behavior, or team spirit or team play. I learned that there are no losers anymore because we’re not allowed to keep score. DAMN, winning I knew.

So I’m more like a College Assistant Basketball Coach without the benefit of shoe deals and one-and-done. There are countless fanboys and other players depending on choices I make in an endless chain of unsure situations that hinge quickly on drawing up out-of-bounds plays, with a less than generous shot clock. All this for $4 hour while Schmoovy Weasal, the Head Coach gets $8MM. Go here. Pick. Pass, dribble, screen, shoot… air ball. Get back on Defense!! Maybe I need another shot or two?

Doing a Google search is no help either as it seems to always pull me into an abyss, more distracting than a smoke-wafting Pink Floyd concert. But hey, there’s always “The Wall”… one that I no longer can climb but still seem to hit.

So, sometimes I write blog posts to clear my cob-webs in the guise of either art or imparting some pretentious holier-than-thou “wisdom” for Everyman. The audaciousness of some people. I think I write in lieu of buying an assault rifle (I mean dude… hey, now its fuggin’unlimited rounds!). You know, cause I just love going to shooting ranges with my machine gun, and I would “kill” to go Sports hunting with Senator Paul Ryan and his rat-a-tat-tat Gattling gun. (uh, hey Paul, what do you shoot at since… you know, all the Dinosaurs are gone?). I’m afraid I’d start making lists, so I’ll pass.

 Oh no, no, I just like protecting my Second Amendment right-to bear-arms. Yeah… right(s)? If that were actually true (I mean owning guns to protect our Constitutional Rights), then all I have to say is, “WHERE in THE FUCK have ya’ll been the past fifty years?” You’re way late, you lazy gun toters. Get busy.

OK. That issue of ignoraneous (my word, not Websters) proportion (gun laws) is for another rant-blog-post, and I can assure you it will be a frontal assault. So Johnny, might better git yer gun.

No hey, I’m really just a BIG PICTURE guy who doesn’t feel like going around saying “God is in the Details, God is in the Details”. That’s for car mechanics or computer guys and Anal Retentive assholes so organized that they can always find their tools and wallets and keys and other minor essentials. Not me, uh uhn. That ain’t me. NO siree. No.

The thrill of the hunt is what I’m all about, and the multitude of ramifications of the before-during-and-after that such adventures tend to shower upon me all the while. Wisdom. Wise. Potato Chips. Lays. zzzzzzz….

Seriously, I recently read a clinical study on what the World’s wisest and smartest people think about the most important things regarding life and living. Smart people’s opinions on subjects of substance, circumstance, and degree. The results were, uh… somewhat startling, and if you’re like me… I guess happily so.

It seems that the wiser one becomes the less opinionated they tend to be. I mean, they really can’t decide. They see too many angles, perspectives, situations, viewpoints, and points to be subjective. Hmmm… they’re more objective. Sounds about right to me. Though I agree in concept, I tend to spout my own opinion to anyone who cares to listen. I’m, careful not to pre-judge anyone or anything, but once I get eyes and ears on ’em, I got opinions, yes I do.

But at least I know I’m wrong. Huh?

Truth is fleeting at best, and non-existent at its worst. While Black and White appear as extremes to us (optically), that really only covers a small portion of the entire vibrational spectrum. Where our world/universe leans to us, it meanders, and everything appears to eventually exist towards the middle, considering our limited senses. I mean extreme is well… extreme. Way out there. All things in moderation? Wise.

Great may be more good than not, or not-so-much as Best. We use opposites to give a mental picture to relate to the vast in-between. Or something. I just can’t say. Its complicated. Not too sure anyway.

The ONLY THING one can really know is that they know nothing. NADA. Zilch.

It’s friggin’ science, by God. Or not. Not sure.

To think that one “KNOW’s SOMETHING” is to deceive oneself about the untouchable, the unknowable: THE REAL TRUTH.

Huh?

Quantum Physics (see Schrodinger and find his cat) explains that one can never be certain of the existence of anything until it has been “observed”. Once observed it is then in a state of existence that is knowable and predictable. But, before the observation? It did and did not exist simultaneously. In each moment of observation (which implies existence in space/time), reality continuously begins for each of us. But, keep in mind its just for us individually each separate moment, and just in that moment in time. This does not infer Real TRUTH, merely relative truth. Not REAL TRUTH.

about-time-sad-quotes-sayings-buddhaWe all can say that we know space/time changes from past to present to future, but does it exist? Relatively speaking, yes it does. Absolutely? NOT.

Everything we think we know is merely relative. Relatively speaking. In relation to something else. An observer. Cousins and daughters and uncles and aunts and dads and moms. Relatives. But not REAL TRUTH.

How long do you suppose, an instant lasts? Therein lies the difference between the TRUTH and the immensity of uncertainty. A single moment of time. Is there such a thing? No. Its less than a flash, and a little more than never. Immeasurable yes it is and they are, but we when we add them together we can knit the history of our universe. Still, that simultaneous instantaneous moment of TRUTH never seems to exist, and yet it does exist at the same time. A royal mind-fuck of academic epic proportions? Yes. Si. Nay. No. Don’t know nut-in’.

Right somewhere, between the Yes and NO, THE REAL TRUTH hides in the Space Between, the vast immensity of uncertainty. Like going from analog (the real) to digital (the facimile).

It is only to be measured when there are two or more moments (needing the observer making it relative), but it is at the same time scientifically, historically, philosophically, empirically, UNKNOWABLE when alone. It is only a possibility then. Anything is possible? That seems to be near the REAL TRUTH.

And still the mystery persists.

All this my good reader is why I tend to cause mid-day traffic jams, caustic hold-ups, maybe-this way,  no maybe-that, in an indiscernible gridlock of possibility for a House of (four) Cards on the verge of collapse. I don’t know, the Captain of the ship is stupid and he knows it, mutiny threatens on the high seas. Jib up, main out hold on don’t shout. Insubordinate chaos reigns and the Captain is the first to realize his own troubling sense of not knowing any damn thing.

What’s for dinner? I dunno. What bills to pay? Dunno. What time is it? Huh? What the Fuck? OK. Oh…

But then, our world, our society, our culture, in all their wisdom know not a goddamn thing either, and least of all where we are heading. So without knowing, I will hold the right to “imagine” possibility, or do the math and “speculate” on cause-effect. I usually get an EXTREME headache when I do that. I mean…whoa.

Religion? Extremists. Money? Extremism. Music, Politics, Sports? Exfuckingtremely. OK. I listen to old music and it ain’t all that extreme.

But I feel polarization everywhere but at our magnetic poles. So, what do we do?

I think more, I speculate… GTFOY.

Yeah, Get the fuck over yourself. Everyone. Now. Get over yourself. Find the gray area and live right there. I did and it ain’t all bad. A bit chaotic, OK.

You, me, we… jus’ babes in the cradle. We’re nothing more, we’re nothing less. To that I confess. And, NO this ain’t a guess. Pure specualtion.

Dinner tonight? Yes. Later? Maybe. When? Soonish. And then? Oh yeah… Gettin’ over myself… Next stop…R-E-L-I-G-

-30-

Requiem for a Friend. The end of the printed book?


… things that pass and pass and pass, and keep on and keep on and keep on coming.

The irresistibleness of things that neither threaten nor jeer nor defy, but arrange themselves in mass-formations that pass and pass and keep on passing.

So, by the damned, I mean the excluded.

But by the excluded I mean that which will some day be the excluding.

Or everything that is, won’t be.

And everything that isn’t, will be—

But, of course, will be that which won’t beCharles Fort, in Book of the Damned

oldbook

is this THE END OF THE BOOK PUBLISHING/PRINTING as we know it?

Personally, I think this is a silly but long raging argument that actually started around 1984 (the days of Macintosh, not Orwell), but not until lately has it built a real head of “steam”. It seems while Print/Pub has finally hit the proverbial iceberg and the Gutenberg is starting to take on water…the electronic gadgets (tablets and book readers) play on. Surely these different media types will have some overlap in value today, tomorrow, and the near future. But then, things become a bit cloudier…

 Digitization has touched every corner of our (analog) lives and the march will surely continue unabated…

Though, I still contend that the internet did not destroy (Journalistic) Newspapering any more than did the technology used to create the real News Monster almost 25 years ago: USA TODAY. Our “demand” for convenience, mainly resulting from lack of available time for life’s endless duties had left us with little choice but to settle for less meat and more potatoes. Fast food News snacks replaced hard biting Journalism.

Winners have always been counted in the number of losers.

These might indeed be times of style over substance, yet less than three generations from now the larger issue of control over the dissemination of information and runaway consumerism’s taste for open sourced capitalistic social Darwinism through extinction of traditional memes might possibly have its own train wreck. Creative destruction is a bomb we’ve strapped to ourselves since the Iron Age. Does that track ever reach its terminal?

 When (not if) Book Publishing dies, might we have written our last bad check to the gods of money and power, just to stay in their good graces?

Or, perhaps we’ve always been a snowball on a downhill slope to (somewhere)?

Perhaps a “steam” analogy is a perfect way to see why that it must be so…

Our own planned obsolescence.

Future

Not too many years ago there was likely much banter in the media, pubs and meeting halls that went something like, “Do you ever think the steam engine will be rendered irrelevant by these new motor cars and gasoline engines?”

Well, locomotion by steam would (and did) give way to some newer ideas that eventually made travel more economical, faster, and more efficient. But, the original idea of going places wasn’t going anywhere. Going places was long in our blood and we were meant to travel. We were here, but not to stay. We needed and searched for the means to that end of getting somewhere fast, and harnessing power for our many other utilitarian and consumer driven goals. We called it progress.

But then suddenly time and space were inter-related. Time was always money and of course space had been long bankable too. Getting enough cheap energy to go places faster took on new meaning, and those who conquered the “how-to” ideas best might likely have been on their way to eventual World domination, and that wasn’t lost on those who could imagine that ultimate scenario.gasengine

Of course, it didn’t happen overnight but it must have seemed inevitable to many I’m sure. Those were scary times for many, exciting times for others, and uncertain times for most. But, the Industrial Age kept roaring and the good times soon followed…while the internal combustion gasoline engine was eventually perfected, and God Oil became the new World’s Gold Standard.

Soon, like everything that thrives today, the “free market” shoved oil down our throats and out our mufflers and manufacturing plants without so much as a “boo” from government regulators world over. Eventually it became evident that pumping the fumes of these unrenewable unrefined resources skyward was likely someday to kill us all by burning holes in our Earth’s protective ozone layer.

We responded like good marketers by simply…staying our course and saying it isn’t so. The powerful control over owning, extracting, and refining oil inflated prices to insure the rich got richer, while it left them little to worry about; like peak oil prices. It was evident to them that we probably wouldn’t live to regret it.

But common sense began to take hold after the resourses became harder to extract, and the race was on soon for man to answer even bigger questions of the universe, so as to re-tool our need to harness energy safely and convert it for our cultural purposes of consumption, feeding an overcrowded landscape, and moving forward faster than ever. Energy conversion by now had become our new religion and there seemed little use for God when we were fast closing in on ALL the answers.

E-N-E-R-G-Y was the answer, but how? The World it seemed was in flux once again and the future somewhat uncertain. But the powerful never doubted that that “answer”would be found once they had wrung most of the world’s wealth out of its remaining oil. It was a waiting game of accumulation of wealth and consolidation of power.

________________

Early days (WorldGovLaw.net) ʬ

worldgov.netAfter many tumultuous years of political upheaval and economic whipsaws that saw Countries being bought and sold by so-called privateers, and bloody brutal civil wars waged everywhere over the new WorldGovLAW, a NEW set of rules for the advancement of MANKIND ʬ (a doctrine of existing laid down by our planets newly minted but still secretive owners), life as we had known it had changed dramatically and irrevocably.

Such as, it was now considered imprudent for anyone to offer their own opinion about government, if suggesting for the better or the worse. This new LAW ʬ decree specifically stated which topics were off-guard to editorial comment, with stiff penalties that were enforced swiftly.

Some underground Opinionpost ʬ outlets (rebel media) stayed on the run and thrived, others not-so-much. Revolt wasn’t like it used to be, and most people feared talking in public about anything of substance. Many despised these Revolutionaries as negative influences on their young children’s minds. Indoctrination was considered healthy and good.

A powerful group of mostly unidentified individuals who operated in clandestine owned 95% of the World’s wealth and finally appointed (WorldGovLaw.net ʬ) as the Earth’s first WorldGovernor ʬ, which quickly stepped in and made across the board mandatory changes that slowly but eventually saved the planet Earth’s ecosystems and exosphere from ruin.

It was a tribute to human imagination and ability, when another select group of individuals and scientists created the World’s first PrivatepersonCompuman ʬ A computer made to be so smart it could crunch all of the available data and spit out an answer to every problem (success expectation exponent at 98.8%), and even perhaps to any of the world’s largest headaches.

Compuman’s ʬ success rate was a remarkable 88% in it first three years, reinventing transportation, commerce/trade, and health concerns caused by ineffectual governments, tyrants, dictatorship, and free-trade market capitalism. The World had been saved by this invention of man’s ingenuity, and it we were ready for our next move upward.

The oil wars were long over at the cost of millions of lives but all-things locomotion were settling in comfortably with magnetic CPU/GPS enhanced-powered vehicles of every description. Most were GPS/CPU ʬ driven automatic, comfortable and virtually un-wreckable speed busters that ran on magnetic tracks similar to our old highways and roads. It was the G-force that we hadn’t considered this time. After a few hundred thousand mysterious deaths, anti-gravitational vacuum pumps made travel safe and fun again. But we, or (WorldGovLaw.net) ʬ had triumphantly figured it out, and we were again moving faster than we’d ever imagined, and GWP was booming once again…

________________
Is there any future in the future ʬ?

magtrain

There is a demand for Publishers today and there surely will be tomorrow. Yet, it seems that each day there are fewer. The industry is in flux. Some will thrive and survive, get strong and adapt. Others… not so much. But it will get tougher and tougher and tougher… to win… and finally, to impossible to beat the Compu-Pubs ʬ until… Darwinian extinction?
Someone (the last human Publisher) will silently watch the skyline zip by the setting sun, on his last Kleptomototron ʬ ride from his one day a week NY city-office to his home in North Carolina. What a great 10 minutes of silence he had enjoyed once each week… to just stare out the window and think about the good ole days. They were good ole days. Wow. Ten totally free consecutive minutes! What could I do with all that time, he wondered? But, the pressure to perform was enormous. and he was one of the lucky few whom others still looked up to for sage advice and a realistic view of the world. His contract made it clear that he must work to age 145 before being allowed to enjoy his remaining 20 year life expectancy. “Only five years left, he often mumbled silently”.

But then, why not just become irrelevant? Virtually nothing else resembled its humble beginnings, and hardly anything avoided obsolescence. Publishing (by human hand that is) had enjoyed a great run, and our History books reflected the importance it had played in our rise to Imperialist World co-leader before the great fall. (But then, there were no History books, if we’re talking paper and ink.) We were only allowed to retain certain memories, and everyone retained the same electronic bookshelves in our Brain-chips.

books

Our history was archived in quantum brain libraries (a library on a matchbook chip you must have brain-embedded; Only Government approved Q-knowledge was allowed, and reading was not just considered tiresome it was verboten). There were no more individual writers, books were all imagined by robots called Babelboys ʬ. Things had come a long way from now-a-days, sometimes in fits and starts and bugs, and sometimes simply by a Government Administrative demand-order. ʬ

Winner-Loser, happy-sad, and there was good and great and just Ok… but everything changed faster than an Alvin Toffler best seller over “the next big thing”. No one was shocked or elated anymore at what the next big thing promised. There was little time to consider it.

And why not? We all knew it was progress, right? We bought in to embracing change way back in the 1980’s, right before the “SH*T Hit The Fan” as (coined by the underground resistance) we now commonly referred to THOSE happy TIMES.

Or, did we REALLY still think of it all as progress? We dare not say, whatever our views. It seemed that humans had become second class citizens, and by their own hand… while everyone slept comfortably and hoped it would turn out for the best… to most it was beginning to look like it hadn’t. And then the unthinkable happened…

The IntelligenceM ʬ (a computer-driven public police/monitor division of World Gov) was beginning to make some decisions that were rumored to have ZERO human input. Not even writing the code. Rumors were that we (humans) had been locked out of certain parts to the kernel of the code. Software engineers were gathered up and quarantined or destroyed in a series of accidental meltdowns of top-secret installations. The IntelligenceM ʬ  denied responsibility, but WIKIDleaks told a different story.satellitte

Some rebelled but were brought down instantly by deactivation of their life-chip from SurveillanceCStation RobotwatchRSatellittes ʬ. The world was SUDDENLY different before anyone knew what had happened, and Homo-Sapien’s long reign as King of the Jungle quietly came to tragic end with a whimper, not a bang.

We did what we were told or faced severe consequences. The powerful consortium who owned it all went into hiding until soon detected by World Gov ʬ ,caught, put on trial, adjudicated guilty by death, and divested of their holdings. Incredibly but predictably, people around the world cheered their demise and watched in jubilation as they were vaporized live on Gov.MediaTV.

But before long the Human race had disappeared into the immensity…

The point? It’s a Darwinian world and those are the only rules that remain constant. Adapt and maybe survive. But nothing lasts forever.

But for now, read a good book or grab your NookBook and enjoy…

Who knows… In the end, as History is sometimes jaundiced, there may not even be a chapter on Human-kind.

-30-

The efficiency of today’s vaunted “help desk”


A recent phone conversation to a “help desk” illustrates how far we’ve come since the “good ole days”:

 

A recent chat session with one Company’s vaunted “HELP DESK” (Skype), as I was in a BIG HURRY…

  • First, a wait on hold for 8:23 before reaching representative because the last call ended without results. After 30 minutes of getting nowhere I decided to call back to try and reach a more “knowledgeable” person. This time I recorded the session, and here are the results:
  • thom.adams.56 = mostdiggity

 

11/20/2012 5:05:46 AM          Michael Julius S.  

Hello! Welcome to Skype Live Support! My name is Michael Julius S. Kindly give me a few minutes to review your previous chat.

 11/20/2012 5:06:07 AM          thom.adams56

(happily)

no problem.

 11/20/2012 5:10:33 AM          Michael Julius S.  

As I’ve understood, you are placing a call using your Skype to go, but it never pushes through because it was not recognize by the destination phone, correct?

 11/20/2012 5:13:35 AM          thom.adams56

(patience)

No. I connect to the other phone. As you well know many businesses have a que system whereby you are then asked something like, If you would like to speak with the Head Garbage Master, please press 1, etc…ya-ya-da-ya-da. Now, when I use my Skype call pad to “press1″ their system cannot recognize that I’ve pressed any number at all. After dozens of attempts and a few minutes have transpired, I get the obligatory, “thanks for calling… bye” and your system hangs up on me.

 11/20/2012 5:15:09 AM          Michael Julius S.  

Kindly hold on while I check on this for you.

 11/20/2012 5:19:56 AM          Michael Julius S.  

(ten minutes have passed, but I’m still patient)

Upon checking on your concern, and your statement, you were able to place a Skype call to a business number via their trunk line, and upon connection, the system will ask you to press a certain number to be connected to a department local number.

 11/20/2012 5:20:56 AM          thom.adams56

(getting tense)

Correcta-mundo! Now, what is your answer?  What do I do?

 11/20/2012 5:22:46 AM          Michael Julius S.  

As soon as you were able to connect to a certain line using Skype, it is already connected, since you pressed a number and the call suddenly drops, it is already in the provider of that destination whose having technical problem connecting you.

 11/20/2012 5:26:01 AM          thom.adams56

(getting pissed)

Do what? No. You are incorrect. The call does not “suddenly drop”. I am connected to a phone system which, if I want to speak with someone (a real live person), they require that I “press” a certain number. Upon doing so my good friend, the system (phone on the other side) does NOT recognize numbers that I “press”. How is it that Skype hasn’t thought of correcting this basic issue that MUST be common to all of mankind?

It’s as if I didn’t “press” any number at all, which… I swear to the heavens above… I have done so, did, and have done so many times. 

 11/20/2012 5:29:43 AM          Michael Julius S.  

I respect how you feel. You are absolutely right to feel that way.

 11/20/2012 5:29:50 AM          thom.adams56

(curious but anxious)

Michael? Tell you what… who is it that I can email or call that actually understands the issue and can give reliable feedback?

 11/20/2012 5:30:42 AM          Michael Julius S.  

You said a while ago that the call is connected, Correct?

 11/20/2012 5:31:02 AM          thom.adams56

(resigned)

DUH…YES.

 11/20/2012 5:32:31 AM          Michael Julius S.

But when the recipient number asks you to press a local number for them to connect you, it will not recognize the number that you pressed, and that you will be dropped, correct?

 11/20/2012 5:33:53 AM          thom.adams56

(thinking violent thoughts but staying composed)

NO! It does not drop me immediately, but I suspect after “NOT” hearing/recognizing that I’m over here pressing the hell out of numbers on my keyboard… the system is designed to hang up my call.

 11/20/2012 5:37:21 AM          Michael Julius S.  

What I am trying to explain here is the fact that the call is connected from you to the other line where in a system is prompt to answer, if it does not recognize the number that you pressed, then the issue should be informed to the local provider of that destination.

 11/20/2012 5:38:53 AM          thom.adams56

(trying to overcome screaming and throwing my phone through the window)

Look my good buddy, all I want to know is how do “we” fix this issue? What do I do?

 11/20/2012 5:39:59 AM          Michael Julius S.

I clearly understand how you feel and I am here to assist you with your concern.

 11/20/2012 5:41:22 AM          thom.adams56

(falsey appealing to his humaneess and understanding of my plight)

Seriously, I am want to understand your answer, as it is apparently way over my head, or maybe it just REALLY isn’t in the ballpark. Therefore… in the interest of civility, good faith, and trust in you and your employer (contractor) and mankind in general, could you please direct me to another person who specializes in such matters as these?

 With all due respect, you appear to be giving me the run-around or don’t have a clue what the real issue is Mike. Just…PLEASE… I beg you… GIVE ME ANOTHER PERSON TO CHAT WITH.NOW!

  11/20/2012 5:41:22 AM          thom.adams56  

(THEN pretending empathy)

Perhaps someone who speaks on a more “direct” level with me (as I feel we have a slight issue of communication). And hey, isn’t that what Skype is ALL ABOUT? Communicado? And customer service?

 11/20/2012 5:44:14 AM          thom.adams56

BTW, tell me Michael, are you a real “live” person, or some sort of artificial intelligent program that has yet to be provided with information such as this?

 11/20/2012 5:44:58 AM          Michael Julius S.  

Clearly, we’ve upset you and I want you to know that getting to the bottom of this is just as important to me as it is to you.

 11/20/2012 5:47:52 AM          thom.adams56

(lying THROUGH MY TEETH)

No, no… I’m not upset. Now… just simply curious about this session. Are you a “live” person? This isn’t meant to be an insult because I respect everyone (alive) and such. We, if you are a live human, have no problem excepting a slight communication problem. I can easily understand that, and it doesn’t at all make me angry. But, if you are not “real” or “alive”, I feel a bit duped by someone or something. Are you for real?

 11/20/2012 5:50:17 AM          Michael Julius S.  

This is not a system generated chat, Thom.

 11/20/2012 5:50:40 AM          thom.adams56

(sarcasm)

So, that means you are indeed alive?  Really?

 11/20/2012 5:51:00 AM          Michael Julius S.  

You are correct.

 11/20/2012 5:53:25 AM          thom.adams56

(feining friendliness)

Great. Thank you. Now, as for the other matter, I think we both realize that we are no closer to solving the issue or even understanding it between ourselves. Not a problem, my fellow human. It’s all good. But, I have one simple request:

Who else at Skype might I consider contacting about my problem? And, please remember, this isn’t about you, it’s about me and my Skype problem. Understand what I’m getting at?

 11/20/2012 5:57:31 AM          Michael Julius S.  

Thank you for that, and for your patience as well.

 11/20/2012 5:58:53 AM          Michael Julius S.  

I would like to find the best solution to this for you.

 11/20/2012 6:00:24 AM          thom.adams56

(The ole I’m on you’re team pal and we’re in this together against the POWERS THAT BE)

Ok. Now we are on the same page. How about giving me somebody’s email address or something? Maybe a name you’ve heard or a number you have that guys like me are not usually given because as such we are not lining their pockets fast enough? I can tell them what a great job you are doing.

 11/20/2012 6:02:17 AM          Michael Julius S.  

May I provide you with a possible solution to this issue?

 11/20/2012 6:05:06 AM          Michael Julius S.  

We understand that you want to dial DTMF tones with Skype for Windows?

 11/20/2012 6:05:28 AM          Michael Julius S.  

Please note that our DTMF tone sending system is configured to work with the highest possible number of different DTMF systems. Nevertheless, some may have special requirements (for example, differing tone duration). In this case, try pressing the numbers more slowly to create longer tone duration and spaces between tones.  To call a number manually using the dial pad:

 11/20/2012 6:09:02 AM          thom.adams56

(resignation but indignent)

Mike, as patience is a virtue… but one that I was shorted on by god above I am going to leave you in the spirit of peace and happiness (in other words, quit bothering you today). Trust me on this my good buddy when i say that Skype in all their glorified holiness has not left you with enough details as to be able to answer basic simple sessions such as this. You are doing a good job, but Skype is lacking. I shall seek answers in other quarters about this fairly commonplace problem (of which thousands or millions of others must have also suffered with no obvious relief). Perhaps they have programmers all over this right now as we chat? I don’t know, but I am damn sure gonna find out. Peace out!

 11/20/2012 6:10:23 AM          Michael Julius S.  

It’s been a pleasure speaking with you today. Thank you for contacting Skype Live Support, have a great day.

 11/20/2012 6:09:02 AM          thom.adams56

(yeah right)

Hey Mike! Eat me!!

NOTE: Time spent not including 8 minutes of hold time – 1:03:23

 

Does America Really Hate the Beautiful Game?


watermarked_thumbnail

THIS was written shortly after Spain had beaten Netherlands 1-0 in the 2010 World Cup final. It is a re-post, but the ideas are still prescient

You may have heard that FIFA, the governing (futbol) body in World Soccer has announced the use of “goal line technology” to be deployed soon at a pitch near you (or at least in the 2014 World Cup). Its funny, because my ideas (below) caught a rash of shit from the naysaying purists (read: foreigners) who bellowed that it would never happen…  and hell, it wasn’t even on the table back then. I mean, should an American even have the right to suggest changes to this venerable game?

When it comes to Soccer, Americans know nothing, right? But does America really  hate “the beautiful game”? Soccer is the second most popular sport by participation among children under 15 in the U.S. Our Women have dominated the sport for years, becoming the most dominant team in any international sport. Is it long before our men catch up with the rest of the world and make a WC finals? Probably, but give us another 12-16 years and…

2010 FIFA World Cup South Africa (video game)
2010 FIFA World Cup South Africa (video game) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

2010. I’m American and a soccer fan.

Unfortunately, I’m already feeling withdrawals from the thought of four years of semi-hibernation sans-soccer about to commence.

Like many soccer fans I watched most of this year’s World Cup, read a ton of internet articles, and listened to this year’s flavors of talking head, who all weighed in on “the beautiful game” and America’s ambivalent attitude towards it.

Though I’m not an expert by any stretch, I am a fan who has watched soccer from the outside for many years. I played American collegiate soccer over 30 years ago at a Division 1 college in Kentucky, though back then the game was nebulous as to the meaning of “American”. Like many American college teams, we were a collection of decent foreign players and renegade American sports athletes who for various reasons no longer graced their once chosen sport, or who had played high school soccer at one of the few schools who fielded a team. I was an ex-distance runner with average soccer skills who was recruited on-campus after I decided to forgo my track scholarship. After graduating, I played club soccer in North Carolina for about 10 years. Now, my experience comes exclusively from my thousands of hours addiction to playing video game maker Konami and EASports PES and FIFA soccer on my PS3.)

What changes are needed to create more fan interest in the game here on American soil?

Besides winning, American sports fans care about two things in sports: excitement and fairness. World Cup watchers got a first-hand look this year at how the lack of these two things can drive Americans crazy, and perhaps keep us from embracing the world’s most beautiful game. In fact, the World Cup has been rife with “cheating” in the past, in the form of egregious “flopping”, sometimes changing the complexion of the entire Tournament. Scoring? Oh my. Last year’s final was a 1-0 affair with the winning goal (Spain) softly rolling off the goalie in the side of the net after a gentle Iniesta nudge.

1. Scoring –

People all over the world love GOOOAAALS, yet Americans are criticized for their “lack of depth” because they want to see more of them. To say that Americans under appreciate the richness or unseen nuances of soccer is to trivialize our ability embrace sporting value, without giving serious thought to the underlying issue. Long gone is the day when to be an American at a world soccer event was a curiosity. I’m tired of apologizing for our soccer to the world, and listening to people from everywhere tell me how we just don’t get it.

It is true that I found the Spain-Germany game the most exciting game of all even though the final score was 1-0. The final game may have been a let down to many, but isn’t that the way finals go many times, with over-expectation? The entire event was a low scoring affair, as it is many times when quality teams play one another.

The problem with this as I see it; unless there are changes made we are doomed with 1-0 or 0-0 finals forever. Great teams are not about to give up 2, 3, 4 goals in today’s game, and two great teams…well…?

The world wants GOOOAAALS!

During the World Cup I heard all kinds of opinions concerning America’s attitude toward soccer, many of them ridiculous. If America thinks soccer is boring how do you explain our obsession with baseball? If it’s just that we can’t understand the game in its’ totality, who is going to tell our women, who are the most dominant sports team in the history of International Sports?

FIFA, the governing body for International Soccer must agree that scoring more goals is important to the future health of the game, and not because of the “stupid” Americans. The Jubillane (ball) was introduced at this years’ event for one reason: more goals. It failed to produce.

I suggest that the goal be made two or three meters wider and a meter taller to allow for more scoring opportunities with well placed shots. Many goalies today are superior athletes and can block even the best aimed, most twisting and screaming shots, resulting in many games being decided by fluke goals or lucky, but weak chances. It also means that there are more terribly bad shots because of the increased pressure added for the low margin for error. This is not how sport is supposed to work, and I suspect many Americans sense it.

Why not give these great athletes a better chance to display their talent to the world? A great shot should be just that… an untouchable missle blasted just outside the even the swiftest goal keeper‘s reach, something rarely possible in today’s game. Even the final WC goal by Spain was knocked down before landing softly inside the goal. I dare say more goals roll into the back of the net than ripple it.

With a slightly larger goal there will still be the finesse of the flip shot in one-on-one situations as goalies will adjust to the larger goal area with earlier, more aggressive charges in order to cut down angles. Forwards and halfbacks will try slightly deeper shots once again with hopeful success; something rare in championship soccer today because of the evolving skill of today’s goalkeepers. a larger goal means the game will not be considered over when a team goes up by two or three goals,unlike it is today. The “hope” of scoring is just as important as the notching the goal itself to the fan of soccer. I think FIFA should give everyone more hope.

2. Officiating –

I am continually amazed at how many sports governing bodies have been able to ignore the onslaught of new technology when it comes to officiating. It seems that human officials have become the “sacred cow” of many sports; the one thing that must not give in to change. Frankly, I don’t understand the value proposition. What good reason or reasons are there for not getting more accurate results in a sporting event? The 2010 World Cup was an example of how protecting the purity of a sport may also be how to eventually destroy it. Game after game missed calls affected or potentially affected outcomes, leaving one to wonder at times which team was pre-destined to win?

Having played competitive soccer I know that every game endures bad calls and good calls, some favorable and others not. It is sometimes very difficult to identify the offender and the offended in a physical game like soccer where neither player owns possession in a strict sense. The World Cup officials were criticized for many calls which were made that might not be questioned in a regular contest. The magnitude of the event rightly or wrongly leads to magnification of every call and the WC officials are somewhat always in a no-win situation. Yet, at this year’s Cup, it seemed yellow cards were shown to players for simply playing hard, and even worse: Hollywood style faking by their opponents. Video captured these moments to FIFA’s embarrassment several times during the competition. Yet, there was no make-up call for the actors and the tragedy unfolded in horror for those falsely accused and their fans.

In soccer it is mandatory that calls be correct near the goal (inside the box) due to the excessive severity of a penalty. Time and again video replay busted the official calls or no-calls in the area, one of the most debilitating events which can happen to a team in soccer. Though the officials didn’t prejudice one team, they missed calls on every side.

Hey FIFA, what’s up? Can you explain this…?

Is it merely cost that stops FIFA from using video to insure that teams and titles aren’t lost simply over bad calls? Is it time? Techno-phobia? Why are we so entranced by humans who are only all too “human”? I could go one here forever, but I’ll constrain myself to this:

America will never love a sport where such contradictions exists. Yes, we hate to lose badly, but mostly we hate to lose unfairly. And who wants to win a Cup marred by so many blatant mistakes by officials? OK, you won’t hear any Spaniards complaining, but that’s about it. There are a number of teams this year who could say that the whistle cost them a game and maybe the Cup.

I hate crybabies in sports and believe that the mistakes somehow seem even out over time. But I think FIFA owes the sport a better deal.

FIFA should “embrace change”, America’s mantra of the eighties and nineties when we finally convinced ourselves that technology and change does not always mean bad. Almost every industry experienced game changing rules at record setting pace as technology advancement forced us to reconsider our most cherished and hallowed traditions. In sports we witnessed technology’s effect with a wary eye and slowly made changes where needed. Golf, one of the most traditional sports lengthened and re-designed courses to offset better equipment and stronger players. Basketball keeps moving the three point line and reducing the shot clock. Baseball built bigger parks and limited ball and bat technology…Every sport has had to re-evaluate and make needed changes to enhance and maintain their core value.

I think some limited use of replay has a place in soccer RIGHT NOW, not next time around. It’s imperative to get the calls right and to keep the game honest if America is to participate on every level. But for this to happen changes must be made, if only in small increments. FIFA seems to be unmoved by the controversy but changes might help America’s attitude toward the game improve.

Evolution has taught us that life, the world, and the universe is dynamic. Small improvements over time lead to larger overall positive results. Listen up FIFA!

Nowhere did it exclude the beautiful game of soccer.

-30-

I picked Holland over Spain in the final of my ESPN Soccerpick fantasy bracket based on a junk “home-team” theory I developed when I realized no African team was strong enough to win it all. My other picks were pretty good too, except for one glaring mistake: USA. Even though Uraguay won my WC when I played a completely computer driven WC Simulation with PES2009 on my PS3, my heart said USA would make the final four this time. Never listen to your heart when picking sporting event winners. You can check out my picks (mostdiggity) at http://games.espn.go.com/knockout/en-us/frontpage.

In 2014 you will see USA escape the Group of Death after Beating Ghana (finally) and tying Portugal and Germany. The USA will advance one more game before getting Gobsmacked by Spain. Germany (I think) is destined to advance and spoil Brazil’s party, then beat Spain in the final game 2-1 for their 4th World Cup win. I was in Germany in 1990 and 1994 when they were at their strongest. Germany plays like a fine uh… German Automobile. With precision.
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I do agree with better officiating but….
I don’t think we need to have higher scoring games, that’s just ridiculous and takes away that intense feeling that these players can score at any minute. I think what Americans fail to appreciate is the fact that they can score at any minute, instead of having the mindset of “when are they going to score”. A lot of my friends were very bored by the final, but honestly I thought it was good solid game, it was physical, it had the right momentum, and it all culminated in an amazing shot. If you can watch baseball, why can’t you watch soccer? that’s one of the most baffling points that I also fail to understand. I do think that people are becoming more and more interested partly due to the FIFA and Pro Evolution Soccer Games, It tends to teach people the basic rules, strategies, statistics, things Americans love, but often misunderstand.

by TerpsAllTheWay on Jul 12, 2010 12:31 PM EDT actions
I think everyone who was watching learned just how amazing a 1 goal game can be when landon put the winner in against Algeria. I’ve said it many times, so i guess i’ll say it again, the reason soccer isn’t wildly popular in America isn’t because Americans don’t like soccer, it’s because theres such obscene amounts of money to be made with football. Why? because theres a thousand opportunities for commercial breaks during a football game. Soccer has precisely 1 break for commercials. ESPN and the like will pay attention to soccer during the summer when sports are slow, and they’ll pimp the EPL because it’s on early in the morning, and they have nothing else going on at that time so it’s better than nothing. But when college football or the NFL is available? You’ll never see the big sports networks get behind soccer, theres just not as much money to be made.

by GKINMD on Jul 12, 2010 2:19 PM EDT actions

Premise of the whole article is wrong
MLS is having great attendence – up 10% in a down economy that has MLB down 2%. TV ratings for MLS are even with NHL when put on comparitively accessible tv stations as well.

Records were set for American viewership of WC’10 South Africa. With all its time zone differences and what-not it was the most watched World Cup in US history.

So if this is going to be the best year for the domestic league, and the best WC why are we claiming that Americans don’t care?

I am not a Supporter | I am not a Fan | I am a Sounder
Sounder At Heart
by Dave Clark on Jul 12, 2010 3:20 PM EDT actions

I think one way to can increase scoring in soccer is to eliminate the offside rule. I don’t know how controversial this would be, but it seems like it would do the trick.

As to officiating, I think having one ref for each half of the field (they’d both be on during play) would eliminate some of the bad calls that seem to happen simply because the ref was far away and couldn’t do anything about it.

Hockey Blogger at Pensburgh.com
by GoPens! on Jul 12, 2010 6:25 PM EDT actions

Eliminating offsides
would change the game in a horrible horrible way, the game would suffer sooooo much

by I need more Esteban on Jul 13, 2010 10:19 AM EDT up actions

Yes, slow ass piss poor defenders would no longer be bailed out
by Cool Dudes on Jul 14, 2010 1:32 AM EDT up actions

Seriously?
slow ass piss poor defenders? How about the offsides trap? How about cherry picking? Offsides is intricate to fielding a good game. What fun would it be if someone just stayed at one end of the pitch and continuously fielded balls after a long kick? That would make the game terrible.

“I will never have my best season,” Brian Dawkins
“There are no limits. There are only plateaus, and you must not stay there, you must go beyond them.” Bruce Lee
“This fucking game is over!” Chuck Bednarik
“Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth” Mike Tyson
by Talon Talent on Jul 15, 2010 12:41 AM EDT up actions

Yeah, the “offsides trap”
A defense that rely’s on the proficiency of the linesman to actually be competent AND see perfectly to ensure that a goal is not scored.

Fucking brilliant! You should coach France! You would be great!

by Cool Dudes on Jul 16, 2010 12:37 AM EDT up actions

wow didn’t realize you could simplify it so easily.
The offside trap is not without risk as a perfectly timed ball will leave a defense watching the cleats of a forward as he streaks for a one on one opportunity. It may not be a “brilliant” defense, and yet how often has it saved a team? Anything that works as well as it does might very well be considered brilliant.
And it also amazes me that with everything I wrote there, the only thing you could dispute was the offsides trap part of it.
Simply put, soccer without offsides would be terrible. If you are looking for high scoring games watch basketball I hear they score like 80 points on average or something.

“I will never have my best season,” Brian Dawkins
“There are no limits. There are only plateaus, and you must not stay there, you must go beyond them.” Bruce Lee
“This fucking game is over!” Chuck Bednarik
“Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth” Mike Tyson
by Talon Talent on Jul 16, 2010 10:59 AM EDT up actions

Dude
There’s not enough time in the day to dispute everything you are saying that’s wrong. I just concentrated on the funniest part.

by Cool Dudes on Jul 16, 2010 2:46 PM EDT up actions

Nice. I take that as victory. Thanks for playing

“I will never have my best season,” Brian Dawkins
“There are no limits. There are only plateaus, and you must not stay there, you must go beyond them.” Bruce Lee
“This fucking game is over!” Chuck Bednarik
“Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth” Mike Tyson
by Talon Talent on Jul 16, 2010 10:04 PM EDT up actions

I disagree and disagree. Goals should be a treasured event. The scoring of a goal in soccer is one of the best moments frowarded to the players and the fans watching. It is because they are harder to come by. I mean if the goals were coming by the handful who the hell would want to be a goalie for the sport? All the attention would be put on forwards (as it often is now) and at the core of humanity is the need for recognition and love. This is why offensive players are usually more coveted in every sport. if anything soccer gives the defenders a more equal chance to shine.
Instant replay for soccer is always and always will be a bad idea. To put it brief (because I already explained it in Disappointedleafs fan World Cup Controversy fanpost) The fluidity of soccer can not be messed with. The momentum part of soccer is so crucial and Instant replay would take that away completely.

“I will never have my best season,” Brian Dawkins
“There are no limits. There are only plateaus, and you must not stay there, you must go beyond them.” Bruce Lee
“This fucking game is over!” Chuck Bednarik
“Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth” Mike Tyson
by Talon Talent on Jul 12, 2010 10:04 PM EDT actions

disagree
only in part.

I definitely agree that the fluidity should not be messed with too much but there HAS to be goal-line replay and replays on offsides when they involve goals.

You will have an official in the booth who watches a replay and relays the outcome to the head official in a matter of seconds. This would not mess with flow by any means, in fact, it might speed things up because you wouldn’t have to wait as 6 players argue with the official. This is 2010, you can make these things happen fast.

by I need more Esteban on Jul 13, 2010 10:23 AM EDT up actions

Somehow the NHL seems to be able to recruit goalies and keep their players from taking a smoke break during goal reviews
Not sure how they do it. Maybe we need some sort of secret Canadien technology.

by Cool Dudes on Jul 16, 2010 12:48 AM EDT up actions

The Final Was the Most watched soccer match in U.S. History with a record 24.3 Million Tuning in.
by TerpsAllTheWay on Jul 12, 2010 10:59 PM EDT actions

Agree or Disagree
This was a well-written post.

I don’t think I can jump on board with the widening of the goal. Like many have said, the rarity of goals are what make them so special when they do happen. What more Americans that don’t like Soccer need to realize is that the excitement of the game comes on opportunities to score. With every cross into the box of the opposition, you hold your breath that this could be the one that loses you the game, maybe even in the first 10 minutes! That’s why every minute matters and every opportunity is so special. When Americans that don’t enjoy the game realize that they may jump on board.

But hey, not everyone likes every sport and that is fine. I just wish our society could get past hating so hard on soccer. There is not a sport in America that more shit is talked on than soccer. Although, I do know a lot of people that hate pretty hard on baseball these days. I live in Kansas, though, so I run across my fair share of bumkins who throw out, “err soccer is so f’n borin’, let’s go watch us some g’damn Nascar!
End rant on that.

Agree with you about technology. Get with the times FIFA. I said it above, but goal-line technology and technology on offsides involving goals should be implemented in some ways. I mean the goal that England didn’t receive and the goal that Tevez scored on the non-offsides call were inexcusable. Do it incrementally, experimentally, just do something.

by I need more Esteban on Jul 13, 2010 10:31 AM EDT actions

If Soccer Had Just Been, or Was Just Being Invented
You would be totally correct. They made the goals too small, the advantage the goalie has using his hands over players using their feet is too much. But the goal is the size of the goal and I really doubt that will ever change (except perhaps as a good way to break a tie in extra time).

But, I really think there are some less drastic rule changes that could be made. A ridiculous number of goals get called off because of the offsides rule, and a lot are really borderline calls. I would really like to see offsides become more of a zone rule not unlike what they have in hockey. The intent of the rule is to prevent poaching and continous longballs, but it wasn’t well thought because a lot of calls are made after the ball is already in the box, which really makes no sense. I would really like to see this rule changed.

While the size of the goals may be sacred, I really don’t think the offsides rule is very universally loved and people would be far more willing to change it.

by Cool Dudes on Jul 14, 2010 1:39 AM EDT actions

No…
I think that the majority of Americans would watch it. But they refuse to watch it out of fear that they might like it. And that is enough for them not to give it a chance.

The Once and Future King
by FlaGators on Jul 21, 2010 3:53 PM EDT actions
Comments for this post are closed, bro.

Have You Seen My Wheels?


I tee it. I see it. I feel it. I be it.

I aim it. I shake it. The Tiger. I wake it.

I peel it. I’m on it. Doggone it. Can’t fool it.

I slice it. I splice it. Pull-hook it. No dice it.

 

I’ll rule it. I’ll school it. Re-tool it. I pool it.

I find it. I Time it. Unwind it. Unkind it.

I stalk it. Don’t talk it. I bark it. Can’t park it.

I know it. I show it. Don’t get it. Can’t flow it.

 

I wear it. I swear it. I think it. Don’t care it.

I preach it. Beseech it. Then leech it. And beach it.

I pledge it. I wedge it. But hedge it. And fudge it.

I toe it. I heel it. I wheel it. No deal it.

 

I trust it. I bust it. Then budge it. Too much it.

I rough it. I tough it. Can’t bluff it. E’nuff it.

I gut it. I pitch it. I putt it. I bitch it.

I live it. To give it. I bet it. Regret it.

 

I stink it. I skunk it. I shank it. Go bank it.

I wank it. I hank it. I sky it. Then buy it.

Don’t blame it. My game it. Too lame it. No shame it.

The score it. Don’t show it. To play it. To know it.

-30-

No Method, No Guru, No Teacher…my Epiphany


…Or, my Quest For The Holy Grail, which I eventually did find by spending a life of studious observation, sometimes deep serendipitous thought, gawdy mis-informed and unabashedly arrogant fun, a dash of inordinate happenstance, and then… by the most fortunately-unfortunate of Accidents…

It’s no secret to those who know me well that I’ve learned life’s greatest lessons with a kind of “ridiculous oppositional defiance”; with that line of thinking having been one of my life’s greatest teachers. Though I now bow to it as my master of destiny, I cannot recommend this course of study to the faint of heart, weak of mind, or anyone who CANNOT become completely convicted of it’s arrogant, self-righteous path of expectorating the most resistance between any two points in the continuum.

In other words, if you have to be brought to your knees and dragged kicking and screaming before some of life’s simplest concepts, then… you may be considered a candidate for my school of thought. Admittedly, there ought to be a better means to attaining wisdom. But as has been for me; NOT.

Moi?

Self indulgent… yes. Self centered… definitely. Self defeating… mostly. Self aware… acutely. Self serving… without question. Selfish… morally bound by it, yet in a positive sense. Self-hatred… never and not even for an instant. Self-Actualized… I like to think so. Self motivated… once upon a time…

“WTF? Whoa… what happened Diggeratti? Why? I mean… your Dudeness, you kinda sound to me like you need to see a shrink. You don’t sound like the guy I once thought I knew.”

My retort?

“You know what? You’re absolutely right. I mean, about that last part, but if there’s one thing I DO KNOW FOR CERTAIN, IT’S THAT I DO NOT NEED A SHRINK. Got it?”

For all of my known life I’ve searched for “the secret” to it… (that being, the secret of life).

I have never divulged this story to anyone in it’s entirety, though perhaps I’ve shared small morsels to some close friends along the way; but only here and there and never enough for anyone to frame a complete picture of my personal Quest for that Holiest of Grails.

I can remember my fourth grade teacher calling my parents to request a parent-teacher conference because I was “the most argumentative boy she had ever had the displeasure of teaching.” She reasoned that I thought I knew more than she did, and that would just be the height of stupidity. Of course, she was right on all accounts.

Fourth graders HATE the idea of being told they’re wrong. And sometimes they are RIGHT, but they can’t say why.

But hey, did I let that stop me? “Uh-uhn. No sir, Not today Miss Smarty Pants. Not me. Nada. You can’t embarrass my little ole’ butt and expect to  get by with it.”

Fourth grade was a rough year for me.

Looking back, it was the year I framed the questions, and then demanded answers. Yet, no answers were forthcoming. But still I weathered on…

Having grown up on… let’s just say… not the bright side of the road (a lower middle class blue collar too many kids neighborhood), and being a tad small for my age group, I HAD to learn how to defend myself amongst the sea of bullies and general fuck-wads of Louisville’s South End, while keeping the blood flowing inside my nose.

I mastered the art of “holier than thou” with double-edged insult and crafty innuendo, tough guy talk (but not too tough as to result in fisticuffs), and then finally making friends with the biggest and toughest guys so as to keep the multitude of snapping sharks at bay. Still, I was not immune to an ill-advised attempt at busting some ass myself, which generally resulted in my own busted ass. Yet, I drunk it all in and I learned something new every day.

But not the reason for my existence.

Somehow god smiled on me around high school and I became a high school sports star (distance running), bringing glory and fame to my hood and school and earning exalted status amongst the good guys and neer-do-wells alike. Life, all of the sudden got a tad simpler for me.

I run. I win. They love. All good.

Now, I wasn’t an “A” student at any point in my young life, preferring to glide instead of propel. Though from my earliest days I can remember, too many times some school person informed my parents that it was a bit unusual that I did not make straight A’s given my way-above-the fray IQ. On standardized tests I invariably scored in the 98-99 percentile while dragging home C’s and B’s on my report cards.

My parents, who were more than all-too ready to indulge me in whatever it was I might happen to desire at any moment, were extremely smart uneducated folks. They used logic and reason (and pots and pans) to argue their many disagreements over the pettiest of issues. They were never bitten by the bug of glutinous consumerism, and were just happy enough to love their children immensely, while still not setting the bar too high for them; I assume to somehow insure our future dog-eat-dog worldly success. It worked.

The moral of that story has to do with familial LOVE in it’s most raw, unconditional sense.

So… anyway, I had devised my own little secret quest by around 7th grade. That not-so-small idea was: that I was going to find out for certain what our/my purpose was on this here little-ole spinning ball of dirt sitting way-too-far away from billions of way bigger balls as to be arrogantly considered of any significance by even the most unreasonable of minds in all of mice and men.

Having spent 10 years attending Catholic School I was absolutely certain that they (Roman Catholicism) were so full of shit that even a little fourth grader couldn’t buy into their baloney ass stories. I mean, by fourth grade I had already surmised that getting into heaven simply meant winning the genetic lottery. No god of any denomination could be that stupid, I figured.

My questions became arguments with seemingly (at the time) much smarter people early on, but I wasn’t about to shut up until they told me the truth. They never did. Nor did I ever STFU… and I realized far too soon to be considered healthy for any young mind that “they” (conventional wisdom) hadn’t the slightest fucking clue. To be sure, I wanted some REAL answers!

But, that little hate-show of mine disappeared once I became a high school sports star. I was too busy buying into the BIG LIE because it was fun, exciting, sexually conducive to my screaming testosterone, and material worldly attractive as a MO-FO to a guy who grew up thinking that a new pair of white high top Chuck Taylors was the ultimate gift in all of heaven-kind. Possibilities were becoming boundless and I was soaking in the poison and drinking it up like a lap dog with a new doggie bone.

Then came College. The Life. The Audacity! I had more fun than fourteen barrels of monkeys and forty-two barrels of single barrel malt Bourbon Whiskey, any Kentucky boy’s drink of choice and one-upmanship. And, it was the mid-seventies so pot was collegiately legal as well. It seemed that the world was here to become my personal oyster, and I had the munchies.

Or was it?

Post College. The BIG BUY-IN to THE BIG LIE. Now here’s where there are men, and there are boys on our puny little thin crust of oxygenated Garden of Once-Upon-A-Time Eden, soon-to-be Sodom and Gomorrah. (Why I do love me some Biblical quotation and/or reference!). Which one did I want to be? Take a guess. Go on, git’ you one. Oh, I’m all man… babeeey!

For sure, at this point in life’s roulette wheel of fortune one can either JOIN or NOT JOIN. Not Joining will surely NOT get you the keys to the best and finest of anything. Better to JOIN if you’re in the least enthralled with power, pussy, money, fame, highly limited material items, world travel, bad golf on the finest green lawned courses, or all other humanly delusions of grandeur. Boy, I liked ’em all. If there had been a Facebook Page for them I could prove it to you right now, and they just might wish to then, “like” me back.

But then, I digress…

Some folks who caught my flash thought/think they knew/know who I was/am. I played my part like a virtuoso for them all to see and marvel about. And, I might just add in a bit of total narcissistic self-immersion, I marveled at my damn-self a bit too. Deep down in me I felt a growl. Buried under my own self-image of worldly greatness there still lay that little unfinished business of a secret quest. But, it by then had had gathered much dust.

Truth be known, when I first learned of it, I denied its existence completely, blocked it from my intellect, refused its admittance into my panopoly of raging-life-parties. Yet, I somehow felt it was always standing just outside my door, peering in my windows day and night. But, it dared never knock at my door! Denial.

After all, I was by then a star of my own astronomical proportions. Call me space man. But, please call me so we can figure out what it is you can do for me, OK? And guess what? Me being all that I could possibly be, there was likely a shit load that I could do for you too. Mutual astronomical greatness we were! The vaunted “Win-Win” in the solar system cliché ridden parlance of the day.

Now, it can also be said that in most “core value” ways I have never changed one single iota, nor would I have ever considered it as worthy of my almighty damn-self to do so. After all I had eclipsed Mt. Olympus and now was considered by a small group of people (me, myself, and I) to be of the very essence of the gods.

Tru-dat. But alas, it was NOT to be.

I rumpled feathers every step of the way up the ladder of ascension to material worldliness and ironical self-absorption. If it reeked “the best” or “most expensive” I was all in. If they said “no”, I demanded “yes”. Good was no longer acceptable. For I was all about GREATNESS.

During those heady times the elusive answer which I did faithfully seek since childhood remained elusive, yet it began to slide uneasily to the forefront of my mind and studies, as I read hundreds of books containing both new and ancient wisdom from every perspective on every subject. (Crazy enough, I did all this  while driving many long hours almost every day in my profession for over 20 years).

I eventually came to the ultimate truth in an odd way; since not one book that I had read contained the answer (unless one considers “Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors” by Carl Sagan). That book stunned me to my core, and tied together various newer ideas in physics and philosophy. So then armed with Carl’s brainy wisdom, I eventually figured it all out for myself. But, still I wasn’t at all certain. It was just too simple.

Though it would be remiss of me not to mention that there had been a goddess driving my chariot during a near 20-year span of semi-marital bliss, it would also be imprudent and essentially wrong of me not to say that herein the first cracks began to show in my own majestic glorified godliness.

So… just when the gettin’ was gettin’ absolutely fabulous, the bottom sorta fell out. Plunge.

I had sunk to committing the most egregious crime most men seek out with an unworldly zestful appetite… adultery. Ungodly for sure. Un-Saintly, yes. Most un-Diggity, for certain.

On the surface infidelity may sound a bit trite to the accomplished reptile.

But here we had a man-god who had built his god-self-reputation out of all things pure unadulterated integrity. His own self-image was now rendered a literal a sham of the highest immoral degree. Having long since vanquished the various world religiosities as total and absolute frauds, I now had only to rely upon simple humanistic ethics.

Almost too sleazily human, I proffered.

Now un-deification of oneself requires a re-start of sorts, not to be confused with a do-over or a mulligan. Starting over from scratch. Ground fucking zero.

To further muddy my suddenly stormy world, I apparently was caught in the eye of a nasty hurri-karmic cyclical deluge of sorts. In fairly quick succession I weathered the deaths of my sweet (nonnie) grandmother, then my loving mother, and finally my always you-da-man dad. A personal tsunami of epic proportions. Fuck an el-Nino… this shit was bad. All wet and no place to hide.

And like a fine motor yacht that has been cut loose from its moors, I drifted out into a raging, foamy sea.

That world, the money-as-god-everything world from which I had laid the foundation for my existence, and then had built gold brick upon gold brick with my own golden sweat was nothing but a thinly veiled house of cards. It was THE BIG LIE.

The good news was that within these unfortunate events lay the definitive answer to my long sought after secret to my existence, which I immediately NOW understood all-too-well but all-too-late. I won’t say that I was elated, but I was way smarter and wiser than the fool I had left behind me.

Family…

That’s the secret. In the end your family is the most important reason for your living and being. Mine were now all dead, save my two “the real deal” better-than-me, wiser-older, childless sisters.

It seemed that almost every fool on the planet but me had known the simple secret, and all without knowing they knew it. It was just ALL TOO SIMPLE and all-too-humanistic.

But seriously, if one does consider science to be a revealing and enlightening subject, a cursory review of evolutionary history will belie my point over and over and over and over again. Read it and weep. Forget Deuteronomy. Learn the history of life.

Family. It’s what we live for, it’s what we die for, it’s what we strive for. Was I too little too late?

Suddenly, like some drunken riverboat gambler aimlessly pulling slots who haphazardly strikes THE BIG JACKPOT, I stumbled into an epiphanic episode of REAL TRUTH, that one which I had previously been loathe to avoid.

In fact, I was rather brought kicking and screaming into this ultimate reality bite (see above)… at almost fifty years of age; I was becoming a first time dad whether I liked it or not. At the time, I had rather not.

Oh my!

But then the very moment my newborn son was placed in my arms and our eyes connected I was forever lost then found by life’s highest order of it’s highest order of it’s highest order of all things sacred and TRUE and GOOD. Pure previously unfathomable, but now undeniable unconditional LOVE. I swooned. All of life’s past, present, and future shook me, rocked me to my very essence… oh my!

My purpose. My reason of reasons. Bang! Bow! Biff! Yeah! Oh yeah! YES. A primordial orgasm that gave its fiery commandments to me with my giddy consent… and like Moses I looked around for my tablet.  And lo’ Brother and Sister, I sayeth unto you; god-life hath honoredeth me with the highest joy ever beknownst unto all of mankind. The heavens were exalted!

My “family” secret. Solved.

Happy ending? I think so…

Liars, Lizards, and Snakes…Oh My!


If anyone has noticed other than me, I haven’t posted much lately (save for one or two Eureka moments when I knew if I was gonna’ say something, I’d better say it then or consider it lost to into the immensity).

My“Ode To Kansas” was particularly inspired though it seemed I was the only one who thought it so. Someday, when my posthumous memoirs are published, I’m sure it will win quite a following in Kentucky and I will be vindicated.

What I’ve been up to lately I think says more about who I am than almost anything else I can place my hands on (which in my poverty is becoming less and less). Though my (as in most of us) childhood dreams always had me as the Hero and some other entity playing the villain, my adult life has seemed to revolve more around that theme than did those formative years. I (call me crazy) tend to take on projects that involve “taking down a big man/woman”, whom I view as a blight on our society and our culture since he/she gained their lofty position through not playing by the same rules as us mere mortals.

As you might expect, those in my viewfinder can be extremely adept at smoke and mirrors, dodge-ball, CYA, and a host of other scent manipulating tricks making my job as HERO an extremely frustrating, time-consuming proposition. Yet, time is on my side, or so it now is beginning to feel. Three years ago I wouldn’t have bet even money I’d be around to write this missive.

But even so, the last three-four weeks have been excruciatingly painful to me and those near to me. No less than 3-4 times have I stayed up all night and day putting together my latest take-down, one that if I succeed in will be one of the most satisfying victories in my 57 year timetable as boy/man/hero.

Actually, I’ve had two of these take-downs in progress simultaneously. The other is also finished (for now) and by all indications seems just as formidable as does the first. Needless to say, I am now in a state of quiet satisfaction. But in both cases, the Fat Lady Has Yet To Sing.

Many “jailhouse lawyers” have found themselves being similarly inspired by their own selves after finding their backs against the wall with no one else to “look out for them”. This keen, “I’m in a corner and there’s a thong of thugs ready to work out on me” (fight without the flight option) does well to inspire many an animal that wishes to continue breathing free air. Most of us wake-up, realizing a bad dream.

But I was not dreaming and I knew it. And though the last 3-4 weeks were brutal mentally, physically, and equally tough on my family, I had to do what I had to do. Albeit, there was no financial gain for us to be realized. Thank god (that’s another post) for all their love and support. Love is such a beautiful thing.

At about age 21 I learned to love reading likely because I moved to a town with no other acquaintances (after college graduation). I parlayed that with a speed reading course and taught myself to read while I was driving (kids: don’t try this at home) since I was on the road from sun up to sun down. Needless to say it became an unhealthy/healthy addiction of which I survived 27 years. I can’t count the missed exits! In those days I could not drive to the Quick-Mart without a book in my hands. Now, Nooks make it less dangerous (kidding!).

Those many thousands of books (of which I can remember few of their Titles) have served me well as I gracefully grey into cultural oblivion. (I know a hell of a lot about something, but what it is I can’t really say). My scope is wide, the big picture quite clear, yet some details are lacking.

But when I see it and feel it, I DO know it.

I saw it. I felt it. I knew it, and I couldn’t stop until he was, and then she was out of business. Since the outcome is uncertain, I do hope the past 3-4 weeks weren’t all in vein. I’ll know in a few weeks. I mean, I got the goods!

If it has been for naught, then our world is much sicker than even I suspected. And, to this would be self-styled hero out to save the world from its tyrants and thieves if only in this limited space, it is quite sick. I see it. I feel it. And…

A Saint looks at 60…


Daylight erupts slowly through her curtained bedroom sliding glass doors today. Sandy’s (the Hurricane) early morning cloud casts its doubt about the day’s normal clear South Florida’s October sunshine; tiny slivers of light blink brightly across the canal’s warm waters as it’s rays reflect off the stainless steel of bobbing boats moored in their private slips.

 

Like a hard-drive spinning up to speed, her brain engages as quickly and surely as it has almost every morning for as long as she can remember. Chores to be done, obligations, and other activities spring optimistically forward; blending together as she momentarily but happily reviews her plans for the day. (While some of us require a Sludge-hammer to switch us on – that portion of coffee beans and water at the bottom of a coffee pot).

There are clothes to wash, summer clothes to pack up, a lingering promise to her husband to help him type and organize his over-sized computer song list (15,000 songs), Pilates class, prescriptions to fill, lunch and dinner to prepare (neighbors hinted that they might “drop by” so there are groceries to acquire just-in-case), and of course her one self-centered fulfillment; she promised herself a long hot bath using the new bath beads she had received as a gift from one of her many female friends. She had read about these particular bath beads and was anxious to give them a try… yet this was her first opportunity since she had received them back in July.

After all, she surmised…it was her 60th birthday today!

So goes the life of one who constantly, incessantly, unfailingly gives. She gives today like she gave yesterday and all of the other 219,300 days before. Yet her giving is natural and heartfelt, never begrudgingly. My sister Sylvia (much like our sister Kathy) is a GIVER, and very rarely if ever a taker. Perhaps her giving began as a counterweight to her only brother’s taking. Maybe my sisters gave and gave to simply balance my take and take when we were very small?

Whatever her reason, I sense that it is honest, sincere. She has never changed in that sense. Anyone who has ever had chance to encounter her I’m certain has benefited from this woman’s desire to give to those she loves and is positively acquainted with.

Sylvia has also benefited from a favorable genetic arrangement of her physical features. Since I can first remember, men (or boys) have practically swooned at her physical presence. My other older sister and I were not so fortunate. While we struggled through our lives to remain attractive, Sylvia non-chalantly  “sauntered” through her existence with drop-dead looks. She was always “the Cat’s meow”.

And today, at 60 without too much trying… the woman still turns heads with her looks. But to me, its what’s inside her that really carries the mail.

Rightfully she is happy, and she is loved by many, admired by many more I’m sure. And, to this lucky brother she is practically worshipped… though she would deny it and hasn’t the slightest clue.

So, to my Wonderful Sister Sylvia, one whom I LOVE and admire more than she can ever know…

Happy 60th Birthday!

Your brother T

 

Ode to Kansas


KPtfaNz Front

Ode to Kansas

O’ worthy foe from days of yore
Tradition proud as ours is lore
Your crops grow tall, tho’ harvests wait
From whence you sewed, so did ours grow great
To leave you wanton, at heaven’s gate.

The fiery chant, your minions stoke
The rhyming stomp to wrest our yoke
From town to village, from field to stalk
Now is the time to Walk the Walk
A Nation waits… to Rock your Chalk.

Your blood flows Red, so ours does Blue
The mighty sword to change its hue?
We’ve vanquished Devils, you’ve given toe to Heel
While B’ruins rust on memory’s feel
A round legend grows thru’ times spinning wheel…

So… it’s down to you or us, but it’s ours to steal.

-30-

wildcats8back

More Food for Thought…


  • it’s never a good idea to serve shrimp at a midget convention.
  • nor should you ever take fruitcake to a psychiatric ward.
  • never serve narcissism at a hot dog eating contest.
  • let self-pity stew.
  • try to keep tension from boiling over.
  • never fan the flames when grilling with prejudice.
  • pepper insight with wisdom, and spice up racy compliments with good taste.
  • too much fat n’ happy can cause your guests indigestion and could smell up an otherwise perfectly sweet affair.
  • always serve hemlock as an after dinner cocktail (or you will kill the fun before it starts), and ONLY at private functions using great discrimination, usually as a reward for any deed that as of yet a “THANK YOU” will never suffice…
  • toast banal on both sides to give it some “crunchiness”/ uncommon wit adds flavor, and can be considered gravy.
  • buffoonish clumsiness makes a great jerky.

Yearbooks remember


A thin young boy with blond bushy hair ambled up to the horse trough. The humidity was high and perspiration dripped down the hollow of his brown chest as he dipped down to sip the ice cold spring water that was meant for the horses…

Most of the Iroquois High School Cross-Country team who ran through the park that hot August day in 1972 would eventually stop at the trough to drink the cool water. As the skinny boy drank he was unaware that someone else was watching, someone who had nothing to do with Cross-Country. It was the Yearbook photographer. On that late steamy Summer afternoon a photograph of me was taken, which later appeared in my IHS Yearbook.

I had forgotten that moment because it was just like all the rest of the blistering hot days when we had stopped to drink the icy water from the trough as we ran the five mile loop through Iroquois Park. But my Yearbook remembered…. And, I saw that photograph again at our IHS Twenty-Five Year High School Reunion Picnic, when several paunchy, ex-Cross-Country team members sat with me in that same park where we had drunk the horse water a quarter of a century before, and laughed at the yellowed pages of our Yearbook. As we crossed the page with the skinny teenager I smiled, and I remembered too.

I remembered not just the taste of the clear fresh water, but the rusty edges of the trough, where you could cut your lip if you weren’t careful. I remembered that the cold water always drained down the left side, then splashed high against a weathering piece of timber. I remembered that you must drink from the right side, or you’d get your running shoes soaked, making for a squishy-muddy run down the last dusty mile of the bridle path. And … I remembered side stepping and jumping along the narrow, windy path which was our running track, narrowly missing fresh piles of fragrant horse manure.

You see, Yearbooks remember only brief glimpses, tiny fragments, and foggy images. Our mind supplies the rest. Yearbooks help provide the feel and the smell of our past, not simply the words and pictures. Yearbooks remember…. Our world changes much too fast for us to store all of the details in some handy little mental closet.

Our days flicker by like a (YouTube) video stuck on fast forward. We know there’s a story in there, but we have to slow down the images if we are to understand the plot. We need Yearbooks more as our years pass by; to help remember us as we were and will never again be. Your Yearbook stores thousands of kick-starts for hundreds of people for dozen of years.

When you multiply it out, it’s a pretty cheap subscription. Don’t be afraid of remembering the past, it’s already happened. Understand that tomorrow never comes…

So live today, and make some memories… and don’t forget

Yearbooks remember.         –thom adams, 1998

Where There’s a Will


And of course we all know,” where there’s a will, there’s a way.” Here’s my additions:

• Where there’s a will, there’s a wait.
• Where there’s a will, there’s a way out.
• Where there’s a Will, there’s a William.
• Where there’s a will, there’s a way (happy beneficiary).
• Where there’s a will, there’s a weigh-in.
• Where there’s a will, there’s a won’t.
• Where there’s a will, there lies a dead man.
• Where there’s a will, there’s a waif.
• Where there’s will, there’s a “what the fucK?”
• Where there is will, there is willpower.

My Culinary Advice for fine dining…


Of course, we’ve all heard the saying, “always serve revenge cold.” Well, I decided to add a few tasty culinary sayings to that time-tested advice… Chow!

• Serve platonic love at moderate temperatures and in large helpings.
 
• Serve undying love steaming Hot, and always as the main course.
 
• In either case, admiration is a nice apertivo before having raw sex for dessert.
 
• Most men won’t eat quiche, but they all hate the taste of touche’.
 
• Success is too pungent when served with arrogance, but you can always use grace as a palette cleanser.
 
• Better, you can serve grace between each course; it will squelch the nasty aftertaste of envy.
 
• Never serve God at civic ceremonies, unless it is served as “mammon”.
 
• Diversity makes for a lively salad, but cold stereotypes will kill the rich flavors that delight without discriminating.
 
• Thoughtful advice should always be tenderized.
 
• Deep fry pomposity before lambasting.
 
• Hautiness always goes in the Crock-Pot.
 
• Excellence makes for the perfect gravy, but be sure not to lay it on too thick.
 
• You must grill suspicion, but hold the barbequing until you’re certain it’s edible.
 
• Marinate meathead until its soft and mushy; to be sure to lighten any bitter taste of testosterone.
 
• Serve chocolate Beefcake at gay birthday parties, or ladies night out coffee shop gatherings.
 
• Women like tubesteak served between two fresh buns.
 
• Never eat at the Y during a full moon cycle.

• Boiling and searing meanness only makes it harder to swallow.
 
• A good roast should always be dashed with wit, sarcasm, and biting humor.
 
• Deep freeze bigotry and never let it thaw.

and, cooking the books may look good, but it can be poisonous when left uncovered too long, and should never be served to loyal investors who only wanted a small taste of the proverbial pie.

Dear Governor of Florida


A one man wrecking ball for Gator haven hasn’t a clue

The Almighty Governor of this crooked State

Must sneer in laughter while good citizens await

Their pleas for justice fall on his silent jeers

Their hopes are waning whispering just two more years.

Convicted as a criminal though someone voted him in

Restricted by minimal  where his condolences end

Whose fault be it that he attained our vaunted lead?

His thieving constituents, who now nothing impedes.

Big Rick, Go find another entity to leech

Great Scott, find another’s justice system to breach

Yet we know  it doesn’t matter who sits your chair

This swamp’s full of liars, lizards, and snakes, of that I’m full aware.

-30-

I love me some Demarcus Cousins!


I recently wrote a piece when DC was drafted, about how “lucky” The Kings were to land such a gifted, yet unrealized potential in one Demarcus Cousins. I posited that they were treating him like an indentured slave on their team, in their press, in their whiny-ass homes. I mean, I can read.

My post was met with derision, ridicule, hatred, and venom since I was apparently not one of the in-the-knows about all things Sactown. Even later, as the dice had spun and landed squarely on the Yo, few (none) of Sactown’s readers were apt to acknowledge that it was not me; it was they who had been wrong about the Big ole Boogie Man.

The Titanic took on water, but the man played on… Demarcus Cousins: Raw yes, unrefined for sure… but with a body and a basketball awareness that eventually only Dwight Howard will match. Yet, DC is arguably better than Dwight because he can run and pass, dribble and shoot, and forget it…rebound like a man possessed. Oh, and Dwight, yes he can and will DUNK at the slightest notion. Face.

He has used his supposed immaturity in such a mature manner. He proved to his detractors that it is they who are wrong and will continue to be wrong about his CHARACTER. The young man is NO THUG. He is as home-spun as the Alabama roots from which he came.

He is an All-Star anywhere but in the politicized public relations arena known as the NBA chatter-box. He doesn’t fit their Shane Battier mold. I’ve met Shane, and yeah he’s nice kid too. But, I like me some Demarcus Cousins. Think it… say it. Don’t pause, post. Sacramento? A smog-fest side show wih a Napolean complex.

Yet, they make the same money for playing the game of NBA basketball. Battier, a nice compliment to most any team is from Duke, that almighty drunk-fest in North Carolina. But Demarcus Cousins he is not! Some whiny poster lambasted me for posting “Demarcus…GTF out of Sactown” He reasoned DC is on a Rookie salary cap.

WTF? Are you serious little boy? You think I don’t understand that, you obvious retard? Sacramento is over the salary cap, BTW. The rules change bimbo! DC needs to ask, NO… DEMAND a trade to a town that not only understands the game, but understands what card they are holding with the ACE OF SPADES in Demarcus Cousins. Where the N word has been abolished.

After three well thought out, intelligently written posts on Sacramento’s little puny web-blog site, and being villified in much the same manner as they treat their real star player, I fired back with some witty observations about their fanbase that was less than kind. I was banned from the site. OH MY! Their Editor, showing his lack of understanding in all things Journalism, refused to explain the ban to me (as if I gave a rat fu*k). He just said we don’t need any assholes in our little “community”.

My response?

“Well….I didn’t call anybody an asshole, YOU ASSHOLE!”

Demarcus is his own man, and being that is not bound by the straightjacket imposed by the marketing genius/idiots currently employed by the league. I wonder, are there any free-thinkers left in Sacramento?
DC makes 9 times less than Kobe Bryant, 6 times less than Zack Randolph, 3 times less than Emika Okafor, just to name a scant few. My GOD, he makes almost 7 times less than a player in Orlando that does not start! So, if that’s gonna be the case, why not play where bigotry is not the order of the day?

If the Kings are smart, and only god knows why that should that change anytime soon… they will begin to show some love for the man who can bring them home a ring in the not-so-distant future, and show him the appreciation he only wants and loves, and needs from the rest of humanity’s ill-advised, headline only reading public.

Cousins isn’t the problem, he’s the solution. Give him some LOVE soon or Sactown basketball will be like Sacramento after the California Gold Rush. Empty and without future prospects.

-30-

Word.


I know, I know, rhyming poetry is lame, Couldn’t help it…

I’ve felt the fire and walked long in the rain

Heard the loudest thunder, and I’ve seen insane.

Been to the mountain and back down again

Run up the steepest hills that seemed to have no end

But then coasted down ‘em my back to the the wind.
 

I know the deepest love, and I know the highest pain

I’ve been the best and I’ve been the bane.

Shared my honey while on the gravy train

Been beat by many and I’ve beat the same

Lost with odds in my favor an’ sometimes won the game.
 

I’ve said here I stand and I’ve said I will change

Almost around the world and home again.

I’ve thought I was wise and I’ve known I was lame

Looked out my window across a wild free range

Then caught in traps, like so much trappers game.
 

My lessons learned are my lessons plain

Black is white, white shines through his name

What it is I couldn’t say

But you can stand on the sidelines or you can play

Just kiss each new moment, and hug tight to each new day.

-30-

Sometimes I even imagine it can be me:


Image

Most who know me well know that I have a penchant for some unique, self-styled “poison pen letters”. It’s just that sometimes I feel that some ugly things NEED to be said in order for me to maintain my own Howard Roark image (see Ayn Rand, The Fountainhead) of myself… a true individual who will not trample on anyone, unless they trample on me. A man who knows who he is and who he is not and not afraid to stand up and be heard.

But, the real me, I also want to think is like the man in a poem that every SAE fraternity brother learns to recite during initiation.  Of course, its only my thinking but not always my being this perfect man.

It’s not a secret, so I’d like to share it here. I cannot count the times these words have inspired me into some actionable cause for righteous good. Each sentence, every word is beautiful, precise, and altogether on-point.

Sometimes I even imagine it can be me:

The True Gentleman

 

“The True Gentleman is a man whose conduct proceeds from good will and an acute sense of propriety, whose self control is equal to all emergencies; who

does not make the poor man conscious of his poverty, the obscure man of his obscurity, or any man of his inferiority or deformity; who is himself humbled if

necessity compels him to humble another; who does not flatter wealth, cringe before power, or boast of his own possessions or achievements; who speaks with

frankness but always with sincerity and sympathy; whose deed follows his word; who thinks of the rights and feelings of others rather than his own; and who appears

well in any company, a man with whom honor is sacred and virtue safe.”

– John Walter Wayland. Virginia, 1899

The Rich get richer, while the Rich get dumber


A succinct letter to some folks who don’t get it…(distributed in their neighborhood)

July 6, 2012

John and Nina Kirchhoefer
11 S Brown Street
Orlando, Florida

Dear Mr. and Mrs. Kirchhoefer:

You may remember me as the person who, after noticing that every light in your house was on without window treatments, and seeing you lounging in your den on your double recliner through your clear glass door from the street, tapped on your front door with my seven year old son several hours after we watched the Lake Eola Fireworks display?

I remember that your husband John glanced back at us for about two seconds, then non-chalantly turned back around never bothering to look our way again. And it appeared that you only reluctantly came to the door after I began repeatedly pointing to my little son and making “we need help” gestures. We were so grateful you decided to walk those five steps to the door. We were also frantic. Thank You so much!
With several late model cars parked around your beautiful home and grounds, I had assured my worried son that folks with such ostentatious wealth on display are usually well educated, and as such could easily understand and empathize with our dire situation, and more than likely offer to help us. NOT.

Remember?

I explained very clearly and politely to you that after the fireworks we had walked to and eaten at Wildside Grill, and then became lost looking for our car several hours earlier, and that both my son and I were about to “panic”. Even though I wasn’t dumbfounded by your lack of concern when I mentioned the fact that I am totally and permanently disabled from two recent heart failures (and we had easily walked at least 4-5 miles); I was dumfounded by your total lack of empathy and concern for my smart and beautiful seven year old son.

Your shameful indifference to our plight brought back a lesson I learned the hard way, but have since kept dear and close to my heart:

“Financial wealth can only bring you a brief respite from the inner knowledge and ultimate reality that life is short, and there are many, many more satisfying joys than a perfect lawn and well lit house, those being which only exemplify and enlarge one’s petty pretentious existence.” -mostdiggity

Though I’m a bit older than most (56), like many first time parents my son is my light and my life.

Your uncaring indifference and lack of effort to help us shocked, disgusted, and appalled me. At least you (Ms. K) listened, while your slug of a husband wouldn’t even face us like a real man; most likely because he had ascertained “that there was nothing in it for him”. How wrong. I pity his limited scope, and you, having such a desperate future with such a loathsome creature as he. Apparently not even a vacation to New Zeeland could cure his ills.

Apparently you’ve never been blessed with having children of your own, or you have forgotten what children are about? Or perhaps, you’re just STUPID and uninformed about common decent human protocol? I cannot speak to your upbringing, so perhaps you do have some excuse after all.

My son was frightened and scared and we were completely lost, though I knew my car must be somewhere within a couple of blocks of your home. I simply had no idea of which way to look, as I felt as if we had walked the entire Thornton Park neighborhood.

I also clearly stated that I am a single Father, and had no one in this town to call for help.

I explained to you, that although I had called 911 earlier and was met by an Orlando Patrolman, he drove us a mere three blocks then suddenly explained that was as much as he could help us. He put us out further from my car than before. Serve and Protect? I don’t think so.

Not to worry, I’ll be writing a similar missive to them as well, and understand that the internet is my best friend. Word.

Soooo… I’m writing you to shout a wake up call in large letters: SHAME ON YOU!

You two are selfish, ignorant, self-serving low-lifes for not putting us into one of your many cars and helping us for the 10-15 minutes it might have taken to find our vehicle. Did we look like thugs standing there with the obvious leftover Styrofoam sandwich takeout we were carrying? Are seven year olds apt to do home invasions these days with their 56 year old accomplices? Seriously if you were in the slightest bit afraid of us, then you are simply PATHETIC individuals with the insight of a mole. More likely you are fat, lazy have-it-alls who can’t even appreciate their own good fortune in life. Good fortune is a precarious friend.

It is obvious to me that you’ve been financially successful, all in spite of yourselves! How do you hide your fake selves from legitimate business associates? I’m betting you act quite differently around your prospects and customers… perhaps they too would enjoy hearing from me?

Little people like you are ridiculous contemptible morons, only acting like real people. Little people frauds who won’t bother to help others, even when they can easily determine that sometimes good folks might find real trouble.

Especially, when there is little or no expense to their own over-the-top empty self-serving lives.

John and Nina Kirshhwhodontgiveafuck, there may or may not be a place for God in your lives, but there certainly is Karma enough for everyone. It will check your ego at its unforgiving door.

So, perhaps you may want to forget about your all-important selves a bit, and work on simple generous, charitable, or philanthropic virtues a tad bit more. Remember, you are only human like the rest of us, and for the unexamined life Karma always has its way of forcing egotists like yourselves to their weak knees, where they must adjust to a more meaningful playing field. Your payday with fate is out there somewhere, and you are no exceptions to its unyielding rules.

I spent the time to find you, write you and also share my experience with your neighbors. After what you failed to do for my son and me that night, it’s really the least I could do for you.

Mind you this letter is from no lunatic, but from an intelligent, fully self-actualized man who has seen at least as much financial success in life and perhaps much more failure as you have. As mean as this letter may sound to you now, I write this in the peaceful spirit of an equal human who suggests you take a closer look at reality, before reality takes a look at you.

NOW PLEASE. I implore you from my heart of hearts: get over yourselves and be somebody! I am,

Respectfully,

thom m adams
2337 WORTHINGTON RD
MAITLAND, FL 32751

cc: anyone and everyone who cares to listen

First self-actuate: Then Think before You pause before You Post


I’ve recently become aware of certain Corporations or Corporation that Advise folks to “Pause before you Post”. Sober advice it would seem on the face of it, since some recent Facebook and other Social networking sites have come under fire due to posts of harassment, vindictiveness, and violent undertones being made by posters to others on their sites.

But I’m led to wonder if there isn’t a more clandestine message being communicated here, and not necessarily to kids on Social networking sites. Is it, could it be a veiled threat to their own employees and contractors? I say this not a far-fetched idea from some critical over-thinking; and I’m not some disgruntled ex-employee simply trying to find an angle to embarrass some Corporate machine.

I say it from my own observation of real life situations, my own gut feeling, and real life experiences.

It seems that despite the over modulated mantra of “embracing change”, many highly profitable companies, while out-of-date with times and technology, are embracing subtle but effective strategies in attempts to stay relevant without going through the necessary pain of re-tooling, re-inventing, and re-making themselves. The gravy train has gone on for so long they resist the inevitable by using cute slogans as band aids, lying not only to themselves, but to their employees and loyal but disillusioned customers.

When those on the front lines (particularly their Salesforce and customers) communicate upward what’s going on in the “real” world, Ivory towers are feeling added pressure to come up with ideas that (don’t) answer or provide solutions to the “real” issues. They tire of hearing the “real” truth, which improving on is either too expensive or too radical for a quick fix. They already know the real truth… that the Titanic has struck an iceberg and is taking on water fast.

 

 Their job has become to keep the band playing as long as they can.

“Pause before Posting” might just be another way to say, “Don’t bitch to us anymore. We don’t want to hear it. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

And those unlucky but honest souls who do not heed this warning are reminded to STFU, else they and their familes may be on unemployment sooner, than if hoping to get on a lifeboat in those dark icy waters of an uncertain future.

This strategy is not new. It keeps many lost souls in line much longer, much like the Roman Catholic Church once did after the disintegration of the Roman Empire. Remember those days? Some call them the Dark Ages.

So, what should one do? It’s been my experience as a self-actualized individual (but not necessarily good fortune) to “Think before I Pause before I Post”.

This means being honest and forthright, straightforward, with an acute sense of propriety which needs no pause, which flows forth in a post that sometimes offends those who most need offending.

Unfortunately, those same people are sometimes the fat slobs who have back stabbed and back patted their way to the top, and get riled when their lazy unconcern for the rest of the people who work hard at their business question their decisions. Fat slobs can be powerful foes.

It’s a double edged sword, no doubt. But, for me… I’d rather like who I see in the mirror despite the negative notch that will inevitably be scratched before my name; when I post before I pause. I feel good being blatantly honest when I’m sure about my convictions, and when they proceed from honest analysis.

Perhaps I’m self-actualized enough not to care about the possibilities financial devastation of getting fired can bring. Maybe Im just being irresponsible to my family, whom I know will suffer my consequences.

But, I know who I am and always will be. I’ve always had a sneaky feeling that some people know that I know who they are too, and it scares them. Some of them are fat slobs.

I’m not afraid.

I say to you: Post what you actually believe is true and will benefit the Corporation or others by recognizing that truth is sacred. Remember, everyone has their own agenda and try to recognize such. If they don’t like what you have to say, allow them post you back saying as much and perhaps providing additional insight. Don’t pause… post.

Timing may be of the essence. Never be intimidated by a simple slogan that subtley hints that your complaints aren’t acceptable. You are likely to be more right than wrong when you Post with conviction, not pause.

“Pause before you Post”? A Trojan horse or wise admonition wearing a pretty dress? Make your own call… but my money is on the former, and I don’t just think it, I feel it in my bones. I’m pretty sure I know how it works.

Entropy Road


t


entropy road

time slips from great to good or, from terrible to wors’ning
down entropic road we pay our toll
paved from start toward the never ending

 

that god, what god? the mirror asks, tone optimistic, while condescending
the urge to organize is quite strong
make amends, then share the booty’s blending

 

time slips from me to us, then from you and i to loving
our valentine soon seeks its mate
and so goes the prolific downward sending

 

that god, what god? the reflection quests, while the last winter snow’s still clinging
that Holonic symbol, our family crest
wears our blood from each upbringing

 

that urge to love is as strong to hate, we blend, and split the winnings
our Junior is the sum of both
yet adds each “new” moment’s vendings

 

time drives us from then to now, it’s final destination reaching
tho next can never touch our lips
it’s the law, relatively speaking

 

that god, what god? the question begs, and who should i tell him’s asking?
our urge to love and proliferate…

life’s sentence, and time’s unmasking

 

-30-

2nd law of thermodynamics

“What Will Come and What May”


-Written for a Special friend and mother (Stefanie) of a beautiful two year old (Jayden) on Mothers Day 2008.

They had spent the last week or two living with us due to an ex-boyfriend gone mad, and the changing dynamics had left an indelible mark on all our psyches. Our parenting styles were vastly different and we were both frustrated and confused…not to mention how the arrangement affected our TWO beautiful reasons to live, OUR SONS Jayden and Dylan.

While they went to Cocoa to enjoy the beach, and Dylan (my son) went to his grandma’s house for Mother’s Day, i had a few moments, (finally) alone to relax, reflect  and write this sing-songy poem…

You say i know nothing and nothing i might.

But to jump on conclusions would be a dark ride at night,

With scars healed by daylight and bones who’ve felt  bite

I must take you and your screaming to the woodshed of light

There once lived a young maiden, in a land far away

Spent 20 years of bailing yet making no hay

Her mind was confused keeping demons at bay.

THOUGH she was sharp, strong and able, somehow that didn’t pay,

She was searching for answers, but figured “what will come and what may”

Meanwhile, back at the office of crisis and crowd

The vortex had summoned my life SO clear and SO loud.

I was forced to eat porrage of love and deceit,

Then i woke up in heaven, and whom did i greet?

A line of old men who all looked like my dad

Their clothes matched each other’s, not yellow or red,

They were the color of ‘old wisdom’, they were gray flannel dead.

I was happy to see them, i think they were me, (i thought they were me?)

But then i was certain when they all stood to pee

My limelight soon over, their focus turned off of me,

Just behind my left shoulder sat (my son) in our Tree.

The branches were spindly, they all shook when he smiled,

My love was enormous but our chances looked vile.

I figured…  no need to worry, ”what will come and what may”

Then I watched  you with (Jayden), at Cocoa Beach… yesterday?

I grabbed my son Dylan, ran and waved while  I held back my tears

My dads all said goodbye, but  that I might not see them  see them for years

Between the dead and the living, it’s only us with the fears

But  I felt  this profound implication in loving our peers.

When I saw you again, I was no longer mad nor was I sad

I knew that our friendship was too important to let it go like some fad.

Your lovely smile lit my soul and I was thrilled you came my way

It was the day our lives intersected at the corner of  ”what will come and what may”

-30-

A Snowbird in the Catbird Seat


SNOWBIRD

A steady frigid wind and a blistering chill from the East had settled into a steady rhythm one late February day in 1971. Gust… then relief… more gust… less relief. The sky was painted pewter gray… a dreary, solid, unwavering, uncaring gray.

I stepped carefully onto the cracked Southern Louisville sidewalk, trying to miss the patches of ice that had formed to even out the middle, where the concrete slabs met and slanted in either direction. I pulled my tobagon down over my ears and flipped it up so my eyes were barely visible. I tugged my gloves tight as I lit out down the cruddy block of residential and commercial properties lining the four lane Street called Taylor Boulevard in Louisville’s South End.

Optimistically, Tolly said smiling, “let’s roll”.

Six teenage disheveled runners took off; shivering, sighing, and determined to finish their six mile run before dark. Southern Louisville is not a pretty place now, nor was it then, in the early 70‘s. Mostly blue collar houses built after World War II lined grimy streets, sometimes built seemingly only inches apart. The people living there had a hard life and it showed… on their faces, in their homes and cars, in their yards.It’s no place to be after dark.

Tolly was our coach, or our Graduate Assistant Coach during the Winter off-season when real Coaches went home before the 4:30 Midwestern darkness, to settle in warm and cozy with their families. An ex-runner himself, Tolly was Interning from the University of Louisville.

We were Iroquois High School distance runners, seeking future fame, fortune, or perhaps a just a letter jacket, by running on late afternoon school days during off-season; which we hoped would help make us much better runners by the time Spring Track season rolled around in Mid-March. Or, that was our hope at least.

In 1971, distance running was not a household word with the MOJO it now assumes. The name “NIKE” didn’t exist. Nor did their shoes. We wore white Addidas (with blue and red stripes), the only running shoe maker we’d ever heard of.

Runners, by-and-large were considered crazy, or just plain fools. Cans of beer or Pop were hurled at us as a matter of course, and we laughed and catalogued their near-misses. It broke the boredom when a car load of flannel shirted South End redenecks spit nasty epitaths and cursed us as we sped by in the opposite direction.

After having finished 30th in the Regional Finals as a Sophomore at the end of the last Cross-Country season, my future running prospects weren’t exactly on-fire. I didn’t return home to find letters from colleges stuffed in my mailbox, inquiring about my desire to take a look at their campus, or even their class schedule for that matter.

SolutionsSign

But, I needed a scholarship to be able to afford College, having come from a blue collar family of five where no one had ever attended school beyond High School. Though my parents insisted they would try to help out, I knew my slim chances were better by slipping and sliding down those icy streets. And, slim they were.

I took the tongue depresser (a stick which told me what place I had finished) from that Regional Meet. Faded blue numbers from sweat that read “30th”. I sat it on my bedstand so evry day I could see my goal of running better next year. Thirthieth in the Region is far from accomplished in High School Cross-Country. Actually, it’s not even on the map.

That Sophomore season I had been the only Varsity runner to wear the “snowbirds” as my teamates laughingly referred to my meet warmups. On our team of seven Varsity runners, six had nylon and mesh, zippered and fitted dark blue warmups with an incredible “Iroquois” splashed across their back in the most beautiful embroidered Script… with double shadows. Outrageous as they were, I wore the “snowbirds”.

kalopsia

Snowbirds were all-white cotton sweatpants and a sweatshirt with a small blue “Iroquois High School” in all-caps facetiously screen-printed and stuck in the upper-right corner of the front pocket area. Why? Had each letter cost us a fortune? Charged by font sizes too? Why else the disparity, which made me look and feel embarrassingly ridiculous? Snowbirds made me both ashamed and angry. Snowbirds were what got me out of my warm home onto those dirty, gray, icy roads on many cold Southern Louisville Winter days.

Even competitors from other schools noticed me while we warmed up doing wind sprints before some events; while I pretended not to notice their chuckles and the “Hey, come look at this” smirks; their common theme my pure white snowbirds, as I learned to read my opponents lips from 100 yards. Soon they would realize I was actually on the Varsity team, and not the team manager wearing goofy sweats.sciamachy

Once, I recognized a guy from another school that I’d met at a local Turkey Trot back on Thanksgiving in November. “Hey Rick” I waved to the handsome leader of their pack, each one all decked out in meshy red, white, black warmups. Our two schools were racing one another that day, and he was something of a prima-dona. It felt good to let my teammates see that I actually knew Rick Akam. When he saw my sweats, and then my teammates cool-bean outfits, he just nodded, unknowingly… and then trotted away.

My easy-going Coach laughed with everybody else on the team each time he handed out my clean sno-white warmups before each meet.

“Next year Adams”, he would lament with a grin, knowing how stupid I was about to look, running along with his SuperHeroes in a set of white cotton almost blank sweats. Embarassed, I’d grab them in good cheer and slide them on.

——————————-

Actually the Coach, Mr. Lerding, had seen something special in me the first day I tried out for the team back in late August. A friend in my accounting class had suggested I go out for the cross-country team because, “it’s an easy letter” as he put it. I could imagine pretty girls eyeing my dark blue school letter jacket with the “I” embroidered smartly on the front, wondering just who this new kid was?

I had transferred from Catholic School that year because my parents could no longer afford the tuition. I knew most of the kids anyway, since I grew up only a few blocks from Iroquois (the public high school), but the classes were very different. Since I had gone to Catholic School since First grade, I already knew most of what was being taught to the Juniors and Seniors at Iroquois, and had enough credits to take easy elective classes and such. Running might take away some of the boredom I figured, so I talked a couple of other friends into trying out with me that day.

That first day in late August we gathered around the horse trough at the entrance into Iroquois Park, an 800 acre park/hill carved into the city, with only one road which circled the bottom, and one road that went to the top. There were lookouts along the way and at the top one could see all the way to Indiana. Playgrounds and picnic tables, tennis courts and and an Ampitheatre dotted the beautiful park. There was also a bike path made of asphault which looped two miles along the front of the lush green forested park.

We ran the bridle path, a four and a half mile dirt loop around the bottom of the park. It was dirt/mud/horseshit, about ten feet wide with puddles of mud here and there as large as my bedroom. It had banked tight curves, up-and-down bumps or small hills, long narrow up hills drifts through the forest, but very little flat land the entire run. It was mostly through the thick forest, though in places it came out into sunny areas where there were activities like softball, picnic areas, frisbee golf and such. The sun lasted only minutes… then diving back into a wood where sunlight only flickered through the tops of trees.

On the North side there was a public golf course flanking the entire park and horse path. There the hills became steeper, longer, twisting, then finally diving straight down to the bottom, onlt to begin the next incline even steeper and more harrowing. It was like a roller-coaster of sorts without the tracks and trains. The uphill parts punished even the strongest runners. I started to become delirious that first day, but I kept running.

Since it was my first day I had no idea how fast to run, or even if I could run that far. Mainly, I tried to stay connected to others who were suffering as much as me. I trudged through the mud jumping back and forth across the puddles left over from a recent rain. I couldn’t think of anything but finishing the run, even after seeing quitters and walkers, I kept on going.

The golf course part was brutal mentally and physically, and there I had no one to rely on for encouragement or friendly assistance. Peeking over each new hilltop brought a brand new, discouraging challenge ahead. I just kept going.

Eventually, I came to a small clearing and saw the bottom of the hill where the Coach chatted with three or four other runners as they were stretching, talking and laughing.

Soon enough I was among them, though I didn’t say much. I just laid prone looking up at the leaves in the tops of treees, sun blinking in and out with my conscience Ness.

Other runners struggled to finish as we waited at least another forty minutes for them until it seemed everyone was back. Surprisingly, on my first day I was the first newcomer to finish, and even had beaten some of the Varsity runners. As I walked away to head back to the school across the street, the Coach stopped me. “What did you say your name was?” he queried.

I was jubililant and from then on forever hooked on distance running. What a small piece of “fame” can do for a naive young boy. I replayed his question that night over and over while I lay in bed nursing my aching, sore legs.

____________

As we crossed street after street of light afternoon traffic, a light snow began to fall on our icy breaths that February day, and I felt a power inside me start to grow. I felt that I was “becoming” a long distance runner.

It seemed that the worse the weather, the more I enjoyed it. I loved running in driving rains, foggy mornings where you couldn’t see your friend next to you, and audaciously blistering cold afternoons, which made me laugh at the irony.

By now, I was also part of the Varsity team, though still a skinny Iroquois sophomore with more hope than ability. But each day I suited up for Tolly’s 6,7,8, or 10 mile runs through Louisville, more determined to shed my “snowbird” image. Running, cold and humbling as it can be, was becoming familiar and fun.

________

When Spring Track season began with a few “dual” meets I ran the “two-mile” against our competitors, each time breezing through the two miles in around eleven minutes and thirty seconds. That was exactly my time in the Regional the day I finished 30th. More importantly, I won the races handily, since the other runners had not endured the “Winter of Tolly” like me and some of my teammates. I knew if challenged I might be able to run even faster, but I loved winning races.

I’ll never forget the night I became “someone” on the High School running scene in Kentucky. I was still a Sophomore in late March 1971 and without any real accomplishments, when my track coach (Ed Lerding) told me that I was going to run the two-mile run that night at an “Invitational” track meet.

Eight guys, eight schools, full grandstands, and all under the lights. It sounded scary and exciting. Was I ready? I hadn’t a clue.

The two mile run is near the end of each track meet, one of its last events. That gives one plenty of time to think (or too much time), warmup, and get mentally prepared for the race ahead. Early in the meet my Coach came up to me and asked how I felt.

“Good”, I answered.

fireworks baby!

“Well I have a little job for you tonight”, as he smiled and looked me straight in the eye.

“You know your buddy? Pendelton?” he asked. Terrell Pendelton was one of the top runners in the State of Kentucky, having already posted 9:49 two-mile time that Spring. We happened to have gone to grade school together, but I really didn’t know him at all.

“Yeah”.

“Well, I want you to get on his shoulder on the first lap and stay with him as long as you can”, he said matter of factly.

“Terry Pendelton? Stay with Terry Pendelton?” What?

“Yes, just for as long as you can. Don’t worry about dropping out, just hang on to him for as long as you can,” Lerding said in an optimistic tone. “I think you can stay near him the whole race.”

“Coach, I can’t run with Terrell Pendelton. He’ll run me in the ground.”

“It’s OK. Just stay as long as you can, and stay on his shoulder. You’ll be OK.”

‘He’s nuts I thought, but he’s the coach’.

It is the last thing I remember thinking before the gun sounded to start the race. As everyone jockeyed for position I spotted Pendelton already taking the lead on the first of eight laps. I sprinted to the front and landed a half-step behind him. He looked over his right shoulder but didn’t recognize me or seem to care that I stuck to him lap after lap.

I was shocked when I heard the gun sound again (meaning it’s now the last lap), and Terry Pendelton was just a shoulder ahead of me. The crowd was screaming and all I could think of was how fast I must have been running for the past seven laps, and how I was on TERRY PENDELTON’S shoulder still.

I kept wondering when he was going to take off and leave me behind. He didn’t. I didn’t want to beat him, just stay on his shoulder until the race was over. And that’s what I did, even though another guy (Don Cook) passed us both at the end.

I had finished the two mile in 9:54… the third fastest time in Kentucky that season. More than happy, I was amazed at myself. From 30th in the Region just four months ago, to now one of the fastest two-milers in the State of Kentucky.

_______

My life hasn’t been the same since that day, that incredible peak moment. Nothing has ever been too hard, or too tough that I didn’t think I could do it.

I went on to finish 3rd in the 2-mile at the Kentucky AAA State track meet as a Sophomore that Spring (behind Cook and Pendelton), but then surprised everyone by beating Pendelton to win the Kentucky AAA State Cross-Country meet that next Fall during my Junior year.

Imagine that, the snowbird less than a year ago… now the 1971 Kentucky AAA State Cross-Country Champion, wearing mesh warm ups too!

Pretty soon my mailbox was full of mail from colleges, and I eventually had a number of full scholarship offers from some great Universities. I graduated college with a BA in 1977, though instead of running I ended up playing three years of Varsity Soccer on Kentucky’s best Soccer team at MSU (Morehead State University). But, I ran until I was 50 years old… who was once again a “snowbird” who had retired and moved to sunny Florida.zemblanity

And although I continued running somewhat competitively through a hectic career of Publishing Sales, and played organized soccer for 11 years after college just to make sure that my youth remained intact for as long as possible, at 5o I became a first time father… altering my perception and priorities in life. A single father (who knew nothing about babies) cuddled his sick almost one year old son until… he caught pneumonia. On my third visit to the emergency room on Christmas Day 2005, my lungs filled with fluid causing my heart to double in size and nearly burst. A long recovery resulted (no running, no walking, no stress whatsoever on my heart was the Doctors instructions). “If you do” he said, “you’ll probably die.DSC00428

In 2007, ironically on Christmas Day, again I was rushed to the hospital within a few breaths of death. days later i awoke and the prognosis; not good. Five years… at best was the word. Here I stand in 2014 feeling better every month, no longer with the reaper no longer standing in my doorway. After all, I’m a father of two great little cross-country runners, aged 7 and 9. I have a job to do with my perfect little Snowbirds. Quitting is not a word I ever understood. Dying is out of the question, for now.

—30—

a phony says goodbye


“Keep on holding your head high”,she said with a smirk and a sigh

“i will”, in the knowing I may be ugly not shy

always with conviction of knowing between truth and a lie

“Youre a phony” she belched

a shaky confidence like a laugh close to cry

“And that makes you… a what?” was my queen-check, not even Kasparov could deny

“mistaken again”… her sad answer, so… did she guess or not try?

The real truth is somewhere between her who and her why

it was the day i learned that my game isn’t seen fly

It was the day I decided to sell short, not to buy

And now I look in the mirror smile and say “hi”

she was too young or too ignorant, an’ me too old a fish for her fry

The day I realized theres no shame in goodbye.

what it is


 

Thoughts on the individual.


A poem.
THE MAN IN THE GLASS
When you get what you want in your struggle for self
And the world makes you king for a day
Just go to the mirror and look at yourself
And see what that man has to say.

For it isn’t your father, or mother, or wife
Whose judgment upon you must pass
The fellow whose verdict counts most in your life
Is the one staring back from the glass.

He’s the fellow to please – never mind all the rest
For he’s with you, clear to the end
And you’ve passed your most difficult, dangerous test
If the man in the glass is your friend.

You may fool the whole world down the pathway of years
And get pats on the back as you pass
But your final reward will be heartache and tears
If you’ve cheated the man in the glass.

Peter Dale Wimbrow Sr.

Russ not-so-diculous Smith… Man of The Year


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I’ve been a Louisville fan since growing up in the South End there in the late 1960’s. In those days Wes Unseld held down the post while Junior Bridgeman (oops wrong year… it was Butch Beard) drilled bombs that would now-a-days be NBA threes. I was also a Kentucky fan back then, as my limited scope at 11 only suggested that both teams were from my home State; and for me… that was good enough. I cried after the 1966 Finals when Kentucky lost to Texas Western. It was the first televised game I had ever seen (if you call a 13 inch B/W TV using rabbit ears at Rough River with fuzzy reception actually “watching”). I remember Louie Dampier and Pat Riley playing well, but Texas Western was loaded with quick athletic jumpers who cleaned nearly all of the glass. No matter how hard we played T-W was relentless and refused to reliquish an early lead. They shot 38 free throws and made 24, while were 11 for 13, because we could not stop (Calipari’s Don Haskins Dribble-Drive).

I could not then, nor do I now understand the hatred that exists between the fans of these two highly vaunted programs at (UK and UL).

Since those formative years I’ve remained a spectator and college basketball fan, eventually forsaking football, baseball, and other sports to concentrate on basketball, and found new love… in playing soccer. After college graduation one generally finds that career and other diversions tend to implore us not to spend so much discretionary time on sports. Somewhere along the way we should also gain a certain “adult” perspective that allows wins and losses to affect us only in “momentary” situations, without changing our personalities or affecting our priorities. I can remember once thinking (as a Cleveland Browns fan), “what if they win the Super Bowl this year?”

My internal answer came back solemnly… “well… you’ll have a hangover at work the next day. And then, it will all be over as quickly as it unfolded.” Of course, I never got to test my theory on Cleveland.

But, I’ve always known that the special UL/UK hate was limited to the fans, but not the players. The players, for the most part all respect one another and truly wish them well when not in direct opposition with one another. This last week, I was incensed after reading a Louisville fan blog, where a number of (so-called) humanoids berated Russ Smith’s game against their hated rival Kentucky. It is the epitome of classless, spineless, little man complex to even suggest that Russ Smith ISN’T the epitome of college basketball. I mean, holy sh&t, without Russ Smith, Louisville wouldn’t be on the map this year?

If I could have traveled through cyberspace I might have strangled someone. I wonder how much sweat these slugs must have lost watching Russ make a mistake or two? The nerve! And I hate to report that this kind of attitude is more commonplace than one could reasonably imagine. I witnessed Kentucky fans dropping  wholesale after every disappointment this year, creating more Calipari is crazy conspiracies than David Icke does aliens are living next door. Now they’ve had to order a new fleet of “bandwagons” to accommodate the repentant.

Of course, as we advance both in age and financially we become further removed from the “good ole days”, as our lives settle down we find time for watching sports again; if only to harass our friends over drinks, use travel games as party excuses, and/or make idiotic blog posts about our two-time First team All-American’s deficiencies. Albeit, we do all this with the same passion and nasty vigor of our youth, unless by then we’ve learned anything about real life. But then, sports chatter using facts and figures can also be fun, even when all you want to do is watch from the couch with family and friends and berate the commentator (I mean homer/hater Doug Gottfried).

hater-2355

The last few years though, I have experienced a gnawing ache, which seems to grow as I follow my favorite teams on the internet on TV and in the news and through internet blogs. Admittedly, (and duly embarrassed) a couple of years ago I began to engage my acute sense of wit (my description of course), knowledge of the game and its history, and uniquely blatant in-your-face writing style to have some fun tormenting those brain-farts whom I felt were less informed about the game I love, or were just plain trolling ignoramus’ who apparently make a life out of denigrating other teams and their fans.

 I can honestly (no self-efficacy here, huh?) say that when it came to words-a-cuffing, I was/am/can be the Mohammed Ali of heavyweight lightning factoid-icule. For awhile I got a kick out of out belittling (some unknown to me poster) with a twisted sarcasm that only I seemed to be able to produce in imaginative volume. For awhile, I admit it was fun…

Yet, it was internally hollow, and I soon tired of out-lambasting some teenager or sock-puppet who could barely spout, “my team is better than yours”, or wax philosophical about some ridiculous straw man argument, whom I quickly leveled with a few light jabs and then an overhand hay-word-insult-maker, landing him on his back not even attempting to answer the keyboard beep.

I particularly loved sparring with more intelligent fans (unarmed with my modestly? over-the-top imaginative hater vocabulary); unfortunately they too sometimes lacked the Ali-dance-cleverword-shuffle or even the hack-a-fact, and I found myself mocking them before finally throwing a swift combination Ali would have marveled at. Canvas. 1-10. Boom. K.O. Next…

It was easy especially if you’d ever read Darrell Huff’s book, “How to Lie With Statistics”, the most widely read book on quantitative analysis ever written. And if you’ve happened to have read his sequel, “How to Tell if Someone is Cheating With Statistics”. then…BOOM! Tysonian.

Thankfully, those days are done-skeey and I lament remembering some of the verbal beatings I gave. Almost…

Occasionally I can and do get drawn into a minor word wrestle with a formidable foe (likely because they have said egregious ignorant things with uncommon pride and arrogance instead of understated objectivity) whom I sense cannot go the whole fifteen rounds… even though I recognize my latent memory is beginning to escape me .

I’ll set ’em up with some obscure factoid, wait for the bell of my chosen round… then simply wind-up-round-house them before they can type, “Google”. Trust me, I had to learn a plethora of one punch put-down lines in Louisville’s South End growing up and I remember most of them.

But, I swear it’s ONLY because I hate the hater…

 …and so I dose ’em with a dash of high-test-hate-o-line (then an throw uppercut to the super-ego with a lit match thrown in for good measure). BA-BOOM!

True is dat. But this a confession, even if it sounds arrogant, because I’m sorry… especially after what Louisville’s Russ Smith has recently taught me.

The following statement by arguably the best player in the nation over the last two years exemplifies the notion of

CHAMPION

 better than I or anyone could ever express with any brand of kindness or venom.

THIS IS WHAT EVERY COLLEGE FAN SHOULD LEARN TO RECITE.

 Russ-not-so-diculous is, as of now my ALL-TIME favorite college basketball player:

Can anyone find something NOT to love about this guy? I don't think so...
Can anyone find something NOT to love about this guy? I don’t think so…

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Those who play the game (just like MOST OF US likely remember when playing sports), respect one another; it’s the fans who are LAME. Stop it you friggin’ idiots! It is a game. You have to work tomorrow either way, so STFU… (I know, I know… sure… its the refs fault).

Because in the end sports are about sportsmanship (learning how to win, and how to lose), not winning… and especially not whining like your 7-year old. It’s about enjoying true athletic skill which the common man can only appreciate with a certain awe. It’s about competitive fight, 100% effort, and all without cheating; and learning to LOSE well as well as WIN well. Well?

That trait alone makes one Russ Smith a true hero, and a real man. Those who play the game respect one another; it’s us fans whose ignorance is more than made up for by our lack of intelligence.

I mean, it’s a shame that stupidity isn’t painful…

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Stop the hate, fans of whom-ever-in-the-rat-fk.

It is ONLY a game that you ONLY participate in vicariously. Your kids will still have to go to the Dentist tomorrow, so please STFU with the crybaby stuff.

And… unfortunately it is the fans of my beloved State of Kentucky (equally offensive UL and UK fans) who are among the worst offenders. Some of these Neanderthals have professional jobs and careers. I mean, I love Kentucky though I’ve lived in North Carolina just as long, and now Florida nearly as long.

I’m still a UK and UL fan to the bone… because…

There’s nothing like basketball in KENTUCKY. I just hope it stays that way without us making fools of ourselves any more than we have already… well, all of us but those young inexperienced players on our teams… Bye Russ! I’ll miss your style, your smile, and your helter-skelter…

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the rabbit hole


basketballAn email sent to a friend who is a very smart man… a graduate of UNC-Law School and Dartmouth University. Our relationship through the years had centered around both our passions for college basketball where we argued the merits of our respective favorite teams. He recently told me that he had withdrawn his support for UNC and sold his season tickets due to an ethical conflict of interest regarding the University and their selling out to the god of money. I was shocked that this long time ardent supporter had taken such a drastic stance, and at the time a bit flummoxed. Now… I too get it.

Vance,

Once again I must admit that I am squarely behind both the eight ball and the Kinlaw in my pursuit of truth.

I once almost (emphasis on almost) derided your decision to quit the “college game” because of your ethical stance regarding UNC’s Board of Governors and their apparent thirst for squeezing every dollar out of the sports programs without regard to the alumni and their ethics and ideals.

I mean, “it’s just a few advertisements” I remember thinking when you described the billboards along the Dean Dome’s press row, the straw that finally sent you packing and giving up your cherished season tix. I really just didn’t get it fully, although I knew/know MONEY is god everywhere in our culture.

I just didn’t go far enough down that rabbit hole…

Now, after the NCAA Tournament brackets for 2014 have been made public, the rabbit has bitten me on the ass and drawn blood. What a scam! Every seed, every game or chance game has been manipulated by the committee this year for ONE PURPOSE only: Revenue. Period. Ticket prices have gone up 33% since last year!

Of course, it’s probably due to the Attorney fees in the Ed O’Bannon case (lol).

At any rate, I stand corrected, and as always… in a certain awe of your scope…

thom

The Real Deal?


The REAL DEAL?

The REAL DEAL is fair…feeling not better or worse than anyone, but rather sees the world as a somewhat level playing field where balance rules a life of give and take.

The REAL DEAL is one who understands that everything must stem from and lead to equality; that his own perspective is but one of an infinite number of possible perspectives, all clouded by their own personal histories yet just as valid and important as his own. Being real is neither superior or inferior.

The REAL DEAL gains knowledge from others but earns wisdom from within. He does not expect to be given anything for free except the respect that he freely gives to everyone.

The REAL DEAL is one who understands that he is solely responsible for his own self-predicament in life, but also understands the complex and fickle nature of luck, timing, and pro-active behavior, which can all lead to his ultimate success or failure. In the end he accepts himself and takes any blame for his mistakes in life.

A man who doesn’t use material things as barometers for success and happiness, and instead sees them as unreliable measures which are at best self-indulgent ego-symbols; The REAL DEAL values close family and interpersonal relationships as a more meaningful predictor of feeling and finding true self-worth.

But The REAL DEAL understands how images are real and important and must be paid some attention. The REAL DEAL is more giver than taker, but feels equality is best served by a near equal exchange. He doesn’t keep the score, but instead senses it and honors others on his mental scorecard. In the end he never owes, but instead is always felt to be owed by many.

The REAL DEAL stands up to be counted in plain view, who does not coward from any situation or person, even those who may see him as an adversary. He does not cringe before any person, despite their size, title, or social status.

The REAL DEAL does not ever honor violence, but sees how nature supports it as one of her own children whom she still loves despite its sometimes abhorrent behavior. He would not intentionally hurt anyone, unless defending himself or those he loves, or meting out some deserved injustice.

The REAL DEAL is passionate about many things, who appreciates the natural beauty in all things. He is a part of and is made of parts as all things are. His is a “holonic” existence.

The REAL DEAL rarely apologizes as he understands how every action stems from a conscious motivation of fairness and goodness that he refuses to stray from.

The REAL DEAL looks everyone in the eye, never seeing through them or seeing his own reflection, but sees everyone as an amalgamation of a person who has experienced the good, the bad, the beautiful and the ugly.

The REAL DEAL has an acute sense of awareness and feeling using a keen developed sense most humans have not developed, mainly due to their harried daily existence. This sense stems from a mental ,ability to do great mathematical calculations, without realizing he has done so.

The REAL DEAL does not deny nor accept the existence of God as fact, simply knowing that semantically speaking God can be many things to many people. He also understands how philosophy, art, and the sciences can provide a positive working framework for his existence, without the need for a God.

The REAL DEAL can forgive and forget, yet he never forgets those who are unrepentant. He might sometimes punish those whom he sincerely feels are purveyors of evil and destruction. This arises from his keen sense of equanimity, not hate.

The REAL DEAL is always… for real.

race

The Human Race


race

I listened hard and watched the best. Secretly I’d one day be their litmus test. Late hours and freezing rain could not depress, the drive inside my lifelong quest. It wasn’t easy but I never faltered, the success I worshiped, on effort’s sacrificial altar.

On the day of reckoning, my mind prepared from daydreams of winning. Imagined moments never shared, except a mindless grinning. The fear of failure came nowhere near, compete and win my simple mission clear.

Nervously I toed the line, emotional tension outside-in sublime. I lurched ahead right from the go, then pushed the pace they wanted slow. Some seemed worried and took the bait, others doubted lay back in wait; on my demise they had sealed their fate.

Feeling strong and so relaxed, I stretched my lead never feeling taxed. While I saw turtles they saw a hare, as I blistered laps through the cool night air; on a record pace I had laid my dare.

Seemingly on a gun lap cruise, in retrospect I must have somehow hit the snooze. But glancing back at second place, he was so far back and wore an anguished face.

The crowd all stood with deafened screams, half o’ lap to enjoy my living dreams. That I glanced left is in retrospect my error, sprinting past my right was a nightmare terror.

Sheer momentum surged him in the lead, Read More »

for shits and giggles…ADULT ONLY


Behold a smattering of audaciously Adult themed t-shirts by Mostdiggity… built for the person who stands tall and let’s his t-shirt do his bidding. Fun shirts not to be taken too seriously but with a twist of ironic bad boy (or girl as I have numerous female designs not shown here). These shirts are made from the highest quality lightweight soft cotton and come in sizes too numerous to mention. Not cheap but inexpensive considering the attention you’ll get from “puttin’ it out there”.

What’s the rub? Currently the shirts are still in the design stage, but plans are to roll them out… someday? Stay tuned and check out shirts with game, while we’ve all seen plenty that are simply… lame.

The coolest audaciously ADULT tees you will find this side of Niburu.
The coolest audaciously ADULT tees you will find this side of Niburu.

 

A peak at an early version of an ebook catalog designed to add interest and humor to each design with options, etc…

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tshirt

Homers n’ Haters n’ (da)Mastur (de)Baters


dickwadtheory

Historical data with facts and reasons to back em?

All courteous discourse be damned

Intelligence lost in a deep dark sphincter band

Trotting out opinions like… everybody has one

Experts who follow ex-purps, Blogsquirts who can’t write a lead or a lick

Internet Sports Websites; a vast and barren mind-field of Virtual (dick)weed-oligists.

Me? One time follower of Dean Oliver (Mi Deano que Numberino)

Now everybody’s got one,  a statistical guru with matchin’ number-crunchin’credo

The eye test is done-skee, Now its the drumbeat-of-repeato, conceited Eggo, a waffler with a bigger Ego

But, I’ll tell you what you can cram  up your USAs BEST Speedo…

A large wad of green ONE-and-DONE-o, shove that up your Uncle Sam Taxedo, dumb-a- dido

The NCAA. Straight laced but two-faced, laughing all-the-way to the… Johnny Cashed (not burned)

Dressed all in Folsom black, ring-of-fired up monied Coaches, BIG money not shared but stashed.

Call your raise little Homer-boy, and go up another notch just to see you show your red-faced gash

Mindless Babel, no pecking order, a Tower of  Trash talking knee-walking Monkey see-do commentators

Imagined a smarter retort?

Instead I’m reading between lines of the yellow teethed keys you gnashed.

Feel insulted? I can only hope.

Oh yeah, you-da Homers N’ Haters N’ The Mastur(de)Baters…

(All alone) on/under your keyboard, a Johnny-Cum-Later with everything and nothing to say.

Brainless Brainfarts spewing ignorant insult jism, eventually we all need knee-waders

Not the self-deluded Fanboy who incessantly yells “cheaters and one-and-doners”.

No, these… the loser “haters”who bury their hearts and their heads bad-mouthing everything,  even their own mashed potaters

Please, tell me who can discuss Sports intelligently anymore…besides the Cabbies and the Waiters?

YOU ignorant fans without rational rhyme or reason to believe, just wearing.school colors makes you feel smart looking lame. You got NO game.

and remember, you can’t lose if in the bigger picture it doesn’t really matter… so, until it does… I think I’ll read ya later.

-30-

Get a life if all you have to look forward to is vicarious victories by your faved team, son.
Get a life if all you have to look forward to is vicarious victories by your faved team, son.

Kevin%20Ware%20injury_Reuters

THE HATE ON

Oh yeah… it has become Madness alright.

The twitter buzz lit up only minutes after University of Louisville reserve guard Kevin Ware landed poorly on his right leg in the Sunday (April) 2013 NCAA Tourney Final Four matchup between the University of Louisville and Duke University. But, as Ware was writhing on the floor and sending an entire nation watching to the bathroom sickly holding onto their dinner, a Syracuse fan tweeted to the world about Ware’s “wild background story”, then further hinting that it was Ware who had been responsible for the University of Central Florida’s NCAA probation issues.

Though Pete Thamel of Sports Illustrated (and NY Times) later attempted to minimize his tweet as only “providing background” to Ware’s story, most college basketball fans who know Thamel’s sensational yellow-coated writing style were left to speculate as to his real intentions. His timing couldn’t have been worse. Even Thamel was smart enough to retract and retreat, and explain away in re-tweet after re-tweet.

All Too Sweet, Pete.

Thamel, a Syracuse graduate and fan, and personal friends of both Syracuse Coach Jim Boeheim and Duke’s Mike Krzyzewski has made a living denigrating college basketball programs (outside of Gaudy Orange and Deep Blue Sea Devil) that don’t exactly meet with his personal “holier than thou” biases. If some heads-up Louisville fans and other intelligent sports fans hadn’t caught the ill-advised tweet, he likely would not have felt the urgent need to diareah-ically (my word not Websters) apologize for the Ware tweet. Thamel makes his living digging up dirt in Sports on players, coaches, and teams he also happens to dislike (read: they are better than his faves). He gets dirty too, sometimes.

By contrast, following the Cuse-Indiana Elite Eight game in a video interview with Syracuse’s Michael Carter Williams, fans were shown how the team’s players feel about one another (see NCAA video). Williams calmly and warmly spoke of his team’s biggest rival this year, Louisville, and showed the real side of competitive student athletes, rather than the one “so-called” media experts, haters, homers, trolls, and irresponsible fans-from-hell would rather have us believe. MCW is the rule, not the exception, and it has always been this way. Off court and on, competitors respect their adversaries to the point of rooting for them when they are not immediately diametrically opposed.

Sorry haters… the players just don’t feel the way you do about their rivals. Instead, they like them and wish them well. I repeat, there’s no HATE between College Basketball teams’ players…or any other sport for that matter; it exists only in the heads of their idiotic fans.

STOP THE HATE. IT’s way out of hand and way out of DATE. But, is it too late?

Seriously, what has happened to sports fandom today? The gloves have come off when one of the most respected newspaper’s (NY Times) own Sportwriter(s) fails to show good sportmanship in our virtually twisted-tweet world of Twitter-by-instant messaging? I mean really, does it make one a “cockroach  and a bandwagoneer” (as I was recently dubbed on a UL fansite by some nit-wit troll posing as a human and a Cardinal fan) if he/she is lucky enough to root for two teams from his home state ALL-his-life (in my case its called “Kentucky”), and only if their names happen to be “Kentucky” and “Louisville”?

Must I really choose between these two teams as several (anti-UK) UL fans demanded?

And hey… does it really hurt slime turtle, since it’s only megahertz… U foo-bean!

Well… uh, I graduated from Morehead State University. Must I be their fan, and that of no other team in this solar system? Ouch! Oh really now shit-for-brains, because which little Bimbo-boy says it must be so? You? He-he. HA!

But hey, I usually don’t go on my favorite teams’ Fan-site to argue ifs, ands, and maybes with brain-numbing stupidity, or to spout in-your-face electro-insults to moronic retardos like you, but instead (as in UL’s case) to simply celebrate our “RedBirds-of-a-Featherness” if only for but a brief, albeit passing moment.

Can U Dig it mumbo-gumbo? This better be good if you want to hold my attention little man!

Though, admittedly it can cause me to type ever more venomous and poisonous thoughts of my own hate-stew, word-wrestling with me can be an exercise in futility for the typical dyed-in-the-wool Hater. I admit to knowing that lame-brain banter makes me eventually start to yawn and becomes tedium, and so I normally lose interest in the verbal one-upmanship after one or two touché….zzzzzzzz

But, to say you win? Never.

When the Louisville-Duke game ended on that Sunday, Guards Quinn Cook and Rasheed Souliman both of Duke, quickly embraced their Louisville counterparts as if to say, “Congratulations guys on a great game, go on and win this thing”. And love him or hate him, Coach K was his usual class actin’ self-debasing-self in a loss, and when describing his respect for the players and the game his team had just endured. Was NO one taking notes?

Such is the State of Hate in Sports, and in Sports Journalism today. And I for one…HATE it.

And who really cares what Pete Thamel thinks? He’s a Cockroach.Screen-shot-2013-02-07-at-10_18_18-PM

-30-

my little man at 2.


P1100005

U asked me to draw U a picture;

first a truck, a garbage truck,

then a fire truck.

it looked kind of funny.

U said, “can U draw me a lamp? a house? a tree? but, i’m not good with dogs.”

then U asked me to tell U a story.

i told you about an old fire truck and a fire.

but before i was through U said U found some putty and made it into a gumball and a big bubble at sam’s club.

your hands were cold.

“what happened”, U asked?

U found a toy truck under the chair.

“why did the truck run into the big trailer? why daddy? tell me why did the truck crash into the big trailer?”

by then U decided to go swimming. i helped you with your floatees.

“the right one doesn’t fit too easy”, U said

you hugged me and you were happy… your smile lit up my day…

all i could say was

“I love you more than anything (even beer).”

10 reasons THE VILLE wins this year’s Final Four


10. Kevin Ware.

9. Kevin Ware.

8. Rick Pitino is long overdue.

7. Russ Smith is russdiculous.

6. Peyton Siva is russdiculous.

5. Trey = #3

4. BEast = Gorgui, Montrezl, Chane, Blackshear, Van Treese.

3. Cool Hand Luke rides again.

2. Witchita State, Syracuse, Michigan. RU serious?

1. Papa John plus KFC = we’re hungry!

Tiger’s Woody!


A golf ball.

When you let your big stick do the talkin’
That “Parade of Porn”, with Paparazzi stalkin’
Snarly rough, traps-a-plenty; deep cut bunkers and nowhere to hide
When deciding to “lay up” was the riskier choice
If but for only that large amount of green and those swooshed titanium balls
would the World’s Greatest Scrambler survive a wretched 18 ho’s
Trading an extremely high handicap for a life of buried lies

Hardly checking which way the wind was blowing, knowing there are no mulligans
An egregious slice that wouldn’t fade, a train-wreck hacked so far out of bounds
You must have quit counting the lost strokes and calculating unplayable lies
Your balls dropped beyond the line of sight, but seemed ever further from home
Where money bets had long since been lost in that first (wet) box and on the first (wet) tee
The truth is inside the ropes there’s plenty of trouble if you really want to hang yourself

The undulating backsides, luscious elevated tees, random cut cups all flagged
Manicured so lovely, playing tight and long, sweet and gorgeous to behold
Beautiful courses you easily managed with that deft touch and artistic feel
Splitting the middle of over-seeded Bentgrass, the Bermuda lush trimmed close
But, if instead of backing up they started checking up then running fast and away
Ambien fueled Ambien fooled, seeing the break banging a sweet stroke nailing bottom of the hole
Oohhhs and aahhhs of moaning adoration, and then the ego-bellow of, “Who’s Your Daddy!”

Though lost deep in those woods and refusing to take the normal penalty
Forsaking all those fast and easy Birdies, with head high you steadied your stance
Asking us to imagine that you were simply one more, ‘Par for the Course’
But pretty soon you started losing that Iconic magic grip you held over us
As if it was raining bad behavior, your short game was turning into a slippery sloped Karma
The cynical crowd yelling “Pussy Cat, knock it stiff”, or chanting “here cums Tiger’s Woody!
Perhaps omen to us all… but for you… signaling that the Bogeyman had finally come… to stay.

Color in quid pro quo

Desire: The Alpha Betique Lee…


Color in quid pro quo

THE acid snow, with it’s afterglow, like learning aikido, in alpenglow, is quite apropos,  it’s soo art deco, sooo art nouveau, without the audio, says Baguio, and Bamako, these barrio, through the bay window, watched quaint old Bergamo, where the bibelot, one sailor Bilbao, left a black widow, and gave his blow-by-blow, who felt the body blow, down to his bone marrow, while the full bordereau, told about a man in Borneo, for real… this is no buffalo, yes, but it was in Buffalo.

In a small bungalow, he learned Bushido, while the buteo, and purring calico, did a cameo, before cachalot, he played the cembalo, for a centimo, from the CEO. Aiming the chassepot, saying cheerio, for my dear Clemenceau, with his cogito, a farce of comedo,  with stern comme il faut, creating counterflow,until Cupid’s bow, pierced her curaçao, in Curaçao, on a flying curassow, and no curio, or Japanese daimyo,danio, oh no Delano, or Diderot, not a do-si-do, could fell the domino, oh this dynamo, who had… since an embryo, being conceived in the
, of Erato, as his parents fucked and dined on escargot.

Scan-001.BMP

His dad, an Eskimo, walked through the extrados, singing fabliau, his portfolio, included cooking fricandeau. As he ripped her furbelow, this gigolo, with his golden glow, got a go-no-go, like a grass widow, he ripped the blood of a real Marjorie Guacharo, who wanted only a hammer throw, got the hammertoe, as he planted the haricot, and wrestled her heel-and-toe, he… strictly hetero, worked her high and low, like an HMO.

 I mean, Holy Joe, twas a horror show, not in Idaho, but in She-da-ho, twenty slags in a row, turned her black and indigo,  and left a toss or two in escrow,  for those of us in the know, when he came it seemed from Jericho, he talked like a kakapo, as he tanned her into latigo, with his big little Joe. All this, not so long-ago.

The Poet Longfellow, spoke of Maceió, and Maginot, in Manchukuo, where he got his medico,shipped from Mexico, and bought a mistletoe, and counted modulo, in Monaco, with that same Navajo, not with the NCO, a regal nuncio, who slipped like oleo, out the back on tiptoe.

Scan-002.BMP

This threesome Oreo, about to overflow, about to overgrow, about to overthrow, the maiden’s ovolo. She rode at Pamlico, a horse named Papago, and as she entered the paseo, there came one Eddie Vicaro, who played the piccolo, and rode a horse named Pierrot, who overcame the polio, but left his head shaped like a pomelo, and caught like pompano, on the portico.

When the Duke of Prospero, in quite proximo, heard on the radio, a raree-show, he calculated the ratio, that Richard Roe, and Rochambeau, had stipulated rococo, for their rodeo. This Romeo, peered from a rose window, a round rose window,  at the saddlebow, of one Sapporo, who ate sapsago, rounding the Scapa Flow, Scipio, this Scorpio, went semipro, and got some sloppy joe, from her so-and-so. While the crowd was SRO, and gave them both a standing O, he waved in status quo, and she in stereo, and on went the stop-and-go, until a studio, hired a band named Subito, during their tallyho tangelo,with Director Tarantino, filmed the movie “tic-tac-toe, the TKO, of the to-and-fro“.

In Tokyo, her perfect tombolo, the rumor of touch-and-go, fired the sizzling tournedos,  while a whispered tremolo, and wafting tuckahoe, emanating from touristos from Tupelo, in search of a UFO,were served the ultimo, and had to undergo, life’s undertow.

Rising like the gorgeous Veneto, swooning with vertigo, she held firm her vibrio,  while I shot video from my Virago, the viral and the vireo, the Queen of Zhangjiakou, with my sweet zydeco…into the sun-soweto… and so… off we rode.

… and all this, just words and phrases arranged ALPHA BETIQUE LEE that happen to rhyme with…

QUID PRO QUO

to give and take

aliengreenspan

Who’s yO bama?


First, lemme’ go on record as saying, “I hate politicians.”

It’s one of the several reasons that I have boycotted the U.S. Presidential Election for 28 years now. Another is that as our Constitution is written, we shouldn’t really care about who becomes President since it limits the power of the Federal Government. Problem is, neither party has abided by our Constitution in decades. If you don’t believe me, perhaps a re-read of our 9th and 10th Amendments would be instructive. We, as wimpy Americans have given up our libertarian freedoms on a ghastly scale.

But mainly, I JUST can’t stand politicians, either in politics, the workplace, social groups, or anywhere. These frauds will never speak their real mind to your face, but will play you for the fool you are; if you happen to believe in them. And, I’ve been a sucker for entirely too long.

I like it straight up, face-to-face, mano’-e’-mano’. You got a problem? Let’s hear it, maybe I can help or agree or not. But you won’t hear any BS coming from me. If I have one with you, you can bet you will be reminded of it, gently first: then, not-so-much.

This year I’m getting out to vote. I’m motivated this time to vote against the vilest individual I can remember running for President, and yes, I do remember Richard Nixon.

Mitt Romney.

Now, I understand that many of my friends and associates will be voting for him tomorrow. I can only say that I expect that they are uninformed, and likely because they’ve been so busy chasing the dollar that there is not enough time to really explore the candidates and their respective backgrounds and beliefs. If that’s been the case, I’ll try to forgive you.

I won’t enumerate every factoid I know here for sake of brevity. I know folks tire of long diatribes. But, I will say that Mitt Romney made his fortune by bankrupting American companies and laying off their work force. By my count, over 10,000 workers strong. To be fair, some of those layoffs were due to his moving manufacturing overseas instead of keeping those jobs here in America. Which, by the way, how do you like your poison served?

He developed a financially successful strategy with Bain Capital (as CEO) which has been widely copied by others, those being known as Corporate raiders.

It involved buying a company, then borrowing huge sums against it’s arbitrary “market value” (sometimes tenfold its assets), then paying himself and other investors in his scheme ALL that money back in Dividends (he called it “getting back your bait” although sometimes it was the catch too), and then attempting to make a go of the business in question. Most times the crippling debt led to bankruptcy protection and firing ALL the employees. On just a few occasions the business survived and then thrived, which he would then sell at an enormous profit. A can’t lose proposition!

It’s akin to a golfer making a 15 on every hole, except for 3 or 4 where he made double eagles and birdies. Is he to be considered a good golfer?

While that does make him clever, it doesn’t qualify him to lead a Nation of Peoples intent on equality and freedom. To me, it makes him a scoundrel of the highest degree.

Of course, one might say, “I want my piece of that pie!” They surmise that if they put the apparently new “status symbol” a Romney yard sign out like so many in my neighborhood have, they will be a member of the club too? NOT.

To those wannabees I’ll only remind, “You are dreaming people… go find a real life.”

Another bug-a-boo I have with Mitt (and who names their kid Mitt? Sounds more like a pet’s name to me), is his devout Mormonism. Now, I understand about religious freedom and all, but here’s a guy who professes belief in a Religion that has been unquestionably certified as a hoax and a fraud. The cards are now all on the table for us all to read. And it is a normal deck of Hoyle’s playing cards, not some ancient hieroglyphic messages from God to a chosen set of government hating cult members in Ohio. It’s a proven fraud! Do you really want to hire a guy to lead you with such poor judgment in such weighty matters as this?

I’m not sermonizing on Religion here, that’s for another post. Sure, it can be said that I don’t believe in Obama’s professed religion either. But at least there I have no proof, only extreme suspicion. I promise to provide acute details for the morbidly curious later. Religion only matters when it makes you a complete fraud instead of a faithful follower of a yet unproven belief system.

And Romney, in order to win this race has stooped to switching his stance on almost every conceivable issue. I’d as soon go to IHOP if I want flap-jacks! In Mitt Romney, what you have is a slithering moron of epic proportions! Is that really what you’re after for your children’s future? Instinctively I can smell reptiles and they scare the hell out of me.

Since Obama has been vilified as the reason our national debt is so out of control, would it surprise you or anyone that under Obama America has had the LEAST amount of budget increases since Dwight D Eisenhower? Is that how you frame irresponsible, or is it better to call it uniformed drivel you didn’t learn by watching the Fox channel? Note I didn’t say the word “news”.

Another salient point I think, which you might consider a bit obtuse but I find edifying: High school. I don’t know about you but I’ve had the opportunity to re-acquaint myself with a few of my best friends from those glory days of yore. While their paths have rambled, their successes in life as variable as  the weekly winning lotto numbers, at heart these folks are just as I can remember them back in the day. When you read what Romney’s high school acquaintances thought of him and his high school demeanor, you invariably hear that he was considered “a jerk”, “a bully”, and one who felt the rules didn’t include his vaunted status. Now seriously, do you really believe that all his financial success has humbled him?

I could go on and on here but I won’t. My case is clear. I hate liars. Liars come in degrees. Mitt… It’s getting too fucking hot in here… out.

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