Monday 11/5/07 10:45 AM
Who is Good and who is Evil?
As I watched the Pats/Colts game yesterday I noticed at one point during the game when the Pats had the ball and the crowd was screaming loudly that suddenly there was a noise like a CD was skipping. The announcers said nothing and I assumed it was an audio glitch on the part of CBS. It was just reported by WEEI that the NFL is looking into whether it was an audio glitch on the part of CBS or something done purposely by the Colts. The RCA Dome is known for its loud crowd noise, but in the post game conference yesterday Tom Brady stated that "it was if we were deaf" when describing the crowd noise and said that they had to go strictly "by the wristband". This means they had to run their offense with hand signals and silent snap counts, which put them at a severe disadvantage. After such lopsided officiating and the possibility that the Colts were piping in crowd noise to enhance the drunken hoots and hollers of those corn-fed, yokel Hoosiers....Can you spell C O N S P I R A C Y ?
Does video taping directly impact the outcome of the game being played? Probably not. Does piping in crowd noise as to inhibit play calling and communication between the Patriots while on offense? Absolutely!!! I hope the NFL and Roger Goodell pursue this issue with as much zeal and zest as they investigated the Patriots "Spygate" affair. If the Pats lost a first round draft choice and $750,000 in fines for the team and head coach, then this deliberate attempt to cheat and influence the direct outcome of the game should be worth the first and second round draft picks and two million in fines. Who is Evil and who is Good now?
Monday, November 05, 2007
Two Out Of Three Ain't Bad
This past weekend was the last of the "Best Sports Weekends" for Boston sports fans for a while. It seems like for the past two months every weekend has been filled with contests that have had huge implications in the sports world. This weekend the Red Sox were not part of the equation, basking in the glow of last weekends sweep of the Rockies and their second World Series title in four seasons. Each day this weekend there was a big game that on its own would be huge, but combined with the other games made for 48 hours of sporting bliss.
Friday Night
The Celtics opened up their NBA season with the new "Big Three", Paul Pierce, Kevin Garnett and Ray Allen. This has been the most anticipated Celtics season in two decades and they didn't disappoint the home crowd at the "Gah den". The game started slow with almost no scoring in the first quarter. It was as if the ghosts of Bird, McHale and Parrish were reluctant to abdicate their title to the new guys evidenced by the plethora of airballs, clangs off the rim and shots careening off the back board. Pierce looked like a man who had his death row sentence commuted (by Governor Garnett and AG Allen). He took control of the game in the third quarter. I fell asleep in the forth with the Celts holding a 20+ point lead. They won by 20, 103-83. I know its only opening day, but the Celts will be in the playoffs this year and a run at the Eastern Conference title is a real possibility.
Saturday Night
The #2 ranked Boston College Eagles and their Heisman hopeful, Matt Ryan squared of against unranked Florida State. My cousin Jimmy aka Sul-Dog scored us some tickets from a friend. Unbeknownst to me instead of tailgating in the remnants of Hurricane Noel (which brought torrential downpours and 40 mile an hour wind gusts) we were in the comfort of a corporate party held in a student cafeteria with all the beer you could drink and food you could eat. This hospitality took the sting out of the Nor'easter, but not the sting of a bevy of dropped passes, missed tackles and horrible officiating. The speedy Florida State defense was draped all over BC receivers all night, but there was nary a yellow flag in sight. In stark contrast the Eagles piled up 121 penalty yards on eight penalties and appeared to be running in quicksand all night. The Eagles have dropped to #8 in the polls and the BCS and have to win out to ensure a BCS bowl game.
Sunday Night
The Celtics won an afternoon contest vs the Raptors in OT which primed the pump for the most anticipated NFL regular season game ever, the 8-0 Patriots vs the 7-0 Colts. The game was a defensive battle from square one. Both teams punishing the other with smash-mouth D complete with plenty of helmet to helmet contact and borderline late hits. As in the BC game the previous evening the officiating was horrible. The Pats racked up 146 yards worth of penalties, half of which were on three pass interference calls which were completely bogus. The worst was a call against Cornerback Ellis Hobbs, who had perfect position on the receiver, who actually would've had an interception if he wasn't dragged down by receive Reggie Wayne. Of course when Kevin Faulk tried to make a catch on a critical 3rd down play he was hooked from behind, but the flags remained in the officials pocket. Even Jim Nance and Phil Sims, who were the TV announcers for the game, seemed perplexed as to why the Pats were getting called for everything and the Colt were getting called for nothing.
In spite of the poor officiating the Pats overcame a ten point defect in the forth quarter thanks to precise passing by Brady, phenomenal receptions by Moss, key returns by Welker and shut down "D" highlighted by a strip and pick by Green and Colvin respectively. Patriots: 24, Colts: 20 . I found it interesting that in his post game conference, Peyton Manning, in responding to a reporters question, agreed that the Colts injuries affected the outcome of this game. I didn't hear him, reference the Patriots depleted secondary, receiving core or stomach flu that half the the team suffered in his post game press conference after the AFC Championship game last year.
The run of great sports weekends has come to a close. There will be plenty of great games, but the confluence of football (college and pro), baseball, basketball and hockey (did I include hockey?) has come to an end. Good thing because I have neglected my kids, wife and housework to feed my need for Boston Sports. Next weekend I'll have lots and lots of leaves to rake. Maybe I'll get my housework done in time to watch BC play Maryland Saturday night.
Friday Night
The Celtics opened up their NBA season with the new "Big Three", Paul Pierce, Kevin Garnett and Ray Allen. This has been the most anticipated Celtics season in two decades and they didn't disappoint the home crowd at the "Gah den". The game started slow with almost no scoring in the first quarter. It was as if the ghosts of Bird, McHale and Parrish were reluctant to abdicate their title to the new guys evidenced by the plethora of airballs, clangs off the rim and shots careening off the back board. Pierce looked like a man who had his death row sentence commuted (by Governor Garnett and AG Allen). He took control of the game in the third quarter. I fell asleep in the forth with the Celts holding a 20+ point lead. They won by 20, 103-83. I know its only opening day, but the Celts will be in the playoffs this year and a run at the Eastern Conference title is a real possibility.
Saturday Night
The #2 ranked Boston College Eagles and their Heisman hopeful, Matt Ryan squared of against unranked Florida State. My cousin Jimmy aka Sul-Dog scored us some tickets from a friend. Unbeknownst to me instead of tailgating in the remnants of Hurricane Noel (which brought torrential downpours and 40 mile an hour wind gusts) we were in the comfort of a corporate party held in a student cafeteria with all the beer you could drink and food you could eat. This hospitality took the sting out of the Nor'easter, but not the sting of a bevy of dropped passes, missed tackles and horrible officiating. The speedy Florida State defense was draped all over BC receivers all night, but there was nary a yellow flag in sight. In stark contrast the Eagles piled up 121 penalty yards on eight penalties and appeared to be running in quicksand all night. The Eagles have dropped to #8 in the polls and the BCS and have to win out to ensure a BCS bowl game.
Sunday Night
The Celtics won an afternoon contest vs the Raptors in OT which primed the pump for the most anticipated NFL regular season game ever, the 8-0 Patriots vs the 7-0 Colts. The game was a defensive battle from square one. Both teams punishing the other with smash-mouth D complete with plenty of helmet to helmet contact and borderline late hits. As in the BC game the previous evening the officiating was horrible. The Pats racked up 146 yards worth of penalties, half of which were on three pass interference calls which were completely bogus. The worst was a call against Cornerback Ellis Hobbs, who had perfect position on the receiver, who actually would've had an interception if he wasn't dragged down by receive Reggie Wayne. Of course when Kevin Faulk tried to make a catch on a critical 3rd down play he was hooked from behind, but the flags remained in the officials pocket. Even Jim Nance and Phil Sims, who were the TV announcers for the game, seemed perplexed as to why the Pats were getting called for everything and the Colt were getting called for nothing.
In spite of the poor officiating the Pats overcame a ten point defect in the forth quarter thanks to precise passing by Brady, phenomenal receptions by Moss, key returns by Welker and shut down "D" highlighted by a strip and pick by Green and Colvin respectively. Patriots: 24, Colts: 20 . I found it interesting that in his post game conference, Peyton Manning, in responding to a reporters question, agreed that the Colts injuries affected the outcome of this game. I didn't hear him, reference the Patriots depleted secondary, receiving core or stomach flu that half the the team suffered in his post game press conference after the AFC Championship game last year.
The run of great sports weekends has come to a close. There will be plenty of great games, but the confluence of football (college and pro), baseball, basketball and hockey (did I include hockey?) has come to an end. Good thing because I have neglected my kids, wife and housework to feed my need for Boston Sports. Next weekend I'll have lots and lots of leaves to rake. Maybe I'll get my housework done in time to watch BC play Maryland Saturday night.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Revenge Is A Dish Best Served 52 - 7
"Let sleeping dogs lie."
Chaucer circa 1380
Chaucer circa 1380
The New England Patriots have a lot to be angry about. Why would a team who is 8-0, leading the league in scoring, 4th in the league in defense and about two wins from wrapping up a fifth straight AFC East Championship and a playoff birth be angry? Let me enlighten you.
The Patriots pummeled the J E T S, Jets, Jets, Jets, Jets on opening day at the Meadowlands 38-14. Eric Mangini, the Jets coach ( who was a Patriots bench coach two years ago) reported to the NFL that the Patriots were videotaping, not from the coaches booth high above the stadium, but from the sidelines. This video was most likely being used to decipher the Jets signal calling on offense and defense in order for the Patriots to gain an advantage over the Jets the next time they faced them. This videotaping from the sidelines is against league rules and the Patriots received one of the harshest, if not the harshest penalty of all time. They lost their first round draft choice in 2008, the team was fined $250,000 and Coach Belichick was fined $500,000 personally. The media was in an uproar and dubbed the Patriots cheaters along the same line as the 1919 Black Sox, Rosie Ruiz, Danny Almonte and Barry Bonds.
Many coaches came to the defense of Belichick stating that the videotape gained from the sidelines is of almost no better use than the videotape gained from the press box. Many coaches stated that the coaches who give the signals change them often enough that any info gained from quarter to quarter is only relevant for a short period of time. Many coaches stated that the Patriots didn't do anything that all 31 other teams in the NFL don't already do. Because of the severity of the fine and the media blitz that dubbed the Patriots "cheaters", the football public, at large, has vilified the New England football franchise, especially the head coach, Bill Belichick.
Enter Week 8 of the 2007 NFL season. The Pats were leading the Washington Redskins( who many in the media thought had a good chance of upsetting the Pats) 38-0 in the beginning of the fourth quarter. At this point in the game it is customary for the offense to run the ball on three plays, punt the ball to other team and play tough "D" in order to preserve a shutout. The Patriots chose instead to try to score again. It is within the rules of the game to try to score when on offense. The Redskins offense was still trying to score and did get one touchdown. The Patriots scored 2 touchdowns in the last quarter to win the game 52-7. Did the Redskins "give up" and put in their second string players? No. Then why should the Patriots? To show mercy? Last I looked there is no mercy rule in the NFL; it is not Little League. How much mercy did the league, media and other "haters" show the Pats mercy for a minor rules infraction? None.
Around the league players, coaches and fans are once again vilifying the Patriots, but now for running up the score. They are talking revenge and talking about retribution and veiled threats (intentionally hurting Brady). The Patriots are sticking it to the NFL within the rules of the game. Mr. Belichick is proving the point that all of those conspiracy theorists who tried to equate videotaping some coaches signals with the success of a franchise that won 3 Super Bowls within four years is ludicrous. The Patriots turned over all their tapes the week after the Jets game to the NFL and have played every game since under incredible scrutiny. They have gone out and, with in the rules, embarrassed the rest of the NFL and won each of their eight games by a 25 point margin on average. This trend will continue. Many of the same players and media types who called the Patriots out for being cheaters are the same players and media types whining about the Patriots putting a beat down on the rest of the league.
One has to think, would this unsportsmanlike display of taking no prisoners by the Pats be taking place if the league and the media had not treated the Patriots like Hitler invading Poland? The punishment outweighed the crime in the case of "Spygate". The league wanted to make an example of someone , the way a teacher sends a kid to the principals office the first day of school. The problem is that commissioner Goodell picked the smartest, wittiest kid to send to the principals office and now that kid is going to torture that teacher all school year long. When you humiliate someone by questioning their integrity, ability and accomplishments, then what do you expect? One answer. Pain.
Real Football fans know that videotaping has little to no bearing on the Patriots former and current success. The game is played on the field and the Patriots have few equals when it comes to performance and execution on gameday, as evidenced by their play over the last six years. As one never afraid to make predictions, I told my brother Mark minutes before the San Diego game which was played the week that "Spygate" blew up that San Diego would get blown out and that the theme would continue through Super Bowl Sunday. The NFL and the media has given Coach Belichick an invaluable gift, incentive. In the Pats locker room its us against the world. This is a war and everyone is the enemy. There will be no mercy, there will be no prisoners, everyone will pay and everyone will suffer.
Thank you Roger Goodell, Chris Collinsworth, Wade Phillips and the countless other "Patriots Haters" who have added fuel to the fire. I made my preseason predictions before "Spygate" was an issue, so I couldn't factor these issue intop the equation. If I may add-on to my earlier predictions: Pats 19-0, 4th Super Bowl in 7 years.
If your team is not the football franchise from New England then God have mercy on you and your team. Its gonna get uglier.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
I Swear I'm Not Gay
I am hetero, through and through. I have no interest in sausage. I love vagina. I love curves. I hate hair. That being said, I have some serious crushes I've developed over the past few months and these crushes are on men. Could I be gay? Am I bi? I feel as confused as a 12 year old boy finding out that that Dumbledore is gay (I always thought Harry was. OK I've never read a single line of Harry Potter).
Let me tell you about my man crushes.
"The Role Model"
Matt Ryan
Let me tell you about my man crushes.
"The Role Model"
Matt Ryan Boston College quarterback. This guy is the all-American boy. I wish my son was about 10 years older, so he would have "Matty Heisman" as his hero and role model. He is as poised in front of the camera as he is in the 2 minute drill. At the college level, he has it all, good looks, an 8-0 record and a shot at the BCS National Championship. If there ever was a "BMOC" (big man on campus) he would be it. At 22 years old he will be a number 1 pick in this April's NFL draft making him rich and handsome. I like 'em young.
"The Bad Boy "
Josh Beckett
I love this guys attitude. He has the Clemensesque sneer without the cockiness. His disheveled appearance matches his "I don't give a shit what you think" attitude (man is that sexy!). He is young, 27 years old, but is one of the most accomplished pitchers in playoff history. He is the best pitcher in baseball on the best team in baseball playing in the best sports town in baseball. The world is his oyster and I'm happy to be swimming in the same ocean. He's a "bad boy" without the rap sheet or the tabloid fodder. I absolutely love this guy!
"The Man"
Tom Brady
There is not a man on the planet that doesn't want to be Tom Brady. He has it all. Giselle, Bridget, a baby boy, 3 going on 4 Super Bowl rings, Saturday Night Live, GQ, Goats and the list goes on and on. Tom would get a reach around and I would not expect one in return, he's that hot. How many guys can knock up one gorgeous woman, start dating a supermodel and lead your team to the AFC Championship game in a two month span? Only #12.
Honorable Mention (Not quite reach-around worthy, but close)
Randy Moss- He would be my bad boy, if he were being bad. He has decided instead of smoking weed, mooning fans, squirting water bottles at refs, running over cops and leaving the field before the game is over, to catch touchdowns and torch defenders. I don't have a crush, but I'd do him if I was drunk (or stoned).
Mike Vrabel- Steeler cast off has become a Pats mainstay. I love his versatility and get all tingly inside when he scores on offense. Nine career receptions, nine touchdowns. This guy knows how to score!! Yum.
Big Papi- Clutch. I love him. He gets taken for granted because its just expected that he will perform. I am not attracted to "Bears", but if I were, Papi would fit the bill.
Well, am I gay? Maybe. What do you care? Who gives a shit? Gay or not I love these guys and have big time crushes. I am star struck and as giddy as a school girl whenever I watch them perform.
As I was transfixed to the TV this morning watching a NESN report about Matt Ryan's performance against V Tech Thursday night, my boy was trying to get my attention. I didn't get what he said, but came out of my "Matty Heisman "daze in time to hear my wife tell him " he didn't hear you, he is to busy watching his boyfriend". I guess my man- crushes are transparent and obvious. Can't a guy have a crush?
Thursday, October 18, 2007
Monday, October 15, 2007
Orgy Recap
Whew, am I frickin' beat up.
I don't have the stamina I used to have, but not too bad for someone looking down the other side of the hill.
Sox split. Disappointing, especially since Eric Gagne gave up the winning run to the Indians and I didn't even want to see him make the post season roster. As I was mopping up stale beer at 1:30 in the morn I had to endure a 7 run 11th inning all started by Eric Gagne's weak right arm. The Sox have professional hitters and after patiently pummelling Cleavland's number 1 and 2 starters, should feast off of Westbrook tonight.
UMass won in quadruple overtime. I was at home watching the beginning of the BC game vs Notre Dame when UMass finally pulled out the victory; I left in the third quarter when I almost fell asleep in my seat. The game was that boring and I was that tired. As soon as we left the offenses picked up. My lethargy must have been contagious.
BC put a beatdown on Notre Dame, but only went from #4 to #3 in the country. South Florida beat Central Florida and went from 5th to 2nd. WTF!!!
The Pats demolished Dallas. T.O. says "They good, but I can't say they the best team." Are you shitting me? They are averaging 40 points per game and just beat a 5-0 team with the second leading offense in the NFL, and oh yeah have the top ranked defense.
Hey, T.O., shut the fuck up!!
Working the door? Uneventful. The usual puking coeds. The usual bumping and grinding. The usual liberal drug use. Shittier tips than usual, but no blood spilled. I'll call it a wash. Time to eat dinner and settle down to watch "Dice K" earn his money and shut down the injuns.
I don't have the stamina I used to have, but not too bad for someone looking down the other side of the hill.
Sox split. Disappointing, especially since Eric Gagne gave up the winning run to the Indians and I didn't even want to see him make the post season roster. As I was mopping up stale beer at 1:30 in the morn I had to endure a 7 run 11th inning all started by Eric Gagne's weak right arm. The Sox have professional hitters and after patiently pummelling Cleavland's number 1 and 2 starters, should feast off of Westbrook tonight.
UMass won in quadruple overtime. I was at home watching the beginning of the BC game vs Notre Dame when UMass finally pulled out the victory; I left in the third quarter when I almost fell asleep in my seat. The game was that boring and I was that tired. As soon as we left the offenses picked up. My lethargy must have been contagious.
BC put a beatdown on Notre Dame, but only went from #4 to #3 in the country. South Florida beat Central Florida and went from 5th to 2nd. WTF!!!
The Pats demolished Dallas. T.O. says "They good, but I can't say they the best team." Are you shitting me? They are averaging 40 points per game and just beat a 5-0 team with the second leading offense in the NFL, and oh yeah have the top ranked defense.
Hey, T.O., shut the fuck up!!
Working the door? Uneventful. The usual puking coeds. The usual bumping and grinding. The usual liberal drug use. Shittier tips than usual, but no blood spilled. I'll call it a wash. Time to eat dinner and settle down to watch "Dice K" earn his money and shut down the injuns.
Friday, October 12, 2007
Orgy
Have any of you been to an orgy? I've participated in a few. If you haven't had the pleasure then you don't know what you are missing. This weekend's orgy will last from 6 PM tonight and last until 8 PM Sunday. A long time to "maintain" you say? You do have to pace yourself, for sure. Let me give you a breakdown.
Friday at 6PM is the Red Sox pre-game on NESN. Sox and Indians face off at 7 PM for the first game of the ALCS. At about 9 PM I will head up to my buddy Hiroshi's golf club to work the door for him at a UMass sorority party (aka college orgy). I will catch the rest of the Sox game while supervising a bunch of drunk, scantily clad girls and Abercrombie wearing, striped-shirt boys who think they can hold their liquor and pick up chicks, but have no clue. The fun part will be catching a few panty or if I'm lucky, beaver shots, while the girls are bumping and grinding. The inevitable downside will be physically escorting inebriated frat boys out of the building. The other bummer will be that at Sorority parties the ratio of men to women are 2:1.
Saturday I will go to work, but may be taking my clients to see the #3 ranked (1AA) UMass Minutemen play Villanova. I should get home in time to plop on my couch to watch the #4 ranked Boston College Eagles play Notre Dame. I will have to listen to the end of that game on the radio as I am supposed to accompany my family to a house warming party for a friend of my wife at 6 PM. I will have to leave the party by 8:30 PM because I have to bounce another party at Beaver Brook, this time a frat party (better scenery, 2:1 ratio women to men). On the ride to Beaver Brook I will listen to the start of Game 2 of the ALCS. I will catch glimpses of the rest of the game between the bumping, grinding and puking.
Sunday I will spend the day watching the NFL. The weekend will reach its zenith when at 4:30 PM the 5-0 Patriots play the 5-0 Cowboys in Dallas. If I have any energy left I will fall asleep to game 3 of the NLCS, Rockies/Diamondbacks.
On Monday I will be spent, with only the visions of tight ends, bumping and grinding, wide receivers and balls flying all over the place.
I better nap this after noon.
Friday at 6PM is the Red Sox pre-game on NESN. Sox and Indians face off at 7 PM for the first game of the ALCS. At about 9 PM I will head up to my buddy Hiroshi's golf club to work the door for him at a UMass sorority party (aka college orgy). I will catch the rest of the Sox game while supervising a bunch of drunk, scantily clad girls and Abercrombie wearing, striped-shirt boys who think they can hold their liquor and pick up chicks, but have no clue. The fun part will be catching a few panty or if I'm lucky, beaver shots, while the girls are bumping and grinding. The inevitable downside will be physically escorting inebriated frat boys out of the building. The other bummer will be that at Sorority parties the ratio of men to women are 2:1.
Saturday I will go to work, but may be taking my clients to see the #3 ranked (1AA) UMass Minutemen play Villanova. I should get home in time to plop on my couch to watch the #4 ranked Boston College Eagles play Notre Dame. I will have to listen to the end of that game on the radio as I am supposed to accompany my family to a house warming party for a friend of my wife at 6 PM. I will have to leave the party by 8:30 PM because I have to bounce another party at Beaver Brook, this time a frat party (better scenery, 2:1 ratio women to men). On the ride to Beaver Brook I will listen to the start of Game 2 of the ALCS. I will catch glimpses of the rest of the game between the bumping, grinding and puking.
Sunday I will spend the day watching the NFL. The weekend will reach its zenith when at 4:30 PM the 5-0 Patriots play the 5-0 Cowboys in Dallas. If I have any energy left I will fall asleep to game 3 of the NLCS, Rockies/Diamondbacks.
On Monday I will be spent, with only the visions of tight ends, bumping and grinding, wide receivers and balls flying all over the place.
I better nap this after noon.
Friday, October 05, 2007
Endless Summer
I am a creature of habit.
Change is part of the human condition and I do my best to fight the inevitable. For 42 years I have been a slave to my circadian rhythms. As the light starts to fade in mid-September I slow down. By January 1st I am in full hibernation mode and usually won't be seen or heard from until the Ides of March. I don't have Seasonal Affective Disorder. I am not depressed. I just spend the months of April through September in such a state of mania that to maintain that pace throughout the entire year would surely kill me. I enjoy the winter. I enjoy staring out my window as the snow falls. I relish the solitude and introspection. When Spring comes though, I am ready to go full bore into the things I love and those things just happen to fall during the warmer, light filled months. This year was no exception. Starting with Opening Day at Fenway Park, I have been on a six month, non-stop, run of baseball, beach vacations, cookouts, golf outings, day trips and melted ice cream cones.
The difference between this year and all others is that the fun hasn't ended. Usually by now I am taking longer to get out of bed in the morning. Usually by now I've put the hammock and lawn furniture in storage. Usually by now the highlight of my week is hunkering down on my couch at 1 o'clock on Sunday to watch 10 hours of football, preferably with the rain falling outside and me enveloped in a thick blanket. This year, since the autumnal equinox when I usually start prepping my house for Winter, my weekends have been full ( playing in three golf tournaments and going to a college football game). Its hard to make yourself do chores when its 80 degrees and sunny.
The weather here in the northeast has been exceptionally mild for the time of year so my fall days have been a continuance of my days in the summer, pitching baseballs to my sons, walks to the park, peanut butter and jelly on the front steps. I have yet to remove the AC from my windows and store them in the garage due to the mild temperatures. The foliage change seems to be a month behind. The large Oak in my front yard and the Maple in my neighbors yard are as green as they were in June. My lawn is green and lush and without any sign of frost, continues to need mowing a few times per week.
The end of summer may come on November 4th. That's when Daylight Savings time ends and we lose an hour of daylight at the end of the day. This autumn it occurs a week later than usual. From 1986 to 2006 DST was the first Sunday in April to the last Sunday in October, but starting in 2007, it is observed from the second Sunday in March to the first Sunday in November, adding about a month to daylight saving time. This has been great for commerce and energy savings, but for a creature of habit such as myself, it has pushed me to my limit.
As I sit here on another sun-splashed, 65 degree morning looking out the window at my lush lawn, green oak with nary a red, orange or yellow leaf in sight, I am awaiting fall. I need the cooler weather and the fading light to feel normal. Its only natural in October to have frost on the pumpkin, sweaters and fading sunlight. Fall is inevitable. The leaves will change, the north-wind will start to blow and I will start my hibernation. Until then its shorts and sandals.
Change is part of the human condition and I do my best to fight the inevitable. For 42 years I have been a slave to my circadian rhythms. As the light starts to fade in mid-September I slow down. By January 1st I am in full hibernation mode and usually won't be seen or heard from until the Ides of March. I don't have Seasonal Affective Disorder. I am not depressed. I just spend the months of April through September in such a state of mania that to maintain that pace throughout the entire year would surely kill me. I enjoy the winter. I enjoy staring out my window as the snow falls. I relish the solitude and introspection. When Spring comes though, I am ready to go full bore into the things I love and those things just happen to fall during the warmer, light filled months. This year was no exception. Starting with Opening Day at Fenway Park, I have been on a six month, non-stop, run of baseball, beach vacations, cookouts, golf outings, day trips and melted ice cream cones.
The difference between this year and all others is that the fun hasn't ended. Usually by now I am taking longer to get out of bed in the morning. Usually by now I've put the hammock and lawn furniture in storage. Usually by now the highlight of my week is hunkering down on my couch at 1 o'clock on Sunday to watch 10 hours of football, preferably with the rain falling outside and me enveloped in a thick blanket. This year, since the autumnal equinox when I usually start prepping my house for Winter, my weekends have been full ( playing in three golf tournaments and going to a college football game). Its hard to make yourself do chores when its 80 degrees and sunny.
The weather here in the northeast has been exceptionally mild for the time of year so my fall days have been a continuance of my days in the summer, pitching baseballs to my sons, walks to the park, peanut butter and jelly on the front steps. I have yet to remove the AC from my windows and store them in the garage due to the mild temperatures. The foliage change seems to be a month behind. The large Oak in my front yard and the Maple in my neighbors yard are as green as they were in June. My lawn is green and lush and without any sign of frost, continues to need mowing a few times per week.
The end of summer may come on November 4th. That's when Daylight Savings time ends and we lose an hour of daylight at the end of the day. This autumn it occurs a week later than usual. From 1986 to 2006 DST was the first Sunday in April to the last Sunday in October, but starting in 2007, it is observed from the second Sunday in March to the first Sunday in November, adding about a month to daylight saving time. This has been great for commerce and energy savings, but for a creature of habit such as myself, it has pushed me to my limit.
As I sit here on another sun-splashed, 65 degree morning looking out the window at my lush lawn, green oak with nary a red, orange or yellow leaf in sight, I am awaiting fall. I need the cooler weather and the fading light to feel normal. Its only natural in October to have frost on the pumpkin, sweaters and fading sunlight. Fall is inevitable. The leaves will change, the north-wind will start to blow and I will start my hibernation. Until then its shorts and sandals.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
The Sins of The Father
I never ask for help.
Whether it be to ask for directions, need help with a work project or dealing with personal crisis I am completely self sufficient. I will begrudgingly accept help if offered, but only if I'm in way over my head or to appease the person offering the help, to make them feel better. As a kid in my neighborhood during pickup tackle football games or sandlot baseball games I was always a captain in charge of picking one of the teams. I would purposely pick an inferior line-up because it always felt better to win (or keep the game close) with less talent than to dominate over a weaker opponent.
I grew up with an over inflated ego. This was not due to constant, undeserved praise or coddling, but because from a very young age I knew that the adults in my life were fucked up and could sense that I was more in control of my emotions and reactions than almost every adult that I knew. My parents were an absolute mess. They never possessed an ounce of emotional regulation. The smallest of issues became huge fights in which ensued tremendous physical and emotional abuse. They divorced when I was seven, but my father was no where to be seen the last couple years of their marriage. He was around enough to knock her up a few more times, but soon disappeared into the selfishness and self-absorption of the 70's.
I don't talk about my father to anyone. Some of the things I witnessed as a young child are best kept in far recesses of my hippocampus. I don't have any regrets about my relationship with my father. To say that I have regrets would be to say I could have done something differently to change the situation. What I have concerning my father is more pity possible bordering on empathy. He never had a chance to enjoy his first set of children (he had six children with my mother, remarried and had another three, there could be others out there according to family lore). He never got to experience the unconditional love that comes with being a parent (my sisters profess to have loved him as they developed a relationship with him as adults, I doubt it was unconditional). He died a guilt ridden, painful death (my sisters tell me that he was calling out for me and my brother Greg during his last minutes on earth, although we have the same name, so the selfish bastard could have been calling out for himself).
A long time ago, while I was in my teens, I knew that I would never get an explanation as to why my father abandoned his family. My father was a low level criminal who was as full of shit as the day is long. He was a compulsive liar. Even as a seven year old I knew that he wasn't just embellishing a story to make it more interesting, he was an outright liar. My mother wasn't blameless in the situation, she had a myriad of emotional and mental health issues on her plate. In hindsight it was a good thing that they didn't remain together.
Of the many sins my father committed there are only two which I can't forgive.
The first is that he left my mother to raise five children (my brother Derek died at two months) with zero financial or emotional support. She had a stroke at 34 years old which left her paralysed on her left side and caused numerous other health problems until she died at 52 years old.
If he had helped her out financially even a little, at Christmas.
If he had taken us for weekend visits, once a year.
If he had been available for us kids to call him, to vent and receive validation.
Then maybe her burden would have been lessened just enough to keep her petite, frail body strong enough to raise her children to adulthood and maintain her sanity.
The other sin I will never forgive my father for is the fact that by not maintaining contact with us he robbed me of a relationship with the side of the family for which I am named. I never got to know my Uncle Tommy, his son Jimmy or his wife Connie. I never got to know my Uncle Jimmy. I did meet my Grandpa Sullivan a number of times, but never did anything with him, just sit in his apartment on Washington Street in Roslindale watching him and my dad smoke cigarettes. My Aunt Lorreta and her kids, Joey and Joanie kept in contact with us even after the divorce, but my father and mother were running so much interference with the situation that the relationship soured. My father went as far as to lie about our location to his sister. She didn't realize that we were still in the state until she read about my Grandma Norton's passing in the Boston Globe (I read this in a condolence letter she sent to my mother that I found amongst my mother's possessions when she passed). My brother's and sister's could have used all of the support possible when my father left, but instead we were left only with the Sullivan name.
This weekend I saw my cousin Jimmy for the first time in 40 years (read Jimmy's story here). I made contact with him August one year ago after seeing names on the grave where my brother Derek is buried and doing some Internet research about the Sullivan side of the family. I found Jimmy's (aka Suldog) blog and started reading. As I read stories about his life and some concerning family members I had never met I became angry. Angry at my father for denying me the chance to know my family, good or bad. Angry at my mother for not maintaining relationships for the sake of the kids. Angry at the Sullivan's for not wondering or caring about their nieces and nephews and their well being, knowing their brother had committed one of the worst crimes a man can commit, abandoning his offspring.
Moments and people from the past loom over our psyche and get bigger by each passing year.
When I got out of my Jeep after a two hour drive down the Mass Pike to Boston on Saturday I spotted my cousin Jimmy standing in front of the movie theater at Cleveland Circle, our rally point. As I got closer to my elder cousin I realized he was much smaller than I imagined. I am 6 feet and 200+, so most people are smaller, but in my mind he was my older cousin and I expected him to be bigger. I had the same feeling when I saw my father for the first time in over a decade at my sister Chris's wedding. I was 24 and hadn't seen my father since I was 13. When he introduced me to his wife Marie I barely looked at her, but was sizing him up. I promised my sister I would not pound him and it took every ounce of self restraint to not ruin her day (my brothers took the same oath and to this day we still haven't received any props). He looked frail and much smaller than I remembered. He had a tentative, frightened look in his eye. I wondered if it was the same look that I had when he broke down our front door during a fight with my mother. Jimmy had the same tentative look in his eye, but there was no fear or guilt. It was more the look you would have on the first day of school or a new job.
We walked up Chestnut Hill toward Alumni Stadium and a Boston College football game. We talked about our families, our lives and the sins of my father. After 40 years it was good to know that I had a connection to my surname and that there was another Sullivan that I could relate to. The sins of my father are buried with him. May they rest in peace.
Whether it be to ask for directions, need help with a work project or dealing with personal crisis I am completely self sufficient. I will begrudgingly accept help if offered, but only if I'm in way over my head or to appease the person offering the help, to make them feel better. As a kid in my neighborhood during pickup tackle football games or sandlot baseball games I was always a captain in charge of picking one of the teams. I would purposely pick an inferior line-up because it always felt better to win (or keep the game close) with less talent than to dominate over a weaker opponent.
I grew up with an over inflated ego. This was not due to constant, undeserved praise or coddling, but because from a very young age I knew that the adults in my life were fucked up and could sense that I was more in control of my emotions and reactions than almost every adult that I knew. My parents were an absolute mess. They never possessed an ounce of emotional regulation. The smallest of issues became huge fights in which ensued tremendous physical and emotional abuse. They divorced when I was seven, but my father was no where to be seen the last couple years of their marriage. He was around enough to knock her up a few more times, but soon disappeared into the selfishness and self-absorption of the 70's.
I don't talk about my father to anyone. Some of the things I witnessed as a young child are best kept in far recesses of my hippocampus. I don't have any regrets about my relationship with my father. To say that I have regrets would be to say I could have done something differently to change the situation. What I have concerning my father is more pity possible bordering on empathy. He never had a chance to enjoy his first set of children (he had six children with my mother, remarried and had another three, there could be others out there according to family lore). He never got to experience the unconditional love that comes with being a parent (my sisters profess to have loved him as they developed a relationship with him as adults, I doubt it was unconditional). He died a guilt ridden, painful death (my sisters tell me that he was calling out for me and my brother Greg during his last minutes on earth, although we have the same name, so the selfish bastard could have been calling out for himself).
A long time ago, while I was in my teens, I knew that I would never get an explanation as to why my father abandoned his family. My father was a low level criminal who was as full of shit as the day is long. He was a compulsive liar. Even as a seven year old I knew that he wasn't just embellishing a story to make it more interesting, he was an outright liar. My mother wasn't blameless in the situation, she had a myriad of emotional and mental health issues on her plate. In hindsight it was a good thing that they didn't remain together.
Of the many sins my father committed there are only two which I can't forgive.
The first is that he left my mother to raise five children (my brother Derek died at two months) with zero financial or emotional support. She had a stroke at 34 years old which left her paralysed on her left side and caused numerous other health problems until she died at 52 years old.
If he had helped her out financially even a little, at Christmas.
If he had taken us for weekend visits, once a year.
If he had been available for us kids to call him, to vent and receive validation.
Then maybe her burden would have been lessened just enough to keep her petite, frail body strong enough to raise her children to adulthood and maintain her sanity.
The other sin I will never forgive my father for is the fact that by not maintaining contact with us he robbed me of a relationship with the side of the family for which I am named. I never got to know my Uncle Tommy, his son Jimmy or his wife Connie. I never got to know my Uncle Jimmy. I did meet my Grandpa Sullivan a number of times, but never did anything with him, just sit in his apartment on Washington Street in Roslindale watching him and my dad smoke cigarettes. My Aunt Lorreta and her kids, Joey and Joanie kept in contact with us even after the divorce, but my father and mother were running so much interference with the situation that the relationship soured. My father went as far as to lie about our location to his sister. She didn't realize that we were still in the state until she read about my Grandma Norton's passing in the Boston Globe (I read this in a condolence letter she sent to my mother that I found amongst my mother's possessions when she passed). My brother's and sister's could have used all of the support possible when my father left, but instead we were left only with the Sullivan name.
This weekend I saw my cousin Jimmy for the first time in 40 years (read Jimmy's story here). I made contact with him August one year ago after seeing names on the grave where my brother Derek is buried and doing some Internet research about the Sullivan side of the family. I found Jimmy's (aka Suldog) blog and started reading. As I read stories about his life and some concerning family members I had never met I became angry. Angry at my father for denying me the chance to know my family, good or bad. Angry at my mother for not maintaining relationships for the sake of the kids. Angry at the Sullivan's for not wondering or caring about their nieces and nephews and their well being, knowing their brother had committed one of the worst crimes a man can commit, abandoning his offspring.
Moments and people from the past loom over our psyche and get bigger by each passing year.
When I got out of my Jeep after a two hour drive down the Mass Pike to Boston on Saturday I spotted my cousin Jimmy standing in front of the movie theater at Cleveland Circle, our rally point. As I got closer to my elder cousin I realized he was much smaller than I imagined. I am 6 feet and 200+, so most people are smaller, but in my mind he was my older cousin and I expected him to be bigger. I had the same feeling when I saw my father for the first time in over a decade at my sister Chris's wedding. I was 24 and hadn't seen my father since I was 13. When he introduced me to his wife Marie I barely looked at her, but was sizing him up. I promised my sister I would not pound him and it took every ounce of self restraint to not ruin her day (my brothers took the same oath and to this day we still haven't received any props). He looked frail and much smaller than I remembered. He had a tentative, frightened look in his eye. I wondered if it was the same look that I had when he broke down our front door during a fight with my mother. Jimmy had the same tentative look in his eye, but there was no fear or guilt. It was more the look you would have on the first day of school or a new job.
We walked up Chestnut Hill toward Alumni Stadium and a Boston College football game. We talked about our families, our lives and the sins of my father. After 40 years it was good to know that I had a connection to my surname and that there was another Sullivan that I could relate to. The sins of my father are buried with him. May they rest in peace.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Jena 6
Today in Jena, LA there is expected to be a gathering of at least 50,000 to protest the arrest and imprisonment of 6 black students who beat up a white student this past December. Read the story here. CapCity wrote a piece in her blog recently concerning this case and asked her readers to support the "Jena 6" by wearing black to support the students. I posted a comment on her site that was more like a post:
"I'll wear some black that day and I will pass along the story which has gotten little to no coverage here in the Northeast. (I Googled Jena 6 and read about 10 articles on the case.)I can't say that I condone violence of any kind including the beating of the white boy, but I can't say with a clear conscience that I wouldn't have done the same (I've done worse for less, we beat up people who wore orange on Saint Patty's Day because Orange symbolizes the Orange Order which marches through Catholic Belfast neighborhood's each summer to commemorate William of Oranges slaughter of the Irish 400 years ago. This is the cause of many of the riots in Northern Ireland during the past 40 years) I might actually kill if I were Black and saw nooses hanging in my or my children's school yard. I grew up in Boston during the early 70's when there was forced busing and the desegregation of schools. I don't agree with desegregation per say, but what the fuck is it with all the white kids hang here and all the black kids hang here? A white tree? Black bleachers? WTF!!!! Its 2007 and this shit is still an issue!?!My mother in law lives in Mississippi and segregation is alive and well. Its fucked up, but its the way everyone likes it Black and White alike. We should take some of that 10 billion per month we are spending on the war and we should have an empathic curriculum developed in all public schools which focuses on the struggles of every group that has come to the US, then exercise some good old American propaganda and emphasise that we are all Americans and not a country of separate, but equal people. We all live here and breathe the same air and watch the same shitty TV and eat the same crappy food which causes us to access the same dreadful health care and should focus on togetherness and the future of the good ol' USA. I just erased three more paragraphs because I realized that this was becoming a post not a comment."
Tuesday, September 18, 2007 6:50:00 PM
This case was highlighted on the "Today" show this morning as well as the "Boston Globe" and my local paper.
We need to dissolve this separate, but equal society we live in. 99% of our existence as human beings has nothing to do with the color of our skin, the god or gods we pray to or the country we live in. The majority of our time here on earth is managing our interpersonal relationships in order to meet our own individual needs (Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs).
That said, the rest of the world views us as a bunch of money grubbing, arrogant, loud, opinionated, violent thugs who have no morals or sense of their place in the world. Whatever skin color you have, this is the world view of us and as long as we continue to have inequities like those in Jena, violent acts like those in Jena and segregated tribalism like that practiced in Jena then we are a country of hypocrites.
I fucking hate hypocrites.
"A long habit of not thinking a thing wrong gives it a superficial appearance of being right."
Thomas Paine
"I'll wear some black that day and I will pass along the story which has gotten little to no coverage here in the Northeast. (I Googled Jena 6 and read about 10 articles on the case.)I can't say that I condone violence of any kind including the beating of the white boy, but I can't say with a clear conscience that I wouldn't have done the same (I've done worse for less, we beat up people who wore orange on Saint Patty's Day because Orange symbolizes the Orange Order which marches through Catholic Belfast neighborhood's each summer to commemorate William of Oranges slaughter of the Irish 400 years ago. This is the cause of many of the riots in Northern Ireland during the past 40 years) I might actually kill if I were Black and saw nooses hanging in my or my children's school yard. I grew up in Boston during the early 70's when there was forced busing and the desegregation of schools. I don't agree with desegregation per say, but what the fuck is it with all the white kids hang here and all the black kids hang here? A white tree? Black bleachers? WTF!!!! Its 2007 and this shit is still an issue!?!My mother in law lives in Mississippi and segregation is alive and well. Its fucked up, but its the way everyone likes it Black and White alike. We should take some of that 10 billion per month we are spending on the war and we should have an empathic curriculum developed in all public schools which focuses on the struggles of every group that has come to the US, then exercise some good old American propaganda and emphasise that we are all Americans and not a country of separate, but equal people. We all live here and breathe the same air and watch the same shitty TV and eat the same crappy food which causes us to access the same dreadful health care and should focus on togetherness and the future of the good ol' USA. I just erased three more paragraphs because I realized that this was becoming a post not a comment."
Tuesday, September 18, 2007 6:50:00 PM
This case was highlighted on the "Today" show this morning as well as the "Boston Globe" and my local paper.
We need to dissolve this separate, but equal society we live in. 99% of our existence as human beings has nothing to do with the color of our skin, the god or gods we pray to or the country we live in. The majority of our time here on earth is managing our interpersonal relationships in order to meet our own individual needs (Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs).
People need to focus on themselves as individuals and not as the member of a group.
This contradicts slightly my heat of the moment statement ("We all live here and breathe the same air and watch the same shitty TV and eat the same crappy food which causes us to access the same dreadful health care and should focus on togetherness and the future of the good ol' USA. ") , but when the majority of people who immigrated to America (of their own free will), it was as individuals, separated from family, friends and birth-country.
Individual thought and individual actions are as American as baseball, apple pie and Chevrolet.
That said, the rest of the world views us as a bunch of money grubbing, arrogant, loud, opinionated, violent thugs who have no morals or sense of their place in the world. Whatever skin color you have, this is the world view of us and as long as we continue to have inequities like those in Jena, violent acts like those in Jena and segregated tribalism like that practiced in Jena then we are a country of hypocrites.
I fucking hate hypocrites.
"A long habit of not thinking a thing wrong gives it a superficial appearance of being right."
Thomas Paine
Monday, September 17, 2007
BC/Georgia Tech Challenge
Plez, a proud Georgia Tech Alum whose blog I peruse and admire, and I had a small wager over the BC vs GT game on Saturday night. If BC won he would have to put the BC Eagle flying proudly on his blog for 1 week and conversely I would do the same with the G Tech Yellow Jacket on my blog. Plez had all the confidence in the world when he accepted my wager.
Matt Ryan and the eagle receivers ran buck wild over the "Ramblin Wreck's" D while Frank Spaziani's D completely shut down the Tech's highly touted running attack leaving them no option but to attempt to throw the ball with the "noodle" armed Taylor Bennet. The announcers for the game actually uttered the words "Heisman" and "Ryan" in the same sentence on a number of occasions. Check out the Eagle over at Plez World. Oh and by the way, send your condolences to Plez. He is done crying in his bright yellow "We are number one" foam finger. It is dried out and ready to be worn next week while watching the "Wreck" pick up the pieces at Virginia in the hopes of facing BC in the ACC Championship game.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
NFL 2007
Week one of the NFL season is in the books. I scribbled down my picks for this season while on the Cape two weeks ago, so week one had no influence on these picks. My MLB Picks are doing alright, better than most, but my NFL picks are a lock!
AFC East:
Pats, Pats and Pats. They will wrap up the division by Thanksgiving. The AFC East will not have another playoff team. I can see Buffalo, NYJ and Miami all finishing at 8-8. The Patriots will finish no worse than 13-3.
AFC South:
Indy, Indy and Indy. Indy will finish 11-5 and struggle defensively. Tennessee will be a surprise and sneak into a wild card spot. Jax and Houston will be non-factors, but the Texans may surprise as their young talent begins to gel pushing them toward .500.
AFC North:
This division will beat the crap out of each other with no clear cut favorite. I like Baltimore to win 11 and take the division, but can see Cincinnati challenging for the division crown. Pittsburgh will be mediocre and the Browns will be looking for a new coach after Week 4.
AFC West:
Denver will tame the west with a 11-5 record and will beat the Chargers twice which will give them the division. The Chargers will also be 11-5 and get the Wild Card.
NFC East:
Dallas will be the cream of the crop in the NFC East but will have a serious challenge from the rest of the teams in that division. Washington and the Giants will get the Wild Cards from the best division in football.
NFC South:
Carolina and New Orleans will be in a "Dog Fight" while Tampa Bay and the "Vickless" Falcons watch from the basement (he,he). New Orleans will eek out the division over the Panthers.
NFC North:
Bears, by default. The worst division in football.
NFC West:
Seattle will win the division handily, but the rest of the teams will be competitive. SF will make a run at the Wild Card and Arizona will be entertaining with their potent offense, but come up just short of a playoff spot.
Playoffs
AFC
The Pats and Indy will get byes.
Denver will beat the Titans in the first round. Baltimore will beat San Diego.
In the second round The Pats will pummel Baltimore while the Colts will be upset by a resurgent Denver team.
The Pats will beat Denver at home for a fourth Super Bowl birth in seven years.
NFC
Dallas and Seattle will get the byes.
In the first round the Bears will beat the Giants, while the Saints will beat the Redskins.
In the second round Dallas will beat the Bears while the Saints beat Seattle.
New Orleans will go to their first Super Bowl at the expense of a playoff cursed Romo.
Super Bowl XLII
The Patriots will raise their 4th Lombardi trophy in seven years in another close Super Bowl in which the defenses dominate. Brady to Moss will be the theme as the Patriots win 20 to 10.
Check back in week 9 for my self-assessment.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Ther Swamps Of Jersey
Yesterday I drove 400 miles round trip to tour the swamps of Jersey. The Meadowlands are an absolutely miserable place to attend a football game. They are in the middle of doing construction at the complex which includes Giants Stadium, Continental Airlines Arena (Nets) and a race track. This construction has limited the available parking, so if you aren't a Jets or Giants season ticket holder they park you 2-3 miles from the stadium and bus you in. The only plus to that was the "satellite" parking lots were a sea of Pats fans and the beer flowed freely. I haven't been to Giant Stadium in years and it appears old and outdated compared to the state of the art Gillette Stadium. It was 90 degrees and sunny which you would think was great except there is absolutely no breeze in that stadium because it completely enclosed. Sweltering.
Being typical New Yorkers, the Jets fans were loud and obnoxious to the point of being living caricatures (In pre-game warm-ups they played lots of Springsteen and Beastie Boys which added to the parody). Their boorish behavior peaked when their QB Chad Pennington sustained a knee injury and limped off the field. They cheered his injury hoping to see the back-up Clemons, who, from what they say, tore up the pre-season (big-woop!!) . Pennington was16 of 21 with 2 TD's and no picks. I am no expert but that seems like a good day to me.
It was a good day for the , I would estimate, 10,000 Pats fans in attendance. It may be the only chance many of them would have to see their team this year, being tickets at Gillette are scarce. I picked up my tickets Saturday AM on Ticketmaster (15 rows up in the East end zone!!). Lucky. Many I spoke to at the game planned this trip for months knowing they had no chance getting tickets in New England. The rest areas on Route 95 heading back to New England were packed with smiling, content Pats fans.
I was struck by two things on the field.
1) Adelius Thomas may be the biggest man I've ever seen not playing on the line. In this defense he is a guaranteed All-Pro.
2) Randy Moss is the real deal. He dwarfed the Jets D-backs making them look like JV'ers playing on Varsity.
The lasting image I'll have of the Swamps of Jersey won't be the Swamps, but the view from the Swamps.
The NYC skyline looks naked without the WTC.
It is the first time since 9/11/01 that I have seen the skyline from the Jersey-side view over the Hudson (I have seen it from the air and it is not so dramatic). Stuck in traffic with lots of time to stare over at Manhattan I was transported back to that infamous day six years ago.
As much as I despise New York and New Yorkers, I have to give it to 'em. They are a bunch of tough, resilient bastards.
Tune in tomorrow for my picks this season. (Sunday's games didn't change a thing!!)
Being typical New Yorkers, the Jets fans were loud and obnoxious to the point of being living caricatures (In pre-game warm-ups they played lots of Springsteen and Beastie Boys which added to the parody). Their boorish behavior peaked when their QB Chad Pennington sustained a knee injury and limped off the field. They cheered his injury hoping to see the back-up Clemons, who, from what they say, tore up the pre-season (big-woop!!) . Pennington was16 of 21 with 2 TD's and no picks. I am no expert but that seems like a good day to me.
It was a good day for the , I would estimate, 10,000 Pats fans in attendance. It may be the only chance many of them would have to see their team this year, being tickets at Gillette are scarce. I picked up my tickets Saturday AM on Ticketmaster (15 rows up in the East end zone!!). Lucky. Many I spoke to at the game planned this trip for months knowing they had no chance getting tickets in New England. The rest areas on Route 95 heading back to New England were packed with smiling, content Pats fans.
I was struck by two things on the field.
1) Adelius Thomas may be the biggest man I've ever seen not playing on the line. In this defense he is a guaranteed All-Pro.
2) Randy Moss is the real deal. He dwarfed the Jets D-backs making them look like JV'ers playing on Varsity.
The lasting image I'll have of the Swamps of Jersey won't be the Swamps, but the view from the Swamps.
The NYC skyline looks naked without the WTC.
It is the first time since 9/11/01 that I have seen the skyline from the Jersey-side view over the Hudson (I have seen it from the air and it is not so dramatic). Stuck in traffic with lots of time to stare over at Manhattan I was transported back to that infamous day six years ago.
As much as I despise New York and New Yorkers, I have to give it to 'em. They are a bunch of tough, resilient bastards.
Tune in tomorrow for my picks this season. (Sunday's games didn't change a thing!!)
Friday, September 07, 2007
The Snow Game
January 19, 2002.
The Snow Game.
The greatest football game in New England football history.
I was there.
The New England Patriots have played bigger games (as of the date of this writing they have played in 5 Super Bowls), they have played in closer games, had games with more controversy (1976 playoffs vs Raiders, sno-blower-gate) and they have played games in worse weather conditions. There has never been a single game in their history that could compare with this games combination of magnitude, atmosphere, suspense and exhilaration.
The Pats had a season that was typical of those since Bob Kraft had bought the team in the early 90's, competitive, hopeful, but missing some unknown key ingredient. The one difference between this team and the others in recent history was that they were peaking. They had earned a home playoff game and in every possible scenario it would be their only home playoff game thus making this game the last game played in the drab, dismal Schaefer... Sullivan...Foxboro Stadium. As horrible as it was a venue, it held a vault of beer soaked memories that could never be replaced by a state of the art stadium. Going to Foxboro Stadium was like going to a football game in the town of Bedrock circa 2500 BC. Touch football in the rock strewn, gravel parking lot. The smell of meat cooking on ridiculously huge grill fires. Drunken fights at 11:00 AM, two hours before kick off. Blood and beer.
The week leading up to the game my buddy Billy and I had been scouring the net for tickets to the game. Billy is a hard drinking , hard living guy who bought his father's roofing business back in the 90's and was my golf partner. He had bought season tickets back when Kraft bought the team, but had sold them recently to a vendor of his. We had gone to lots of games together, but were on a mission from God to go to this game. We wanted to experience one last game like cavemen, drunk, eating meat and watching fights. On Friday afternoon I found some tickets for $200 a piece and immediately called Billy, excitedly. He had already gotten us tickets from a vendor, for free.
Yoo-hoo!!!!
Saturday we got on the road at 11 AM. packed with beer and a crock pot full of meatballs and sausage. The game was an 8PM start, but we had a plan. Drink. Check into our hotel we booked knowing it was going to be a late, drunken evening. Spend the afternoon in Providence drinking. Get on our cold weather gear and head to the game. Things pretty much held to plan.
During our ride down the Mass Pike the snow had already started falling as predicted, but was not yet sticking to the frozen pavement. It wisped back and forth across the road blown around by the speeding cars. We checked into our hotel in Attleboro on Route 1 about 5 miles from the stadium at 1PM. We plugged in the crock pot and hopped back in the car for the 15 minute ride to Providence and its warm, inviting stripper bars. The snow was still light as we made our way into "Club Fantasies". We opted for this joint on the recommendation of the front desk clerk at the hotel over the infamous "Foxy Lady". There is nothing like sitting in a warm, cozy stripper bar with 50+ naked women prancing about while drinking beer and shots of Jaegarmeister as the snow piles up outside. Its like Apres Ski without the Apres or the ski. Billy and I sat at the bar for the most part occasionally heading into "The Pit" (a squared off section next to the main stage) for a $5 sample table dance(an R-rated version of the $25, X-rated, private table dances done upstairs. We had lost time while in the joint and when we walked out sometime after 5 PM it was into "white out" conditions.
It took us 45 minutes to make the 15 minute ride back to the hotel. We put on our "long johns" and waterproof gear, gathered up the meatballs and french bread and headed toward the stadium. My Bonneville handled surprisingly well in the snow and the trip to the stadium went smoothly. We stopped at a liquor store 2 miles from the stadium and Bill went in. He came out with 12 nips of Grand Mariner. We pulled in to the stadium parking lot and there were no discernible parking spaces. The snow was at least 8 inches deep. I had plugged the crock pot into my a/c converter which plugged into my lighter on the way to the stadium from the hotel, so we expected some steamy, hot meatballs to go with our beer. No go. The converter not only shorted the lighter, thus making our meatballs cold, it shorted out half the electrical system including the defroster, heater and inside lights. We sat in the car eating luke warm meatball grinders washed down with ice cold beer. 45 minutes before game time we filled our pockets with beer and nips of Grand Mariner and headed for the gates of the stadium. At the gates there were ticket takers and droves of security. I thought for sure we would have all of our booze confiscated. I handed the ticket taker my ticket and got a token pat down by a disinterested security person. I know he must have felt one of the five beers I carried in in my jacket pocket or one of the six nips I tucked in my socks. I turned to Billy as we headed to our seats in Section 216 and said "I guess Kraft is trying to save money on demo and is hoping someone brings in a bomb". "I'll drink to that" he said as he hoisted a Grand Mariner in a mock toast.
The scene at our seats were something that could not be duplicated by the best of Hollywood's special effects artists. Snow was falling sideways under the dim lights. The grounds crew was walking back and forth over their respective yard line snow blowing the line so you could see the yardage. Players were warming up mainly by running in place or doing jumping jacks as to not get injured before the game even started. A fog was enveloping the stadium caused by the breath of 60,000 strong anticipating the kickoff.
The game developed slowly. The only scoring in the first half was a Raiders touchdown, Gannon to Jett. In the third quarter the Russian born Sebastian Janikowski and the South Dakota born Vinateiri, both seemingly oblivious to the weather, accounted for dueling field goals with Janikowski winning 2 to 1. With the Pats down 13-3 the crowd got restless. Our half of the stadium, on the Pats sideline, spontaneously started chanting "We want Drew" in response to Brady's inefficiency. Drew was warming up on the sideline and seemed to zip the ball a bit stronger as the pleas for his entry became louder.
Then there was the forth quarter.
Brady appeased the masses by driving the ball down field early in the quarter and ran one in cutting the Raiders lead to 3. Miss cues on both sides ensued. With under two minutes to go Brady dropped back to pass and was being tackled when the ball popped loose. The crowed groaned collectively as a Raider pounced on the ball. I started yelling hoarsely, drunkenly "His arm was going forward, they are going to reverse it." I repeated it a number of times while people stood in dead silence or headed sullenly for the exits. Some guy a few rows in front turned around and told me to shut up. Just as I was about to dive over a couple of rows to fulfil the trifecta of booze, meat and blood the ref said the play was being reviewed. I suddenly went from drunk "belligerent" guy to drunk "knows what hes talking about" guy. The call was reversed and everyone was hugging, high 5-ing and kissing like it was New Years Eve. The guy that told me to shut up even gave me a high 5 which I reciprocated as hard as I could.
Brady took advantage of the second chance, but couldn't get us within "chip shot" range which on a night like that would've been inside the ten, if that. He got us to the 30 with just under 30 seconds to go. The snow seemed to pick up in intensity when Vinitieri was lining up the field goal attempt. As the ball lifted off the ground into the falling snow I immediately sunk my head. The trajectory of the kick was way too low to travel 47 yards and I didn't want to see it miss. As I stared at the pile of beer cans and bottles of Grand Mariner, covered with snow, piled at my feet the roaring erupted. The kick carried just enough over the cross bar to tie the game at 13 - 13. Every hair on my body was standing on end. People were falling over their seats. For two straight minutes everyone in the stadium was bouncing in unison, screaming and laughing.
This never happens to us, we never get the breaks.
The ghosts of Ben Dreith, Buckner, Piersall, "The Fridge", Desmond Howard and Bucky Dent who had been lingering over the moment retreated hastily from the joy and ectasy rarley experienced on a January night in New England.
Over time was anti-climactic. We won the coin toss, drove the field and AV made a chip shot right in front of us to win the game. As Lonnie Paxton was making snow angels below the stands were a sea of euphoria. People were screaming, jumping, cackling, hooting, hollering and even crying. I stood there like a lifeless spector not making a noise, but soaking in the sights and sounds of the moment until Billy bear hugged me bringing me back from my daze. No one left their seats for an hour. Every fan stayed there listening to the post game interviews being broadcast over the loudspeakers, drinking smuggled booze and telling tales of this game and games prior. It was like an Irish wake, drunken and raucous, but touching.
We made it back to the Bonneville about 2:30 AM, but didn't get out onto Route 1 until after 3AM. We passed out at our hotel immediately. I woke up at 7 AM to take a piss. As I stood over the bowl, still drunk, I noticed that my right hand was killing me. I inspected it figuring I must have slept on it the wrong way, but the palm was black and blue. I sat on the end of my bed flummoxed, then it hit me. As I walked out of the stadium I high fived at least 1000 people on my journey out of the stadium.
We got on the road by 10 AM. At home I alternated between worlds on my couch while watching the Steelers and Rams win. Every time I closed my eyes I could see the breath rising and the snow falling. It was a mid-winter nights dream.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Summer Doldrums
Blogging doesn't feel natural in the summer.
Holed up in the house in mid-January during a raging snowstorm seems like the ultimate time to pound out some quality blog posts. But in mid-August when summer is waining and there are lakes to swim in and golf courses to be played on, blogging seems like work. In my first ever post I promised that I would not blog unless I have something interesting to write and lately I've been more interested in doing things instead of writing about things I've done.
Since my last post I have been playing lots of golf, including a horrible showing in my club championship. I have also pitched about 5,000 baseballs to my boys in the backyard. I have made a tour of my old stomping grounds in Boston, including a visit to my mother's gravesite on her birthday. Lastly I've been keeping track of my brother Greg's legal troubles down in the mountains of North Carolina. Plenty of fodder for future posts.
Soon the weather will turn and life will slow down a notch. Until then I am going to squeeze in as much summertime fun as I can until Labor Day. Then, back to the grind.
Holed up in the house in mid-January during a raging snowstorm seems like the ultimate time to pound out some quality blog posts. But in mid-August when summer is waining and there are lakes to swim in and golf courses to be played on, blogging seems like work. In my first ever post I promised that I would not blog unless I have something interesting to write and lately I've been more interested in doing things instead of writing about things I've done.
Since my last post I have been playing lots of golf, including a horrible showing in my club championship. I have also pitched about 5,000 baseballs to my boys in the backyard. I have made a tour of my old stomping grounds in Boston, including a visit to my mother's gravesite on her birthday. Lastly I've been keeping track of my brother Greg's legal troubles down in the mountains of North Carolina. Plenty of fodder for future posts.
Soon the weather will turn and life will slow down a notch. Until then I am going to squeeze in as much summertime fun as I can until Labor Day. Then, back to the grind.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
756
April 8, 1974. I was a skinny, energetic nine year old who was counting the days until his first game playing organized baseball in the Hyde Park little league. Baseball had recently replaced hockey as my favorite sport. We were having dinner at my Aunt Carol's triple decker apartment just off of Washington Street in Roslindale. As usual in those days (and these days as well) I was engrossed with anything concerning baseball and someone breaking the all time home run record was a huge deal. After scarfing down dinner I made my way into the parlor and sat on the couch to hopefully witness history. I didn't know until I was older that this event was bigger than one great ballplayer eclipsing another. I wasn't aware that Mr. Aaron endured death threats, feared for his families safety and was a physical and mental wreck due to his pursuit of the "Babe". This was about baseball, pure and simple.
I am now 42 and baseball is not just about baseball. The innocence that the game once held is gone. Baseball, since its beginning has been played by men. Men drink, gamble, carouse and swear. Until the past thirty years it was a game played by average men, of average size, coming from middle or lower class households. Most players had to have a job in the off season just to make ends meet. Being a ballplayer was a hard life. Every boy thought he could be a ballplayer someday because there was no class distinction and when the color barrier was broken as long as you were the best of the best you would have a place in the game regardless of where you came from.
Reporters understood that it was career suicide to tear down the "working class hero" facade that enveloped the game. You couldn't read in the paper about the Babe's drinking binges or any players private indiscretions. Men were men and it was accepted that when you get 25 men traveling the country for eight months "stuff" was going to happen. No one cared about the integrity of the men off the field it was the integrity on the field that counted.
Enter 2007.
Who would have thought thirty years ago that you go to a ballpark and pay $85 to see 18 millionaires run around and play a game that may not be legitimate. Use of HGH, steroids, greenies have grown with the outrageous salaries. Why do the players get outrageous salaries? Because the owners make outrageous profits. Why do the owners make outrageous profits? Because the fans dole out the money. Why do fans dole out the money? Because they love to see home runs. How do they see more home runs? By the players taking more HGH, Steroids and amphetamines.
It no longer matters if what players do on the field is legitimate. We hear about players stints in rehab, domestic problems, Vegas trips and stops at stripper bars, but no one cared until Barry Bonds got close to the home run record that many baseball players no longer look like humans, but cartoon characters. No one cared that McGwire, Sosa and Bonds went from svelte, athletic rookies to pumped up, acne covered side show freaks.
Hypocrites.
Mr. Bonds has accomplished an incredible feat for the ages. The perseverance, longevity and skill that it takes to hit 756 home runs is beyond comprehension. The only one in my mind between the 755 that Mr. Aaron hit and the 756 that Mr. Bonds hit is the adversity each man endured on his journey. Mr Aaron feared for his life in the year preceding his pursuit of the Babe due to something he couldn't control, the color of his skin. Mr. Bonds has endured tremendous adversity, but all of it self imposed. If he never was implicated in the BALCO affair and he was able to accomplish this feat without the use of performance enhancing drugs, then today there would be nothing but accolades coming his way.
I still remember the black and white images of Aaron running briskly around the bases after belting 715. The only thing different visually from that home run than any other of that time was the two fans that ran the bases next to him and the flashing "715" they showed on the scoreboard. He did his job and humbly went to his dugout.
The irony is when Bonds hit his historic bomb he stood at home plate for a few seconds to savor his accomplishment then raised his arms triumphantly. A little humility would have helped to endear him to his critics.
I hope that by the time A-Rod breaks the record circa 2015 that we worry more about the integrity of the game on the field than the players lives off the field.
I am now 42 and baseball is not just about baseball. The innocence that the game once held is gone. Baseball, since its beginning has been played by men. Men drink, gamble, carouse and swear. Until the past thirty years it was a game played by average men, of average size, coming from middle or lower class households. Most players had to have a job in the off season just to make ends meet. Being a ballplayer was a hard life. Every boy thought he could be a ballplayer someday because there was no class distinction and when the color barrier was broken as long as you were the best of the best you would have a place in the game regardless of where you came from.
Reporters understood that it was career suicide to tear down the "working class hero" facade that enveloped the game. You couldn't read in the paper about the Babe's drinking binges or any players private indiscretions. Men were men and it was accepted that when you get 25 men traveling the country for eight months "stuff" was going to happen. No one cared about the integrity of the men off the field it was the integrity on the field that counted.
Enter 2007.
Who would have thought thirty years ago that you go to a ballpark and pay $85 to see 18 millionaires run around and play a game that may not be legitimate. Use of HGH, steroids, greenies have grown with the outrageous salaries. Why do the players get outrageous salaries? Because the owners make outrageous profits. Why do the owners make outrageous profits? Because the fans dole out the money. Why do fans dole out the money? Because they love to see home runs. How do they see more home runs? By the players taking more HGH, Steroids and amphetamines.
It no longer matters if what players do on the field is legitimate. We hear about players stints in rehab, domestic problems, Vegas trips and stops at stripper bars, but no one cared until Barry Bonds got close to the home run record that many baseball players no longer look like humans, but cartoon characters. No one cared that McGwire, Sosa and Bonds went from svelte, athletic rookies to pumped up, acne covered side show freaks.
Hypocrites.
Mr. Bonds has accomplished an incredible feat for the ages. The perseverance, longevity and skill that it takes to hit 756 home runs is beyond comprehension. The only one in my mind between the 755 that Mr. Aaron hit and the 756 that Mr. Bonds hit is the adversity each man endured on his journey. Mr Aaron feared for his life in the year preceding his pursuit of the Babe due to something he couldn't control, the color of his skin. Mr. Bonds has endured tremendous adversity, but all of it self imposed. If he never was implicated in the BALCO affair and he was able to accomplish this feat without the use of performance enhancing drugs, then today there would be nothing but accolades coming his way.
I still remember the black and white images of Aaron running briskly around the bases after belting 715. The only thing different visually from that home run than any other of that time was the two fans that ran the bases next to him and the flashing "715" they showed on the scoreboard. He did his job and humbly went to his dugout.
The irony is when Bonds hit his historic bomb he stood at home plate for a few seconds to savor his accomplishment then raised his arms triumphantly. A little humility would have helped to endear him to his critics.
I hope that by the time A-Rod breaks the record circa 2015 that we worry more about the integrity of the game on the field than the players lives off the field.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
At The Beach
Hot. Dry. Sunny.
The weather could not be better for early August on the southern coast of Maine. My wife, two kids and I walked slowly over the Ogunquit River Footbridge toward the beach. We were weighed down with beach chairs, boogie boards, towels as well as the rest of our beach gear. As we made our decent down the stairs to the beach we surveyed the shoreline for a spot by the water. The tide was high so space on the beach was tight. We found a spot where the tide had peaked and the sand was dry. I set up our umbrella, chairs and towels while my wife played with the boys in the gentle waves.
I lay back in one of the chairs and closed my eyes. With my eyes closed my other senses heightened. I could smell the suntan lotion of the twenty something girl with the cute rear lying on a towel behind my chair. I could feel the hairs on my chest stiffen while the slight off shore breeze blew intermittently over my darkening torso, giving me occasional relief from the beating sun. I could hear the faint sound of the Sox on the radio, gulls crying, and the voices of my boys frolicking in the waves with their mother. I fell asleep.
I woke up cold. The beach was empty. The air was thick with moisture and it was now overcast. I looked toward the water where my wife and kids had been playing. My four year old son was laying at the waters edge. I ran to him, but my wheels were spinning in the sand. The harder I pumped my legs the slower I moved. His lifeless body rolled back and forth in the sea foam moving with the rhythm of the ocean. I finally reached him and pulled him up onto the beach away from the water. He was cold. I blew into his mouth. He remained lifeless. I picked him up and hugged him tightly, crying.
He rubbed my back and said "Don't cry daddy." I looked him in the eye and asked him "Where is mommy and Peter?".
"They walked into the water and kept going. I tried to get them, but the waves knocked me down and I drowned" Matthew said with no emotion.
"You didn't drown honey, you are hear with me, alive" I assured him.
"No dad, we're dead!" he insisted.
"We are alive Matthew! Look at the clouds, breathe the air, look at the waves."
"You died trying to save me." Matthew stated matter of factly.
I carried him back to the umbrella and blankets, laid him down and towelled him off. An orange-red maple leaf blew onto the blanket next to Matthew. I picked him up, snug in his towel and carried him toward the foot bridge. I looked out at the ocean one last time, the fog was rolling in. The sky looked like it does in late Autumn, as if it could snow at any time. The fog had traveled down the inlet enveloping the end of the bridge near the parking lot. "I love you Matthew" I told him as we headed into the mist.
(I had this dream last night. It was my first night home after long, but satisfying week on vacation in Maine.)
The weather could not be better for early August on the southern coast of Maine. My wife, two kids and I walked slowly over the Ogunquit River Footbridge toward the beach. We were weighed down with beach chairs, boogie boards, towels as well as the rest of our beach gear. As we made our decent down the stairs to the beach we surveyed the shoreline for a spot by the water. The tide was high so space on the beach was tight. We found a spot where the tide had peaked and the sand was dry. I set up our umbrella, chairs and towels while my wife played with the boys in the gentle waves.
I lay back in one of the chairs and closed my eyes. With my eyes closed my other senses heightened. I could smell the suntan lotion of the twenty something girl with the cute rear lying on a towel behind my chair. I could feel the hairs on my chest stiffen while the slight off shore breeze blew intermittently over my darkening torso, giving me occasional relief from the beating sun. I could hear the faint sound of the Sox on the radio, gulls crying, and the voices of my boys frolicking in the waves with their mother. I fell asleep.
I woke up cold. The beach was empty. The air was thick with moisture and it was now overcast. I looked toward the water where my wife and kids had been playing. My four year old son was laying at the waters edge. I ran to him, but my wheels were spinning in the sand. The harder I pumped my legs the slower I moved. His lifeless body rolled back and forth in the sea foam moving with the rhythm of the ocean. I finally reached him and pulled him up onto the beach away from the water. He was cold. I blew into his mouth. He remained lifeless. I picked him up and hugged him tightly, crying.
He rubbed my back and said "Don't cry daddy." I looked him in the eye and asked him "Where is mommy and Peter?".
"They walked into the water and kept going. I tried to get them, but the waves knocked me down and I drowned" Matthew said with no emotion.
"You didn't drown honey, you are hear with me, alive" I assured him.
"No dad, we're dead!" he insisted.
"We are alive Matthew! Look at the clouds, breathe the air, look at the waves."
"You died trying to save me." Matthew stated matter of factly.
I carried him back to the umbrella and blankets, laid him down and towelled him off. An orange-red maple leaf blew onto the blanket next to Matthew. I picked him up, snug in his towel and carried him toward the foot bridge. I looked out at the ocean one last time, the fog was rolling in. The sky looked like it does in late Autumn, as if it could snow at any time. The fog had traveled down the inlet enveloping the end of the bridge near the parking lot. "I love you Matthew" I told him as we headed into the mist.
(I had this dream last night. It was my first night home after long, but satisfying week on vacation in Maine.)
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
I Love Those Crazy Bastards
Endangered Coffee recently posted his job history on his blog. He has rocked quite a few jobs throughout the past few years. In comparison, with the exception of side jobs like bouncing, bartending, dishwashing, selling drugs, amongst others, I've only had four "real" jobs since 1981.
This December I will be entering my 19th year in human services. It could be argued that I've been in human services for 26 years. My first "real" job was at Camp Howe in Goshen where I worked for five summers as a cabin counselor, Boy's Unit Head, Boating Director and Recreation Director. The next "real" job I had was working for the Hampshire Regional YMCA from 1986 through 1989. I was a director for their after school programs as well as running their youth sports programs, Y basketball league and summer sports camps.
In November of 1989 I was sitting around with my friend Eric and his Dad, Eric drinking beers. At the time I was attending college at Westfield State, struggling to make ends meet. I was voicing my displeasure about working at the Y, sick of the kids, the parents and the low pay. Eric and I had worked together there for the past few years and as fun as it was playing touch football, "duck, duck, goose" and finger painting each weekday afternoon we were going nowhere fast. His dad was the co-owner of a human service agency in Springfield that specialized in running group homes for the mentally retarded. After we polished off a case of beers and listened to us griping for a couple hours he offered me a job working for him in one of his homes.
"Work with the retards!!" I laughed. "Those fucking dudes freak me out!".
"I have a new program opening up with Traumatic Brain Injury survivors. They aren't retarded. It would be good to have someone like you to work with these guys, take them to Sox games, show them around town; I'll start you at $8.00 an hour"
Not retarded. More money. Sox. Thus the beginning of my career working in residential group homes.
I spent 10 years working for Eric at Brown & Sullivan. Within a month working there I became a manager. In my tenure there I ran various group homes as well as getting my certification as a Drug and Alcohol counselor (stifle your laughter) and counseling mentally retarded people with their addictions (talk about a losing battle). While there I also used my brawn and street smarts working with gang members in Hartford and did outreach with clients with mental health issues. The last three years there I even managed a group home with mentally retarded clients. I learned that some people who look retarded are more intelligent and "with it" than many people walking around the street who "look" normal.
Eric left Brown & Sullivan and soon after I went to another agency who had gotten many of our residential contracts. I am in my ninth year at ServiceNet Inc. I've come full circle and am back directing group homes for brain injury survivors. Sometimes I feel like I am still at summer camp while at work. The staff are called counselors, we have lots of fun activities surrounded by hours of boredom and there is lots of drama (staff and clients alike). Eric had a philosophy that if you find out what makes a person happy and make the effort to help them be happy, then negative behaviors subside. I still adhere to that philosophy. I run my progams as if I were one of the clients. Just short of having keg parties with hookers I try to provide enough fun activities (trips to the Cape, Sox and Pats games,etc..) to give the clients I work with incentive to be better. The better they act the less people will stigmatize them and only then can they make steps toward inclusion. Actually I wouldn't have done this work for nineteen years if it weren't for the trips to the Cape, Sox, Pats etc...its not for the mid-five figure salary.
I often think about doing something else for a living. Opening a bar, managing a golf course, opening a business of some kind. I have over 50 former or current clients and I could see myself hiring one or two of them to work for me. I still keep in some kind of contact with many of them.
A few years back on New Years Eve my phone rang. It was the first client I had ever worked with in Human Services in that Tramatic Brain Injury house Eric pushed me to work in. He told me that he missed me and thanked me for everything I had done for him. I asked him if he was drunk and why was he being so mushy. He said he was sober, but was reflecting on all of the trips and experiences we shared while he was in my care. He was now living at home with his mom and missed doing the fun things we used to do. I wished him a happy new year and he did the same. I lay in bed in the early hours of the new year reflecting on my conversation with Andy, my career choice, perseverating over Matt Dillon's line in "Something About Mary?", "I love those crazy bastards."
This December I will be entering my 19th year in human services. It could be argued that I've been in human services for 26 years. My first "real" job was at Camp Howe in Goshen where I worked for five summers as a cabin counselor, Boy's Unit Head, Boating Director and Recreation Director. The next "real" job I had was working for the Hampshire Regional YMCA from 1986 through 1989. I was a director for their after school programs as well as running their youth sports programs, Y basketball league and summer sports camps.
In November of 1989 I was sitting around with my friend Eric and his Dad, Eric drinking beers. At the time I was attending college at Westfield State, struggling to make ends meet. I was voicing my displeasure about working at the Y, sick of the kids, the parents and the low pay. Eric and I had worked together there for the past few years and as fun as it was playing touch football, "duck, duck, goose" and finger painting each weekday afternoon we were going nowhere fast. His dad was the co-owner of a human service agency in Springfield that specialized in running group homes for the mentally retarded. After we polished off a case of beers and listened to us griping for a couple hours he offered me a job working for him in one of his homes.
"Work with the retards!!" I laughed. "Those fucking dudes freak me out!".
"I have a new program opening up with Traumatic Brain Injury survivors. They aren't retarded. It would be good to have someone like you to work with these guys, take them to Sox games, show them around town; I'll start you at $8.00 an hour"
Not retarded. More money. Sox. Thus the beginning of my career working in residential group homes.
I spent 10 years working for Eric at Brown & Sullivan. Within a month working there I became a manager. In my tenure there I ran various group homes as well as getting my certification as a Drug and Alcohol counselor (stifle your laughter) and counseling mentally retarded people with their addictions (talk about a losing battle). While there I also used my brawn and street smarts working with gang members in Hartford and did outreach with clients with mental health issues. The last three years there I even managed a group home with mentally retarded clients. I learned that some people who look retarded are more intelligent and "with it" than many people walking around the street who "look" normal.
Eric left Brown & Sullivan and soon after I went to another agency who had gotten many of our residential contracts. I am in my ninth year at ServiceNet Inc. I've come full circle and am back directing group homes for brain injury survivors. Sometimes I feel like I am still at summer camp while at work. The staff are called counselors, we have lots of fun activities surrounded by hours of boredom and there is lots of drama (staff and clients alike). Eric had a philosophy that if you find out what makes a person happy and make the effort to help them be happy, then negative behaviors subside. I still adhere to that philosophy. I run my progams as if I were one of the clients. Just short of having keg parties with hookers I try to provide enough fun activities (trips to the Cape, Sox and Pats games,etc..) to give the clients I work with incentive to be better. The better they act the less people will stigmatize them and only then can they make steps toward inclusion. Actually I wouldn't have done this work for nineteen years if it weren't for the trips to the Cape, Sox, Pats etc...its not for the mid-five figure salary.
I often think about doing something else for a living. Opening a bar, managing a golf course, opening a business of some kind. I have over 50 former or current clients and I could see myself hiring one or two of them to work for me. I still keep in some kind of contact with many of them.
A few years back on New Years Eve my phone rang. It was the first client I had ever worked with in Human Services in that Tramatic Brain Injury house Eric pushed me to work in. He told me that he missed me and thanked me for everything I had done for him. I asked him if he was drunk and why was he being so mushy. He said he was sober, but was reflecting on all of the trips and experiences we shared while he was in my care. He was now living at home with his mom and missed doing the fun things we used to do. I wished him a happy new year and he did the same. I lay in bed in the early hours of the new year reflecting on my conversation with Andy, my career choice, perseverating over Matt Dillon's line in "Something About Mary?", "I love those crazy bastards."
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
One Word Meme
Plez, the man whose blog ideas I pilfer more than any other, borrowed this meme and posted the answers on his blog. I tried to do this in "word association" style and answer with the first thing that popped into my head.
Welcome inside my head!! (please excuse the mess, I didn't have time to clean up)!
Use ONE WORD for each answer.
Yourself: tired
Your Partner: mommy
Your Hair: graying
Your Mother: sad
Your Father: selfish
Your Favorite Item: Driver
Your Dream Last Night: perseverative
Your Favorite Drink: Guinness
Your Dream Car: Mercedes
Your Dream Home: soon
The Room You Are In: bedroom
Your Fear: failure
Where You Want To Be In Ten Years: alive
Who You Hung Out With Last Night: family
You’re Not: skiddish
One of Your Wish List Items: beach-house
The Last Thing You Did: ate
You Are Wearing: boxers
Your Favorite Weather: autumnal
Your Favorite Book: Bradbury
Last Thing You Ate: Chicken
Your Life: lucky
Your Mood: optimistic
Your Best Friend: wife
What Are You Thinking About Right Now: fuck
Your Car: Grand Cherokee
What Are You Doing At The Moment: relaxing
Relationship Status: happy
What Is On Your TV: MSNBC
What Is The Weather Like: humid
When Is The Last Time You Laughed: A.M.
Welcome inside my head!! (please excuse the mess, I didn't have time to clean up)!
Use ONE WORD for each answer.
Yourself: tired
Your Partner: mommy
Your Hair: graying
Your Mother: sad
Your Father: selfish
Your Favorite Item: Driver
Your Dream Last Night: perseverative
Your Favorite Drink: Guinness
Your Dream Car: Mercedes
Your Dream Home: soon
The Room You Are In: bedroom
Your Fear: failure
Where You Want To Be In Ten Years: alive
Who You Hung Out With Last Night: family
You’re Not: skiddish
One of Your Wish List Items: beach-house
The Last Thing You Did: ate
You Are Wearing: boxers
Your Favorite Weather: autumnal
Your Favorite Book: Bradbury
Last Thing You Ate: Chicken
Your Life: lucky
Your Mood: optimistic
Your Best Friend: wife
What Are You Thinking About Right Now: fuck
Your Car: Grand Cherokee
What Are You Doing At The Moment: relaxing
Relationship Status: happy
What Is On Your TV: MSNBC
What Is The Weather Like: humid
When Is The Last Time You Laughed: A.M.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
My Picks At The Break
On April 2nd I made my picks for the 2007 MLB season. A little over half of the games have been played in Major League Baseball this season. The trends are being set and the cream is rising to the top. Lets take a look at some of my predictions.
American League:
East: Red Sox
Central: Twins
West: Angels
Wild Card: Toronto
The Sox and Angels are looking good. The Twins aren't dead in the water, but at 45-43 they are going to have to turn it on in order to catch Detroit or Cleveland. Toronto is 8 1/2 games behind Cleveland for the Wild Card and needs to jump over 4 teams to get the nod.
I was right on about the Yankees and if Steinbrenner was the Steinbrenner of 1978 Torre would've been fired in April. Right now he probably wishes Billy Martin's kids froze him, like Teddy Ballgame's kids did, so he could bring him back for the tenth time. Since that's not an option Joe T will be there until the end of their miserable season.
Matsuzaka is still in the running for the Cy Young, but will need a strong, almost flawless second half, in order to beat out teammate Josh Beckett, Dan Haren or Jeremy Bonderman. Big Papi will have to hit a few walk offs to garner any consideration for MVP; it looks more like A-Rod or Ordonez.
National League:
East: Mets
Central: Cubs
West: Dodgers
Wild Card: Diamond Backs
The Mets are eking it out over Atlanta. The Dodgers are in a dogfight with the pitching rich Padres with Arizona right there for the Wild Card. Chicago has been my biggest bust, but is still only 4 1/2 games behind the surprise of the year Brewers for the NL Central crown. LaRussa hasn't been fired or in rehab (yet), but as I predicted the Cards are dead in the water.
Zambrano is not having a bad season, but will not win the Cy Young unless Peavy, Penny and Sheets shit the bed. Soriano will not win the MVP, period. I like Chase Utley and Prince Fielder, but Matt Holiday should win it if he can keep up the torrid pace he set in the first half.
I will stand by my picks. You can't change your cards in the middle of a hand, so the only way to judge my picks is to add them up in October. If I had to grade my picks I'd give myself a B+, but I have an over inflated ego so they are probably really only a B.
I still think the Red Sox will be having a parade in late October.
Go Sox!!
American League:
East: Red Sox
Central: Twins
West: Angels
Wild Card: Toronto
The Sox and Angels are looking good. The Twins aren't dead in the water, but at 45-43 they are going to have to turn it on in order to catch Detroit or Cleveland. Toronto is 8 1/2 games behind Cleveland for the Wild Card and needs to jump over 4 teams to get the nod.
I was right on about the Yankees and if Steinbrenner was the Steinbrenner of 1978 Torre would've been fired in April. Right now he probably wishes Billy Martin's kids froze him, like Teddy Ballgame's kids did, so he could bring him back for the tenth time. Since that's not an option Joe T will be there until the end of their miserable season.
Matsuzaka is still in the running for the Cy Young, but will need a strong, almost flawless second half, in order to beat out teammate Josh Beckett, Dan Haren or Jeremy Bonderman. Big Papi will have to hit a few walk offs to garner any consideration for MVP; it looks more like A-Rod or Ordonez.
National League:
East: Mets
Central: Cubs
West: Dodgers
Wild Card: Diamond Backs
The Mets are eking it out over Atlanta. The Dodgers are in a dogfight with the pitching rich Padres with Arizona right there for the Wild Card. Chicago has been my biggest bust, but is still only 4 1/2 games behind the surprise of the year Brewers for the NL Central crown. LaRussa hasn't been fired or in rehab (yet), but as I predicted the Cards are dead in the water.
Zambrano is not having a bad season, but will not win the Cy Young unless Peavy, Penny and Sheets shit the bed. Soriano will not win the MVP, period. I like Chase Utley and Prince Fielder, but Matt Holiday should win it if he can keep up the torrid pace he set in the first half.
I will stand by my picks. You can't change your cards in the middle of a hand, so the only way to judge my picks is to add them up in October. If I had to grade my picks I'd give myself a B+, but I have an over inflated ego so they are probably really only a B.
I still think the Red Sox will be having a parade in late October.
Go Sox!!
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