Clausen and Weis -- Can we believe?

Friends,First of all, I didn't save this year. You -- or, y'all -- did. If anything, the only thing I've done is getting my azz in gear. Pardon the French, s’il vous plait?

This is your league. I'm here to serve.

Secondly, in the spirit of encompassing all suggestions you gave me, reflection, rally, survival, etc., the word "perseverance" kept circling. We're going to go with that.

I couldn't sleep much last night. I think I might have logged in 40 minutes, if that -- all night. I had some worries with my daughters, but more than that, I was not sure I could give Clausen (QB for Notre Dame) my full respect -- yet. Why you ask?

It all started with a chick flick and some wine. Last night, after a one-sided (and not to my side) agreement with Mrs. Commish about TV rights, I was able to watch most of the end of the Notre Dame game. The pay-off to her, you ask? I had to watch a DVD with Matthew McConauhey. The picture is something about ghosts and girlfriends. Same drill. He's the guy all women want, but his heart belongs to one. The only positive in this movie is Michael Douglas has a part in it. He saves the movie, in a way. Anyhow, it was brutal. And I know Mssrs. Messer, Dean, Hopkins and others are LOLing as they read this. It's all right men. I know you do it, too.

I know a lot of you hate the Irish, but bear with me. Texas beat UTEP 64-7. Nothing remotely interesting to talk about there. Iowa won big at Penn State. Congrats to T-Bone and his alma mater! Tebow got hammered. Wow! Poor kid. There is a moral to this story.

So, again, the Irish are not winning as I turn to ESPN. Their foe? Purdue's Boilermakers, a moniker they've had to live with since 1891. They barely won the Michigan State game. They lost in the Big House. Their only convincing game was against Nevada, but that was expected. Them not winning 35-0 over Nevada would have been like the Cowboys losing their last game ever at Texas Stadium last season.

Oh wait...

I don't like -- and never have -- Clausen. I don't care how many state titles he won in California -- he would not be my choice. But, Coach Weis chose this kid. I mean, he's a good-looking kid, and his parents moved from the West Coast to South Bend to see their boy play, but still not my choice. C'mon coach! He's not Tom Brady or Brady Quinn!!!

So, for two long seasons I've been waiting for a reason to keep watching the Irish, my "closet attraction." I've been waiting for the magic, though last night was looking like a failed attempt. Clausen fell victim to Deion Sanders' namesake injury here in the Chicken Fried Nation-- turf toe. So, he was out a good part of the game.

I got my reason last night, sort of. The Irish were trailing 21-17 with less than four minutes on the clock. Coach Weis had been playing the backup QB, not wanting his golden boy to play in the second half. But, like many football movies and last-minute heroics we hear so many times, Clausen told Weis, "Put me in Coach!" At least, that's the way I'm going to imagine it. And, he did.

Clausen and the Irish drove down to the 4. But, something happened that kind of puts a damper on this Weis-Clausen love affair. The Irish had no time outs, and the clock had less than 30 tics. Instead of Purdue allowing the clock to keep ticking, hastily forcing the Irish to spike or make an offensive mistake, Purdue's head coach makes the mistake, one he won't soon forget.

He calls a time out.

This gives the Irish plenty of time to decide on a play. The men in the booth took this to the bank! "What's he doing?!" Apparently the time out was for personnel changes on defense, to insure the game.

Guess what?

The large-waist-never-played-no-football genius with the Notre Dame coach's polo shirt had extra seconds to plot with his boy. So, finally, Clausen, a-la-John Elway fires left, on a quick out. Irish score. Irish win.

Barely. Again.

I enjoyed the win. Don't get me wrong. I know a win is a win. But, I am still not sure without that time out on Purdue's behalf they would have won. I just don't know, and at this point never will.

Shistekovich! This is Bootleggers word, by the way.

Yours truly, and still doubting,

Commish

Just Another Container?

One of the most unique urns I've seen in my career is a pyramid. It's made of wood, stained and adorned with gold-colored trim. When I walked into our urn display room one day, I was instantly drawn to it. You can't help it uniqueness.

But, the question was, more than being a unique piece of art, would anyone choose it for their loved one's ashes? I was about to find out.

Turns out, one fine day, I met with a family and the instant they saw that piece, they declared, "That's the one!" They looked no further. They had found the urn, which fit their loved one perfectly. It was unique to their needs.

Though we strive to find the best offerings in merchandise available, we may or may not have the one piece that meets a family's needs. The pyramid urn was a unique combination of circumstances, but wouldn't it be nice to have a your disposal a place, which will create unique, customized pieces every time?

Matthew S. Kennedy at http://www.urnnews.com/Artists/TTGallery.html is doing just that -- offering urn customization.

In reading about Mr. Kennedy of Southern California, I found he takes an artisan approach to each and every urn, rather than mass production by pre-fabricated blue prints. One unique aspect that caught my attention was, "My art is unique and different with the hand carved rocks that adorn the top of each urn for the knob."

On the site, you will find a number of artists pursuing the same cause http://www.urnnews.com/Gallery.html, each with their own individual style and abilities.

And though jewelry specific to ash preservation is a rather new, especially here in the South, it is also offered here http://www.urnnews.com/Jewelry/Titanium.html. The idea of jewelry as a keepsake may or may not appeal to you, but at the very least it is available.

What is true is that more and more people are considering cremation as a final disposition, certainly my generation. It's nice to know there people painstakingly creating art, which will honor and preserve the most precious of all things -- your loved one's remains.

Bull Killers

I love animals, but I don't consider myself an animal lover. I enjoy a good steak and fried fish, and ironically my favorite animals are the bull and shark.

But, that's me. Now I have two daughters and they were formed (biologically) from some of my parts and some of my wife's. Now that they are coming of age they are forming well defined personalities, and one of them is very much a lover of all things natural -- certainly animals. She made me change the channel the other day from a show about loggers, though I really wasn't watching it. And, anytime anything remotely sounds like animal cruelty, her blood pressure rises. It's quite amazing, actually. One of the best parts of being a parent is witnessing your offspring mature.

The other day at lunch, the question was asked of me, "What do you think of bullfights?" He was referring to the mural in the restaurant, where a matador is illustrated as a suave, elegantly poised fighter against beast -- in this case a bull. I have been to many bullfights with my grandfather, the same man who gave us love for baseball. So, in some regard I feel I'm betraying him, as he loved "La fiesta de torros" (the party of the bulls) on Sunday evenings in Mexico. But, even then, I didn't like them. I certainly don't like them now. Internally, I cheered when the bull got the best of the matador (at least temporarily), as anytime the matador would be in trouble, a mob of helpers would come and put down the bull with a combination of daggers, spears, etc.

The only thing bullfights created in me is this: bulls became and are my favorite animal.

My thinking is simple. In a bullfight, the bull never has a chance. He's subjected to a series of rounds, where sharp weapons are employed (http://ecuadorphotos.tripod.com/bullfight/bullfight1.html). First, a man clad in armor (picador) comes out to ring, galloping on a horse (also protected with a heavy, dense blanket). He has with him a long spear, which he jabs into the bull as it (the bull) comes charging. If he's considered good, he nails the bull right on the mound of muscle on the bulls neck, which brings a lot of bleeding. The idea is to weaken the bull and try and keep his head down for the rest of the sacrifice.

Next, the banderilleros come with wooden rods, adorned in color (like piñata sticks), and with large razor sharp hooks on one end (meant to penetrated the bull, but hold the rod in place). The idea is for these men to stab these rods into the bull, as close to the wound as possible, further weakening it and "decorating" it. The bull has to endure three rounds of this, with the idea that he'll have six rods hanging from his upper neck, tearing up tissues under the skin.

Violent enough so far? It gets better.

After the bull is taunted and tortured through these two steps, usually a rookie bullfighter comes out to dance around with the bull a bit. It gives the showcase fighter ideas about how the bull moves and what sides he prefers. It also lets spectators get sloshed and become more rowdy.

Then, in grand fashion, and with live traditional music blaring through the arena, the star bullfighter (matador) is introduced. He is essentially wearing very intricately embroidered ballet clothes. As macho as this sport is proclaimed, the man is wearing tights, his hair a small bun, and ballet shoes. No offense to ballet dancers.

During this grand moment, I always stared at the bull. Most of the time, the poor beast was gasping for air and life in center ring, surely wondering, "WTF just happened?!"

The star matador prances out, acknowledging the crowd with a little black hat, meant to emulate horns in some way. He is carrying a red cape and a long sword. His job is simple. He continues to dance with the bull, and when the bull is showing signs of near death, i.e., tripping on his own feet, falling to the ground exhausted, etc., he's to take position, point the sword and charge at the bull. The target is that open wound made by the picador. If he is good, the sword will penetrate the bull entirely, puncturing every major organ in its route.

Every now and then bulls would be lying there, open wounded, six rods hanging, and a 36" sword injected down the entirety of its body. The people cheer the matador, while the bull dies, humiliated in the middle of the ring. I have seen bulls make one last effort to get up, and charge the matador one more time. Once a bull did and knocked the hell out of that man, silencing the crowd. He died immediately after that -- the bull and the matador.

On the occasion when bulls do not die, one last act of cowardice happens. Usually, a little short fat S.O.B. comes behind the bull and jabs a dagger in the back of the bull's head, right under the horns, severing the spinal cord. The bull's head finally falls.

Understandably, this is bull fighting 101 in simple terms. It's not pleasant to talk about, and probably not pleasant to read about, either. And, though it's part of my heritage, I don't support it as an adult.

Bodacious is a famous bull, R.I.P. A few of you, maybe very few, will know what I'm talking about.

Though rodeos are not in favor of many animal lovers either, in a rodeo beast and human truly challenge each other. Specific to our topic, bull riding vs. bull fighting is a whole different story.

Bodacious is in the ProRodeo Hall of Fame. At some 1,800 lbs., Bodacious was only ridden 10 of 135 times. If he was a baseball pitcher, his ERA would be 0.07. If he was a NFL left tackle, he'd merit a $150 million contract for only allowing ten sacks in 135 games. Get the picture?

For you rodeo innocent, a successful bull ride must last 8 seconds. A rider falls off before the horn, there is no score. Once the rider is in place, the shoot opens, and his only protection are his athletic abilities to stay on the bull 8 seconds (to make money) via a rope held by one hand, and an non-deadly way of getting off the bull. Yeah, they don't stab or hold the bull down so the rider gets off safely. He's on his own, even if the ride was successful.

One of the men who rode Bodacious (stayed on 8 seconds) was Tuff Hedeman. Google him if the name rings no bells. But, Tuff didn't win the battle against Bodacious all the time. Bodacious got the better of him once, when Tuff's face met Bodacious, Tuff's face literally broke to pieces. Many surgical procedures later, Tuff lived to tell.

Bodacious was retired and died later of natural causes.

Animal rights purists will argue that rodeo animals, circus animals, et al, endure a lot of mistreatment, too.

Maybe.

But, in rodeos, bulls have an equal shot and letting the rider know who the boss is.

Matadores sometimes earn body parts, if those in charge feel the round was worthy. They'll cut the bull's tail, ear, etc. (post humus), and give it to the matador as a further show of the fiesta. I always wondered where they kept those? After all, they do decompose.

History has a long chronology of the fight between man and beast. Every time I see a bull, I hope he gets a fair shot a defending himself in any fight.

Sorry grandpa, I just don't dig it.

My Daddies

The Jonas Brothers and Six Flags are to me what the Yankees were to Pedro Martinez in 2004 – my daddies.

After reading Drew’s post I was re-inspired. I had prepared a rather somber, serious piece to post in Shauna’s world – she kindly allows me to use her space –, but I realize people come here for laughs and jubilation. The last thing we need is too much reality.

Drew’s post inspired because I tread the waters of fatherhood right along with y’all, everyday. Like Drew has been hinted to, I have been told, “I’ll pay all the ones I owe with two girls!”

Seriously?

You see, when we were PWKs (People Without Kids), life was astonishingly boring, or so we conclude today, my bride and I. I mean, we have no time for ourselves these days, so we musta ran out of things to do before, right? How did we occupy our time before?

The dinner parties and weekend getaways with like-PWKs (back in the day) were dandy, but what did we have at the end of it all? Plenty of hangovers and mostly shallow pleasantries.

Let me explain…

So, we returned from a very tough trip back in the homeland, after a tragic death in our family. We needed a little boost, so, we headed to a local sports bar for some College World Series action. In said place of food and drink, I overheard a lady tell her four girls (an anomaly at this place, the lady and four girls), “Are you ready to see the Jonas Brothers? Let’s go!”

Wait a minute! Did we forget the concert was today? Here we sat quietly – the girls and I – and this lady was headed to the concert?

So, on a trip to the restroom, she stood outside the girls’ and I just had to ask – I’m good like that, approaching complete strangers, probably scaring them to death.

“Excuse me, are you going to the concert today?”

“Oh no, today is rehearsal. You can get free tickets right outside the stadium!”

Decision time…

At this point, none of the girls had noticed I was talking to the very attractive lady by the bathroom. I DIDN’T have to say there were free tickets to the rehearsal, did I? I could have avoided going to the stadium that night. After all, we had tickets to the grand show the next day.

Guess what I did? Guess?

Yes, I told them. Yes, we devoured the rest of our meal and cold drinks. Yes, I ran home to get the SLR and the “baddest” lens I could muster. Yes, we hung out until midnight-ish outside the Dallas Cowboys Stadium’s main tunnel, until finally, the boys emerged each in a separate vehicle.

The silver lining?

Two of the boys – I forget which Jonas bros – lowered they’re windows, slowed down and extended their hands. My girls go to touch them for a second.

The twinkle in they’re little faces? Perfect, as Drew so eloquently stated.

The next day, at the concert, the Jonas Brothers took me for a lot of money, again -- shirts, posters…all of it. On the bright side, I was able to medicate myself with cold drinks, though at $8 a pop, my dosage was low. The concert completely wiped us clean of energy and disposable income, at least for the month.

Yes, the Jonas Brothers are my daddies.

For the PWKs still wondering the earth, yes, get scared. You will be broke and worn out the entire time you have children.

Would I change it? Not for anything in the world.

One of the things I admire the most about Shauna is her honesty. I laugh along with all her fandom, but I know they are happy group. How you ask, since I’ve never seen them live?

Look at all the pictures. It’s reflected in those children.

So, Drew and all of you waiting, trying…I so hope you enjoy my joy very soon.

Oh, about Six Flags…

We misplaced the season passes. Mind you, we’ve been season pass holders since the girls were of age, yea repeat customers.

For a family of four, season passes and season parking for the grand park will run upwards $350.00, and that’s not including all the nick-knacks every time you visit.

You would think that if you’ve been loyal, caring customers for that last 6 years, re-printing ours (at least the first offense) would be a courtesy.

Well, it’s not. Beware. They give you one mulligan to get in the park, once you can’t find yours. After that, you’ll pay some $22.00 per to get new ones. Creative cash streams? Absolutely.

I have no choice.

They are my daddies, too.

Stats or "It" Factor. You Decide.

The first time Orlando Cabrera stepped onto to the plate at Fenway Park out of a Red Sox uni, after that 2004 championship season, he was given something of a 30-second standing ovation. He was an Angel now, newly signed out of free agency.



Just a short year before, the first time he stepped up in a Red Sox uniform, after a 4-team trade right at the deadline (which included the great Nomar Garciaparra), he hit a home run. The Nomar "Nomah" Garciaparra trade angered many Sox faithful, but the Cabrera HR surely eased the pain. Without getting into the nitty gritty of that trade, Theo sent Nomah to the Cubbies; got Orlando Cabrera from the now-defunct Expos; Doug Mientkiewicz from the Twins; and Dave Roberts from the Dodgers. Indulge me here, while I relive the 2004 season as a Red Sox fan. It was magical.



Recently, a friend and I put up a bet in the first Boston@Texas series. Nothing big. And, as the Texas Rangers were poised to sweep the Red Sox, the trash talk began. And, a comment was made about the desperation of Theo to add bats to the Red Sox line-up by trading for LaRoche from the Pirates.



So, a further conversation ensued. The argument is this: What matters most? The "feel" for a player or pure stats? Numbers never lie, but then again, they have to be the right numbers at the right time. It's, well, like poker.

Of the trade, which brought Cabrera to the Red Sox, Curt "Father Curt" Schilling said, "He is a game-changer in the field for me." The intent in Theo's trades were to fortify the defense. And, he did. Not only was Schilling money, but Pedro Martinez found his form and with then-closer Ketih Foulke, the Red Sox went on a run and made history. The acquisition of Cabrera at shortstop and Mientkiewicz at first gave the rotation a huge boost.

What about Dave Roberts? Did he make a difference?

Top of the 9th. 2004 AlCS. Game 4. Yankees up 3-0. The Red Sox had been strapped down to the electric chair --again -- , and were about to be executed, again. Just as the warden was about to turn the switch, the governor called...

Mariano Rivera allows a lead-off walk to Millar. Dave Roberts, one of the last-minute trades that July, came in to run.

Roberts steals second. Mueller singles and scores Roberts. Red Sox tie the game at 4, and folks that steal began one of the greatest sports accomplishments in all sporting history.

One stolen base by a guy who was not a Red Sox when the season opened in 2004.

The Red Sox would not lose again. They humiliated the Yankees by coming back from 0-3, and swept the Cardinals in the World Series.

Explanation? Was it in the numbers? Did Theo Epstein, boy wonder GM for the Red Sox, "feel"this was the thing to do in July of 2004?

How lonely do you think he was the night it became public Nomar Garciaparra had been traded? Think there was a contract for his head in New England?

We can go on for hours about this topic and probably not come to any logical conclusion. Bill James followers will prove to you it's all in the numbers. Baseball lovers will argue, yes, maybe in the numbers, but you have to have a feel for the game, the players.

And then there's that good ol' luck. It worked for Chris Moneymaker in the most famous World Series of Poker.

October baseball is about many things. The gods of baseball have to be on your side. You can buy free agents all day long (Yankees), but that doesn't guarantee you anything, even a place in the tournament (see 2008 Yankees).

All I can truly tell you about what makes an October magical for a team may have more to do with the gods blessing you with the right players, at the right time for the right reasons.

When O-Cab (Orlando Cabrera) came to Boston, he instituted well documented hand shakes in the dug out, which brought the team very close together. Mientkiewicz is quote as saying he was aghast when he learned his trade to the Red Sox included letting go of Nomar. Dave Roberts will forever be the man with The Steal. There was the Damon hair and beard; Schilling red sock.

The gods were with us.

Amazingly, none of those traded guys were Red Sox the next season.

Sense?

Most of the time, no.

This 2009 Rangers team seems to have that magic about them.

Magic and luck have a lot to do with winning teams in this free agency era.

Maybe the gods of baseball have made a stop in Arlington this year. Let's hope so.

My Favorite Nothing

When I was a kid, I thought I was weird. Everybody had their list of "favorite things," and I could never decide on anything. Color? It usually depended on my mood. Movie? Food? Friends? It all depended on variables.

Deciding on favorite things made/make no sense, so I lied. I always thought, "How could you have a favorite movie at 8, when there's many more movies to come by the time I'm 18?! I would tell people what my "favorite" things were, but it was all, well, made up.

So, I don't participate in many of these Facebook things, but thought the "my favorites" questionnaire might prove to be fun. I knew at best my closest family and friends could not score above 50%. And, I was right.

There were a few exceptions. My favorite color is black. Black clothes did me favors when I was 40 lbs. overweight. Besides, black is the combination of all colors, so, I never have to choose just one by choosing black. But, red is a very second close. Red cheers me up.

The Range Rover is my favorite dream car because it's the only car I can envision myself splurging on, had I the means. I cannot see myself dropping $180,000 for a vehicle that's a conglomeration of metal, plastic and copper. I mean, the Lambo is probably very sweet, but I'd feel guilty every time I'd sit in it knowing that money could be put to better use. I would probably rent one for a weekend and cruise with my girls. The Rover, though, yes, I would get one, though probably used with about 25k miles.

If all the sporting events I listed would be on at the same time, I wouldn't settle on one. If you have been to a Super Bowl party at my house, I have the ability to wire it for at least 5 televisions. So, I'd find a way to have them all going -- at once. Could not miss any of them .

The drinks, book, actors, movies, et al, are my choice when I think of each of those categories. Sometimes, there's nothing better than an ice-cold Miller Lite. But, sometimes the mood calls for a smooth Scotch or Pinot. It's all in the moods.

So, you see, it's very hard to predict my favorites. I like change and thrive in it. I like new challenges and begin to shut down when I'm not advancing.

Idaly just got her hair cut REAL short. I love it. I love change. A couple of my male friends were shocked that "I let her" cut it so short. It's simple. She takes on a whole new personality with a new do. She feels better about herself and even her dress changes. It's like living with a new person, and though that sounds bad, when you think about it, it works. She will always be the mother of my children and my wife, but re-invention is the ticket to longevity.

Don't worry, she knows the above statement. She tells people, "That's fine, as long as he doesn't want to change me for someone else." That's the point. By changing ourselves, it's never in danger of stagnating.

Water? If you let it pool somewhere without flow or new water, what happens? It becomes green and stinks.

That's why I love being a dad. It's never the same. I cut both of my girls' umbilical cords and now go from concert to concert with their favorite bands. Every day its a new adventure with them. It's beyond words!

I think you sell yourself short by having favorites. I've done many, many things in my short life, and many of them do not fit the other.

Anyhow, if you scored low on that Facebook thing, good. It was designed that way. I didn't want anybody to get better than a 50% .

It's all about change and improvement.

Back To The Ol' Days

We've decided to revisit our country dancing days by hanging out at Billy Bob's Texas, the 10-time CMA and ACM winner for country music clubs. On Thursdays, Billy Bob's offers free dance lessons, and the bonus is we can bring the girls!

So, opening night for us saw a real nice family reunion for us, complete with dancing and cold drinks.

Cheers!