When I think of You I Touch My...Screen

A while back I penned a post about the growing fascination with our cellphones wondering if we were heading for a kyphosis epidemic. I’m still convinced that scenario is a possible repercussion of walking around bent over our phones and will manifest eventually, though maybe not in my lfietime.  I just never saw the allure of staring at that little itty-bitty screen so much.  Count me as surprised there aren't more viral videos of someone walking into a signpost or in front of a bus because they just had to finish making that Facebook post.

I think the lack of allure for me was a mixture of my general attitude toward the telephone as necessary luxury nuisance and the various incarnations of phones I packed around while riding the wave of the ever expanding cell phone craze.

I kicked up a fuss at getting my first cell phone about 15 years ago. After carrying a beeper for many years I didn't want to go back to that tethered feeling. I had to acquiesce; I knew the cell phone wasn't going away any time soon.  Back then choices were fairly simple. Did it make calls? Yes, unless you had Qwest and were in NIMBY city USA, Scottsdale; cell towers were frowned upon and there weren't enough of them. During the good old days it took 3 dropped calls to find out I needed to bring home coffee AND bread.

As my thoughts fast forward through the years my face reflects on the seeds of my discontent; the cell phones I've owned. Or did they own me? I remember a Nokia candy bar phone that I liked for its plain, simple design. It was great until the cover started coming off every time I put it back in my pocket.  The first phone I had that held music was a monster of an LG with a full keyboard. More than once that monstrosity reminded me it was in my pocket if I bent over to pick up something off the floor. That phone however, got me hooked on having a full keyboard; fold-out, slide-out didn't matter as long as it had a real keyboard with keys. I've had some crappy phones because that was my thing. I had one phone that was a touch screen phone but it had the full keyboard too. Despite many threats to end its life by pitching it into the street, it just kept being its contrary self. I was not going to get a touch screen phone. Never say never right?

A couple of months ago, prompted by a poke in the ribs from my Mrs, I picked out a new phone. I think she was more tired than I was of hearing me swear at the lousy phone and cell provider I had. I decided on an LG Optimus, my virgin excursion into an all touch screen phone. I must say I am pleasantly surprised. I really like this phone. It may not be as sexy as similar phones out there, though it sure has done right by me; the battery life alone is a big upgrade over my last few phones.

I've spent more time fiddling with this phone just looking at apps or playing games than I ever previously had any desire to with any of my old phones. The touch screen keyboard has some space between letters making it easier to use. It will save words I use a lot too, which are a benefit to whom ever is on the other end of my texts; well most of the time anyway. Surprised yourself didn't you, you ol’ dinosaur?

I’d write more but I just checked my Weather app and it looks like it’s going to be a good day to get out and pull weeds. Right after I go win this game of Trivia Crack.

Still Here

     I’m sure more than a few of you have wondered where my blog posts went. They are still here, though a lot of them stayed stuck in my head.  It’s not like I ran out of subject matter; the news is filled daily with all manner of things to poke with a stick and I have good supply of sticks. My focus changed to a different format. I started putting more down on paper than in the air; mainly in the journal I've had since President Ford was bonking spectators with golf balls. My trusty journal has served me well over the years to help me work through the occasional fork in the road that comes to everyone’s experience at one time or another. Plus I've been going through old things that were only on paper and converting them to digital. 

     A few weeks back I decided to jump off the end of the pier and do something I've wanted to do for a long time;make writing a full time occupation. Like any new venture there is a bit of a learning curve. Writing isn't just about writing there is a lot more to it than that. I find I've spent a lot of time doing research whether it be to find material for something I’m working on, discovering ways to improve my craft with books I've found or finding new avenues to produce income. I still sit in front of computer all day, now I’m my own boss, peon, and IT department. Some days it feels daunting, others float by like a trout fly riding a soft lazy current. My desire is to keep moving that fly down the river.

    I never saw myself as a published author though I did have a couple things put to print in the past. Now all of sudden I realize I am published, self-published I guess, through this little old blog of mine. I've never had any formal training other than what I learned in school and my own research. I've been told I write like I talk, which depending on the venue can have both advantages and disadvantages. Fortunately for me I have support here at home, from family, my friends, and those of you who take the time to read the things that jump off the end of my fingers.

    For those of you who have been reading right along I thank you for your support. Please feel free to post comments. You can do it anonymously if need be. If you liked what you've read share it, please.  I know Blogger is a bit cranky if you read it on your phone. It's even cranky for me; it hates the apostrophe in Microsoft Word. I have to replace everyone I use. I am investigating other places to possibly move this blog to if I find that necessary. If I do you'll be the second to know. Thank you joining me on this journey it will probably be safer than riding next to me in a pickup while plowing snow.

Rasslin' With Death

     When my wife and I saw the promo for Wrestling with Death for the first time, our reactions were polar opposites. This show is essentially about a funeral director and his family who live in the small Arkansas town of Osceola. They run a funeral home during the day and put on wrestling shows on the weekend. No, that’s not a typo. I laughed so hard I gave myself a coughing fit; I knew this was going to be epic something to the nth degree. My dear wife just looked at me and shook her head. 

This program contains scenes of real corpses

and actual mortuary preparation practices.

This disclaimer appeared before the show started

The following conversation ensued:

     “We have to DVR this.”

     “What! You won’t even watch Duck Dynasty!’

      “Yeah, well that’s dumb as shit.”

      “And this isn’t? What the hell is rasslin’? That’s not even a word.”

      “”After almost 5 years with me you should be used to made up words.”

      “I am ,but that word? It just won’t come out of my mouth. No, na na na, no.  I can’t .”

      “I don’t know really where the word came from. It’s just another made up word like the goofy crap in the Urban Dictionary.”

      “ I don’t care, it’s not a word and I’m not saying it and I’m not watching that either.”

     “Okay, fair enough, but you have watch it at least once just for the dumb entertainment value of it.”

     To her credit she did sit and suffer through half of one episode with me and announced that for any further viewings I was on my own. I am of the opinion that all reality TV is really just the video version of artificial flavoring; things are not really what they seem. What this little bit of nonsense flashing across my TV screen did do was bring back some fond old memories.

     Watching the wrestling clips in the promos reminded me of the ring at the wrestling shows I went to as a kid. Seeing the turnbuckles crafted from duct tape, the small arena, and the obvious age of the ring itself blasted me back to a time when i sat in the stands at a similar venue. 
     

     My friend’s Dad worked for the local newspaper as sports editor and he was able to get free general admission passes to the wrestling shows at the little multi-purpose auditorium at Ocean Beach Park in New London. What a great experience for a couple of goofy adolescents; the crazy cast of regulars that attended every show were as entertaining as the wrestlers in the ring. 


      There were a couple of little old ladies at every match that always sat near ring side; one always had a cane that she would wave at the bad guys then bang the hell out of the ring apron with it. The two of them would stand up, yell and shake their fists at the bad guys as they got the better of the fan favorites. More than one bad guy felt the wrath of that cane. Gorilla Monsoon had really a big fan that was there every time Gorilla was on the card. I mean REALLY BIG, like close to 500 pounds kind of big.  He was always perched in the middle of the bench in one section along the top row of the roll-out wooden bleachers. His bulk caused that section to sag like an old swaybacked nag. All through Gorilla’s match you could hear this deep voice yelling, “Heyyyy Gorilla, kick him in the peen.”

     One of the regular wrestlers on the card, Joe Esposito, ran an Italian restaurant when he wasn’t wrestling.  My buddy’s Dad took us there a couple of times for pizza before the matches and we were in heaven. This place was the typical Italian restaurant; the red and white checked table cloths with the Chianti bottle candle holder centerpiece dripping with hardened wax from previous diners gave the place an atmosphere that radiated good food and comfort. The effect was enhanced by the walls that were plastered with black and white photos of pro wrestlers; there were both good guys and heels and most of them were autographed.  It was like a living wrestling history lesson; there were pictures of old timers that we never got to see in person and had only read about in magazine. Outside the ring it was obvious wrestling was a brotherhood like most sports. That idea was further cemented at the end of each show we attended as we watched both good guys and bad guys pile in the same car together and drive off to a local hotel or the next event. 

     Being at a small venue during the years before Vince McMahon made Hulk Hogan a household name gave the two of us access that today wouldn’t be possible. That small auditorium had the concession stand to the left of the main entrance; the entire area was maybe 30' x 60' with 3 sets of panic bar equipped double doors at each end. Directly across from the concessions was the hall leading to the locker rooms. All athletes there for any sports event had to exit that hallway, make their way through the concession area, then through a set of the doors leading to the main auditorium floor. On a few separate occasions we staked out the locker room area and were rewarded for our patience.  


     One night we were lucky enough to get what seemed like almost an hour talking to Captain Lou Albano; I say what seemed like an hour with a memory filled by the skewed sense of time a teenager has. My friend and I were both impressed that Lou actually took the time to talk to a couple of bug-eyed young wrestling fans like we were adults. My sense of time probably stretched out that whole conversation, none of which I can remember, though I walked away with a sense that Lou was a good guy; all the bad guy stuff he ever did in the ring was to sell tickets.If my friend and I ever had a discussion of wrestling at any point during the next few years that night would always end up being part of the mix. I can't speak for my buddy Mike but I can say I always had a warm place inside for Captain Lou. Another memorable evening was the time we were able to spend time talking with Buddy Wolff on the night he was wrestling Pedro Morales for the championship in the main event. He was one of the big name regional bad guys at the time and again we were left with knowing the line between good guys and bad guys in wrestling is pretty much only defined in the ring. 


     The only time I ever saw Vince McMahon  he brought his own particular brand of sunshine with him; as he strode through the door he announced, “All you god damn kids get the hell out of my way”, and then shouldered through people in his path as he headed for the auditorium. What a peach, though the word I usually use to describe him rhymes with stick. Funny thing is he still shows everyone that same sparkling personality today. His car then was the only cool thing about him. A Chevy concept was what I later learned were his wheels for the night It looked something like the picture directly below.

     Every time I watch the Princess Bride I’m reminded of the night Andre the Giant walked by me on the way to the ring; at 14 I was already 6’ tall and I barely reached his armpit, the man was immense.  When he climbed in the ring it looked like a mattress in a cheap motel as it sagged with his weight; those old ring ropes were tight as piano wires.

     I don’t watch wrestling anymore and haven’t in a really long time, mainly since Vince the Stick made the soap opera outside the ring the main focus of the show. Many years ago I stopped longing for the days when venues were small and the wrestlers were approachable and not like the athletic rock stars they are made out to be today. I get the idea they have to protect themselves from the public; too many Mark David Chapman’s out there waiting to come out of the woodwork the past 40 years. I am glad I grew up at a time when celebrities and athletes were more approachable and the concern for crazies in the crowd wasn't as big an issue. The present day worries of our celebrity culture as they are plagued by paparazzi and cell phone cameras at every turn has widened that separation; we have brought that situation upon ourselves. 

This post wasn’t meant as endorsement of the show; it really is just about good memories with good friends. Seeing the wrestling segments on the show, which is obviously staged in a much smaller venue then the one I was exposed to, brought back that small town aspect of how wrestling felt back then.  The cast of characters on this show would fit right in at old Ocean Beach Park Auditorium.  

 ( These links still work since this post first appeared)

     The link below is to the trailer for the shows website on WGN Network. 

  http://wgnamerica.com/shows/wrestlingwithdeath

      On Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L4DjIJjLmkw

        It is less than 2 minutes long and is worth a couple minutes even if it's just for laughs and you are not a fan of wrestling. Reality TV is here to stay. 

                

An NFL Experience

     The Super Bowl has come to town for the third time since I’ve lived in Arizona; this time with my wife’s favorite team in tow. We donned our Patriots gear and hopped the Metro to downtown Phoenix for the NFL Experience; a first time experience for us both. We were definitely in the minority in our Pats gear as the train filled up with fans festooned in Seahawks colored garb along the way. A couple times chants of “Sea!” Hawks!” rang out during the trip; we got really tired of hearing it break out inside the venue too.

    We arrived to a sea of people overrunning downtown Phoenix.  This was a huge crowd; a churning mass of humanity milling about seeking football fan nirvana.  Every inch of real estate that wasn’t covered by tents or signs was being tread upon by thousands of feet. We decided to hit Super Bowl Central; they handed us a map and asked if we ended help finding anything. Thus began our typical event staff interactions for the day, which was essentially the same no matter where they were or what they were doing.  When asked a question they’d lift their right arm, point and say, “Go that way.” Not a lefty in the bunch, what are the chances of that?

    While we tried to find the entrance, we wandered by a few exhibits outside like the Street Art Throw-down, which explained why my nose was assaulted with the odor of spray paint; sanctioned graffiti featuring brilliant colors with an Arizona Super Bowl theme. There were also a few strategically placed street corner preachers with headset mics proselytizing through a PA, while others passed out leaflets; only in America, side by side spectacles of such extremes in the same venue.

     We discovered the line to get inside snaked along one entire side of the Phoenix Convention Center and almost to the end of the next; you couldn’t see your destination until you got close to the entrance. The line squeezed us down into lanes created by barriers that allowed only 2 at a time to walk comfortably side by side.  Once inside the staff did the arm thing again and directed us toward the entrance for those who had tickets like ourselves. 

                                               "Go that way"

Finally inside the building

    

     For an NFL junkie this is the place to be, though if you want to experience everything it can’t all be done in one day, because this is just like a huge theme park. The most popular events like the autograph stage and the field activities had ridiculously long lines which will eat up a lot of time.  The event spanned 3 floors in the convention center, with the main activities and the pro shop on the first floor. The elbow to elbow crush of humanity created by the setup made for a lot of bumps and twists to make your way through the crowd; stopping anywhere was asking to be run into by a little kid or someone not looking where they were going. Can you say epic madhouse?  We poked around in the pro shop for a bit then decided to head on inside.

                                         Sensory overload

     The walk into the main venue was pure sensory overload; the panorama shot doesn’t even scratch the surface on the noise, lights, and stuff that sprawled in front of us. We picked the path of least resistance crowd-wise and set off to see what we could find. What we found was akin to a NFL Disney; we found lines, lots of them, and very long too. We also finally found more Patriot fans inside enjoying the festivities in their typical low key New England way; an exchange of “Go Pats” and a smile as we passed were about as rowdy is it got.

One of the Field Event Areas

Funky old team jackets

Program from first ever AFL game

Hall of Fame ring, Strahan's 

     There were NFL films on massive TVs all over the place and they were all playing different highlights. There was a nice display of old pictures, programs and uniforms from the Hall of Fame. The busts and rings from the 2014 class were on display; those rings are HUGE. We wandered through a display where they were making and selling Wilson footballs, got our picture taken next to the NFL draft podium, and met a group of Pats fans that came out for the game.  We were all waiting to put our face on a fully equipped Pats player statue. There was one of those for every team placed throughout the place; some had lines for pictures while others were used by folks to sit and rest tired feet.  The big display on the upper level showed the history of pro football from 1870’s to the present day and had some cool old time pics. There was so much to see, we walked and walked and walked some more.  This was definitely a total immersion NFL experience any fan, whether die-hard or casual, should have an opportunity to be a part of.

Drafted #1

                                              

     We made the Pro Shop our last stop of the day. The checkout line snaked around and through the shop till you reached a mini maze of those airport ribbon barriers. When you arrived at the end of the line the cashiers waved a flag to signal who was next. We took a lot of pictures to document our day, which was a hell of a lot of fun.

                                     " Honey take the picture I"m on my tiptoes!"

                    Time for a brief respite and a selfie before the trip home.

      We hopped the Metro for the ride home, which was standing room only; stand we did all the way home. We had a couple of swings and misses trying to find a place for a decent sit down dinner, though we did witness another fabulous Arizona sunset. 

     

     We were both so tired and hungry by the time we sat down to eat we agreed we would have eaten a tire covered with butter. Everything hurt except my hair by the time we got home, though I wouldn’t have missed it for the world knowing how happy it made my lovely wife. Her smile at the end of the day made it all worthwhile. When Malcolm Butler made a game-saving interception the next day, it tied a nice bow on a great weekend.

Storm Stories

     Catching Wolf Blitzer on the Communist News Network reporting about the big storm hitting the Northeast today brought back memories of other big storms I’ve experienced in the ol’ Northeast.  I tuned in to the Weather Channel when I got home just to see what was going on.  It looks like Massachusetts and Connecticut have instituted travel bans, schools have already been closed for the next two days, the shelves at the grocery stores are empty, and the storm hasn’t even hit full force yet. Yikes! I remember similar times well; some memories were fond, others not so much, and some were downright ridiculous. I was always a Weather Channel watcher during the winter when I lived in New England, especially since I had to go out and plow that stuff.  Living in this part of Arizona we don’t get snow, though we do have crazy dust storms and flash flooding and those have their own special nightmare quality.

   Seeing the travel ban in Connecticut reminds me of the blizzard of ’78, which was the first time I ever experienced a travel ban.  The big storm hit only weeks after the Hartford Civic Center roof collapsed due to accumulated snow. I had been there for a Marshall Tucker concert a few days prior to the roof coming down; talk about something that made your butthole pucker just thinking about it. For today’s storm the authorities got out ahead of the worst of the storm with the travel ban. Back in ’78 we were already ass deep to an elephant in snow by the time the Gov said, “Hey everyone, stay home!”

     Did a travel ban stop me and my running buddies from going out and buzzing around town in my silly little Pinto wagon? Nope!  Armed with a quart of brandy and other necessary supplies we spent a good part of the first night of the ban driving around helping push people out of snowbanks.  Our typical reward being a few beers for our trouble; of course we all needed more of those for the antifreeze effect. Right. The night culminated at the park about a block from my house with the last of brandy thunked into a snow bank, a toboggan and a big hill. I made the mistake of sitting in the front on what turned out to be the last run. We hit a bump, everyone’s weight shifted forward and my knee went pop! When I tried to stand up to walk back up the hill my knee was having none of that and I proceeded to collapse in a heap. My buddies loaded me on the toboggan and fortunately the snow on the streets made the task for those drunken sled dogs only slightly less aggravating than if they were clear. No doubt anyone that happened to glance out their window wondered what that collection of knuckleheads was doing out in that mess. Damn kids!  I crawled upstairs to bed when I got home and passed out. I was reminded of my previous evening’s debauchery when I collapsed on the floor after I got out of bed the next morning. A trip to the ER revealed torn cartilage and resulted in a few months of rehab. It had to be the damn snow’s fault didn’t it?

    In the mid 80’s I was living in Richmond when we were hit with 3 good sized snowstorms back to back around the first of the year. If any area was totally unprepared to handle snow of that magnitude it was Richmond.  My street was never plowed during the storms and we were essentially housebound for a few days. I tried digging for some old pictures of that storm; alas, they have been gobbled up by the sands of time during my many moves. I remember the snow being deeper than the tires on my little Subaru. It was an interesting few days for sure; snowman, snow forts and snowball fights ensued. I was out driving in the first storm and got behind a snowplow spreading sand, I think that is what he was trying to do anyway. I was puttering down the road to my house when I came up behind this plow truck weaving back and forth across the road. He was driving very slowly, from one side of the road to the other and I wondered what the hell he was doing until I got close enough. There was a sander on the back of the truck that I guess was either broken or had been set to only trickle sand out the back to save the city a few bucks. This guy was sanding the road with about a 2” wide strip that intermittently drizzled from the chute as he wove back and forth across the road. Jackson Pollack eat your heart out, this was winter street art of an epic degree; he was leaving a nice little brown ribbon that ran crisscross on the road. It was obvious that he or someone else had done the same thing previously from the opposite direction. I nearly wet myself laughing. The typical post storm occurrence in the Richmond area happened over the next 5 days, as all the snow was gone after the temps went up into the 50’s.

     My last winter in Connecticut before moving out to Arizona we almost hit century records for snowfall that winter. That winter just didn’t want to let go and in March it dumped over 2 feet of snow during a span of about 36 hours. I had planned a 4 day weekend. Silly me. The wet heavy snow just kept falling; I started to wonder when it was going to stop. It was probably one of the toughest snow cleanups I ever had. I plowed that mess in an old rot box GMC with a lousy heater and no exhaust. I didn’t sleep that night and neither did anyone else in the neighborhood while the storm howled in harmony with that old truck. By the time I was finished, my legs felt like they weighed 400 pounds each after all the hours I spent pushing the gas and the clutch. I can’t neglect to mention the untold number of times I had to get out and clean frozen snow off the windshield due to the crappy heater. I hired a handful of folks to help clear sidewalks and we must have cleared everything at least 3 or 4 times to keep ahead of the snow that just kept falling. I was running out of places to put snow by the time it was over since we still had some big piles hanging around from previous storms. I was never so glad to park that old truck. I don’t know who was more beat up after that, me or the truck. I left for Arizona 3 months later.

     Plowing snow is not easy work, though it was probably my favorite winter sport; I was never a skier or skater. I had a lot of fun doing it despite the weather conditions and the physical demands.  There were many moments of hilarity that ensued when the plow truck hit the street.

     Weather predicting has been much better since the Blizzard of ’78, though everyone still has to deal with the storm once it hits. My sincere hope is that anyone in the path of this current storm can keep the lights on; the heat turned up, and wrap their hands around a warm cup of something to help them ride out the storm.

      

Mr. Zip is Watching

During any normal day I talk to folks all over the U S of A. One day last week I noticed something that I had never really given much thought to previously.  There was nothing I found that was horribly earth shattering or profound. It was just one of those mundane things that never received any conscious recognition on my part and I imagine most of the rest of you haven’t given more than a passing thought to either. I've had one of these everywhere I've lived since I was in 3 cornered pants, the rest of you probably had one too. The only time any of us really thinks about this is when we’re tossing something in the mailbox. Yep, I am talking about our friend the zip code.

     You may be asking yourself why hell is he writing about the zip code.  All I can say in my defense is this is what I get occasionally when something makes me stop and think, “Hmm, never noticed that before.” When I pull a loose thread on an old sweater I never know what I’m going to get, though occasionally I do have an idea what that pile of thread may look like, but not always.

     I happened to be having one of those days were I seemed to be talking to people from the Northeast, primarily the New England states. For the first time something dawned on me that I had never consciously acknowledged before; all the zip codes for the New England states start with a “0”. I spent a lot of years in the Northeast and had never noticed the connection before; just slap the old zip code on a letter or bill then send it off expecting it to make it to its destination. Who the hell thinks about their zip code or gives much thought to some silly bunch of numbers and wonders why they are what they are? Yours truly that’s who. I've always been somewhat of a numbers nut and as a kid would pour over the box scores in the newspaper on a daily basis just to devour the stats.  Numbers are still tasty, though stats I've come to realize rarely tell the whole story, though this little numbers game lit a spark in me. Thankfully, my pants didn't catch on fire.

     Filled with intrigue, well marginally anyway, I decided to investigate the mystery, which really isn't a mystery, though like any other mystery there were questions that couldn't be answered. The Zip Code was initially established in the early 60’s to help move the mail more efficiently, though they weren't mandatory at that time. How efficient mail delivery was prior to Zip Codes is up for debate. A few years later they were made mandatory for bulk rate mailings and the rest of the country followed along; the rest is as they say is history. 

    The Zip Code numbering system starts with the New England states, though I could not find a reason why they start there. I’d venture a guess it has something to do with the whole Plymouth Rock, Pilgrims, and the first thirteen colonies thing, but I could find nothing to refute or prove that either way. The country is basically divided into 10 zones, numbered 0 thru 9, and the first digit determines the zone.  The next two digits specify a region or city within that zone and the last two are for more specific locales.

     There are several business locations, like General Electric at Schenectady, NY and the Empire State building along with some government locations like the CIA and the main Post Office in Alexandria, VA that are actually assigned their own specific zip code. Santa Claus doesn't have a US Zip code, though the Canadians using there alphanumeric postal coding send all mail to him at Santa Claus North Pole H0h 0h0.

     I had a bit of fun with this little project as it developed and spent way more time on it than I should have; that numbers thing again I guess. I remembered being a kid and seeing the Public Service Announcements on TV with Mr. Zip reminding us to use our zip code. Little did I know at the time it was a relatively new addition to day to day life in the US. The video at the top is from the Library of Congress and runs about 14 minutes. If you can sit through the corny lyrics and goofy choreography the part in the middle with the guy sitting at the desk is worth it for the comic relief alone. It was obvious he was not cut out for being in front of a camera; he looked like he didn't know whether to shit or wind his watch. Thanks for joining me on my little history mystery and remember to use your zip code; Mr. Zip is watching.

Research Links:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KZWgioyrmBU

http://www.zipboundary.com/zipcode_history.html

http://www.quine.org/zip-all-01000.html

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mr._ZIP

Meh FL

     We are down to the final four of the ugliest NFL season I think I‘ve ever been witness too; in a word meh. The taint from off the field stuff that dominated headlines right up to opening kickoff threw an egg on the league’s face that dripped from its’ chin all season.  The decision to call more pass interference penalties gave the zebras too much influence in deciding games; as if that wasn’t the case already. Parity achieved appears to be the keyword to describe the season; a team with a losing record making the playoffs falls right in line with push to have every team end at 8-8 to make the playoff run more interesting. Not.

     There were some nice highlights in a season of lowlights and low life’s, with the commish at the top of the second list. The biggest surprise out of the gate had to be the Cardinals starting off at 9-1. Because they are essentially the Chicago Cubs of the NFL they didn’t really get any respect, though they did make the cover of SI. The possibility of a team playing a home game in the Super Bowl for the first time had some legs until Carson Palmer’s knee betrayed him.  Cardinal’s fans are left to ponder what may have been.

    The other surprise team would have to be Dallas, who most experts predicted would be lucky to win half their games with the defense they brought back. I doubt anyone suspected the reclamation project that defense was would end up actually playing as well as it did. DeMarco Murray’s assault on the season rushing record fizzled down the stretch, though it did add some excitement to an otherwise drab season.

     This was the epitome of a season with no best team. There wasn’t one team that dominated from the outset and the statistic that the best team only wins the championship about 25% of the time in any of the major league sports won’t matter for this season. There was no best team this year and the Super Bowl winner again will be the team that peaks during the playoffs.

     The awards handed out at the end of the season will probably bring more drama than the majority of the laundry fests that masqueraded as games this year.  Does anyone think Houston would have won 9 games without JJ Watt? I don’t think so. I think he has a good chance to be the first player since Lawrence Taylor to win both Player of the Year honors, though being on a non –playoff team will hurt his chances. The others in the mix like Murray, Aaron Rodgers, and Tom Brady all had great years and they also had a better group of players around them too. JJ gets my vote if I had one.

   Odell Beckham is a human highlight real and has to be the Rookie of the Year. No could ever confuse me for a Giants fan; their games, just like NASCAR just won’t come in on my TV, which is odd since I have satellite TV. This season though I had to gag myself with a spoon, then sit and watch the Giants just to see this kid play; he is special and has a ton of talent. Thanks Odell for helping me win a championship in one of my fantasy leagues.

   Bruce Arians gets my vote for Coach of the Year for keeping the Cardinals in the mix all season long despite losing some big time players even before the season started. It was unfortunate to see the wheels come off as the season wound down; the defense finally collapsed under the strain of having to be the offense too.

     The season did have its laugh out loud moments though with either the Jets, Redskins or Raiders seeming to be perpetually in  3^rd down and LOL type situations each  week; unless of course you’re a fan of one of those teams then you have my condolences for the mismanaged disasters those teams are.  Fans of the Bears, Saints and Falcons should ask for refunds on their season tickets for the half-hearted efforts those teams put on the field.

     I often found myself this season with an internal debate each Sunday deciding if I was going to watch the games; I don’t know any of these guys so why should it matter who wins? Some habits are hard to break, and this has been one I’ve been considering dumping for a few years, though I still allow myself to be sucked in by each fall.  I have no doubt I can find something to replace it, though my sock drawer doesn’t need to be reorganized on a weekly basis. My days of spending fall afternoons playing touch football on a street strewn with leaves are long in the rear view mirror and maybe it’s time to leave another fall tradition behind too..  

Cool as the Other Side of the Pillow

     When Stuart Scoot first started appearing on Sportscenter I wondered, “Who is this guy?”  I have to admit he made me laugh and was a great addition to the Sportscenter desk. I loved Kenny Mayne and Dan Patrick as a broadcast pair; their straight men deliveries often lead to hilarity. Chris Berman had been throwing references to songs and musicians into all his highlight shows for a good while already, so over the top silliness with a dash of personality on Sportscenter was definitely not outside the norm.

      Into that crazy mix dropped Stuart Scott and the bar was raised just a tad. With his signature lines, each delivered with their own specific cadence and emphasis he made himself stand out from not only the broadcasters on ESPN, but all the other networks as well.  Those signature lines were original and sounded like them just came naturally to him. I wondered when I first saw him on screen if those lines were stolen from some long forgotten standup comic on Holiday Inn cirucuit or a wannabe rapper street performer. No matter the origin of those lines, they made us sit down to watch and take notice.

      As I continued to tune into Sportscenter I noticed a change; as the old guard at ESPN were moving on the new guys were trying to be Stuart Scott and failing.  Sportscenter turned into an contest to see who could come up with the zingiest one liner to go through the highlights.  It is said that imitation is the greatest form of flattery; no one said the imitation had to be good. I realized after a while that Stuart Scott was in a class by himself; he owned who he was and shared it with the rest of us. If the highlight show had been music, then he was the Michael Jackson of Sportscenter; he had the music in him.

      I ‘ve watched some of the tributes to him over the past couple days as the news of his passing hit the airwaves and everyone seemed to have a story to tell about Stuart’s influence on their life and career.  There were two poignant moments that stood out to me from all the others. The first was from Robin Roberts, a tough and very cool lady who had her own battle with the Big C, and how the two of them helped each other fight the good fight. The other was from Keyshawn Johnson on Game Day. It was a side of him that I’ve never seen on air before. The huskiness of his voice as he related his Stuart story barely disguised the emotion it was obvious he was feeling. If anyone was going to cry on that set I would have expected it to be Cris Carter.

      I watched his acceptance speech at the ESPY’s for the Jimmy V award; dry eyes were not in attendance for this seat.

     The sports world and the rest of the world lost one of the good guys, who will forever remain as cool as the other side of the pillow.