History, On this Day, August 25th, 1975

Today in History,

A Wasted Childhood.

August 25^th, 1975

 

It was the first day of school at Our Holy Redeemer and it was hot. At 7:30 in the morning it had been 75 degrees. Temperatures climbed all morning. and the humidity was hovering between brutal and unbearable.  To most of the student’s humidity was only a word from television and radio. Something old people complained about. But in the middle of an enclosed hallway, in an old building with no air-conditioning, when the atmosphere became so heavy breathing was labored, almost impossible, sweat ran down backs, dripped into burning, bloodshot eyes, clothes clung to damp, uncomfortable flesh, even students knew something had gone bad. 

After 3^rd period there was a small wave of students going in each direction down the wide, tiled hallway. The bricks were shiny with a malevolent, moist warmth, the tile floor had shimmering heat devils floating just inside observable spectrum. It was miserable. 

A basketball rolled insolently through the open gymnasium doors. Its constant, slow rotation seemed to be an affront, a challenge. It was as though it were daring somebody to do something, anything.

Ricky Belhaus did something. He picked up the basketball, his right hand went as far back as he could reach, his left leg raised until it looked as if he might tumble over, and he threw the ball as hard as he could into the gym.

Before he could recoil from the effort, the ball caromed off the stanchion for the practice basketball goal and flew into the kitchen.

There was a terrible crash, loud and liquid. It echoed off the walls of the gym, and disappeared into the curtains on the stage. Maybe it was trying to escape the terrifying scream that followed it almost immediately.

In a fraction of a second the hallway was empty. In less than a minute there was the head cook, standing there, holding a metal ladle, spaghetti sauce splattered across her face, small drops almost like little footprints climbing from her neck to the top of her hairnet. Her shirt was dripping red sauce and her pants were soaked in several spots. Her eyes held a terrible fire, as she looked from side to side. The metal spoon shook with an electric rage. But the hallway was empty, except for her.

Ricky breathed a sigh of relief, as he sat listening to the assigned work expected results of Mr. Harriman’s 4^th period American History class. He looked carefully at the syllabus and thought of how he was off the hook. He drew a lopsided basketball with a smiley face. He smiled back at his creation. He had dodged a bullet this time.

A loud crackle, and a pronounced serpentine hiss, filled the room. Someone was going to make an announcement on the public address system.

“Ricky Belhaus, please report to Principal Mycroft’s office.” Nothing ever stays secret, ever.

A chill ran through Ricky, he shivered, the sweat dried on his forehead, it turned icy cold on his back and arms. The room seemed to darken, and people tried to slide their desks a little farther from Ricky’s.

After 4^th period ended, students filled the halls, patterned, mostly predictable movement, leave one class, stop at your locker and onto the next class. Ricky came stumbling from Principal Mycroft’s office. He was a wrench in the gears of order. An island in the steady flow.

He was bent slightly forward at the waist, his hands clasped on his buttocks, fresh from the board, kept in the corner, to modify behavior.  Tears of anger, shame and pain streamed down his face.

“I hate that fat man.” He said.

Students looked all around, looking for the principal. He was nowhere to be seen. It was safe.

“Me too.”

“So do I.”

“Yeah, he sucks.”

And other whispered agreements rustled silently from the crowd. Then they went as quickly as they could, without looking as if they were trying to hurry. Nobody wanted to be around rebellion.

There were rumors about Principal Mycroft and his ability to be at the worst possible place at the absolute worst time. Throw your gum on the floor, spit on the light-switch, and there was the iron grip of Principal Mycroft, digging into an unsuspecting shoulder, or grabbing a handful of collar, marching an rebel into his office for a little pant seat discipline.

Some believed he had a network of tunnels running from his office to various parts of the school. Deep underground, dark, damp, a smell of decay filled the air. Tiny footsteps from rodents scurrying away to avoid the monstrous drumming footsteps of an angry administrator.

Others felt the only real explanation was there multiple Principals Mycroft. At the very least three, more likely five, or even seven. It was always a prime number. One student claimed it had to be thirteen. He had been caught several times. Once he had been busted executing a flawless plan to skip the afternoon of school. He waited behind the restroom door, and when it was clear he walked twenty feet and out the doors facing Elm Street, where there were no classroom windows. Principal Mycroft stood just west of the door, a silent fury distorting the air surrounding him, it was wavy and made colors hard to interpret.

A student whose parents were from California, was certain Principal Mycroft used astral projection to transport his earthly form to wherever somebody was going to try a small act of independence or rebellion or throw a basketball into a cauldron of spaghetti sauce. It seemed ridiculous but it made more sense than anything. It explained almost everything.

Anyway, on this day in history, Ricky Belhaus learned you were never safe until you graduated, maybe not even then. We had spaghetti with some catsup and a small amount of butter. Bruce Springsteen released his third studio album “Born to Run.” It was the year of the rabbit in the Chinese Zodiac, and people born on that day were Virgos.  

 

 

 

 

 

Reruns anyone?

The NBA championship is here, unsurprisingly it is Cleveland and Golden State again. The parity the league has been toiling so diligently to reach is here. As long as you are a Cleveland or Golden State fan.  Of course, everybody is a fan of one of those teams, and why not, they have the star power, television loves them, advertisers are lining up to get a Warrior or a Cavalier to endorse their product. Referees are blinded by the athletic brilliance displayed as these teams meet again for the, well I don't know how many years it is now, but quite a few. Once again we will be treated to the same entree, and who doesn't love reruns.

It wasn't that long ago that LeBron James left Cleveland to pursue a championship ring and money beyond imagination, though I think Cleveland probably would have paid him a living wage. Cavalier fans were inflamed. He left, won a few rings, made a little money, came back and all was forgiven. It was as if he never left.

Golden State was a west coast powerhouse, but needed a bit more star power to really compete, so they went and got Kevin Durant from Oklahoma City. Oklahoma City fans were furious. All three hundred and seventeen of them.

I probably won't watch, I just don't care. Basketball has become a game of three point shots. Drive to the basket, pass it back out for an open three. Pass it from side to side until somebody gets open for a three point shot. Dribble around for a while and then take a three point shot. It just doesn't seem that exciting to me.

I am kind of excited about the off season when Golden State, or Cleveland, or possibly Los Angeles, New York or Miami decides to throw caution to the wind and sign every player in the NBA to a multiple year contract,  bringing home the championship, and creating a dynasty. I can't wait.

And Now For Some Good News.

My wife works in a high school. One of the students was a gifted basketball player. A mountainous, hulking man of a student, strong, masculine, just plain big. According to my wife he was always very polite, and respectful.

Another student in the school is a special needs student. His handicap is profound, twisting his arms and legs into odd angles and strange movements. He stutters, and has trouble coordinating his movements. He loves basketball, he wants nothing more than to be able to play. And he was doomed, by cruel, terrible fate to be disappointed in so simple an ambition. He watched basketball, he talked about basketball, and according to rumors his bedroom walls are adorned with posters of NBA players.

In one of the oddest twists of fate imaginable, a turn of events almost too hokey for Disney, a student was being mean to the handicapped student (why does that happen, and it always happens that way, doesn’t it? this poor child doesn’t  have enough problems without adding a heartless bastard to the debit column) and the basketball player came over and picked up the bully, held him up against the wall and said “leave him alone, he is my friend.” Oddly enough, he was.

Now the basketball star is off to college, playing at high level at a school where playing at a high level is expected, demanded. He still stays in contact with his “friend.” Even helping him get tickets to a game. A gentle giant, a man who gives back. A true star in a world full of ESPN manufactured personalities.

There is still something in this story that brings a tear to my eye. In a world gone mad with self aggrandizement here is a young man who took the time to give to someone who needed. It is easy to find stories about people who don’t give a damn about anybody. Easy to find examples of people willing to step on someone small and meek just so they can reach the good stuff on the top shelf. It is easy to think nobody cares about anything, society is a waste, humanity not so humane.

Very few people at the school know this story, it was not for publicity. My wife knows because she cares, she talks to all kids and they tell her things, sometimes heartbreaking, terrible things. But once in a while she will find a true gem. “Where you find the darkest avenue, there you’ll find the brightest jewel.”* And knowing my predilection for darkness she shares them with me. And the handicapped student shared this story with her, excitedly. Here was a basketball player, a star player, who was his friend.

He did not do this for any acknowledgement, just because it was the right thing to do, and still do, he is still doing it. I admit that college athletics is more about athletics and the obscene profits it generates, than anything to do with the positive impact of college, or the careful molding  and nurturing of young people, but sometimes, if you look hard enough you can find something bright and wonderful.

*Richard Thompson, Cooksferry Queen

A Plea for Help and a Plea to #fixtheplus

We are now entering the second round of the NCAA tournament. "The round of thirty two." And I have yet to watch a complete game. Part of it has been the fact that I have been consumed by writing and "researching"* my book.** But mostly it has been terribly busy at work, which is where I have historically started.

It seemed sickening that people would want their product shipped at such an inopportune time as the first round of the NCAA tournament. What kind of monsters are we doing business with.

But, I realized that most of the problem came with our international distributors. Turns out people in Europe, scattered around the Pacific Rim, in the Middle East, and other places not in the US care very little for the sanctity of the tournament.

So, I come to you, Life Explained Nation, well nation is probably the wrong term, Life Explained
Universe, if you live in another country tell your friends, coworkers, employers, everybody you know, about the importance of getting things done in advance of the NCAA tournament next year.

Muscles not to scale

It might not hurt to take out an ad in the local paper, or buy some time during a news broadcast. Whatever it takes to get the word out.

Thank you, we appreciate your support,

Sincerely,

Life Explained, department of basketball watching.






*Which involved poking around online for Missouri River dams in South Dakota, and then deciding to send my cousins husband a facebook message, he knows a lot about South Dakota, and the Missouri River (thanks Randy). And then poking around a little more on line and eventually asking my son about Viking religious beliefs, particularly the beliefs about life after death, he knows a lot about history, sometimes more than I can believe (thank you, son).

**I would like to apologize for this latest plug for an unfinished novel (close to finished, though), I'm sorry. And I would like to promise you it won't happen again, but that would be a lie. In fact, we, here at Life Explained, are looking for someone to head up our new "Shameless Self Promotion" department. Must have an oversized ego, and the ability to send messages to people who know stuff, and things.

A gentle change of the season.

Christmas has come and gone. Our Christmases are pretty tame, our kids are older, and we don't do much. As a family we don't stand too awfully convicted to tradition, we had lasagna for Christmas dinner.

But, we watched some basketball on television, a little football, but mostly hoops, baby, hoops. Which is important, it is a season of transition.

Screaming at basketball refs requires a shift in vocabulary. Sure, there are phrases that will work for either sport. "Hey, stripes you're missing a good game." "This is taking the Americans With Disabilities Act too far." But, far and large it requires a retooling of insults.

Christmas signals the changing of the seasons. A melding of two televised sports. An ideal time to
refine and hone the needed instructions for a different set of novice, oddly dressed, children.

So, stop fuming about the thugs committing pass interference on your poor, hardworking, abused receiver, and start being indignant about the muggers climbing right up the back of your honest, put upon rebounder.  And the corrupt, dastardly officials turning a well paid, blind eye to the crazed, cheating convicts that inhabit the bench of the other team.

Don't put away your indignation, just shift the focus of your rage. Remember the world of televised sports fans everywhere need your help.

The Year in review, part 1. I am really starting to enjoy these multipart posts

We are going to take a few days off from the endless story of a Christmas Tale, which turned into a battle of good vs. evil, the endless struggle of man, and supernatural beings, tackling the problems associated with rampant automation, employee apathy, and corporate corruption (how did this happen, anyway?). It is really a timeless tale, but, we need a little break. Plus, I am working on the next image on Bitstrips, which is a gas, and may revolutionize blogging.

Instead we are going to do a year in review. Life Explained, Ohio Office (OHHELLNO) looks back on 2015.

As far as anybody around here remembers 2015 started in January. But, it was a long time ago. We are searching for proof, but nobody can find a calendar, so we are not going to make any bold declarations. We think the year started in January.

Which, oddly enough, was when I started going to the gym, and it was filled with people. Lycra clad, colorful, groups of people who moved in unison, amoeba like, from area to area, talking and chatting, laughing, and having a good time.

Then came February, the cold, short month, where we celebrate Saint Valentines Day.* And the

crowd of people at the gym disappeared, and many days I was the only person in the place. It had become the Life Explained Memorial Gym.

March, Since I became a workout guy, I went to the Arnold Festival at the Columbus Convention Center. Plus, in one of the highlights of my life, we went to an NCAA tournament game. Oklahoma beat Dayton at Nationwide Arena. It was fantastic.

April, May, we think, were pretty uneventful. It seems something happened in there somewhere, but darned if we can remember what it was.


June, and we took a trip to the Black Hills, and that was cool.

July, August, September, where kind of a blur. November and December, it is hard to look at them in the past, so we are going to pretend they don't exist, kind of like evidence that disproves anything we believe.


* Who has negotiated a prominent part in the Christmas Tale gone awry. Depending on how you define prominent.

Cornhuskers, Football, and Life.

There comes a time in every life when a person has to look at the decisions made, the paths followed. A time when the wealth of deeds needs to be measured, and expectations evaluated. A time when a real man, or woman (having no understanding of women I will leave that to women) will look at his, or her life and understand, almost instinctually if significant progress has been made toward the goals set. Or whether modifications are needed, whether it be to the goals, or to the tactics of life.

Given the state of my life, and my deep, uncompromised loathing for introspection, my mistrust of self examination, and the fact that it is Saturday, the greatest day of the week, the weather is beautiful, and I am feeling very peaceful we are not going to have none of that.

Note my signature finger in the photo!

Instead, we are going to talk about the coming football season, it is Saturday, after all.  I am an unapologetic Nebraska Cornhusker fan. Yes, they have had their troubles lately, and yes they are still in the midst of a rebuilding process that has taken years, and yes the new coaching staff will certainly need time to develop their team. But, I don't care. 

I forgot the finger,
please forgive me.

In the end there has to be something besides winning that drives a fan. You need to feel some kinship with the players, coaches and other fans. Some deep, communal bond that transcends the game. We, my family and I, are big Louisville Cardinal basketball fans (I have been for years, since before Dr. Dunkenstein) and we try to take in a game at the Yum Center in Louisville every year. When you walk around the arena before the game there is a friendly, family reunion feel. People are smiling, and the camaraderie is palpable. It is transcendent, and tonic. And sports needs that.

Of course I want the team to win every game, but, I still wear my Nebraska shirts with pride when they don't. After a loss, when, without fail, someone will ask "what happened?" I will say "they lost." and walk away smiling. These are young men, who work incredibly hard, and are coached by people who have made an obsession of learning the nuances of the sport. And sometimes that is not enough, but it would be a comedy of idiocy were I to try coaching the team, so I don't try to coach, post game. 

When people ask if I am "happy about winning only 8 games a season." I say "I am extremely happy when they win, and less happy when they lose. But, feel comfortable saying it wasn't because they weren't trying."

We have a new coach this year and that is always exciting. We are undefeated so far, and that is great. And, we have a whole season of ups and downs, and the roller coaster ride is what makes it worthwhile, so thank you Mike Riley, thank you Nebraska Cornhuskers, and fans, I am ready.  It will be a great season.

NCAA Championship, too bad there is not more than one.

Monday is the National Championship Game in college basketball.  Duke (the Blue Devils) will face Wisconsin (the Red Devils, just kidding, they are the Badgers, but a game between two teams called the Devils would be cool).  It should be a good game, pitting Duke's trio of Freshmen against Wisconsin's veteran squad of upperclassmen.  Two experienced coaches whose teams are fundamentally sound, disciplined, and talented.

Of course, if anybody had been paying attention, they would see neither of these teams were in my Final Four, let alone the championship game, so it would be OK with me if they both lost.

Wisconsin did beat Kentucky, and as a Louisville fan that makes me happy, so Wisconsin would be alright.  And, if Duke win, our friend stands to win some money in her office pool, so Duke would be cool, so Duke might be a good choice.

However, having been a North Carolina fan for so long it is difficult to wish anything but evil for Duke.  So, that is kind of a tough call.

Since I am a Nebraska fan, and Wisconsin beat them so soundly earlier this year, it is so hard to hope for any success for them.

Being a sports fan can be a difficult, trying, labor of decision, loss, and sacrifice.  When the tournament starts a team is chosen, and certain emotional investments are made.  It becomes a relationship, you and the team, struggling, battling other teams, corrupt, myopic, referees, and partisan announcers.

Most times the team you have chosen to win, the team you really like, does not win, and you have to choose a secondary team.  And, the cycle starts over, often that will lose.  It is a roller coaster, hope and joy, and potential followed by crushing, terrible, heart breaking sorrow, and defeat.

Laughter, tears, elation, pain, and soon there is nobody left on the initial "I could live with any of these teams winning" list.  You are forced to choose from the lesser of the evils, and sometimes the evils are almost equal.

Then, you are forced to choose between untenable choices, and when the game starts it becomes a painful, tense, torturous exercise in avoidance.  It is like watching your parents fight, if you hate both of your parents, and are secretly wishing they would rip each other to pieces, be arrested, and spend the rest of their miserable lives rotting in a gulag, shovels in hand.  Well, that might be stretching the metaphor.

So, I will watch the game with difficulty, and a troubled conscience on Monday night, and dream of both coaches digging salt in a Russian mine.  Not really, and I always wanted the fights between my parents to end amicably.  I will probably root for Duke, my friend always invites me to participate in her company's NCAA pool, and she is my friend that is some powerful magic.

Road to the Final Four, or the Path to the Intermediate Thirty Two.

Tonight I am going to see the Dayton Flyers play the Oklahoma Sooners in an NCAA tournament game.  The NCAA tournament is my favorite sporting event.  A single elimination slugfest, providing hours of entertainment, competition, and numerous opportunities for gambling, game fixing, corruption, and intrigue.

After watching some of the officiating so far maybe that is not all a joke.  But, maybe I am just unhappy that the teams I was rooting for went down in ignominious defeat, a sobbing, bleeding pile of broken dreams laying below the naked baskets, the nets recently cut away by the winners.

Speaking of which, there is a great commercial featuring one of the heroes of my youth, Dr. J, where he explains that when you are climbing the ladder to cut down the net, make sure to grip the scissors firmly, because everything about climbing a ladder with a pair of scissors screams eye injury.  You should listen, he is a doctor, after all.

Of course, that is not important, because I am GOING TO THE GAME!  Long a dream of mine, and the great thing is I like both teams, so no matter who wins, I can be happy.  More importantly, it doesn't matter which group of fans I am with, there will be no friction.  And, it is likely that it will be Dayton fans, since we are going to the game in Columbus, OH.  At the hockey arena, playing on ice will add a new dimension to the game, I hope they don't call traveling too tightly.

Plus, and here is the good part, I have a new app, "Cute Cut" for my iPhone, to document the trip.

Further, I had no choice in going to the game, as I was visited by a Killer Robot from Outer Space, who demanded we take him to the game.  Here is the video of the event.

As you can see, the options were limited.

Tune in tomorrow, or Tuesday, for the full account of my "FIRST TRIP (though, I am hoping it is not my last) TO THE NCAA TOURNAMENT!"

My Bracket, it was fun while it lasted.

As promised yesterday, here is my bracket for the NCAA tournament (2015 version).

Obviously, I am almost eliminated already.  That is really the plan, you know (not really)?  While everybody else is watching, tense, nervous, constantly checking their bracket, and their place in the bracket challenge(s). Chewing their fingernails, snapping at their families, cursing co-workers, spewing anger, disappointment, hate, and intolerance, just waiting for the hammer to drop I will be enjoying an icy cold, delicious beverage, and a tasty, warm, and with luck, healthy snack, and basketball.  This leaves me free to curse the refs, the fates, the unfortunate string of poor free throw shooting, the coriolis effect that is certainly reducing the three point shooting percentage of my team, anything that makes a convenient excuse for my team losing, almost without care.  

I know picking Kansas to win is crazy (forgive me Bill Self) they may be home before next weekend, but you have to pick somebody, and it should be somebody in the top 4 seeds.  I would have picked Louisville, except they showed Chris Jones the door, and losing your starting point guard right before the tournament is a bad omen.  And, in all fairness, I probably did pick them to win in one of the other brackets, I don't remember, and will let you know for sure, maybe.  And, as discussed yesterday, picking someone I don't want to win is impossible.  It leaves me rooting for a team I want to lose, or rooting against my bracket, and that is too much to ask. 

Here is my bracket with friendly, little cartoon people and musical accompaniment from the Spencer Davis Group.  You have to love those guys.

So, that is mine, enjoy, share yours if you want, the email address it tweettweetjohn@yahoo.com, and it will be posted here, for posterity.   And, if that makes you uncomfortable, that's cool, enjoy the tournament, I hope you win, I am pulling for you all the way.

A brief update, for what it's worth.

We are at T-minus four.  T being our Trip this coming Friday to Louisville to watch the Cardinals play, (L1C4), and four is the number of times we have to haul ourselves out of bed at the screaming, incessant urging of the alarm clock, and drag ourselves to work.  You know, I really like my job, and actually enjoy going to work, but damn, I hate the alarm clock.  I can't be the only one who detests the intrusive, blaring, jarring assault of the alarm clock.  Science should really look into this, it might be a national problem.  But, we are here to talk about happier things, like loading into the car driving three hours, or so, down Interstate 71 and watching Louisville win a basketball game.

It is going to be kind of a quick trip, down on Friday, back on Saturday, my oldest son has to work on Saturday evening, and he is very responsible, it must come from his Mother, but there will still be time for a side trip to Jungle Jim's in Cincinnati, and I have decided to look for a "I'd rather be drinking Bourbon" coffee mug,  So, if you know where I can find one on Friday evening leave a comment and let me know.

I am thinking of emailing coach Rick Pitino to let him know I will be at the game this Friday.  He was happy to hear that we were going to the game last year, he even emailed me, from his iPhone.  Of course, I emailed him first, but I think he was happy to hear from me.  I am a blogger, after all, you know.  And I have tens of followers, and that carries some weight.

In a bit of a news flash, Nebraska won against Florida State in basketball, in Tallahassee.  It may not be all that impressive, but it makes me happy.  I might have to email Coach Miles my congratulations, he will be so happy.  He emailed me last year, in case I didn't mention that.

Anyway, it is late, I am tired, and starting to ramble, more than normal.  Go Cards, Go Big Red, and enjoy the week, it is the last one for a while.

Curse you, hackers.

We, here at Life Explained, are embarrassed to report that one of our Cloud accounts has been hacked, and there were numerous compromising photos and videos stolen and leaked to various unscrupulous media outlets.  Of course, the truly embarrassing part was when all of the photos and videos were returned, unused.

It seems no one is interested in a group of middle aged scientists, engineers, and their assistants no matter how provocative.  Even the video taken in the kitchen after the "Great Chocolate Cake" fiasco.  It is a big mistake to allow a bunch of sheltered, fiber loving, low carb, low sugar, healthy eaters to indulge in big cups of strong coffee and large slabs of birthday cake with delicious, sugary icing layered in inches.

For about forty five minutes it was like the wild west in there.  Scientists bickering about the best way to slice a cake, wrestling over the who got part of the cake with the frosting flowers, (they had precisely calculated how much more frosting was in one rose) threatening each other with the jagged ends of broken laboratory beakers, bawdy jokes involving interns and the theory of relativity.  Then came the crash.  They dropped like lead bricks, all over the kitchen, draped over chairs, laying on tables, faces buried on plates that had been licked clean.   After that we started spiking the water supply with small amounts of sugar to build up some tolerance.

Not a real football player, or coach

In unrelated news, we, here at Life Explained, are still seeking a celebrity spokesperson, having been snubbed by our first two choices, we are now going to approach Oklahoma State Football Coach, and former quarterback, Mike Gundy.  A man who is comfortable in front of a microphone, and in front of a large crowd.  We were thinking about asking the Duke basketball coach, but we have no idea how to spell his last name.

One Last Time, Probably.

I am not a rabid sports fan, for a wide variety of reasons.  It is not dreamy idealism, not a stand against the corruption that may be rampant.  Nor is it a vengeful stand against the dangers inherent in competition, though both have merit.  It is just a view based on experience, and hey it is my blog, after all.

I can make it all the way through baseball season without ever thinking about standings, pennant races, public scratching, or spitting.  I find the average baseball game lasts too long, and most of that time has little real drama, or action.  Sometimes I like to watch a baseball game on television, just to listen to the announcers fill the time between pitches with a constant stream of statistical trivia, the colorful memories of past performances, and the hopes for potential greatness.  In many ways, to me, it has to be one of the most difficult jobs in sports broadcasting.  Being the play by play announcer for a baseball game requires more research than a law degree, and more flexible, associative reasoning than quantum physics.  It is almost like a machine, a perpetual motion construct, taking long minutes of routine and trying to make it sound noteworthy.  But, I am not even sure who won the World Series last year, and don't really care.

I used to like professional basketball, but at some point I came to the realization that they are not promoting a game, as much as a series of players.  They always need a larger than life personality, someone who can sell jerseys, shoes, cell phones, posters, and he needs to have the unique ability to polarize people.  It seems to be a lot more about the players, and less about the competition.  This is not really a criticism, they have a right to make the league as popular and profitable as it can possibly be, in fact that is their prime responsibility.  But, it does not interest me.

And the NFL has always seemed too corporate, and packaged to be a sport.  Microsoft vs Apple vs Google, and occasionally Samsung or Hewitt Packard will come through and grab that last wild card spot.  Or Coke vs Pepsi.  But, it is really hard for me to care, I find presidential debates more compelling.  The smart money is on Coke and Apple, by the way, at least my money.  Considering how well I did in every bracket I filled out this year my money, and the person carrying it, may not be all that bright.

So, I have to squeeze every last ounce of enjoyment possible (and another blog post or two) out of the Final Four, which will be a little difficult since all of the teams I really like are watching it, too.  Which, I guess, is kind of cool, I will be watching the Final Four with Tim Miles, and Rick Pitino, and Bill Self, and their teams, I better get some more chips, and drinks, and better chips, and drinks.

But, it is time to start looking forward to next season, (college football, and basketball), when once again my teams will provide fresh hope and dreams, and all will be new, and wonderful.  Of course, the new conference alignments are going to provide some intrigue.  The Big Ten is adding some new teams, and realigning the divisions, and I don't really have a handle on all of that.  So, I will have to learn to say Go Big Ten Western Division, (or whatever they call it), I hope the Cornhuskers win all of the games against all of the opponents, whoever they are.  I will elaborate on that as soon as I can figure it out.

And Louisville, which left the Big East after last season is leaving the American Athletic Conference after this season, and joining the Atlantic Coast Conference, and that will make for interesting matchups, where they will meet, once again, the Syracuse Orange, and some other teams from that left the Big East, but that bit of knowledge escapes me for the moment.  And, I need to apologize, in advance, to Christy Barongan who writes a very powerful and compelling blog http://normalintraining.blogspot.com/ (a blog I read faithfully, it is well written, insightful, and enlightening, you should check it out) and is a Virginia Cavalier fan.  So, please accept my apologies, and go Cards.

I intend to write one more post predicting the winner of Monday nights Championship game, but am so busy it will probably have to wait until Tuesday.

Pick your winners?

We are halfway through the Elite Eight and have almost arrived at the Final Four.   In essence, we are at the So Close Six.  With five games left to play, I am no longer in the running for the Warren Buffett / Quicken Loans Billion Dollar Dream.  I have no chance to win any of the pools I entered, all of the teams I really like are eliminated, and I am left to choose the least distasteful from the teams remaining.  Kind of like almost every year.

But, there is no sadness, or self pity around here.  If loss is uncomfortable, you should probably find a different choice of viewing pleasure, because as Danny O'Keefe sang so hauntingly and so appropriately so long ago, "sometimes you win, sometimes you lose, good time Charlie's got the blues."  So, I will watch the games today, make my choice in the Final Four and post it here, tomorrow.

You might wonder why I do this, you might ask "Tim, why do we care who you pick?"  A very good question.  It is a public service, and I like to give you plenty of time to make wagers against the team I choose, because no matter how good they are, they have no chance.   I am like the Sports Illustrated jinx, magnified, bulked up, and packing heat.

At this point, I should apologize to a person who writes a very enlightening, insightful blog, and happens to be a Virginia Cavaliers fan, and I dragged them into the abyss, with the Huskers and the Cardinals, and the Jayhawks, and... and I am sorry.

On a plus note, I have found a way to win without cheating, technically, at Words With Friends.

Pumpkin Face added to protect the Innocent.

Hey, somebody has to win.

Before we start today, you deserve a little explanation, a reason for the way things are done in some places.  Mostly here, and exclusively on an NCAA bracket selection sheet.  I am a fan, and root with abandon for a team.  It is a passionate rite that endures bad seasons, and rough stretches.  It is like a friendship, a relationship, a marriage or a family.  Sure, sometimes things are not perfect, and occasionally a rocky stretch will cut deep.  But, we stand together, me and the teams.  I can not pick another team to beat my team on the sheet, it would be infidelity, it would be unfaithful, it would be wrong, and then when the game took place I would have to choose between hoping my team lost, or I lost.  So, I picked Nebraska to win the NCAA tournament.

From an unnamed source and used without permission.

While filling out my brackets I took the words of Coach Miles to heart when he said "I think we're a good enough team to win the tournament."  Coach Miles does not seem to be guilty of overt, macho bravado, or rampant, wild conceit, it is a quiet confidence, at least outwardly, that drives his words.  So, I picked Nebraska to win the NCAA tournament.  

After so many years of accepting an early end to the season, and looking forward to spring football coverage, this is exciting, and the joy of possibility is a powerful force.  Things are getting better, and it is happening now.  So, I am picking the Huskers to win the NCAA tournament.

In the hauntingly appropriate words of the great Bob Dylan.

"It’s undeniable what they’d have you to think
It’s indescribable, it can drive you to drink,
They said it was the land of milk and honey
Now they say it’s the land of money
Who ever thought they could ever make that stick
It’s unbelievable you can get this rich this quick"

One of my earliest memories is, and I was just a child, when my Mother, rest her soul, took me aside at a family reunion, and said to me, "Tim, if something carries a statistical probability, no matter how slight, that does not diminish over time it will eventually happen."  Those may not have been her exact words, but it was something like that.  And, after this season, it is safe to say that the statistical probability of Nebraska winning the tournament not only did not diminish it sky rocketed.  So, while Coach Miles, and I may have the time variable a little off, we are probably pretty accurate, if not this year, one year very soon.  So, I picked Nebraska to win next years NCAA tournament.  Yes, next year, the riches just keep piling up.

And, since I feel so good about this, here is a bonus appropriate Dylan quote for the day.


"It’s unbelievable like a lead balloon
It’s so impossible to even learn the tune
Kill that beast and feed that swine
Scale that wall and smoke that vine
Feed that horse and saddle up the drum
It’s unbelievable, the day would finally come"

So, has our day finally come?  Yes, to me it has.  By the way, I like the Cornhuskers in this years big dance, who are you picking?

NCAA Tournament a Sure Pick.

Well, the wait is over, and all of the conference tournaments are finished, the Big Kahunas of the NCAA have made their picks, and we all know where our teams stand, or sit for the next several weeks.

It has been an exciting, unpredictable season, a season filled with "bigs" using their "length" and "physicality" to impose their will on the smaller, insignificant "bigs" (who have a much tinier supply of "physicality") from the other team.

Many of the games went right down to the last few minutes, where one team had such a small advantage in points that the "differential" between the shot clock and the game clock was a very important and widely discussed, consideration, and had a profound affect on the point "differential" when the game clock and shot clock had no "differential," and both read 00:00.

As always, some people are very happy, in this case the Virginia Cavaliers, who had a wonderful season, and a fantastic ACC tournament.   They won both the regular season and the tournament championship, managing to beat the Duke Blue Devils in the championship game.  It was to be one of the best basketball games of the year, and  they re a well deserved #1 seed.  Plus, they have a coach named Tony Bennett, that is a plus no matter who you root for.

Some people are less thrilled, like the Louisville Cardinals, who are playing basketball so well right now that many people felt they deserve a better seed than #4.  I feel that way, but I am a Cardinals fan, and a little biased.

And there are some people who are unhappy, as is the case in Dallas, Texas where SMU was not even invited, after having a very good season, and are the first ranked team to miss the tournament since 2004.  But, that is the nature of this tournament, and the selection committee works in strange and mysterious ways, or at least strange ways.

I am very happy, my team, the Nebraska Cornhuskers, are in the tournament, and an 11 seed, facing the Bears of Baylor.  True, the Cornhuskers started the season slow, and got beat in the conference tournament, and has no true "bigs" bristling with menacing "physicality."  But, they are young, fast, and enthusiastic, and a late season streak of success increased their chances of inclusion.  And, when they are playing well, their defense is so agile and quick it almost looks as though they have 6 players on the court.

And almost as good as the Huskers making it to the NCAA tournament, almost, but not quite, I am planning on winning the Warren Buffett/Quicken Loans Bracket Challenge.  If you pick every game correctly you will win a billion dollars.  That will be cool, too.

So, thank you Warren Buffett, Quicken Loans, the NCAA selection committee, and a special thanks to you, Tim Miles, your hard working, wonderfully young team, and my parents, my teachers, the directors, and the Academy... oh, sorry I accidentally started reciting from my Oscar acceptance speech.

Anyway, enjoy the tournament, root for your team, and enjoy the snacks, I am going with chips, and dip, or crackers, and cheese, or cookies, and milk, well I will have it figured out by Thursday.

Something Wonderful This Way Comes.

All right, here is the scoop from last night.  Nebraska beat Penn State 80 to 67, to avenge a loss earlier in the season.  They never trailed in the game, and a quick check with the Life Explained statistician reveals that against Michigan State the last time they trailed at Michigan State was 18 to 20 with 6:06 left in the first half.  So it has been 66 minutes and 6 seconds since the Cornhuskers have trailed in a game.  That is pretty impressive, for any team.

Their conference record in seven wins and six losses, and their record in Lincoln is twelve and one.  Pretty good for a team that was supposed to finish near the bottom of the conference, and early in the league schedule some felt this might be a little too generous.

But, Coach Miles, Terran Petteway, Walter Pitchford, Shavon Shields, Ray Gallegos, the rest of the team, and I never lost hope.  We knew if we kept working hard, and when I say we, I mean them, I offer all of the emotional, and psychological support I can from 1,000 miles away, and through the medium of television, (which is not really a duplex communication medium, you know?), and I think that has helped quite a bit.

"I will meet you for a serving of nachos in the Huntington
Club level, they are always the best there, Coach."

I did email Coach Miles and told him he was doing a great job, and how much fun it was to watch his teams play, and that was before the Michigan State win, so I kind of take partial credit for the win.  He replied to my email thanking me for the support and hoping we could get together next time they were in Columbus, a friendly little meeting, just the coaches, the team, and all of the fans in attendance for the game that night.  I hope we don't have any plans.

Anyway, enough of my personal glory.

Coach Tim Miles, and his team have made this the most exciting basketball season I can remember.  For that we should all thank him.  He has started something amazing, and it is only the beginning.

Thank you, Coach Miles, and in the oh so appropriate words of Bob Dylan,

"May your hands always be busy,
May your feet always be swift,
May you have a strong foundation,
When the winds of changes shift,
May your heart always be joyful,
May your song always be sung,
And may you stay forever young"

Dylan always said best, didn't he?

A funny thing happened on the way to spring training.

Growing up in Nebraska provides an incentive to become a college football fan.  The Cornhuskers are normally pretty good, and win enough to keep most people happy.  It provides a certain herd like solidarity, and makes for good conversation.  However, at some point, the details are foggy with the passing time, college basketball became my favorite sport.

Basketball games are frenetic, passionate, fluid affairs.  They are an art form unique to sports were height and strength are rewarded, but so are quickness, speed and elusiveness.  Each game is a drama, complete with heroes (your team), villains (the other team) and corrupt, indifferent administrators (the referees).  That was just a joke, the referees do a fine job, when my team wins.  Each season is a chase to end, teams trying to win enough games to get a good spot in the conference tournament, and a chance to play for the National Championship in the NCAA tourney.

The NCAA tournament is a season of it's own.  A single elimination meat grinder that chews up dreams and leaves them on basketball courts in places like Dayton, Lexington, Palo Alto, or Syracuse.  Out of 68 one will go home champions and the rest will take their place in the shadows.  It is the pinnacle of sports entertainment, it is my fantastic.

But, as a Nebraska fan it was more a show of support to watch a game, maybe a little punishment that you took with a good natured smile as you thought "well, at least we were only down by eight at halftime."  Even though we got trounced.  But, they were Huskers, so you loved them.

Then something strange happened, Nebraska hired this guy to coach the team.  He was exuberant, and charming, and he had such a youthful appearance and enthusiasm that it seemed like they may have picked the biggest smile from the student section and made him the coach.  But, there was something about him, something promising, it came through during interviews, and in the way he carried himself.  Even my wife said he was going to do good things.

Last year, Coach Miles had a rough year, his players were mostly recruits from the previous staff, and he did well, and never lost his composure.  His exuberance was contagious, and his charm was undeniable, and he looked like he enjoyed what he was doing, and he seemed to love the players.  He always seemed to say the right thing, in a way that made you like him more.

This year, his teams started winning, beating teams named Indiana, Ohio State, even Michigan State, in East Lansing, and when they play it is with a manic, wonderful joy, that is fun to watch, because it looks like they are having fun on the court.  They jump into passing lanes, and back again with a quickness that is alarming, they shoot, and rebound, and move, and win.  And, through the winning Coach Miles is as pleasant and charming.

He has recruits who are winning now, and there are some, waiting on the bench, and will be on the court next year, and his team is only going to get better.  Tonight Penn State comes to Lincoln and I will be watching on the Big Ten Network, and Nebraska will try to avenge a loss from earlier this year.  My advice to all right minded people out there, start watching, and cheering, and enjoying the show, order your Nebrasketball shirts, and hats, it is going to get better.  Bob Dylan said it best.

"Come along with me, babe, I wish you would,
You know what I'm saying, it's all good."

Dylan wouldn't lie.

Thank you, Coach Miles, it is nice to be able to say Go Big Red in February.

The Weekend, What Life is About.

At long last it is Friday.  Friday,a gift from the heavens, a reward for having survived the week, and we did, but it was not always easy, there were a few bumps along the way, no week worth living through will allow unfettered passage.

Monday, there was snow, it had piled up, over the weekend, and it was a white curse, deep, imposing and dreadful.  Sunday, I dug out the driveway, and the sidewalk.  It was not easy, and it gave me an elevated sense self worth.  There was so much snow many of our neighbors had just left it, waiting for the inevitable central Ohio rain to come and wash it all away (coming tomorrow, coincidentally).  Monday, while I was at work the snow plow came through our neighborhood, and while clearing the streets by pushing the snow to the side of the road, managed to bury the entrance to our driveway under a cold, compressed barrier of snow.   Turning it dark, and dingy, and compacted into a substance a little like concrete, immovable, unbreakable, and, awful.  It is still there, taking its toll on our suspension, tires, and patience.

To combat snow the city sends plows to push the snow out of the way, and dump "road salt" all over the freeways, and thank goodness for that, there are enough videos showing cars spinning out of control and slamming into things already.  Nobody wants their 15 minutes of fame to come in an expensive, terrifying ballet of ice-inspired mechanical failure.  It is probably not, technically, salt, it is probably some chemical mixture, but whatever it is after a short time it covers almost everything, and everywhere you go everything you see looks ashen, grey and dead.  It's not bad enough winter is slowly strangling your will to live, but the entire city starts to look like a scene from a post apocalyptic future.  A future where some seemingly benign creation of man somehow went haywire and blocked all of the suns rays that provide color, and warmth, and life.  Personally I am betting on those cursed E-Cigarette things that are popping up all over.  All that "vapor" (vapor, yeah, right) can't be good.

Tuesday and, Wednesday brought cold, mind numbing cold that settles into your bones and stays until almost July.  In the past this was a "cold snap," or a "blast of winter" in some extreme cases it was an "arctic front," moving through.  But, with the advent of twenty four hour news, sports, and weather networks all of those sound so skimpy, so finite.  Now, it is a "Polar Vortex!"  There is a phrase that will make you zip up your jacket a little higher, pull down your stocking cap a little lower, and send local meteorologists rushing for the microphone, and a gimmick.  "It is so cold, Marybeth Anne, we are going to do the weather forecast outside tonight."  Wow, it must be cold!  I said to my wife just the other night, "look at that poor local meteorologist toiling outside in the cold, just like a sanitation engineer, or a first responder, what a brave soul."

But, now we have arrived safely at our destination, Friday, the gateway to the weekend, freedom from the alarm clock, freedom from a hurried good bye, and a mad dash to the car, freedom from the oppressive commute, and the peril involved in driving 70 miles an hour on a road filled with people who probably didn't get enough sleep, and are running a few minutes late, and are bound and determined to make up for lost time by passing everybody on the freeway, even if that requires the use of the shoulder or median, while they finish their breakfast, god, I hope it isn't pancakes today.

But, soon I will be home, safe and sound, enjoying dinner, and a recording of the Cornhuskers beating the Hoosiers in basketball,  Thank you, Coach Miles!  There is something refreshing about that guy, kind of like the weekend.

Math, the Devil's Subject.

I am not good at math, want to add two numbers together, no problem, subtract one number from another, heck yeah, give me some paper, a pencil, with a good eraser and I can even lay some multiplication on you, daddio, not much, but some.  Of course, division is a problem, fractions are tough, and any math that uses letters is just ridiculous.  Unfortunately, I am the only one in the family who has not succumbed to the dark magic of math.

My wife has a photographic memory for numbers, she can tell you how much the payment was on our first car.  She figures percentages in her head, and knows how much the bill should be at the checkout when we are shopping, so if the price on the avocados was wrong, she can make them fix it, right then and there.

My sons both take such advanced math classes in school that I can not even operate the calculators they use.  I tell them both "yeah, if you are so good at math why do you need a calculator?"  They roll their eyes to the heavens, asking the Lord for strength, and sigh, kind of like their Mother, it is something I see often.  Then all three of them walk away discussing exponents, and other words I think they may be fabricating as they talk.

It makes for some difficult times watching basketball.  If our team is doing well I will say something like "wow, a 12 point lead with 4 minutes left, that's great."

And, without fail, "No, dad," they can make the word 'dad' sound like an insult, "it is a 14 point lead."

"Oh, right, well it was a 12 point lead."

"No, dad, it was an 11 point lead and they made a three point shot."

"Oh, yeah, right, right,  I was thinking of another game, it might not have been this team, maybe a different sport, where some team had a 12 point lead, it was great."

Three sets of eyes roll upward, and the sighs are almost in harmony.  It is kind of intimidating to have the power to trigger such a choreographed response.  I try to use it only for good.

But, I have the answer, a Casio Calculator Watch.  Then I can say, "look a 14 point lead, at 7:46 in the evening."  And if I get the right watch, I will be able to tell them, "look, a 14 point lead at 7:46, which, is 9:46 AM in Tokyo."  They will be so impressed, and I will look pretty darned cool, too.  So, if you need some numbers crunched, send them my way, I will be happy to help.