Last Day of School Edition

Melancholy - noun - a feeling of pensive sadness, typically with no obvious cause

The ebb and flow of the 'school' year is all I've ever known. Since I began preschool, age 3, until today, age 44, my summers' starts have not been defined by the Summer Solstice but rather by some random date selected by adults as the 'Last Day of School!' To multitudes of students, the last day of school is cause for celebration. Vivid memories of several last days of school dance through my mind's eye from childhood and all were joyous occasions. Released from education's calendrical bonds to the freedom of lazy summer days, a young boychildman knew no other emotion but pure happiness!

I was, however, one of an odd group of children. I LOVED school - everything about it! My friends were there and I saw them five times a week. I was smart - admittedly without ever working very hard at being 'smart' - and could get good grades without much mental effort. I got to climb on now banned due to immense danger cool metal structures or play kickball or run to the big tree at the edge of the playground at least TWO times a day! The school day completed, I would ride home and watch a cartoon or two before being sucked into the vortex of boredom that was pre-tech childhood. By five o'clock, my friends and I had morphed into leisurely Einsteins attempting to discover a new way to play an old game - no YouTube videos provided!

Summer was - by extension - a colossal after-school voyage of discovery. Sailing on our bicycles like Ferdinand Magellan or Vasco da Gama across the oceans previously unseen, the first weeks of June called us to explore every nook and cranny of our neighborhood. Gertrude Jekyll said, 'What is one to say about June, the time of perfect young summer, the fulfillment of promise of earlier months, and with as yet no sign to remind us that its fresh young beauty will ever fade.' And boy were those first few weeks of no school perfect and beautiful! Once we had extracted every precious secret from our asphalt-paved journeys, summers would fade into a familiar pattern of monotony which would quickly have me looking forward to school again. Shortly after the last ashes of July 4th fireworks had brightened the night sky and floated slowly down to earth, I was ready for school to begin anew.

Some pieces of my outlook have never changed - I still LOVE school! The 'Last Day of School' is joyous but not in the childlike version. I celebrate now with a sense of melancholy I find indescribable. A feeling that I could have done more - I could have taught better - I could have reached another student who was struggling - I could have helped another teacher in time of need ... but mostly a sense of time expired. As the sands slip away, the alchemy of time and memories veers toward the territory of escaped dreams and unrealized hopes. The 'Last Day' finish line is beckoning and inevitable, crushed against the desire to be and do more in the classroom. It is between this Scylla and Charybdis where my melancholy dwells as the first days of summer freedom appear.

Okay ... on to audience participation!

When we last spoke I asked your opinion about speed and driving in the left lane of multi-lane highways. I even got several texts and emails!! There was no definitive answer - two said I should slow down (thanks Mom!) and three said too many people cruise in the left lane instead of just using it as a passing lane. My two cents are that you should not DRIVE in the left lane. You are not the police, sheriff or highway patrol. You are not in charge of speed control. The left lane is for PASSING. If you are not passing, then you should move to the right and allow the person who wants to pass you to do so. So help a fellow American out if you are one of the estimated 40 million people driving long distance this Memorial Day weekend (and every other weekday and weekend!) and move right if there are faster drivers around you.

This weekend is a sportsman delight - at least until the games are played and races run. It's one of my favorite weekends of the year! Saturday sees my beloved Arsenal Gunners take on Chelski DirtyRussianMoneyBlues Chelsea Football Club (I will NEVER like Russia or Russian owned things due to the Cold War! 'Merica! The Cuban Missile Crisis! Ronald Reagan! Rocky over Drago! The Miracle on Ice!) in the FA Cup Finals at Wembley Stadium. COYG!!! (If you don't know what that means then you don't care anyway!) Sunday is a race fan's cornucopia trifecta - Monaco Grand Prix/Indy 500/Southern Coca-Cola 600. Monday is Memorial Day afternoon baseball - nothing more American than that. While I'm soaking these events in simultaneously through multiple screens, I will tip an ice-cold Miller Lite (embedded advert!) and thank God for the men and women who made the ultimate sacrifice in defense of our great country.

Happy Memorial Day Weekend everyone!

All the feels ....

Over the last five days, I have witnessed nearly 2000 young men and women cathartically release the last vestiges of childhood with the flip of a tassel across a mortarboard cap. A flowing gown so proudly worn in their moment of achievement is shed, a cicadian shell reminder of where they had once toiled mostly unseen. Freed from the conventions of mandatory schooling inside brick boxes, these 2000 young men and women crawl inexorably toward adulthood wide-eyed (although thankfully not wide-red-eyed like our friendly brooding cicadas!) with optimism of a story yet unwritten but grand. The world in all its beauty opens before them as they flex their wings in flight to destinations knowingly unknown. Wiser souls, cynically hardened by life, rejoice in this nostalgic flit to a time when they too shared a wide-eye optimism of endless and undiscovered possibilities. Our culture's true celebration of youth is not tied to sinewy muscles and aerobic capacity. Instead we celebrate a youthful return, however briefly, to a time when the optimistic possibilities of life were at their widest and wildest in our future imaginations. Metamorphosis complete, open air ahead!

1,198 of the names I heard called held varying degrees of familiarity to me. Some were students in my class, former teammates in youth sports, kids from the neighborhood, school friends or children of my friends. The overwhelming majority were simply a short swirl of sound waves which would visit my mind briefly before fading into the deafening silence of never again. Two names were especially significant - having known one since she was nine and the other since he was a heartbeat. Like the distinctive sound of the cicada, spotting Nate's optimism took nothing more than a glance which held my eyes captive. Descending from the stage with his diploma in hand, Nate's tilted smile, the sparkle glinting off his eyes as he walked with a rhythmic bounce, betrayed the joyous, optimistic feeling of accomplishment springing from his puffed chest. As I made my way through the sun-dappled crowd outside the Cintas Center toward my son, Nate extended his hand from a distance and, with the same firm handshake I taught him those many years ago, crossed the bridge into adulthood. The only water to be found was welling in my eyes.

Time has a funny way of playing in your mind. Rewind doesn't work as well in real life as it does on your DVR. What feels like only weeks ago turns out to be years, and what you hoped would go on forever ends with pomp and circumstance in a rain of confetti. All you are left with are snapshots and images in your mind which jumble together like last night's dream you can't quite remember. As Tim King - a former teaching colleague of mine at Mason High School - reminded us yesterday, "love is really spelled T I M E." Nate's handshake in the shadow of a Musketeer proved our T I M E together has been lovingly productive. This morning I walked my familiar path to his room but didn't wake him. (I took his brother to school today in the start of a new morning routine???) Instead I peered from the door at him sleeping as I had done many weeks years ago when he was a child, awestruck by the optimistic potential I had helped to create. The story of his life is wide open, unwritten plot twists on every empty leaf, and hopefully the pages turn slowly so I can enjoy it as long as humanly possible.

Okay ... feels over for now.

On to more pressing items.

#1 - thank you to all the people who reached out after the blog's return last week. Closing in on 300 views!!! Wow!!!

#2 - New reader interactive section of the blog. Feel free to email, text or Facebook me suggestions. Today's topic - Life In The Fastlane - Literally! In SW Ohio we are blessed with an abundance of three lane highways. It is my understanding - correct me if I'm wrong - that the right lanes are for slower drivers and the left lane is for faster drivers. My question for you then is what constitutes a 'fast driver'? Is it the speed limit? Is is true speed? What's that ... my question has you slightly confused? OK here is an example: Driver A is in a 55 MPH zone and is driving 75 MPH while traveling in the farthest left lane - AKA the Fast Lane. Driver B is also in the Fast Lane while driving 82 MPH. Should driver A move right so driver B can continue driving at 82 MPH or is driver A entitled to remain in the Fast Lane because he/she no not Caitlyn Jenner is driving well above the speed limit? Please do not share this hypothetical situation with the friendly boys in blue as I prefer to continue my Mario Andretti/Jeff Gordon imitations as long as possible. My answer will be revealed in the next blog ... so join me then!!! End of the School Year Edition!!!

Of endings, fatherhood and Don Draper's finest moment!

Out in the distance, like the heat distorted images which dance along the horizon on a summer drive, endings big and small are rushing at each of us with unending frequency. As Johnny Carson's Carnac the Magnificent demonstrated many years ago (younger friends go to YouTube!), some of these endings are already predetermined yet still catch us off-guard when they arrive. The effect of this startling end can run the gamut of emotions - happiness, laughter, with a shake of the head to the more profound and morose human responses. And that, mes amis, leads me to this week and the phoenix which is my blog!!!

Unique among mornings, Monday morning is loathed universally as the true signal of joy's ending. School (for those younger) and work (for those older) beckons with a klaxon alarm promising to remove life's joy as quickly as one's eyelids allow. For the past 13 school year Mondays, my routine has remained constant - through slightly cracked eyelids I walk down the hall and wake up my oldest son Nate before waking up my youngest son. Even the words leaping out of my froggy throat have been unchanged for years. "Nate, time to get up and get moving." Nothing more was ever required for him to sit upright in bed and slowly begin his trudge to the shower and eventually school. I would linger by his door to give him a hug until his advancing age required him to check his phone before exiting the confines of his room. Your skepticism of teenage waking horrors may be well documented but believe me when I say he was the easiest kid ever to wake-up! 

But Monday morning May 15th, 2017 was different. Unconsciously I had ignored its significance even as I celebrated the other little milestones of Nate's senior year of high school. College visits in the summer, last first day of school, college applications and acceptance, his 18th birthday and the other 'lasts' which accompany the end were ticked off one by one until only three days separated Nate from shedding the last vestiges of his childhood. As my feet padded quietly down the carpet on this Monday morning, the sunshine streaming through the loft window slowed me just enough to allow my brain to catch up with the gravity of the situation. My emotions suddenly strained the bonds which normally contain them and I became still. 

Never again would I trod this path - in this routine - to wake up my son.

An immense sense of loss flooded my now rapidly awakening brain followed immediately by a tremendous pride in what Nate had accomplished in school and the type of young man he has become. The sun's rays metaphorically presaged the next emotional wave which washed over me - hope for the new beginning which awaits Nate. As I stood frozen in the sunlight, awe entered my consciousness as I realized the phenomenal potential inside my son. I mourned the loss of this morsel - unknown to Nate - of our relationship while simultaneously rejoicing in the successes we will celebrate in the years to come. 

Rarely have I had to reconcile such an explosion of emotions during my fifteen second morning walk. But in that moment I truly understood what C.S. Lewis (again lookhimup if you don't know who he is!) meant when he said of fatherhood and parenting - stay close but be far. Watching your children grow up is one of mankind's most imperfect sciences. What works for one child can backfire for another. You do the best you can given the circumstances until one day you remove the training wheels and hope like hell they can keep life upright! At first you stay within an arms length, then begin trailing in their wake until finally they can ride out of sight with your full confidence - all the while knowing you will be there for them if life's delicate balancing act requires a light touch on the handlebars. And that, mes amis, is the essence of fatherhood. It only took me 44 years and countless missteps to figure out!

In the now 54 hours which have elapsed since Monday morning, the stream of Nate memories which usually meanders through my head has turned into a wild, raging torrent. One day heredity will try to dam Nate's stream inside my head but digital never dies (hopefully!). Rushing out now is the confusion during his birth, holding him his first night watching a show about sub-Saharan Africa while his mother slept, his first steps, his broken arm, his collection of tiny NASCARs, decorating his bike for the neighborhood July 4th parade only to go to the wrong starting spot and miss the whole thing, losing his jacket under the bleachers at Sycamore and the courage he had to summon to walk underneath them to pick it up, playing catch with balled up socks as I folded laundry, telling a nearby spectator who was smoking at the races that he - the smoker - was stupid for smoking, his first soccer picture day where he ran around kicking the soccer ball until he was drenched in sweat for his picture, coming to my basketball camp at Mariemont HS and winning the 3-on-3 Cut-Throat competition, waking up from kidney surgery and wanting to do some homework, his various t-ball/baseball teams, the overnight at the zoo, the day I yelled at him during a car ride for being ungrateful only for him to give me the best essay ever written entitled 'My Hero' (all about me!) when we got home, the conversation we had in the car during 6th grade when one of his 'friends' pulled the big-time card on him, venting his frustration after a called third strike to end a baseball game that he insisted was a ball, the museum-like quality of his bedroom (if you ignore all the clothes), our yearly trips to the US Air Force Museum, his first trip to the islands in Canada (and the passport picture he took with his phiten necklace on), learning to drive a boat with my brother, our driving lessons together and his impeccable skills behind the wheel today ... the torrent rages still!!!

All of which leads me to Don Draper and his finest moment. Of the many fictitious accolades Don Draper received during his Mad Men days, none could ever be attributed to his parenting skills. What he lacked in fatherly manner, he more than made up for it with his uncanny ability to predict what people (other people - not family members) needed to feel a connection or emotional response. In what arguable was the best 3:30 minutes of television drama in the past twenty years, Don Draper played nostalgia like Mozart. As Nate prepares to graduate and (to soon for me!) head to the University of Cincinnati, Don Draper's imagined sales pitch for Kodak's (no youngsters not Kodak Black .. Kodak - the company!) new slide projector echoes through my head. Clicking through a slide show of his family's pictures he says, "This device isn't a spaceship, it's a time machine. It goes backwards, forwards. Takes us to a place where we ache to go again. It's not called the wheel. It's called the Carousel. It lets us travel the way a child travels. Around and around and back home again to a place we know we are loved." I ache to share those memories with Nate again and re-script my fatherhood failings. I steadfastly hope Nate comes around and around and back home again for years to come because there is no doubt that I love him.

The Carousel

Congratulations Nate! Here is to many more memories and celebrations!!

Da blog boss .. Da blog!!!!

There is only one thing in the world which has proven more difficult to find than Malaysian Airlines Flight 370 ... and that is my blog!!! Alas I have returned from the Bermuda Triangle, negotiated the Congo River Valley and trudged through the Everglades - all the while escaping radar detection because I disabled the GPS on my iPhone. Unplugged, my blog and I were undetectable despite multiple searches on Google and the many sorrowful lamentations of my fans. Well fear not faithful followers!!! I am not in Crimea or at the bottom of the Indian Ocean ... I am back on a semi-regular basis to enlighten and entertain and foster some happy discussion. Consider it my gift to you on St. Patrick's Day!!!

Now ... when will Tattoo ring the bell and come sprinting down the dock (well at least sprinting for short legs!) shouting "Da plane, da plane!!" Few things have transfixed my attention over such a long period of time - anything longer than 3 minutes is pretty long for my ADHD riddled mind - as the missing Malaysian Airlines Flight 370. In the modern 24/7 continuously monitored teched-up world, a 200 foot long by 200 foot wide airplane vanished like a fart in the wind. Either Edward Snowden lied about the snooping technology which exists (he didn't!) or there are serious gaps in the ability of radar and satellites to monitor flying machines. Where, oh where has Flight 370 gone? At this point pretty much every nefarious comic book situation is in play - unless the plane is already on the bottom of the Indian Ocean. Just in case I had my Superman suit dry cleaned over the weekend to prevent widespread disaster Unfortunately it fits like Mr. Incredible pre-workout regimen. Give me a few weeks okay?!?! The fit will improve as the weather gets warmer. Flight 370 disappearance also speaks to the ineptitude of the leadership in that part of the world. Malaysian military radar tracked an unknown plane for two hours without concern or notifying anyone for a couple days. The Chinese, Indians, Indonesians, Pakistanis and several other countries who claim to have sophisticated weapons systems never picked the plane up at all. The only hints to the plane's whereabouts where crude, periodic transmissions from the plane's essential systems to a satellite. Could anything like this happen in or around the United States? I mean it's not like airliners have been used to attack skyscrapers or anything ...  right? How many times would a Flight 370 situation have to happen before people just stop flying commercially? Two? Three? Will CBS make a new TV series about Flight 370 this fall? Or is this just an Alex Jones conspiracy by the New World Order to allow us to use cellphones on planes since we know the NSA can track cellphones. Hey .. I want to use my cellphone during flight as much as anybody so bring on texting while flying!!! Until Flight 370 is found I will follow it like I follow the the rest of the cases in my Aviation Mysteries Hall of Fame (which BTW has a top five of Amelia Earhart's disappearance, Flight 19, the Hindenburg disaster, my dad on a pontoon plane and Snoopy being shot down by the Red Baron).

Speaking of my Dad, he passed away from complications related to Alzheimer's Disease just before Thanksgiving 2013. Alzheimer's is a terrible disease - well pretty much all diseases are terrible - but it definitely seems more terrible when it is your Dad who is afflicted. I find there isn't a day that passes where I don't have a fleeting thought about him in the same way everyday something makes me remember my grandparents. Age has given me many things - house, cars, a nice salary, extra pounds, aches and pains, two wonderful sons - but it has exacted an enormous mental toll on me. Younger Scott wondered how the elderly could say they were at peace with death - Older Scott understands where the elderly were coming from. One day I'll see my Dad and grandparents again and I can see why that will hold a level of comfort and joy for me. Until then I'll enjoy my time on Earth with my family and loved ones as much as I can because of what life has taught me. If I could freeze time I would have .. years ago .. but not even Superman could stop time.

The Reds are trudging through the Arizona desert getting ready for a Goodyear .. at least that's what I hope. The ballclub has changed faster than the climate and I - much like Al Gore - am concerned!! Bryan Let's Hope the Price is Right takes over in the dugout while Billy the Jet has landed in centerfield. Joey Vottomatic has become a real-life tell-all book on the Big One - which is good I think! DatDude has morphed into DarthDude, fueling up on every snub - real, imaginary or perceived - for a monster season. Question of the Day: What material is super strong - maybe the strongest material known to man - but dangerously fragile? Answer: The elbow and shoulder muscles in Mat Latos, Johnny Be Good Cueto, David D. 'Homer' Bailey, Mike Leake and Tony Cingrani. Doc Hollywood has wielded his knife far too often already this season - which means there will be several injury relapses the Reds will have to overcome probably by the end of April! Jonathon BrOXton and Sean Marshall are still recovering from surgeries last season and may/may not be available for the season's start. The regulars will have to produce above last season's level for the Reds to rule the Central. No Spring skips it's turn - delayed as it may be - and hope Springs eternal. There's a message wrapped up in a riddle in there and it translates to 'Go Reds!!!'.

More manana ... it's good to be back!!

The woodwork is always revealing ...

Especially following tragic events .... and no I'm not talking about my computer crashing as I was finishing up yesterday's blog. Scrolling through my Facebook and Twitter feeds yesterday I saw many people genuinely concerned with the events in Boston, however I also saw the ugly side of racism and bigotry from the cockroaches lurking in the intolerant baseboards of society. Social media is both revealing and reviling, instant and ignorant. Misery loves company may be cliche, but social media provides ample evidence of its veracity. Yesterday's bombing in Boston is the continuation of domestic terrorism America has suffered from since its inception - and yes many of those events come with their own conspiracy theories Oliver Stone! This attack is not the beginning of the end of America, nor will it be the end of attacks in America. Boston will do what America does best - regroup, learn, move forward! The strength of America resides in the spirit of the people ... and no group of people or attack against people has ever been able stop the American spirit. This event will be no different!

Now then ...

Show of hands .... who had one of these bad boys in the early 80s? Me ... me ... me ... me!!!!! This fine piece of cutting edge technology provided an exhilarating rush of adrenaline as I dodged oncoming red blips with my blinking red blip on an inch wide screen. I could track those blips for hours - or 20 minutes when the battery went dead! Fast forward - and it definitely feels like fast forward - to 2013 and the government is asking for cell phone video and pictures from spectators to shed light on the Boston Marathon bombing. Kind of takes Crimestoppers to a whole new level, doesn't it? Technology has seeped into every crevice of our lives to the point we take for granted that someone hanging around a marathon finish line might have today's Zapruder film. My Sunday night viewing habits transport me back to eras where technology hadn't yet entwined its tentacles around the human existence. Sunday night's Mad Men exposed the differences between today's digital world and the 60s Stone Age in a variety of ways. Don Draper's flashbacks to living in a whor ... um .. brothel with his mother, Dr. Rosen taking a call on a restaurant's phone line (I'm sure he had to leave a number where he could be reached in the event of an emergency) and Pete's horrible attempt at an neighborhood affair could have been Norman Rockwell paintings of 60s technology if not for the illicit happenings which followed. The return of Don Draper, serial adulterer, continues to dominate the storyline which suits me just fine. Don is better when he prowls around in the pre-GPS equipped cell phone 60s. Instead of discreet text messages he simply forgets his cigarettes after the good Dr. exits the elevator and returns to his married mistress's apartment. Speaking of the good Dr. ... he really needs to plan his emergencies better or he'll need an OB/GYN on call! Imagine the shock when the baby has a full head of Don's hair! Brylcreem keeps Draper's coif in perfect order which is much preferred to the slime oozing off of Pete Campbell's existence. Pete has tried to be Don since the first episode without possessing any of Don's suave. He impregnated Peggy, sexually assaulted a neighbor's nanny, had an affair with Beth Dawes (his real life fiance - seriously. How a guy who  looks like Vincent Kartheiser ends up with a girl like Alexis Bledel is incomprehensible to me. My buddy has a theory and it involves a horse. You figure it out!) and is now trolling the neighborhood for fresh blood. Each of these sexual conquests had all the grace of a new born giraffe. It was a matter of time before Pete's inability to think with the correct head would catch up with his recklessness. PTrudy (and don't think Matty Weiner didn't name her Trudy on accident!) may be slow on the sex talk uptake, but she's not imperceptive to a bloody backdoor blonde showing up in the middle of the night. Newly free in the big city screams "Pete Campbell jailed for rape!" in a headline ... the only question is the victim. The only missing link to a great Mad Men season (besides more Joan Holloway!!) is the return of Don Draper in the genius role. Mad Men was compelling because Don was an advertising savant - always knowing exactly what people wanted - despite never knowing what he wanted. It's really the story of human existence - keeping the facade in great shape while what's inside is crumbling. Can't we all relate to that situation?

Enough for today ... tomorrow it's Reds recap!!!

Let's say I'm a major league pitcher ....

my arm/shoulder gets sore ... the team tells me to see the doc ... should I trust Doc Hollywood AKA Dr. Kremchek? Some people call Dusty the 'Widowmaker' for his propensity to destroy pitcher's elbows and shoulders (Robb Nenn, Mark Prior, Kerry Wood, Edison Volquez are commonly cited examples) ... well then what do you call Doc Hollywood after the 3rd Reds pitcher (Ryan Madson, Nick Massett & now Sean Marshall) in 53 weeks had an arm injury misdiagnosed? Doc FrankenMRI? The Cincy Scalpel? Dr. I'm-not-James-Andrews? Dr. Strange-eyes? Doogie Howser? I haven't even gotten to Joey Vottomatic's screwed up knee injury from last season which has turned Vottomatic into Ichiro without the on-field stretching routines (or unneeded interpreter & throng of Japanese media). So for those of you counting, that's three bullpen guys and a franchise 1st baseman Doc ____________________ (it's a fill-in the blank answer ... duh!!!) has left caddywompus in a year!!! Whatever Doc Hollywood - his preferred name, not mine - is paying the Reds to keep his title/job isn't enough to justify missing out on the Reds window to be one of the top teams in the Major League. There is a perfect MLB storm brewing for the Reds to be exceptionally good right now and for the next couple (2-3) years. The Yankees & Red Sox have tightened the purse strings after the arms race of the 2000s and both are vintage - great for wines, poor for post-PED baseball players. (Side note: Do you see a huge coincidence in the relative decline of the Yankees and Red Sox since the PED scandal was exposed and new PED enforcement strategies were implemented? Not only did both teams have juiced payrolls, the had juiced players! Anyone who doesn't see the coincidence is either blind or Bud Selig.) The Dodgers are set for a revival, but buying your way to a title takes time ... ask the Los Angeles Angels of **Your SoCal city here for the right amount of $$** or Miami Heat. The Cardinals are depleted by age and injuries to key pieces, the Mets are still dealing with Bernie Madoff financial fallout and the Braves ... well they are the Braves (How many championships did they win in the late 90s when they should have been cleaning up titles? 1? With 3 HOF pitchers? Holy Bobby Cox Batman!) If the Reds are going to win their 4th World Series in my lifetime, they need to do it in the next two seasons. The red window slams shut faster than an Aroldis Chapman heater after 2015 ... unless PEDs become permissible again and Reds Country shows up in droves (3.5 million or more) to GASP. The salary structure after 2015 is as sustainable as our national debt, and Bob Castellini didn't become a multi-millionaire by losing money on the regular. To have the big guy's desire to 'bring championship baseball back to Cincinnati' derailed by medical malpractice is a bigger travesty than Barry Bonds' hat size. It's time for the Reds medical staff ... cough, cough, Dr. Kremchek, cough ... to get things right, players rehabbed and back on the field ASAP! Championship level means everything at championship level ... including the hot tub!!!

Cool video from my favorite college in the country: http://miamioh.edu/features/love-honor/index.html

The Silly Season/Coaching Carousel has been swinging like Drew Stubbs the past couple weeks in both college and high school basketball. It's always interesting to see how positions get filled and also leads me to question what constitutes desire to improve or move up in the coaching ranks. I was drawn to coaching like Col. Sanders was to white jackets, black bow ties and fried chicken. Unlike Col. Sanders, my recipe wasn't a secret. I knew the formula ... pay my dues, coach freshman, JV basketball, spend a couple years as varsity assistant and then become the top dog. There were several times where I almost destroyed the formula like I did back in Mr. Gardner's chemistry class - POOF! - but I managed to find myself sitting in the 1st chair on the bench right about the time I thought I should get there. First top job I found myself in had me changing the formula like Heinz ... 57 varieties of things I never thought a head coach would have to worry about suddenly  were on my plate. The biggest alteration to my head coaching formula: FIT. And that's where some of these hires have me scratching what little hair I is atop my head. In my not so humble opinion, the only time a coach should leave a position where he FITS is if he thinks he has taken that program as far as he can. Jim Larranaga is a good example at the collegiate level as is David Moss in the Cincinnati high school ranks ... their teams couldn't achieve much more and it was time to move. In a similar vein I wouldn't have batted an eye is Brad Stevens or Shaka Smart left for gr$$n$r pastures. However bigger isn't always better, and moving to a bigger school isn't always a sign of ambition or lack thereof. My ambition is to take Clark to Columbus at the end of March. I wouldn't leave unless I thought I could take - insert new school name here - to Columbus at the end of March. If I was a college team my ambition would be the same .. I want to play on the first weekend in April at a very large dome! So when people ask me, as happens pretty frequently, "You looking to move?" and I say, "No" I get a lot of funny looks. I know Clark is a small school .. we have a small gym .. we play in a league not a lot of people have heard of .. and we generally don't get any publicity. But I FIT there and I have kids who FIT what I like to do and I have an athletic director who thinks we can achieve big things. So do I lack ambition? No way!!! I'm trying to get my squad to the top of the mountain!!! And if I never get there it doesn't mean we haven't accomplished many very worthwhile goals. Winning and losing isn't the end all, be all of goal setting .. and coaches who focus only on those goals are bound to get disillusioned with their school. If I can teach my players the value of investing yourself fully in the pursuit of high level goal, the work ethic to dedicate all of your energies toward that goal, fail and pick yourself back up to repeat the process, then I believe I have taught them a lot more then how to put an orange ball through an orange circular rim. Winning??? That will come as a natural by-product of teaching my players the process of achievement ... and that process is transferable to any life situation. Coaching 101 boys and girls ... easy as can be!!!

Reds are in the 'Burgh for a 3 game set. The Gunners host Norwich City in a must win match. The Buckeyes invade Paul Brown Stadium for their Spring Game. Should be a great weekend for sports!!!

Catch you on Monday!!

I knew this day would come ....

I'm so happy for my family who has supported me through all the struggles. I'm happy for my friends who have helped me along the way and been there when times were tough. But today is one of the happiest days of my life! I would like to announce to everyone that I am declaring for the 2013 Draft and taking my talents to the league!!! I know what you're thinking ... I'm a 40 year old, mostly broken down, ground bound jump shooter ... you can't make it in the League. But hey!!! 20 college underclassman have already declared for the draft, another 10 or 15 (tournament darlings like scUM's Trey Burke, GRIII, Hardaway Jr & Mitch McGary, the Ville's Russ Smith & Gorgui Dieng, Cuse's Michael Carter-Smith along with lesser unknowns Otto Porter Jr., Alex Len, Kelly Olynyk and Marcus Smart) will declare for the draft in the coming days, plus the graduating seniors who have an NBA future (like Jeff Withey of Kansas, Mason Plumlee & Seth Curry of Duke) ***** Phil Pressey of Missouri just declared so 21 underclassmen have now declared ***** and 10-15 Europeans. That means there are ... give or take ... my math is a little rusty ... 60 or so players vying for 30 guaranteed paying positions. What's that you say?? Everybody in the NBA gets paid?? Well yes .. you are correct .. if you make the NBA you do get paid. But only 1st round draft picks sign guaranteed contracts - which guarantee you get paid! - and 2nd round draft picks only get paid if they make the team. Of the 60 players drafted in the 2012 NBA draft, 10 (including 9 2nd rounders) draftees have never set foot on an NBA court and another 15 players (all 2nd rounders) haven't been on an NBA roster for the entire season. So 25 of the 60 draft picks - 42% - aren't drawing much salary at all. A D-League (the NBA's other minor league - the NCAA being the main NBA minor league) salary ranges from $12-$24K ... barely above minimum wage yearly salaries. All this number mumbo jumbo means one thing: What does the team drafting me have to lose?!?! I'm fine with being a 2nd round NBA pick and joining the 24 of 30 guys who don't stick in the league. I'll show up to summer league out of shape, take a lot of ill advised 24 footers, play enough defense that I cross half court and general be disinterested in the game. When it's time for training camp, I'll rinse-dry-fold-repeat the aforementioned behavior until I get cut or sent to hell the Erie BayHawks for a stint in the D-League. Of course they'll cut me in under a week and I'll be out on the mean streets of Mason (or back in the classroom ... but let's not distract from my fantasy!). Now some of those guys who are leaving college early might view a life of McDonald's drive-thru level salaries as something undesirable, but I already have a salary!!! Duh!!! Imagine it as Scott Kerr's Fantasy Basketball Camp if you will ... and then I'll join Royce White among the NBA draft picks who never played a game in the league. Not a bad badge to hold onto!!!!

A minute for Sunday's Mad Men premier ... Excellent. Now I know what all you Johnny-come-lately's are saying .. "It was soooooo slow" .. "The episode ended without anything getting resolved" .. "The storylines aren't making any sense" .. "Joan was only in it for 5 minutes total!!" (okay .. maybe the last one was what I said!!) .. but watching Mad Men is an acquired taste - much like the liquor Don permanently imbibes - while not inhaling the wacky tobaccy - before hurling chunks during funerals. Matty Weiner's scripts are a mystery inside an enigma wrapped up by a riddle. One important fact to remember is Don Draper only has this season plus one to conquer as many NYC females as he can!! (Well ... that's if you can believe Matty Weiner's claim he is only doing 7 seasons of the show. It's a cash cow for AMC and I gotta believe they will make a GodFather offer to keep it around for a little longer). The show is already starting the big wind down so there will be several slow developing story lines to stretch out over two seasons. The highlights? Don Juan back on the prowl, this time with his neighbor's wife .... the same neighbor he helped ski out of the building during a blizzard to go operate on somebody's heart!!! Always the gentleman that Don Draper!!! Don also has a fetish for reading books suggested to him by his extramarital lovers ... this time it was Dante's Inferno. Good choice!!! I know they have January Jones in a fat suit for her role as Betty Draper Francis (technology is getting better and better with those fat suits!), but what I didn't know was they had a Don Draper suit for Peggy to wear!! The way Peggy harangued those poor copywriters at her new firm made you think she had Don's pe .... ummmmm .... male organ between her legs. Peggy continued her habit of finding tag lines in trashcans (if you remember her big break on the Belle Jolie lipstick ad ... take that you Johnny-come-latelys!!) by rescuing the Koss headphones commercial using some discarded film footage. Roger Sterling on a psychologist's couch yielded some good zingers, but his pathetic attempt to sleep with his first ex-wife (and real off-screen wife BTW!) and subsequent breakdown upon receiving a deceased man's shoeshine box cast him as a rather forlorn figure heading into season six. Those Megan Pare fan's out there may be wondering why she isn't in my highlights ... well I don't like her teeth. There I said it! Get some veneers or braces Mrs. Ed .. then I'll talk about you.

The Reds can be summed up in a few words. Lost last night to the Cards. Dusty started a guy in leftfield he cut 8 days ago to "keep him sharp." The fact the guy is fast should concern everyone in Reds land. Dusty has a fetish with fast/no hit outfielders rivaled only by Don Draper's 'I'm sleeping with you' book club. A serving of Corey Patterson anyone? How about a plate Wily Taveras? Or the seasoned breeze of Drew Stubbs? I thought the roster was Dusty-proofed. I was wrong. Speaking of wrong ... tomorrow we'll look at the great medical advice proffered the past couple season by Doc Hollywood! Poor Sean Nick Massett Joey Votto Marshall.

Okay .. I'm out. Talk tomorrow!