My Sunday Feeling

My friend Gwen died last week. She had a stroke about 3 weeks ago. After rallying briefly she went into a tailspin. They out her in the Critical Intensive Care Unit. She never came out.

I'm guessing that she was maybe all of 45. That's too young. Too young.

Gwen suffered from poor health for most of the time that I knew her. She had lupus which kept her physically exhausted and prevented her from engaging in much exercise. Maybe the disease kept her from having that 5th gear she needed to pull through. Maybe not. It didn't help matters any I can tell you that.

Naturally, as seems typical of untimely deaths, she was a kind and gentle person who gave of herself to people and causes. She was an Assistant United States Attorney, she was active in the Bar, and the Junior League. She was on the Board of the local chapter of the National Conference of Christians and Jews (as it was known then) and she served as President of the Board of Women and Children First.

Indeed, knowing of my utter and complete disdain for the Holiday season, she delighted in pestering me without ceasing with invitations to the goddamn Junior League's Holiday House. She issued these spurious invitations on a yearly basis, sometimes enlisting our mutual friend Jana to double team me, knowing full well that I would not be caught dead there on a bet.

"Oh come onnnnnnnnnnn," Gwen would mew. "You'ld dooooo it for meeeeeeee, wouldn't you?"

No. I would not do it for her. I would take a bullet for her. But I wouldn't go to Holiday House. I got principles. They may be screwy ones. But I got 'em. And it amused her to no end to punch my buttons about 'em.

I know that we all gotta go. Our days are numbered as are the hairs on our head. Which in my case means I had better call Reubel Funeral Home and pre-plan my sendoff. As I grow older I have become more conversant with the inevitable. My own remaining parent died last December. I attend the funerals of parents of friends on what seems to be a frequent basis. An aunt died a year and a half ago. A friend almost lost his wife two or three years ago.

But there is nothing tragic about the death of an elderly person. It is the natural order of things. And why I know that none of us are guaranteed tomorrow, it seems grossly unfair when a good and useful person like Gwen is struck down before her time. A parent should never have to bury a child, as the parents of soldiers have always known. I cannot imagine such a grief. How does one go on? I cannot imagine.

When you are young you cannot fully appreciate the profundity of annihilation. I am on the flip side of 50. I go to lots of funerals now. I get it. And yet I can scarcely comprehend the fact that Gwen is gone. As in forever. Three weeks ago we were talking about golf. She was on a citizens committee for the City's Parks and Recreation Department. She wanted to know more about the municipal golf courses. She asked if she could ride in the cart with me sometime just so she could see for herself. Sure. Why not?

Two days later, her father found her on the floor.

As God is my witness I do not know why these things happen. There are a million no good sons-of-bitches walking around out there who will live to be 110. And prosper while doing it. Guys that got it coming in spades. And yet laughing chance puts a hard working God fearing woman like Gwen in the cross-hairs.

My friend Laura the Lawyer in Jackson is forsaking the noble profession of the law to be a Methodist preacher. She has sent me books on the topic of why bad things seem to happen to good people otherwise known by the theological term theodicy. I haven't read them yet. I know I should.

But I can't. I'm too pissed off. Gwen was a woman of a deep and abiding faith. And she would scold me if she were here to read this.

But I don't get it, Gwen. I just don't get it.

And I don't know what else to say.

My Sunday Feeling

When I was a callow youth in high school, I dabbled in many things. I dabbled in baseball. I dabbled in basketball. I dabbled in football. I dabbled in track and field where I dabbled, briefly, in the pole vault. My father would not allow me to dabble in golf because he could not abide the notion of a left handed golfer. In retrospect, I should have heeded his warnings about the damn game. I would be better off today.



I dabbled in literature. I actually thought I understood T.S. Eliot at 17. I dabbled in writing but, alas, I had no talent for it. I dabbled in music. I sang in assemblies. I still get shit about it. I dabbled in algebra, physics and chemistry. I dabbled in coming up for plausible explanations for my shitty grades in these disciplines.



I dabbled in booze: mainly beer and malt liquor. I dabbled in wrecking cars and nearly wrecking cars. I dabbled in sneaking out of the house at night to go running around with my buddies. It is a wonder I didn't dabble in pushing up daisies.



I dabbled in girls. Specifically, I dabbled with Terry, Cindy, Judy, Myra, Polly, Susan and a bunch of others. I wouldn't read too much into this by the way. I attempted to dabble with Lisa but being the sensible type that she remains to this day, she would have nothing to do with me. And pretty much still doesn't.



I dabbled with religion. Although I took on the Yoke of Christ at the suggestion of the Methodists, I attended services run by the Baptists, the Nazarenes, the Church of Christ, and the Disciples of Christ. There were no Presbyterians or Episcopalians in Southwest Little Rock. Indeed, the latter denomination was banned by local ordinance. So I didn't get a chance to dabble in those belief systems. And although Laura Stolzer was, and is, a Piskie who attended Trinity Cathedral downtown she wasn't too snooty about it. Laura's now in Jonesboro. They don't allow Episcopalians there either.



I dabbled in politics. I ran for Student Council and was destroyed. I gave a speech on behalf of George McGovern in civics class and was beaten up in bathroom by a hood named Dennis something. He was a hood but a socially conservative hood. He's probably doing talk radio these days.



Yes, as a young high school student I dabbled in many things. But I never dabbled in witchcraft unlike the Republican nominee for the seat in the goddamn United States Senate in Delaware.



And if this Tea Party madness gains further ascendancy in national politics, I may dabble in taking the New Zealand bar exam.



Where I intend to move.

My "Got Too Much To Do" Feeling

Between the day job, duties to tend to at Women and Children First and the beginning of the new Miracle League season I ain't had no time for bloggery this week. So there won't be the usual offering tomorrow.

Go Vanderbilt!

My Sunday Feeling

It doesn't seem possible that 9 years have elapsed since the cowardly attacks on innocents in the World Trade Center and in the Pentagon. But it has. I was at work when I first heard the news of the attack. The first word I got was that a cropduster had plowed into a building in NYC. I didn't know what the hell was going on up there but I knew that a cropduster was not likely to be involved in an incident in Manhattan.

A lot has happened in the last 9 years. 2 of my buddies went to Iraq. One went to Afghanistan. They all made it back thank God. Hurricanes Katrina and Rita devastated the Gulf Coast. A black man was elected President. The Saints won the Super Bowl. And coalition forces are leaving Iraq to pretty much continue the experiment with democracy on its own.

Where are we at after 9 years? Hard to say. Al-Queda, while still capable of spasmodic lethality, is a shadow of its former self. However, the Taliban in Afghanistan is resurgent. The government there is completely and utterly corrupt. The Taliban, for all its misogynistic brutality, is considered to possess a certain morality that the political leaders do not. Which is perverse when you consider that they murder children and medical workers. Afghanistan, as Kipling knew, is a considerably tough nut to crack.

Oh that Uncle Sam could wave a wand and completely eradicate them both from the planet. But it's complicated. And we Americans don't like complications. Especially in an election year.

These are fearful times. And fearful times produce irrational responses. As the World Trade Center rebuilds-finally-a furor ensues over the plans of an Islamic congregation to build what they refer to as a cultural center near there. This has been extravagantly referred to by some to as the "Ground Zero Mosque" and it has been the subject of virulent discourse on the Internet and talk radio.

Me? I'm conflicted. Gettysburg is hallowed ground. A commercial center that has a strip joint and a tattoo parlor in closer proximity to GZ than the proposed Islamic center is not so much. Besides, to be insulted by this is to brand all Islam as the enemy. This ignores the fact that Islamic people died in 9-11. They serve honorably in the armed forces. And Islamic employees of the Pentagon, which was also just as much attacked on 9-11 and therefore just as hallowed a patch of ground, are provided space there in which to worship.

But while it would be wrong to tar all of Islam with the same brush I can't help but think that the leaders behind this project have developed a tin ear when it comes to concerns expressed by representatives of some of the families of people that perished in the attack. While the presence of a mosque in the vicinity would not offend me in the slightest, I did not lose a wife or brother there. Surely, people of good will can come to some compromise based on a mutual understanding of common desires and concerns.

I would hope that, if anything, the last 9 years have taught us that 1.5 billion adherents to Islam do not walk in lockstep and that the Taliban is no more to that faith than Terry Jones is to Christianity.

The world is a complicated place. I'm not so sure we have learned that lesson in 9 years.

Credit Where Credit Is Due

It seems like the entire sane world has condemned Florida Pastor Terry Jones and his plan to torch Korans in order to commemorate 9-11. Calls for the good Pastor to stay his Bic Butane came from the President, the Secretaries of Defense and State and General Petraeus who felt that this action on his part would inflame the Muslim world.

But of all the statements issued by the politicians of this country, the one that hit the nail on the head came from, no lie, Sarah Palin who said, " Book burning is antithetical to American ideals. People have a constitutional right to burn a Koran if they want to, but doing so is insensitive and an unnecessary provocation."

An unnecessary provocation. Perfect.

But I have a question for the hot blooded Muslims that promised to take to the streets, who issued death threats against Pastor Jones and vowed to bring "death to America" if Jones went through with his plan. I would hate to be so insecure in my faith that I could be threatened by some jackleg preacher in Florida who presides over a congregation of FIFTY PEOPLE! OK. So that's not a question. But you get my drift.

But wait! There's more. The good people at The Smoking Gun have gotten hold of the Dove World Outreach Center's Academy Rulebook which you can view on the jump: http://www.thesmokinggun.com/documents/bizarre/koran-burner-creepier-you-think

I ask these same "death-to-America-types" what makes them think that a loon like Jones represents mainstream America or Western Culture even? He was a nobody until the Internet sent his scruffy visage around the globe. And he will be a nobody when this blows over.

Jones has agreed not to torch any Korans because he says the folks in New York have agreed to move the so-called "Ground Zero Mosque." We may not be completely out of the woods yet because this "agreement" comes as a complete surprise to the Muslim leaders up there.

Launching Hellfire missiles at a terrorist training camp is a necessary provocation. Some white trash preacher proclaiming that Jesus would burn Korans is an unnecessary one.

Good for you, Governor Palin.

My Labor Day Feeling

There has been all kinds of back and forth on the Internet concerning the much ballyhooed "Restore Honor" rally put on by Fox TV commentator Glenn Beck. And I have read a lot of it seeing as how I have been too sick to do much of anything else since last Friday.

One of the more thoughtful observations that is making the rounds is an essay written by a Jesuit priest named James Martin in which he discusses Beck's accusation that President Obama subscribes to "liberation theology" which makes him automatically a "Marxist." You can read Father Martin's essay at the jump:http://www.huffingtonpost.com/rev-james-martin-sj/glenn-beck-vs-christ-the-_b_698359.html

I enjoyed the essay for no other reason that it caused my mind to go back to my happy days as an undergrad back at that known laboratory of Communism Hendrix College in which we discussed "liberation theology" and other schools of thought in Dr. Christie's classes. I was pleasantly surprised at how much of this stuff I had actually retained.

The Catholics refer to the "preferential option for the poor." The Methodists don't put it exactly that way but this is just semantics. Where the Catholics and the Methodists are on the same page is that we are both "do-gooders." Whether that comes from a theology of social justice or just the right thing to do misses the point. Marxist it is not.

But I think all of this hand-wringing over this "Restore Honor" foolishness misses the point as well. Beck is a cipher. A product of his time just as Father Coughlin and Gerald L.K. Smith were products of their's.

Neither Father Martin nor myself know whether President Obama knows the first damn thing about "liberation theology." Neither does Beck. What Beck does know is that calling Mr. Obama a racist cost him advertisers. So he'll just call him something else that is equally unprovable.

But I do know this: Beck believes that God has called him to lead America "back" to it's lost values. OK fine.

Look around you. Poverty abounds. The Earth has recently been plagued by disasters both natural and man-made. The nursing homes are filled with lonely people left to die by their lonesome in some cases. Good people are visited with lousy breaks. You get my point.

And yet God decides to make a cameo appearance in human history for the limited purpose of anointing the likes of Glenn Beck as His official spokesman and catalyst for America's revival?

Do you Tea Party types actually believe such piffle?

Enjoy your Labor Day.

My Sunday Feeling

13 guys.



That's how many players Arkansas native Butch Davis and the North Carolina Tar Heels left behind when they boarded the plane for Atlanta Friday to face the LSU Tigers.

13 guys.

The trouble started with questions about whether a couple of players violated the "extra benefit" rule when they allowed a former player to purchase tickets for them to travel to California-I think it was California- to work out with him at a gym out there. Then it turned out that the gym was owned by the former player's agent. Who is close to assistant football coach John Blake. And once the dots got connected red flags were seen whistling up the flag poles all over Chapel Hill.



The problem with any sort of investigation, at least from the perspective of the investigees, is that once suspicious types start digging around Lord knows what is going to unearthed.



Here, what got kicked up is that a number of Tar Heel players are suspected of having a tutor perform school work for them. Even more interesting is that supposedly the same tutor was retained by Davis to work with his own kids. This led to 13 guys being suspended until the NCAA and UNC sorts all of this out.



13 guys.



Davis says he didn't know anything about the allegedly illegal work the tutor was doing with the players. And I suppose this is possible although it certainly looks as fishy as all get out especially when you consider the apparent fact that the tutor in question supposedly worked with Butch's children in his own house. I would be more inclined to believe him if there were only one or two guys involved. The tutor? She hasn't said a word. According to my buddy out there, her name hasn't been disclosed yet.



But it's not just one ot two guys. It's 13 guys. How can that many people be involved and somebody in charge not know something?



The hell of it is that Butch Davis has a reputation for being squeaky clean. Or had. After all, he was hired by the University of Miami specifically to shut down the party at the U. Which he did. Now this.

It is a good thing for Davis that folks in North Carolina don't care much about the oblong spheroid. Football is just a diversion until hoops season begins. But I predict he won't survive all of this because North Carolina is a real school. With academic integrity and everything. A scandal involving what appears to be academic fraud on a systemic basis in the athletic department undoubtedly is not amusing to the President Tar Heel.

Because 13 guys is a lot of guys screwing around for nobody to know about. I bet that folks in Norman and Auburn are even aghast.

13 guys. I mean, really!

My Sunday Feeling

Tens of thousands of thousands of people descended upon Washington DC yesterday to attend the "Restore Honor" rally hosted by conservative talk show host Glenn Beck. The rally was held at the Lincoln Memorial precisely 47 years to the day that Martin Luther King Jr. gave his "I Have A Dream" speech there which has been described by that known security risk the late William F. Buckley Jr. as one of the greatest speeches in American history.

Of course, the notion of a horde of (mostly) white Tea Party types descending upon the Lincoln Memorial on this of all days resulted in predictable furor in certain predictable corners. Beck claims not to have known the historical significance of all of this when the date was selected. While this statement has the ring of truth given the man's negotiable grasp of historical facts, I don't believe it. This is because Glenn Beck just makes stuff up on a frequent basis. I believe he knew exactly what he was doing when he picked the date. The Tea Partiers agenda of a restoration of government to what the Founding Fathers intended, the reduction or elimination of many social programs funded by the government and the apocalyptic language and imagery employed by them is considered to be racist albeit in a subtle way by many people . What better way to try to blunt that perception by holding a peaceful rally at the same place and time that the great martyr of the Civil Rights movement rendered his poetry? Brilliant.

But you know what? I don't care if Beck had his rally yesterday. I do not believe that Dr. King meant for his message of non-violent confrontation and equality for all to be the special province of black folks. Especially not grifters and charlatans like Al Sharpton, Jesse Jackson and certain members of the King family itself. Neither would he have probably have been comfortable with a loon like Beck taking up his mantle either. But what the heck. Beck got the permit to have his show from the Department of the Interior quicker than Al did. Maybe next year they won't be asleep at the switch.

Back to the show. At the rally, Beck called for spiritual rebirth across the land. He said that when the rally was planned he intended it to be political in nature.

"And then I kind of feel like God dropped a giant sandbag on my head," he said.

Oh if it were only true. Beck then went on to say that he felt his role henceforth is to wake the country to the need for America to "turn back to God."

Please.

This kind of discourse works with a certain strata for a couple of reasons. One, it is safe. Two, whether America has turned away from God and needs to go running back are both empirically unprovable. Indeed, if one were to take a walk in my neighborhood, a neighborhood that is widely perceived as one of the more consistently liberal places to hang out in the city, one could see 6 churches. Wait. I forgot the Anglicans. My bad. Make that 7. That's within a two mile radius. God seems to be well represented by the Vatican and numerous of its schismatics here in the People's Republic of Hillcrest.

And when did America "turn away from God?" When the electorate, many of them undoubtedly perceiving themselves to be believers in some kind of Prime Mover, pulled the lever for Barack Obama? Is that when it happened? Please. The fair and square election of Obama represented a cloud upon the land?

This is crazy talk.

And to what God is Beck calling for a "return" to? Beck is a Mormon. I don't want to be a Mormon. Would the monotheistic God of the Jews qualify? Probably not. The God of the televangelists? Warmer most likely. I don't like him either. How about Allah?

You must be kidding.

No, the God Beck is referring to is the one that presided over an America where gay folks didn't have rights, minorities were neither ascendant nor mouthy about it, and we didn't have somebody in the White House with an Arabic name.

I prefer the great social worker in the sky God of the Methodists to that other deity being invoked. And Glen Beck and his acolytes need to take a look at the 6th Amendment to the Constitution. The same Constitution written by the Founding Fathers which he quotes with approval when it suits his purpose.

That's the Amendment that says that "no religious Test shall ever be required as a Qualification to any Office or public Trust under the United States."

But maybe they can work on getting that one repealed after they get tired of trying to repeal the 14th.

Vox Populi: Some White Punk Talking On A Cell Phone At The Bus Stop

He was sitting on the bench by the Eastbound bus stop on Kavanaugh. Young kid. Maybe 22. He had numerous piercings in his head and the sleeveless t-shirt he was rocking showed off all of his ink. He was wearing baggy cargo shorts and tennis shoes. He was smoking and talking at the same time as I approached him.

WP: Duuuuuude! There's a reason I sound good! Gonna score with two fiiiiiiiiine bitches tonight!

Pause to take a deep drag on cigarette. Nodding head. After collecting what passes for his thoughts our hero spoke again.

WP: Met a girl on the bus. Sweet little thing named Chantellllllllllllllle. Goes to Pulaski Tech. She gave me her number. Says she has time for me tonight. Well, duuuuuuude I sho'nuf got me some time for her. Sweeeet!

Chantelle, I doubt that you are reading this tonight. But you never know. I once got an e-mail from an exotic dancer who performed at on of our local strip joints. She said she liked the blog. She invited me to come out to see her some night. Told me she would let me talk to her without buying her a drink. I didn't take her up on it as I don't trust a stripper who doesn't drink.

Looking back I should have accepted the invitation if for no other reason than journalistic curiosity. Alas, she left the performing arts to take a job with the Department of Social Services in a State somewhere out West.

We do not make these things up.

And so Chantelle, if on the outside chance you are reading this tonight, you can do better than this idiot.

Check caller ID tonight. Really. Stick to the books.

You are not the only one.

My Sunday Feeling

To the surprise of absolutely nobody, former All-Star Pitcher Roger Clemens was indicted by a Grand Jury in the District of Columbia last week stemming from his testimony before Congress concerning allegations that he had used human growth hormone-HGH-and steroids. The congressional committee before whom he testified was investigating the extent of steroid use in baseball. Clemens was indicted for perjury, obstruction of Congress and making false statements. In his testimony before Congress, Clemens vociferously denied that he had ever used steroids or HGH.

I hope there is a letter in his lawyers' file documenting the fact that they advised their client to take the 5th. Because Clemens talked himself into a world of trouble on that day. A brief recitation of the history is in order.

Strength coach and sleazebag Brian McNamee said he injected Clemons with steroids and HGH while he was with the New York Yankees. Former Yankee and Astros teammate and former friend Andy Petitte testified in a deposition that McNamee gave him HGH which he used while rehabbing from an injury. Petitte has also testified that Clemens told him that he used HGH. When confronted by that latter point in his testimony, Clemens made the now famous statement that Petitte must have "misremembered" the conversation when giving his testimony.

According to both the New York Times and the Washington Post, McNamee turned over to the Feds cotton swabs and needles from which Clemens's DNA was extracted. And who knows what else they presented to the Grand Jury? We won't know until the trial because Grand Jury proceedings are secret.

I'm not exactly Mister Trial Lawyer around here but I think Clemens has a real problem. The best thing he has going for him is that the Feds may have trouble getting the swabs and needles into evidence because they may not be able to establish a chain of custody from McNamee to law enforcement. Secondly, it is doubtful that the physical evidence was stored by McNamee in such a manner as to adequately preserve the DNA in his custody. And you can bet that Clemens will have an expert that will testify to this effect.

Bt they may not need the physical evidence. The testimony of Petitte will kill Clemens. That and his own big mouth. You may ask if Petitte's testimony is hearsay and if so how is it admissible? You are correct that the statement "Roger told me he used HGH" is hearsay. But it can be used to rebut a prior inconsistent statement. Such as the numerous times Clemens testified under oath that he had not.

Secondly, and this is where Clemens' big mouth once again gets him into trouble, Clemens admitted that McNamee gave him injections when he was with both the Blue Jays and the Yankees. Only he testified that they were B-12 injections. The problem with that testimony, according to the indictment, is that it is the policy of both the Yankees and the Blue Jays organizations to only allow physicians to administer B-12 injections. When the B-12 is not in use it is locked up and training personnel do not have access to it.

Finally, rumor has it that Clemens foolishly complained of soreness in the injection sites to Yankees medical personnel who x-rayed the glute. They found that the problems with the sites were consistent with steroid injections. Not B-12. Undoubtedly this will come out in Court as well.

Rusty Hardin, one of Clemens's lawyers, suggested in an interview the other day that it is premature to assign a lot of weigh to the testimony against his client. Rocket continues to maintain both his innocence and that he didn't use steroids. "Isn't that evidence that he didn't do it?" Mr. Hardin asked rhetorically.

Of course it is. But the only way they get it in is to put Clemens on the stand. And they don't want to do that.

Even at that, from what I can see there's more evidence that he did use steroids and HGH than there is that he didn't. Somebody needs to inject Clemens with something that will reduce his hubris because he needs to cut a deal.

Because being self-delusional does not translate into provable facts.

Eat Pray Make Stuff Up

I guess I've been doing this blog thing for about 5 years or so. I do it mainly as a hobby. As cheap psychotherapy. It gets read, much to my considerable surprise, and there are folks who tell me that they especially look forward to my recurring Sunday post. Lord knows that I have my critics too and I hear from them every now and again. I generally do not respond because, random occasional nut aside, must folks wouldn't write if they didn't care.

But the responses have mostly been positive and folks have told me that they especially like the recurrent Sunday post I have put out for years on this page. And so I try to be careful to put out a thoughtful product even when I am writing about sports or about some humorous topic. I do that because that is my nature and also because it is easy to forget out here on the blogosphere where there are no editors except yourself that people do read this stuff. It's easy to get sloppy out here on the Internets. I know. I've been guilty of it myself.

A good example of this was contained in a post on a blog called Moxie Life up in Eureka Springs in response to a review of the movie Eat Pray Love by Arkansas Democrat-Gazette movie reviewer Philip Martin. Phil-Full disclosure time! He's one of my best friends!-pretty much panned it. This resulted in a scathing post on Moxie Love entitled "Philip Martin I Double Dare You" in which the proprietor of the blog wrote an exceedingly and unnecessarily personal response to the review. This resulted in Phil responding to both the dare and her response to his comment which resulted in another salvo from Phil. If this sounds more than a little silly that's only because it is. In any event, you can read the whole catfight on the jump: http://goodwolve.blogs.com/moxielife/2010/08/philip-martin-i-double-dare-you.html#tp .

What seems to have particularly hacked Phil off, and what he reprinted in his "Critical Mass" column in today's paper was the following characterization of him as " a narcissistic, petty, whining, bitter and biting writer who fuels his regret at not having realized his own dreams as a writer or would-be filmmaker into his reviews. Everything about him makes me crazy;he complains about watching movies, going to festivals, waxes on about his scotch and cigars and is-in my mind-an SOB."

I can't say that I blame him at being pissed off. It is bad enough when somebody that knows you well believes that "you fuel your regret at not having realized his own dreams as a writer" and tells the world. It's even worse when somebody that doesn't know you does it. It is one thing to think a person is a "narcissistic...writer." That's fair enough. That's an opinion drawn however fairly or unfairly from the body of work. But it is unfair to say that his movie reviews are informed by his "regrets" when you don't know him, have never heard him say or write such a thing or never heard anybody else say or write such a thing about him.

Because, as the old saying goes, you are entitled to your own opinion. You are not entitled to your own facts. Which brings me to the Scotch and cigars. Philip Martin and I have spent countless evenings together during which spirituous refreshment was partaken. I have never seen him drink Scotch. Backed when I smoked cigars I used to offered him cigars out on the golf course. He never took me up on it. Never seen him use any tobacco product for that matter. He's written about Scotch in his "Drinkies" column. Maybe he's written about cigars but I don't recall it if he has.

My point is that I believe the blogger's desire to infuse Phil's review of Eat Pray Love with the aesthetic of a bourgeois male chauvinist led her to MAKE SOMETHING UP. You notice that I said that I believe this. I do not know this for a fact but it seems that way to me. I say this not because I think the woman's a liar. Jacqueline seems to be an otherwise interesting and nice person who has sense enough to have a daughter at my Alma Mater. Which makes her OK with me. That and because I think Jacqueline is a pretty name. But maybe these "facts" about the "SOB" became "true" for her in the way that urban legends are "true" to those that pass them around despite the fact that they are factually incorrect. After all, Obama's a Muslim who wasn't born here and somewhere an illegal immigrant is taking your cousin's job away from him.

In today's column Phil refers to such references as "obliterating gestures" which are the province of bullies. Or maybe French bullies. I'm not sure. Being the bourgeois male chauvinist former cigar smoker that I am, I refer to it simply as getting sloppy. Which happens all the time out here in the blogosphere.

This latest contretemps proves little except for one thing. People read this stuff. And you never know who might be reading.

It is best not to get all caught up in one's deathless prose. Mother always said to let that letter written in anger cool off for a day before sending it. Mother's advice applies with equal force to blogging.

We would all be better off to read our stuff with a critical eye before hitting the "publish" button. Because you never know who might be reading.

Vox Populi: The Security Point in the Federal Building

The are security points at the public entrance of most government buildings. Just like at the airport, you have to go through a scanner while the guards question you about your clothing or any metal objects you may have in your possession. So it was this morning as I walked past except that I heard the following exchange between a security guard and a gentleman about to be scanned.

Guard: Please remove your belt, your watch, and place keys and wallet in the basket.

Visitor: I got a bullet in my ass.

Guard: I'm sorry?

Visitor: I got a bullet in my ass. It may set the machine off.

Guard: I guess there's a first time for everything. Thanks for telling me. Come on through.

Didn't stay long enough to see whether he got through without use of the wand or not.

My Sunday Feeling

I know that the grief in the literary world will be palpable at this news but I will not be blogging this weekend due to family obligations. Will return soon.

You have been warned. Talk among yourselves in the meantime.

My Sunday Feeling

The demure and coquettish blond whose image graces this post is Karen Sypher. She has appeared in these chronicles before along with Louisville Cardinals head basketball coach Rick Petino whose pic has been inset close to Karen's long legs. Sypher just got convicted by a Federal jury of extorting Pitino, tampering with a witness and lying to the FBI. She could catch @ 25 years for her trouble but as a first time offender who didn't commit a violent crime she will undoubtedly catch much less.

Pitino used to be discussed in these pages solely in the context of sports. Now he will forevermore be linked to Sypher due to certain ill advised activity he undertook with her with his pants off. A brief retelling of the story is in order.

Our hero was in an Italian restaurant having drinks with associates late one night when he was approached by Sypher. She wanted him to say 'hello" to her son on her cell phone. He gave her some tickets. OK. Fine. This kind of stuff happens all the time with celebrities of all stripes. Here's where things get murky. Associates leave. Petino and Sypher have some drinks. It's late. Owner of restaurant tells Petino he can let himself out.

This has happened to you before right? Last call, folks. I'm leaving.

Anyway, Petino and Sypher do the Big Nasty on the floor of the joint. And they say romance is dead. Here's where things start to go downhill mighty fast for the leader of young men. A month or so later Sypher tells Petino she's pregnant. Needs 3 grand. He says it's for medical insurance. She says it's for an abortion. And thus begins the extortionate behavior that Karen Sypher ramped up in earnest some 5 years later.

Sypher claims she was raped that fateful night in the restaurant, a claim that the Louisville cops discard out-of-hand.. She begins demanding millions in hush money. She wants college tuition for her kids. She wants her car paid off. A lawyer she is screwing around with sends a demand letter. Like an idiot.

When Sypher's mother calls one night wondering where the money is, Petino decides this can't be brushed under the rug any longer and he and his lawyer make an appointment with the FBI. And thus begins the criminal investigation that ends with the former model looking at a stretch in prison and Rick Petrino being forever branded a fool.

I have long had a theory about this kind of trouble. I think men who have been married for many years lose the innate capacity to know crazy when they see it. I am happy to say that my crazy radar is pretty good at this stage in my life although I confess that it was faulty to non-existent in my younger years. My life is boring in th extreme nowadays. Boring is good.

The down side to crazy is a lot more down than the up side is up when a gentleman reaches a certain age and station in life. In Rick's case, while he has a considerable reputation for being a classless dick, it was believed he always kept it in his pants. Now this. He had to confess to his wife. He had to confess to his church that he may have, albeit unwittingly, facilitated an abortion. He instantly became the butt of jokes throughout the sport of basketball. A guy like Pitino can stand being despised. Being laughed at has got to hurt.

And as if it were not bad enough to be forever linked in the public record with the likes of Karen Sypher because of a moment's indiscretion, his testimony about the incident will be forever writ large upon history's immortal scroll as well.

How did it start? " She opened my pants."

Did you have sex? " Yes, briefly. About 15 seconds."

Ouch. That last one won't be chanted by the fans over in Lexington will it?

"15 seconds! 15 seconds!" I can hear it now.

Whither human dignity?

My buddy Don said, " This is the kinda bad shit that can happen when you step out on your wife."

Stepping out on your wife is bad enough. Stepping out on your wife with somebody that's smooth running crazy is even stupider. Indeed, every woman who has commented to me about her pictures on the Internet has pretty much said, " You can tell just by looking at her she's crazy." Further, the good folks at Deadspin have some pics which you can see on the link provided about which I offer no further commentary: http://deadspin.com/5602332/heres-karen-sypher-seconds-away-from-blowing-her-lawyer?skyline=true&s=i

And as Sypher's soon to be ex-husband succinctlytold the jury, "She's nuts."

Petino's lack of a crazyometer in his head cost him severely. He's not the first married man to make a mistake. And he won't be the last. His was just the rare indiscretion that they turned into a federal case.

And Sypher? She's got a sentencing date coming up. So naturally she tells the Louisville paper that she knew she would never get a fair trial in Louisville. The day after she was found guilty! That sound you heard from the East was her attorney hitting himself in the forehead with the heel of his hand. Published remarks such as these are not helpful going into the sentencing hearing as they don't exactly evidence heartfelt remorse for the conduct that got her into this fix. Which is what judges kinda want to see.


Like the man said. She's nuts. 15 seconds, huh? Way to go, Rick.

Today's Wally

Perhaps the crisp mountain air he inhaled during his Western vacation cleared his brain of the usual mangled syntax, insipid similes and tortuous logic that typically pollutes his columns. I don't know what the explanation might be. But Wally Hall's "Like It Is" sports column in the Democrat-Gazette has been surprisingly lucid this Summer. Up until today, that is, when he leveled his gaze on the Ole Miss-Jermiah Masoli controversy over in Oxford. You may recall that Masoli was the starting quaterback at Oregon who got himself kicked off the team for rules violations. He recently took advantage of a little known NCAA rule to wind up eligible to play for the Ole Miss Rebels without cooling his jets for a year as most transfers are required to do. You can read about it in last Sunday's post here in these chronicles.



Many people have been critical of Ole Miss and Head Coach Houston Nutt. Most notably Sports Illustrated's Stewart Mandel who went so far as to call Nutt a dirty coach. Here's the link:http://sportsillustrated.cnn.com/2010/writers/stewart_mandel/08/02/masoli-nutt/index.html Judge for yourself. Evidently Wally doesn't think much of the machinations Ole Miss went through to get Masoli on campus either. But in drawing a distinction between how Ole Miss handled the situation and how Arkansas MIGHT have handled it, Wally falls back on an old warhorse: MAKING STUFF UP.

"It is doubtful Nick Saban, Urban Meyer, Bobby Petrino and others would have taken Masoli." True. But none of these schools need quarterbacks. And as far as I can tell Wally didn't ask any of these guys what they might have done.

"In fact, there are schools in the SEC and across the nation that need a quarterback but didn't talk to him." There are what? 120 DI schools that play football? I'm sure that there are indeed schools that "didn't talk to him." Which proves what?

"What is almost certain is if Petrino had been interested, Jeff long would have said no. Chancellor Dave Gearhart would have backed that decision." He knows this how?

"US System President B. Alan Sugg wouldn't have had to say no because the buck would have already stopped." See above. As long as we are just making shit up why not fantasize about what the President might have done. Or wouldn't have to do and in any event did not do.

Not content with putting up straw men and knocking them down Wally closes with a completely inapt parable to illustrate why Mississippi's taking Masoli in was wrong: "If your son were grounded from watching TV and went to a friend's house and they knew TV was off-limits and they let him watch it anyway, would you be happy?"

No. But that is because the child is being disobedient while under my supervision and I care about him following my rules as long as he lives in my house. In the Masoli case, Oregon kicked him out of the house for a year. The NCAA's rules allow Masoli to enroll in graduate school elsewhere and play football immediately. The difference between the disobedient child in Wally's analogy and the facts of the Jeremiah Masoli case is that the child is my problem. Masoli is now Ole Miss's problem. He can watch all the TV Ole Miss will let him watch.

I would close by saying that Oregon could probably give a shit. Or that it is "almost certain" that it doesn't.

But that would be making stuff up.

My Sunday Feeling

If things go as planned, Jeremiah Masoli, pictured above, will trade in the hideous green and gold of the Oregon Ducks for the red and blue of the Ole Miss Rebels. As has been reported elsewhere, Masoli, who led the Ducks to the Rose Bowl last year needs a place to land after getting kicked off the team after stealing some laptops from a fraternity house and then shortly thereafter getting popped for possession of marijuana during a traffic stop.



Ole Miss, for its part, needs a quarterback after the vastly overrated Javon Snead heeded the advice of idiots and declared himself eligible for the NFL draft. Then his backup transferred. This left the Rebels exceedingly thin at the position in the murderous Southeastern Conference.



But you may ask yourself, " Self, how can Masoli be immediately eligible? Don't transfers have to sit a year?" Normally this would be the case. But if a player gets a degree and wants to go to graduate school and if the school where he was eligible to compete does not have a Masters program that he wants to pursue he may transfer and be eligible immediately. This exception is little known because how many of these "student-athletes" actually get a degree?



Well-stop the presses- Jeremiah Masoli did. And has decided to matriculate at Ole Miss where he can both play football and pursue an advanced degree in-get this-Parks and Recreation. Which amazingly enough is not offered at Oregon.



This has predictably resulted in much hand wringing and gnashing of teeth among those who view this whole scenario as the by-product of the rules getting gamed. You won't hear that from me. This is all perfectly legal under NCAA rules. You don't like it? Change the rules.



Is Houston Nutt taking a risk? Oh hell yes. Although Jeremiah Masoli didn't kill anybody, he did show exceedingly poor judgment and has a history of nickle and damn criminal stuff going back to his juvenile days in California. Who knows if he will chafe under the short leash he will undoubtedly be on? Secondly, Oxford ain't Eugene. Oxford is a pretty cool place but it is not entirely free of rednecks and some of them wear badges. Finally, should life in the Delta cramp his style Memphis is only about an hour away. Just think of all the trouble a punk like Masoli could get in over there just by standing under a streetlamp.



But I say if Houston Dale Nutt can live with the risk then bully for him. To wax indignantly over whether Masoli's sudden presence in the Magnolia State is right or wrong is to indulge in the pristine assumption that Division I athletics is not a business that is connected solely to the higher academic mission of its Member Institutions by geography. Which is ludicrous. As Nutt told the Northeast Mississippi Daily Journal, he was more concerned "about the criticism I might receive if something happens and I don't have a QB to finish the year."



That's the bottom line. Bidness is bidness. You can't fault Hootendale's honesty. Or what passes for it.

My Sunday Feeling

It all started about a month ago when I woke up around 2:30 in the morning with a terrible pain in my hip and thigh. I had given myself a pretty good hematoma the week before in court of all places when I ran into the corner of counsel table when coming back from a recess. I am graceful like that.

Anyway, I wore a thigh wrap to play with the Miracle League kids the Saturday after Court and didn't think that it was anything more than a charleyhorse. A couple of days later at 2:30 I knew that whatever it was, it wasn't a charleyhorse.


The first trip to the orthopedist was inconclusive. X-rays revealed "the hip of a young man" with no arthritic changes noted. Which surprised both Dr. Peeples and I. He diagnosed the buzz in my leg as a hip strain, gave me an anti-inflammatory medication and told me to lay low and come back in a week. I came back in a week. The pain was worse. Unbearable really. He brought out the rubber mallet. He hit my right foot. No reflexes.

He looked up at me over his glasses. "Not good," he said.

He ordered an MRI. He gave me Vicodin for the pain so I could sleep. Told me to reeeeeaaaallllly lay low and this time he meant it.

Between the time of that visit and the MRI, the pain got better. In fact, I started walking pretty freely. The problem was I started falling. The first time was when I was out walking ( Doc said I could walk) and United States District Judge Leon Holmes (of all people) slowed his truck down to let me cross Kavanaugh. When I started to jog across the leg went out from under me. I somehow stayed upright. I was not so lucky the night of the 4th of July. I fell twice out on my deck. The leg just crumpled out of the blue both times. It was scary.

Peeples had suggested that I get a cane until I got better. Guess that was why.


I suppose that, all in all, I have led something of a charmed life when it comes to major health issues. Granted, I have worked hard at staying in shape over the years. But apart from my allergies and asthma I really don't have any chronic condition. I do not take my generally healthy life for granted. I have lost friends to cancer, AIDS and automobile accidents. I watched Parkinson's take my mother and a stroke hobble her brother.

I cough and sneeze. Poor me.

Not being able to stand upright gets your attention though. That's a marker. And I'm too young for this.

Once again, I got lucky. Though the MRI revealed degenerative disk disease in the lumbar spine, there are no blown disks. Dr. Peeples said a disk fragment had pinched a nerve. He said "had" because my pain is better and the strength in my leg is returning. The reflexes are back. So he suspects that the fragment has been reabsorbed in my body. Treatment plan? Do nothing.

Here is what I can do: I can play golf as long as I don't carry a bag. I can walk and I can ride a bike. I can start working with a trainer again in 2 weeks.

Here is what I can't do: Run, play soccer or rugby. Soccer or rugby? Ok. I can give those up.

In other words, I am officially at a stage in life where I am officially no longer a kid and my activities are to be governed by the concept of "using good sense" instead of "pretending I'm still 30." The doctor said my motto from here on out will be "Don't push it."

I can do that. Falling down is scary. Chronic pain is miserable. And I was just visited briefly by both. I cannot imagine trying to live with severe back trouble as so many people do. Cannot imagine.

I am a lucky, lucky man. And I do not take it for granted.


I have a bad back. I can't push it anymore. But I gotta tell ya, giving up rugby is gonna be tough.

An Extreme Example Of Why Some People Should Really Do A Better Job Of Risk Calculation

This modest and seemly gentleman is former Little Rock area resident Dale Miller, known around these parts as "Skirtman" due to his penchant for cross-dressing. Which ain't exactly the sort of thing exactly sees a lot of around here.

I once saw Dale in all his glory at a restaurant a couple of years ago. About all that I remember was that he was in a skirt and had "deely boppers" on top of his head. Any self respecting drag queen would have fainted in his presence. Wait. I also remember that my excellent and feisty friend Lynne was with me that night. She was aghast at the fact that Dale's shoes didn't match his handbag. Or so she said. Anyway, she was going to confront him but relented when I offered to buy her another glass of wine if she would just shut up.

Anyway, you might have noticed that I referred to Dale as a former resident. That's because yesterday he caught 2 consecutive 10 year terms in the state pen for having child porno on his computer. This was discovered pursuant to a search warrant issued in connection with an investigation of his communications over the Internet with a 16 year old girl that was found by law enforcement over at his house out in Roland. The fact that he answered the door in a bathrobe when the cops knocked on the door didn't put him in the best light in the eyes of the law.

And so we bid farewell to Skirtman. At least until he makes parole. It is my understanding that sex offenders don't fare so well in a prison environment. I think this would go double for a sex offender who liked to wear pumps.

Good luck Dale. You will need it.

You Just Can't Make This Stuff Up

This is our new Miss Arkansas a couple of years ago. This is the same act she performed during the "talent" portion of the competition.

I have momentarily lost the power of speech.

My Sunday Feeling

The pinched nerve that caused all of the pain in my hip and thigh has subsided nicely. But the right leg is still weaker than the left one and about all the orthopedist will let me do is walk until we look at the MRI next week. So, I have been mixing in the treadmill at the gym (still way too boring even with a TV monitor) and walking outdoors. I also hit irons and wedges under the watchful eyes of a pro last week. So far so good. I haven't fallen down since the 4th of July. Progress.

I was trudging West on Kavanaugh when I heard "Hey Mister!" There was a little boy about 9 years old standing on the sidewalk beside the Brazilian restaurant. At first, I thought he was my Godson with his bleached out summer hair and tanned arms and legs. But my Godson wouldn't address me as "Mister" and upon focusing in I realized that I had never seen this kid before. He motioned for me to come over. I thought that perhaps he was lost or something. So I went over. As I got closer I noticed he was holding a book that he had evidently checked out of the Public Library called "Reading Body Language."

" What me to read your life line?" he asked.

" Do what?"

" Your life line. I could read it for you."

" No thanks."

" Wait!" he said as he flipped quickly through the book. " The way you're standing. There's a picture in the book."

In my rare dealings with young people I firmly believe that an idea is innocent until proven guilty. So I put up with this nonsense while trying to maintain a straight face.

" Here," he said. " Look. Hands on hips with arms akimbo. Means you are trying to assert authority. It also means you have issues."

The latter sentence was delivered with all of the gravity of a terminal diagnosis. I about wet my pants.

"Of course I have issues. And so do you. But I think a better explanation for my body language is that whenever a person I don't know confronts me on the street I tend to give off a very confrontational body posture. You seem to be a nice enough kid but quite frankly this is a very bizarre conversation, Son."

I shifted my weight.

" Whoa! There's a picture what you just did." Back to the book.

" When you put your hand behind your back? It means you are indecisive."

" No it doesn't. It means I needed to scratch an itch."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really." Freud's statement that sometimes a cigar is only a cigar came to mind but I chose to let it pass.

" Look," I said. " I'm glad that you are having fun with your book. But it takes a lot of experience and context to be able to read tells. You can't just do it out of a book for the first time and do it right."

"Tells?"

"Law enforcement term for reading body language. Took it from poker. A person's body language is used to assess whether he is telling the truth. So they call body language 'tells.' "

"Cool."

" I have a friend who is an FBI agent. She told me that a tell they look for when interviewing a subject is that people who tend to gaze upward and to the right while talking tend to be lying. I do that all the time. I'm not a liar. At least I don't think I have that reputation in the community. The point I'm trying to make is that being able to read body language takes a lot of training and experience and can't be learned in a few days out of a book."

"Wait," he said as began thumbing through the book again. " Arms akimbo again. You know what that means."

So much for this being a teachable moment. He was fixated.

" I know. I have issues. See ya later buddy. Have fun with your book."

And with that I limped on back home.

I never caught the boy's name. I wondered if he stayed outside to bug folks while his parents were eating in the restaurant. More likely he lives in the neighborhood and got thrown out of his house after driving his Mother crazy with his observations about her body language. So he decided to branch out and to use the parking lot of Bossa Nova as his own personal amateur crime lab.

Which is what is so great about kids. I wonder what got him sufficiently interested in body language to make him want to check out a book on the subject? And precocious sort that he obviously was he just as obviously saw nothing remotely off-putting about sharing his insights into the subject with an absolute stranger. Good thing for him I have a highly developed sense of the absurd. That and as far as I am concerned any kid's idea is innocent until proven otherwise.

But what the hell do I know? I got issues.

Vox Populi: The Option From Hell

I was standing in line behind a young couple as we all waited to give our order to the counterman at a restaurant in the River Market. I noticed that the young man seemed to be studying the menu with great intensity. Eventually his partner turned to him.

"You know," she said. " Couples counseling might be an option."

I turned on my heel and left at the mere mention of the two words most men dread to hear.

Good luck buddy. I hope you enjoyed your lunch.

Together For Eternity

Hopefully in a saloon in Hell that is perpetually out of booze.

My Sunday Feeling

In one way, Thursday night's infomercial on ESPN concerning where LeBron was going to sign was good for me. Until that night I thought that I had lost the capacity to be amazed.

After all, there's some important stuff going on in the world. We are embroiled in a shooting war in the Middle East. There's a goddamn hole in the Gulf of Mexico that has been spewing oil for two months. The economy is tanking. Again. A search is on for a little boy in Oregon. A big vote is coming up in Congress on bank regulation. Elections in November.

Big stuff.

And yet in the midst of all of this important stuff roiling about us, ESPN decided to devote an hour's worth of programming in prime time so an anxious nation could watch LeBron tell his home state of Ohio to go screw itself. Or as he modestly put it " I'm taking my talents to South Beach" and the Miami Heat.

The Accord at Appomattox received far less hype than this exercise in egomania. And of course, I watched.

The Chosen One feigned concern for the loyal fans back in Cleveland. He vowed to always maintain a home there.

Don't cry for me Parma.


Of course, this is all bullshit. Who can blame him for wanting to winter in Miami rather than in the Mistake by the Lake? Besides, only in the NBA could three guys ( Chris Bosh and Dwayne Wade were the other two parts of this troika) collude with one another to essentially shift the balance in the Eastern Division. At least on paper. More on that later.


And speaking of bullshit,Cavaliers owner Dan Gilbert said LeBron's leaving was "shameless" and a "betrayal." As if the Cavaliers wouldn't have gotten rid of LeBron or anybody else if they had gotten hurt or old and couldn't play anymore. It's a business. Gilbert also vowed that Cleveland would win an NBA title before the new and improved Heat would. That's rich. They couldn't get it done WITH LeBron. I'll turn Baptist if the Cleveland Cavaliers win 35 games next year. Anyway, if you want to read more of this petty bullshit hit the jump:http://www.nba.com/cavaliers/news/gilbert_letter_100708.html . Such petulance is breathtaking. But by the same token, I too would be upset if the value of my franchise took a 250 million dollar hit as of 10 PM Central time.


As for the Miami Heat, I wouldn't break out the "anointing oils" just yet, to paraphrase Bill Parcells in reference to Jessica Simpson's old boyfriend. The Heat will be good. But if history is any guide, it's a lot harder to buy a pennant in basketball than it is in baseball. Unlike baseball, basketball requires teamwork and chemistry.


When I was a little kid the Los Angeles Lakers started Jerry West, Elgin Baylor and Wilt Chamberlain. 3 guys who made it into the Hall of Fame. And they didn't win nearly as many titles as people thought they would with that all talent.



It will be real interesting to see if there are enough basketballs to go around with those three. Also, it's not like Bosh and LeBron are the greatest jump shooters who have ever played. The Celtics pretty much let James fire away with impunity during their series. I foresee many zones in their future. If opposing teams can get them into a half court game the Heat may struggle.



Finally, there is the wuss factor to consider. Noted tough guy and former Celtic Paul Silas coached the Cavaliers when LeBron entered the league. He was quoted the other night as saying that LeBron doesn't have a killer instinct. Dwayne Wade on the other hand has won one ring and tried to win another while barely being able to raise his left arm. Neither LeBron or Bosh are known for doing the dirty work champions like Wade aren't afraid to do.



LeBron is going to want to be the man for the Miami Heat. But they already have a man.



Oh and just wait until Pat Riley fires the putative coach of this bunch so he can take over and try to get another ring for himself thereby infusing another massive ego into the mix. It will happen. Trust me.



This will all be real interesting. The only prediction I am willing to make is that the Cleveland Cavaliers will NOT win a title before the Heat.



Everything else is up in the air. More so than Miami fans know.

Hold That Tiger

Former LSU star and NFL bust JaMarcus Russell got popped for possession of a controlled substance in his home in Mobile, Alabama. The substance in question was codeine syrup for which he could not produce a prescription. While it may be true that JaMarcus may have had a chest cold, the more likely explanation is the one offered by the authorities: that he, along with other pro athletes and rappers, enjoy imbibing an elixir called variously "Purple Drank" or "Sizzurp." Indeed, unlike most athletes who get nailed with drugs, JaMarcus didn't get popped after a traffic stop. According to USA Today, he got caught up in a sting operation in which his name kept popping up.



The recipe for Purple Drank was popularized by the late rapper DJ Screw and consists of codeine syrup, 7 up, antihistamines and is given its color by purple Jolly Ranchers. An Old Fashioned it is not.

By the way, betcha can't guess what killed DJ Screw. Let's put it this way. It wasn't a hunting accident.

Anyway, now I know that JaMarcus got cut by the Oakland Raiders after a spectacularly inept 2 year career. Indeed, his work habits were considered so lackadaisical that the Raiders are suing him to get back the signing bonus they paid JaMarcus. But still, he's got to have some money saved somewhere. Even a knucklehead like JaMarcus Russell can't blow through 34-40 million bucks in two years.

So my question is, if he just liked to unwind and catch a buzz now and again, why didn't he just go to a bar? Or by a six pack and chill out at home?

Why drink THAT shit?

I mean, you can get just as fucked up and blow your life and career all to hell and back without using illegal drugs. Ask Damon Evans, the former AD at Georgia, who was caught driving drunk with a young blond not his wife who just happened to have doffed her red panties prior to Evans seeing the blue lights in the rear view mirror.

And besides, Purple Drank just sounds vile. As the sickly son of a chain smoker, I took a lot of codeine cough syrup as a child. I hated it. Still do. Cannot imagine sucking that stuff back on a recreational basis.

Listen to me, JaMarcus. Next time you want to get loaded on something that tastes awful I have a 100% legal suggestion for you. Two words:

Dirty Martini.

Besides, it will get the taste of the Purple Drank out of your mouth.

You idiot.

Should We Pray for Christopher Hitchens? - Personal - The Atlantic

This is irony.


Should We Pray for Christopher Hitchens? - Personal - The Atlantic

I'm Really Quite Interested In Seeing What's Going To Happen To Him.

" The frenzy around [Tiger Woods] is hard. You guys, you gals, and he's single. He's got that issue in front of him. How do you know how he's going to react to getting married or not getting married? To having children or not having children? You don't know, he's just starting his life. All our lives changed once we got married, all our lives changed when we had children, all our lives changed every day. Spinning [ahead]-I'm really quite interested in seeing what's going to happen to him. And he's going to be-every single thing he's going to do will be right in your newspapers. It will be] under a microscope. It's a tough way to live."

Jack Nicklaus, 1997

My Sunday Feeling

There are many things in this life that I suppose I am not permitted to understand. I do not understand why a so-called benevolent God allows human suffering. I do not understand calculus. I do not understand the perennial optimism of Cub fans. And I do not understand women who throw themselves at serial killers.

Granted, it would be a fair statement to allow that my understanding of the ways of the fairer sex is imperfect at best and non-existent at worst. I have been jettisoned by women for reasons that still cause me to scratch my head during those moments, admittedly rare, that I permit myself to dwell on them.

And I guess that it would also be a fair statement to admit that we men do not have the same opportunities in this area that women do seeing as how there are very few incarcerated female serial killers out there for us to visit on Sundays. Off the top of my head I can't think of any. Mass murder is more the province of men. Women typically are too busy doing stuff to devote much time to killing folks. Besides, it's not their style. A person has to be alive to be reminded that he is a no-good, dragass, son-of-a-bitch, who is making the speaker's life miserable. Such amusing commentary is useless to the dead although they should be commended for their luck at such moments.

But stiil, I don't get it. The Menendez Brothers got married in prison as did Jeffrey Dahmer. Arkansas's most famous Goth, Damian Echols of the West Memphis Three fame is a loving husband. And now word comes out of Peru that Joran van der Sloot, widely suspected of killing two young women, one of them being Birmingham's Natalie Holloway, is getting offers of marriage from all over the place.

What a catch.

Why would anybody want to have anything to do with somebody who has been accused, much less convicted of killing somebody? Killers tend to very self centered and emotionally distant people. The kind of people most women say they don't like!!!!!!

Women also don't like men who lie. And Joran has told more stories than Raymond Carver. He's told the authorities he didn't kill poor Natalie. He told a private investigator that he did. He confessed to killing that poor girl in Peru. Then he recanted it, saying that he was "tricked." Yeah right. Even his own damn mama has washed her hands of him albeit not before she gave scores of interviews in which she discussed ad nauseum how hurtful it was to be thought of as the mother of such a universally despised scumbag. Make that universally despised by those not asking for his blood stained hand in Holy Matrimony.

Like I said I don't get this. But I'm willing to admit that maybe I've been taking the wrong approach all of these years. I'm not willing to go to prison to attract women although I would consider that before turning to Craigslist. But I will concede that maybe I have been setting the bar too high all of these years.

Maybe if I play my cards right I can catch the eye of the Octomom. Or Janet Jackson. Or Lindsay Lohan.

Joran van der Sloot is proof that there is a market for anything. There's hope for me yet.

The Final Ejection

Boston Celtics coach Doc Rivers told a Boston radio station that the highly combustible Rasheed Wallace is probably going to retire. Here is a link to the story in the Detroit Free Press:http://www.freep.com/article/20100621/SPORTS03/100621042/1320/Rasheed-Wallace-likely-to-retire

I must confess that Wallace, whom the French sportswriters referred to as "le fool mutinous," is one of my all time favorite knuckleheads. You gotta love a guy who managed to get himself thrown out of the McDonald's High School All Star game.

But fear not, NBA fans. Gilbert Arenas will be through with his suspension for carrying guns in the locker room next season. The knucklehead void created by the departure of Sheed will be capably filled by then.

Bet Nobody In The Big 12 Called Either Colorado Or Nebraska That

The French press has referred to their underachieving World Cup soccer team as "mutinous fools."

I like that. Hit the link for a collective screaming hissy fit: http://in.reuters.com/article/idINIndia-49491020100621

My Sunday Feeling

Good Morning dearly beloved! I have returned from my hiatus from blogging. I return unto you fit, tan and well rested. Well mostly. I have a strained right hip from overdoing golf and Miracle League. And I have a huge hematoma on my right thigh from accidentally banging into the corner of counsel's table in the Courthouse. The hip is better. And the good news is that x-rays revealed no arthritis which surprised both myself and the orthopedist. But damn does this thigh hurt. Ugh. The Marines say that pain is weakness leaving the body. Screw the Marines. This thing hurts.

Today is Father's Day. I typically write about Father's Day and Mother's Day as well. However, with Mother's recent passing I pretty much feel that these chapters in my novella are closed now. Buck has been dead for longer than I knew him. Which is pretty strange when you think about it. And certainly not the natural order of things. Indeed, I wouldn't have given the day the second thought but for the recent ads in print and on TV. So I celebrated by by buying Father's Day specially priced golf balls and cologne.

My first post-Mom Mother's Day was pretty uneventful. I am now discovering that this year will be an accretion of "firsts." And Mother's Day 2010 was my first without a Mother to go visit. It wasn't a bad thing. It was just a thing. I darkened the door of the Methodist church for the first time since Easter. I thought sitting with my friends was a better move than sitting alone. And so I went. And earlier this month it hit me in the middle of a 3 day trial in Federal Court that I was spending her birthday at the Courthouse.

Not a bad thing. Just a thing.

What else have I been up to? I read another short story for local radio show "Tales From The South." If you want to hear it you can get the link from the previous post here. If you don't want to hear it, fine. I have been asked to take pictures of the neighborhood that will be put up on the not-yet-actually-in-existence website that will be administered by the Hillcrest Property Owners Association. I will put that link up as soon as they give it to me. If you don't want to look at it, fine.

The little gym where I have worked out, hung around and "bs'ed" with folks closed abruptly last month. Evidently, Amy lost her ongoing dispute with her landlord concerning the noise level in the gym which caused no end of bitching from the other tenants in the building. Hey, I've been in plenty of gyms in my day. The Wellness Studio was downright monastic compared to most exercise joints. Anyway, I need to find another socially acceptable place where I can hang around women wearing scant attire. It's close to a bad thing because I liked the convenience of Wellness and I miss seeing my friends there. But it's mainly just a thing.

Like most sports fans I have found the recent machinations in the world of college football to be pretty damn interesting. I plan on writing about it more after the dust settles. But I think we may conclude that whatever Texas wants, Texas gets. And that Baylor, Kansas, Kansas State and Iowa State should thank their lucky stars that they are still in what is left of the Big Twelve and not in Conference USA or the Sunbelt. Or as one caller to the Paul Finebaum show said Friday "those little bitches are damn happy to have landed where they landed." This is true. And even though all of this backstabbing was football driven, you can bet that the basketball people in the Big Ten were telling their ADs "For God's sake do not let Kansas and Baylor join."

Another irony. Now that Colorado and Nebraska have both bolted for the PAC Ten and Big Ten respectively the Big Twelve now has ten teams and the Big Ten has 12. Maybe they could swap out.

More proof that change is inevitable: PM and I met for lunch Friday at the Town Pump. It was our first trip since it changed hands. One of the things we liked about the old Town Pump was that it was pretty much a dump. Rumor has it that it was a bookie joint at one time. I can believe that.

The new and improved Pump has a Tiki Bar outside in the back. !!!!!!!!! It now offers live entertainment at night along with karaoke. The old drunks who were practically in residence at the bar there back in the day have been replaced by attractive young women drinking tea and munching on salads. The phone in the kitchen has been silenced.

This is just not right.

I mean, it still has Sportscenter going on 4 flat screens at once. It is still dark enough inside to induce blindness when you step back out into the sunlight. And the pool table and shuffleboard are still there. They just moved them to increase the seating like a real restaurant or something.

These are not bad things. They are just things. Just an accretion of little things in this my year of "firsts."

I will keep you posted as I experience even more in the coming months.

I'm glad to be back. I've missed you.