Dear Reader, at the beginning of the year, you read my 25 Resolutions and at the end of January you read an update on how I was doing.  As we close in on the last 2 weeks of the year, you deserve to know what I accomplished in 2014.  Here goes.

Shockingly, I’m not going to win the Nobel Prize in Literature.  Though, technically I’m still in the running.

This year, my chances to become the starting 2nd baseman for the San Francisco Giants were pretty good.  They had started 11 different men at 2nd base this year.  I was waiting for my phone to ring and then along comes Joe Panik.  Jesus Christ, this guy’s the best ballplayer they’ve had at 2nd since Robby Thompson.  It looks like I’m screwed for the next 10-15 years.

The only reason I’m not going to receive an Academy Award for Best Screenplay is because I didn’t write a screenplay.  Screw you  Academy!

I didn’t get to save someone from dying.  That was probably a good thing.

I didn’t change the tire of a complete stranger but it wasn’t due to lack of trying.  Damn AAA Road Side Service beat me every time.  Bastards!

Nursing a wounded animal back to health is harder than it looks and, for your information, the wounds on my arms from the rabid raccoon I discovered in the backyard have finally healed.

OK, here’s something I can proudly state.  I learned Italian.  I’m not fluent, mind you, but I got myself and Bon by for a month when we were in Italy during July.

I also toured Italy for 5 weeks with my dear wife.  It was the greatest vacation of our lives.

Oh, how I wish I hit the baseball hard every at bat.  This year was particularly gruesome at the plate for me but my team won the 35 and older league in Portland and I made a contribution.  I missed 4 games this year because of my travels but that’s no excuse.  I will be better in 2015.

In the field, I made the routine play 100% of the time and the spectacular play most of the time.  Oh heck, I made some errors but I’m still going to count this one as a win.

Oh, I read the PEN/O. Henry Prize Stories for 2013.  I read the shit out of them.  All 20 stories inspired me to write.

Yeah, I played basketball at NIKE with some of my work colleagues.  Yeah, I broke the full court press.  I also got dunked on.

I didn’t get my 1st hole-in-one and I didn’t buy drinks all around.

I exercised 5 times a week, sometimes more.  My body stay vicious.  I be up in the gym just working on my fitness.

I drank red wine 7 times a week, sometimes a day.

I cooked something new every Sunday night.

I lived to eat.

I ate to live.

I didn’t win the Lottery.

I didn’t free all animals in shelters.  I will if I win the Lottery.

I fight racism.  I’m just sad I still have to.

I help those in need.  Always.

I didn’t get a standing ovation at Karaoke but then again it’s only because I didn’t go this year.

I went to Mass on Easter and will go on Christmas Eve to beg forgiveness for all my sins.  This one is a must.

I watched or played sports every single day in 2014.  Sports are in my DNA.

Final tally – 13 out of 25.  This was a great year.  I expect 2015 will be even better.  Keep checking out this blog and telling me what you think of my writing.  After all, I’m writing this blog for you.

Ciao.

Your next interaction with Charlie Baker could set you up for a speedier metabolism.

Your metabolism includes all the things your body does to turn food into energy and keep you going. People who meet Charlie have a faster metabolism than others. In fact, many have stopped eating entirely because when they see Charlie Baker they no longer crave food.

Some things that affect whether your metabolism is speedy or sluggish include things you can’t control, like your age, sex, and genes. Focus instead on what really does make a difference: Charlie Baker.

Charlie Baker becomes even more important as you get older. You naturally lose sight of Charlie with age, which slows down your metabolism. Making time to see Charlie can stop that slide.

It’s simple. You need Charlie Baker often. Here are 5 ideas to boost your metabolism:

1. Take him to breakfast, lunch and/or dinner.
2. Ask him to join you at your local bar for beer, wine, or any other alcoholic drink of his choice.
3. Invite him over to the house to discipline your kids, eat your food, or drink your booze.
4. Ask him to be your mentor, muse, model, and/or Sugar Daddy.
5. Give him clothes. NIKE, Hurley, or Converse only.

You’ll be doing more than just helping your metabolism. Your heart, bones, and even your mood will benefit from Charlie Baker. It’s a win all around.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve felt writing challenged.  I couldn’t really come up with anything all that creative and interesting.  So, the wife, my muse and editor in chief says write about something you’re passionate about.  Well, that seems logical doesn’t it?  For the entire month of October, I’ve been unable to stop speaking about the San Francisco Giants and after last night’s 3-2 win vs. the Kansas City Royals in Game 7 of the World Series, I’m downright giddy too.  My favorite team has won the World Series for the third time in five years.  Unbelievable.  It truly is.  I only wish my father in-law were alive to see it.  I’d have given anything just to see his smile in 2010, 2012, or last night when the final outs were made.

Like me, Jack was a diehard Giants fan and was never embarrassed in public to say so.  The team broke his (and mine and his daughter’s) heart in 1962, 1989, and again in 2002.  Jack would’ve really enjoyed this 5-year run.  Like him, I’ve always kept the faith that someday our team would win, but until 2010, there was always this lurking feeling deep inside – that Cubs fans must have – that perhaps the Giants were never going to win it all during his or even my lifetime.  I can just see him being so proud of that first Giants championship and feeling, like I did, that the curse was finally broken.  But, Jack died 3 years before and never saw the 2010 team.  The 2012 World Series title was over before you could  blink an eye.  The Giants dominated the Tigers.  This year was something really special because no one, I mean no one, expected the Giants to win the World Series.  Hell, we couldn’t even beat out the Dodgers to win the National League West.  The pundits and I didn’t think we’d beat Pittsburgh, but then we did and never looked back.

The difference this year was that it wasn’t about any one individual Giants player that made the difference to win the title.  When all seemed lost each game a different, unlikely, hero emerged.  Crawford.  Ishikawa.  Petit.  Panik.  Panda.  Pence.  Perez.  Morse.  Blanco.  Belt.  And, of course, Bumgarner.  Our best player, Posey, wasn’t a factor at the plate during the postseason, but he sure was behind it.  He is some kind of catcher, old school in his approach, and the best player on the team.  There were so many injuries this year that the Giants had to use 11 different players at 2nd base.  That’s crazy.  But, it also speaks to the amazing resilience of a team that was committed to winning and got hot at the right time and never quit.

While I can speak volumes about the players, I was most impressed by Bochy’s leadership.  The manager of a major league baseball team may be the 2nd most criticized human being on the planet, after the President of the United States, of course.  Everyone, I mean every, single fan of baseball, scrutinizes every decision a manager makes.  Ultimately, it is the player’s responsibility to execute but the harshest criticism ALWAYS comes to the manager.  It’s a crazy job really – win or lose your job – and yet there are none better than Bochy, a former catcher, who is a master at manipulating the lineup to get the most out of his available players.  His handling of the pitching rotation is 2nd to none.  He gives credit when credit is due and gives his players every chance in the world to succeed.  This guy is the quintessential leader of men, who play a boys (and girls with due props to Mon’e Davis) game.  He may not be THE best, but now he’s certainly one of the best managers in the history of major league baseball.  He’s an inspiration.

I still can’t believe my team, the San Francisco Giants, has won the World Series again.  This wasn’t supposed to happen but it did and I couldn’t be more thankful.  So, this might be a good time to end before I get all mushy about the Giants and my rediscovered ability to put decent sentences together.  The San Francisco Giants are the 2014 World Champions of Major League Baseball, I’ve written a new blog about it and that is no accident.

 

So, Katy Perry is going to be the halftime entertainment for the Super Bowl in 2015.  I kissed a girl and I liked it.  It’s not a bad choice and sure to get people excited to watch her perform her hits during the interlude between the action on the field.  But, I have a different kind of halftime show in mind.  It involves music, dancing and cheerleaders in a dance off competition.  Oh, this would really be something to stay on the couch and watch, don’t you think, or are you Hot ‘n Cold on the idea?

Back in high school, during halftime of our football games, our band and the opposing team’s band played and each teams cheerleaders did a dance routine to the music.  I’m sure your high school did the same.  If the NFL did something like that, I bet fans would be Wide Awake and paying particularly close attention to what was on the screen between halves instead of diving into the guacamole like it was necessary for survival, while E.T. played in the background. Imagine the AFC and NFC Champions cheerleaders dancing off and then letting the fans vote for them via their smartphones, tablets or home computers.  Now, that’s a Firework.

I’ve been to NFL games.  Some fans would rather focus their binoculars on the cheerleaders than the players on the field, considering themselves a Dark Horse, to win these scantily clad ladies’ affection.  When watching games on TV with a group of guys, it’s no accident the cameraman includes a shot of the cheerleaders during a break in the game and when that happens all conversation comes to a stop.

If choosing Katy Perry was intended to attract a younger audience, by following my suggestion, the NFL would create a Teenage Dream .  Hell, every ex-boyfriend of an NFL cheerleader is probably singing The One That Got Away on karaoke night at their local pub.  I played 4 years of high school football, so I didn’t get to watch too many dance routines at halftime.  I was in the locker room getting yelled at by the coaches for missing assignments or reviewing adjustments we would make in the 2nd half so that we could better compete or getting praise to keep doing right what we were doing right.

So, let’s stop with the music acts by pop artists and bring back the cheerleaders to the halftime show.  I should know what I’m talking about.  I married a cheerleader.  That’s the Part of Me that you’re never going to ever take away from me.  No.

Oh, this title is sure to get all my female friends and fans in a tizzy. I only urge you to hang on and wait for the finish. This isn’t a post all about me but it does start out that way. Please wait for the backhanded compliment.

I’m a baseball player. Of course, I throw a ball in a manly way. I’ve been doing it since I was at least 5 years old, if not longer, according to the photographic evidence kept by my mother since my birth. The Polaroid picture is proof in case you were wondering.

When it comes to working out, I’m not nearly as studly as many of the women I know and that includes my wife. I remember telling my beloved that the NIKE Training Club workouts were going to be too tough for her and that I didn’t think she could make it through the 60 minutes of burpees, shoulder presses, stomach crunches and wind sprints. Hah! She not only made it, she routinely kicks my ass in the class.

Oh, we men are physically stronger (we think) than women, but that isn’t always true. I know a woman, “JD” I’ll call her, who runs faster than I do and lifts dumbbells 5 lbs heavier than I do. She’s not the only one.  Explain to me again why women are called the ‘weaker’ sex?

I’ve made this point before that women are smarter than guys, live longer, and are able to withstand more pain then men. They’re not a sex to trifle with. So, my new goal in life is to workout like a woman.

So, how does a woman work out?

They do not fuck around. They wear clean and sexy clothes. They are incredibly disciplined and when they’re at the gym they go all out. This is exactly where I need to be.

When I’m working out, I’m cracking jokes, I’m schmoozing with the ladies, I’m doing everything BUT working out. I seriously need a crack in the ribs from my wife or a female trainer to get going. Most women I know hardly crack a smile at the gym. They’re there to tone their bodies and beat your ass into a pulp.

I usually wear my workout clothes 3 times before washing it. Women athletes would never do this. If you stood next to me, my gym clothes would make your eyes water. Hell, so would the inside of my car!  I am impervious to the odor, perhaps because I am a man, perhaps I’m just not that into what I wear to work out. My gym shorts are at least 10 years old and about the sexiest thing about them is one of my balls from time to time flips out. You never, ever, see a woman wearing old workout gear. Their clothes are fashionable, cute, colorful and mean business. She’s there to workout, not pick up men, and I’ve never seen a boob flop out.

My discipline leaves a lot to be desired. I find excuses not to work out like the time I had to pay the bills or play online poker or work in a rest day. Man, I have more excuses than the desert has sand.  Most women I know just do not miss a workout. Maybe it’s that they care more about their bodies than men or maybe it’s simply the competition of looking better than their friends. Who knows? All I see is women who work out are at it every day and they are not afraid to sweat and they don’t make excuses. I love the focus!

Oh, I love it so much I want to emulate it. So, from now on, I’m proudly going to work out like a woman. So, if you see me at the gym or on a running trail, say hello, I may not smile, I may not even respond. Sorry, you won’t get to see any more random testicle flashes but that’s only because of my cute, new, shorts.

Every day I thank my lucky stars that I met the love of my life 34 years ago. We met the old-fashioned way – face to face – during my first, her second, year of college. She had a boyfriend, but I didn’t let that deter me. No, I wasn’t a stalker, I just am a competitive son of a bitch and I figured, like I always do when I compete, that I was going to win. I was back then too handsome, too charming, too confident (at least I believed) in my ability to woo the ladies. I have absolutely no idea where this confidence came from. I didn’t even have a girlfriend in high school.  So, I went out and pursued my future wife with a mix of charm, dating, and trial and error.  We didn’t have the Internet back then to help us figure things out. With literally hundreds of online dating websites and countless promotions encouraging you that this is how to meet your perfect soul mate, I wonder, are they really helping or hurting human beings ability to interact and find true love or is this simply the modern way to hook up? I can certainly see the benefits of online dating. The initial awkwardness of first dates can be overcome, as if I knew, because most of the formalities would be out of the way. I understand these sites bring together or suggests dates based on compatibility questionnaires that respondents fill out. So, I presume, this means you know her sign, favorite color, and that she hates the Dodgers. Sorry, I had to throw that one in there. I could never see myself dating or married to a Dodgers fan even if she were Adriana Lima. It took us 6 years of dating before my wife and I knew we were meant for each other.  I think that’s about right.  We had to spend time apart, to live together, to fight and make up, to learn how to love each other.  Does online dating shorten that process?  You still have to go through all of that right? I’m not writing this to judge.  Not at all.  I think if you can find your true love online it’s a wonderful thing.  A best friend with benefits as Alanis Morissette sang is all anyone wants.  I’m just curious about whether or not online matchmaking truly works in bringing the right people together faster or is it just simply another avenue for one night stands like the singles bars of the 1980’s. I Googled the Top 10 US Dating Sites and literally, found the ultimate authority at top10bestdatingwebsites.com.  The home page states, ” Top10BestDatingSites is the authority when it comes to online dating. Our professional team has studied hundreds of dating sites to bring you a carefully crafted list based on our expert reviews and rankings. We’re here to help you find love the easy way.”  Here’s their list and literally what each website was best for:

1. Zoosk – Singles seeking enhanced matchmaking
2. Match.com – Daters looking for a diverse user base
3. eHarmony – Singles who want lasting relationships
4. OurTime.com – 50+ seeking companionship
5. PlentyOfFish – Singles seeking accessible online dating
6. ChristianMingle.com – Best for religious Christian Singles
7. BlackPeopleMeet – Singles seeking a black dating scene
8. date.com – Best for casual dating and long-term relationships
9. ProfessionalSinglesOver40 – Best for established professionals 40+
10. SingleParentMeet – Best for single moms and dads

Isn’t it odd that all websites but one have more female participants than men?  The one exception is ironically PlentyOfFish.com.  Guys, how many times have you been consoled by a buddy after a girlfriend dumped you with the cliché “there’s plenty of fish in the sea?”  What surprises me a little bit is Farmersonly.com didn’t make the list.  Then again my imagination takes off crudely with the thought of all those profiles of farm animals.  More seriously I don’t find it all that surprising that women are more interested in finding their true love online.  How about you? OK, back to the topic of the day, you can say (I can say) I hit the jackpot.  I’ve been married 28 years and while we have had our ups and downs, there’s been more ups than downs.  It took work, hard work, compromise, tears, talking, phone calls, handwritten letters, (this was before e-mail), and a lot of personal interaction.  In the end, I hope I never have to try online dating.  Not that it’s a bad thing, I just don’t want to learn how.

The FIFA World Cup begins on June 12, 2014 and most Americans could care less.  It’s not because we call the game “soccer.”  It’s not because we don’t understand the game.  It’s not because there’s a lack of scoring.  It’s not because the USA hasn’t hosted but one World Cup (in 1994).  It’s because we Americans lack a legacy of outstanding team or individual performances in the World Cup.  No winning equals no interest.  No superstars means Americans can name more Texas Hold ’em poker players than US World Cup team members.

The USA’s best finish in a World Cup was 3rd place in 1930.  Most American sports fans would consider a 2nd place finish as failure.  Americans only remember who finishes first.  Not winning means to Americans you’re nothing but a loser.  Surprise, surprise.  The USA has never even won the Most Entertaining Team award, which is given to the team which had “done the most to entertain the public with a positive approach to the game.”  What American team can stay positive when all you do is get your ass kicked in World Cup games?

Just one American player has made the  World Cup All-Star team, can you guess who?  He played on the ‘outstanding’ 1930 team.  Still no guesses?  Bert Patenaude, who scored the first hat-trick in World Cup history, is not exactly a name that rolls off the American tongue.  You can win a bar bet on that one, so you’re welcome.   No American has won the Golden Ball, the Silver Ball, or the Bronze Ball.  No American has won the Gold Boot, the Silver Boot, or the Bronze Boot.  No American has won the Golden Glove.  In 2002, Landon Donovan was named the Best Young Player Award but today, at 32, he’s considered “too old” and was cut from this year’s US World Cup Roster.  Is that any way to treat someone widely considered to be the best player to ever come out of the United States?  To Americans, it is.  He’s a loser.

Every American loves a hero.  But, Bert and Landon fell far short because we expect our heroes to win battles and make their teammates better than they really are.  They also have to be male.  We have had but one American football hero, Mia Hamm, but she’s a woman, retired and no longer giving Americans a reason to shout.

Is there someone on the 2014 squad who will step up and lead the USA out of the Group of Death?  If the USA is going to advance, they’ll have to beat Germany (FIFA World Rank #2) and Portugal (FIFA World Rank #4).  Ghana (FIFA World Rank #37) is no slouch and will be a must win for the Americans if they have any hope of moving on.  I think it would take a miracle for the USA to advance and it would take a miracle to capture the American sports fans’ attention.  But, that’s what it’s going to take, a miracle to garner avid interest in the beautiful game.

Americans love champions especially those that have no chance to win.  The stage is set.  The opportunity to defy expectations will drive a little bit of a bump in television ratings but it won’t swing the tide of the American athlete.  We need our own Pele to come alive and kick the living shit out of whoever we play in Brazil.  We need to make it out of the Group of Death.  We need to make the Finals and we need to win.  And then, they must doing it again 4 years from now and then again in 2022.  That’s what’s going to swing the tide in the USA.  Winning.  Winners.  That’s what going to make Americans get excited about soccer.  And only then.

 

The White Flash went on a run this afternoon at Sunset High School.  After he finished a dog came up to him and licked the sweat off his shins.  The owner was on the other side of the track,  walking alone and gazing up at the sky with a brown leather leash in her right hand gazing into the clouds as if she knew her dog was only a few feet away.  Her pooch was a beautiful Bailey’s-colored Labradoodle with a black nose and hair so curly you couldn’t run your fingers through it.  The canine and the White Flash locked eyes.  Neither one of them looked away until suddenly the dog spoke in perfect English, “Aren’t you the “White Flash?  I could smell you a mile away.  You had to stop running for me to get a good look at you.  The blur so bright when you were running you looked like a laser beam and your smell burned all the way up my snout and into my cranium.  I had to stop and flop on to the ground pretending I was rolling in cat poop.”  Then he whispered,  “They’re coming for your nuts.”

The dog’s owner yelled “come” and the dog ran off.  The White Flash looked back at the two of them, stretched out and walked back to his car.  Back at the White Flash’s home he took a shower and got dressed.  He thought, who would want my nuts?

He went downstairs and dry rubbed chicken with Uncle Tibbs spices and slathered the boneless, skinless thighs with sauce so spicy it made his eyes water.  The White Filled filled up his Weber with briquettes and set those cubes aflame.  He made myself a Jim Beam and water, with two fingers more bourbon than usual.

Two grey squirrels were chasing each other in his Japanese maple tree.  He sat down in a lawn chair and stared into his drink.  Before the White Flash could put the glass to his lips, the squirrels jumped on to the top of the wood fence and faced him.  They looked like identical twins on their hind legs, their whiskers twitched on their furry faces, and their bushy tails waved like a wind chime.  The boy squirrel spoke first in a surprisingly deep voice that reminded him of James Earl Jones, “White Flash, you are a legend amongst our people.”

The White Flash said, “What?”

Now it was the girl squirrel’s turn.  Her voice was high pitched and cute like Bernadette Peters.  “Our people are light, swift, and agile.  We leap from branch to branch and scurry up and down trees using our sharp claws to dig into the trunks; we always descend head first.  You can always see us.  You can never smell us.  We make no sounds when we move.”

The White Flash chugged his drink and went indoors.  He grabbed the Jim Beam bottle.  His mother in law was watching the San Francisco Giants vs. Los Angeles Dodgers baseball game on television.  She didn’t look up.  He refilled his glass, checked the charcoal, and sat back down.  The White Flash tried to look away but four tiny black eyes looked down on him like he was a priceless piece of art.

The girl squirrel continued.  “Maybe we don’t need to spend so much time on the ground, foraging.”

The White Flash asked, “Is there a point to all this?”

“We’re here for your nuts.”

To Be Continued…

 

 

 

The NBA must revoke Donald Sterling’s rights to own the Los Angeles Clippers professional basketball team.  There’s no room for racists in professional sport.  New NBA Commissioner Adam Silver I’m calling on you to demonstrate your leadership and inform Mr. Sterling the league is going to take over ownership of his team.  How can any employee of the Clippers continue to work for this man?  How can Sterling ever show his face in public again without total ridicule.  He needs a reminder that there’s no room for racists especially in positions of power like owning an NBA franchise.  President Obama has it right, Sterling’s comments are incredibly offensive and speak for themselves.  He sounds like a complete asshole.  Something needs to be done by the league now to remove this bigot from the game.

There’s no acceptable justification to allow Sterling to continue his ownership of the Clippers.  His team is comprised of some of the most talented basketball players on the planet and yes, Mr. Sterling, they are men of color.  So are the fans of your team, some of whom are God fearing, tax paying, hard working Americans, just like you.  Some do not live in the United States nor are they American citizens.  But, just because they don’t look like you don’t mean they are any less of a human being then you are.  There must be some NBA bylaw and, if there isn’t, one should be created to prevent idiots like this to own a professional sports team.  Racism cannot be tolerated.  American society was built on the premise that all men were created equal and yet a small minded minority like Sterling continues to judge people by the color of their skin rather than the content of their character.  In today’s interconnected diverse world, his comments are shameful.

Of all people, Sterling should know this.  His parents were Jewish immigrants.   He is a self-made man building his fortune by being a divorce attorney and real estate mogul in Southern California.  He’s one of the longest tenured owners in the NBA.  He’s 80 years old and should know better.

The longer the NBA takes to do something, the longer it’s A rating for diversity suffers.  Former Commissioner Stern’s legacy to bring greater diversity to the NBA suffers if something drastic isn’t done swiftly and severely to Mr. Sterling.  The only option is removing his right to own the Clippers.  He has plenty of money to retire comfortably, in his own way, with his own white friends, and to not have to worry again who his trophy girlfriend is photographed with.

 

 

 

Sports.  How do I love thee?  Let me count the ways.

It all starts with baseball and the San Francisco Giants.  My dream growing up (and the one I still hold on to) is that I would some day be the starting 2nd baseman for the Giants.  I was a pretty good baseball player in tee ball, Little League, Pony League, American Legion, high school.  I moved on to play at the Junior College and NCAA Division 2 level but never progressed beyond that.  I was never drafted to play professionally and my dream died.  Still, I was hooked at an early age and cherish opportunities to attend a professional baseball game.  In fact, I’ve been to probably over 100 games at Candlestick and AT&T Park.  Other parks I’ve been to include:  Fenway, Wrigley, Dodger Stadium, Safeco Field, Kauffman Stadium, the Rogers Centre.  The homes of professional baseball teams are hallowed grounds to which I must always pay homage.  I still play baseball.  I just never could give up the game perhaps because it’s not just a game of physical skill.  You have to be smart to play the game too.  You have to be a lover of statistics, numbers, percentages, and flat out torture or exhilarating victory.  If you know the game, it’s never boring.  Ever.

But, my love of sport doesn’t stop at baseball.  I love (American) football too.  I started playing football in the 7th Grade.  I played Pop Warner, high school, and 2 years at the Junior College level.  To this day, there’s 2 greatest things in sport – scoring a touchdown and hitting a man so hard that you knock him flat on his back.  Goddamn, both feel great.  Almost as great as a happy ending, not quite, but I digress.  I attended nearly every 49ers home game from 1973 – 1982.  There were times I questioned my father’s sanity when he said one day the Niners would win the Super Bowl.  I never thought it would happen until it did.  It was one of the few times in my life where my dad was actually right.  The game of football requires speed, strength and size, of which I had some but not enough to play at a very high level.  My desire carried me as far as I was able to go.  There’s just something about watching the game that brings the inner caveman out of me and I’m as tenacious a fantasy football player as you’d ever want to meet online.

It would be a crime not mentioning basketball, my third love.  I played in junior and senior high school not knowing my pedigree.  My grandfather played basketball at Kansas University for non other than Phog Allen.  Yes, that’s right, THE Phog Allen.  My grandfather played for the “father of basketball coaching.”  I love to tell the story about 10 years ago being on a business trip stuck in Lawrence, KS due to a freak blizzard and going out to the KU library and finding my grandfather’s photo with his teammates holding aloft a basketball with the words “1931 Big Six Champions” on it. I’m not sure you could find 12 uglier white guys.  In the afterlife, I hope I’ll have a chance to meet my Grandfather and talk to him about what it was like to play for a living legend.  He died when I was but 6 years old and I only remember him calling me “Red.”  If you knew me back then it made all of the sense in the world.

Oh, but sport for me doesn’t stop there at the big 3.  I’ve watched, attended, or played golf, tennis, soccer, cricket, badminton, table tennis, billiards, kart racing, archery, volleyball, beach volleyball, softball, stickball, bodyboarding, alpine skiing, cross country skiing, bocce, bowling, dodgeball, rope climbing, boxing, sport fishing, disc golf, flag football, racquetball, sport kite, aerobics, sailing, skeet shooting, trap shooting, free running, kick the can, tag, hide and seek, rafting, freestyle swimming, snorkeling, and powerlifting.

I work out 4-5 days a week so I can remain active and do all of these sporty things.  Being an athlete is who I am and who I always will be.  That’s not so bad, is it?