Christ, Budda or La Virgen Maria

When I was a kid in El Paso, there were two things I never saw/knew.

1. People who were NOT Catholic.

2. Men who did NOT drink, with one exception: my maternal grandfather, who gave up the juice in my toddlerhood at the beckoning of my mother.

Since my migration to the Chicken Friend Nation (Dallas-Fort Worth) in 1992, mine eyes have seen the aforementioned and much, much more.

One statement I can never understand, and it might be my insensitivity as a result of of being here almost as long as in El Paso is: "Oh no, I'm not Christian. I'm Catholic," or "Oh, he/she is not Christian. They are Catholic."

But...but...to be Catholic is to be Christian. I guess the line which divides both sides is still as deep as the days of Martin Luther and The 95 Theses.

So, what are we talking about here? The pros/cons of the Roman Church vs. the Protestant faction?

Not really. In fact, my thoughts today run much deeper than that. Where it that easy, i.e., picking a denomination, my concern wouldn't be so. But, it started last year, when a business statistic at the office caught my attention above all.

After reviewing a stats report, one (statistic) stood out. According to that report, over 40% of families declared no formal association with any church. The stat does not imply all those people are churchless -- or worse -- non-believers, it basically implies that many people aren't members of any church, or don't attend any church in particular.

Wow! That's 4 out of 10 or 40 outa 100 or .400%. Even the greatest baseball hitters can't reach those stats, save -- maybe -- the great Ted Williams, and that was only for one season. Focus, focus.

So, what?

Well, I seem to know all those 40%-ers. In fact, we just made new friends during Spring Break, and they are churchless, also. I did a quick count of our friends and the stat was just right. In fact, in my group it's more like 50%.

Back in the day, it was understood everyone was Catholic. The women and children went to church and included the men for weddings and quinceaneras. All men drank, except my grandpa, and nobody every disputed it.

Every now and then I revisit the thought, if only to wonder -- again -- why this is happening?

We made some new friends this past Spring Break week. They hail from L.A., and have three kids. We spent a lot of time at each others' homes, and entertained the kids all week.

At one point, after a few cold drinks, the topic came up. "Where do you go to church?" they inquired.

It turns out the wife in this couple is Catholic, but he is not. He was raised in a Catholic home, but the family left to join some Protestant cause of sorts.

In all these conversations about God and the state of our churchness with these and other friends, there is one common school of thought: the raising of our children. It is agreed that adults can live a life without organized religion, though they should not. But children, like their formal education, need constant cultivation. Mine are in a menagerie of religious ideology at school -- all inclusive. Two of their most beloved friends are from Islamic families. The rest are from the unchurched and/or all layers of Christianity.

There's much to say about this subject, but one statement made by the husband of our new friends said it best...

A former U.S. Marine, he is a veteran of the Desert Storm conflict. During combat, he expressed this, "I turned around and realized that night myself and two of my friends were praying to three different Gods. I was praying to Jesus, my friend to the right was praying to the Virgin Mary, and my friend to the left was praying to Budda. All three of us made it home unscathed, and later, over drinks, we ask one another, 'Which of our three Gods brought us home?' To this day, I don't know."

That event led to his eventual separation from his former Protestant church.

In my business, I have seen -- literally -- ministers pray to all forms of deity in honor of the dead. After participating in over 5,000 funerals, and in a similar line of thought as my friend, I wonder how it's all sorted on the other side.

Big Papi at 30,000 Feet

So, my sister-in-law, who my girls candidly call, "Tu," secured a great picture and autograph from one of my favorite athletes of all time.

David "Big Papi" Ortiz was on her flight today, as she serves one of our great airlines, and he was nice enough to take this picture and give me an autograph.

Should you be one who does not know who Big Papi is, please see the first picture. Why that one? Papi has one of the most memorable batting routines ever known to man. I know, only a crazy Red Sox fan like myself would know that.

Either way, it was a great moment.

UFL Trophies Awarded, Finally

Friends, Six Belows and Cannolis finally received their trophies vintage style the other day at UFL headquarters.

In the "old days," we used to present trophies in front of the men's bathroom at the office. It just sorta happened that way.

Well, in light of Digger Bowl VI celebrations in El Paso, and both winners absent, we presented their hardware at a later date here in Fort Worth.

Again, congratulations Six Belows on winning Digger Bowl VI, and Cannolis on College Bowl V.

Joe Theismann

One of the Notre Dame greats, appeared in two Super Bowls with the Redskins, winning one.

D-Day on My B-Day -- Should Have Taken That Bet

In the world of one Jerral "Jerry" Jones, the famed Cowboys owner and GM, nothing seems impossible. I have read many things about Mr. Jones, and his story(ies) always keep me entertained.

The local paper had an entire section dedicated to the day he bought the Cowboys from Bum Bright. The date? February 23, 1989. It was a Thursday and my birthday. I turned 16. They shook hands on the deal that day, but it was not announced to the world until Saturday, February 25, right after he created one of the darkest moments in American sports history, certainly for Cowboys fans.

Jerry flew to Austin, Texas, early that Saturday, where he met and fired Tom Landry at a golf course. Tom Landry was believed to expect the moment, as Tex Schramm had filled him in on the goings-on at Cowboys headquarters. Mr. Landry was due $900,000 for that coming season.

Yeah, so what? That was twenty years ago. THAT'S WHAT! IT'S BEEN 20 YEARS!!!

I was in the second half of the most embarrassing academic year of my life. I had given up honors classes a year before and gave in to the jock, attention-grabbing life instead. I went from honors English, to wood shop -- even contemplated dropping out of school on a scheme one of my best friends and I had for a business: an auto shop, which would serve beer to patrons. Or, was a dry cleaning shop? Naw, we didn't even know what dry cleaning was.

Anyway, academically it was a wasted year. Many of my fellow honors students continued the quest and would later get into prestigious colleges. I shaped up in the Fall of 1989, going into my junior year, playing catch-up and regaining some of those honors courses.

I remember coming in Monday for a workout at the football field house, when the rumors were flying high and mighty about Tom Landry's firing and some rich oilman buying the Cowboys.

In those days, the mighty fad was to dress in Western gear: Resitol straw hats, boots, Wrangler denim and/or polyester (what were we thinking?), and even cow ID tags affixed to our very large key chains, which would hang on our belt loops. Cheros, we were called. We were essentially wanna-be cowboys, tagged with ID numbers meant for cows. The great majority of the Western wearers had never been on a horse, maybe never even seen one.

El Paso has always been a Cowboys town. In fact, fans there are much more loyal than local fans.

Well, the story was not one, especially on this gorgeous day in the Chicken Friend Nation, except as I read all there was to read about this day twenty years ago, I remembered a quote that is truly uncanny.

We had a tough defensive coordinator in high school. He was in his mid-forties, athletic and hot-headed. He chewed enough tobacco to keep Redman in business and screamed during most practices and games. And, he wasn't without bias and/or prejudice, which was ironic for an Anglo to be teaching/coaching in a school with about 98% Mexican-Americans.

Anyhow, I caught up with coach later at track practice, as one of the positives things about that year for me was that I joined said team and "learned" how to run. I mean, I could run, but quickly learned I could much faster with a few techniques. I did, and at one point was the fastest man on campus, including two "brothers," who were lightening bolts.

He said, "Can you believe that s*$&! This redneck oil man has ruined the Cowboys! How can ANYONE fire Coach Landry for some unproven college coach? (see Jimmy Johnson). The Cowboys are ruined. I bet they don't win another Super Bowl in twenty years. It'd be like saying in twenty years we'll have a black President! Any takers on that bet?"

I agreed and just grinned, as I was winded and hurting supporting 425 lbs. on a bar, doing squats.

Twenty years. No Super Bowls. Cowboys ruined. Black President.

Well, Jerry didn't win another Super Bowl with the Cowboys, he has three so far. And, that Jimmy "The Jimnster" Johnson, well, some say the day he quit the Boyz was even black-er than the day Coach Landry was fired, God rest his soul.

Black President.

I should have taken that bet, though I can't imagine collecting on that one.

Infection in My Bone? No, I'll Take the Navigator

I went to see my dentist this Tuesday last. It was a routine visit. I didn't expect any problems, and there weren't any.

My dentist is a perfect fit for us. He's a retired lieutenant commander of the U.S. Navy, and has been in private practice as a civilian for over 15 years. He keeps a simple, but clean office and most of his staff are family members. He drives a used minivan, which improved my opinion of him greatly. Any medical professional that keeps overhead reasonable is good in my book. But, perhaps the biggest reason he is a perfect fit for us is his blunt honesty. Years of military service as an officer paved way for this man to be black and white -- no gray areas. He tells it like it is, and that particular character trait brings me to my point...

So, I was sitting in the hallway, as the doc, his staff and I have become really simpatico. His hygienist was working on my two girls.

Enter Mexican patient, about 28, casually dressed and in quite a bit of molar pain.

The doc does what he can to speak in Spanish. He can find his way around it fairly well. The gist was this:

Mexican patient (whom I'll call Pancho) had a bad root canal with a questionable dentist in a border town. He claims he only paid $100 for the procedure, which is about $1100 pesos, maybe more. Doc, my dentist, told him that was too cheap for any good work to be done.

Understandably, there is some American dentist bias in my doc's appraisal. No doubt. After all, ya can't make a living cleaning healthy teeth -- only. Nevertheless, what really struck a chord during this affair was what happened next.

Regardless of what was or not done with border town dentist, a problem existed NOW. X-rays showed a pretty bad infection, one believed to be penetrating the bone tissue, the same that holds our teeth in place.

Folks, I've buried one man who didn't take care of a bad tooth -- no joke.

So, instead of Pancho taking care of this problem -- now -- with the local American dentist, he kept lobbying for his border town dentist, claiming cost would be considerably less and he trusted him more (the whole race thing came flaring up). My doc got irate, without being rude. He told him like it was and warned him of the dangers of letting this thing go for any amount of time.

Pancho claimed a trip to the border town was imminent, and he'd take care if it then. My doc finally conceded and sent him on his way with a prescription for an anti-biotic, ordering him to fill that prescription, at the very least.

Now, I understand both sides of this story. On the one hand, I've traveled to Mexico exclusively for medical care, when the system here failed me and/or cost was a factor. But, but, I have family in medicine. I have an uncle whose a highly respected practitioner and will have my best interest in mind.

For the American dentist's point of view, he's not happy to lose patients, revenue, etc., to Mexican practitioners. I mean, we're not necessarily close to the border like El Paso, for instance. So, for a patient to prefer to make the drive to a Mexican doctor, incurring cost in doing so, feels like slap on the face and further numbs any race relations which may have quenched in recent decades.

The best is yet to come...

Sometimes Mexican people (or other immigrants) have legitimate needs. The United States affords (although I'm not sure how much longer) people with needs many, many opportunities not available in Mexico or other countries, perhaps any countries.

Nonetheless, not all people have needs. Some come here with the system knowledge and abuse said social system of assistance.

Though Pancho did not ask for any proverbial meal tickets from the dentist here, he refused treatment in spite of his advice that the infection was serious. I'm inclined to think he can't afford it.

But then I happen to walk out of the office the same time he did. And this is where I shake my head and realize some things will never change.

Pancho walks to a fairly new -- if not brand new -- Navigator. Yes, the Lincoln luxury SUV. Sitting in the passenger seat was Mrs. Pancho, clad in fashionable clothing, burning cellular minutes like there's not tomorrow. I know, as a seasoned consumer, that on the low of things, that SUV, complete with insurance (unless Pancho pays cash for things), gas and maintenance sets him back $1,000 a month --easily.

Judgement. Yes. I can't deny it. I'm not free of it, nor free of frivolous spending. I live with three women, remember?

But, we do have enough common sense to take care of our teeth, certainly if there is a problem. Until recently, my wife and I drove two used cars that amassed 20 years in age; nearly 400,000 combined miles. We finally gave in and bought a Dodge Caliber. It's pretty sweet.

I guess my message here is this: It always amazes me how much people are willing to sacrifice their well being for material things. Again, I'm not free of that thinking in some ways, but I blame Capitalism for this in some regard. That Navigator sure is sweet. No, it's pretty damn impressive, and anybody looks good in one.

But, as the girls and I walked to our 2000 Chevy Astro, in dire need of a new tranny, and with 160,000 well-driven, memory-enriching miles, I couldn't help but feel good that all three of us got a clean bill of molar health.

I hope Pancho took the meds. He'll resist medical care here, but his drive to the border will certainly be sweet.

Baseball Stigma

OK, we have to talk about it. We have to talk about Alex Rodriguez, a.k.a., A-Rod, a.k.a., A-Fraud, a.k.a. A-Roid, a.k.a., A-Hole.



Sigh...



Where to start. So many arguments. So many comparisons.

I wrote a piece once, actually admitting I felt sorry for Alexander Emmanuel Rodriguez. Why? Because during a TV interview of him in pin stripes, my wife and I were having dinner and she said, "I hate A-Rod."

My wife is a casual sports fan, but she likes baseball more than any other sport. There's reasons for that, and, of course, she's a devoted Red Sox fan with me.

So, the sorrow for our man A-Rod came after she made that comment. I thought, "How much has this loathing for this man spread! I mean, here's my wife, who could not tell you which team A-Rod came up with...who could not tell you what position he would play with the Bronx Bombers, but loudly made sure we knew she hated him."

That's a pretty big accomplishment, as far as that goes. And, for a second, I felt bad for the guy. I mean, does anyone like him? You see some kids and many women with his jersey, but do they like him?

Now the roids sorta-admission. Shocker.

He hit 109 bombs during his 3-year tour in Texas, 57 at its peak. Now we know they were juiced bombs. Now we know his 553 lifetime bombs are tarnished.

Now we know there are 104 more names. Everybody is suspect now. We enter the new season, and the World Baseball Classic, wondering who juiced-up, and when.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Baseball fans are a much different breed. They have a love affair with the game. It's visual stimulation without comparison. They're score keepers. They're stat readers. They're passionate writers of America's past time.

Like any love affair, having to put up with this roid mess is akin to learning the perfect Italian opera was using digital strings for that solo, that the tenor was really just moving lips to recorded lyrics.

It ruins the affair.

Why do we love the Babe...Mickey? We can we forgive them and not A-Roid? Bonds?

Because like those in attendance of a beautiful opera, the musicians, the actors...those players loved the game, too.

It's that simple. The likes of some modern day players don't give us the impression they love the game -- as much as we do.

I really think if A-Roid would start chewing tobacco things would change.

Anyhow, I don't know about you but I CANNOT wait for the bats to crack.