Avoidance and Perverse Results

Have you ever noticed that nobody takes responsibility for anything anymore? Barry Bonds says that he took steroids but that he just didn't know it at the time. Gary Sheffield says he used a salve known as "clear" and took some supplements but didn't know what they were. Ken Lay and Bernie Ebbers both deny they knew the extent of the chicanery going on at Enron and MCI Worldcom. This defense didn't work real well for Ebbers as the jury found him guilty. Which has got to make Lay and his lawyers reeeeeeeal nervous about their chances when their day in court rolls around.

A variation on this theme are those folks who utilize avoidance when they don't have the discipline to moderate their behavior. We all know folks who are in 12-step programs because the cannot drink responsibly. We know people on diets who have altered their daily route to work so they don't drive by the doughnut shop. These are perfectly useful and benign approaches to making lifestyle changes. However, there are also some corporate entities who cannot trust themselves to regulate or moderate their behavior. So they they fixed the system so that they don't have to deal with the underlying problems. Which created what the law refers to as "perverse results." A couple of recent examples of this more sinister version of avoidance therapy may be found in two diverse industries: The National Basketball Association and the credit card industry.

If there is anything the NBA hates it is players declaring their eligibility for pro hoops right out of high school. So, it has proposed a league rule making 20 the minimum age for eligibility for the NBA draft. The stated reason for this is that players need time in college or junior college to mature both mentally and physically before they subject themselves to the physical and emotional rigors of an 82 game season in addition to learning to live on their own.

A lawyer friend of ours is fond of saying, " There are reasons. And then there are the real reasons." The real reasons the NBA doesn't want teenagers in the league is because the general managers of the teams in the league live in complete mortal terror of giving a wad of money and a guaranteed contract to a player that is a bust. Another reason is that the colleges act like so many unpaid farm clubs for the NBA. It would vastly prefer that players develop and mature on good old State U's dime so it doesn't have to deal with them.

So why don't they just leave it up to the individual clubs? Impractical. No club is going to refuse to draft guys out of high school as a matter of policy and let a conference rival sign the next Kevin Garnett. Why not outlaw guaranteed contracts? No other professional sports league is insane enough to offer them to their players. Yeah, right. The NBA Players Union would go full-blown batshit crazy if that one ever got floated. So why not start a minor league system like the NFL has done in Europe? Too expensive. Why not increase the scouting staffs for each club? See the preceding sentence. What's the difference between paying money to an 18 year old bust and paying money to a bust with a bachelor's degree? They don't know. Maybe it just pisses them off worse.

So rather than deal with the problem the NBA is just trying to avoid it. The perverse result is that a young man who is eligible to vote and to die for his country is not eligible to make a living at a perfectly legal occupation. There are teenagers in abundance in professional baseball and tennis. Hell, Boris Becker was a yearling boy of 17 when he won Wimbledon the first time. What so different about hoops?

For years, the credit card industry has had the red ass about people using the bankruptcy laws to discharge credit card debt. And the disdain the NBA harbors for kids who declare early is nothing like the hatred the banking lobby has for Chapter 7 of Title 11 of the United States Code. Which is the liquidation section of the Bankruptcy Code wherein a Debtor can receive a Discharge of his debts in exchange for the surrender of his non-exempt assets for liquidation to pay the secured creditors. We are sorry. Bankruptcy lawyers talk like this. Bear with us. We are translating as best as we can.

The banking lobby has long clamored for a change to the Code in order to tighten the eligibility requirements for Debtors in Chapter 7. After years of their incessant bitching the interestingly named Bankruptcy Abuse Prevention and Consumer Protection Act got through Congress and was signed into law last week by President Bush. This new law will impose a "means test" based on a formula which takes into account the Debtor's debts and his income (based on his state's median income) to determine whether he will be eligible for a 7 or whether he will be forced to file a Chapter 13 Repayment Plan.

We are all for folks paying their just debts. But the majority of Chapter 7 filers do so on the heels of personal calamity such as divorce, illness or unemployment. Why come down hard on them?

Why not make sure that an applicant is creditworthy on the front end before giving them an unsecured line of credit? Too slow. A competitor might get someone signed up. (Does this sound familiar? We wonder how many NBA executives got their start in banking.) If this is such a big crisis that is costing the industry millions why don't they contest more discharges? You kidding? You know how much money that would cost? After all, we are talking unsecured debt here.

No, it is easier to lay all of it of on the consumer, all the while making a big deal about personal responsibility in order to make it more palatable to avoid corporate responsibility.

And if that is not a sufficiently perverse result to come out of the new legislation, here's another one: The new means test for eligibility might actually encourage the unbridled use of credit cards. Here's how.

Let's say your debt-to-asset ratio is a little too robust to qualify for Chapter 7. Which is nothing to particularly be bragging about by the way. And let's say you have the usual 4 or 5 credit cards that the average American household has. Hell, run those suckers up until your financial picture is sufficiently precarious to where they can't put you in a 13! As long as you don't go on this bonanza less than 90 days before you file your Petition the debts are not considered fraudulent.

Talk about the Mother of all perverse results. Only in America. Where the real reasons that things get done don't take account of the potential for the perverse result.

Wally Hall and the Sickness Unto Death

"[T]here is here a certainty,namely,that objectively it is absurd; and thus absurdity,held fast in the passion of inwardness, is faith."
Soren Kierkegaard, Danish Philosopher

"His ( Earl Woods, the father of Tiger Woods) expectations never exceeded his imagination."
C. Wallace Hall, Sports Editor of the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette

It is often said that "Sports is a metaphor for Life." And yet rarely has this ancient bromide posed such wide philosophical implications-at least not around here- as when Wally Hall explored the dynamics of the relationship of Tiger Woods and his father in yesterday's "Like It is" column.

It is well to ponder the quality and nature of a life in which one's expectations exceed one's imagination. Perhaps such a state would produce, at worst La Nausee spoken of by Sartre or at the minimum the condition of perpetual ennui as exhibited in French intellectuals and/or teenaged girls.

Kierkegaard employed language dense and abstruse in pondering these questions. Only a master craftsman of the language like Wally Hall could bring his penetrating insight and crystalline intellect to bear on these issues while reducing same to the common and friendly parlance of the sports page in order that we common people might more easily grasp them.

And so, it is mere quibbling to suggest that the man described in Wally's piece as being the soul of probity and proportion once predicted that his son would be as important to mankind as Jesus or somesuch. It is Jesuitical hair-splitting to question whether the "Jimmy Piersall Story" is a story primarily about preseverance in the home of a cruel father (which Wally assures us Earl Woods was not) and not a troubled man's triumph over mental illness. Perhaps we are not comprehending that Wally is simply putting his own slant on Kierkegaard's interpretation of the parable of Abraham and Issac from whence the famous notion of the "leap of faith" originates. A great writer's work is often susceptible to nuanced interpretations.

No matter. Like fellow existentialists Sartre or Camus, Wally comprehends that the only valid response in the face of the absurdity of an indifferent universe is to act. In the context of the average "Like It Is" column, this translates into speculation about relationships between people he does not know and whom he did not interview. It is to make unwarranted assumptions about the motivations of men. It is , upon occasion, to just make stuff up. It is to kiss, without surcease, the ass of Frank Broyles.

Kierkegaard also said, "People understand me so poorly that they don't even understand my complaint about them not understanding me."

It is probably wrong to impose out own construct on Wally Hall's body of work. Perhaps his ouvre is the absurdity held fast in the passion of inwardness. Perhaps somewhere in his deathless prose is buried the"leap of faith" that the stuff he writes has some remote and tenuous connection to journalism.

Or like the critics of Kierkegaard maybe we just don't understand.

Jesus of Hillcrest and The Hiker from Hell

There is a crazy person in our neighborhood. Actually there are several, some of them are known to us actually, but this one is conspicuous even by the high standards for eccentricity we have laid down here in the People's Republic of Hillcrest.

This man of whom we are referring can be seen about two or three times a week running up and down Van Buren St (which is a good 40 degree angle if you don't know) bearing a large nylon backpack on his shoulders. He is always dressed in the same uniform: one of those hideous gray sweatshirts issued by the United States Army, blue shorts, white socks and white court shoes. We don't know what is in the pack: bricks, books, concrete blocks or the E.R.A of the pitching staff of the Kansas City Royals. Whatever the hell he's got in there it is always filled to the brim with something heavy. And up and down Van Buren he goes, neck veins bulging, eyes popping, muttering and cursing under his heaving breath as he makes his grim way.

He is not the first itinerant nut we have had around here. Why, just last Spring our neighborhood was graced by the cameo appearance of one of the two Jesuses who have briefly walked amongst here in the 72205 zip code in the last 10 years or so. Last year's model looked like he was fresh from an open casting call for a Mel Gibson movie. If you can use the word "fresh" to describe a guy in robes, lugging a cross on his back while adorned with thorns on his head and stage blood on his face, chest and shoulders, that is. Alas, one sharp eyed witness noticed that his cross had casters at its foot, which undoubtedly contributed greatly to ease of operation insofar as taking up one's cross goes. And this adversely impacted upon what little rapport he had hoped to gain with the rabble here in the neighborhood as this discovery turned His rendition of the Via Dolorosa into mere shtick. Which is not the easiest thing to do if you think about it.

His predecessor Jesus I was first seen around here around about the summer of '98 or so. Jesus I was a stripped down (no cross or fake blood) version, and a slightly more malevolent one as well. His ministry consisted mainly of staring at people. One night the teenaged niece of a friend of ours suffered unto Jesus I as he stood staring at the passersby on Kavenaugh from in front of the convenience store.

" What's your name?" Gretchen asked.

" Jesus." he said.

" Where ya from Jesus?

" Fayetteville."

The Trial before Pilate it was not.

It is our understanding that the earthly ministry of Jesus I came to a close when He attempted to address the faithful gathered for noon mass at Our Lady of the Holy Souls. Unfortunately for Him, one of Little Rock's finest was in attendance during his lunch hour and swiftly put the cuffs on him and took him away. He has not been seen in these parts since.

Which brings us back to the Hiker from Hell who makes his Sisyphean journey on a thrice weekly basis past our little house here in the People's Republic. It occurs to us here at TMFW that we all have stuff that we carry with us. Some of us don't exercise as we should. Some of us spend money beyond our means. Some of us eat and drink to excess. Some of us choose our romantic partners badly. (A friend of ours says that you could put her in a room full of Mormons and she would be attracted to the one guy who was a drunk.) Some of us are just unlucky. And so on and so forth.

Do I mean to suggest that the Hiker serves as metaphor for human existence? Or human existence as it obtains in the People's Republic of Hillcrest at least?

Of course not. This cat is smooth running crazy. He serves a metaphor for the limits of psychiatry.

But it is nonetheless true that we all got to carry that weight every day that we are able to get out of our little beds.

Some people just don't make as big of a production of it as do others.

Human Dignity and the Law

Our Uncle Bill is dying. He sustained a stroke on New Year's Day in 2004. He did fairly well until just after last Christmas. Since then his decline has been precipitous. He is only intermittently lucid. He spends most of his time in the bed. When he is alert enough to converse often times he speaks of matters from the past such as the need to sell his Ford. As in the Model T. He still pines for Aunt Jean who didn't wake up one morning last summer. They had been married for almost sixty years. He hates his life and the loss of his former vigorous health.

He is receiving hospice care in his home. He is cared for by a private duty nurse. He is fed and kept clean. He receives medication in sufficient doses to help him stay reasonably comfortable. However, in the event he sustains another stroke or acquires an illness, he will not receive aggressive medical care. Further, should he lapse into unconsciousness, he will be allowed to pass away. This decision was made by the family. After all, he is 86. He will never get be restored to his old pickup driving, deer hunting, Baptist church attending self. He will never see Jean again from this side of the shore. We think that this is what he would want. Are we assuming facts? Of course we are. But we know Bill. He is an Uncle, a father and a grandfather. Everybody is in agreement that this is the best plan under the circumstances.

Please let's keep this to ourselves. We do not wish Uncle Bill to be disturbed by Rev. Randall Terry and his so-called "Right to Life" acolytes. Maple Street in Benton, Arkansas is not wide enough to accommodate a mob of protestors and the media that would surely be there to record every hotheaded speech, every hysterical act of someone falling out, and every time a child was arrested for attempting to "rescue" Uncle Bill. And we simply do not need the unbidden presence of Jesse Jackson. The family has enough to contend with, thank you very much.

Is there one among us who does not own a heart that was not moved to pity as Terri Schiavo perished last week in Florida? And yet, for some of us at least , that pity was tempered by the knowledge that the poor woman was incapable of comprehending that her last days had unleashed a firestorm of protest, legal machinations and inflammatory commentary from both media and politicians alike. She had no knowledge of the psychodrama outside the door.

Let us be clear on what the Schiavo case was and was not about. It was not about the fact that Terri Schiavo was "alive" when the state court judge ordered the feeding tube removed. It was not about whether her husband is a heartless cad who fathered two children out of wedlock while seeking to terminate his wife's life. It is not about whether it is ethical or whether it should be legal to deny food and nutrition to a living person although this is a worthy subject for discussion for another day. And it is not about whether a spouse gets to make these decisions when the family of the vegetative person disagrees although this too is a worthy subject for a later date.

It is about respect for the rule of law. The sad details of the Schiavo case were litigated for almost 10 years. The decision of the state court judge was upheld by Florida's appellate courts. Despite the extraordinary special statute conferring federal jurisdiction over this case, the federal courts declined to intervene for the reason that Terri Schiavo's right so to due process had been protected by the Florida state courts.

What otherwise would be considered an exercise in judicial restraint is now considered an act of "judicial tyranny." Veiled threats have been leveled at the federal judges involved by unscrupulous politicians. Not so veiled threats were made against the state court trial judge who ordered the tube removed. The judge, a Southern Baptist, and his family are now under 24 hour guard. Certain radio and cable pundits urged Governor Jeb Bush to send the State Police in to "rescue" poor Terri. Amazingly enough, he evidently considered it but thought better of it when told that the local cops would enforce the court's order and block the entrance. Bless their underpaid little hearts.

Go to any law library in this great land of ours and you will see walls full of books that report the decisions made by the state and federal courts. In each and every one of the cases reported, exactly 50 percent of the parties to those cases left the courthouse pissed off. Some were incarcerated, some were ordered to pay money, some lost their land. And so on.

So where do we go from here? Will the Schiavo case stand for the proposition that you can take the law into your own hands when the court renders a decision that you don't agree with? Will the Schiavo case henceforth mean that the "Right to Life" trumps a person's right to a dignified death on terms dictated earlier by him or her? Or will the short life and tragic death of Terri Schiavo set off a reasoned and dispassionate nationwide discussion about "end of life" care for the elderly and the disabled? What will be Terri's legacy concerning these issues that all of us will have to face eventually if we have not already done so?

On second thought, we think that it would be interesting if the Reverends Terry and Jackson were to show up to "rescue" Bill from his family. We think that Bill's huntin' and fishin' buddies from Haskell would find their unbidden presence in the community thought provoking and useful.

And they would deal with them accordingly.

Like Andy Rooney Died

Last week we were struck down with the flu bug that has been making the rounds here in Little Rock. Accordingly, we were ordered home by our physician where we spent four days. Which is something of a record. This gave us plenty of time to reflect and to make the following observations. As if Andy Rooney is not dead yet. As if we needed more proof that an idle mind is the devil's workshop.

1) We have a job and are not home much during the day. We were amazed at how often the phone rang with calls from political action groups and solicitors. We thought we were on that list that would bar these sort of calls. If we are, it obviously is obeyed mostly in its breach. Equally irritating was the fairly constant barrage of itinerant gentlemen holding themselves out as "yard men." Some of them even had tools and mowers with them. One guy knocked on the door offering his services, even after my yard had obviously been raked and mowed by the college kid I use for this purpose. We were sufficiently irritable as it was, running a fever of 100 degrees for 4 days will do that for a person, without the unbidden intrusion of these solicitation. A sign is going up on the door next week. That'll show 'em.

2) Being confined to quarters as we were, we were able to linger over the "Letters to the Editor" section of the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette. We are always amused by people who write these screeds against Darwin's Theory of Evolution. Or conversely in support of the teaching of "intelligent design." When we were a kid, the fundy types we knew eschewed scientific explanations for such things as the origin of the universe, reposing trust in their belief that " you can't find God in a test tube." Which they certainly had every right to believe. The problem with this as a matter of tactics is clear. You can't put God-or at least a certain kind of God- into the classroom without getting Him into the test tube first. Otherwise, you are teaching religion. Which, last time we looked, was still against the law.

So how did the Bible-bangers get around this? They made stuff up. They created their own colleges and think tanks, which produced experts who came up with a theory. And since all Darwin had was a "theory" the "theory" of intelligent design should be accorded equal dignity to Darwin's and taught alongside the theory of natural selection.

And now that the educators are presented with an "alternative theory" you have people who write to the paper "supporting" the use of the alternative theory, just like people write letters in support of bond issues. No matter that the Darwinian model of evolution is pretty much accepted as Gospel by professional biologists. No matter that we run the risk of exposing our kids to bad science. If you can frame this lunacy into an issue of choices then it simply becomes a "fairness" issue.

Is this a great country or what?

We at TMFW are not so sure that this matters all that much mainly because we don't pretend to be scientists. Unlike the letter writers who argue that evolution violates the Second Law of Thermodynamics. We had no idea that so many evangelical types were amateur Lord Kelvins.

Rather, we repose faith in a God that created His universe and the creatures therein in any way He Himdamn well saw fit. And that the science explains what it explains. Without regard to fairness or political correctness.

But those letters to the editor sure are funny.

3) There was much speculation last week as to whether or not Britney Spears is preggers. This is because recent photographs of her relentlessly overexposed midriff seem to suggest that she is gaining weight. We have no idea as to whether Britney is expecting or whether she remains an entropic system as the proponents of intelligent design might say.

And like those proponents we offer an alternative theory. Britney, when you get down to it, is white trash. Our experience with white trash women is that typically they are as pretty as they come up until around the mid-twenties. By then the lifestyle dedicated to serial marriages to worthless men, smoking Newports and raising a trailer full of kids takes its toll, accelerates the rate of decay and they go to seed.

We know that Britney smokes and we know that she has had a tempestuous love life leading up to her recent nuptials to one the few ostensibly straight dancers we have ever heard of. Which must present its own kind of stress.

At least if she doesn't have one in the oven we will now have a theory that the condition of being white trash is genetic and should be monitored much as people with a genetic predisposition to diabetes monitor their blood sugar.

And this could be taught in the public schools.

As an aside, if you wish to learn Britney's thoughts on semi-conductor physics go to http://britneyspears.ac/laser.htm. It's at least as stupid as anything else mentioned in this post.


4) We also love it when Baptists get all huffy. We come from a long line of Baptists ourselves. We have a beloved aunt in Oklahoma who is so Baptist she pronounces the word BAPtist exploding the "p." we like to poke gentle fun at our aunt. She once asked us why we drank. We told it it made the pills go down easier. She never asked us another question like that again.

Anyway, one of the polemicists that grace the Letters section of the paper made reference to Baptists as Protestants. Whoooo boy! You would have thought that he had called them the Bolshoi Ballet from the responses from all of the readers whose noses were put out of joint by the suggestion.

The typical response was to the effect that the Baptist church is the one true church founded at the Pentecost and that all the other denominations, teevee ministries, websites and cults that have spun off since are offshoots therefrom. Which certainly raises the question of just where the hell they were while Rome and Constantinople were fine tuning the theology and coming up with the secret handshakes. Their answer to that is this was the period of time that the Baptists "went underground."

We do not believe this. "Going underground" is very unBaptistlike behavior. But we have an open mind on this issue. Their having gone underground would explain the absence of accounts of them meddling with Roman politics, why the Bible does not mention that baked ham with pineapple was served at the Last Supper and why the art of that period depicts Jesus as having long hair and a beard, which no Baptist deity would tolerate.

We shall keep an eye on the Letters section for further teaching on this issue.

5) During our convalescence last week, it occurred to us that the antivirals we were consuming by the fistful would be greatly potentiated by the application of alcohol, martinis to be precise. So we slowly and painfully went to a merchant down the street from us that sells a certain variety of olives that we fine particularly therapeutic during times of stress, illness and female troubles.

We could not help but notice that the guys behind the counter were discussing baseball while looking at the computer monitor on the counter.

" Sure Palmero can hit, but do you need 2 first basemen on the roster?" the older one said to the younger.

Our knees began to buckle and we reached for our inhaler.

"Don't tell me you guys are...."

"Fantasy baseball? You bet!" said the older one. "Want in on our league? Yahoo runs a great league. Been doing it for 20 years."

"20 years?" we said, rapidly fanning ourself with a cheesecloth." Yahoo hasn't been around 20 years."

" But fantasy baseball has been." he replied.

We declined the invitation. We know us some baseball but we don't pretend to know baseball, say, the way evangelicals know thermodynamics or Baptists know the History of Christianity. Which is how you have to know baseball to play with those guys.

Besides, we wouldn't consider the league to be sufficiently lifelike or accurate without fantasy drug testing, fantasy paternity suits or fantasy Congressional hearings.

But we were comforted by the thought that even though baseball may be screwed, blued and tattooed right now there are a couple of guys excitedly getting ready for the season in a chic-chic food store in the Heights surrounded by a day-spa and interior decorator. Only baseball can survive itself.

And these are the things we thought about as we stumbled our way toward 98.5. Like we said, idle hands. Like Andy Rooney died.

Barry Shrugged

" I'm tired of my kids crying. You wanted me to jump off a bridge, I finally did. You finally brought me and my family down...So now go pick a different person."


When you write about spring training in baseball you have to described the experience as being encamped. And when the players leave for the regular season session of sptting, scratching and chasing women who are not their wives, you have to write that they "broke camp." It is in the rules. This is despite the fact that these various "camps" where these "athletes" "train" are more day spa than Valley Forge (Now there was a camp). The San Francisco Giants are in currently encamped in Scottsdale, Arizona. This is where Barry Bonds attempted to come across as Christ figure of the pharmaceutical labs during an impromptu press conference yesterday.

We know us plenty of lawyers here at TMFW. And we know a thing or two about the criminal justice system if only by osmosis. We think, but do not know, what might have instigated yesterday's pity party. We suspect that either Bonds, his trainer and the woman who has come forward claiming to be his mistress are getting sweated by the Feds concerning his involvement with steroids.

Let's assume for the sake of argument that Bonds has progressed from a mere Grand Jury witness to a target of the investigation. This is what they are most likely doing:

1) It has been reported that Greg Anderson, Bonds' personal trainer and "life long friend" is trying to cut a deal. According to a transcript leaked to the San Francisco Chronicle which purports to be the secret Grand Jury testimony of Barry Bonds, Bonds testified that while he had used steroids, he didn't know what they were at the time. So, they probably went back to Greg and asked him "Oh yeah?" If Greg says Bonds knew, better yet if Greg has documents that reflect that Bonds knew that the substances he was taking were steroids, Bonds has a problem.

2) About a month ago, a woman named Kimberly Bell popped up claiming to be the mistress of Barry Bonds. She says that Bonds told her that he was taking steroids between 1999 and 2000 for the reason that it helped him recover from injury quicker. She also said that Bonds gave her 80 grand which she used for a down payment on a new house. What do you want to bet that she didn't report this payment, or any others if any, to the IRS? And what do you want to bet that the FBI already has her last 5 tax returns? And what do you want to bet that they would be willing to go light on the tax evasion charge in exchange for her testimony that Bonds was on the juice? So now Bonds has problem # 2 in addition to a problem with Mrs. Bonds. If we were Bonds we might be consulting with Kobe Bryant about his suggestions for a jeweler.

3) If Bonds isn't a target of the investigation why wasn't he subpoenaed by Congress during last week's grandstanding hearing on the issue of steroids in baseball? As some wag said, " Not subpoenaing Barry Bonds for an investigation into steroids in baseball is like not subpoenaing Al Capone for an investigation on mob crime in the Twenties." Even Congress is not that stupid. We suspect that the Committee looking into these matters was advised by the prosecutors that compelling Bonds to appear before it would jeopardize the criminal case against him.

And we suspect that Barry Bonds has been advised about all of this by his lawyers. Which might explain why he is so frigging touchy nowadays. We rather prefer Barry Bonds the sullen prick to Barry Bonds the whiney bitch.

We suggest that he get back on the juice. But only after getting a prescription first. We think he needs the testosterone boost.

The Sayings of Chairman Al

"When I was losing they called me nuts. When I was winning they called me eccentric."
Al McGuire

With the NCAA tournament upon us, we found ourselves thinking of Al McGuire the other day. McGuire coached at Marquette from 1964 through 1977. The Marquette Warriors ( now doing business as the "Golden Eagles" in this more politically correct era) were good under McGuire. They won the National Invitation Tournament in 1970 and the NCAA in McGuire's last year. McGuire, the son of a saloon keeper from Far Rockaway Beach on Long Island, specialized, like Georgetown's John Thompson who came later, in taking offensive players and turning them into defensive specialists. Or he specialized in screwing them up, depending on your point of view. In any event, McGuire's ballclubs were ultra-conservative on offense and played defense like you were trying to break into their house.

Most teams are considered to be a reflection of the basic personality of their coach. Looking at the Marquette teams of those days, one could easily assume that the guy pushing the buttons on the bench was some tight-assed, humorless martinet. Like Bob Knight. Or Don Chaney when he is hearing the voices again. One would be wrong.

He let his teams design the uniforms with the predictably garish results. He let them mismatch the color off their shoes. During the Vietnam era one of his players who opposed the war would turn his back on the American flag during the National Anthem. McGuire didn't make him stop.

And yet, he was a tough guy and wore that mantle with pride. We attended graduate school in the late seventies with a kid from Marquette-a Greek kid named Chris- who was a manager for the Warriors. His favorite Al McGuire story was about getting mad at a kid who was putting it up too frequently during a practice. McGuire told him to start passing more. Minutes later shooter boy jacked another one.

Al knocked him out. As in one-punched him.

Then there was the game, probably against one of Frank McGuire's (no relation) South Carolina clubs. Those games always devolved into fisticuffs. Al called a timeout. In the huddle he told his team that if they wanted to fight somebody they could fight him. He also told them that if 3 guys followed him into an alley that you could bet that he would be the guy that would make it back out on the street. There were no takers.

Our classmate roomed with Maurice Lucas in those days. Lucas, who was a board certified badass, would later become famous for a brawl as a Portland Trailblazer with Philadelphia Seventy-Sixer Darryl Dawkins, the likes of which made Ron Artest's recent foray into the stands at Detroit look like a game of tag. Lucas said that Al McGuire was the only white man that he had ever feared.

And yet, for all the acclaim he garnered as a coach, Al McGuire will be best remembered for his television work during the eighties and nineties. McGuire was no "x's and o's" kinda guy. McGuire felt his way through a game and his analysis-to the extent you could call it that- was similarly impressionistic and occasionally incoherent. He was Nathan Detroit on acid. He was often paired with the vastly overrated Billy Packer, who still may be found on the airways shilling for the Atlantic Coast Conference. McGuire, who nicknamed him " Billy Washroom" after his tendency to disappear whenever the waiter brought the check, delighted in gigging him in every broadcast.

A mike in front of Al was a dangerous thing. And yet, he provided some of the most memorable quotes in sports history:

" Remember half the doctors in this country graduated in the bottom half of their class."

" Winning is overemphasized. The only time it is really important is in surgery and war."

" When a guy (in a bar) takes off his coat, he's not going to fight. If he takes off his wristwatch, watch out!"

" I think the world is run by C students."

" If the waitress has dirty ankles, the chili should be good."

" The NBA would take Hitler if he was 7 foot."

Division I men's athletics is a cesspool. And basketball is the cesspool of the cesspool. There is so much money involved colleges cannot afford to make mistakes when they hire coaches. And so these guys all tend to look and act more like corporate CEOs than teachers of a game. There aren't many characters in the business anymore. For every Phil Martelli there are 10 Rick Pitinos. It occurs to us that an Al McGuire might not get a college job nowadays. It occurs to us that an Al McGuire might not get a television gig either. When you watch the tournament this week, we defy you to find anyone of the 38 talking heads we will have foisted upon us that will say anything remotely interesting. Other than Jay Bilas or Clark Kellogg. Maybe. Al McGuire once drank a marguerita on camera with Abe Lemons while ostensibly discussing Abe's Texas Longhorns. It is safe to say you will never see that again.

McGuire died in 2001 of a blood disorder. In his final days, many of his players came to see the old coach. McGuire always got out of his deathbed to greet his boys. He refused to let them see him lying down. Like we said. He was a tough guy.

No, they don't make 'em like Al McGuire anymore. And it is for this reason that we will watch the tournament with the sound turned waaaaaay down.

By the way: We like North Carolina's chances this year. We also like Wake Forest despite the fact that there will be no living with Packer if they were to actually pull this off. Duke and Illinois are too thin. Our sleeper teams? Villanova and Georgia Tech. We also have NC St, Texas, and Minnesota going down in the first round.

But who the hell knows?

Render

This being the tax season, we were reminded of a scene we witnessed outside the United States Courthouse a few year's ago. On the day in question we noticed about 5 guys, 4 of whom we recognized as being from the Criminal Investigations Division of the IRS proceed from the architectural marvel that is the Federal Building in Little Rock across the street to the courthouse. Each Special Agent (the feds refer to their plainclothes law enforcement types as "Special Agents" for some unknown reason. Perhaps they wish to make sure that they are not confused with the Prairie County Sheriff's Department or something.) was carrying boxes of stuff with some guy's name on them.

Moments later we noticed an odd looking older couple. They both were wearing American flag lapel pins. The man was wearing a corduroy suit despite it being a warm day. He had Hush Puppies on his feet and a red, white and blue tie around his neck. His grey beard reached the middle of his chest.

" Tax protester nuts," we thought to ourselves. And they walked into the courthouse with the confident stride of people who reposed complete and utter confidence in their belief that the 26th Amendment to the United States Constitution (that's the one instituting the income tax for you history buffs) did not apply to them because they were Baptists. Or some other inane theory most likely gleaned from the Internet.

We also had another thought: Mainly, that it's just like the damn Service to send 5 guys, one of them undoubtedly from the Tax Division of the United States Department of Justice in DC to take on a couple of whack-job tax evaders/freedom fighters.

Hell, nobody likes to pay taxes. But we figure that it is part of our duty as a citizen to support the government with our tithes and offerings. After all, we know that nothing is free. It costs money to explore space, to develop exotic missile systems that don't work and to build and maintain presidential libraries, just to name a few projects supported by said tithes. We understand these things.

Ok. We lied. Mostly we just don't have the nerve to attempt to evade taxes at the level it would take to make the whole shooting match worth the while. We don't evade taxes for the same reason we don't try to manufacture crystal meth. The attempt to do so would blow up in out face. Like most taxpayers, we are mere wage slaves. Every two weeks our employer deducts an amount from our wages and sends it to the taxing authorities. The banks where we keep the pittance we refer to as "savings" generate 1099s to advise the government of the interest we have earned despite the fact that the number that is transmitted is so small it barely interests us. Given the pedestrian and frequently precarious state of our financial affairs, there is no way we could artfully gin up a false return that wouldn't set off bells and whistles at the Treasury. Or so we imagine.

But then again we are just not as smart as guys like Walter Anderson. Anderson is a software designer in DC who recently got indicted for having set up numerous dummy corporations in both Europe and offshore in the Virgin Islands. (Here's a tip for you budding white color criminals. You should always run your banking and insurance scams through the Virgin Islands as well.) According to the authorities, Anderson ran-no lie-a half a billion dollars through these various shell corporations in order to conceal the true extent of his personal income from Uncle Sam. That's billion with a "b." That's a lot of dead Presidents to have in circulation at one time. That's Enron and World Com level money laundering, all in the service of one little tax evader.

And what did that get him? The judge at his plea and arraignment took a look at the international scope of Anderson's business ( otherwise referred to in the indictment as a "scheme and device") and not unreasonably concluded that he was a flight risk. So no bail for Walter! The Feds and the District handed him a tax bill of over 200 million. If convicted on all charges, he could get sent off for @ 80 years with no possibility of parole.

We doubt that Walter Anderson is thriving in his current environment, where he eats baloney sandwiches for lunch with guys named "Boo-Boo" and "P-Dawg. We wonder if he ever thinks to himself, "Gee, was this worth it? Didn't I have enough damn money?"

Unlike Walter Anderson, we can do what the prosecutors call "risk calculation." And it ain't worth it. So every year, we will buy TurboTax, gather our documents and once again prove to our government that we have somehow managed to avoid complete insolvency for another tax year.

Come to think about it. We even take back that crack about the Service we made early on. It was made during what Trent Lott might describe as " a lighthearted moment." We love you guys.

Really.

More Questions in Philly

" We'll certainly have a discussion with John about how he feels about going forward. When we get a chance to get what his views are, then we'll make a decision."

Thus spake Temple University President David Adamany about the prospects for John Chaney returning as Temple's coach after last week's fracas with the St. Joseph's Hawks. In case you have been on life support the past couple of days or otherwise just don't care, a recap is in order.

Prior to the game (and not afterwards as was erroneously stated in this space. Our bad.) John Chaney complained of upcoming opponent St. Joseph's apparent penchant of setting moving screens with impunity against his Owls. Perhaps this would explain why Temple hasn't won a game against the Hawks in three years. In any event, Chaney said that if the officials didn't crack down, he would send a "goon" into the game to take matters into his own hands.

Said goon, seldom-used Nehemiah Ingram, was sent into the game in the second half and ordered to commit fouls. Which he did with gusto, racking up 5 fouls in 4 minutes. His last hard foul broke the arm of the foulee thereby ending his season and career with St. Joseph's. Chaney was suspended by Temple for the rest of the regular season. He subsequently suspended himself for the post-season Atlantic 10 Tournament.

A couple of questions have been bandied about in the media and the sports call-in shows. Let's address them:

Should Nehemiah Ingram be suspended as well? We say no. You can't impute to a player his coach's failure to act in an ethical manner. Secondly, you cannot expose a kid to liability or punishment because he followed his coach's instructions, reprehensible as they were. Let us apply the balm of perspective here. What happened was, in Chaney's own words, reprehensible. A player was injured because of what happened. And appropriate punishment should be meted out.

But last time we looked no one had died. These acts, disgusting as they are, did not alter the outcome or otherwise affect the integrity of the contest. Ingram did not shave points. He was not on performance enhancing drugs. And thank God for that. Otherwise he might have killed someone.

We hope Nehemiah Ingram goes on to discover the cure for cancer or rescues someone from a burning building. Otherwise his name will go down in history as John Chaney's goon. And we say that is punishment enough.

Should Chaney be fired? We say "Why not?" After all, he has exposed his employer to liability as Temple cannot be heard to say that it was not on notice that Chaney is a hot head. After all, back in 1994 or so, he busted in on John Calipari's (then at UMASS) post-game interview and threatened to "kill him" in front of the rolling cameras. He got suspended a game for that outburst which we feel was just. After all, nobody believed that Chaney really wanted to kill anybody. That and it was John Calipari.

Why shouldn't he be fired? His actions caused an injury to an opposing player and caused the name of Nehemiah Ingram to be writ in sports history's immortal scrolls alongside Bill Laimbeer, Conrad Dobler and other cheap shot artists. His acts raised a spirited rivalry with a neighboring school to what we predict will be almost incandescent enmity. He has brought shame to a storied program as Temple basketball will forever be synonymous with that night. All in all, not a bad day's work. People have been fired for less. Ask Jim Donham. Or Matt Doherty. Or Ty Willingham.

But we say that Chaney will skate. Re-read the quote from Temple's President that graces the beginning of this piece. One does not solicit the views of an employee one is about to terminate. Chaney will be allowed to play out the string. We will be reminded that he has never been penalized by the NCAA and that his players graduate. Nowhere will we be reminded that it is precisely his job to do these things.

But you could make a case for showing him the door. You really could.

But here is one question that comes to our mind, one that we haven't heard much discussed. Or at all really.

Where the hell were the referees when all of this was going on?

The refs had to know that something like this was a remote possibility. After all, Chaney said he was gonna do it. We have seen the footage of Ingram's rampage. We have not seen such nonstop mayhem on the basketball court since Dennis Rodman was throwing elbows and kneeing groins in the NBA. Why weren't any flagrant fouls called? Why wasn't Ingram tossed. And most amazing to us, why didn't St. Joe's Phil Martelli not give John Chaney a knuckle sandwich? Say what you will about Nolan Richardson but can you imagine his reaction if he thought Rick Pitino was trying to hurt one of his players?

Temple should have come down swifter and harder on Chaney. It did not. Chaney should not have forced a kid to fight his cowardly war for him and he shouldn't have slandered the young man in the process. But he did. And the referees should have reacted more swiftly to restore order and protect the players. They did not.

Like we said. Not a bad night's work.

Roids and Rage

Sometimes in sports it is hard to get around the headlines and the most interesting headlines recently involved the goings on in college basketball and major league baseball.

First we take note of last Tuesday night's brouhaha in the Atlantic 10 where the St. Joseph Hawks defeated the cross-town rival Temple Owls 63-56. The game featured both non-stop bitching at the refs by Temple's coach, the notoriously highly strung John Chaney, and by exceptionally rough play in the second half. The meltdown during his post-game press conference was remarkable even by Chaney standards.

During said conference Chaney admitted to being so frustrated by the failure of the referees to whistle the visiting Hawks for allegedly setting numerous moving screens on his helpless Owls that he sent in a "goon"-his words-to mete out rough justice. Said goon, seldom used 6'8", 250 lb. Nehemiah Ingram, did so with ruthless efficiency and set the land speed record for fouling out in the process after collecting his 5th foul in 4 minutes.

The next day, Chaney apologized for his "reprehensible" behavior and suspended himself from participation in the upcoming game against Pittsburgh. The problem is, it was subsequently revealed that one of the St. Joseph's kids that got popped by Ingram during the hack-a-thon ordered up by Chaney, wound up with a broken arm and is lost for the season.

Chaney's behavior was not just "reprehensible" it was stupid. He forced a kid-and these are still just kids folks- to choose between disobeying his coach and starting World War III under the boards. An opposing player is lost for the season due to the deliberate acts of his player. He has exposed himself and his employer to liability. And according to Hawks coach Phil Martelli the worse thing Chaney did was refer to of his players as a "goon."

"That was a mistake." Martelli said. " That kid is somebody's son."

As is the young man with the fractured elbow. You can't swing a dead cat in Philly without hitting a lawyer. There's a good chance his parents are consulting with one even as we type.

Look, we at TMFW have seen much basketball in our day. We do not blanche at spirited play that crosses over into the realm of the physical. Stuff happens out there on the court. High words are exchanged. It was ever thus. But the coaches are there to keep a lid on that stuff not instigate it.

John Chaney should be suspended by either Temple or by the Atlantic 10 Conference for the rest of the season and post-season. If they do not, they are complete and utter cowards.

Turning to the Boys of Summer, one of the questions put to Barry Bonds during his coming out party with the press the other day concerned whether he thought taking performance enhancing drugs was "cheating." To which he replied:

" I don't know what cheating is. I don't believe steroids can help your eye-hand coordination, technically hit a baseball. I just don't believe it."

Which is completely disingenuous.

If getting the ball in play was all about hand-eye coordination and contact, Bonds might have a point. But if we possessed the Popeye like forearms that Bonds owns, we would sure wait that extra split-second longer to get a good look at a pitch that might be fooling us, reposing trust that we could generate sufficient bat speed to turn misshits into long foul balls if not shots to the opposite field.

And if we are illegally using a controlled substance to gain and maintain that power, well yeah, that's cheating. Duh.

But steroids aren't even the drug of choice in baseball. It is amphetamines. Greenies. And everybody does them. And guess what? So ubiquitous is their use during the 162 game grind that is the regular season that the Player's Union would have gone to war over testing for this substance. And the suits at MLB didn't press the point in order to get the deal done on steroids.

Is this a great country or what?

So just remember. Next time you see a batter fidget in the batter's box, the next time you see a pitcher not named Rick Ankiel throw one over the backstop, consider that it just might be more than nerves. It might be better living through chemistry.

Remain in Light

One of our best friends is a woman who has a lot going for her. She is lovely and scary-smart. She retains the lithe figure of the dancer she once was. She has two beautiful daughters and two handsome sons. She has a loving, hard-working husband who dotes on her. She lives in a lovely home. She is a very serious person. She is serious about her relationships, about her religion and about social justice. And yet, she doesn't take herself all that seriously. Indeed, we have seen her resplendent in torn jeans and pink Chuck Taylors. And we were tremendously impressed when we saw her turn cartwheels across the fairway of a local golf course one fine autumn day. After all, and we are trying to put this delicately, we would have thought that her cartwheel days were well behind her. From this side of the glass, anyone looking in at her could hardly be faulted for thinking that she leads a charmed life.

She does not. She suffers from severe depression. And has for most of her life.

Her latest e-mail is typical of her when she is having one of her bad days: " I'm severely depressed. I'm not sure how to handle what is happening. My mind feels like mush. This isn't good for the depression. The winter is long. I haven't seen the sun in weeks. The new medication has made most anxious and suicidal and so I'm thinking it was not the best idea"

And so on.

All of us have experienced sadness and disappointment. All of us have been blue. It is part and parcel of our humanity. However, not everyone of us has struggled with the 200 lb. Gorilla that is major depression. And not many of us that have suffered from major depression have experienced it on a chronic basis, as one would experience MS or asthma.

It is so easy to try to say encouraging things, to urge the sufferer to "snap out of it" or to suggest activities to "take your mind off of your troubles." And yet, we forget, or worse we do not know, that depressed people are by definition extremely inward. As our friend Dr. G, a local shrink described it to me, " It's like you are at the bottom of a silty pond. Chronic depression is a continual attempt to swim upward through the murk to get to the light up above."

Which must be every bit as exhausting as trying to cope with "real" illnesses.

We have seen it all with our friend. The medication changes, the anger at psychiatrists, the fights with the insurance companies, the constant research, the fervent prayers for healing. We also remember the completely brilliant decision on her part to quit the meds and to try to get well through diet, meditation and exercise which ended up in the predictable disaster.

None of this is very romantic. None of this is the special province of the sensitive or the artistic. She hates her illness. She despises feeling like a burden. She wants nothing more than to be a happy mom with the dancer's wheels in the pink hightops.

But we have seen something else: courage. We tend to sling words like "bravery" and "courage" around for acts which hardly seem worthy of them. But it takes a brave woman to get up out of the bed to face another day of incandescent sorrow. It takes courage to tamp down the velvet voice in her ear that urges her to give in to the occasional impulse to yield to the unthinkable and to pack it all in. To join Sylvia Plath, Anne Sexton, the kid we went to high school with who threw himself of a water tower on an Army base after he got the "Dear John" letter, the former model we knew who put a 9mm to her face and the guy we used to play tennis with at the Club. To join the ranks of the souls with broken hearts that got away when the rest of us weren't looking. It takes more nerve than I possess to stare that evil bastard down on a regular basis.

Thank God my friend mostly speaks of suicidal ideation with a shrug of her shoulders, the way allergy sufferers talk about itchy eyes. It is mostly a side effect. Something to deal with. And yet, we write and we call just to take her temperature from time to time. To make sure that she is still swimming toward the light. Even on those days when she has her doubts that there is a light once she breaks the surface.

This recent episode came hard on the heels of her losing out on a job opportunity that she was hopeful of securing. She loves chocolate, and so it being Valentine's Day, we sent her a box. She called us sounding for all the world like an eight year old on Christmas Day. She said she took the candy to work and that she has a piece whenever the bad feelings descend. She also said that her teenaged daughter had appropriated the ribbon on the box for a belt to wear with her jeans.

Damn. That's one skinny little girl.

We made a deal with her. As long as she keeps hanging in there, we will keep the chocolate coming. After all, chocolate we can afford. We could not stand it if we lost her.

Is That A Bottle of Pills In Your Pocket or Are You Just Glad To See Me?

The New York Daily News recently reported that a New Jersey businessman has sued the manufacturer of Alzare which is a pill that purports to enhance penis size. The plaintiff, Michael Coluzzi, claims that Alzare is guilty of false advertising when after paying $59.95 for a 30 day supply, he discovered after a "careful examination" that he had "experienced no increase in penis size."

Our friend Miss J, in what can safely be described as a candid assessment of our interpersonal skills, recently graced us with the following syllogism: " All men are idiots. You are a man. Therefore, you are an idiot." Which struck us as unduly harsh.

But just when we think that our women's near universal low regard for men in general is the by-product of mere hysteria on their part, we need only look to the newspaper. Recently, the sports page alone has provided much grist for the idiot mill. The NHL season was cancelled when both sides couldn't find a way to split the difference between a mere 6 million dollars. Former baseball player Jose Canseco has been popping off to a fair-the-well about about all the guys he claims were using steroids back when he was playing. And using steroids. Reggie Fowler, the new owner of the Minnesota Vikings had to amend his official biography when it was revealed that he really didn't play in either the National Football League or the Canadian Football League as stated therein. Neither had he earned certain degrees from the University of Wyoming. A note to Reggie: You can bs about your accomplishments but you can't bs about your credentials. Facts are troublesome things.

And now we have Michael Coluzzi, who through the instigation of this lawsuit has admitted that a) he thought he was a worthy candidate for a good enhancing, b) that he was stupid enough to buy this product and that after a "careful examination" (entailing God knows what) he c) "experienced no increase in penis size."

How would one go about proving this anyway? His word alone? Before and after pictures? A urologist with a tailor's measuring tape? The testimony of either a sobbing Mrs. Coluzzi or the amused guys back at the gym? We at TMFW are certain that we do not wish to know.

This lawsuit proves once again that some people will simply not let modesty or human dignity get in the way of a buck. But anyone that watches "American Idol" or looks at porno would know that.

It will not surprise Miss J to know that we think she has got it mostly wrong. All men are no more idiots than are all women emotionally labile and nuts.

But some guys sure seem to go out of their way to make her case for her.

Enough About Me. What About You? What Do You Think About Me?

We have many women friends and our many women friends tend to unburden themselves around us concerning the state of their relationships with their men. We do not know why this is so. It could not be that we possess any particular insight into relationship issues. Indeed, the Significant Other will soon go off on a weekend sojourn with her girlfriends during which we are certain we will be depicted to the fellow travelers as a no-good, insensitive, drag-assed son of a bitch. And her friends will describe their men in similar fashion. Twas ever thus.

Rather, we think that the reason we get to hear all of these god-awful stories is because we are easily found, we are not judgmental and we always have alcohol in abundance. One does not have to exactly be the second coming of Carolyn Hax if one can make a good martini and knows how to keep one's mouth shut.

After years of dispensing chardonnay and Kleenex in equal we may safely state that the common denominator, the specific gravity of the despair for most of these women is that they are drawn, as the moth to the flame, to narcissists. We can see the eyebrows going up among the, oh, 6 or so people that actually read this blog. We can hear the phrase "Takes one to know one" escaping certain Revloned lips.

No matter. We at TMFW are informed by these women, albeit second handedly through the shrinks, marriage counselors, hairstylists and other mental health care employed by them, that we all fall into destructive patterns and are drawn to certain types in our relationships and that the key is to recognize this and to avoid the less desirable people and patterns. For example, one woman told me " You could put me in a room full of Mormons and I would wind up talking to the one that was a drunk."

So, as a public service, we will provide a list of questions that women should ask themselves prior to getting involved with a man in order to cull out the narcissists on the front end. You may print this off for future reference.

Many narcissists tend to gravitate toward certain professions.

1) Is he a physician?
a) If so, is he a surgeon?

2) Is he a lawyer?
a) II so, is he a trial lawyer?
b) Is he a judicial officer?
c) Is a federal judge?

3) Is he a politician?

4) Is he a member of the clergy?
a) If so, is he a Southern Baptist or Assembly of God minister?
b) Or is one of those non-denominational, powerpoint presenting, "Big Box" congregation preachers?
c) Is he a Minister of Music?

5) Is he a professional athlete?
a) Is he the head football or basketball coach at any NCAA Division I school?
b) Unless he is the head football coach at Rice, Duke,Vanderbilt or Tulane.

6) Is he a financial advisor?

7) Is he in the restaurant business?
a) and we don't mean Shoney's.

8) Is he a musician?
a) does he play the organ, the piano or the violin?
b) If he sings, is he a tenor?

9) Is he a writer?
a) Is he an editorial writer?
b) Is he an editor?

10) Is he a tenured professor?
a) In the liberal arts?

Whatever his chosen field does he refer to himself as
a) a "high-achiever?"
b) someone who "thinks outside the box?"
c) "self-motivated?"
d) Scott Peterson?

Many of our institutions of higher learning produce narcissists the way roses produce scent.

1) Does he wear a class ring?

2) And is the school inscribed thereon (in no particular order)
a) Harvard
b) Yale
c) Princeton
d) Ole Miss
e) The University of the South
f) University of Southern California
g) Clemson
h) The United States Naval Academy
h) 1) Any of those fake military academies like The Citadel
i) Notre Dame
j) Texas or Texas A&M
k) any Division I school in North Carolina except North Carolina State
l) Williams College
m) Haverford College
n) Wharton School of Business
0) Boalt Hall-Berkeley
i) The FBI Training Academy

One can often tell a narcissist by his leisure activities.

a) Did he play Division I sports?
1) And did he play football, basketball or tennis?

b) Does he insist upon coaching all the sports in which his kids are involved?
1) Even the ones he doesn't know the first damn things about?
2) And does he insist upon being referred to as "coach?"

c) Does he still play tennis?

d) Does he play golf?
1) Don't worry about this one. Golf is sufficiently impossible that it leaves the ego of even the most self-reverential in a puddle by the door.

e) Is he involved in the arts?
1) Does he do musical theatre?

f) Is he a bodybuilder?
1) Does he fool around with steroids?

g) Does he collect stuff?

h) Does he participate in fantasy leagues?

i) Does he root for the following teams?
a) The Boston Red Sox
b) Any SEC school except Vanderbilt
1) Especially Alabama, LSU, Tennessee and Ole Miss
c) Notre freaking Dame
d) The Chicago Cubs
e) The Duke Blue Devils and Indiana Hoosiers basketball teams
f) The Philadelphia Eagles
g) The New Orleans Saints
h) The New York Knicks, Giants and Yankees


This list is by no means inclusive. And as those ads for investment firms all say, "Individual results may vary." There are exceptions. But if you get involved with a man who is waving any of these red flags and and it all goes down the crapper, you can't say you weren't warned.

So don't come crying to me. Unless you bring some gin.

Royal Wedding Redux

We heard the news today that Elizabeth Rex has blessed the upcoming union of Prince Charles and Camilla Parker-Bowles. This was a bigger story on Good Morning America than the amusing news that North Korea has a nuclear weapons program.

We at TMFW say that it is about time he made an honest woman out of this flower of English womanhood. He has only been carrying on with her off and on for the last 30 years. It was hardly a state secret, even less of one than North Korea's nuclear program.

Actually, we don't much care as we have very little use for the Royals. We will not go so far as to state that they should all be lined up and shot as an acquaintance of ours recently suggested to us. But is there any institution less relevant to the modern world than a monarchy? WWF wrestling perhaps and the Electoral College come to mind.

Perhaps we could come up with more examples if we actually thought these things through before writing them. But that is neither here nor there.

Rather, think of all the money Great Britain could save just by turning the shiftless lot and their Nancy-boy servants out to fend for themselves. Think of how the coffers of the Bank of England would swell if they liquidated the holdings of the House of Windsor? It's not like Buckingham Palace is nearly so useful as your average Presidential Library or anything.

About the only time you see Prince Charles in public he is snow-skiing, horseback riding or taking a tour through a shoe factory (or something) wherein he will condescend to offer insights such as " These boots are of splendid quality" or " That is certainly a fine wage" or somesuch. Indeed, about the only time you typically ever see the Royals make the news is when one of them dies in a spectacular and horrific fashion (Lady "You-Know-Who). Or when one of them does something incredibly stupid such as when Prince Harry recently arrived at a costume party in Nazi regalia, thereby giving great offence to Britian's WWII vets without whom you would be reading this in German.

But there is romance in the notion of monarchy and this holds sway over millions even here across the pond. A friend of ours got up in the wee hours of the morning to watch Diana's funeral. She said she did it to be "part of history."

She wasn't part of history. She was watching TV. History is goddamn North Korea (which is run by someone who is smooth running crazy) announcing that it has nukes. Or did we mention that already?

Anyway, I remember as a child reading books where the handsome king married the fairest girl in all the land and that they live happily ever after. Here's where the romance ends for us. We must say it in no uncertain terms. Camilla ain't much to look at. Depending on what you read, Lady Di was either a scheming backstabber or nuttier than a pecan pie depending on which side of the bed she got up on.

But she was hot.

No. If we are going to run the risk of pissing off not only our Mum but the woman who is our Sovereign Liege (which sounds considerably more scary than it actually is at this point in history), if we are going to risk the opprobrium of the subjects, we are going to do so after asking Scotland Yard to get us the phone number of Britain's last contestant in the Miss Universe pageant. We are not going to take that kind of PR hit over a woman who is only slightly more sultry than Margaret Thatcher.

But we cannot pretend to know the mind of the Prince of Wales. As we understand it, his is a mind uncluttered by complicated things. And yes, we know. Physical beauty is over-rated and as fleeting as the clouds. As an elderly friend used to say, "Love goes where it's sent." And this is certainly true.

But we don't get it.

Maybe she can make biscuits as big as his fist.

Patriots, Eagles and Wings

We suppose that we are somehow obligated to make a prediction about Super Bowl XXIXXXIXXXIXXXXIXXXIIIIXIXX or whatever the hell it is by now. We have been reluctant to do so mainly because we are always wrong about these matters. But we are also depressed. We are old enough to vividly remember Super Bowl I.

First, an aside about this year's halftime "entertainment." It is our understanding that Paul McCartney will be performing. We usually don't even bother watching most halftime shows and we shall return to that practice now that we know Sir Paul will be featured. But even we were aghast at last year's event which resembled an open casting call for "Boys in the Hood" as much as a halftime show. This is despite missing the infamous "wardrobe malfunction" as the Significant Other and I were making fajitas at the time. Sir Paul is safe as farm buttermillk by comparison. Never mind that he pretty much sucks. With his pleasant voice and still boyish "Hi Mum" looks, McCartney isn't likely to throw the FCC into a screaming hissy with bells which is all that matters to the suits at the NFL.

Concerning the game itself, suffice it to say that if flapping gums and woofing constitutes preparation the Eagles will win by 2 touchdowns. Underachieving punk Freddie Mitchell has called out the New England secondary. Not to be outdone, known man of prayer Terrell Owens has claimed that God has intervened in human history to render sufficient healing to his fractured leg despite the fact that his surgeon refused to clear him to play.

Some people have raised the question as to whether the Eagles have the ethical obligation to hold Owens out for his own good. Ethics, shmethics. This is the NFL where General Managers would run over their mothers to get a win. Hell, Al Davis has probably sacrificed infants. If Owens can get out there without a walker he will play. Trust us on this one.

We at TMFW don't claim to be experts on NFL football. Until the playoffs we had not watched a single game in it's entirety. But it seems to us that both defenses are pretty damn salty and should do a pretty good job shutting down the run. Noone has run on the Eagles all year and 2 weeks ago the Patriots stuffed Jerome Bettis on 4th and 1, which is like unto stopping a runaway barge.

We think Andy Reid's unwillingness or inability to tell Owens to sit for the good of the team will come back to bite him on the ass. If Owens is in the game, the Eagles' wideouts might revert to their alligator-armed ways when they are not basically standing around a la the Los Angeles Lakers waiting for TO to make a play. On the other hand, New England's receivers have been pretty good all year. Unheralded even. And as wondrous as is Donavan McNabb, he can't catch his own passes.

So, do the long suffering fans of Philadelphia, the narcissitic football equivalent of the followers of the Cubs and the Red Sox, finally get their championship? Or does the Lombardi Trophy return to Beantown, to be displayed next to the Red Sox's World Series hardware?

We say the nod goes to the Patriots. New England by 7 in a low scoring game. Owens will be a non-factor. Freddie Mitchell will get knocked out much to our amusement.

And Paul McCartney will do a medly of lame-ass stuff from his Wings phase.

Meanwhile Back In Indiana Alfred Kinsey Spins

Just when you think things couldn't possibly get any stupider this quickly out at the Ledge, along comes Rep. Bob Adams of Sheridan packing HB 1119. HB 1119 would prohibit gay people from adopting or serving as foster parents. However, as if to prove that the backers of this tripe are not completely draconian or thoughtless, the bill carves out an exception for a person who merely " appears to be a homosexual or has a homosexual orientation."

Which instantly leads one to the child's question, "Huh?"

The Arkansas Democrat-Gazette reports that Adams explained what passed for his reasoning thusly, in what may be one of the most ignorant-assed pronouncements in the history of a legislative body famous for ignorant-assed pronouncements , when he said that he wanted to protect prospective foster parents that might be thought of as gay such as "a man whose voice is high pitched" or "one of the Williams sisters that plays tennis who bench presses 300 pounds."

We are certain he is referring to Serena. Venus couldn't bench press the Little Rock phone book. But we digress.

Surely to God Adams has heard that appearances can deceive.

Oh, this is too easy. Off the top of our head, there are any of a number of people that could get in under the radar by this criteria. Starting with the tennis world, since that appears to be a special interest of Rep. Adams, we give you GiGi Fernandez ,an awfully cute Olympian. Gay. Rod Stewart has a "high pitched" voice and has shagged more chicks than Frank Sinatry. Or for sure more than Rock Hudson who was a baritone. And really gay despite being repeatedly photographed in bed with the likes of Doris Day and Susan St. James.

In our personal experience, we know at least a couple of women so drop-dead gorgeous we would gladly drink their bathwater if given the opportunity. Alas, we will never get that chance because a) they are far too sensible to put up with such foolishness and b) they are gay. We know some guys at the gym who work out on weights simply because there are no human tractor-pulling contests. They are big strong strapping examples of manly men. They are also gay as lilies.

We at TMFW are not unmindful of our public responsibility. So we will make the following modest suggestion: If the Ledge is really serious about coming up with a handy-dandy criterion for excluding a class of people from contact with children out of a fear of sexually inappropriate behavior we know some people proven by FBI statistics to be dangerous as hell.

Little League baseball coaches.

Sports Illustrated did a series of articles on this issue a couple of years ago, proclaiming it to be a national scandal. Further, the newspaper is replete with other recent incidents involving inappropriate conduct on the part of coaches. And get this, according to Sports Illustrated, virtually all of men who have sexual contact with young boys consider themselves to be heterosexual.

Which quite frankly we don't get on any of a number of levels. But the larger point is that this would kind of throw a kink in the "homosexual orientation" litmus test prescribed by HB 1119.

So, that's our proposal. If they are really serious about protecting children they should amend HB 1119 to ban heterosexual men who coach youth sports. Though this bill in its original form pretty much set the land speed record for stupidity, it can be fixed.

There. We have done our duty. We can now turn to more important matters like the point spread of the Super Bowl.

The Ledge Gets To Work

We have an acquaintance that served in the Arkansas Legislature for a number of years. He once told us that he was never surprised nor offended by any of the nutbar laws or resolutions that the 'Ledge might cook up during the average Session.

"The Arkansas Legislature is nothing more than a cross-section of the people of the state," he explained. "You have your professional people, your small town business types, and the agriculture folks. And then you got some dumbasses."

We leave it to Gentle Reader to decide which sampling of that cross-section has distinguished itself thus far in this Session with the introduction of bills that would a) require textbooks used in Arkansas public schools to define marriage as being a union between a male and a female whenever those textbooks define "marriage" and b) ban illegal aliens from receiving "public benefits" from the State. Both are breathtaking examples of utter dumbassness. There. I said it.

Let us consider first the bill that would ban illegal aliens from "public benefits." In the first place the bill doesn't define what those "public benefits" might be. Is it emergency room care? Education in public schools? Who knows? Another problem with this proposed legislation is that the menace that it targets pretty much flies under the radar being in the country illegally and all. Not to worry, they thought this through. The bill requires prospective employers to make diligent inquiry on this issue as part of the employment interview. Failure to do so, and to not notify the authorities when an illegal is ferreted out would be a misdemeanor.

Whoa. Not only does this bill turn the hiring hall into a neighborhood watch group, it places the onus upon an employer to ask certain questions of an prospective employee that may well violate federal discrimination laws.

Nice work, guys!

Turning now to the definition of marriage issue, suffice it to say that we would make bold to predict that your average Arkansas schoolkid, although she may be taught in a district that is its own private Liechtenstein, may know nothing of modern notions such as Evolution or the General Theory of Relativity, and will fail to receive these lessons in a substandard building, she pretty much has gotten a handle on who generally gets married in her local church house. And it ain't the guys that run the antique store where her mama goes.

The folks that supported this work of genius are the same tedious lot that come out of the woodwork whenever they perceive that "family values" are being threatened. In this case, they are being proactive and giving full flower to their bigotry on the front end.

And it is bigotry against gay folks, pure and simple. They say they are just bringing textbooks used in Arkansas in line with the definition in the Arkansas Constitutional amendment which recently passed overwhelmingly. They fact that they have a political agenda has nothing to do with it. And besides, they don't hate homosexuals. They love homosexuals. They hate the sin.

"Hate the sin, love the sinner" is the slogan I believe. Right. It is to laugh.

In the first place, they don't talk like that about any other kind of sinnin'. Have you ever heard anyone say, " Love the serial killer, hate it that sometimes he wants to kill and kill and kill?" Of course not. Secondly, this slogan ignores the fact that hating an immutable characteristic that defines a person is tantamount to hating the person himself. You might as well hate a gay person for being carbon based. And no, I don't believe for one minute that bullshit about homosexuality being a lifestyle choice like smoking or golf. But more on that in a later blog.

In closing, imagine how a master of propaganda like Hitler could have used this reasoning to explain away his racial policies: " Love the Jews, hate the Jewishness." Or "Love the Poles, but need the room."

As has been said, those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it. That's the problem with dumbasses. They never learned much history to begin with.

It's gonna be a long Session.

Things We Know

We recently received an e-mail from a friend that had an attachment entitled " The Top Ten Things Men Know About Women."

When opened, the attachment showed the numbers 1-10 with nothing listed besides them.

FunnnEEEE!

Well, we don't know much about women but we know a few things. And so, on this the maiden voyage (sorry) of TMFW, we make bold to set out :

THE TEN THINGS TMFW KNOWS ABOUT WOMEN

1) Their Moms? Don't go there.

2) They always know when you look at another woman in the room.

3) Her story about how many sex partners she has had is bullshit.

4) So what? So is yours.

5) Their Daddies? You really don't want to go there.

6) Women, as a rule, like to talk on the phone more than guys.

6 a) Hence, "Caller ID" was probably invented by a man.

7) Women hate it when a guy gives them lingerie or roses. Roses are a cliche and mark you for the amateur that you are. There is a saying in the theatre to the effect that when you put a gun over the fireplace in the first act, you have to use it by the third. She is thinking along these lines when you try to give her lingerie.

8) Women love men who cook. What the hell, even if you screw it all up she will be touched by the attempt.

9) Women's intuition is pretty much bullshit except for dealing with small children.

10) She knows a hell of a lot more about cars and sports than you think.

10a) She knows a hell of a lot more about a lot of stuff than you think.

All knowledge does not reside with us here at TMFW. Feel free to add to this list as you see fit.