It’s fair to say I feel ambivalent about Miracle. The previews are certainly exciting and interesting (and the early reviews are glowing) but in many ways, this seems like one of those moments that should be left alone. I remember a thoroughly horrible TV movie shortly after the fact. Maybe as a member of the generation that has ownership of this moment (at least the childhood perspective of it) I’m worried that a movie will replace the actual moment and people’s memories will be of the cinema and not where they were that Friday night in 1980.
We were having a great winter, all things considered, until last Sunday. Only one small snowstorm, no super cold weather, no ice. Right now, it’s snowing for the fourth time this week and we’re supposed to get sub-zero temps tonight. Working from home kind of eliminates the snow day option, unfortunately. It doesn’t stop my hands from turning into blocks of ice after about 3:00 when the shade covers my side of the house, though.
I know why you’re here, and I refuse to disappoint. Most of you have heard the news, but if you’ve not checked your e-mail, or you’re just passing by, I am going to become a father sometime around August 8. It was great to finally be able to tell those of you I talked to yesterday, and to send the mass e-mail as well. I’m good at keeping secrets, but seven weeks is torture.
I was quite close to the lady that cut my hair in Kansas City. I went to her for almost 12 years so she was more a friend than someone I visited for 30 minutes every four weeks. She cut my mom’s hair, still cuts my step-dad’s hair, as well as the hair of the oldest son of the Raytown Nesbitts. Other than when she went on maternity leave, I refused to let anyone else touch my hair.
Most of you are regular readers of ESPN’s Bill Simmons. If you’re not, you should be. Among all the regular great stuff in this week’s column, point 13a below made me fall out of my chair. It’s good to see other ‘03 newlyweds are going through some of the same cohabitation issues we’re going through.
I owe you a pick. I really, really want to pick the Colts. It seems too obvious.
What an incredibly enjoying weekend of football (unless your team lost). Has there ever been a better four pack of games in NFL history (unless your team lost)? Parity in the NFL may suck in a lot of ways, but it certainly makes for good playoffs. Every single game had twists and turns, glaring coaching errors, amazing changes in momentum, and plays that fans of every team will be talking about for years.
To quote Lionel Richie, “I had a dream, I had an awesome dream.” The next-to-last dream of my slumber this morning (the one interrupted by the first time my alarm went off) included driving to a friend’s house to watch the last game of the coming baseball season between the Royals and the Minnesota Twins. The winner goes to the playoffs, the loser stays home. I’m pleased to say, in extra innings, the Royals prevailed and advanced to the post-season for the first time since 1985.
That ended up being some exciting ending to the Sugar Bowl. And yes, I stayed up until 2:00 waiting for the final AP poll. Not on purpose, mind you. It just kind of happened that way.
Brent Musberger is an awful, awful announcer. He drives me batty every fall doing games. He’s so judgmental in his analysis of college players. He predicts things that won’t ever happen. He gets excited about things that have no bearing on the game (“Now wait a minute, LSU players say they have the ball!
I hope you’ve all returned to the office rested and ready to face a new year. Doesn’t January completely suck? Shitty weather, none of the warmth and happiness of December, and all the stuff you avoided in December is now waiting for you with a big grin. The only bonuses are college hoops getting into full gear and Super Bowl parties. Anyway, some thoughts while watching LSU manhandle Oklahoma.
“How was French Lick?
We’re off to scenic French Lick, IN in a couple hours. No, we’re not camping out in Larry Bird’s front yard. We’re sharing a cabin with two other couples for the next two days. I had no idea, but apparently French Lick is kind of resorty. More in a Hot Springs way than a Branson way, but Larry is trying to build a casino there so there’s always hope that we won’t have to drive nine hours to see Andy Williams in the near future.
I’ve been a bad, bad blogger. Thus Internet Santa failed to bring me the additional web hosting space or wireless Internet base I was hoping for. Remember when we were kids and the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas seemed to stretch on for an eternity? I’m not really sure where the last four weeks went, but they passed by entirely too quickly. I didn’t even get a chance to watch It’s a Wonderful Life or A Christmas Story this year.
One of my biggest failings in recent weeks has been not providing you with my guide to modern Christmas music. Initially, I wanted to review Band-Aid’s “Do They Know It’s Christmas” and John Lennon’s “So This Is Christmas”. Then, on my drive from San Jose to Monterey, as I listened to the CD I made for Christmas a year ago, I thought of doing a little blurb on each song I added to that disk.
In catch-up mode, so look for more here tomorrow. However, I had to share this experience from yesterday’s trip home. We flew through Chicago, which naturally meant we spent an extra two hours waiting for our plane to arrive. We were flying Southwest, and since there were no seats in the waiting area, we decided if we had to sit on the floor, we might as well start the line for the B boarding group (Yes, we were those people.
West Coast Dispatch
Tuesday evening: Odd trip. I’ve had difficulty connecting to the Internet each day, apparently I’m completely wiped out right now, so I can just sit here, watch Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, and fire up the laptop. Speaking of Rudolph, the scene when the Elves sing to Santa, “We are Santa’s elves!” while he sits and listens strikes me as a little too fascist. Maybe it’s because the History Channel has shown nothing but Nazi documentaries all day, so that’s on the brain.
I’m trying to get some work done today. Really. But it seems like I lose my network connection every five minutes. Outlook hasn’t worked for about 30 minutes. That’s all I need, when I’m in the proverbial donut week at work. Holiday last week. This weekend, visitors from Kansas City. Next work week, a trip to California and Arizona. Next weekend, a trip to Kansas City for a KU game and the Sinatra Party.
I wrote a Thanksgiving memory piece Monday I haven’t had time to finish. That’s my task for the afternoon. But here’s something to tide you over. My wife. Our health and happiness. My new brothers and sisters and parents. Our friends and family who helped make this the most amazing year of our lives. The good fortune to live in a great house. A job that’s maddening some days, but gives me a good income and the freedom to travel, visit friends, and pursue my writing.
All week I’ve been thinking of Thanksgivings past. Our epic drives from southeast Missouri to Central Kansas in the late 70’s (If you haven’t made 12 hour drives in ice storms with nothing but AM radio to keep you awake, well, you haven’t lived. The added bonus of hearing Billy Joel’s “My Life” 900 times in 1978.). Leaving Kansas City after my mom got home from work at 10:30 to drive all night in 1982 (and hearing “Maneater” 1000 times).
What a weekend. ESPN Full Court got turned on in time for me to watch KU play UT-Chattanooga Friday night. It’s a weird age we live in when you can feel like you’re sitting on the same couch, just 500 miles away and six months in the past thanks to TV. If all goes as planned, be looking for a lengthy discussion of the KU-Michigan State game on the Big 8+4 blog later this week.
Hoops season starts tonight, for me at least. Although the big KU coverage controversy was cleared up yesterday, my cable provider hasn’t jumped on the bandwagon yet, so I’ll be sitting here at my desk, listening to the game on Yahoo. It’s better than no coverage.
I admit I’m part of the problem. I spent 45 minutes watching helicopters hover over the Santa Barbara airport yesterday, waiting for Michael Jackson’s jet to arrive.
Pauley Pavilion. Home of more championship banners than any other college arena. Old stomping grounds of Lew Alcindor, Bill Walton, and John Wooden. Truly one of the sacred places in all of college basketball. What’s cooler than enjoying an exhibition game there with 5,000 other people?
(OK, OK, I shouldn’t make fun of UCLA fan for not showing up. College sports are different in the big city than they are in the hinterlands of the Midwest.