A Pirate's Life for Me

Cue the Montage

2012-01-24T10:27:00.000-05:00

This is the part of our film where the protagonist is supposed to look into the mirror, see the awful reflection, shave, put on a tie and get down to business. I have been in four months of absolute hell. Be right back, I'm going to go look in the mirror.

By Request

2012-01-13T11:05:00.000-05:00

“Tell me a story,” she said.

“What kind of story?”

”A true one.”

“Have I ever told you about the time I met Kris Kristofferson?”

“Not that kind of story. You know the kind I want.”

He paused for a moment and took a long pull on his beer before setting it downand fixing his gaze on hers. He leaned back and reflected in the afternoon sun.The café was half-busy inside, but they were the only two who had braved theheat of the sidewalk tables. The waitress came out and asked if everything wasalright. After assent, she turned to walk inside. His gaze followed her bounceand sway through the door. His companion kept her eyes on his.

“When I was an instructor at the University a few years ago, I spent mostevenings in a little bar just off campus. It was too small to attract bigcrowds of undergrads, so the patrons were usually professors, grad students,and a few third and fourth years. It was quiet, so it was a good place to bringsomeone you wanted to talk to as the booths were dark and private.”

“I like dark and private,” she offered.

“In the middle of the room,” he continued, “there was an eight top that was thegathering spot for groups. I liked to sit in the corner booth where I couldwatch the table. I had a writing exercise where I would create stories for thecustomers each night when I went home. It was usually a group of soon-to-begraduates getting together one last time to toast their success. Sometimes, itwould be parents, bringing their kids in to show off the school and how coolthey used to be, trying to get them to attend the old alma mater.”

He took another drink and lightly touched her skin just below the crook of herelbow. “We may have to go soon, to get out of this sun,” he said.

“After your story.”

“OK. One night, a group of six third-year students came in: three guys andthree girls. Four of them were students of mine, two of each sex. The guys hadno interest in my class and were fortunate to get gentleman “Cs. One of the girlswas an earnest writer, always turning in papers twice as long as required. Ispent a few sessions with her, trying to get her to realize that more words arenot better if they are not the right ones. She would ask questions and pointout her love of Faulkner and Steinbeck and I would point her to Hemingway,telling her to ‘cut, cut, cut.’ The other girl in my class was . . .” He pausedfor a moment and looked down the street to the newsstand, busy selling drinksand candy to the working suits. “She was interesting,” he finally finished.

“Oohh, interesting. Does that mean she had big boobs?” she asked with a slygrin.

He smiled back, “Actually, they were not that big. Very nice, though. They lookedheavy in her sweaters. They were like big grapefruits that were twice as heavyas you expect when you pick them up. You remember how Jennifer Aniston filledout a sweater on ‘Friends,’ that’s what they looked like.”

”Did you pick the beautiful, heavy grapefruits up, professor?”

“That’s for maybe later in the story, young lady. For now, think of them aspotentials, because that is how I looked at them in class every week as she satin my class. Perfectly weighted and shaped potentials.”

He pulled his chair closed to hers and leaned in. “You smellwonderful.”

“I’ll smell like sweat in a little bit. You won’t mind will you?”

“Only if you don’t. Actually, it doesn’t matter if you mind or not. I certainlywon’t. Would you like another?” He motioned to the waitress to bring two morebefore she nodded. He knew she wanted another one and would wait, and drink,and listen to the story for as long as it took; Or as long as she would let himtell it before insisting they leave to go to the apartment upstairs.

“Well, what was so interesting about her?” she asked after the glasses had beenplaced in front of them.

“At first, I thought she was one of those “Twilight” girls. Her first fewassignments were about vampires. For a few years, forty-percent of papers dealtwith damn vampires and werewolves and sensitive girls who couldn’t choose whichwhiny monster they wanted to tame. Then, I noticed her stories didn’t followthe usual pattern. She was cruel to her characters which is strange for awriter, much less a young one. Most writers love their creations and hate tomake them go through anything difficult unless they win the heart of theirbeloved or some such nonsense in the end. She was tough, though. Her vampireseither ended up killing the girls or fell prey themselves to vengeful lovers.There was no happy ending in her stories.”

“Maybe she was just mean.”

“I think she was a little mean,” he conceded. “But, there was more than that.She had a darkness in her writing that you could only see on paper. When shecame to class, she practically jumped through the door and into her seat; thevery definition of ‘bubbly’. She was full of energy, not like the Goths whotried to live the words they were putting on paper. She was a person separatefrom her writing, which sounds obvious, but is rare for a really good writer,which it turned out she was.”

”You’re not going to tell me one of her stories, are you?” she said with aslight pout.

“What if I am in it?”

”That might work. Do you think she would tell me one?”

“You might be her type actually. She always seemed to behanging around big-bosomy blondes.”

“Well, this story might get interesting after all,” she said, leaning forwardand grabbing his glass before raising it to her lips and taking a gulp. Shetook another. “Buy me another drink, sailor?”

“Only if you promise to love me long time,” he replied with a smile as he raisedhis hand to signal for two more.

Once the waitress had come and gone, he took a drink and began again. “The sixof them came in the bar and sat at the big table. I was in my usual spot,drinking a few Smithwicks and observing the room.”

”Is this the same bar where you nailed the waitress in that back booth?” Shewas getting a little loose now, four beers into the afternoon and six hoursfrom breakfast. Her skin had moistened in the heat and now shone in hercleavage and neck.

“She was actually one of the owners who was waitressing that night because theywere short-handed. I offered to pitch in and she accepted.” He took anotherpull. “You know that story already.”

”I love that story,” she said. “It ends great.”

“I remember it did end great last time I told it to you. Thank you for that.”

”You are most welcome. I trust this lengthy tale you are telling me now has anappropriate ending as well?”

“We’ll have to wait to find out, won’t we?”

“I might get bored and leave,” she said with a slight sneer.

“I bet I can get our server to listen to the end of it,’ he replied with aslight raise of his brow.

“Alright, mother-fucker. Finish your story,” she grinned.

He smiled back at her. “They sat, girls on one side, boys on the other. She wasat the end closest to me, facing my way. Each girl seemed to be paired with theguy across from her, but I noticed there was very little interaction across thetable. The guys all had their phones out and had their heads down, typing away,while the girls looked at one another and talked. Whenever a guy would put hisphone down for a beat, it seemed the girl across from him would pull hers outand start peering at it. The guy would sit there dumbly for a moment, then goright back to his own screen. I watched this for an hour as the guys split twopitchers of beer and the girls drank wine without eye contact being made adozen times between the six of them. I couldn’t figure out if they were on agroup date, were brothers and sisters, or were complete strangers who happenedto sit at the same table. While I sat there and pondered the axiom of youthbeing wasted on the young, I caught the eye of my girl every few minutes. Shewould smile and look away before looking back at the boy across from her andthen at one of the other girls. She would always come back to me, though. Shegot bolder, holding my gaze a little longer each time, touching her hair andtaking sips from her glass of wine. I sat there and practically leered, rarelyaverting my gaze. She had an “A” already, the semester was over, and I wasgoing to be at a new job in a few weeks so I had no reason to be coy.

She was in jeans and a sweater that clung to her. I wasactually pissed at the kid she was with for not trying harder with her. She wasdamn sexy and it was obvious she was in the mood for at least some seriousflirting and all he could do was sit there and type on his phone. I wanted tocall her over and put my hand on her ass and dip her, kissing her for a minute,the standing her up and telling the kid, “that’s how you do it dumbass,’ thensitting back down and finishing my beer.”

His companion was silent now, anticipating the path of the tale, leaningforward, lips apart. She had stopped drinking. The beads of sweat had begun tosuccumb to gravity and were making their way deep into her blouse. His eyesfollowed them down. She noticed and became suddenly self-conscious, pullingback in her chair and placing her hand across her chest. His dark eyes hadstartled her when she had looked into them. The lust was reflected in her ownand the animal nature of the afternoon had overcome her for a moment. Shesmiled and leaned back in towards him. “I know that look,” she purred.

“You should.”

He took another drink and offered his glass toher. She took it and drained it in one long turn, then gasped for breath as shealmost slammed the glass back on the table. “Ready for more?” he asked.

“I’m ready for just about anything right now, big man. You can finish yourlittle story though,” she said, leaning back and letting her knees fall apartwith one hand fingering her own neck and the other laying provocatively in herlap.

“It won’t take too long to finish.”

“Is that what you told her?”

He smiled, leaned forward and touched her knee, causing her to slightly shiverdespite the heat. “After the boys finished the second pitcher, they all stoodto leave. She looked at me as she walked around the end of the table andtowards the door with her opposite trailing behind her. Before she turned herback to me, she mouthed ‘I’ll be right back’ in a manner that none of hercompanions could see. I ordered another beer and a glass of wine and waited.Five minutes passed before she walked back in and strode right past me withoutlooking. She walked down the back hallway, but trailed her hand up my arm andacross my shoulder, brushing my hair as she passed. In a few minutes, shereappeared and sat down beside me in the booth.”

Coffee

2011-10-04T12:28:00.001-04:00

I gave myself an hour and the front and back of the Note page provided by the Convention Center at the Seminar this morning. Whatever else it is, it is something creative I did today. (Tip of the Hat to WW)

Rodentia!

2011-10-03T22:03:00.001-04:00

You know what makes me laugh? A squirrel falling out of a tree. I mean really falling: thirty feet at least. I have only seen it once. I was at ECU in a park-like common area in the lower campus near Umstead when I noticed two squirrels giving each other hell about something. They were both on the ground about a foot apart, jawing back and forth over an acorn or a Nab someone had dropped. All of sudden, one took off up the closest tree with the other one right on his tail. They went around three times on the way and three more on the way down before hitting the ground and running to the next big tree in line where they proceeded to twirl their way up to the lowest branches. There were a few jumps between limbs and I lost sight of them as the leaves were in, but I could see the movement and hear the scritch-scratching of their little claws as they tunneled through the foliage. Then, one of them burst from the coverage and headed out a big white oak limb. The other took a moment to find his bearings before starting pursuit on the same piece of wood. Before the second could gain any distance, the inexplicable happened. I thought squirrels were the most sure-footed little furry SOB's there were. What, with their scurrying around on telephone wires and thin ledges of buildings and all. This fellow though, must have gotten into the Sunday morning trash behind Umstead and been a little unsteady on his feet. It was a long way away, but I swear I saw his foot slip off the limb right before he fell the distance of a first down to the ground. I fancied I heard a little cry of ,” craaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaap.”

When he hit, he bounced. Just a little. Then he was still for a heartbeat before popping up and heading straight to and up the tree he and his nemesis had climbed seconds before, apparently none the worse for wear.

I lost track of the second one and assumed he skidded to a safe stop before tipping his cap to the daredevil who was willing to go to such lengths. I went back every once in awhile for the rest of the year with a pack of crackers ready to throw down as bait. If there had been YouTube back then, it could have been the rodent version of Bum Wars and you could share in my mirth. For while I get no pleasure of watching two lonely alcoholics duke it out, you trade them in for squirrels with slippery feet and you've got a pocket full of laughs.

Overlord

2011-06-06T12:00:00.002-04:00

The British had gained control of the air and the Russians were making huge strides to the east. America had been gearing up in Europe and had landed in Italy while hopping islands in the Pacific. On the night of June 5, 1944, a 19 year old Sergeant from South Carolina prepared to jump into France with his colleagues from the 82 Airborne Division.

I wonder if Uncle John Lloyd is in any of those photos you see of Ike visiting the paratroops the eve before D-Day. I wonder why he volunteered to switch companies and jump, as his unit was not scheduled to. Was he embarrassed he had been stricken with appendicitis soon after jumping into Sicily? He had already been through about the most rigorous training the Army had to offer. He had nothing to prove to anyone but himself. I wonder how my Dad felt on the day the Western Union man came to the door, fifteen years old and losing his favorite brother so soon after losing his Father in a train accident. How did Granny handle it? I know she turned to prayer and belief in God's will. Is that the time Dad lost his faith?

John Lloyd had not been home since he had left over two years before. I suppose he wrote letters as that is what you always see in the old movies. Today, the troops are able to keep in touch through blogs and cell phones. Imagine someone having to call home from the belly of a C-47.

"No, I can talk. The light is still red."
"Yeah. We're about to jump. Don't worry. It's what we've been trained to do."
" I said don't worry. Alright, every body's standing up, I've got to go."
"Yes."
"Yes."
"Yes. I have it all. Kiss the kids. The light's green. I love you.""

I wonder about the last time my Dad spoke with him. What did John Lloyd tell him when he left? To take care of their Mother? Uncle Monk was joined up and gone by then. Uncle George was blind. Two of the three girls were already grown and out of the home. The young teen was going to be the only sighted male in the house for awhile.

My youngest Aunt was seventeen and was too busy to go to the prayer meeting at Ebenezer Church on June 5, 1944. She went out with her friends instead. To this day, she feels ashamed she was not there to pray for the troops and her brother. It's silly to think that way of course, but she still speaks bitterly of herself when she remembers that day sixty-seven years ago.

He was first buried in a temporary grave in the days after the invasion. Later, the family had a choice to bring his body home for burial as many so chose to do. They decided to allow him to remain where he fell, a solemn marble cross marking his final resting place alongside thousands of others. Granny never saw his grave. I don't know if she ever flew in her life. Her faith told her she would see her boy again. Whole. Healthy. Shining that sly smile that runs in that side of the family. The smile I see on my oldest already.

There are photos of the temporary grave. Uncle Monk must have been able to find it during his time there. In the Ardennes, he ran into members of John Lloyd's unit. They spoke fondly of their fallen comrade, but there was other work still to do.

The other children made the trip over the years, some more than once, finding tangible proof of their family's sacrifice noted in a peaceful field overlooking the Channel. One day I will make that journey. I plan to sit and talk to him. I expect my children will ask, "Mommy, why is Daddy crying?" She'll have a good answer. She usually does. Then, I'll probably pull them all close to me and hug them fiercely, as I am sure Granny did with John Lloyd when he left Florence County for the last time in 1942. As I am sure she would have given almost anything to do so again every day for the next thirty-six years.

From The State Newspaper

"John Lloyd Johnson Jr., of Florence, was a sergeant in the 505 Parachute Infantry Regiment. His brother, W.W. Johnson, of West Columbia, visited his grave at Normandy for the first time on Memorial Day last year. 'It affected me more than I expected that it would,” he said. “I was 15 when he died. He was my older brother, and he was my hero.'”

John L. Johnson, Jr.
Sergeant, U.S. Army
Parachute Infantry
Airborne Division
Entered the Service from: South Carolina
Died: 6-Jun-44
Buried at: Plot F Row 21 Grave 28
Normandy American Cemetery
Colleville, France
Awards: Purple Heart

Soldiers, Sailors and Airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force!
You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward
which we have striven these many months. The eyes of
the world are upon you. The hopes and prayers of liberty loving
people everywhere march with you. In company with
our brave Allies and brothers-in-arms on other Fronts,
you will bring about the destruction of the German war
machine, the elimination of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed
peoples of Europe, and security for ourselves in a free
world.
Your task will not be an easy one. Your enemy is
well trained, well equipped and battle-hardened.
He will fight savagely.
But this is the year I944 ! Much has happened since the
Nazi triumphs of I940-4I. The United Nations have inflicted
upon the Germans great defeats, in open battle,
man-to-man. Our air offensive has seriously reduced
their strength in the air and their capacity to wage
overwhelming superiority in weapons and munitions of
war, and placed at our disposal great reserves of trained
fighting men. The tide has turned ! The free men of
the world are marching together to Victory !
I have full confidence in your courage, devotion to
duty and skill in battle. We will accept nothing less
than full Victory !
Good Luck ! And let us beseech the blessing of Almighty
God upon this great and noble undertaking."Yes. I have it all. Kiss the kids. The light's green. I love you."

Vampire Dreams

2011-03-10T10:51:00.003-05:00

I guess the credit can go to Falstaff, or to the casting agents that have put Judy Greer in every television show over the last few years, but I had a vivid dream the other night that could have ended a number of interesting ways. While sitting in a seat that appeared to be in an airplane or a train, I felt a presence over my left shoulder. Looking up, I saw Ms. Greer descending upon my neck with a set of pearly, white fangs.

"What are you doing," I asked, somewhat annoyed as I had been quietly reading.

"I am a vampire. I am going to suck your blood," Ms. Greer replied.

"If you are a vampire, you have super-human strength, right?"

"Of course I do"

"Well then, pick me up."

She wrapped her arms around me and strained. I could tell she was trying with all her might, but I just would not budge. "Anytime now," I implored her, knowing that she was about at the point of giving up.

She released me and looked down, resignation etched into her face. 'Go sit down." I said. Her shoulders drooped as she turned and returned to her seat, still thirsty. I returned to my reading. Only after waking in the morning did I realize this story could have ended so differently in the hands of another, more talented dreamer. Maybe if I send it to Showtime after Dark . . .

When Kids Cry-bump bump, bump bump

2010-06-25T12:53:00.002-04:00

There he was, on my television screen, all smiles as only a seven or eight old can be; so happy his favorite team had scored a run in the twelfth inning of a rare college pitchers’ duel where double digit scores are not uncommon, especially deep into the brackets of a double-elimination series. He was so happy. I couldn’t help but think back to my earliest memory of being a Gamecock fan. It was at the 1977 College World Series and I was eight years old. I do not know why I was so interested as sports were not a big thing with my parents, and neither of them had any special interest in the University of South Carolina or its athletics. Maybe it was because I had started playing baseball the year before, and I saw a future for myself in the exploits of what must have looked like grown men to me at the time. In the opening game against Baylor, Chuck McLean hit a ball deep. I clearly remember him approaching third and blowing through the stop sign to make it all the way home for an inside the park home run to win the game. Now that is excitement for a kid. I remember being so happy; Just like that little kid in the Oklahoma cap. That’s when I said it. Out loud. “I want to see that kid crying in thirty minutes.”

A Carolina fan is sure it is going to go wrong in a tight game. Tanner is going to order a bunt, the batter is going to pop it up, and the rally will be killed. The best hitter on the team is going to go 0-5 and strike out looking to end the game. A freshman is going to be called on to pitch and allow a home run to win the game for the Sooners. Well, a lot of that happened last night. I am rapidly losing my affection for the bunt as a valid baseball tool. Argue it all you want, but someone will make one that makes just as much sense as yours, if not more. I know the desire to get the runner into scoring position, but with Tanner’s long-standing Earl Weaverian ways, it is shocking to see him call for so many bunts, and then numbing to see so many attempts go awry. I am convinced selective memory plays a part in this. “It worked against Auburn in 2004, so it should work again.”

So, when the freshman gave up the home run, and Marzilli went 0-2 on two bunt attempts and then popped out, and the best hitter came up for his sixth at-bat on the tail end of an !OH FOR FIVE! Night, it would be natural for the Carolina fan to turn away from the TV and decide how much they really wanted to pull for Clemson the beat OU and make it to the finals. Selective memory plays a part here as well because I know you remember that time that USC lost the game because that great hitter struck out looking after being up 3-0 in the count and the wind was blowing out and there were five guys on base because the umps wouldn’t let the runners cross the plate because the ACC still has a conspiracy against the Gamecocks because they are still mad Lew Alcindor was supposed to come to USC so they screwed us on that deal too and told him he wouldn’t be accepted in Columbia which is so untrue it’s not even funny because we would have embraced him as soon as he led us to a national championship which would have changed the entire fortune of all the programs and we wouldn’t be reduced to only being able to give the ladies track team a standing ovation every time they are mentioned which isn’t a bad thing because those girls were fast and smokin’ and I think there is an equestrian championship as well, but that may not even be an NCAA recognized event so we just usually lean forward in our chairs and get most of our butts off the seat to clap before realizing the horses probably did most of the work anyway and the team just sat on them so it’s probably OK for us to sit and clap for them, but if those horses were there by gosh, those beasts would get a standing O plus an apple or some other delicious treat that was handy, but then we remembered the batter did strike out and the Gamecocks lost yet another close one and we felt bad about it, but how bad could we really feel knowing another tough one was bound to come along sooner and later?

But this time we remembered: That was Jackie Bradley Junior at the plate and 0-5 be damned. This kid can hit. He wasn’t even sweating in the Omaha heat like the rest of us back in Columbia. He was cool man, cool, and took the count full for drama before smacking in the tying run in the form of Robert Beary who is my new hero because he bats Vlad Guerro style with no gloves. If Ted Williams didn’t need them, why does anybody on the Pirates? Would Williams have hit .500 in ’41 if he had worn them or would he have been beaned for being a glove-wearing dandy? Damn it, Jackie Bradley Junior, you are one awesome cat and up there with Francisco Cabrera in my book, big man, with that game tying hit. But wait, let’s send up Brady Thomas after a walk from the rattled OU pitcher . Thomas is the kid who is playing because the other kid who hit a million home runs last year was ineligible to play early this season and hasn’t been able to get his groove back since. Brady didn’t have time for the drama and took the first pitch he saw in the twelfth straight back up the middle to make his night a 1-6 one as well to knock in Jackie Bradley Junior who was able to make it even with the stumble around third caused by a conspiracy of turf specialists still mad at Carolina for having artificial turf in the football stadium in the 70’s.

It ended right there, 3-2 Gamecocks and I smiled. They didn’t show the kid. I would have been sad if they had. Then, I would have remembered he will grow up a Sooner fan and will feel entitled to a national championship in football every three or four years at least. Then, I would have smiled again and thought, “We’ve got Jackie Bradley Junior. We’ve still got a chance.”

Uncle John Lloyd

2010-06-06T13:26:00.003-04:00

I wonder if Uncle John Lloyd is in any of those photos you see of Ike visiting the paratroops the eve before D-Day. I wonder why he volunteered to switch companies and jump, as his unit was not scheduled to. Was he embarrassed he had been stricken with appendicitis soon after jumping into Sicily? He had already been through about the most rigorous training the Army had to offer. He had nothing to prove to anyone but himself I suppose. I wonder how my Dad felt on the day the Western Union man came to the door, fifteen years old and losing his favorite brother so soon after losing his Dad in a train accident. How did Granny handle it? I know she turned to prayer and belief in God's will. Is that the time Dad lost his faith?

John Lloyd had not been home since he had left over two years before. I suppose he wrote letters as that is what you always see in the old movies. Today, the troops are able to keep in touch through blogs and cell phones. Imagine someone having to call home from the belly of a C-47, "No, I can talk. The light is still red. Yeah. We're about to jump. Don't worry. It's what we've been trained to do. I said don't worry. Alright, every body's standing up, I've got to go. Yes. Yes. Yes. I have it all. Kiss the kids. The light's green. I love you."

I wonder about the last time my Dad spoke with him. What did John Lloyd tell him when he left? To take care of their Mother? Uncle Monk was joined up and gone by then. Uncle George was blind. Two of the three girls were already grown and out of the home. The young teen was going to be the only sighted male in the house for awhile.

My youngest Aunt was seventeen and was too busy to go to the prayer meeting at Ebenezer Church on June 5, 1944. She went out with her friends instead. To this day, she feels ashamed she was not there to pray for the troops and her brother. It's silly to think that way of course, but she still speaks bitterly of herself when she remembers that day sixty five years ago.

He was first buried in a temporary grave as most were in the days after the invasion. Later, the family had a choice to bring his body home for burial as so many so chose. They decided to allow him to remain where he fell, a solemn marble cross marking his final resting place alongside thousands of others. Granny never saw his grave. I don't know if she ever flew in her life. Her faith told her she would see her boy again. Whole. Healthy. Shining that sly smile that runs in that side of the family. The smile I see on my oldest already. There are photos of the temporary grave. Uncle Monk must have been able to find it during his time there. In the Ardennes, he ran into members of John Lloyd's unit. They spoke fondly of their fallen comrade, but there was other work still to do.

The other children made the trip over the years, some more than once, finding tangible proof of their family's sacrifice noted in a peaceful field overlooking the Channel. One day I will make that journey. I plan to sit and talk to him. I expect my children will ask, "Mommy, why is Daddy crying?" She'll have a good answer. She usually does. Then, I'll probably pull them all close to me and hug them fiercely, as I am sure Granny did with John Lloyd when he left Florence County for the last time in 1942. As I am sure she would have given almost anything to do so again every day for the next thirty-six years.

From The State Newspaper

"John Lloyd Johnson Jr., of Florence, was a sergeant in the 505 Parachute Infantry Regiment. His brother, W.W. Johnson, of West Columbia, visited his grave at Normandy for the first time on Memorial Day last year. 'It affected me more than I expected that it would,” he said. “I was 15 when he died. He was my older brother, and he was my hero.'”

John L. Johnson, Jr.
Sergeant, U.S. Army
Parachute Infantry
Airborne Division
Entered the Service from: South Carolina
Died: 6-Jun-44
Buried at: Plot F Row 21 Grave 28
Normandy American Cemetery
Colleville, France
Awards: Purple Heart

Soldiers, Sailors and Airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force!
You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward
which we have striven these many months. The eyes of
the world are upon you. The hopes and prayers of liberty loving
people everywhere march with you. In company with
our brave Allies and brothers-in-arms on other Fronts,
you will bring about the destruction of the German war
machine, the elimination of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed
peoples of Europe, and security for ourselves in a free
world.
Your task will not be an easy one. Your enemy is
well trained, well equipped and battle-hardened.
He will fight savagely.
But this is the year I944 ! Much has happened since the
Nazi triumphs of I940-4I. The United Nations have inflicted
upon the Germans great defeats, in open battle,
man-to-man. Our air offensive has seriously reduced
their strength in the air and their capacity to wage
overwhelming superiority in weapons and munitions of
war, and placed at our disposal great reserves of trained
fighting men. The tide has turned ! The free men of
the world are marching together to Victory !
I have full confidence in your courage, devotion to
duty and skill in battle. We will accept nothing less
than full Victory !
Good Luck ! And let us beseech the blessing of Almighty
God upon this great and noble undertaking.

Everything is Exotic Somewhere

2010-05-02T14:00:00.002-04:00

When I travel, I like to try the local fare. In 2007, I stopped in Cheyenne, Wyoming looking for lunch. The GPS had directed me to a restaurant that was no longer open, so I grabbed the first guy I saw walking down the street and asked if there was anyplace around to eat. In an accent that was very close to what I have heard before from South Dakota Mennonite's he stated plainly, "There is an Arby's down the street."

"No, no," I stated, "I want to go someplace local. Someplace we don't have back home."

"Oh, do you have a Chili's?"

"We sure do."

"How about Outback?"

He finally directed me to a brewpub (Bonus!) and we had a fine lunch before continuing on our way.

Drinking one of my April Beer of the Month club selections today (the April's Fool choice) reminded me of another such occurrence in my travels. In June 2009, we were on our way to the Badlands when we went through Vermillion, South Dakota. Vermillion is a University town as well as being the name of some of my in-laws, so I had a special interest in spending a little bit of time there. We drove around the campus of the University of South Dakota for a bit before pulling into a gas station for a refill. Used to be, especially in the South, you could find a host of regional products in the cases of off the track filling stations. You used to never have to settle for a Coke or Pepsi as RC Cola was always available. If you were in the mood, Nugrape was usually there as well. Nowadays, as a general rule, the corporate conglomerates have bought out everything and stores stock only Coke or Pepsi products. Every once in awhile, you can still stumble across a gold mine of strange brands that let you feel as though you have participated in something special, something that helps support and perpetuate the great American small-time entrepreneur and his big ideas.

Even thought soft drinks are almost completely homogenized now, there is still a chance to support the little guy and do yourself some good. That's right; Beer. With micro-breweries seemingly everywhere, the American beer market has shed it's reputation of being awful. Even while Europeans continue to let the mass brewers move in and increase market share at the expense of centuries old brewers, we here have moved our tastes and our hearts to those who see beer as more than just a beverage on the road to mind alteration (not that there is anything wrong with that).

So, in the back aisle of a convenience store in Vermillion, I stalked back and forth, strolling past the AB and Miller products, moving towards the "exotic" end of the refrigerated case. The green of Heineken and the clear of Corona reflected off my irises, but I could not find the tell-tale brown bottles with the unique labels signifying something new and different. My shopping habits (the aforementioned stalking, the staring and touching, the grabbing and putting back) have often aroused suspicion or curiosity in stores. Here, on the edge of the West, curiosity won out. The clerk came back to stand and stare with me at the case. "What you looking for," he asked helpfully.

"When I get away from home, I like to try the local beer. You know, something different than I can get at home," I stated.

"Ahh," he sighed with a knowing look and moved over a few feet in the case. "You ever had Mickey's?"

"Yeah, I have. Thanks, man. Have a good one"

E-Mail

2010-04-20T12:54:00.002-04:00

Ha. I was just informed my e-mail at Blogger was no good. Alltel no longer forwards to my current one. If you have e-mailed me since May 15 2009 and I haven't responded, sorry. It's updated now.

Of Apple Pie and Eternity

2010-04-13T20:55:00.002-04:00

Field of Dreams makes me cry. There, I said it. It is not just that scene either. You know the one. Ray finally has that catch with his Dad which somehow melts all the hurt off their souls which had culminated with an act for which Ray could not forgive himself. First off, I wasn't sure what “Have a catch” meant for the longest time. Here, we say we are going to throw the ball, as in, “Where y'all going?” “We're going to throw the ball.” The catch is implied. Secondly, not only do I love my Dad, I actually like the guy and always have. There aren't too many Father-Son issues between us. Even with all that, I do find myself choking up a bit at that scene, but, by that point, I've dampened my shirt a few times already. Early on in the movie, after the field has been built, but before Ray has gone off on his search for Darth Vader, the old linthead, Shoeless Joe Jackson (inexplicably played by Ray Liotta), asks Ray if he is in Heaven. “No,” Ray replies, “It's Iowa.” That is the first scene that moves me and I pretty much am a mess for the rest of the movie.

Baseball could be a lot like Heaven. The grass is green. It is most often played in beautiful weather. At the higher levels, there is beer and someone to bring it to you along with your boiled peanuts. Everyone is wearing nice uniforms, crisp and white for the home team, a distinguished gray for visitors. None of that gaudy, garish green or blue you might find in Hell. Pure class all the way. There could be worse ways to spend an eternity.

Since I can remember, I have been worried about death and eternity. Worried. Obsessed. It is all the same. As soon as I can wrap my head around either, I realize I haven't a clue and the freak out begins anew. The best I have been able to come up with is that I am a finite being and have no hope of understanding the infinite. That usually gives me some peace as I truly do believe we are at a point in our evolution that there are still things out there that are truly incomprehensible to us. Why worry about something I have no ability to solve?

Part of my time is spent on the quest for God. I often pray, usually silently and furtively, asking to be a better man, father, husband, friend. I am not one to go out looking for signs. I eat my toast without a second glance, using the first only to confirm it has been buttered before I apply my peach jam. Quite often, my faith leaves me to be replaced by what I feel to be my rational side, sure that our biological function shall cease and there shall be me no more. “Signs” are suspect to me anyway. I actively shun superstition in most of my life. I do not care where I sit at a poker table, what I wear, what I ate, or what the last hand was. Apart from pocket aces, I don't have a “favorite” hand. It is dumb to think otherwise. I pick up pennies, especially if they are “tails” up. Hell, I would walk under ladders if I wasn't scared of having a paint bucket dropped on my head. In short, I feel dumb when I believe in things that can't be proved. I am no scientist by profession, but I would look good playing one on TV.

Every once in awhile, something will happen that will give me pause for a moment and boost my faith. On April 2, I was reading Three Cups of Tea. It is an astounding book which I feel everyone who cares about anything should read. In short, a big American failed to summit K2 and ended up stranded in a remote Pakistani village. He was treated so kindly, he decided he should return and build a school for the children of the village, boys and girls. Oh yeah, this was a Muslim village and was just a few years before the Taliban started using that part of the World to stage for Afghanistan. After overcoming a long series of obstacles, he finally finished his first school and started searching for a spot for his second. Unfortunately, he ended up in Waziristan and soon found himself being held captive for eight days before being loaded into a truck, blind-folded, hooded, and tied. For most of those eight days, he tried to explain his mission to bring schools to all the youths of Pakistan-probably not the brightest idea in a culture where education of Women is not particularly encouraged nor tolerated. He asked for a Koran he could not read, prayed five times a day at the call of the Adhan, and caused no problems for his captors but for the question of what to do with him. Finally, he found himself bound in he back of the truck, braced by machine gun toting, hashish smelling men who gave no indication of his fate other than their very own appearance. Offered a cigarette, Mortenson refused, thinking he did not want the last taste in his mouth that of tobacco and hash. Instead, his thoughts dwelled on his soon to be born daughter and brave Wife, sitting at home in Bozeman, wondering why his promised phone call of the week before had not occurred. Finally, the trucked stopped and he was lifted to the ground as he heard the gunfire in the air all around him. Waiting for the bullet that would end it all, he was shocked when his hood was torn off and he saw the revelry and cheer on the faces circling. “What's going on?” was his obvious question. He was immediately told it would probably be best if he didn't worry too much about that, just understand that it was a bit complicated and it could have gone either way for him. Suffice it to say that this group had decided they were happy to have this particular American in their region and happy to have him build schools for all the boys and girls he wanted. In fact, here's a little bit to help you and 400 rupees were pressed into his hand.

That part got me. This guy had given up what we consider a normal life to do the extraordinary for a group of people roundly ignored by the Western World unless we needed them to fight the Soviets or were worried about their access to a government that controls a large nuclear stockpile. He worked as a night nurse in a burn unit to get enough money to buy his plane tickets to Pakistan. He sent 508 letters asking for donations and got one response (Tom Brokaw with a $100 check included). Whatever hardship was thrown in his way, he stepped over because he had decided his purpose was to help children of a generation that had no chance at any type of formal education unless he did it. Without Greg Mortenson, there is no way this would be done, especially considering what was about to happen in 2001. Now, it all appeared as it was about to end off the tailgate of a truck in a backwater of Pakistan with a bullet(s) that had probably been appropriated by the U.S. Congress. All of a sudden, there was a new beginning. Unbelievably, his life had been spared in a region where another disappearance would soon occur with a tragic result.

When I finished the chapter, I wept. “There,” I thought, “Proof of God in the salvation of Greg Mortenson.” I didn't let the usual thoughts of “Where was God when Daniel Pearl went missing?,” or “How about all those kids picking up cluster bombs because they look like toys?” No, for a moment, my faith was absolute, proven by an event ten years ago on the other side of the World.

Within thirty minutes, I was back to despair. I washed some clothes, read some more, and generally goofed off. Looking out the window as the sun was just beginning to set, I realized it was all happenstance. I was here by chance and there was no use worrying about anything I could not control. But, the worry never ceases. At that moment, on the radio came a song I've heard maybe twice in my life on this particular station. “Gotta Serve Somebody,” came gently through the air. A Jewish fella, I think, converted to Christianity and put out an album about which a lot of Dylanites sneer. I don't know where Bob sits these days on the scale of cosmic creation, but he got me there on this particular day. Nicely played Lord.

That night, I went to a six-year-old's baseball game. Excuse me, seven-year-old. It was his birthday. Earlier, we were at Chuck-E-Cheese with a passel of his friends and our family. Everybody had a grand old time and I dominated the skee-ball. It's what I do. At the ballgame, Jack struck out in his first plate appearance, making it five in a row over the first three games. This is his first year and he is struggling to figure out how to play the game. Scratch that, he knows how to play; With a big smile on his face. Everything else is gravy. Anyway, he came up again in the third and promptly took the first pitch (didn't swing). He turned his head to stare at me. I nodded my head in approval as I had told him after his first at-bat to not swing at the first pitch next time. He needed to learn he did not have to swing just because the ball was pitched. Mission accomplished. The next two pitches were swinging strikes, but the swings were better as the work with the tee was obviously paying off. With two strikes, he swung exactly on time and the ball pinged to the hole in short. It took a moment for everyone to realize that Jack was standing at the plate watching the path of the ball along with the rest of us. “RUN!” came the roar of the crowd. Everyone knew it was the first time he had hit the ball and they wanted him to make it to first. Off he finally went, beating the throw by a hair. He jumped up and down on the bag with both feet for a few beats and finally settled down just in time for about three feet and six inches of hitting fury in the form of Tony to send one screaming into the same hole. Once again, it took a moment for everyone to realize Jack was still on first. Again, “RUN!” This time though, it was followed up by, “TO SECOND!” as Jack took a 45 degree angle off the bag out into right field. The throw was wild to second and third and the next thing you know, Jack hit the plate with both hands and almost turned a somersault. I don't know why he touched the plate with his hands. He's seven.

His third at-bat went almost exactly the same way. Ping, followed by a run to first (without the exhortation this time), advancement to second, third, and home off the bat of Tony and hands to the plate again. After the game, he was awarded the game ball for his first hits and scores and for it being his birthday. His Grandpa and I sat there giddy. “Thank you for calling and reminding me,” he said.

“No problem,” I replied, “Glad you could make it.”

“I didn't even have to wear an ace bandage on my wrist.”

My quizzical look clued him in to the fact I had forgotten some story of my own youth.

“You can't stick mail with a bad wrist,” he continued.

That was it. Dad worked nights for forty years or so and had work conflicts with many of our events. He would sometimes call in injured in order to come to our games, wearing an ace bandage wrapped around his wrist just in case someone saw him at the game. The memory of him coming up to me after a game on “B” Avenue with the bandage wrapped around his hand wrapped around a five slipped to me for a home run came back to me immediately. Looking back, some other parent in the crowd must have told him it was customary to pay a little for a home run. Five dollars in 1980 bought a lot of Astro-pops and Dubble Bubble at a little league baseball park.

After his game, we took Jack to Rush's for a milkshake and hot dog. I think he was oblivious to how happy Dad and I were. If he noticed, he thought it was for his birthday. The hits, the game ball, the kudos from the coaches and parents were just a continuation of what he had already called, “The Greatest Day Ever!” I was having a hard time disagreeing with him.

Earlier that day, after the party, Jack had asked me, “Is this Heaven?”

“What do you mean?” I wanted to know.

“This. Being with your friends and family and being happy.”

“You know Buddy, It might be,” was all I could say.

It sure wasn't Iowa.

"Are we the Tigers? The Braves? The Yankees?" "No kid, you'll never be the Yankees on my watch."

2010-03-02T11:49:00.001-05:00

He has never played before. Sure, we have thrown the ball back and forth a few times in the yard. One time, he took a ball to the face, directly triangulated between his eyes and the bridge of his nose. He was crying and I was torn up for the pain I had caused. I wouldn’t let us stop throwing until it fun for both of us again. He had a hard time catching, snatching at the ball in flight, pulling his head and eyes back and away from where they needed to be. His arm was not bad, though. The throws came back to me on an arc, but not too much of one, with some pop into my glove. Not bad for a six-year old I thought. As for hitting, he has swung a plastic bat at a wiffle ball tossed gently from a few feet away. His swing was all elbows and twisted, ending up like a cartoon character who corkscrews himself into the ground.

Now, he is on a team. “What the name of my team?,” he wants to know. I give him the name of the sponsor, but he wants to know the NAME, you know, like the rhinos or the dolphins. I have to admit I don’t know, but will try to find out. Right now, I am amazed he isn’t the tallest one on the team, as I was all those years ago. I know how other parents must have felt, seeing my huge self out there with their more normal sized kids. “That kid is seven?” my mind reacts. “No way.”

I have sat through two events now, a day of scrimmage and a practice. Sit. Pace nervously. It is all the same really, isn’t it? I tell myself I don’t care if he is any good, and I probably am truthful. I do want him to listen to his coaches though, to be obedient and respectful, to understand that the ‘play’ of baseball is encompassed within the play of baseball. So far so good. He dances a bit in the field, he dallies on the way to and from the dugout, and he has already picked the middle of an inning to announce loudly, “I have to go to the bathroom!” Mostly though, he looks the coaches in the face when they are speakig and does what they say. At the end of the practice, I ask “Are you having fun?” “Yes!” is the immediate reply. I believe him.

His questions for me have come during the middle of when he really should not be paying attention to anything but baseball. Sitting on first base after hitting the ball in practice last night, he swiveled his head to find me down the right field line. “Did you see me Daddy?” “I saw it Buddy,” I replied. “Now pay attention to the batter.” If you were to ask me if I was having fun, I would reply “Yes!” and you would believe it.

Proper Football-Now that the Pirates are finished

2010-01-12T22:05:00.001-05:00

All week long, I wait. I wait for Saturday or Sunday morning, when I can turn on the TV, boot up the internet to look for a live stream, or, best of all, head down to the Cock n' Bull to meet up with the other two West Ham fans here in the midlands of South Carolina to catch the Hammers match up against their latest foe in the perils of the EPL. Sometimes, I have to wait for a tape delayed broadcast. Most often, I can wait until it comes on before I search for the result online. Very rarely do I seek out the final score before having the chance to watch the actual match.

WW surveys the Tennessee River where Grant and the Union troops crossed to meet the Confederates at Shiloh.

So, like most of the Hammer fans this week, I was distraught when the match was postponed due to potential fan danger getting to and from the event. The despair became greater when the photos of the grounds surrounding Upton Park came out, showing clear streets and sidewalks. Of course, the more rational Hammers realized the delay could only help our team by giving them a chance to heal and field a stronger team when the two underprivileged tier teams met. When was the last time you met a rational Hammer's fan, though? I can't be counted amongst their ilk most times.

On January 2, 2010, I watched the East Carolina Pirates lose to the Arkansas Razorbacks in the Liberty Bowl in Memphis, Tennessee. When I played for the Pirates, we weren't very good. To be fair, we played a brutal schedule every year that kept us from competing for the much fewer bowl spots available in that day. I have had the chance to attend a few bowl games since then though as a fan and have had a great time at them all. This year, I took my 80 year old father and Buddy Steve and headed out to Memphis for BBQ and gambling in Tunica. With no real time to apply to a long session at the poker table, I concentrated on blackjack and got back about half of what I donated in Vegas last summer. I gave Dad five basic rules of blackjack and set him loose on a $10 table. Buddy Steve lives by his own rules, not those of the universe.

We wanted to record a hit record. We were rebuffed.

We spent a full day in Memphis and enjoyed fantastic ribs at the BBQ Shop. Go there. Now. We had big beers on Beale Street and I stopped a fight in Blues City Cafe. Unfortunately, the game did not prove to be the high point of our trip. After dominating possession and both lines of scrimmage, the Pirates had two mid range field goal attempts in the last few minutes to in. These are not quite as makeable as a penalty, but they should be darned close for a college kicker. Making matters worse, the Pirate kicker missed in overtime and the Arkansas kicker didn't. The Razorback fans, so full of pride of their big conference program (Think EPL versus Fizzy Pop) slunk out of the stadium, cautiously happy about the escape.

Chicken and Waffles. Win.

What in the world does this have to do with proper football you make ask? Well, immediately after the game, we headed back to the car for the twelve hour trip back home. I got so sleepy, I actually let Dad drive for a bit. That may not sound like a big deal, but for the last two trips I have made cross-country, I have driven all but about ninety minutes. That is about eleven thousand miles of beautiful country, almost all of which I experienced eyes wide open.

I stopped a fight inside, then had some fantastic bar-b-queued shrimp.

Anyway, we finally made it back to town with one extended stop at a Waffle House on the west side of Atlanta. I dropped Dad off and made an offer to Steve to drop him at his house or bring him along to Cock n' Bull for the FA Cup match versus Arsenal. That's right, I drove twelve hours over night (drove over ten of them at least) after being up all day drinking beer (I quit in the first quarter of the game and was dead sober by the end) to continue past my house and the arms of my loving family to sit in a dark bar and watch West Ham play a match they could not possibly win. To make matters worse, I was the only Hammer in the bar. In Columbia, there are three West Ham fans, two Spurs, a smattering of Hull and Fulham fans (due to Dempsey and Altidore), and one lonely Pompey. There are a butt-load of Arsenal fans though. They sat silently to either side and around me as I hunkered down over a Guinness, then another. Right before half, I raised my arms in silent triumph as Diamante finished like a champ. I grimaced in the second as the dream died. I paid my tab and drove home to the embrace of my kin and collapsed into bed.

The tracks out of town.

A rational fan would realize a loss early in the Cup helps the long-term prospects of WHU. Who wants to be rational though?

2010-01-11T11:49:00.001-05:00

I have registered to play in the PokerStars World Blogger Championship of Online Poker! The WBCOOP is a free online Poker tournament open to all Bloggers, so register on WBCOOP to play.

Registration code: 887909

Sitting on a bar stool in Memphis

2010-01-06T14:24:00.003-05:00

I stopped a potential fight in Memphis on New Year's Day while sitting on my ass, drinking beer. Somehow, a discussion between and Arkansas fan and an ECU fan about Joe Paterno in the back room of Blues City Cafe had suddenly turned very tense. Once intelligence started getting insulted, the Arkansas fan stated how he would crush the ECU fan in Jeopardy! I raised both of my arms straight into the air and bellowed, "As the only two-time Jeopardy! champion in this room, I am telling everybody to shut the hell up and drink your beer!" It worked. The ECU fan thanked me for the intervention and the Arkansas fan and I discussed the situation on the Klamath River for the next ten minutes or so.

The best part was listening to my Dad retell the story to Buddy Steve who had been out watching the Liberty Bowl Parade pass by on Beale while all this was going one. I interrupted to correct a factual mistake he was making and Dad said, "I'm not recounting facts here; I'm telling a story." I shut up and went back to my beer.

Hope everyone has a great year in 2010.

Civil War

2009-12-03T21:53:00.001-05:00

Should a Rose Bowl berth be decided on a Thursday night?

Cheating

2009-12-02T10:58:00.002-05:00

Cheating; I am usually against it. Some of my friends hate to play golf with me. If there is any kind of bet on the line, I make sure to state the rules of the game in appropriate situations. As a kid, most of my buddies looked to me when an interpretation of rules came up in any sport we were playing. I was, and am, a geek for the rules of the game.

Now, if you want to go out and kick your ball away from a rock or root and we don't have a nickel on the outcome, go ahead. One cheating one's self does not bother me at all. Like Ty Webb, you can always measure yourself against other golfers by height.

I was silent last week though. It had been brought to my attention that one of the players in our game regularly cheats. I sat beside him and watched what he was doing. We play with two decks and shuffle behind the deal. So, when I was dealing, the player behind me was shuffling for the next deal. After my deal, I was to cut the newly shuffled cards and slide them to my left for the next deal. The cut rule was put into place a few weeks ago after not having one for years. I thought it was due to another player that always riffled the cards when it was his deal. there have been no cheating allegations with him as far as I know. The rest of the players just do not like him reshuffling cards he is getting ready to deal.

Now, I knew the real target of the new procedure. His cheating was obvious as soon as I paid attention. He would pick up the deck and slap an edge on the table with the bottom card facing towards him. He deals a criss-cross variant that puts all the cards in play. The way he deals the game allows him to put the bottom card in his hand or on the board. Playing hi-low, he can stick an Ace in his hand or an Eight on the table. It is not a big cheat, but a cheat none the less.

The question is, what to do about it. My inner rule-geek demands I speak out. The banker in me says, 'Shut up, he's a regular depositor. Don't drive him away." A very good player was found cheating in this game a few years ago and was banished immediately. Should a bad player have the same consequence? Not only is he a bad player, he is one that can actually bear the costs of losing in this game if the others' statements are to be believed.

I don't countenance cheating when money is on the line has been the rule of my life. Now, I appear to have changed because money is on the line. In golf, the better players give strokes to the weaker ones. Am I just giving him a couple of strokes here?

Saturday

2009-11-28T12:39:00.002-05:00

To everyone not from here, especially the national announcers: It is CLEM-sun, not clem-ZUN. Geeesh.

Also, it is GO COCKS!

GAME!

Pirates go for the division crown at 1:30 e.s.t.

Bethel College Football Trick Play

2009-11-20T12:19:00.001-05:00

The Old Bouquet Toss Play.

I'm So Smart

2009-11-17T19:56:00.005-05:00

Not really, I just read a lot. Take the test here.

Oh yeah, I stole it from the great Theo.

Robert Mitchum - The Night of the Hunter - "Leaning"

2009-11-16T17:37:00.001-05:00

Haven't seen this movie, but, Wow, what a scene1

1985

2009-08-13T22:36:00.001-04:00

If you played sports in the mid 80's, this movie was one of your favorites.

Vision Quest
written by Darryl Ponicsan, based on the novel by Terry Davis

Louden (Matthew Modine): I was at the hotel, they told me you took the night off. Thought you were sick or something.
Elmo (J.C. Quinn): Of course I took the night off, dummy, isn't this the night you wrestle Shute?
Louden: You took the night off for that?
Elmo: Yeah, shaved, got a haircut and everything.
Louden: You never took the night off to see me wrestle before, they'll dock you for that.
Elmo: Hey kid, money ain't everything.
Louden: It's not that big a deal, I mean it's six lousy minutes on the mat. If that.
Elmo: Ever hear of Pelé?
Louden: Yeah, he's a soccer player.
Elmo: A very famous soccer player. I was in the room here one day. I'm watching the Mexican channel on TV. I don’t know nothing about Pelé. I'm watching what this guy can do with a ball and his feet. The next thing I know he jumps up in the air and flips into a somersault and kicks the ball in, upside down and backwards. I mean, the goddamn goalie never knew what the fuck hit him. And Pelé gets excited and he rips off his jersey and starts running around the stadium waving it around over his head. Everybody's screaming in Spanish. I'm here, sitting alone in my room. I start crying, yeah that's right, I start crying. There's another human being, a species which I happen to belong to, can kick a ball, and LIFT himself and the rest of us sad-ass human beings up to a better place to be, if only for a minute. Let me tell you kid, it was pretty goddamn glorious.It ain't the six minutes... it's what happens in that six minutes.

Don't want to Jinx it and I Ain't Superstitous

2009-08-11T17:26:00.001-04:00

Well, I ain't superstitious, black cat just cross my trail
Well, I ain't superstitious, oh the black cat just cross my trail
Don't sweep me with no broom, I might get put in jail

Willie Dixon

Things to Do

2009-08-05T13:29:00.002-04:00

August 19-King's X-Charlotte
September 11-Motorhead-Charlotte OR Treadmill Trackstar-Columbia
September 18-Clutch-Asheville
Oct. 8-The Airborne Toxic Event-Columbia

August 15 is almost here

2009-07-30T17:06:00.004-04:00

Before the pigskin is set on the tee and before the calls of "Mr. October" arise, the English Premier League will kick off on August 15. West Ham has no proven offense, but that doesn't squelch my optimism (yet). I have started a free EPL fantasy over at the official EPL site. It is free to join. The league information is as follows:

Login: 453310-142278

Please join if you have any interest at all. I will put up a prize for the overall champ and probably a weekly prize for anyone that beats me in the weekly head-to-head matchup.

Up the Irons!

We're Back

2009-07-27T15:41:00.002-04:00

Almost 7000 miles, 21 states visited, tags from 48 states seen, pounds of BBQ eaten, hundreds of bison, two bears, and a moose sighted. All this and I still have some Badlands mud on my shoes.

Important things in Texas

2009-07-17T00:24:00.002-04:00

Double dipped on the BBQ today; Stubbs for lunch and The Salt Lick for supper. I may not eat for a week (unless I happen to drive by Big Bob Gibson's tomorrow or the next day.

I am fuller than you.

We also went to the Round Rock Express game tonight and happened on former USC star Justin Smoak playing for Oklahoma City. Cool. Game!

Important things in Vegas

2009-07-11T23:01:00.001-04:00

Just got back from Lotus of Siam. Drunken Noodle Sea Bass, Braised short ribs with Panang, sticky rice with mango, and coconut ice cream. All kinds of awesome.

On the Road

2009-07-09T12:38:00.004-04:00

Overlord

2009-06-06T16:04:00.003-04:00

Reprinted from last year with a few corrections.

I wonder if Uncle John Lloyd is in any of those photos you see of Ike visiting the paratroops the eve before D-Day. I wonder why he volunteered to switch companies and jump, as his unit was not scheduled to. Was he embarrassed he had been stricken with appendicitis soon after jumping into Sicily? He had already been through about the most rigorous training the Army had to offer. He had nothing to prove to anyone but himself I suppose. I wonder how my Dad felt on the day the Western Union man came to the door, fifteen years old and losing his favorite brother so soon after losing his Dad in a train accident. How did Granny handle it? I know she turned to prayer and belief in God's will. Is that the time Dad lost his faith?

John Lloyd had not been home since he had left over two years before. I suppose he wrote letters as that is what you always see in the old movies. Today, the troops are able to keep in touch through blogs and cell phones. Imagine someone having to call home from the belly of a C-47, "No, I can talk. The light is still red. Yeah. We're about to jump. Don't worry. It's what we've been trained to do. I said don't worry. Alright, every body's standing up, I've got to go. Yes. Yes. Yes. I have it all. Kiss the kids. The light's green. I love you."

I wonder about the last time my Dad spoke with him. What did John Lloyd tell him when he left? To take care of their Mother? Uncle Monk was joined up and gone by then. Uncle George was blind. Two of the three girls were already grown and out of the home. The young teen was going to be the only sighted male in the house for awhile.

My youngest Aunt was seventeen and was too busy to go to the prayer meeting at Ebenezer Church on June 5, 1944. She went out with her friends instead. To this day, she feels ashamed she was not there to pray for the troops and her brother. It's silly to think that way of course, but she still speaks bitterly of herself when she remembers that day sixty four years ago.

He was first buried in a temporary grave as most were. The family had a choice to bring his body home later as so many did. They decided to allow him to remain where he fell, a solemn marble cross marking his final resting place alongside thousands of others. Granny never saw his grave. I don't know if she ever flew in her life. Her faith told her she would see her boy again. Whole. Healthy. Shining that sly smile that runs in that side of the family. The smile I see on my oldest already. There are photos of the temporary grave. Uncle Monk must have been able to find it during his time there. In the Ardennes, he ran into member's of John Lloyd's unit. They spoke fondly of their fallen comrade, but there was other work still to do. The other children made the trip over the years, some more than once, finding tangible proof of their family's sacrifice noted in a peaceful field overlooking the Channel. One day I will make that journey. I plan to sit and talk to him. I expect my children will ask, "Mommy, why is Daddy crying?" She'll have a good answer. She usually does. Then, I'll probably pull them all close to me and hug them fiercely, as I am sure Granny did with John Lloyd when he left Florence County for the last time in 1942. As I am sure she would have given almost anything to do so again every day for the next thirty-six years.

From The State Newspaper

John Lloyd Johnson Jr., of Florence, was a sergeant in the 505th Parachute Infantry Regiment. His brother, W.W. Johnson, of West Columbia, visited his grave at Normandy for the first time on Memorial Day last year.

“It affected me more than I expected that it would,” he said. “I was 15 when he died. He was my older brother, and he was my hero.”

John L. Johnson, Jr.

Sergeant, U.S. Army

505th Parachute Infantry Regt, 82nd Airborne Division

Entered the Service from: South Carolina
Died: 6-Jun-44
Buried at: Plot F Row 21 Grave 28
Normandy American Cemetery
Colleville-sur-Mer, France

Awards: Purple Heart

Soldiers, Sailors and Airmen of the Allied Expeditionary Force!
You are about to embark upon the Great Crusade, toward
which we have striven these many months. The eyes of
the world are upon you. The hopes and prayers of liberty loving
people everywhere march with you. In company with
our brave Allies and brothers-in-arms on other Fronts,
you will bring about the destruction of the German war
machine, the elimination of Nazi tyranny over the oppressed
peoples of Europe, and security for ourselves in a free
world.
Your task will not be an easy one. Your enemy is
well trained, well equipped and battle-hardened.
He will fight savagely.
But this is the year I944 ! Much has happened since the
Nazi triumphs of I940-4I. The United Nations have inflicted
upon the Germans great defeats, in open battle,
man-to-man. Our air offensive has seriously reduced
their strength in the air and their capacity to wage
overwhelming superiority in weapons and munitions of
war, and placed at our disposal great reserves of trained
fighting men. The tide has turned ! The free men of
the world are marching together to Victory !
I have full confidence in your courage, devotion to
duty and skill in battle. We will accept nothing less
than full Victory !
Good Luck ! And let us beseech the blessing of Almighty
God upon this great and noble undertaking.

Race Weekend

2009-05-11T13:26:00.006-04:00

I think I was sick more in April than I was well. I got well enough to make it to Darlington over the weekend for the only race that matters. We got there on Friday and camped out for the first time, watching both races.

The walk into the main gate.

Before the rubbing starts. They put a fresh coat of paint on after the Nationwide race the night before.

Ready to go green.

South Carolina sky. We get this almost every night.

And Michael gets confused and goes the wrong way.

The "stripe" doesn't care where you are from.

Or how young you are.

Tried to get a shot of Mrs. Harvick. Yow.

Going to need a new paint job before next year.

Tried to take a photo of the post-race fireworks and couldn't hold the camera still. Look at the eerie # 5s in the photo though. Mark Martin was everywhere.

National Anthem--Oh Say Can You Sing?

2009-04-07T13:22:00.001-04:00

This is Cyndi who works in my office. She is hoping to sing the National Anthem on flag Day in Washington D.C. Please take a moment to comment at Youtube if you can.

Well, I got a flash for ya, joy-boy.

2009-03-19T10:26:00.003-04:00

On the way to work this morning, I saw a sign for the Midlands Church for the Deaf. The Baptist Church sitting directly in front of the Church for the Deaf had a Marquee that read, "SONGS OF JOY" This Sunday. Mean old Baptists.

I feel as though I am cheating on my regular restaurant. TO be perfectly frank, the other place has better pancakes of which I can get three of, two eggs, and sausage for $3.50 Coffee adds .95 On Saturday, that translates to about a $15.00 savings when I take the whole family. Things are tough all over.

At the Wednesday night game, the small game has moved into our room to play. It is the only room in the building that allows smoking so now I have to put up with twice as much of that. A definite positive though, is there is a player in the little game that sounds exactly like Phillip Baker Hall. I am going to ask him to read the Bookman solioquy from Seinfeld. I don't think I would be able to stand it.

BOOKMAN: Well, let me tell you something, funny boy. Y'know that little stamp,
the one that says "New York Public Library"? Well that may not mean
anything to you, but that means a lot to me. One whole hell of a lot.
Sure, go ahead, laugh if you want to. I've seen your type before:
Flashy, making the scene, flaunting convention. Yeah, I know what you're
thinking. What's this guy making such a big stink about old library
books? Well, let me give you a hint, junior. Maybe we can live without
libraries, people like you and me. Maybe. Sure, we're too old to change
the world, but what about that kid, sitting down, opening a book, right
now, in a branch at the local library and finding drawings of pee-pees
and wee-wees on the Cat in the Hat and the Five Chinese Brothers?
Doesn't HE deserve better? Look. If you think this is about overdue
fines and missing books, you'd better think again. This is about that
kid's right to read a book without getting his mind warped! Or: maybe
that turns you on, Seinfeld; maybe that's how y'get your kicks. You and
your good-time buddies. Well I got a flash for ya, joy-boy: Party time
is over. Y'got seven days, Seinfeld. That is one week!

Get your brackets in. Two words: Wake Forest.

If I won the lottery . . .

2009-03-18T17:15:00.002-04:00

I would not be going to play in this poker game tonight. There is too much smoke and too many comments that make me uncomfortable.

If I won the lottery and did not have to worry about money, I would still play in my Tuesday night game with the .25-1 spread limit. I like those guys.

I have not won the lottery. In fact, I haven't even played in awhile. In double fact, I think it is rigged as I have bought a few dozen tickets over the years and haven't won yet. The lottery is so rigged.

So, I am about to go play cards. For the money. Dad always said, "If you can't afford to win it, you can't afford to lose it." Well, I can't afford to lose it, but I am going anyway. If form holds, I will walk out happy. Coughing and with indigestion, but happy.

Part of the NFLs plan to eventually take over the Earth

2009-03-17T13:26:00.002-04:00

President Obama just nominated Dan Rooney to be ambassador to Ireland. He is expected to contribute to stable, long-term leadership and a stout defense.

See what I did there?

Player pretending to be hit by the linesman / Jogador fingindo ser atingido pelo bandeira

2009-03-12T13:22:00.001-04:00

Shakespeare - Crispin's Day

2009-02-26T11:55:00.001-05:00

This guy, Willie, could write a sentence or two couldn't he? I wonder if he ever wrote anything else.

I needed some inspiration before storming G-Vegas on the 'morrow.

India has its own form of Appalachia

2009-02-18T11:21:00.002-05:00

From an actual news source: Sky News

Boy Weds Dog To Avoid Indian Tiger Death

This kid married a real bitch.

Bg's Ribs-Part 2-The Curse of the Missing Heat

2009-02-16T10:15:00.005-05:00

Part 1 below . . .

The culmination of BG's Short Ribs with Maple-Horseradish Glaze (sans short ribs)

After the vegetables and Porter came to a boil, I poured it all into my handy German clay oven. I have broken the lids to everything else that could go from stove to oven so this was my best option. The ribs were placed on top of the vegetables and liquid and then covered with parchment paper and the top of the oven. This sat in the electric oven for 2.5 hours at 300 degrees.

While that was going on, I added horseradish to the syrup and rosemary. I used about three ounces or so. I love horseradish but didn't want to make it too strong that no one else would eat it. That would turn out not to be a problem at all. There was no discernible horseradish taste in the final product. Next time, I will add a lot more and add it later in the infusing process in the hopes it will impart more heat to the ribs.

After the 2.5 hours, I moved everything into a baking dish and brushed and poured the glaze over the ribs and vegetables. After five minutes under the broiler, it came out looking like this. Make sure to click on this photo to get the closeup.

This photo really does not do it justice. It is a nice looking dish and smells incredible. I pulled out a few ribs, sliced some onion pie and went to town. The maple syrup flavor was predominant which is fine if you like meats to have a sweet flavor. As there was little to no horseradish flavor, I used the onion pie and sharp cheese to counteract the sweet. When we ate the rest of the ribs the next day, I sprinkled them generously with tabasco flakes and reheated in the oven. That gave enough heat to allay a lot of the sweet and made it a lot more enjoyable. Overall, this is a great dish and not very hard to make. There is no fancy cutting or spices. It does take a few hours, but with nothing else to do on a Saturday, it is well worth it. While the ribs are cooking for over two hours, it gives you plenty of time to do whatever else needs doing around the house. There is no need to hover over this dish which makes it even better. Thanks to BG!

Annie looks askance at onion pie.

BG's Ribs Part 1

2009-02-16T10:11:00.002-05:00

I take it for granted that if one of my imaginary, internet friends takes the time to post something, that it must be good. Unfortunately, I have "discovered" a lot of mediocre music and now question the taste of many of you (except for the The Fat Guy; he is spot on). I wouldn't dare try to foist my music upon any of you, except for the Live Adventures of the Waterboys of course. you'd be a fool not to add that to your collection. ;)

I had no trepidation at all about trying BG's braised short ribs with maple-horseradish glaze. You all know his foodie tendencies and I am sure you enjoy his food posts as much as I. This weekend, I decided to give one of his recipes a try. I do not have the fancy pans or gas stove, but I like to cook and can improvise, so here goes.

The day started at the Cock n' Bull for West Ham vs. Middlesbrough about 10 a.m. I must confess to three too many Guinnesses which wasn't really a problem as I had been dropped off and would not be driving home. I knew it would lead to an early bedtime. But, as the old Arsenal fan says, "you can't drink all day if you don't start in the morning."

On the ride home, I noticed rosemary in front of the Rosewood Market, but the light changed before I could jump out and harvest some. I directed the driver to Jake's, where I knew there were a number of robust bushes out front. I collected enough for the meal and a few extra sprigs and headed home.

As soon as the Guinness reached its half-life, I headed out to the grocery store for the few items needed. This is a simple recipe in terms of ingredients which is a welcome relief from the twenty herbs and spices a lot of the cook books insist are vital for your meats and potatoes. The butcher at Bi-Lo turned out to be pretty much a meat cutter and did not understand the way I wanted the ribs cut, so this is what I ended up with. I wanted the bricks BG had in his, but they ended up tasting fantastic so no use complaining now. Much like Danny Devito in It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia, I need a meat guy.

The first step was browning which was accomplished quickly. I left a good bit of pink in them as I am always worried of over cooking.

Removed from heat and set aside

The carrots and onion were sauteed until softened with the Rosemary. I used two carrots instead of one as I like the flavor they add. Another downside of Bi-Lo was an almost non-existent Porter selection. A Porter of some sort was then added to the mixture. Bottle not shown on purpose.

I got maple syrup and rosemary going on the side. I added the horseradish later but should have used the entire container. More on that later.

After the vegetables were ready to go into the oven with the ribs, I cut up a bunch of onions and stuck them in the pan with butter and another rosemary sprig for onion pie. I thought it would go well with the ribs. This is easy to do, onions and stick of butter until clear.

Cool the onions to room temperature then add 1/3 cup flour and two eggs for each pie you have enough onions for. I added a little bit of sharp cheddar to the mixture as I really like cheese. It looks like goop below but it will come out of the oven gorgeous.

Pour into pie pan and into the oven at 375 until the knife comes out clean. At about the the thirty minute mark, I added grated Parmesan to the top.

--Part 2 to follow--

There is something in my eye. I'll be right back.

2009-02-12T10:54:00.000-05:00

Winter Camping

2009-02-09T10:40:00.002-05:00

The annual Winter Camping Trip took place in the Pisgah National Forest in North Carolina. It is a favorite of mine with many peaks approaching 6000 feet and you can walk many beautiful trails.

We hike on Saturday and most of us use the four-year old as an excuse to quit and get back to camp. Jack and Hank trooped on up a number of mountains with little complaint. We hit six inch snow for a while and the boys ended up getting very wet once we got back into sunlight and the snow melted. You ever try keeping a four and five year dry when you know it is going to get below freezing?

Snow in the woods. Peaceful feeling.

Snack time at over 5000 feet. Motivation for anybody under the age of ten is as simple as a bag of M&Ms. Jack and Hank and Brett, the best dog in the world. Both of my boys have gotten over their fear of strange dogs on these trips with Brett along.

Pre-trip ritual. We stopped in Landrum, S.C. for BBQ on the way up. The ribs were spectacular, the sausage fantastic, the pulled pork was the typical, upstate poorly executed dish, the cole slaw was good once you added salt, and the collards were inedible. I will go back and order the ribs and sausage though as they were more than excellent.

This fellow stopped by as were were packing up. He let me get closer and closer as I was snapping shots. Maybe I looked like a mouse. I think I know what type of Hawk this is, but am welcome to accept confirmation from any of you ornithologists out there.

Work Stopper

2009-01-27T09:45:00.001-05:00

Stolen shamelessly from Wil Wheaton's site:

Van Halen Assteroids

Blow Up

2009-01-21T09:13:00.002-05:00

We had a player go off on another last week at the big game. To be fair the offee had done something he really should not have; he exchanged small chips for bigger ones out of a pot he was not involved in. It is regular for one of us to make change for smaller chips so we can ante on our deal, but to exchange chips just for the purpose of making your stack look better is pretty much a no-no everywhere, right?

The player who won the pot didn't see the full exchange of chips and claims he only saw two white go in and three blacks come out. He immediately started yelling and cursing at the change consolidator. A few others verified he had made an even exchange but continued on to tell him he had made a jerk move. The offended player just couldn't let it go though and continued for three or four minutes, even while he was dealing the next hand. I folded and walked out of the room. I am there to win money, not mediate disputes. At our home game, I would have attempted to defuse the situation and move the parties to a resolution. Here, I was just tired of hearing them argue.

I have thought of quitting this game for a variety of reasons. I continue to play though and will be there tonight. The one who blew up often asks me how it can be fun for me to sit there ad fold hand after hand. I always reply, "I count my chips at the end of the night, and if I have more than I started with, it was fun."

Jim Rice still hates the media (though he claims he doesn't)

2009-01-13T11:31:00.003-05:00

What possible reason could someone knowledgeable about baseball have for not voting Ricky Henderson into the Baseball Hall of Fame? He doesn’t deserve to be unanimous because Willie Mays wasn’t a unanimous choice? That’s your argument? Well, the writers who didn’t vote for Say Hey were idiots. Ricky doesn’t need me to advocate for him. Ricky can do it himself. Ricky put up the numbers. Rickey’s just happy to be going in.

It is nice to see South Carolinian Jim Rice get the nod on his first last chance. I know the arguments both ways. Some claim he was the most feared hitter of his generation. If I was a pitcher from that era. I think I would have preferred to face him rather than Dave Winfield or George Foster. Winfield always looked as though he was going to make the ball explode and Foster just scared the crap out of me with his sideburns.

"Your ball. It will be crushed"

Why do so many callers to Columbia sports radio think Tim Tebow should be a first round draft pick as a quarterback when he comes out? Is it due to his rocket arm? His blazing speed? No, they all point to his “intangibles.” Yeah, that’s what pro coaches want in their QBs, intangibles. Slow release? No problem. Average speed? We can work around it with creative formations. You want to see Tim Tebow in the NFL as a QB? Watch the tape of the BCS title game when he throws his second interception on the deep out. The OU defensive back came from ten yards away to get that ball. Matt Ryan and Joe Flacco make that throw with enough zip to take your head off. Plus, they don’t have to wind up. I have no problem with Tebow and think he is a fantastic player. He might even have a productive role in NFL. It just won’t be as a starting QB. As an aside, what kind of numbers would Michael Vick have put up in Florida’s offense? He might have rushed for 1500 and thrown for 2500 every year and been considered the greatest college player of all time.

I thought I didn't care anymore

2009-01-08T16:59:00.002-05:00

I became a Braves fan when we got cable TV in 1980 or so. They immediately made two nice runs in their division behind Murphy, Horner, Chambliss, Ramirez, Hubbard, Washington, et al. before reverting to a decade of losing. Then, Bobby Cox arrived with his steady hand and the Braves moved from worst to first and stayed there for fourteen years. I became frustrated the last few years of the run as they would bow out of the playoffs short of the World Series yet again. I know they were trying to win, that they wanted to win, but the post-series press conferences would infuriate me as I would watch Cox try to explain away why such a good team with one of the best rotations of all time could lose a short series. He seemed so passionless at those times. That is a fine quality over the course of a season, but it seemed to be the Braves downfall most of those years. Even though they lost the Series in 1991 and 1992, there was no shortage of passion and excitement among the players. They were all new to the post-season and up for every game. By the mid '90s though, the playoffs were old hat and it showed.

Nobody should go into the Hall of Fame on the basis of one game. If they did decide to do so though, it should be Jack Morris for winning Game 7 of the Series in 1991 in extra innings. Morris probably doesn't have HOF numbers, but his performance in that game killed me and a few million other Braves' fans that night. His counterpart for most of the game was a baby-faced John Smoltz. Smoltz has gone on to compile HOF numbers and will most likely go down as one of the best post-season pitchers of all time, but on that night, he faced his hero and almost pulled it off. I think he made it through eight and gave up one run. Either he ran out of gas or Cox got worried about the youngster, I can't remember. Whatever it was, he came out and the Twins won.

For the next seventeen years, Smoltz walked out to the mound and dominated as a starter and closer. They moved him in and out of the bullpen due to his arm injuries and he performed well in both roles. For the fans, he provided the best role; he looked as though he hated losing. Some of the other Braves would appear to be coasting while Smoltz held his foot to the floor. When he quits baseball, he will take that same drive to the golf course. On Mike and Mike a few weeks ago, Tiger Woods was asked who the best non-golfer, golfer he had ever played with. Without hesitation, he replied, "Smoltzie." He continued, "One of the last times I played with him I shot 65-68 and he won money from me." Now, we know he didn't outscore Tiger but you can bet it was a fair handicap. Tiger is one of the best in the World and knowing how to compete and win. Smoltz stands toe to toe with him in that regard.

Boston has him now. If I had my Braves jersey on, I would rip it off. Go ahead corporate overlords, let Chipper go as well. Might as well tear down the Fulton wall and change the name of the 755 club to the McDonalds/Coca-Cola grill while you are at it.

I really didn't expect it to hurt this badly.

I so resolve

2008-12-31T13:28:00.002-05:00

-To post more often
-To pay off all my bacon bets
-To eat less bacon
-To make more bacon bets
-To bluff more

I hope everyone has a safe New Year. I will be sitting at home and letting the amateurs have their night. Thanks to all of you who read and commented this year. I really appreciated it.

Brian Johnson is 61???!!!!

2008-10-29T11:41:00.001-04:00

His voice sounds better than it has since Flick of the Switch (the most under rated AC/DC album) and the guitar parts have always clicked. All drummers and guitar players should be forced to learn side two of Back in Black to understand how they can interact most effectively.

It's rock and roll and it makes me feel good.

Is this the year?

2008-10-27T09:22:00.003-04:00

Do I finally get it done this time? I have tried the last few but never made it more than a few days as other things intervened. This year, I hope to put aside all the those pesky distractions and focus on the important things in life. One of those things is successfully completing NANOWRIMO. Who is with me? I need a buddy or two and am willing to bribe you for it. In exchange for sending and receiving the occasional word of encouragement, I will be putting up some tasty treats as a reward. If you write and finish, you win. If I write and don't finish you win. There could be bacon, there could be chocolate, there could be . . . Oh, who am I kidding, there will be bacon. Drop me a line if you want to participate with me.

It was 40 years ago today . . .

2008-10-16T14:13:00.005-04:00

It's been 21 years since I last put on a football helmet. I still have dreams of remaining eligibility and me trying to play at ECU or USC. Then, I wake up and thank goodness I don't really have to go out there and pop people. I still hurt all these years later. If my kids never step on a football field, it won't bother me a bit. I love the game still. It is violent to your body though and the ramifications will manifest the rest of your life.

This was the best we did while I was at ECU. We played the best team I had ever seen, the National Champion Hurricanes. Standing on the sideline as Miami kicked off, it sounded and felt as though a herd of elephants was running down the field. They were huge and fast. We got crushed by an FSU team that ended up # 2. Todd Ellis and the Gamecocks had what was probably their best team ever and Southern Miss was lead by a freshman Qb named Favre.

G 1 9/ 5 1987 R A W 32-14 ( 4 - 7 - 0 55) North Carolina State
G 2 9/12 1987 R C H L 3-44 ( 11 - 1 - 0 2) Florida State
G 3 9/19 1987 R A L 10-20 ( 3 - 7 - 1 64) Illinois
G 4 9/26 1987 H W 16-13 ( 0 - 1 - 0 0) Georgia Southern
G 5 10/ 3 1987 R H L 0-49 ( 6 - 6 - 0 31) West Virginia
G 6 10/10 1987 R H W 56-28 ( 4 - 7 - 0 69) Cincinnati
G 7 10/17 1987 R C A W 32-23 ( 2 - 9 - 0 65) Virginia Tech
G 8 10/24 1987 R C A L 12-34 ( 8 - 4 - 0 10) South Carolina
G 9 10/31 1987 R C A L 3-41 ( 12 - 0 - 0 1) Miami (Florida)
G 10 11/ 7 1987 R H W 31-26 ( 3 - 8 - 0 81) Temple
G 11 11/14 1987 R C A L 34-38 ( 6 - 5 - 0 30) Southern Mississippi

This photo was taken after the Cincinnati game, six days before my 19th birthday. I played a few more weeks and then retired at the end of the season. All athletes retire at some point whether it's the twelve year old who decides that baseball is no longer for him or Chris Chelios who will have to hang it up at some point. Sports was a huge part of my life back then. I wish I had listened to Dad who told me to concentrate on pool and golf as I could play them my whole life and get paid if I was smart enough. It wasn't for me though as I insisted on playing all the baseball, basketball, and football I could. Now, I am a bad pool player and worse golfer to go along with my sore knees and shoulders. To top it all off, my ass hurts if I play poker too long.

Anyway, it's my 40th. I am taking the family to the State Fair tonight and meeting the gang for a few drinks tomorrow. I don't feel different.

Big Jim

2008-10-14T13:26:00.001-04:00

I will never meet Big Jim Marshall. He died last week in Stokesdale, North Carolina, twenty-four hours before he was to see his son at the big truck show in Greensboro. His Son got word the night before he left to go up. When he got there, all the arrangements had been made. Big Jim took care of his family. They didn’t have to do a thing other than show up at the funeral. With nothing to take care, his Son headed on over to the truck show for the afternoon. It’s what Big Jim would’ve done. It’s what Big Jim would’ve wanted him to do.

I got the Big Jim stories from Buddy Steve who grew up on the same road as his cousin, Jim’s son. He always gave the impression that Big Jim was more than an Uncle figure to him; that he provided some fatherly role that his own father couldn’t due to being so old and having to live up to the role of being High Sheriff. If Buddy Steve needed someone to talk to, Big Jim would be out back, in the workshop, rebuilding a classic pick-up. He was always back there, Steve said. He had married into a family of strong women. It was just easier to let her have her way and move a lot of his life to the back yard where he could hold court. Steve joked about the longevity of the women in that family and the number of thirty-plus year widows that abounded. He didn’t say they knocked off their husbands exactly. Maybe they just wore them down to death. It took Big Jim a long time to wear down back there in his refuge.

Big Jim did a good job with his boy. He’s a great guy that takes care of his family and friends. Today, he’s wondering if he is doing well enough with his time. The death of a close one always makes us think we should spend more time with our loved ones. It is their final lesson to us. Hopefully, we pay attention.

His Son, Jeff, said there was a “no suits” rule for the pall-bearers (who were all named in the documents Big Jim left behind). Big Jim didn’t go out the way he came in, but the way he lived, wearing his bib overalls, ford t-shirt, and Jack Rousch hat in his hand. It was the outfit he wore everyday, no matter the occasion. Even when he got to go to the Daytona 500 with Jeff and sit in a suite due to Jeff’s connections with his job, he wore the same suit: overalls, Ford t-shirt, Jack Rousch hat. Unaffected, he sat that entire race talking with Richard Childress, who was seated beside him, about the old days of racing and working on cars. I am sure he was beaming inside, proud of his Son who was able to get him in a spot he never thought he would be. He didn’t put on airs though. He watched that race the same way he would have watched it on TV, down at Dub’s. When you are already Big Jim, why try to be anybody else.

Tonight, I will raise a toast to a man I never met. It is my loss, but I think I’ve got a good likeness of him in town I need to reconnect with for a proper remembrance. God speed Big Jim.

I've got knees

2008-10-13T20:48:00.002-04:00

Grandma had the swabs today and took the younger two out to get some small toys before senior swab got out of school. When their Momma went to pick them up, our youngest, a girl was showing off her new, little dolls. Senior swab pointed out a particular one and said, "She's a nice one Annie, she's got boobies." Mama said, "Would you point out she has knees?" in an attempt to foist some sort of couth on a five year old. Senior swab said, "No, I like boobies."

It's almost enough to bring a tear to his old man's eye.

W.A.S.P Blind in Texas

2008-10-12T02:29:00.001-04:00

This is what I want my birthday to be like this week.

Saturday (redux)

2008-10-11T16:06:00.014-04:00

Didn't plan on getting on today but alcohol intervened.

South Carolina. Go Cocks! No unrealistic expectations here; just good to see them beat the teams they are supposed to beat.

ECU Pirates lose. Boo! We are still in line for a Liberty Bowl bid though. I will post a photo of me in a Pirate uniform later this week. Watch this space.

I gave Texas no chance today. Mac Brown proved me wrong. Hook 'em.

Notre Dame/UNC. I am watching in hopes the stadium implodes.

England cruised. USA tonight.

Missouri/OSU. Could be big.

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I am physically ill pulling for UNC. It's the Southerner in me I reckon.

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In two years, Michigan will have forgotten today. RichRod will prevail.

All you Michigan State fans, don't get too happy. Your coach will be moving south in a few years.

Watch the Miller Lite commercials carefully. The disclaimer states the subjects describe which beer has "more taste," not preference. Crap has "more taste" than beer.

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Uhhhh. Who was that lady standing by Joe Gibbs ( 3 SBs with 3 different QBs) in that promo in the ND/UNC game?

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I've never seen Chapel Hill get screwed on an offical's call in my life (4 million chances or so). They just got jobbed on that incomplete pass call. Regis must be in the building.

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Hate a QB sneak on 3rd and 2 with only only timeout. Worked though.

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Paul McGuire: Master of the obvious. I'd still buy him a beer.

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I can't take another Notre Dame miracle. Presbyterian common sense would explode.

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There should be 9 UNC players more than fifteen yards off the LOS. Dean Smith is in the stands calling for the four corners.

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If that is not a fumble, the entire state of NC should get in their pickup and head north.

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If not a fumble, those refs should be banned forever.

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UNC ball. .02 left. Good enough. I still hate UNc Chapel Hill

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Dinner break. If you like grilled meat and fried potatoes, you missed a helluva meal. Come on, it'll be here next week as well.

Florida looking good

2008-10-10T21:07:00.001-04:00

You are The Emperor

Stability, power, protection, realization; a great person.

The Emperor is the great authority figure of the Tarot, so it represents
fathers, father-figures and employers. There is a lot of aggression and violence
too.

The Emperor naturally follows the Empress. Like an infant, he is filled with enthuiasm, energy, aggression. He is direct, guileless and all too often irresistible. Unfortunately, like a baby he can also be a tyrant. Impatient, demanding, controlling. In the best of circumstances, he signifies the leader that everyone wants to follow, sitting on a throne that indicates the solid foundation of an Empire he created, loves and rules with intelligence and enthusiasm. But that throne can also be a trap, a responsibility that has the Emperor feeling restless, bored and discontent.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

Tuesdays with Dad

2008-10-06T17:43:00.003-04:00

I've had the chance to hang out with my Dad for most of this year on Tuesday nights at happy hour and then friendly poker. He stepped into our regular group and everyone seems to enjoy having him there. He's a funny guy and has some good stories to tell of drinking and gambling in his youth (and beyond). He retired this year at 79 after almost 50 years at the Post Office. I have tried to take advantage of the situation by asking him about his life before the little brother and I came along. He was just shy of 40 when he married Mom and started working on a family. A few months ago, I asked him a question about his time in college and why didn't he finish. He responded that he really didn't feel like talking about it so I let it go. Last week, as we were sitting at D's for happy hour pre-game, he brought that night back up.

"Do you remember asking me something a while back and me not answering? I don't know what you asked me about in particular"
"Yessir."
"You said something about it. That you thought we were both old enough that I should be able to answer any question you asked. You remember that night?"
"I remember it exactly."
"Well, you're right. We are old enough. Anything you want to ask me, you go ahead and I'll answer the best I can."
"Alright. I'll keep that in mind."

Alright internet friends and enemies. Given that opportunity, what would you ask your Dad? Many of you have written good and bad about your fathers over the years. Some of you have lost Dads already. What do you wish you had asked? What do you want to ask now?
If you know someone who may be able to contribute, please pass this post along.

Help me out here.
Thanks

Saturday

2008-10-04T18:13:00.005-04:00

Damn, my hands smell good. The apple pie is in the oven.

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I know a young lady whose parents told her, "Honey, we didn't send you to law school to be a lawyer; We sent you to marry one."

Is that just a Southern thing?

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Smart kids rule the day. Vandy wins!

Well, my mini Oktoberfest is almsot over here. The brats and kraut were fantastic and I can't even speak of the pie; it was that wonderful.

The Cocks surprised Corso and Herbstreet today to defeat the Rebs. Spurrier did not play the QB everybody in the World thought played the best last week. Whatever his point was, he proved it.

Alabama over Georgia was a huge upset no matter the score. I will wager against anyone that Bama will not make it to the NC game nor win a NC during Saban's term. Any takers?

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Major League Baseball may be dead. Wednesday night, I sat in a room playing poke with a group of eight men whose ages ranged from 39-70. I made sue to get there early and turn the TV to TBS for the night's baseball. Nobody watched a minute of the three games but for me. If they had there druthers, they would ahve tuned into the Malt Shop Music channel. They deserve to lose to me.

Oh yeah, TBS > Fox. Dick Stockton > Joe Buck. I haven't seen a single explosion in TBS's coverage of the playoffs so far. They actually talk about baseball. Revolutionary! I guess televising 150+ games a year for the last thirty years teaches a thing or two.

One bit of advice though; televise all the games in the early evening so everyone can see the end of them. I am the only person in America who is watching teams I don't even like. The Dodgers fans aren't watching the Rays. They are just waiting for their game to come on.

50-50

2008-09-27T00:45:00.004-04:00

I took a flyer and entered the 50-50 on FT tonight. We are at the third break. 5/99.

I had never seen It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia until last week. I'm catching my 3rd and 4th episodes now. They do have some original things on television. Who knew?

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Fourth break and I am 18/32. Just like last week, I haven't been involved in any bad beats on either side. I've run into some second best hands though that have kept me high up. My M is low though (as are most of the players) so it will be a push-fest for me as soon as we resume. The real money doesn't start until the final table so no need to shoot for 14th place. If I am going to play once a week, I should go for the big score.

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Out in 19th. Feels like the good old days.

That's Just Freaky

2008-09-19T22:51:00.008-04:00

28K on Full Tilt this evening . . .

I forgot Rock in Rio was going to be on VH1 Classic tonight. It doesn't rate with Live After Death as Steve Harris went crazy with the cut shots during editing but it does sound great. Anyway, I was flipping through and saw that I had missed the first hour and forty-five minutes. Under the theory some Maiden is better than no Maiden, I tuned in just in time to catch the opening to Number of the Beast. I immediately felt a little guilty as I had been thinking earlier today about a deal I made twenty years ago and, to put it plainly, I have come up a little short on my end. Now, I in no way shape or form think listening to Iron Maiden is a bad thing but the subject of the song took my mind back to the earlier guilt and I contemplated turning it off for just a second. I got over it and the the song played. It rocked and I continued to play in the tournament. Near the end of the song, I was dealt 66 in early position and I made a standard raise to get called by two players. "Wouldn't it be funny to hit the third six?" I thought as the flop came out with the aforementioned third six. We got our stacks in on the flop and my hand held up to knock the other player out of the tournament. Right before his avatar disappeared, I looked at his screen name for the first time. It was "DavidMurray." I shit you not.

1st break and I am 81 of 757. Who's looking out for me tonight?

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2nd break: 30 of 316. AA held up. I'll never be a big time tournament player as I can't push AI with K8s.

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3rd break: 17 of 122. In the money. The only reason I am playing is that I signed onto PSO for the first time in over a year last night and discovered I had $75 in rakeback sitting there. They allowed me to transfer it to Full Tilt and it hit my account this evening. I haven't played there in months as I got tired of trying to figure out how to get money in and out. Maybe I'll hit it big tonight and find a way to get paid.

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4th break: 5 of 32. Not complaining here but I've got to get up early to eat bacon and watch West Ham. Cruised along in the teens most of the level until I hit a straight and got a call on the river. I've won 83% of my showdowns.

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5th break: 8 of 8. Made it to the final table without laying or receiving a bad beat. And out AKs vs. 55. No help and I am done (8 out of 1257). Good night.

So We Should Watch More TV?

2008-09-18T14:44:00.004-04:00

From the TimesOnline (London)

10 Books Not to Read Before You Die

10: Ulysses – James Joyce
9: Lord of the Rings – J R R Tolkien
8: For Whom the Bell Tolls – Ernest Hemingway
7: À la Recherche du Temps Perdu – Marcel Proust
6: The Dice Man – Luke Reinhart
5: Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas – Hunter S Thompson
4: The Beauty Myth – Naomi Wolff
3: War and Peace – Leo Tolstoy
2: The Iliad -- Homer
1: Pride and Prejudice – Jane Austen

I've read 10, 9, 8, 5, and 1 completely, 2 and 3 partially, and have never had an aquaintance with 4, 6, or 7. I can't say that I regret reading any of them. At least Freddy the Pig novels didn't make the list.

Maybe I would take the list a little more seriously if it was not created by a television producer.

Seven Years On

2008-09-11T10:12:00.003-04:00

There are no favorite stories from that day. My story is that of waking up to a horror after a restless night of sleep anticipating a futile minor-impact car wreck case in the most rural magistrate district in the County. Rural in this case meant a conservative jury, which meant it was going to be a bad result for my client. I called the Judge to see if he wanted to postpone the case until another day due to the attacks and he replied, "I don't see why we would do that." Maybe the significance had not hit him at the time, stuck in his office with no access to television to watch the events unfold. Maybe he didn't much care what happened way up there in New York City. Maybe he felt the best way to move forward was to keep on doing his job and letting the wheels of justice turn and crush my crappy little case.

We weren't going to win. There was no way my client was going to get a dime. I had the case as it was assigned to me by my boss who took every case that came through the door. He grew up in one of the mill villages in Columbia and had seen his parents and neighbors crapped on for years, working long hours for whatever it was the mill felt fit to pay. He got his revenge by getting into law school and taking on as clients all those neighbors and their brothers, sisters, and cousins. All they had to do was come in and tell him they had gotten hurt and it was somebody else's fault. He took the case and, if it wouldn't settle, it would come down to one of the junior attorneys to try it. "Hi. My name's Junior."

I explained the realities of the case to my client. I explained how I felt the day's events were going to impact a jury which would know of the widespread destruction, death, and injuries that had been inflicted upon our country. I imagined them looking at the American flag in the court room as they sneered at my client and her "injuries." Unless she had been broken and bleeding at the scene, they were not going to give her a dime. Fortunately for her, but not for her case, her injuries had all been soft tissue and she had recovered quickly. After a long conversation, she agreed to not move forward. I was relieved. Not so much that I didn't have to try the case, but that I wouldn't have to make arguments seeking redress for my client's minor injuries when I knew there was a good chance thousands had perished already and none of us knew when the next seemingly inevitable blow was going to come.

I spent the rest of the day watching the coverage in my office. Over the next few weeks, I agonized over what I should do. I contemplated joining the military, going into public service, or seeking some other job that made a difference. In retrospect, I realize I was overlooking the public service I was doing in my job at the time with the access to representation we were giving to people who didn't have any other options. It was hard to see that though, as so much of my work seemed futile. In the end, I made steps to leave my job and start my own office where I could pick and choose my clients and any bad cases taken were going to be solely my fault. If there was blame to go around, it was going to be a short trip.

Now, seven years later, I am still seeking the right path. It took a national catastrophe to nudge me off of my prior one. What will it take this time?

This is my favorite story of a hero of September 11, 2001:

From Slate

Karnes hadn't been near the World Trade Center. He wasn't even in New York when the planes hit the towers. He was in Wilton, Conn., working in his job as a senior accountant with Deloitte Touche. When the second plane hit, Karnes told his colleagues, "We're at war." He had spent 23 years in the Marine Corps infantry and felt it was his duty to help. Karnes told his boss he might not see him for a while.

Then he went to get a haircut.

Bug Music?

2008-09-09T13:19:00.004-04:00

Saw one of these in the yard over the weekend. The old "Cow Killer" ant. It's not an ant of course, but it is one of the cooler looking insects around. We get them every once in a while and I steer relatively clear as their sting is reported to be very painful.

I updated the blog to the new format and immediately regret it. Does anyone know how I can revert to the old one? The one bonus is the blog list. I love the "how recent they have posted" feature. It also allows me to add some blogs I have been terribly remiss in adding (B.W.O.P. -what the hell took me so long?) and to get rid of some of those that no longer post (O.K. I believe you. You're never coming back. Though, if you were really as bad ass as you portray yourself, and didn't want anybody to talk to you, you would delete the thing.). I have to get everyone added back in over the next few days as well as try to recapture some of the items I lost from the old site.

It is still damn hot here in the midlands of South Carolina. Another attorney asked permission to take off his jacket in Court last week while he was questioning witnesses. I wish he hadn't. You remember "ring around the collar?" He had ring around the pits, collar, and belly.

It is too hot for football but it goes on. The big advantage southern schools have over those who come from out of the region to play is the heat and humidity. I don't know why a west coast or northern school would schedule a trip down here in the early season. Except for Southern Cal. They can obviously do what they want.

Speaking of southern football, How About Those Pirates?!!!!!!!! I am the Big Pirate for a reason. A lackluster experience as an undersized offensive lineman (but I had quick feet) has not deterred me from continuing to support the team. There is a really good coach in the Holtz family and he is in Greenville, North Carolina right now.

I have not played poker the last two Sundays at the Club. I am turning down a profitable game due to the smoke. Once I realized my throat was burning seven days a week and I was coughing up weird phlegm all the time, I decided once a week for awhile would be enough. It has been a once a week habit for the last two weeks but I 'll be back at it twice this week. I have left enough money on the table this month.

I am going to try to make the Bash this year. I have always wanted to get Buddy Steve and Al in the same room and watch the bartenders blanch. Oh well, it's another goal.

I just learned Obama and I share something else in common. Go West Ham!

Saturday

2008-09-06T18:33:00.005-04:00

What kind of bookie doesn't answer a text?????????? Dammit!!!!!!!! Go Pirates
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I haven't been to B's in 15 years but totally predicted that it would be the place Blackledge highlighted. It was the first place I ever went where slaw came on the sandwich whether you ordered it or not.

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Sam Swank gets to go out with any Wake pre-med girl he wants to tonight. Demon Deacs to the Orange Bowl!
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I told Buddy Steve I would give him $1000 if SDSU beat Notre Dame. I am almost sorry I don't have to now.
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101 Things to Eat Before You Die

I have eaten, or would eat almost all of these things. Organ meat still grosses me out a bit though.

Friday. Big deal. Monday is just three days away.

2008-09-05T15:41:00.003-04:00

I'm going in a big circle. Actually it feels like a small circle as it seems I just zoomed past this spot. I was in a Culver City studio five years ago today. I had thoughts it would be a milestone in my life to get me out of the circle I was in. No such luck. Here I go again: spinning, spinning, spinning. Don't get me wrong, there is plenty inside my little circle I enjoy greatly and would not give up for the World. There needs to be a break in the circumference soon though.

I am playing much less poker these days. O.K., I am still playing seven days a week but I am playing less per day. O.K., I am still playing about the same number of hours, I am just playing fewer tables. Fewer tables=less poker. See. I am playing live three times a week now. One for fun and two for blood. There is a player who can not play poker, is incapable of folding in the face of certain defeat, in incapable of not drinking heavily while playing, and is incapable of being happy with a small win or loss. Invariably, it is a big loss. By invariably, I mean EVERY TIME HE PLAYS. It amazes me. In forty sessions or so this year, he has been in the black twice. On Wednesday, he started with the "Here I go again," when he ran into a string of losses on hands he shouldn't have been playing. Actually, he had been playing quite tight for a while and was up. I just looked at him and said, "Simmer down. You haven't screwed up too much yet." I know it is not my place to tap the glass. Honestly, I just can't stand listening to him bitch about losing. I took note one night of all his complaints and it resulted in an astounding array of excuses for being a poker loser. Eventually, he devolves into the old, "Nobody runs as bad as me" argument. Bullshit. Nobody has the opportunity to run as bad as he does as nobody plays as many hands. For my part, I take very little of his money. In a session, I am looking to win 6 or 7 hands. With the way I play and the stakes at risk, that is enough to make it a good night for me. By my nature of play, his chips and mine rarely make it into the pot together. His absence at the table would impinge on my profit but not as much as it might seem. When it comes down to it, almost everyone there is paying me to play. I grin and laugh at their jokes, throw in the occasional blind bet, and answer their legal questions so they don't seem to mind too much. He ended up on the night to the tune of a few hundred and there was no pleasure in his face, voice, or demeanor. The saying can be true it appears; He's not happy unless he's losing. When he loses big, he is animated. When he loses small, he complains about how far he was ahead. When he wins, he is sullen. That is brain chemistry I do not grok.

Now, this is a young guy (for this group) with small children. It sounds as though he makes a good living otherwise but he can't go down this path much further without quitting or deciding to steer into the oncoming headlights one night on the way home. He's shown himself incapable of quitting. So, I try to calm him down. Am I a enabler or a noble soul? I can't help but think about his children and their screwed-up Daddy. Then I think of my children and wonder about their Daddy as well.

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As I found myself yelling at the television last night over something a 19 year old kid did or didn't do, I realized I was being ridiculous. I shouldn't be allowed to watch college football. I've decided to go exclusively with the EPL and have started a blog for my team over there (Know how I know you're gay?). It's soccer for goodness sakes. How upset could I get.

That being said. GO PIRATES! Every year needs a non-BCS party buster and this could be ECUs year (only if they can surprise a very good WVU team tomorrow and keep the dream alive).

Huh, Huh. You Said Cocks.

2008-09-04T13:07:00.004-04:00

Chris Smelley that is.

If anyone wants one, I'll try to find one around town for you. I have also seen, "You can't lick our Cocks!," "You can't beat our Cocks!," and, for basketball, "Our Cocks do it on the hardwood!" Hey, if you have the ability to have juvenile cheers for your team, shouldn't you use them?

Carolina plays at Vandy tonight. Anybody want to bet a repeat of last year doesn't happen.

East Carolina and West Virginia tussle Saturday in the biggest game in PirateLand in years. A win here would be huge for the Purple and Gold. I'm planning for the Orange Bowl already.

Half Assed Live Blog on a Football Saturday

2008-08-30T15:04:00.005-04:00

Went to the local to watch West Ham play this morning and was rewarded with a 4-1 win against Blackburn. It’s nice having a place that will open up at 10:00 (or earlier) to let you come in a watch. The best line was from an early arriving Arsenal fan, “How can you drink all day if you don’t start in the morning”

-Pittsburgh does not a have a good head coach.
-App. State is still good. LSU is no 2007 Michigan. Remember, App. Did not go undefeated in their own I-AA conference last year.

Beamer is making HUGE MISTAKE by not playing his best QB. Beamer Ball won, Skip Holtz style. GO PIRATES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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UVA is one of the prettiest places in the country. I wouldn’t want to be a Wahoo today. We honeymooned in Charlottesville and observed the annual July 4th citizenship ceremony they have there every year. When I think of retirement, Charlottesville is high on my list. Nothing good is going to happen there today. Groh is another one of those good assistants that has shown himself not be able to run a big time program. Too many good players not to have better results. They have been competitive but UVA fans expect more. Especially with VT having such a good decade.

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-#7 for UVA has calmed down a good bit and is leading them on a nice drive at the end of the first.
-I got more texts for the ECU win than I get when trying to set up a poker game. Is it too early to start planning for the Orange Bowl? I guess we need to wait until the WVU game.
-Getting ready for the big game tonight. Clemson/Alabama. Most overrated coach versus most disappointing coach. Who will flinch first?

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-Fantastic ribs on the smoker tonight.
-Tommy’s teams usually don’t collapse until much later in the season.

Football Predictions 2008

2008-08-28T09:38:00.003-04:00

Pay no attention to the little old lady coaching the team and never mind the final score, this is the best representation I've seen of the Carolina intro short of being there. But you really got to be there.

Predictions for the coming year:

Brookland-Cayce Fighting Bearcats: The computer says 2-8. They can go 5-5 if the new coach can find a quarterback. They can go 1-9 if the kids continue not to care about football.

East Carolina Pirates: The computer says 8-4. I say they can go 10-2 if they can pull off an upset in their tough non-conference schedule and win whatever game they have to play 8000 miles away in the huge Conference USA.

South Carolina Fighting Gamecocks: Computer says 7-5. They could win nine if the defense is better than hoped and the quarterback play is solid. They could win six if they end up playing five QBs.

Clemson Tigers: The computer says 10-2. They can go undefeated barring injury and if the Coaches don't try to coach too much. They can go 8-4 if opposing teams watch film and realize that 98% of the offensive plays are bubble screens.

South Carolina State Bulldogs: Computer says 10 wins and 1-AA playoffs. On the spot.

University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill: Computer says 0-12. If Roy Williams lets those guys stop mowing his lawn at his palatial estate every Saturday, they might win one or two.

University of Michigan: Computer says 8-4. They can win six if the Michigan fans refuse to realize they got one of the best coaches in the Country.

Georgia Bulldogs: Computer says 12-0 but the Computer always says 12-0 for Georgia, the most over-rated good team every year. They can go 9-3 with a brutal schedule. It might be enough to win the East.

At least I'll be able to see most of these games on TV, unlike those of my across the ocean team.

Get Some Nuts! - Snickers Advert

2008-08-15T22:32:00.002-04:00

Holy Cow! Best Commercial Ever.

Saw this on Scott's site a while ago and have been quoting it since. "Quit your jibber-jabber."

Bracketed by the Bracelet

2008-07-31T11:48:00.004-04:00

When I wrote about a naked Tina Fey on July 1, I thought it was going to be the start of a glorious month of posting. Alas, life intervened and I failed to commit anything to internet paper until today. Once again, I speak to you of a dream. A blogger dream no less. Three times this month, I dreamed of bloggers. Two of them may have been in one dream; I don't remember that one (those?) dream(s) too well. After THOSE photos, you knew Speaker was going to be in your thoughts. Don't deny it. You were doing it too. In my dream, he was making the moves on a girl in one of the local watering holes. There was a sundress involved. I don't know what she was wearing, though. The Doc (Pauley) may have been there as well, or maybe he was in another one. During the WSOP, I was obsessed with his blog even before Iggy made his big move so it was natural his visage invaded my sleep. The third appearance was just last night. I walked out my front door and the Bracelet was waiting in my driveway to engage in a game of HORSE (basketball, not cards). I assented and proceeded to dominate. No sir. In YOUR face. It is no small wonder. Though I played college football, basketball was always my favorite sport growing up. Twice, when I was 12, I played my neighbor (a normal sized, healthy, reasonably athletic twelve year old) to 100. Both times, I spotted him 80 points. The first game, I won 100-98 playing by twos. The second game, I won 100-86 playing by ones. From there on out, he insisted on tennis where he thoroughly trounced me repeatedly. He was normal sized, I was a gorilla.

I don't know where the Bracelet dream came from. I think I've only met him once, in 2005 at the WPBT lunch before we all went to get knocked out of the WSOP. As for his blog, I lost the link to it years ago when some dumbasses actions made him take it down. Now, I stumble across it every few weeks when someone links to him in a post. I like it that way as I get to catch up on multiple posts at once. It's always classic and worth the effort to find. But, if he finds himself in the midlands of South Carolina with a basketball in his hand. He's going to get schooled. It has been foreseen.

Hopefully this month, I will dream of some of those pretty lady bloggers from California, Texas, Jersey, New York, Florida, and Oklahoma amongst others.

Tina Fey Naked

2008-07-01T11:39:00.002-04:00

Most mornings, I don't recall my dreams of the night before. It usually takes a trigger to make my mind remember the fiction it dreamt of a few hours ago. This morning, it was the mention of Tina Fey on the radio for some reason or another. My mind immediately recalled the dream and replayed it for my pleasure. Ms. Fey and I were in a hotel room. It was probably New York City. Maybe it was L.A. My perception was that we were not "together" in the sense that we were seeing each other on a regular romantic basis. We were together enough though, that she walked out of the bathroom in my presence naked. Buck naked. Her body was glistening but her hair was dry as though she had wrapped a towel around it while showering. Did I say buck naked? She was actually wearing her trademark frames. The better to see you with my dear. Or be seen as the case may be. In my dream, I had received a call that bore a sense of urgency. I surveyed Tina from head to toe quite appreciatively (as the appreciation was well warranted) before stepping toward her. I leaned in and said, "I have to leave for a bit, but I will be back soon," before wrapping one of my ridiculously long arms around her back, extending downward towards one of her wonderfully fleshy rear cheeks and planting a kiss square on her mouth. She arose on her tip toes and returned the pressure, both of us lingering in our goodbye. I then moved to leave. When I reached the door, I worried that one of my actions had caused offense though she had raised no protest. It had been inadvertent but there had been some firmness in the gesture. After all, I am a gorilla and she a mere waif of a woman. I turned back to face her squarely, her, shimmering in the indirect light and me, wrapped in the trappings of the non-naked world, "I didn't mean to stick my finger in your ass. I was just trying to hug you goodbye. No harm?"

"None at all," she replied. In fact, it had been mere incidental contact, brought on by the length of my arms and fingers. Like Jerry Seinfeld, scratching his nose while his super model girlfriend watched from an adjoining cab, there was no pick. It was all exterior contact. Before I left the room though, I wanted to make sure we were on the same page. I wanted my return to the room to be welcome. As I said, she was buck naked, and I was appreciative.

2008-06-06T15:42:00.004-04:00

I wonder if Uncle John Lloyd is in any of those photos you see of Ike visiting the paratroops the eve before D-Day. I wonder why he volunteered to jump, as his unit was not scheduled to. Was he embarrassed he had broken his leg jumping into Sicily? He had already been through about the most rigorous training the Army had to offer. He had nothing to prove to anyone but himself I suppose. I wonder how my Dad felt on the day the Western Union man came to the door, fifteen years old and losing his favorite brother so soon after losing his Dad in a train accident. How did Granny handle it? I know she turned to prayer and belief in God's will. Is that the time Dad lost his faith?

John Lloyd had been able to come home and visit a few months before the invasion of Europe. Today, the troops are able to keep in touch through blogs and cell phones. Imagine someone having to call home from the belly of a C-47, "No, I can talk. The light is still red. Yeah. We're about to jump. Don't worry. It's what we've been trained to do. I said don't worry. Alright, every body's standing up, I've got to go. Yes. Yes. Yes. I have it all. Kiss the kids. The light's green. I love you."

They must have let him come home due to Grandfather's death. Did my Dad sit by him at the drugstore fountain, staring adoringly at the colors on his uniform? The airborne pin? The Sergeant's stripes? Did he brag to his school mates about his brother, the hero, or did he already have that cool demeanor that shows in his own military photos taken a few years later? What did John Lloyd tell him when he left? To take care of their Mother? Uncle Monk was joined up and gone by then. Uncle George was blind. Two of the three girls were already grown and out of the home. The fifteen year old was going to be the only sighted male in the house for awhile.

My youngest Aunt was seventeen and was too busy to go to the prayer meeting at Ebenezer Church on June 5, 1944. She went out with her friends instead. To this day, she feels ashamed she was not there to pray for the troops and her brother. It's silly to think that way of course, but she still speaks bitterly of herself when she remembers that day sixty four years ago.

He was first buried in a temporary grave as most were. I suppose the family had a choice to bring his body home as so many did. They decided to allow him to remain where he fell, a solemn marble cross marking his final resting place alongside thousands of others. Granny never saw his grave. I don't know if she ever flew in her life. Her faith told her she would see her boy again. Whole. Healthy. Shining that sly smile that runs in that side of the family. The smile I see on my oldest already. There are photos of the temporary grave. Uncle Monk must have been able to find it during his time there. In the Ardennes, he ran into member's of John Lloyd's unit. They spoke fondly of their fallen comrade, but there was other work still to do. The other children made the trip over the years, some more than once, finding tangible proof of their family's sacrifice noted in a peaceful field overlooking the Channel. One day I will make that journey. I plan to sit and talk to him. I expect my children will ask, "Mommy, why is Daddy crying?" She'll have a good answer. She usually does. Then, I'll probably pull them all close to me and hug them fiercely, as I am sure Granny did with John Lloyd when he left Florence County for the last time in 1944. As I am sure she would have given almost anything to do so again every day for the next thirty-four years.

From The State Newspaper

“It affected me more than I expected that it would,” he said. “I was 15 when he died. He was my older brother, and he was my hero.”

John L. Johnson, Jr.

Sergeant, U.S. Army

505th Parachute Infantry Regt, 82nd Airborne Division

Entered the Service from: South Carolina
Died: 6-Jun-44
Buried at: Plot F Row 21 Grave 28
Normandy American Cemetery
Colleville-sur-Mer, France

Awards: Purple Heart

Heard at the Table

2008-06-04T13:48:00.001-04:00

"That boy doesn't care if he has any friends."

By Dad about a player who entered into a series of pots with substantial raises.

You think gas prices are rising fast? A coffee and cinnamon roll that cost $3.19 last week cost me $23.19 today.

2008-05-26T11:58:00.001-04:00

Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares. Hebrews 13:2

The story didn’t make sense. First off, a car battery usually doesn’t die in the middle of the parking lot. If you had said you stepped in to get a cup of coffee and left your headlights on by mistake, I would have bought it. It was an older car and I would have believed you had an old, worn out battery in there that could go dead in thirty minutes. Then you said you think you left the interior light on last night in the motel parking lot. Really? How did you get the car to the Atlanta Bread Company then, two miles away? It is mostly downhill I reckon. A little help with a push could have got you started. To top it off, you told me someone not only siphoned all your gas last night, they also had the audacity to run off with your fuel cap. That is bad luck there. I agree with you that the motel is not the nicest but that it is a shame such a thing could happen. I was also sorry to hear your Mom was in the Heart Center at Richland Memorial. Strange that you are staying in a room over here when there are lots of options right by that facility. I figured you just booked a room by the first hospital you saw, thinking it was Richland as you are from out of town and all. I am sure it is a little inconvenient driving all the way across town to visit her. If only she had the foresight to be in Lexington Medical Center, you would be a lot closer to her. Oh well, Richland is the place to be if you are a heart patient if all the radio spots and billboards are right. Besides, the Gov shot down the plan for Lexington’s certification as a heart center so I guess he has to bear some part of the blame for your predicament. It was also sad to hear you had to be in Rock Hill this afternoon and that you were down to your last nine dollars. Gas, expensive? You sure are right Sister. It cost me plenty to get to Table Rock this weekend and back. It is amazing how much you an learn of a person in the short time it takes to jump their vehicle. I am no mechanical genius so it probably takes me about thirty seconds longer to do so than one who does it every day. Thank you for sharing with me. Here’s a twenty. Three years ago, it would have been a five, but gas is high now. You may be so soon, but I hope there was some truth to your tale. I don’t mind playing the fool. I just don’t want to be a complete one.

Grapefruit League

2008-05-22T11:32:00.003-04:00

As is customary, I spent Tuesday night waking up in starts. I probably got three hours sleep. Early morning cases with the potential for bad results do that to me. Add in the fact this matter has been going on for six years and was finally coming to a conclusion and there was no way I was going to get any real rest.

Stress manifests itself in many ways. For me, it takes pleasure in forming into a grapefruit sized ball and sitting in my stomach until the event concludes. About 10:30 yesterday morning, it vanished, leaving behind only slight queasiness that may be indicative of a physical, rather than mental, ailment. Stress is my catalyst. As much as I hate it, I usually respond well and get the job done. I envy those who can do what needs to be done all the time without the impetus stress provides.

This morning, The Rock stopped by and dropped off some cash. We settled up short last night in the Big Game and it was too late to figure out exactly what happened. We figured there was a calculation error somewhere and that nobody had done anything maliciously. As is customary, the winners took the brunt of the error equally. I took the book home to try and figure out the error, but damned if I could find anything wrong with the way it was kept. The Rock sheepishly stood outside my door this morning as I arrived. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a wad. "The senator's money got mixed up with mine. The book was fine. Here's you share." Of course, I handed my portion in its entirety to the auto glass man an hour later to replace the windshield in the truck. That's alright though. It had to come from somewhere.

I stumbled across this photo in the archives yesterday. This was breakfast, Christmas morning 2007. You should have been at my house.

I will probably be at Riverchasers tonight. We need to pack for our weekend in Table Rock. A vomiting 5 year old may preclude that though. I'm feeling a bit feverish myself.

We Are All Forgiven

2008-05-16T13:42:00.002-04:00

Since I've been gone . . .
-Went to Darlington. Saw a bunch of cars go around an almost oval. David Pearson would have stopped Busch from getting to the front.
-I've had dreams involving three bloggers. Just a bunch of yapping going on.
-Been to G-Vegas three times but haven't been able to hook up with anybody in that crowd for awhile. At this rate, they will all be gone before I get the chance.
-I've been absolutely worthless as an online poker player. I'm still digging the Wednesday night live game but the UIGEAWKBTY has finally gotten me down. I am actually contemplating playing out the string and then finding something else to do five nights a week.
-Planted tomatoes in all shapes and sizes. It's hard to find full sun in my neck of the woods.
-Made scant progress to deciding what I want to do when I grow up.
-Decided Chipper is HOF material and hoping he will have the best season of anyone since 1941 (non-juiced). LAAARRRYYYYY ROOOOOOCCCCCKKKSSSS!
-Decided I need someone to filter the news I get. If I see one more item about someone hurting their infant children, I may drive to the jail myself.
-Don't have any idea what is going on in your world. Your writing just reminds me how slack I am. Did you move to Vegas? How's your love life? Gambling much? Vacation plans? Mom and Dad O.K.? That brother of yours get straightened out yet? How's the job?

#42

2008-04-15T13:26:00.003-04:00

I try to mark this day every year. As a lifelong Braves fan, I am contractually obligated to hate everything L.A. Dodger related (Sorry Mr. Jones). As a baseball fan though, I still have a soft spot for the Brooklyn version as they tried to topple the hated Yanks for all those years. I won’t wear an L.A. Dodger item, but I will wear my Dodger Blue “B” cap today along with my 1946 replica #9 Montreal Royals away jersey (the Dodger's AAA affiliate where Robinson played in '46). You want to talk about somebody that changed America? Let’s talk Jackie Robinson.

From ESPN online.

42 THINGS TO KNOW ABOUT JACKIE ROBINSON
By Mark Kelly, ESPN Research
1 MVP award and Rookie of the Year award won
2 Number of World Series HRs
3 Number of ABs in his first game
4 Number of sports lettered in at UCLA
5 The youngest of 5 children
6 Number of World Series appearances
7 Number of seasons he scored 99 or more runs
Inning that he stole home in Game 1 of 1955 WS
8 More runs than strikeouts in World Series career
9 Number of times he was hit by a pitch in rookie season
10 Number of seasons in MLB
11 Lifetime BA of .311
12 Number of HR in his rookie season
13 Traded by Brooklyn Dodgers to N.Y. Giants on Dec. 13, 1956. Robinson retired rather than play for the Giants
14 Most times he was hit by pitch in a season (1952)
15 Made his debut on April 15, 1947
16 Number of home runs in his MVP season
17 Dodgers play Montreal Royals on March 17, 1946, with Robinson in the lineup marking the first appearance of an integrated team in organized baseball this century
Named first-ever Rookie of the Year on Sept. 17, 1947, 11 days before the last game of the regular season
18 Number of All-Star ABs
19 Career high for HRs set in 1951 and 1952
Number of times he stole home in his MLB career
20 Family moved to Pasadena in 1920
21 Number of World Series walks
22 Number of World Series runs
23 Branch Rickey announces signing of Robinson on Oct. 23, 1945
Selected for MLB HOF on January 23, 1962
Inducted into MLB HOF on July 23, 1962
24 Number of more points he had than runner-up Larry Jansen in ROY voting
25 Number of years after his major league debut that he threw out the ceremonial first pitch of Game 2 of the 1972 World Series
26 Years it had been since a NL player stole their way around the bases, which he did in 1954
27 Number of extra-base hits in his final MLB season
28 Age he was when he made his MLB debut
29 Stolen bases in rookie year
30 Played in first World Series game on Sept. 30, 1947
31 Number of doubles in his rookie season
32 Number of postseason hits
33 Price of postage stamp in 1999 when U.S. Postal Service issued a Jackie Robinson stamp as part of their "Celebrate the Century" program
34 Average number of strikeouts per 162-game season
35 Age when he stole his way around the bases in 1954
Number of Negro League players in HOF
36 Number of strikeouts in his rookie season
37 Age during final season
38 Number of postseason games
39 Entered UCLA in 1939
40 Career-high for strikeouts set in 1952
41 Played pro football for Honolulu Bears in 1941
42 His number retired by MLB

Raise a stink? More like Tap the Glass.

2008-04-03T15:22:00.002-04:00

So, I was playing in the regular Wednesday night game last night and running pretty cold. I think I had scooped two pots the first five hours, quartered quite a few lows, and lost a hold 'em hand when my pocket AA got run down by 78s. No big deal; I was down just a little and had straightened out my attitude and was content to run out the night playing good poker with no mind towards results when this hand occured in the last twenty minutes of play.

We were playing O8 with a couple of twists. First off, we were each dealt five cards. That obviously makes for better staring hands. Second though, was the fact the dealer called "two OR three out of your hand." That makes it a completely different game. Boats are routinely disguised as the board does not have to be paired if you are playing three from your hand and A2 is not worth much unless the board contains three other lows. I get dealt A56QQ double suited. Flushes win high on occasion and having the big PP in my hand gave me the boat possibility so I called the 5 ante from MP knowing there would be eight players to the flop. (The game had been called 5-100 [bets between 5 and 100 on any round of betting] and we allow "kill" calls meaning you can say "kill" when calling. Three "kills," three raises, or any combo thereof caps the raising for that hand) I killed the raise with my call so there was no fear of raising behind. The flop was 23X giving me A2356. I figured my low was good so I bet 20 getting four callers. The turn was a blank for me but gave the first player to act some sort of hand and he bet out 40 which got three callers, me included. The first player, Wingnut, bets almost any hand so there was no telling what he was on. The other two, Doc and Lumpy, call with almost anything so they were mysteries as well. I did not raise for two reasons. First, there was the possibility one of these guys had an A45 in there hand. Based on my knowledge of their betting, I doubted it, but I have been fooled before. Secondly, I wanted to control the pot size a little bit and did not want to open myself to a re-raise. The river was a dastardly 4 making the nut low of the wheel, which I had of course. It didn't feel near as good as my 65 had just a moment before though as Wingnut bet the full 100 and Doc raised it to 200. As I was trying to figure out the math of a call and how much I was going to get back in the highly likely event I had been quartered, Lumpy announced "call" and stuck his chips in. That made my mind up obviously as a quarter of four players is a no lose situation. I said "call" and pushed my chips in. Lumpy then said, "Oh, I didn't realize Wes hadn't acted yet. I got to think about this." My brain screamed, "BULLSHIT! You called and put your damn chips in." My mouth said, "You called and put your chips in, You're in." He thought for a minute and said, "Nope. I'm not going to call." One other player made a half-hearted comment about Lumpy's play but didn't push it. I shut my mouth and waited for Wingnut to call the raise, which he did. Of course he and Doc had A5 and we split the low three ways. Wingnut had a shitty flush that took the high. Without the river 4, my hand would have taken the whole low.

I did not raise a stink there though I know I would have been justified doing so. Honestly, a lot of my profit from this games depends on dumb raises from those pushing their nut lows. These guys will routinely bitch at one another when they get quartered and one of them was betting or raising, but they keep on doing it. I'm not going to be the one giving lessons though. Secondly, this guy is a pretty decent fellow for this crew (subjectivity is a helluva thing) and he is not one to angle shoot. I kept my mouth shut as much less than I put in was pushed back my way.

I did take substantial joy though when Lumpy looked at the revealed hands and realized he missed out on half of a 1000+ pot as his baby boat would have taken the whole high side. He was scared my call meant I was going that way.

Me. On the inside. I was laughing.

It's a Whole Lotta MATH Tonight

2008-03-31T17:54:00.002-04:00

Drink at least two beers really fast. Go sit in any vehicle made prior to 1986 or so. Push in a Let There Be Rock cassette, forward it to Whole Lotta Rosie, and turn it up LOUD. It may be the best rock and toll song ever.

In honor of Angus' 53rd birthday, I shall play the MATH tonight. If I win, I will send part of my winnings to anybody in Australia who will go buy a beer and drink it on my behalf at Bon's statue.

I'm really down after a bad run. Not the Big Game last night though; that was my fault for pushing into what was an obviously better hand. The re-suck did hurt for a moment but I had no business being there anyway. Watch out tonight. I might not play 8% of my hands.

Controversy

2008-03-28T16:04:00.002-04:00

I didn't know there was drama in the blogger world. I just keep my head down and plug along. The only comment I would make is that I just don't get the need to publicly criticize others. I know that if you put out a blog, you are making yourself into a very minor public figure by that virtue. Does that leave you open to mean spirited barbs of others? Now, if you are a serious card player and publish your theories on how hands should be properly played and tournaments should be successfully navigated, you are opening yourself up for criticism. In that case though, you probably welcome it in an attempt to improve your own game. the very few times I have posted a hand history, I was desperate to receive some feedback to validate or attack my points That, I understand. A good-natured "donkey," I understand. Beyond that, it escapes me that one would put themselves into a situation over and over again where they feel the need to harangue others. I thought the idea was to play against bad players and keep them around. In my Wednesday night game, we have two big donators. I go out of my way to be nice to them and cut eyes at anybody who gives them any grief over table etiquette or some such perceived breach of decorum. Maybe it's just me though.

I spent all weekend and week practicing my pulse and glide, slathering some butts, and watching scantily clad young ladies and gentlemen. This weekend will probably be more of the same. As I have said before, if you want to visit South Carolina, the next few weeks are the time to come. They hold the Masters at this time of the year for a reason. I'll be playing poker and thinking about nasty to say about you. Hope you do the same.

Oh yeah. This.

Boy, did I smoke some tasty wings and pork loin this weekend. But this is a poker blg.

2008-03-17T14:02:00.006-04:00

It was a somewhat successful weekend. I played a lot of PLO8 last week on FT. I culminated a fantastic run Friday night crushing on two table and thinking I had mastered the game. On Saturday, I gave most of it back. As my confidence is not extremely high, I have been buying in short to limit losses. Of course, that also makes decisions much easier when the pot gets any size to it. On Sunday, I looked up and saw Daddy sitting beside me and Drizz siting a few seats to my left. I checked my hand history and saw that Drizz had been there for more than fifty hands while Daddy had been there a dozen or so before I noticed them. Now, was I concentrating really hard to ensure I was playing optimally, or was I watching Dogfights on the History Channel a little too intently.

After reviewing my MTT play lately, I realized I had none other than the blogger tournaments. So, I decided to jump into the 50/50 waters on Saturday and pulled out a money finish even with my big, bubble mistake. Massive MTT play requires a bankroll big enough to sustain the inevitable run of non or low cashes. Since 2006, I haven't kept enough in Full Tilt (or anywhere else) to be able to play more than the occasional tournament. Couple that with a really bad stretch of play, my play, in the few events I do enter. Therefore, I am foolish to enter them at all unless I am willing to run the risk of zeroing out online. I was fortunate to get my entry back and then some, so I will probably make another run at it next weekend when I don't have to get up early the next morning.

Now this aversion doesn't apply to blogger events. I rule those! Case in point: I stepped over the pond to play in the Brit Blogger event Sunday and came in 3rd. I got a little lucky early and late to make a run, but just couldn't pull it off. I plan on continuing my run at the MATH tonight by going for my third win in seven weeks. [[Flash forward to March 2009: "Going for my third win in 59 weeks!"]] The crowds in the BBT3 have not been as large as I thought after the first two events, but they are still pretty substantial. My confidence is high that I will win one of the TOC seats. It would be nice to get it out of the way soon though.

See y'all there.

Gambling Money

2008-03-14T15:59:00.004-04:00

So, being half drunk and playing poker with my Dad Tuesday night (BTW, Happy 79th to you Sir), I asked if Mom had ever given him any grief about his gambling. He responded that he never gambled that much. Obviously the old man is getting senile as I clearly remember his tales of four figure wins and losses on the golf course from my youth. "What about bets with Big John you always talked about?" I asked. "Oh, she didn't say anything about that. That wasn't her money." Now, before you go off half-cocked about male chauvanism and shared property (as I almost did), note the next thing he said was, "I never gambled with family money." That I understood. I knew Mom had been the money keeper all those years and she would have complained if he had ever not given her enough to take care of all of us. As for me, I have been gambling a good bit the last four years or so, and have been able to keep my gambling money separate from my family money. I have been tempted to reach into that forbidden fund, but that just wouldn't be fair now would it? Hell, that's like pulling a Spitzer.

Dad did admit that he had sometimes been hurt losing "his" money back in the day of big golf, but that he had never let us hurt by gambling away what was needed to keep us solvent. I believe him too. Like I said, Mom would have taken care of it if he had. He always told me, "If you can't afford to lose it, you can't afford to win it." It's not the most fun advice, but it might be the most valuable.

Dad retired January 3, 2008 after over forty-five years of working nights at the post office. He worked three jobs most of the time until he was in his mid-60s. I don't think he averaged four hours sleep a night from 1968-1994. For years, he worked seven nights a week, twelve hours a night until the postal workers union negotiated a deal that limited overtime. I never saw him turn down a single call to come in early. Born in 1929, he was the youngest of seven kids. He waited till he was 40 to start having his own. Our generations stretch way back. My Granny was born in 1889 and was the youngest of nine. Her Daddy was born in 1848 and joined the CSA at the ripe age of fourteen. Dad was worried he wouldn't be able to find anything to do if he retired. I think he was scared of sitting in his chair and dying to the visions of Matlock and Columbo. The work was starting to take a toll on him though, and he finally decided to see another side of life. Well, it looks as though he is making do. He still plays golf four or five times a week (He did that even when he was working), hangs out int he library doing family research, hits the gym three days a week at least, and plays cards with us on Tuesdays. I think we are both pretty lucky for it.

The BBT3-Week 2. Take a beat, lay a beat. Bubble. Status Quo.

Damn I like to play poker!

Big Game Recap-MATH Pre-Cap

2008-03-03T15:45:00.004-05:00

I have had a bit of success in the Big Game since its inceptions. I split a first somewhere along the way and have cashed in it about fifty percent of the time. Due to its high buy-in in relation to the other blogger events, I felt it would be my best chance of getting a TOC seat sewn up early. While I have won my share of blogger events, I did not win an event in BBT 1 or 2. I made a number of final tables and ended up positive in the cash column but missed out on the big prizes. As we all know now though, 105 players signed up for the Big Game last night and played much tighter than usual (at least for a little bit) until some non-blogger made off with the top spot. Now, I don't begrudge the participation of non-bloggers in these events. I still think back fondly to early 2004, when I knocked Bad Blood out of a blogger tourney as a reader. Plus, without the almost open participation, the prizes at BBT 3 might just be the regular money spots and a cheese steak. I do wonder what the turnout will be tonight though. Could we hit 200 in the MATH? I think it is possible. For the Mookie and Riverchasers, I think it is going to happen. I should have locked down that seat last night.

Don't come play the MATH. It's bad for you.

I have won two of the last three weeks. Per that schedule, I will be out early this week but back on top the next. If I do win, I will bounty myself for the duration of the BBT 3.

Win the MATH, Make a Post

2008-02-26T00:57:00.002-05:00

At this rate, I'll have to post twenty times this year. Probably just twice though.

Learn MATH in the Mountains

2008-02-12T01:18:00.000-05:00

On Friday, I left behind a problem in the office and headed to the mountains for a weekend of fun and fellowship. This was our fifth year in a row for our weekend after the super bowl winter camping trip The WASBCT for those of us in the know. We headed to Table Rock State Park and set up for night of drinking around the fire. The last two years I have taken Swab 1 starting when he was two years and ten months. This year was Swab 2's first time out at three years six months. On Saturday morning, we drove up to the Blue Ridge Parkway and hiked first to the top of Devil's Courthouse then over to the top of Sam Knob. This area of North Carolina offers something unique to east coast hikers as there are a number of balds that allow for unobstructed 360 degree views. The mountains are over 6000 feet but that is not enough to establish a tree line. Once the trees are taken out though through cutting or fire, they are very slow to grow back, leaving us with great hikes for many decades. The boys made the trip up and down Sam Knob without complaint and without being carried. I still don't believe it. They slept like logs Saturday night. There is nothing like spending some time around a fire to rejuvenate our soul.

The weekend went so well, I woke up Monday morning and said to myself, "I'm going to win the MATH tonight." No lie. I really said it. Well, guess what?

Columbo and I went for a long time heads up before I got AA ont he last hand. HE almost hammered me into submission but I was able to withstand.

You Should Play the Player, But Only if You Know the Player

2008-01-29T13:48:00.001-05:00

So, in the MATH, I played extremely well for about 20 minutes. In a few hands with a player I have seen play many hands, I was able to pick up some chips by picking off two apparent steal attempts. So, there I was cruising along with 1000 extra chips for doing nothing other than paying attention the last few years and I get involved in the same type of hand with another player, whom I know almost nothing of. Based on their similarities to the other player, I assigned some values I should not have assigned and paid for to the tune of 2/3 of my stack. I actually had a good hand when it started but it was soon clear I was way behind. I checked a scary flop and then raised their bet. I dumbly raised too much though and was unable to fold to the all-in that ensued even though I knew I was drawing to two outs for a set or looking for a runner-runner straight. No help came and I was stuck. When you don't know the player, you have to default back to your basic play. If so, I would have had no problem playing that hand. As it was though, I thought I was being smart and it ended up making me look stupid. I hung around for a while and finally got into a spot where I was going to double back up to my starting stack when Bayne intervened. Is there anyone else that would like to knock me out of a tournament? It certainly does not appear so. When the bounties resume, I am just going to send him one right away and then cut him off from any further reward. That's right pal, no more bacon and grits for you. Congrats to whoever won. I went to bed.

you can tell you're getting old when other people's birthdays make you feel old

2008-01-23T13:56:00.001-05:00

Today is a special birthday. It is the 25th of the first child I had any real responsibility towards. I met his Mom when he was five and I was a mere nineteen. For the first few years of our relationship, I acted like a big brother. There was lots of wrestling, hide-and-seek, and “gotcha.” Mom did all the raising; I was just the guy who came by a few times a week. Eventually, we ended up living together and I had to start making breakfast and taking care of him while Mom was away at work. It was the summer of 1990 in Myrtle Beach. Most of my away-from-home time was spent working at the Dutch Deli and having a good time, biking to beach, or making margaritas. He grew up as many kids in that tourist town did, watching Mom and her boyfriend work day or night and then watch them hang out with friends, listening to inappropriate music and getting a too early of an education in dysfunctional human dynamics. Oh, it wasn’t too bad for him I guess. We both worked and he was never left alone There was always food in the apartment and stories at bedtime. He started kindergarten and all his teachers said he was a delight to have in class.

After that Summer, we all moved back to Columbia to finish up undergraduate school. I lived in the dorms for a year and they lived in family housing across campus. We dated but there were breaks. I had had girlfriends before of course, but this was the first that had gone over six months. While I enjoyed her company, there were things that I was having a hard time dealing with. First off, I was only twenty. From a certain standpoint, I was extremely mature. I stayed out of trouble and had reversed my prior course in college of extremely low grades. My first three semesters had been awful and actually led me to her as I was “advised” to sit out a semester and decide how important college was to me. It was during that time we met in my hometown; me home involuntarily and itching to get back out as soon as possible and her there after finally leaving a bad relationship in D.C. after many aborted attempts. The only things she brought down were the little boy that had been born in an ambulance on the D.C./Maryland line and her clothes, having left everything else behind in an attempt to start a new life. We met in a bar and I tried her hard. She resisted for a few months, but soon I was following her around to her jobs and drinking underage while she bartended for the shag crowd at the beach bar. It was fun for us both. She was hanging out with a level guy for the first time in years and I was hooking up with a cool girl that looked like Debora Foreman in Valley Girl. What’s not to love in that situation?

By the time we got into the same school though, her past problems had made their appearance. The strong, independent woman I had met had devolved back to her prior state. The act of escaping her situation had made her step up and feel as though she had taken charge of her life. I dig strong chicks and she was one. Over the course of the next few years though, her self-doubts resurfaced and her past life resurfaced. All of a sudden (in my mind) she suffered deep funks that none of my folksy wisdom could dispel. These funks preceded and post-ceded loud, screaming fits that sometimes ended in my leaving. Other times, we ended up having sex, and it was good. It confused me though. Growing up in my house, there was very little yelling. The little that my Mother did was met with compliance until we got old enough to know there was no more serious consequence coming. Dad’s was so infrequent that his elicited instant response. “Yes sir,” and we got to whatever it was that we should be doing. Maybe Mom had been worn out by my ten-year’s older sister, who had gotten pregnant in high school and married too young. I occasionally would hear Mom’s side of a phone conversation with her and wonder how this immensely strong women could put up with such crap from her child. Maybe it was just that she had gotten older before remarrying and having my brother and me and had figured out an easier way. Whatever it was, it had gotten me used to calm parenting, where mild disappointment was expressed rather than righteous anger. Except for a few missteps of mine, it appeared to have done a pretty good job with two little boys grown up to be gorillas.

Now, though, I was being exposed to a whole new kind of parenting. His Mom was a screamer, turning on the most innocuous little event, in my mind, from doting Mother to raving lunatic. In my last semester, the fall of 1991, I had moved into campus housing with them and taken over full time Dad mode. Bio-Dad was a non-entity to me, a mere name with no face attached. They made the occasional trip to D.C. where Seth would see him sometimes. Most often, he wouldn’t even be there for those few trips and his Mother would end up keeping Seth for the weekend. We would get a call every once in a while, “Oh, we are coming through town tomorrow on our way to Disney World and want to pick up Seth. Can he come?” What do you say to a call such as that? “Sorry, I’m going to be the prick here in my child’s eyes and say ‘no’ because you were too inconsiderate and passive-aggressive to set this up a month ago when you should have.”

The specter of inviso-Dad was always present though. As Seth grew older, he started making noise about moving up north to live with his Father. I was too young to let it hurt my feelings. I just said, “No, it’s not going to happen.” A few years passed and there was a run-a-way. We drove the nine hours up, picked him up from the Family Court in Alexandria and drove the nine hours home. Even though there were problems in South Carolina, I knew the ones in northern Virginia would be worse.

His Mother and I married in 1994 and I started law school a year later. Before and after the marriage, we lived in a big house just on the wrong side of the street. I had drifted in my three-plus years out of school, not getting paid trying to open up a live music venue and then not getting paid some more trying to manage bands. We were under a lot of stress trying to pay bills on what she was making and what I could eke out. Eventually, I got a “temporary” job. Just something to pay the bills until law school started. By this time, I was getting old enough that the slights were starting to bother me. In Seth’s eyes, I wasn’t his Dad and he was starting to resent my presence. I had tried my best to treat him as I thought I would treat a “natural” child of mine but I, and he, had no idea how I was doing with that. Making it tougher was his Mom’s inconsistency. She had secrets that I would have known if I had tried a little harder. I live by the Tao though, and think that everything is just going to work out. By the time he hit his teen years, it was clear we were headed for a problem. For all of you who don’t know, yelling at a teenager is not going to get them to do what you want them to do. Go ahead, try it. Try it a little louder now. One more time, this time with feeling. Didn’t work, huh? Well, it didn’t work in our house either. Of course he reacted belligerently to his Mother with an amount of disrespect that amazed me. Looking back, I can’t blame him. At the time though, I tried to make him treat his Mother with more deference. His reaction was often to lash out at me. My loyalties started to shift from his Mother, to him, and finally to myself as I realized I was in a bad spot. He had made it clear that he was not going to pay attention to me and His Mother had made it clear that she was going to continue the path she was on. I did the only thing I could do. I left.

The changes were not immediate but came soon after. I had only sporadic contact over the next few months and they were very limited. I had gone into self-protection mode and realized I did not need to be someplace where I was not really wanted and where there was the serious potential for further problems. Once I had thought I could save the World if I just had the chance to speak to it sensibly. Now, I realized I had to talk sense into myself first.

We went nine months apart. I finished up law school and continued to work at the same firm where I had been clerking. I contemplated divorce many times but could not shake the vision of our wedding day where I had made some serious vows to my Wife. At the time, we were not church-goers and had no idea on who to get to perform the ceremony. We eventually chose a rotund, African-American Baptist preacher she knew from her work. Picture Rerun with darker skin. After the ceremony, one of my childhood neighbors came up to me and said, “I don’t think I have ever seen somebody get so married as the two of you just did.” It was true. Out vows stretched well past Presbyterian decorum as we dutifully repeated everything he said. When he got to the dreaded “obey,” which she had told him under no circumstances was he to use, she gritted her teeth and let it eke out to keep the ceremony going. “That’s alright,” one of our friends told her later, “He promised to make you happy. It’s a good trade-off.”

Well, I never expected, nor wanted, her to obey me, but I did have those promises hanging over my head that I had made and wanted to do my best to fulfill them. After a round of her attending counseling and realizing there were some deep-seated issues from her Mother’s death that contributed to her actions, we decided to give it another chance and moved to a small house near my office. The violent episodes almost ceased. She started a prescription that I deemed magic in its ability to bring back the person I had first met. The damage had been done with Seth though. As soon as he reached seventeen, he dropped out of high school and high-tailed it to Virginia. I knew it was a mistake but told him he could go if he wanted. I wouldn’t chase him down and bring him back until he called.

It took about three weeks before the call came. He and his Dad had gotten into a fight and he was out on the curb. We got him a bus ticket and he was home the next day. My only rules were that he was to get a job and get his GED if he wasn’t going to go back to school. I was able to line him up with some work and he took the test and passed it, of course. Smart kids can make dumb decisions too. He and his Mom no longer fought every day and I did not fear leaving them together in the house when I went to work as I had done in the past. For the first time in over ten years, the home was calm.

Now, everything wasn’t all roses. I still expected him to live by the rules of the house and, as an adult, he would have to suffer the consequences of non-compliance which were clearly explained to him. It was just a matter of time as he had become too independent to put up with rules he didn’t think should apply to him. Finally, he stepped over the line and we asked him if he needed help finding his own place to live. He was nineteen, able bodied, and smart and strong enough to make a living. Beside that, some of what I had tried to teach him all those years stuck. It’s not easy letting a child go out into the world, even it is only a few mile away. At least it was without rancor. He accepted our decision as an adult and we got him set up in a new place within a week.

Almost six years have passed and he is still there. The job I got him into has turned into a better one. I wish he was in school and have offered as much help as we can provide. He has resisted so far though but says he wants to one day. He now has three little siblings and is a great big brother, watching them when asked and seeking them out for play when he comes over to the house. For Christmas, he gave his four-year-old brother an old Game Boy. On the back plate, he had etched, “for technical assistance call Seth” along with his number. His little brother carries that thing to bed like a teddy bear and goes around all day saying, “look what Seth gave me.”

It was important to me not to have any more kids when he was in the house with us. I didn’t want him to feel any more marginalized than he already felt. Maybe that’s why my Sister went through such a tumultuous teen time, having to share her Mom with a new man and two bratty, little brothers. I also wanted to get my life straight with my Wife, to ensure our kids wouldn’t have to go through what She, my Sister and older Brother, Seth, and so many other kids had to. Once I was confident with the marriage, we moved forward with vengeance on having kids. Maybe things would have been different if our marriage was more stable earlier. Hell, maybe Seth would have asked us for a little brother or sister. It was what it was though. In my mind, there was no alternative to waiting.

It was important to me that he live honorably and work honestly. He saw me work a lot of jobs when he was a kid and he never saw me resort to theft or chicanery to provide for the family. I left that up to his bio-Dad to teach him those tricks. I tried to teach him the effect you had on others was important. When he played pee-wee baseball, I didn’t care if he ever got a hit. I just asked him to do what his coaches told him and to pay attention to the game. When he started acting out in school, I told him it was too important to those other kids for him to be a distraction and that we could work on alternative arrangements if he wanted. Most of all, I tried to show him that you have to act in a certain way to be able to look yourself in the mirror.

I do regret not drawing the line in the sand earlier with his Mom. She was overwhelmed with her Mom’s death, having a kid, trying to go to school, dealing with her abusive ex, the mistakes of her past, and all the other things that plague a modern, single Mom. I regret any action I took that didn’t help her and any time of hers I wasted in trying to make up my mind. I wish I had tried harder to keep Seth on the path in school so he would have gone to college. He is about the age his Mom was when she started so there is hope yet. Who knows, he might be happier continuing his path without school. If so, more power to him. He does not appear to be hurting as he rarely asks for any assistance other than some car emergencies. As an adult, he does pretty well.

I am sorry I never confronted his Dad to tell him he was a worthless son-of-a-bitch for taking such actions that drove his child 500 miles away. As best I can remember, I only had once glimpse of him, across a parking lot on one of the few times he actually made an effort to see Seth. Maybe that would have stopped him from fathering and abandoning another child years later, though you and I both know it’s not bloody likely. He was in jail when Seth was born and in and out of trouble the entire time they lived in D.C.

I am happy I taught him something. He says things that could have easily come out of my mouth. He sends tender cards to his Mother at all the right times. It seems, after all, he’s a good kid.

I hope he treats others well, especially the women in his life. I hope he travels more that I did at his age, free of the responsibilities I undertook. Most of all, I hope he is happy and that I had something to do with that. I tried as hard as I could.

I am happy of the experiences I gained, acting as a father figure to a child that had been abandoned by the one that should have been doing the job. I am happy I never saw a cent of money come from up North. It makes me sad for him though that no one up there would step up and do the right thing. If they had just asked reasonably, or offered some real assistance, his Mother would have responded. She didn’t want to cut him off from that side of the family. They did that themselves.

Our three-year-old looks eerily like him in old photos. They both have curly blond hair with blue eyes, the same slightly chubby belly and arms, and the same tired smile right before they fall asleep. All the younger kids will be treated the same way I treated him. That is clear to me by now. In some aspects, I will be harder on them as I learned some lessons with Seth. They will have the benefit of a more stable home, with older parents who are too tired to do much other than raise them. They are my children and Seth is my child, no matter what the birth certificate reads. Even when Seth was fourteen or so and we had been involved in family shouting matches with no happy resolution, I would check on him after he had fallen asleep. I am a paranoid parent, always worried a child is going to stop breathing for no reason at all. I would go into his room and lay my hand on his head, checking for warmth and movement, just to make sure everything was alright. I still do the same thing with the little ones and remember back over ten years ago. It wasn’t a great time. It wasn’t an awful time. We were just acting as a family. Happy Birthday Son.

Focus, Focus, Re-focus, Focus. Got it! Shit. Re-focus

2008-01-15T11:07:00.001-05:00

Last year was a blur of ill played tournaments and focus free cash games. There was a stretch where I was crushing the NLHE tables at an alarming rate. How else could I have afforded to do so poorly in Vegas? Instead of bearing down and trying to keep the ball rolling though, I let myself piss away any chance at a great year by playing cards as though I was "on a rush." Well, the rush is over as soon as your opponents stop picking up second best hands now isn't it? Heading into the new year, I resolved to bear down and grind out some hands in the Proper Pirate Style. The early results have been very good with some recent donkery thrown in. In NLHE, I am playing at a very low level at a particular site, trying to build a bankroll through solid play. I started with four buy-ins (not enough but it is a very low level and I can restock easily). I dropped one buy-in in the first ten minutes of the year playing a weak hand too strongly of course. After that, I cut off the internets and the boob tube and proceeded to win eight buy-ins over the next four hours. No big whoop. I've been there before. The test will be to maintain focus long enough to build to a proper bankroll for the next level. If I can't, it might be time to make online poker even more recreational than it already is and concentrate more on the live games. I know online is where it is at, but my brain revolts sometimes with all of the other available stimulus. Live, I can get my fix by watching the other players and listening to their bullshit.

As an aside, I also have an Omaha project going on at another site. I search for the highest "saw flop" percentage at any table in the 25-100 buy-in range and sit down. This has worked very well so far. Who said table selection was over rated? Not this guy.

Last night in the MATH was very short for me. I took a coin flip getting 2:1 on my money. I seem to be doing a lot of this lately. Oh, I remember the days I could fold AKs to a re-raise of my re-raise. I still think the play was correct as I was very confident the raiser had a PP smaller than AA or KK or had complete air. He had 33 and I never caught up. I have been able to fold there in the past, even getting good odds, as I would have had plenty of chips to play but I find myself getting more impatient in MTTs to either double up or move on to something else. At least I am smart enough to avoid most MTTs until I can fix this wiring problem in my poker brain. From there, I gave away my last T400 or so and went back to PLO8. Buddy Frank made the money so that's good for him,

Oh my goodness

2008-01-13T00:03:00.000-05:00

I just picked up Clerks II about halfway through on one of the movie channels. Now, Rosario Dawson is trying to teach Dante to dance (I enjoyed the first one and enjoyed it multiple times so I know the recurring characters names). That is about the most appealing character in a scene I have ever seen in a movie. If I was a few years younger I would be wasting time on another unattainable crush.

They have missed draws in O8 too??

2008-01-11T11:11:00.000-05:00

I don’t have the Poker Stove for Omaha Hi/Lo so I don’t have near the grasp on odds as I do for Hold em but I do seem to have a pretty good feel for them. I do have some questions though.

1. In the big blind and holding a hand that does not have trips in it, is it ever correct to fold to a 3x raise? Are you ever that far behind pre-flop? How about if your hand contains two wheel cards or is double suited?
2. If it is not correct to fold there, should you ever raise just 3x the blind in O8? I can understand raising 3x and wanting callers if you have a nice scooping hand.

Anyway, I played the Riverchasers last night and got my second second in the last few months. I don’t think I have ever won this tournament so I better get on the ball. I almost gave up early as I played very dumbly in the first level and gave away almost a third of my stack before ratcheting down. I actually have been playing a little PL Omaha and O8 in the new year so my rust is getting less so. At the final table, Hoy was a massive chip leader and sat back a little bit while I knocked out most of the table to get a little closer to him. I did manage to take a slight lead and got all his money in good but lost to a bigger two pair. Cest la O8.

Seat 3: hoyazo (50,989)
Seat 5: a104l9 (81,011)
hoyazo posts the small blind of 800
a104l9 posts the big blind of 1,600
Dealt to a104l9 [7c Jh 4c Ah]
hoyazo calls 800
a104l9 raises to 4,800
hoyazo calls 3,200
*** FLOP *** [8d Js 5s]
a104l9 bets 9,600
hoyazo raises to 38,400
a104l9 raises to 76,211, and is all in
hoyazo calls 7,789, and is all in
a104l9 shows [7c Jh 4c Ah]
hoyazo shows [9c 6d Kd Td]
Uncalled bet of 30,022 returned to a104l9
*** TURN *** [8d Js 5s] [Kh]
*** RIVER *** [8d Js 5s Kh] [8c]
a104l9 shows two pair, Jacks and Eights, for high
hoyazo shows two pair, Kings and Eights, for high
hoyazo wins the pot (101,978) with two pair, Kings and Eights
No low hand qualified
*** SUMMARY ***
Total pot 101,978 | Rake 0
Board: [8d Js 5s Kh 8c]
Seat 3: hoyazo (small blind) showed [9c 6d Kd Td] and won (101,978) with HI:
two pair, Kings and Eights
Seat 5: a104l9 (big blind) showed [7c Jh 4c Ah] and lost with HI: two pair,
Jacks and Eights
I had top pair, a reasonable low draw, and an inside straight draw. That’s gold in O8 right? Apparently, not so much. I had a 75% of taking half the pot and 60% to take it all so I made the right play. Gotta work on those results.

After that I completely missed 4 out of five flops and had to fold to bets that may have been representative of nothing or monsters. At the end, I finally picked up a few pots and was at least in binocular distance of the comeback trail until I ran into a wheel somebody left laying in the road. How inconsiderate.

Congrats to Hoy and to all the money winners.

Maudlin

2008-01-09T13:55:00.000-05:00

I love that word but hate the action. The holidays were great but there were three news stories that caused me great pain. I need to avoid the internet.
________________________________________________________________________________________

I had more fun last night at a poker game than I have had in a long time. Of course, I didn't win a dime but we were able to get our regular group back together after a few months of multiple absences. At some point, the realization set in that other people don't have the same affection for poker as I do. Nothing wrong with that. We all have our addictions to choose.

Al has his 2008 planner up. It's a great primer for us all. I plan on hitting G-Vegas, Charlotte, Vegas, and the Bash. I am currently planning a golf/poker weekend in Myrtle Beach for Master's weekend. Let me know if anyone is interested in swinging some clubs, gambling on the boat, and drinking until sunup.

2008-01-04T23:43:00.001-05:00

this

I wasn't the greatest husband. I could have done so much more, a realization that, as it so often does, comes too late to matter. But I cherished every day I was married to Amanda. When everything else in my life seemed dark, she was always there to light the darkness. It is difficult to imagine my life being worth living without her having been in it. I hope and pray that she goes on without me and enjoys her life as much as she deserves. I can think of no one more deserving of happiness than her.

"I will see you again, in the place where no shadows fall."
Ambassador Delenn, Babylon 5

I don't know if there is an afterlife; I tend to doubt it, to be perfectly honest. But if there is any way possible, Amanda, then I will live up to Delenn's words, somehow, some way. I love you.

What Goes Around

2008-01-01T23:23:00.000-05:00

In the Summer of 2005, I sat in Otis' G-Vegas home at the final table of the Brad-O-Ween tournament. Down to four handed, I picked up AT from UTG, raised 3x and was called by the BB only. The flop came Txx and the BB checked. I went AI and was called immediately by Team Scott Smith and his KK. Fortunately for me, I hit a third T on the river and survived while Team Scott had to move his full attention to his sippy cup full of wine (yes, an actual sippy cup).

Fast forward to Day One of 2008. Sitting in Bad Blood's kitchen, I got KK UTG and raised 3x to 900. I got one caller from a player I had played only two pots of significance with so far. On one, I check raised a T high flop with my 77 and got him to fold JJ face up. On the second, I raised the standard with AKc, checked a 7QQ flop, checked a K on the turn, and bet pot on the river blank. He called and mucked with a "I let you get there," which leads me to believe he was in th 55-88 range. HE had also been in a hand with Falstaff where he pushed his 88 pre-flop where John had already raised with AA. The information I had there was that he was capable of laying down a hand to aggression but that he didn't mind pushing all his chips in as the aggressor if he thought he had any edge at all. Of course, he was a home game regular with John and he may have been acting on some information he thought he had gleaned in their games together. Probably needs to revise that entry.

Back to me. Holding my KK, which I had raised to 900 with blinds of 150/300, I got called and saw a flop of T82 rainbow. The tournament was in the middle stages and the blinds were starting to become substantial for those of us who had not been doubling through. I bet 2000 into the 2250 pot and was raised AI for an additional 2925. I actually thought before calling even though the odds were so high because I'm a thinker. It's what I do. I would have folded with almost 10 BBs left in my stack if I had any reasonable notion I was behind. There still would have been time to double/double into an above average stack if I decided not to play that hand. Even though I was getting about 2.5:1 on the call, if I was behind, I was way behind. Against AA, TT, 88, 22, I would have been drawing to two outs. Against any other hand, I was way ahead. J9 is the only hand that would have more than three outs twice which is good mojo for my KK. In that situation, it is useless to try to figure out what your opponent is holding. The only thing to do is to try to figure out if they are holding one of the bastard hands that drop your outs to two. I move quickly in my thoughts to minimize talking myself into doing something stupid so I quickly dismissed AA (would have re-raised pre-flop), TT, 88, and 22 (would have just called the flop bet as there was no rational draw on the board). So, what did he have? It doesn't matter. I determined I was a huge favorite and put the rest of my stack in.

The drive home went surprisingly fast.

Back in the neighborhood, I hit Lizard's Thicket for the traditional New Year's Day meal of collards, black-eyed peas, and pork chop (It is actually supposed to be hog jowls but my Dad is the only one left that will still eat them). It was good.

Oh yeah, poker sucked last year. Well, it sucked in the virtual world and it sucked in Vegas. In Myrtle Beach and Columbia it went pretty well. I really want to play more live this year. The G-Vegas scene has died. We have the casino boat for four hours at a time and West Virginia is not that far away. Vegas always beckons. Anyone else get the Rio offer of 4 free nights in March, April, and May? Damn, dirty temptress. My only goal last year was to still be playing come December 31. Mission accomplished but there is an empty feeling. I played distracted every time I logged in. If it's not live, I just don't take it seriously enough and it cost me. Either I regain that focus or I drop to even fewer events online and pick the guitar back up.

Happy New Year.

Bring the Hate in 08

2007-12-28T16:39:00.000-05:00

Dear Mr. Hoy(azo),

I somewhat disagree with the way you played a hand a few months ago in a tournament which I observed. I feel your play lacked a certain suaveness that characterizes the play of a truly great player. As you do seem to perform well at times in poker, I can only assume this was a one time occurence but it was so egregrious I feel it must be brought out. It has taken me these many months to properly formulate the words to express my mild dismay at your clearly sub-optimal play. Mild dismay seems to cover it though.

I would be remiss to fail to include the proper course of action should you find yourself in the same position in the future. I will not bore you or your readers with the details as I am sure the 12,000 words you wrote of the play in your online journal are still fresh in your mind and those of your many readers. Suffice to say that, if you do find yourself in that position again, you should raise three and one-half times the large blind and certainly not repeat your course of action of only raising the large blind three times its amount. I fear these words may sting and I am willing to accept that consequence. Just as a gentleman should never tilt, he should also never fear to "lay down some smack talk" as it is described in the popular vernacular. I hope you take this criticism in the vein it was intended and I look forward to following your continued play as you incorporate this advice to reach new heights in your game.

Very Truly Yours,
BP

If I don't make the Top 5 next year, it's rigged.

2007-12-24T21:47:00.001-05:00

Watch Out, There's a Big Pirate About.

Generated by the Advertising Slogan Generator, for all your slogan needs. Get more big pirate slogans.

Reprint

2007-12-19T17:18:00.000-05:00

I enjoyed writing this last year and hope to get another Christmas parody up in the next few days, but in lieu of a Wednesday post I will re-present this one.

With apologies to The Sun

Dear Big Pirate,

I am 32 years old and have been playing poker for four years now. I used to believe in Santa Claus, but after all this time of not being able to win even though, deep down, I know I have what it takes to be a good player, I have to believe I was just deluding myself. My friends told me you were a two-time Jeopardy winner and knew a lot of stuff. Will you please tell me the truth, is there a Santa Claus?

Pactolus Light

Pactolus,

Your little friends are wrong. In fact they are so wrong that it is unlikely they are to believed in anything they say. They are likely believers of math, pot odds, appropriate play, and perfect strategy. They never double down “on a hunch.” They never “chase” a flush. They merely make proper accounting decisions about the money in the pot versus the expected outcome over a million hands. In short, they are of little minds, believing in only the rational, observable World, unwilling to acknowledge the existence of that which they can not plug into Poker Stove. They are willing to limit their intelligence to the small sphere, as they are frightened of the unknowable.

Yes, Pactolus, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as surely as luck, fortune, well-healed backers who keep their pants on, and competent tournament directors exist. And you know these things abound in our World, providing us with untold bounty. Ahoy! How dreary would this World be without a Santa Claus? Why, it would be as dreary as would be if there were no Pactolus’s at my table, willing to throw in their last stack on a hope, a feeling, a magical wish. There would be no joy in our Mudville of poker, only stock tickers and speculative housing futures to while away our hours.

Not believe in Santa Claus? You might as well not believe you’ll hit that inside straight. You might hire mathematicians to calculate the astronomical odds of you ever winning the World Series of Poker, but even if they determined you had less chance of winning than Hellmuth winning a Best Sportsmanship award, what would that prove? No one can truly tell you the next cards out of the deck. The best they can do is to provide irrefutable proof that certain card combinations, played in certain situations, played in a certain way will definitely win or lose a certain amount of money over an infinite number of hands. Do you expect to play an infinite number of hands? Of course not silly. Therefore, your friends’ math could perhaps, by certain people of a certain intellectual capacity, be deemed a lie. And if they would lie to you about cards, wouldn’t they lie about Santa Claus?

You play 52 card pickup and you see the hearts, diamonds, spades, and clubs. You count again and again and the numbers always add up the same. But there is a magic that comes in every deck that can not be unbound by the most rational of men. Only faith, shamrocks, little glass figurines, and custom card protectors can push aside the math and let you view the magical beauty of the possible four of a kind that awaits you pocket threes. Do you have a chance? Should you call all in with the rent money? Ah, Pactolus, in the World of Poker, there is no more noble thing than to get your money in behind. Way behind.

No Santa Claus! Thank Goodness he lives and lives as long as there are card rooms open, as long as the internet allows you and your fellow travelers the opportunity to make your plays, hoping for the miracle card that proves the law of maturing odds is really a law, and as long as you like to drink while you play because you are really there just to have fun and not to win any money. A year from now, Pactolus, nay ten times a year from now, Santa Claus will continue to make glad the heart of poker hood. You must rekindle your belief and throw away those fancy books and delete the poker calculators. Your heart must be your guide. Yes, Pactolus, there is a Santa Claus, and he will be at my house Christmas night for a game. I’ll e-mail you my address so you can Mapquest it. Hope you can make it. I need to pay off my Christmas bills in January

After the Show

2007-12-13T17:27:00.000-05:00

Immediately after the show, I grabbed some snacks from the Green Room (after being out with bands all those years, I know it's all about the perks, baby!) and met Deb and my Dad at the sound stage door. Mom had stayed behind at the Holiday Inn Santa Monica with five month old Jackson while we were at the taping and we went to pick her up. On the way, I called back to South Carolina and found the group at the Salty Nut and gave them reason to celebrate a bit more than they already were. We had already packed and payed so after collecting Mom and Jack, we were on the road to Vegas. I had planned the trip so we would leave L.A. and make the late afternoon drive so we would hit Vegas at night. I wanted to see the Luxor light in all its glory. I don't even remember the afternoon traffic as I was on such a high from winning the game. Even when I ran out of interstate in Pasadena, I just kept on smiling and heading east.

The lights of Vegas are there as soon as it is dark. They say you can see them from the north rim of the Grand Canyon, 175 miles away. We finally crested the last hill, and the Strip appeared for my first sight. My only casino experience prior had been Harrah's in New Orleans and I was ready to go bigger. Now, this was all pre-poker and I don't think I had ever heard of a blog, but I did like to play black jack and I had $15,200.00 future dollars in my pocket that was itching for action.

Suffice to say, that in between winning on Jeopardy! and being in Vegas for the first time, I didn't get much sleep. The drive the next day to the south rim via Hoover Dam was a pleasure that kept me alert through my lack of sleep. We were only in Vegas for about twelve hours and I tried to use every moment of it. I walked the strip, I watched the porn slappers, I elbowed up to craps tables, and I soaked in everything I could. Most of all though, I sat and played black jack, giddy for the first and only time with the fact that the money meant nothing to me. It had been found and now I was willing to lose some of it. Of course, I am an atypical Pirate and my rational mind got the better of me before I could make it to the high dollar tables. I probably ended up playing 20 a hand, hitting and staying almost perfectly with the occasional foray into a crazy double down in homage to Buddy Steve before finally calling it a night a few hundred down. To this day though, I remember my dealer. Now that I know how they rotate dealers, it seems a dream that she was at my table so long. Maybe it was because it was a light weeknight at an off-time. Maybe it was an oversight. Maybe it was because she was very pregnant and they let her stay stationary as long as possible in deference to her condition. Maybe the pit boss was the Daddy and he was watching out for his unborn. All I know is that she was lovely and continued to take cards until she would break my 19s and 20s seemingly every time. I was a giddy Pirate though, and the father of a five month old, sleeping blissfully upstairs, unaware his Daddy was having one of the best days of his life a few floors away. I let myself get close to the felt, tossed a nice tip to her with a "Thank you ma'am and good luck to you," and headed on back to the room for a few hours sleep before day break and departure.

Some of you I have asked, but you are all authorized, to place a bet with any pregnant blackjack dealer you see in Vegas. I'm good for it.

It was Four years ago today

2007-12-12T10:36:00.000-05:00

Actually, it taped in September but aired 12-12-03

It was my first trip to California (I've been three times since) and the first time I drove across the country (I've done it once more since). Entering Final Jeopardy, I was in second. I had a nice run in the first round but got tentative in the second and lost my button mojo to give the lead to a reference librarian from Oklahoma. It seemed to take forever to make my final wager and I still ended up making a bad one. When the question came out, I was stuck for a moment until I remembered a book series "The Great Brain" I had read as a kid. Even though it was set in Utah, it was at about the same time period and they collected this from ponds. It seemed logical to me and I wrote it down. After the show, they told me they were going to take a seven week break from filming in Culver City to tape the College Championship. Of course, I tell everyone I was a seven week Jeopardy! champ.

Molly: $15,200.00
Wes: $11,000
Tim: $6,800

Final JEOPARDY!
19th CENTURY BUSINESS
Frederic Tudor became wealthy marketing this, which he took from a pond called Fresh Pond in Massachusetts

Just when you think you've got it figured out

2007-12-10T13:46:00.000-05:00

Over the weekend, I called twice with hands I knew were beat. KK into AA and QQ into KK. How did I know? The pre-flop betting made sense, that's how. I called AI with the KK pre-flop and couldn't catch up. Bad Pirate. With the QQ, I waited until the flop and pushed AI hoping (but knowing it wasn't true) my opponent had an unimproved AKs. Well, I reversed the situation finally, picking up AA and making that final raise that signifies AA or KK against a foe one third of the way through the FT 28K. They came over the top and I called expecting to see KK. Nope, KJ. KJx flop and I was out. The next person who yells at me for playing KJ so aggresively pre-flop (hey, it could technically happen), I am going to drive to their house and kick them in the nuts. It's pure gold.

The MATH is tonight and this will be the final Pirate Bacon Bounty for the year. It may be back next year but I need to figure some things out about my game before I make that commitment. I still owe somebody for last week but I am not sure they even have a blog which is a dis-qualifier. I will wrap up my investigation this week and there may be a double shot of bacon going out this week.

I hope everyone had fun in Vegas. Ya'll were much too busy to DAS me so it must have been a blast. Summer 2008 is approaching as is the October birthday bash. I can wait. I'm a patient one.

Wisdom from Movies of my Youth

2007-12-03T11:01:00.000-05:00

I am waiting for you, Vizzini. You told me to go back to the beginning. So I have. This is where I am, and this is where I'll stay. I will not be moved.

Just a quick one as I really need to get a few days of hard work in here to get some goals met before the end of the year. The MATH is tonight of course and I will extend the Pirate Bounty for at least this week. I made the final table last Monday but did not cash. I also made a deep run in the Riverchasers but received nothing but marginal satisfaction for that. It feels as though I have gone a long time since a blogger tourney win and I am getting itchy for one. But hey, it it happens, it happens. If not, one of you gets bacon. Win. Win. Win.

Back to the beginning. There is a precipice I can see at all times. Sometimes, it is seemingly below my feet. Other times, it is just short of the horizon. I see my online play stopping as soon as I throw the rest of my roll into the crevasse. Being somewhat resourceful though, I have been able to conserve my roll and watch it grow and shrink since the guvmint decided we were infants in need of special care. As a pirate with somewhat fatalist tendencies (what will be, will be), I see me getting tight one night and pissing away everything on a ill-conceived run at glory or bust. As an optimistic/fatalist (one door closing enables the opening of another), I don't see that future as all bad.

For now though, I have the fighting spirit and need to get back in the game. To that end, I am back at the SNGs at the very low levels in an effort to retool my game and to keep up with all the changes in poker the last four years have wrought. Always solid, I either need to reaffirm my prowess or get out of the way. I'm actually using one of those software tracking thingies I hear so much about to keep my results clear (I haven't used PT in two years). I have been a wanderer for too long now. It is time to make a move for better or for worse. That precipice is an unyielding obstacle. Am I an immovable object myself or just a rock stuck in the mud?

Take these sunken eyes and learn to see

2007-11-30T10:22:00.000-05:00

This is a battle a brewin'. In actuality, it has already started. I have spent most of my time the last five years living with a pregnant woman. I make no complaints about that. She endured the sciatic nerve pain, the constant pressure on the bladder, and the insatiable cravings. All I had to do was be sympathetic and provide the occasional massage with these gorilla hands. Now, I have an assistant who is expecting. Not the tall one, she is home, studying for the LSAT, desiring to go to law school next year. It's the other tall one, the one who can sing like a bird that can really sing, not one of those buzzards or crows with guttural squawks that haunt our walks home in the gloaming, but a song more of the Black-headed Grosbeak variety; Sweet, but strong and lifting. Anyway, she is pregnant and it is taking a toll on my life. I can deal with her aversion to being around food as it is prepared as it only knocks out one or two of our Friday office-lunch destinations. In our ever burgeoning town, the restaurants are popping up faster than we can take account and we can always find a spot where the food is cooked safely away from the dining area. I can deal with her pregnancy induced absences as this is a slow season for our office and the other tall one and I can handle the load. Unsustainable though, is the detente I have effected with the bag of York Peppermint Patties she leaves on her desk all day and cruelly leaves there after she has departed for the day. They taunt me so, those discs of minty goodness. No chocolate fiend am I, but mint-chocolate appeals to my senses and calls out to me from the other room. I seek the sensation. No doubt her military trained husband has taught her the art of trip wires and directed deterrence. After the mysterious gob-stopper disappearance, I could not blame her for an abundance of preparation and protection. Oh, but I feel they have probably underestimated my wile and determination. I will have satisfaction by tonight. If this is my last post, please, someone call my wife and instruct her to avenge my demise.
______________________________________________________________________________________

I played 6%of my hands last night at the Riverchasers event. That's right, 6%. You know you're jealous. You wish you could have that kind of patience and ability to sit motionless (and emotionless) for hours other than the occasional twitch of the finger to hit the "fold" button. The trick is to get really crappy hands all night, sit at a table full of raisers, and auto-fold a lot when you have to leave the room due to little boys who insist, after they should have been asleep hours ago I mind you, "Daddy, I have to tell you something." Once the tree fears were alleviated (and in their defense, it really is a spooky old tree outside their window) I was able to double up enough to get into a good spot with less than two full tables remaining. My demise came though, in a most unfortunate manner. I pushed AI from the button with no prior action with QT. This play had been keeping me alive orbit after orbit, as the smaller stacks dropped out and we crept towards the money. This time though, the SB pushed back and the BB called only to turn over respectively, KK and JJ. Wow. Wow. I actually hit two pair but one of the PP hit their set and I was out in 13th.

Tonight, I will be shooting for at least a 50% "saw flop" statistic at Kat's Group therapy session. I may push AI the first ten hands. It depends on how easy it is to get my hands on those peppermint patties. Sweet chocolate sonsovbeetches.