Pat Riley and Bill Parcells both said that. It's right on the money. I'm sure there's a person or two in the world who when this collpase became official, were wondering how I was doing. They know damn well how I'm doing. I am one miserable, depressed, and incensed Mets and Jets fan today.
One man gets the blame for today. Tom Glavine. This prick who stuck it up to the Mets for years when he was with Atlanta came here four years ago. He's been good, with an occasional great outing and an occasional terrible outing. Well his final two starts to this season were pitching that was as bad as I have ever seen since I was playing Little League. Today, we needed to win and we would have at least had a shot at the playoffs. And this "future Hall of Famer" pitches 0.1 innings. He allows five hits, walks two, and allows seven earned runs. SEVEN EARNED RUNS!
And then to hear him after the game. "This is disappointing, this isn't devastating. It's not like a sick kid or anything." IT IS DEVASTATING. Don't bring the world up. He goes on. "It's something I'm going to have to deal with, just like had we won the World Series, I would have had to deal with those emotions." I can't even wrap my head around something so stupid.
His lasting image as a Met is one of the most pathetic single game performaces of all-time. And this whole thing tells me the only reason I came here was to get his 300th win so he'd be a lock for the Hall of Fame. He's a Brave and always will be. I don't want him near a Met uniform ever again. I've had enough. Send his ancient ass back to Atlanta. Get him the hell out of New York because he doesn't deserve to be here.
The fielding was bad yet again. Throws going all over the field. The game was over in the bottom of the first. Bases loaded, two outs, we're down by 6. Ramon Castro hits a bomb to left field, I thought the ball was going to Kennedy Airport. And it dies in Cody Ross' glove on the warning tack. Right there, you could have shut your TV off.
I am disgusted with Jose Reyes. I was going to buy his jersey. Not now. Not with his immatuere celebrations when he had nothing to celebrate. And certainly not when he fails to run out ground balls. Someone needs to shake this guy up. And it's not going to be the card-playing first base coach.
Carlos Delgado admitted after the game, "We were so good, we got bored." How do you get bored when you can't win at home the last week of the season?! That's the Mets. A complacent group of veterans who thought it was their God-give right to go the World Series and got smacked in the mouth. Just like every Met fan.
This team is a total disgrace. This offseason will see a lot of changes. Possibly the manager will be gone. I don't think he should be just yet. Something needs to change though. To lose this big a lead and to lose games the way they lost them, it's amazing. I've used probably every adjective I can think of over the last few weeks. Bottom line, this has been a miserable year. And now several undeserving, overrated, run-of-the-mill teams will be in the NL playoffs. If those damn Cubs make it to the World Series, I may just have to move to Afghanistan.
And the Jets lose yet again to a Buffalo team they should have beaten. Between the lack of pass rush on the immortal Trent Edwards, penalties, the complete lack of running game, blown coverages, terrible offensive line, interceptions. And I'll hear these morons bash Chad again all week on the radio. As a matter of fact, it's probably his fault they didn't even win the coin toss.
Why do I have to keep getting let down year after year after year? The Rangers start Thursday. Let's see how they manage to kill me this year.
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Friday, September 28, 2007
His time had come to pass
Well, tomorrow morning, Hogan's life on earth will reach the end. I'm sort of accepting it, I knew this was going to happen, but it's so numbing.
Our time together started in Bridgewater, New Jersey in February 1992, one month after his mom gave birth to him, Maggie, Petey, and another sister I can't remember right now. Mom and I drove 30 minutes from Edison to Bridgewater, where Mom's late friend Laurie Giamo, had a blond cocker spaniel, Lucy, who had given birth to four puppies. Against dad's wishes, and mine as well, Mom said we were eventually going to take one. I remember seeing all four of them for the first time. All of them just scampering around a cardboard box lined with newspaper on the bottom. And I was scared. Just three years earlier, I saw a dog that I knew pretty well get killed by a school bus. And it shook me up. But Mom had no trouble picking one up and holding him. And I knew he was coming home with us in due time so I had to change my mind.
In March, we brought home the eldest male DJ, who we quickly renamed Hogan. That first night, Mom, Dad, and I didn't leave him alone. He was scared without his brother, mother, and sisters around him. But he adjusted quickly to our small house. And in what was a rough couple of years in my life, I grew close to him. I remember the first day I had to leave him the garage before I left for school. I was in fifth grade. We put blankets and toys and food in that garage, and then gated it off. As I was walking out the door, he started whimpering. And I couldn't leave him. It took 10 minutes before I managed my way out the door and I felt so guilty.
As the years went on, he definitely grew closest to Mom. He was close to me as well as Dad and Unger when they lived with him and a few of my friends as well. But he was a mama's boy. For years, whenever he heard the buzz of the garage door opening, he would always make a beeline for the door where she would come in. He'd get down on his belly, stick his nose right at the base of the door, trying to smell her, hear her, anything. And you could hear the sound of him breathing out of his nose and he would usually whine a little until the door opened. It was so funny. I always thought it was unfair she hated that he licked her considering how many kisses she gave him.
Grandpa loved him dearly too. He probably walked Hogan more consistently than anyone. He and my grandmother took care of him for as long as 4 months, while Mom and I were getting ready to move. Several times, I drove up from North Carolina and they drove from Connecticut. We'd meet somewhere in Pennsylvania, I'd take Hogan, and then continue my trip on to Chicago.
He was a big one too, about 60 pounds. Every vet would tell us he was the biggest cocker they had ever seen. In North Carolina, he hated to be away from us, but when we went away, we'd drop him off at Camp Canine, and he got along just fine.
There were tough times. College wasn't easy. For four years, I was away from him 2/3 of the time. Supposedly, he would walk into my room and just lay there, wondering where I was. I know I missed him.
The easiest way to relax him? Rides in the car. All we had to do was put him in the backseat, start driving, and he would be asleep within a minute. He could have easily been a trucker's dog. And I could tell a humping story or two (or more), but I'll keep it clean. Suffice to say, the three favorite victims were my old friend Kurtz' leg, the pink footrest/ottoman (before it was reupholstered), and any baby stroller when there was a baby inside of it. Make up your own joke.
I remember his intensity when he would have ice cream. We'd buy him a cup, he'd start licking, and wouldn't even come up for air until the bottom of that cup was bone dry. And his appetite! I'll always remember the way he begged for treats in his later years. When mom had to stay home from work for 18 months, that's when he really got spoiled. Instead of just scratching the door where the treats were, he'd start howling at us because he wasn't getting his treat fast enough. He'd scratch the door, or even the oven, and look back at us as if to say "What are you waiting for? I have only two needs: attention and food!" He loved ice cream, cheese, and any kind of meat. If it was cooked on a grill, oh, he wanted some of it. I actually ate steak tonight and it was too quiet.
And there are a lot of things I didn't see. One time, he was walking with Mom at Herrick Lake and passing by these horses and he kept yelping at them in this really high voice. It was like he wanted to fight them, but knew he was insane if he actually challenged them. His running on the Connecticut beaches, getting his fur filled with sand, and having to go to a local vet for a bath and cleaning. After that day, he never got too crazy on a beach again. And oh, how he hated baths. I would lift him out of the tub and he'd run like chicken with no head all over the house. He'd rub his face right against the base of my bed and run alongside the bedskirt, desperately trying to dry his face. And when we were in New Jersey, he tended to get sprayed by skunks. I think he got nailed four times in one summer alone. And that always led to another bath.
About a year ago, Mom drove with him to Florida where she stayed with some friends who had two dogs. Now we'd never really let him around dogs, because he was always barking. But I think that was because there would always be a barrier between him and the dog, whether it was a window, a leash, a wall, etc. But he was amazing with them. He just loved being in their presence. I heard one good story from the trip. The female was sleeping in the living room. And Hogan was curious about her so he started walking around and sniffing her. After about three minutes of this, she woke up, barked angrily at him, and he was so scared he retreated into a corner of the house and wouldn't come out for over an hour.
And the walks we took through the mean streets of North Edison NJ, the forest preserves of West Chicago and Warrenville IL, the Prairie Paths of Wheaton and Wayne IL, the beaches of New London CT, the pine trees of North Carolina, the industrial streets of Pittsburgh, the cobblestone roads of Nantucket. He loved to explore nature and new places. All he needed was his family and he never had a care.
And now he can't really walk. The doctor says it's prostate cancer. I know we need to let him go and it hurts. I haven't really cried yet, though I'm sure I will soon. But almost 16 years. That's about 60 percent of my life. Now the house will be quieter. Maybe a little cleaner too. My heart will be a little sadder. My world will be a little emptier.
So, to the spoiled dope, to the old man, my brother, my friend, I thank you for 16 years.
I hope somehow, some way I'll see you again.
So long, Hogan, I love you forever.
Our time together started in Bridgewater, New Jersey in February 1992, one month after his mom gave birth to him, Maggie, Petey, and another sister I can't remember right now. Mom and I drove 30 minutes from Edison to Bridgewater, where Mom's late friend Laurie Giamo, had a blond cocker spaniel, Lucy, who had given birth to four puppies. Against dad's wishes, and mine as well, Mom said we were eventually going to take one. I remember seeing all four of them for the first time. All of them just scampering around a cardboard box lined with newspaper on the bottom. And I was scared. Just three years earlier, I saw a dog that I knew pretty well get killed by a school bus. And it shook me up. But Mom had no trouble picking one up and holding him. And I knew he was coming home with us in due time so I had to change my mind.
In March, we brought home the eldest male DJ, who we quickly renamed Hogan. That first night, Mom, Dad, and I didn't leave him alone. He was scared without his brother, mother, and sisters around him. But he adjusted quickly to our small house. And in what was a rough couple of years in my life, I grew close to him. I remember the first day I had to leave him the garage before I left for school. I was in fifth grade. We put blankets and toys and food in that garage, and then gated it off. As I was walking out the door, he started whimpering. And I couldn't leave him. It took 10 minutes before I managed my way out the door and I felt so guilty.
As the years went on, he definitely grew closest to Mom. He was close to me as well as Dad and Unger when they lived with him and a few of my friends as well. But he was a mama's boy. For years, whenever he heard the buzz of the garage door opening, he would always make a beeline for the door where she would come in. He'd get down on his belly, stick his nose right at the base of the door, trying to smell her, hear her, anything. And you could hear the sound of him breathing out of his nose and he would usually whine a little until the door opened. It was so funny. I always thought it was unfair she hated that he licked her considering how many kisses she gave him.
Grandpa loved him dearly too. He probably walked Hogan more consistently than anyone. He and my grandmother took care of him for as long as 4 months, while Mom and I were getting ready to move. Several times, I drove up from North Carolina and they drove from Connecticut. We'd meet somewhere in Pennsylvania, I'd take Hogan, and then continue my trip on to Chicago.
He was a big one too, about 60 pounds. Every vet would tell us he was the biggest cocker they had ever seen. In North Carolina, he hated to be away from us, but when we went away, we'd drop him off at Camp Canine, and he got along just fine.
There were tough times. College wasn't easy. For four years, I was away from him 2/3 of the time. Supposedly, he would walk into my room and just lay there, wondering where I was. I know I missed him.
I still have a scar from Feb. 23 of this year when he bit me after I came home from Ring of Honor and drove 2.5 hours through a raging snowstorm. I tried to wake him up to take him upstairs. He snapped and caught my right palm and the side of my right hand. The side of my hand is still scarred.
But things like that didn't happen much. He really wasn't that tough, he was just very protective of Mom and I. If he didn't know someone, it took a while before he warmed up to them. I would always tell people not to pet him, just let him sniff their hand.
The easiest way to relax him? Rides in the car. All we had to do was put him in the backseat, start driving, and he would be asleep within a minute. He could have easily been a trucker's dog. And I could tell a humping story or two (or more), but I'll keep it clean. Suffice to say, the three favorite victims were my old friend Kurtz' leg, the pink footrest/ottoman (before it was reupholstered), and any baby stroller when there was a baby inside of it. Make up your own joke.
I remember his intensity when he would have ice cream. We'd buy him a cup, he'd start licking, and wouldn't even come up for air until the bottom of that cup was bone dry. And his appetite! I'll always remember the way he begged for treats in his later years. When mom had to stay home from work for 18 months, that's when he really got spoiled. Instead of just scratching the door where the treats were, he'd start howling at us because he wasn't getting his treat fast enough. He'd scratch the door, or even the oven, and look back at us as if to say "What are you waiting for? I have only two needs: attention and food!" He loved ice cream, cheese, and any kind of meat. If it was cooked on a grill, oh, he wanted some of it. I actually ate steak tonight and it was too quiet.
And there are a lot of things I didn't see. One time, he was walking with Mom at Herrick Lake and passing by these horses and he kept yelping at them in this really high voice. It was like he wanted to fight them, but knew he was insane if he actually challenged them. His running on the Connecticut beaches, getting his fur filled with sand, and having to go to a local vet for a bath and cleaning. After that day, he never got too crazy on a beach again. And oh, how he hated baths. I would lift him out of the tub and he'd run like chicken with no head all over the house. He'd rub his face right against the base of my bed and run alongside the bedskirt, desperately trying to dry his face. And when we were in New Jersey, he tended to get sprayed by skunks. I think he got nailed four times in one summer alone. And that always led to another bath.
About a year ago, Mom drove with him to Florida where she stayed with some friends who had two dogs. Now we'd never really let him around dogs, because he was always barking. But I think that was because there would always be a barrier between him and the dog, whether it was a window, a leash, a wall, etc. But he was amazing with them. He just loved being in their presence. I heard one good story from the trip. The female was sleeping in the living room. And Hogan was curious about her so he started walking around and sniffing her. After about three minutes of this, she woke up, barked angrily at him, and he was so scared he retreated into a corner of the house and wouldn't come out for over an hour.
And the walks we took through the mean streets of North Edison NJ, the forest preserves of West Chicago and Warrenville IL, the Prairie Paths of Wheaton and Wayne IL, the beaches of New London CT, the pine trees of North Carolina, the industrial streets of Pittsburgh, the cobblestone roads of Nantucket. He loved to explore nature and new places. All he needed was his family and he never had a care.
And now he can't really walk. The doctor says it's prostate cancer. I know we need to let him go and it hurts. I haven't really cried yet, though I'm sure I will soon. But almost 16 years. That's about 60 percent of my life. Now the house will be quieter. Maybe a little cleaner too. My heart will be a little sadder. My world will be a little emptier.
So, to the spoiled dope, to the old man, my brother, my friend, I thank you for 16 years.
I hope somehow, some way I'll see you again.
So long, Hogan, I love you forever.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Getting numb and getting ready to vomit
For the first time since May 17, the New York Mets do not reside in first place of the National League East. This team, slated to be the best in the National League led the division by 7 games with 17 to play. No team in HISTORY has ever blown that big a lead. They have now lost four in row and 10 of 14 and are now tied with Philadelphia, with three games left in this regular season. And to be blunt, three games left in the season.
This was the game to win. Pedro Martinez pitching against those pricks from St. Louis, who stole our title last year. And they're throwing Joel Piniero, whose ERA coming in was about 5. Pedro did what he could: 7 IP, 3 runs, 2 earned, 1 walk, 8 strikeouts. He did his job. But the offense failed to show up. A team that has consistently scored 7-8 runs per game could only manage three hits against Piniero. Inexcusable.
Oh and thanks to John Smoltz for spitting the bed against Philly. The one time I root for him, he stunk tonight. Stunk, like a Staten Island landfill.
I had been getting angry at every loss for the last month. Since yesterday, though my feelings have changed. I now expect them to lose. I expect the bullpen to blow leads. It's like watching the Knicks. I now wait for bad things to happen. And instead of getting angry, I am just feeling helpless, wanting this misery to just stop.
I think the Mets quit tonight, with this joke of a performance, not just in this game, but really, the way they've played since June. They've been reading their press clippings about how good they are and how much better they are than any other team in the National League. They turn their drive on and off. They think they can just show up once in a while and that will be enough to win. Well, it's not enough anymore.
And the fans? They have clearly lost faith in this team just as the players have lost faith in themselves. I all but have. I know they can mathematically win the division. But how can I have any hope this team will win the pennant?
I am embarrassed to be a Mets fan tonight and probably will be. All I have left is to root against the Cubs.
This was the game to win. Pedro Martinez pitching against those pricks from St. Louis, who stole our title last year. And they're throwing Joel Piniero, whose ERA coming in was about 5. Pedro did what he could: 7 IP, 3 runs, 2 earned, 1 walk, 8 strikeouts. He did his job. But the offense failed to show up. A team that has consistently scored 7-8 runs per game could only manage three hits against Piniero. Inexcusable.
Oh and thanks to John Smoltz for spitting the bed against Philly. The one time I root for him, he stunk tonight. Stunk, like a Staten Island landfill.
I had been getting angry at every loss for the last month. Since yesterday, though my feelings have changed. I now expect them to lose. I expect the bullpen to blow leads. It's like watching the Knicks. I now wait for bad things to happen. And instead of getting angry, I am just feeling helpless, wanting this misery to just stop.
I think the Mets quit tonight, with this joke of a performance, not just in this game, but really, the way they've played since June. They've been reading their press clippings about how good they are and how much better they are than any other team in the National League. They turn their drive on and off. They think they can just show up once in a while and that will be enough to win. Well, it's not enough anymore.
And the fans? They have clearly lost faith in this team just as the players have lost faith in themselves. I all but have. I know they can mathematically win the division. But how can I have any hope this team will win the pennant?
I am embarrassed to be a Mets fan tonight and probably will be. All I have left is to root against the Cubs.
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Thief of decision
I've been planning to write a review of my time last Saturday night in Chicago Ridge for the last week. I just can't do that tonight. They say suffering breeds creativity. Well, I agree. And I'm not talking about meaningless random circumstances. I'm talking about up close and personal. To watch what I have to watch nearly every day is devastating. Wanting to help, but unable to. Watching something so good just decay in front of me and knowing it's not my cross to bear, but I'm forced to bear it anyway.
Away from the root, I can smile. Even the situations that aroused fear, I can learn to walk down that path. But I wonder now if my base needs to change. And I look at what's causing this shift. Is this the real issue or is it hidden behind the slurred words I hear? Worse yet, are these twisted thoughts that I now receive from another, the real issue? There is a decision coming and it is inevitable.
My hope here is not to impose my will on another's, but simply to be free to choose my own path. So I ask myself. What's the real issue here? What's the right base? What's the right way? What's the right situation? Is there a place I belong? Or do I just learn to cope with all that gets thrown my way every minute of every day?
The decision is complicated, but even more necessary to make. I admit part of me does not want to decide. I shudder at what may happen. But if I do not make the choice, it will be made for me. What a terrible way that would be to live. I know this: I am me and am not going to let some sad soul, who inexpicably decides to regret and pity themselves, hold the special power of guiding my path. So why not just decide one way or another?
So will I make that decision or will it be made for me? It really is a no-brainer. Except when the time comes to decide.
Away from the root, I can smile. Even the situations that aroused fear, I can learn to walk down that path. But I wonder now if my base needs to change. And I look at what's causing this shift. Is this the real issue or is it hidden behind the slurred words I hear? Worse yet, are these twisted thoughts that I now receive from another, the real issue? There is a decision coming and it is inevitable.
My hope here is not to impose my will on another's, but simply to be free to choose my own path. So I ask myself. What's the real issue here? What's the right base? What's the right way? What's the right situation? Is there a place I belong? Or do I just learn to cope with all that gets thrown my way every minute of every day?
The decision is complicated, but even more necessary to make. I admit part of me does not want to decide. I shudder at what may happen. But if I do not make the choice, it will be made for me. What a terrible way that would be to live. I know this: I am me and am not going to let some sad soul, who inexpicably decides to regret and pity themselves, hold the special power of guiding my path. So why not just decide one way or another?
So will I make that decision or will it be made for me? It really is a no-brainer. Except when the time comes to decide.
Sunday, September 09, 2007
My song pick today...
should be "King of Pain" by the Police. Because that's what today has been.
Considering my illness that I've been fighting for four days, and how wasted I felt on Saturday night, I should have slept until about 8-9 am. Well, softball got me up at 6 am. I got there and found out our pitcher and co-captain broke his foot. Nonetheless he played in our semifinal and we lost 20-14 in just 5 innings. We led 3-0 after 1/2 inning and then gave up 8 or 9 runs. At one point, we were down 18-6. But we did score the next 8 runs and I'm proud of that. But I proceeded to play the worst game I have played since I have been in this league. Couldn't hit, couldn't field, couldn't run. Everything was bad. And they cut the game off early. Just as their pitcher was getting tired and losing control of his pitches, the game ends. I think if we had one more inning, we would have had a shot. So the season ends with a division title and a sleeveless purple t-shirt (very manly shirt, if I may say so). Not bad.
So that ended at 9:15 and I could have gone to Come Thirsty, though I would have looked like a circus freak. After eating the worst soup known to mankind, I watched the Jets-Patriots game. Suffice to say, it was disgusting, a 38-14 embarrassment. And I know tomorrow, the media will all kiss Tom Brady's you know what, saying how great he is, when he is just an overrated, no-good scumbag. And I'm keeping this rated-G, I'm not using the words I want to. For the love of God, my grandmother could have had 5 td's if she had as much time to throw as he did. The worst part was when Chad Pennington nearly broke his ankle. He limped off the field, not able to put any weight on it, threw his helmet down, and I thought he was done. Now he came back in the next series. But backup QB Kellen Clemens comes in and at least half of Giants Stadium cheers. That is the most disgraceful thing I've ever heard in a sports stadium. This guy has busted his ass, had his rotator cuff torn twice, and fought to be a great QB. And the fans treathim like Ryan Leaf or Michael Vick or Pacman Jones. Any Jets fan who cheered at that point is the lowest form of a human being I can think of, aside from any New England fans.
Bottom line: this season is OVER! This team is a joke. Last year was a mirage, they got 10 wins? Forget it, with the lack of pass rushing, pass defense, a horrible offensive line, and no running game, they will be lucky to win 4 games. I am embarrassed to be a Jets fan tonight. I don't care it's one game in, this will be 39 years without a Super Bowl appearance, let's move on to hockey.
And the joke that was volleyball. We went 1-2 in the seeding tournament. We went 1-1 in the first two games which was fine, but the third game was brutal. We went up 8-0. Then they got 8 straight points with one guy who served about 150 mph. Eventually we were leading 11-9 and the goal was 19 points. And this other guy who was an average server at best serves 10 straight points and we lose. It was pathetic. And I need to check if Matt ever gets his sneakers mud-free... And I went to Ecclesia and couldn't even concentrate on the message. I should have, but damn it, I couldn't.
So the end of the day finds me in the basement, eating pasta and sausage (extra romano, garlic, and hot pepper!) and watching the Giants-Cowboys game.
At least there's Ring of Honor next weekend.
Considering my illness that I've been fighting for four days, and how wasted I felt on Saturday night, I should have slept until about 8-9 am. Well, softball got me up at 6 am. I got there and found out our pitcher and co-captain broke his foot. Nonetheless he played in our semifinal and we lost 20-14 in just 5 innings. We led 3-0 after 1/2 inning and then gave up 8 or 9 runs. At one point, we were down 18-6. But we did score the next 8 runs and I'm proud of that. But I proceeded to play the worst game I have played since I have been in this league. Couldn't hit, couldn't field, couldn't run. Everything was bad. And they cut the game off early. Just as their pitcher was getting tired and losing control of his pitches, the game ends. I think if we had one more inning, we would have had a shot. So the season ends with a division title and a sleeveless purple t-shirt (very manly shirt, if I may say so). Not bad.
So that ended at 9:15 and I could have gone to Come Thirsty, though I would have looked like a circus freak. After eating the worst soup known to mankind, I watched the Jets-Patriots game. Suffice to say, it was disgusting, a 38-14 embarrassment. And I know tomorrow, the media will all kiss Tom Brady's you know what, saying how great he is, when he is just an overrated, no-good scumbag. And I'm keeping this rated-G, I'm not using the words I want to. For the love of God, my grandmother could have had 5 td's if she had as much time to throw as he did. The worst part was when Chad Pennington nearly broke his ankle. He limped off the field, not able to put any weight on it, threw his helmet down, and I thought he was done. Now he came back in the next series. But backup QB Kellen Clemens comes in and at least half of Giants Stadium cheers. That is the most disgraceful thing I've ever heard in a sports stadium. This guy has busted his ass, had his rotator cuff torn twice, and fought to be a great QB. And the fans treathim like Ryan Leaf or Michael Vick or Pacman Jones. Any Jets fan who cheered at that point is the lowest form of a human being I can think of, aside from any New England fans.
Bottom line: this season is OVER! This team is a joke. Last year was a mirage, they got 10 wins? Forget it, with the lack of pass rushing, pass defense, a horrible offensive line, and no running game, they will be lucky to win 4 games. I am embarrassed to be a Jets fan tonight. I don't care it's one game in, this will be 39 years without a Super Bowl appearance, let's move on to hockey.
And the joke that was volleyball. We went 1-2 in the seeding tournament. We went 1-1 in the first two games which was fine, but the third game was brutal. We went up 8-0. Then they got 8 straight points with one guy who served about 150 mph. Eventually we were leading 11-9 and the goal was 19 points. And this other guy who was an average server at best serves 10 straight points and we lose. It was pathetic. And I need to check if Matt ever gets his sneakers mud-free... And I went to Ecclesia and couldn't even concentrate on the message. I should have, but damn it, I couldn't.
So the end of the day finds me in the basement, eating pasta and sausage (extra romano, garlic, and hot pepper!) and watching the Giants-Cowboys game.
At least there's Ring of Honor next weekend.
Saturday, September 08, 2007
Carole Riebock
Seems like more and more these days I'm writing tributes to people who pass away. Now it's one of the finest teachers at my high school.
I guess it was around 4:30 on Thursday when I heard the news Carole Riebock died during an operation for a liver transplant. I was absolutely stunned, I had no idea anything was even wrong with her health. And this is only 10 weeks after her husband passed away.
Since I came to Wheaton Academy for my junior year, I was never a student in any of her Bible classes so I can't talk about her as a teacher. But I participated on a mission trip to Pawley's Island, SC in January 1998. Even though I was a junior and the trip was basically for first and second year students, she still allowed me to go. And those two weeks were incredibly challenging for me as I faced a lot of personal issues. But even though some people saw fit to just avoid me, Mrs. Riebock was always in my corner and never let me forget it.
I remember we were working in this grass field, trying to take down this batting cage. Even though we got the fencing down, there were still a few blocks of wood basing in the ground and we wanted to get them out. Several of us tried to get it out, but pulling just wasn't doing the job. Mrs. Riebock noticed the van. So we found a steel chain. Can you see where this is going? We tied one end to the hitch of the trailer and the other end to the wood. Mrs. Riebock hopped in the driver's seat and steps on the gas. I remember a lot of black smoke rising from the back of the van. Wasn't making much progress so she added a little more gas and half the bumper flew off the back of the van. And I don't remember if we ever got that wood out!
I also remember participating in the fall play "His Way or Broadway" when I first came in that she did the music for. Preparing for and acting in that show was one of the highlights of my life and she and Corbett have a lot to do with that.
Jenny would probably be a little embarrassed that I'm doing this, but her post was excellent.
I guess it was around 4:30 on Thursday when I heard the news Carole Riebock died during an operation for a liver transplant. I was absolutely stunned, I had no idea anything was even wrong with her health. And this is only 10 weeks after her husband passed away.
Since I came to Wheaton Academy for my junior year, I was never a student in any of her Bible classes so I can't talk about her as a teacher. But I participated on a mission trip to Pawley's Island, SC in January 1998. Even though I was a junior and the trip was basically for first and second year students, she still allowed me to go. And those two weeks were incredibly challenging for me as I faced a lot of personal issues. But even though some people saw fit to just avoid me, Mrs. Riebock was always in my corner and never let me forget it.
I remember we were working in this grass field, trying to take down this batting cage. Even though we got the fencing down, there were still a few blocks of wood basing in the ground and we wanted to get them out. Several of us tried to get it out, but pulling just wasn't doing the job. Mrs. Riebock noticed the van. So we found a steel chain. Can you see where this is going? We tied one end to the hitch of the trailer and the other end to the wood. Mrs. Riebock hopped in the driver's seat and steps on the gas. I remember a lot of black smoke rising from the back of the van. Wasn't making much progress so she added a little more gas and half the bumper flew off the back of the van. And I don't remember if we ever got that wood out!
I also remember participating in the fall play "His Way or Broadway" when I first came in that she did the music for. Preparing for and acting in that show was one of the highlights of my life and she and Corbett have a lot to do with that.
Jenny would probably be a little embarrassed that I'm doing this, but her post was excellent.
17 and dropping
There's the magic number to clinch the NL East.
Let's see, I have been sick for 36 hours. Total medication consumed: 4 Benadryl, 3 Cold-eeze, 1 Zicam, 6 Vitamin C tablets, 3 glasses of orange juice.
To put my Friday in perspective, I worked a half day at CEC and then threw in the towel. I grabbed some soup at Panera, went home, and jumped into bed. And despite taking some pills, I could not get to sleep. Three hours of tossing and turning. And my Friday night group was supposed to resume and I wanted to go. But I knew there was no way I was going. So I could hang around the house and get some rest and save my energy for Saturday right? Not so much. It's high school football night. I worked from 9:30-midnight. And this is not the right weekend for me to be sick. Not like there is a good weekend to get sick, but between the the White Sox-Twins today and my "marathon" tomorrow of softball, volleyball, and Ecclesia, I'll need all the endurance I can get.
Even though I shouldn't really be amused by this, I kind of am. Apparently microwave popcorn can be harmful. The chemical diacetyl, which is used to make artificial butter flavoring, has been linked to a respiratory disease called "popcorn lung" in hundreds of people. Apparently some of these people need lung transplants. Now it's it not eating it that is necessarily bad, it's inhaling the fumes from the popcorn that does the damage. Amazing, isn't it? Fifteen years ago, the craze was how dangerous movie popcorn was with the coconut oil. Now we can't even get away with smelling popcorn, one of the best smells known to mankind?
Song pick: "A Tender Lie" Restless Heart
Let's see, I have been sick for 36 hours. Total medication consumed: 4 Benadryl, 3 Cold-eeze, 1 Zicam, 6 Vitamin C tablets, 3 glasses of orange juice.
To put my Friday in perspective, I worked a half day at CEC and then threw in the towel. I grabbed some soup at Panera, went home, and jumped into bed. And despite taking some pills, I could not get to sleep. Three hours of tossing and turning. And my Friday night group was supposed to resume and I wanted to go. But I knew there was no way I was going. So I could hang around the house and get some rest and save my energy for Saturday right? Not so much. It's high school football night. I worked from 9:30-midnight. And this is not the right weekend for me to be sick. Not like there is a good weekend to get sick, but between the the White Sox-Twins today and my "marathon" tomorrow of softball, volleyball, and Ecclesia, I'll need all the endurance I can get.
Even though I shouldn't really be amused by this, I kind of am. Apparently microwave popcorn can be harmful. The chemical diacetyl, which is used to make artificial butter flavoring, has been linked to a respiratory disease called "popcorn lung" in hundreds of people. Apparently some of these people need lung transplants. Now it's it not eating it that is necessarily bad, it's inhaling the fumes from the popcorn that does the damage. Amazing, isn't it? Fifteen years ago, the craze was how dangerous movie popcorn was with the coconut oil. Now we can't even get away with smelling popcorn, one of the best smells known to mankind?
Song pick: "A Tender Lie" Restless Heart
Sunday, September 02, 2007
Boo yah!
So this is what it feels like to be on the good end of a sweep. I wonder why a certain someone hasn't talked to me since Friday night...
I have to give the Mets full credit for rebounding and sweeping Atlanta in Turner Field. I never pictured it happening. John Maine, Mike Pelfrey, and Tom Glavine steeped up and delivered excellent pitching performances. The bullpen shone in that they didn't blow a game! The biggest testament to the Mets pitching this series is they only allowed one extra base hit in three games, a ground ball double by Brian McCann in the final inning of the final game. On offense, David Wright had big hits, Marlon Anderson is a huge bat off the bench, it's great to have Endy Chavez back, and Carlos Delgado actually hit two homers in this series.
The Mets lead is 4 games over Philly, 7.5 games over Atlanta, and the magic number for clinching the division is 23 with 26 games and we head to Ohio tomorrrow. Speaking of tomorrow, Pedro Martinez is back and pitching in Cincinnati! Vote for Pedro!
A few other things for tonight.
1) Jets open in 7 days! Let's smoke New England!
2) Cherry Coke Zero isn't much better than Diet Cherry Coke and they're both brutal.
3) I watched "One Flew Over the Cukoo's Nest" for the first time last night. Excellent film.
4) I have softball playoffs at 8 am next week. If we win our first game, the championship game is at 9:15. Then, I have the volleyball seeding tournament at 2 p.m. I'd better do some extra cardio this week.
5) Fresh Market's bacon cheddar burgers and almond pillow cookies are incredible.
6) Where should I go at the end of December: St. Paul, MN or New York City?
7) Being spontaneous is a good quality but not when you're counting on someone having made a decision and then they decide to suddenly change it on you.
8) After hearing Joe Benigno's opening monologue/rant on Friday 8/31, I am reminded how great he is.
9) Two weeks to go until I attend ROH's third PPV taping at the Frontier Fieldhouse.
10) Steve Phillips is a clueless, bitter prick and ESPN needs to fire him today. I said it.
PS Check back later this week for the story of the relish and the beans...
I have to give the Mets full credit for rebounding and sweeping Atlanta in Turner Field. I never pictured it happening. John Maine, Mike Pelfrey, and Tom Glavine steeped up and delivered excellent pitching performances. The bullpen shone in that they didn't blow a game! The biggest testament to the Mets pitching this series is they only allowed one extra base hit in three games, a ground ball double by Brian McCann in the final inning of the final game. On offense, David Wright had big hits, Marlon Anderson is a huge bat off the bench, it's great to have Endy Chavez back, and Carlos Delgado actually hit two homers in this series.
The Mets lead is 4 games over Philly, 7.5 games over Atlanta, and the magic number for clinching the division is 23 with 26 games and we head to Ohio tomorrrow. Speaking of tomorrow, Pedro Martinez is back and pitching in Cincinnati! Vote for Pedro!
A few other things for tonight.
1) Jets open in 7 days! Let's smoke New England!
2) Cherry Coke Zero isn't much better than Diet Cherry Coke and they're both brutal.
3) I watched "One Flew Over the Cukoo's Nest" for the first time last night. Excellent film.
4) I have softball playoffs at 8 am next week. If we win our first game, the championship game is at 9:15. Then, I have the volleyball seeding tournament at 2 p.m. I'd better do some extra cardio this week.
5) Fresh Market's bacon cheddar burgers and almond pillow cookies are incredible.
6) Where should I go at the end of December: St. Paul, MN or New York City?
7) Being spontaneous is a good quality but not when you're counting on someone having made a decision and then they decide to suddenly change it on you.
8) After hearing Joe Benigno's opening monologue/rant on Friday 8/31, I am reminded how great he is.
9) Two weeks to go until I attend ROH's third PPV taping at the Frontier Fieldhouse.
10) Steve Phillips is a clueless, bitter prick and ESPN needs to fire him today. I said it.
PS Check back later this week for the story of the relish and the beans...
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