What Would You Do?

I usually play with Duke three times per day. I'll throw to him for about 10 minutes and then we go inside and let him recover. Due to a previous heart worm issue, he can't run for too long without collapsing. But he won't admit it.

Well, Duke and I went out Friday morning at 7AM to play ball. The temps were in the mid-30's. We played about 10 minutes. He was winded...I was freezing.

Around 8AM, Angie came home from work, put on her pajamas, and started reading her emails. Duke sneaked into my office and went behind Angie. Before you know it, he was poking his head through a tiny opening...looking for an opportunity to get my attention. He was ready to play again. Guys...he had just recovered from the first game.

But tell me, if you had someone fussing at you like this, what would you do?

Happy Anniversary!!!

I never thought I could do it, but I did. Last year on January 28th, I posted my first blog. At that time, the site was known only as "pard1959". I didn't have a clue that I would enjoy blogging as much as I have though.

Here's the story of how and why I decided to start this silly thing. One night last year, during the run of "Oscar and Felix", my buddy Matt and I showed up a little early for a show. We had a few minutes to discuss stuff before the party began. What you need to know is a "gathering" happened every night in the dressing room. There were eight folks in the cast...6 guys, 2 girls. Each night we would visit, laugh, and eat snack food before the show began. I've never had more fun during a play!

Well, back to visiting with Matt. I quizzed him about a website he had. He told me it was a blog where he posted original cartoons and other humorous items. As it turns out, I had accidentally created the pard1959 blog back in March 2007, but I didn't have a clue what a "blog" was or what to do with it. He explained to me that I could write stuff, post photos, post videos, or whatever I felt like sharing on the Internet. After the show that night, I re-visited my blog and tried to figure out what I could do with it.

Then, before you know it, the show ended, and I still had entertainment energy bursting inside of me. So, I wrote a story about the show and I uploaded three photos. As they say, the rest is history. I can't remember when I officially changed the name of the blog to "The Cutting Edge of Mediocre"; but when the idea hit me, there was no turning back.

I've toyed around with the idea of pulling the plug on it several times during the year. Y'know, trying to post something meaningful or funny 5 times a week can become burdensome. But for now, I'll keep it going. I told Angie that if anything ever happened to me, this would be a cool way to remember some of my life's stories. But in Angie's dry wit, she responded, "Yeah, but most people usually put in the form of a book." Well, I ain't most people. I'm different. I'm a rebel. I swim against the current. I'm the cutting edge...of mediocre.

How Do You Define Courage?

What's the meaning of courage?

Is it to fight a bull in a bullring?

Is it to drive a Formula 1 car?

Is it to fly a fighter into combat?

Is it to practice free fall parachuting?

Is it bungee jumping or white water rafting?

Is is to gamble your salary on a coin toss?

Is it to pick a fight with the biggest guy in a bar?

Is it to insult your boss?

Is it to ride on a defective Ferris wheel or put a live scorpion in your mouth?

Bullbutter...that's nothing.

This is courage!

Holes To Prove It

Last week, Cindy brought her new dog to our dinner theater rehearsal. Now, I love pugs. My favorite pet as a child was my pug, King. He was neat dog. I'll tell you about him, though, in another blog.

At any rate, Cindy's little dog, Maggie May, was a rambunctious little thing. Very inquisitive...very playful. We allowed her to get on the table with us at one point. I can attest that Maggie May has needles for teeth. I have holes to prove it...on both of my hands.

Here's a little video of her. The voices you will hear are the other actors reading their parts in our play. Hope you'll come see it when it opens.

See Ya, You Bum!

If it were up to me, guys that make flagrant, disrespectful fouls like this would sit out more than one game. I hope the coach of his team has some cojones and sits him down for a week or more. It makes me wonder if any of these knuckleheads realize that the "big eye in the sky" is watching every move nowadays.

Poor sportsmanship should not be allowed in college competition.



There was another sports story bothered me this week. I read where two Texas high school girls basketball teams met last week and the outcome was 100 to 0. I learned that the victorious team didn't offer an apology until after the story hit the media in Dallas. Covenant, which considers itself a "Christian" school, was up 59 - 0 at the half! Full court presses...3 point shots...are you kidding me? Are you telling me the coach didn't have enough sense to call off the dogs until they had scored another 41 points. I give credit to the Dallas Academy team for not losing their composure. I've coached in games where the other team was clearly outmatched. When it happened, I pulled back the reins. I certainly didn't let the horses run wild. I've also coached the team which was on the other side of a thumping. Thank goodness, I've never had another coach rub my nose in it like that.

http://highschool.rivals.com/content.asp?CID=903780

So here's what I've got to say to that player above and the coach of Covenant, "See ya, you bum. You don't belong on the courts."

Is That a Light at the End of the Tunnel?

Or a freight train?

Due to economic upheavals that this nation currently faces, wholesale changes are on the way. Some changes will actually benefit some of us. Other changes will make life miserable for some us. So, on average, it's all good, right? Y'know, if you had one foot in boiling water and the other one in ice cold water...on "average" you'd feel alright. /insert Dr. Evil's voice here/ "Riiiiiiiiight"

Well, back in 2007, New York's attorney general, Andrew Cuomo, announced that he was going to sue one of the country's largest appraisal management companies, eAppraiseIt, and it's parent corporation. Why? Because he had proof that they were allowing one of their client's, Washington Mutual, to hand-pick appraisers who they knew would inflate home values. Hmmmm...

Please read this article for a concise story of how it went down:

http://www.consumeraffairs.com/news04/2007/11/ny_wamu.html

This isn't an isolated instance. I provide you another article about a Seattle law firm that is suing Countrywide and Landsafe for rigging the appraisal process.

http://narblog1.realtor.org/mvtype/appraisalinsight/2009/01/countrywide_and_landsafe_sued.html?&WT.mc_id=LS012109&CAT=App

There are literally more articles out there with similar stories than I could post on my blog. Those two are just random samples. Nice press for appraisers, right?

So, like I said earlier, change is on the way. In what form, you ask? Let's start with the HVCC. The HVCC is the Home Valuation Code of Conduct. Fannie Mae and Freddie Mac, both government sponsored enterprises, have decided to adopt the code. Essentially, what will happen is the mortgage loan broker will no longer be able to choose the appraiser for an assignment. Instead, an AMC, will select an appraiser from its list. In theory, the appraisers will come up on a rotating basis and no single appraiser will receive more than another. That's good and that's bad. Here's why.

First, if you're not on the AMC's approved list...perhaps one that has a contract with a large lending institution...then there's no way in the world that you will ever get work from that lender again. Not on the list, S.O.L. And I can't help but wonder...did we learn anything from eAppraiseIT's infamous list? Does everyone get to be on the "list"?

One thing's for certain. If you are on the list, you'll be guaranteed work. Yeah, should be. But here's the caveat. For the "right" to work with the AMC, you have to offer them a discount on your appraisal fee. Typically, appraisers in our market earn $300 to $400 for an single family residential appraisal now. But with the AMC, they want the appraiser to accept between $200 to $275 per assignment. Ouch! That's gonna leave a mark.

In our market, like it is in most markets I presume, the Pareto Principle is in effect with regard to market share. The Pareto Principle, in case you're not familiar, states that roughly 80% of the effects come from 20% of the causes. You may have heard it called the 80/20 Rule or the 80/20 Principle. It actually can be a pretty accurate "thumbnail" look of most things, though. Take for instance our market here. I think it would be safe to say that roughly 80% of the appraisal work goes to about 20% of the appraisers.

Pop quiz time. If you've read my previous blogs about appraisals/appraisers you should be able to answer this without looking back. What one word is used by the lenders and Realtors to describe the appraisers in the 20% bracket? Come on, you can do it. Are you still thinking? Times up. The answer: good. So, doing my best impression of President Clinton, "It depends on what the meaning of the word "good" is." Maybe we should delve deeper into this.

I recently spoke with a lady who claimed to be a former appraiser. She also said she presently was a Realtor; although, she was working in another profession when we talked. She asked about my workload and I told her that it had been pretty lean lately. I explained that I expected things to change when the HVCC is officially adopted. She looked perplexed and asked, "What's the HVCC?" After explaining what is was, she looked at me and said something to the effect of, "Who thought of that? That doesn't seem right." I then hopped up on my soapbox and said that not everyone got to "share the wealth" when all the appraisal work was rolling in. Again, she looked perplexed and said, "Well, if you're a good appraiser, you should get plenty of work." I should have nodded my head in agreement and left it at that. But nooooooooo! I couldn't.

Me: "So, what makes a 'good' appraiser?"

Her: "You know, one that gets his work in on time."

Me: "That's it?" /waiting patiently for the truth to come out/

Her: "Yeah, and one that will appraise the property for whatever it's selling for."

Me: "So you're saying that a good appraiser should always "hit" the number?"

Her: "Yeah."

The conversation went on for a while longer, but you get the point. It doesn't matter if the Realtor calculated the square footage wrong or if the house has issues that need addressing. The good appraiser covers things up. Y'know, like a cat in a sandbox. I told her that I could hit the number 99 times out of 100, but if I missed on one...just one...I'd be labeled "conservative", which is tantamount to the black plague in the mortgage industry. You get that? Ninety nine attaboys, but it's the one "oh crap!" that causes the ship to hit the sand. Did that sink in? "Good" appraisers ALWAYS make the deal work. That, my friend, is still a prevalent thought in the real estate industry. When the nation is facing real financial crises...when the multi billion dollar bail out still isn't enough to save us from our own excesses and greed...it appears we haven't learned.

So I ask again, "Is that a light at the end of the tunnel?" Or is it a freight train that's going to plow us under because we're too ignorant to learn from our mistakes?

{This is my seventh submission in a series on the financial crisis here in America. I want this to be an honest account of why we are where we are based on my tiny perspective of the mortgage/housing debacle.}

I Hear Voices In My Head!!!

Angie brought me a copy of a CAT scan that was performed on a guy last night at the hospital. It shows a cross section of his brain. Now, all kidding aside, this guy wasn't having psychotic visions or hearing voices. However, if he does start hearing things, we now have conclusive evidence that it's real. See for yourself. I've attached a copy of the original CAT scan and a closeup of the area of concern.


The brain


Did you see the face?

My Fears Are Real

I was taught that fear was only False Evidence Appearing Real. My fear was after President Obama was elected that the Bush-haters were going to keep on keeping on; and no real healing for the nation was going to take place.

Instead of enjoying the significance of the first black president in America's history, we have hip-hop knuckleheads spewing off. I wish I could tell them to keep their mouths shut so we could assume they're idiots...instead of opening their pie holes and proving without a shadow of a doubt that they are.

If this is what we can expect from Obama's backers, then my fears were not false evidence. This is real. This is real hatred. This is real profanity. This is real stupidity.

I don't condone what you will hear on the video. I found this on a website that I enjoy reading; however, you can find it on Youtube as well. You've been forewarned.

http://bighollywood.breitbart.com/breitbart/2009/01/21/feelin-the-healin-young-jeezy-jay-z-perform-“my-president-is-black”-remix-on-inauguration-eve/

God bless America and rid us of stupidity in every form.

Mentally Irractitated

Some days, all the wind gets knocked out of my sails. Today was one of them. In case you've jumped to a conclusion, it had nothing to do with the Presidential Inauguration. No, life happened today, and I almost hit the canvas with a TKO.

I tried to explain to a friend about a week ago, that my mental condition cycled just like everyone else's. Y'know, highs and lows. But I think I've been looking at it all wrong. I don't think I cycle at all. Cycles have gradual increases and gradual decreases. You're on an upswing for happiness. You're on a downswing for gloominess. Mine aren't like that. Mine are more similar to spikes. Happy day...UPSPIKE! :-) Happy day...UPSPIKE! :-) Sad day...DOWNSPIKE! :-(

I can go from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows...within hours. I don't know how Angie has been able to put up with it for all these years. Really, I don't.

Well, rather than waste your time reading about my misery. I thought I'd offer some unusual photos that Daniel and I took over the weekend. Daniel really has an eye for capturing ordinary things in a very unique way. I, on the other hand, look for interesting things. Either way you slice it, these photos are different.

And just in case you're wondering where in the blue blazes "irractitated" came from, one of the contestants on American Idol used that word to describe what the judges did to her tonight. I think it's a cross between irritated and agitated. I thought it was an appropriate way to describe my current mood.


This started as an ordinary photo of me taken by Daniel. I tried to be creative and made a mosaic. If you don't like, please remember that I had a limited canvas to work with...my face.


Daniel captured the water as it was beginning to boil. I thought the vapors were really cool.


After I boiled the noodles, I noticed one of them had stuck to the bottom of the pot and was standing at attention. Interesting...


Another shot of the noodle

Seeing Is Believing

This is the family at Six Flags in 1996
before the onset of the disease.
(John, me, Angie, Dan, Meredith)

In August 2008, I wrote a blog about the medical ordeal that Angie endured when her autoimmune system went haywire. I recommend that you read it if you haven't already. I'm providing a link for your convenience.

http://pard1959.blogspot.com/2008/08/heaven-must-be-little-like-powdered.html

Well, the reason I remind you of this event is because several people have told me that Angie doesn't look like she has aged since we got married. I wholeheartedly agree. In fact, I think that she has grown more beautiful over the years. But when I wrote the story about her in August, I didn't adequately describe what she went through...which was akin to hell.

She began the first chemotherapy treatment the week before Thanksgiving in 1996. In addition to chemo, Dr. McKinley prescribed mega-doses of steroids. She would take 1000 mg of Solu-Medrol, which is a steroid, every time she had a chemo treatment. And, if that wasn't enough, she also took prednisone orally every day.

She would often tell me that the Solu-Medrol treatment was worse than the chemo. It made a metallic taste in her mouth. Add that to the nausea brought on by the chemo and you have a recipe for feeling miserable. It was painful to watch her take the treatments.

Her doctor told me two things were going to happen because of these medications. First the chemo, Cytoxan, was going to cause her hair to fall out. Since we began the treatments in November, he recommended that we go shopping for wigs. He figured she would be bald by Christmas. Second, he said the high doses of steroids were going to cause her to gain weight. He was right on the money on one out of two. She gained weight. Angie never lost her hair, though. Instead, her hair became coarse...perhaps thicker.

Her weight gain was fast. High doses of steroids can make the body bloat. Not to mention that it increases your appetite. During 1997, Angie would say things like, "I can eat everything on my plate, and I can eat the plate, and I can eat the table." It was so sad. She would go to the grocery store and come back in tears. The reason...no one recognized her anymore. She passed an old friend in Brookshire's one day and the friend didn't know who she was. She didn't look like the Angie most of us are accustomed to seeing. She had the classic pumpkin head syndrome that people on high doses of steroids usually get. If you saw Jerry Lewis a few years back, you'll know what it looks like. He took prednisone for a pulmonary disease and the drugs caused his face to balloon.


Jerry Lewis

Back to Angie. She took prednisone in varying doses for 16 months. Over time, Dr. McKinley carefully and slowly weaned her from the medications. She was so delighted to be off of the prescriptions. Unfortunately, she had gained a lot of weight. But, if there's one thing that God gifted Angie with, it's determination. She made a plan to lose the weight. First, she went on the "Nomo" diet. If you remember, back in the mid 90's, Hideo Nomo was pitching for the L. A. Dodgers. So everyone thought she was eating some low-cal Japanese regime. No, it turns out she made the decision to eat no-mo, er...I mean, no more, food.

Second, she began exercising. At first, she couldn't walk to the end of the street without being winded. Little by little, she increased her walking distance. Then she started running. Run a block, walk a block. Eventually, she was running over 2 miles. Now you know who authored my routine, huh?

The weight started peeling off and she began feeling better as the months went by. Before you know it, she was back to normal. Now I don't want to make it to sound like it happened magically. It didn't. It came by hard work and dedication. But that's Angie. She's no light-weight (pun intended).

As they say, seeing is believing. For those who think Angie looks like she did 25 years ago, you're right. But take a gander at what she had to go through in order to get back to her slender, beautiful self. What a girl!


After the first chemo and steroid
treatment, Christmas 1996


Daniel's birthday party
May 1997


Her parents' anniversary
June 1997


July 1997


Angie 2007

This Explains It

Those of you who know Meredith know that she has a bit of an edge about her. In fact, she can be as tough as she needs to be when times call for it. This video may shed light on how she became that way. So, I guess I should say, "Thanks, John, this explains it."

The Haymaker

This video was made in the summer of 1987. John, Meredith, and I were at my parents house. This is vintage John. He was obsessed with boxing at this age. What I love about this video is my dad's laughter. He kept telling us, "He's got a real haymaker." And although my mom was one of boxing's biggest fans, she never condoned conflict in the house. So, she wasn't too pleased about John rough-housing with his grandfather. Watch for this in the video: John tries to get my attention. He doesn't actually say "Dad" or "Mark", but rather, he says something similar to "muhh". Funny thing was John and Meredith both called me "Mark" for years. People thought that I was their step-dad because of it. Who knows why they did it? You'll be happy to know that I did eventually break them of the habit. Strange kids...

Gaining By Losing

In 1995 John was selected to play on a baseball team that had high expectations. The team had been a .500 team the year before. However, they had two of the best pitchers in the league returning and a veteran catcher. In case you didn't know, pitching and catching in little league baseball is the key to winning. If you can't throw a pitch over the plate, you can't win. But after your pitcher throws a strike, somebody's gotta be back there to catch it. Seems easy, huh? It isn't.

In an effort to be concise, the team was great. We beat every team in the league except one. There were two divisions and we won our division, the other team won theirs. During the season, we shut a lot of teams down with our dominant pitching. At one game, the head coach asked me if John had ever pitched. I told him, "Yeah, playing around with me in the front yard." Next thing I know, John's out on the pitcher's mound. You need to know that we were way ahead of the other team. They had just seen our #2 pitcher for a couple of innings and he could really bring the fast ball. Now, all of a sudden, John is about to face the top of their line-up...in the first game that he's ever pitched...and I'm worried sick.

John had an interesting windup. He would get into what pitchers refer to as the "power position" and then he'd pause. Most pitchers go from the power position to the pitch in one fluid motion. Not John. Somehow he'd stretch his arms out as far as he could and then he freeze...momentarily. Then after the pause, his arm would start forward and the ball would come out like a piece of popcorn floating in the air. Now, you ballplayers out there are probably licking your chops right now, right? I can hear you saying, "Wow! I love those slow floaters." Here's what I have to say to that. "Pfffffft". :)~

Remember, we had just thrown our #2 pitcher at the other team. They were used to seeing a ball screaming by. Now, all of a sudden, they have to readjust to a much slower pitch...and one crazy windup. The outcome against the top of the lineup? He gave up three runs that inning. Not bad for his first time to pitch. Next inning...3-up, 3-down. For the final two innings, the coach put in our #1 pitcher and the batters were confused all over again.


After his first game to pitch

Well, that was a magical season. We won everything we needed to win except the very last game that year. We lost 2-1...beat by the other division's #1 team. But I can't explain the feeling you have being a part of a winning team like that. It builds confidence. It enhances your love for the game.

However, about mid-season, I began to put pieces of a puzzle together in my mind, and I was disturbed. The year before, the coach had given plenty of pitching time to the two kids that were now our top pitchers. But, this year, only John was getting experience, in a very limited role. What that spelled was tough times ahead.

Well, sure as the day is long, it happened. The next year, we were forced to use kids that had never pitched before. Can you say, "learning curve"? And, no, I'm not talking about learning to pitch a curve ball. We took it on the chin many, many games. Because of the special team from the year before, John had been accustomed to winning. Now, we were lucky to finish a game without being outscored by ten or more. And that's where he and I learned that we can actually gain by losing. Huh?

John wasn't counted on much the year before. We already had enough play-makers that year. But now...he was carrying the pitching load. And at first, I don't think he appreciated the pressure. But as the season wore on, I noticed John growing mentally and athletically. He began to understand his role as a leader.


The following year...THE pitcher

One game in particular, we were playing another team equally matched in talent. Late in the game, we were tied. We were the home team, so we had the last at-bat that night. Here's the setting: last inning, two outs, game tied, winning run on second base, John at the plate. I was coaching first base that night and I remember yelling things to him like, "Line drive! You can do it! Hit it hard!" I don't remember the exact pitch count when it happened, but John saw his pitch and made contact. The ball sailed out to right field. I quit looking at John and started yelling at our head coach, who was standing near third base, to send the runner from second to home. I was screaming at the top of my lungs, "SEND HIM! SEND HIM! SEND HIM!" I wanted the other team to have the pressure of making the play at the plate. They had to field the ball in the outfield and throw it to home plate before our runner could run from second to home. We had nothing to lose and everything to gain. The runner rounded third and I could see the head coach waving him home. I briefly turned just in time to see the outfielder throw the ball. Both the ball and the runner looked like they were on a collision course at home plate. Then, just like in the movies, everything slowed down..almost dreamlike. I remember the runner's cleats throwing up dirt as he churned towards home. And I remember seeing the seams on the baseball slowly rotating as it glided through the air towards the catcher. Both sides of the stands were screaming, jumping up and down, and cheering for their teams. The runner jumped into a pre-slide position just as the ball came down into the catcher's glove. Both the runner and catcher became engulfed in dust as the runner slid onto home plate. Then, suddenly, it became real time again...back to normal speed. The umpire looked down and yelled, "SAFE!". Game over. We won! This whole time, I had been watching the runner going to home plate. I momentarily forgot about John who had just hit the ball that scored the winning run. I turned and he was standing on first base...doing exactly what I was doing...watching the runner score. We looked directly in each other's eyes and he jumped into my awaiting arms. Now, I don't know how to adequately describe what happened next. But John and I both yelled in unison and our chests reverberated against each other's. It was one of the most exciting things that I've ever been a part of. I can still remember the "feel" of our chests screaming out in celebration.


Ready to knock the laces off the ball

So, when times are tough...when things aren't going your way, don't fret. Take a step back and look at things in a different light. You might be gaining something by losing. God usually uses those tough times to mold and shape us into something we need to become.

Plan Your Work, Work Your Plan

This is a story about a softball season where it all went right...sort of.

For some crazy reason, when Meredith turned seven years old, I decided to coach her team. The first year I coached was a tough. You see, there were so many girls that entered the league that the officials decided to create two expansion teams. What that means is two teams were created from nothing. My team started from scratch...no returning players...no previous coach...nothing. I assumed that the league officials would allow me and the other new coach to pick some older players first...before any of the other teams...to even things out. Well, that didn't happen. Instead they dropped us into the draft with nothing. Our consolation? We could have whatever was left over at the end of the draft. Then to pour salt on an open wound, they made us pick a number out of a hat from 1 to 8. Whatever number we drew decided which draft choice we had.

The other expansion team drew out the number "1". I drew the number "7". So, out of eight teams, I was picking right before the previous year's league champion. Six other teams were able to select players before me in every round. I was doomed before we even began. Oh, and I forgot to mention that I had to take Meredith in the 3rd round. Oh, and I forgot to mention that my next door neighbor had agreed to help me coach, but I had to take his daughter in the 4th round. Do you see how this was stacking up? Two picks...number 7 and number 14...and then Meredith and my neighbor's kid. After the 4th round, most of the kids are pretty much lumped together. You know, no one player is any better than another. So I had to pick two good players with my first two selections and then get lucky.

Long-story-short...I got lucky. No, we didn't have some magical year. We won only two games that year. My neighbor couldn't help much because of his work and his daughter quit playing around mid-season. I remember thinking that I had bitten off more than I could chew.

The next year, I went into the draft picking 2nd. Unfortunately, the two games that we won the previous season were against the other expansion team, which gave them the first draft pick. I made some good selections in the draft...or maybe I just got lucky again. At any rate, I went into the season with only one clear problem...who is going to pitch? I'll never forget the first practice. I asked my assistant coach to help me figure out which girls could throw a strike. He took half the girls to one side of the field and I took the other half. We lined them up and asked each of them to pitch to us. After thirty minutes, we took a water break.

Me: "Did you find anyone that could throw it over the plate? I've been fielding grounders over here."

Asst. Coach: "Yeah (laughing), several of them can throw it over the plate, but it might be 10 feet over the head of the batter."

Me: "Crap! What are we gonna do?"

We ended practice with no clear pitcher. One set of parents stopped by and said they would send their daughter to a pitching coach. I was thrilled; but deep down inside, I thought it was too late to make a difference. I told Angie that we would be lucky to win half of our games. Little did I know.

Our strength was speed. Our girls were fast to field the ball, fast to run the bases, and had incredible bat speed. And once our girls were on base, you'd better call 911, because the bases were about to be on fire. Speed, baby, speed! We went through most of the season undefeated. Only one team stood a chance to beat us that year and we had to face them near the end of the season. We had beaten them in our first meeting. But they had played without their best player, who was their pitcher. I'll admit I was worried before we played them and I think the girls picked up on my nervousness. We were soundly defeated that day.

The good news was that we still led the league because we only had one loss. The other team had two. All we had to do was finish the season without losing, which we did. But, then, the drama built. You see, every season they had a league champion and a tournament champion. How could we claim to be the true champs if we didn't beat the 2nd place team in the tournament?

I made a plan. I reviewed where the other team hit the ball the second time we played them. Over 80% of the hits were to the right side of the infield. Plus, I noticed that most of their scoring was done in chunks, with just a few players making the hits. So, my game plan was this: 1) Place my fastest player on 2nd base. She could gobble up anything hit in her general area and she was able to beat anybody to the base in a dead run. 2) Prevent certain players from hitting the ball. I told my pitcher that I would signal her when "special" batters came to the plate. I instructed her to wind up and throw the fastest ball she could muster. It didn't matter if the ball hit the back of the backstop 20 feet over anyone's head. I just didn't want certain players to have a chance to hit the ball.

The plan worked. I'll never forget the first time our pitcher threw the fast ball. The batter turned and looked at her coach with eyes as big as salad plates. It was a non-verbal way of asking, "How do I hit that?" I was so thrilled that our plan was working. But my joy was short-lived because the umpire immediately called me to come onto the field. In my haste, I failed to tell my catcher that we had a plan to throw super fastballs to certain players. And she, unsuccessfully, was forced to corral a "screaming Mimi". She hadn't prepared to do so. She didn't know it was coming. The ball ricocheted off her left knee, after the umpire called "Strike!" It took us a few minutes to find someone willing to stand behind home plate after that pitch. Let's just say that there was no line forming under the "Volunteer" sign.

Eventually, we found another girl willing to play catcher. The other team's best player never hit the ball that day. Nor did any of their other "big sticks". The final score: 9 to 2. League champions...tournament champions. Who da thunk?

That was a special group of girls...all champions in my book. That was a special group of parents...all supportive. Most of those girls probably don't remember how special that team was because they were so young. But when I see any of them today, I think, "There goes a champion!" You know, it ain't bragging if you done it.


Accepting the award as a team.
I'm wearing the red hat.


Check out the bandaged left knee
of the 2nd player from the left.
Her knee "caught" the first super-pitch.
She received a game ball that day.

Been There, Done That, Got the Bumper Sticker

While traveling down Hwy 34 the other day, I noticed the pickup truck in front of me had an amusing bumper sticker. I gotta hand it to ever wrote that one, because it made me laugh.



The guy failed to mention that he didn't waste any money on car washes.

Abundance of Life

I'm offering some more vintage photos today. As you may have noticed from my previous effort on Sunday, I've run across some old photographs. I was cleaning a cabinet over the weekend and the benefit was two-fold. 1) I threw away a bunch of junk which was cluttering our storage space; and 2) I ran across some old photos that I had to share with you.

These are of the infamous "Big Cat". This boy has been 200% since the day he was born. There are very few things that Daniel doesn't think he can do. He's very talented musically, artistically, and he's very bright. I'd like to take credit for two of the three; but, in reality, it all came from God. He reminds me of what Jesus told us in John 10:10: "I came that they may have life and have it abundantly."

Daniel is an abundance of life. Always has been...probably always will be.


mmmm...good


5..4..3..2..1..


blast off!!!


Mind if I take the car?


I dare you to throw me a strike


Daniel grew up at the ballpark.
People think I'm kidding when
I tell them his first words
were, "Good eye, good eye."
But it's true.

Princeton Markan Blue...aka, Smokey

When Angie and I decided to get married in 1984, I worked nights in the computer room at a bank and went to school during the day. Since I worked nights, we both agreed that it would be a good idea to have a guard dog at home while I was away. Only problem was we disagreed on which breed of dog to get. She wanted a Doberman Pinscher and I wanted a pit bull. Just like all good marriages, we compromised. She wanted a Doberman, I wanted a happy wife. We got a Doberman.

Smokey was a blue Doberman that we purchased from someone here in Monroe. Blue Dobies have a grayish-blue tint to their coats. Some would even call it smoky...hence the name. If you think Duke and I are buddies, you should have seen me and Smokey. We went together like peas and carrots...or maybe like Lieutenant Dan and Forrest Gump.

Our first home was rather modest...728 heated square feet. It had two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen, and a living room. We had one television and we couldn't afford cable. So we could only watch whatever the rabbit ears on the TV would pick up, which back in '84, was three channels. On Friday nights at 10:30, we had a choice of watching wrestling, wrestling, or wrestling. We usually chose wrestling.

Another problem was the TV itself. There was no remote control...you had to turn a knob located on the TV to change the channel. Did I mention that TV was used when we got it? After years of use, the knob had broken off. So, I had to use a set of pliers to turn the shaft that previously held the knob. As you would expect, I usually sat really close to the TV set. Well, strange thing...Smokey enjoyed watching TV too. It didn't matter if I sat on the floor, in a chair, on a bean bag, or on the couch, Smokey wanted to sit in my lap. He just enjoyed being around me.











But Smokey really loved Angie. He especially loved when Angie would lie down on the couch because he knew she'd let him lie down with her...or on her. Sometimes Angie would put her arms behind her head as she lay on the couch. If Smokey happened to walk by when her arm was poking out, he'd sit on her arm. It was really quite funny.











One of my favorite pictures of Smokey was taken the day I was gazing out the window. Much to my surprise, Smokey hopped on the bed and stared out the window with me. Angie walked in and captured the moment with a camera. Truly, he was man's best friend.



After John was born, we realized that we weren't giving as much attention to Smokey as we had before and it broke our hearts. Then, not long after John was born, we found out that Meredith was on the way. So we made the decision to find Smokey a new home. We learned of a gentleman who trained dogs to work with paraplegics and quadriplegics. We contacted him and allowed him to take Smokey. We later learned that Smokey was trained to work with a quadriplegic boy who lived in Columbia. We never got to see Smokey again but we felt good knowing that he was helping someone with a greater need than ours. We still missed him, though. He was some dog!

Winning Isn't Everything

I read a disturbing story comparing states on Yahoo News yesterday. Typically, Louisiana is either at or near the top of lists like these. Fortunately, my beautiful state didn't make the grade this time.

Check out the article for yourself.

http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090107/ap_on_he_me/med_teen_births



Congrats Louisiana! Remember, wining isn't everything.

The Theory of Intelligence

I don't think I've ever heard the concept explained any better than this.

A herd of buffalo can only move as fast as the slowest buffalo. And when the herd is hunted, it is the slowest and weakest ones at the back that are killed first. This natural selection is good for the herd as a whole, because the general speed and health of the whole group keeps improving by the regular killing of the weakest members. In much the same way, the human brain can only operate as fast as the slowest brain cells. Now, as we know, excessive intake of alcohol kills brain cells. But naturally, it attacks the slowest and weakest brain cells first. In this way, regular consumption of beer eliminates the weaker brain cells, making the brain a faster and more efficient machine. And that is why you always feel smarter after a few beers.

Point / Infinitely Superior Counterpoint

My friend George sends me some of the best emails. This is one that he forwarded to me yesterday. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.



Luke AFB is west of Phoenix and is rapidly being surrounded by civilization that complains about the noise from the base and its planes, forgetting that it was there long before they were. A certain lieutenant colonel at Luke AFB deserves a big pat on the back. Apparently, an individual who lives somewhere near Luke AFB wrote the local paper complaining about a group of F-16's that disturbed his/her day at the mall.

When that individual read the response from a Luke AFB officer, it must have stung quite a bit.

Question of the day for Luke Air Force Base:

Whom do we thank for the morning air show? Last Wednesday, at precisely 9:11 A.M, a tight formation of four F-16 jets made a low pass over Arrowhead Mall, continuing west over Bell Road at approximately 500 feet. Imagine our good fortune!  Do the Tom Cruise-wannabes feel we need this wake-up call, or were they trying to impress the cashiers at Mervyns' early bird special? 

Any response would be appreciated.

The response:

Regarding 'A wake-up call from Luke's jets': On June 15, at precisely 9:12 A.M., a perfectly timed four-ship fly by of F-16's from the 63rd Fighter Squadron at Luke Air Force Base flew over the grave of Capt. Jeremy Fresques. Capt Fresques was an Air Force officer who was previously stationed at Luke Air Force Base and was killed in Iraq on May 30, Memorial Day. At 9 A.M. on June 15, his family and friends gathered at Sunland Memorial Park in Sun City to mourn the loss of a husband, son, and friend. Based on the letter writer's recount of the fly by, and because of the jet noise, I'm sure you didn't hear the 21-gun salute, the playing of taps, or my words to the widow and parents of Capt. Fresques as I gave them their son's flag on behalf of the President of the United States and all those veterans and servicemen and women who understand the sacrifices they have endured.

A four-ship fly by is a display of respect the Air Force gives to those who give their lives in defense of freedom. We are professional aviators and take our jobs seriously, and on June 15 what the letter writer witnessed was four officers lining up to pay their ultimate respects. The letter writer asks, 'Whom do we thank for the morning air show? The 56th Fighter Wing will make the call for you, and forward your thanks to the widow and parents of Capt Fresques, and thank them for you, for it was in their honor that my pilots flew the most honorable formation of their lives.

Only 2 defining forces have ever offered to die for you....Jesus Christ and the American Soldier. One died for your soul, the other for your freedom.

Lt. Col. Grant L. Rosensteel, Jr.
USAF

Knock Out, Round Two

In one of my previous blogs, I told you the story of the first time I was knocked out. It was a surreal experience, to say the least. Today, I give you the second time. This knock out was more costly than the others. The reason...I still have medical issues that haunt me today because of this episode.

It was summer in Monroe...early June, if memory serves me correct. Please note, my memory may be a tad lop-sided from this event. So, sue me if it happened in late May. School had just let out for summer and I had just finished seventh grade. I remember taking my textbooks and tying them to the back of my bike with a rope. I then proceeded to ride my bike through ditches and gravel...doing my best to tear the books to pieces. Obviously, this was the year that I started hating school. Unfortunately, I went through a period in my life when I thought school was my enemy. I detested it. I hated going to school. I hated reading books. I hated everything about it. Sad thing is I may have passed this gene on to my sons. I didn't ask for it...it just came on me like a demon.

I remember horsing around with some of my friends on the day I fell. Someone came up with the idea of spying on another one of our friends. So, we rode our bikes to his house with the idea of climbing a tree, waiting for the appropriate moment, and then jumping out and scaring our buddy when he came outside.

I remember sneaking into the backyard. I remember climbing up the sycamore tree. Then, there's a lapse in my memory. Next thing I remember is lying on the ground with three or four guys starring at me...in black and white...or maybe it was gray. Just like my previous unconsciousness, colors were absent. I remember asking for someone to call my dad. My mom was sitting at our house just three blocks away. But for some reason, I wanted my dad, who was at work. Fortunately, my friend's mom called my mother who arrived rather quickly. I don't know how she called my father because there were no mobile phones back then. I don't remember going to the hospital, but that's the next memory I can recall.

THUD! THUD! THUD! Yes, I remember the headache. I remember going to the X-Ray room. I remember the doctors entering my hospital room and talking quietly to my parents. I remember the cold, stark hospital hall that night because they took me out to the car in a wheelchair. Why did I leave that night? Well, what I didn't know at the time was that two patients had been diagnosed with viral meningitis that night on the pediatric floor. As a precaution, the hospital evacuated everyone from the pediatric ward. I should have stayed at the hospital, but the doctors feared the risk of contracting meningitis was greater.

So home I went. The doctor's orders were essentially this: bed rest. When I fell, I was approximately 15 feet up in the tree when a branch gave way. The doctors said that it was a miracle that I didn't break my neck. One of the doctors said that if my body had tilted another two degrees vertically, I would have snapped my neck like a toothpick. I could have died or been paralyzed on the spot. As it turns out, I landed partially on my shoulder and partially on my head. The impact broke a bone in the base of my skull that caused me to bleed out of my left ear for a week. I was in my bed for two months. I could only get up to go to the bathroom and to take baths for the first several weeks. Approximately one month later, I could walk to the living room window and watch all of my buddies playing outside in the beautiful summer weather. The doctors didn't want me to watch televsion because they feared the flashing lights might trigger headaches. So I sat in my room and daydreamed. Torture. Slow, methodic torture!

I spent two-thirds of that summer in my room. I'm not a big reader, so maybe that's where my intense imagination was born. Maybe that's why I don't act my age. Maybe I'm still searching for my lost summer. Only God knows.

That fall, during my eighth grade year, the English teacher asked his students to give speeches to the class as graded assignments. My first speech was about the knock-out experience. Back then, I didn't have enough courage to say "Boo" to a goose. After I gave my speech, I was expecting some compassion from the other students...especially from the girls...wink, wink ;) Instead, after my speech, the teacher stated, "That ought to be proof positive why you should never spy on anyone. That tells me a lot about you." All the other kids laughed and made fun of me that day. I started hating that teacher right then and there. Ironically, I went to a private school for my sophomore, junior, and senior years...and guess what? That teacher wound up moving to the same private school and was my teacher for three more years. I never grew to like him nor did he ever express any fondness of me. You can't say God didn't give us plenty of chances to work things out.

Around 1991, Angie and I lived in Mobile, Alabama while she finished her nursing degree. One week I was sick and couldn't get well. So Angie took me to an Ear, Nose, & Throat specialist. My sinuses had become infected and the infection was affecting both my breathing and hearing. The doctor ordered a hearing test during his examination. It revealed that I had partial hearing loss in my left ear. I told the doctor about falling from the tree as a youth. He carefully examined my left ear and said that he could see some deformity in my ear canal. He also said the week's worth of hemorrhaging probably damaged my drum and was the primary cause of my hearing loss. I already knew I had a problem, but it was good to get a professional opinion.

So, there you have it...my worst knock-out. Or maybe it was the greatest miracle that God has ever provided in my life. Had I tilted another half-inch, you might not be be reading this blog because I could have died on impact. And maybe...just maybe...that solemn time in my room that summer was the time when my imagination gave birth to the ideas that flow from my fingertips today. Like I said...only God knows.

The Short Bus

Some things don't have to be long to make a point. This video is only 10 seconds long, but it makes me laugh out loud every time I watch it.

Plus, I love it to see my kids being just as goofy as dear old dad.

Shake Your Groove Thing

Before Christmas, Meredith, Daniel, and Angie made a bunch of these ElfYourself videos. However, every time we tried to embed them into Facebook or Blogger, it wouldn't allow us access to a code. While cleaning my Gmail Inbox this morning, I went back to the site and watched the videos one last time. Much to my surprise, I was able to copy the embedding codes this morning. This one was my favorite. And, yes, I actually danced like that in the '70's.

Send your own ElfYourself eCards

What A Year Can Do

It doesn't seem that long ago, but last January, we were about to open "Oscar and Felix" at the Strauss. If you've followed my blog, you know that this was one of my most rewarding experiences in a play. The friendships that began during the play have lasted for over a year now. Plus, I've seen my three poker-playing buddies find the loves of their lives...and two of them have already married. Wow!!!

I'll never forget the first time that we read for our parts together. We were in the lobby of the Strauss with the director, Dennis, and Toby O and John, the two leads in the play. The four poker buddies were Matt, Michael Wayne, Steve, and me. We took turns reading the different parts. No matter which parts we read, we always seemed to go back to the ones that ultimately made it to the stage. I remember thinking that I was a rookie with a bunch of all stars. Similar to being starstruck, I didn't feel like I belonged in the play with these guys. Mikey entered during the initial rehearsals as the assistant director. But ultimately, Steve had to drop out and Mikey assumed the role of "Roy". After that, all the pieces of the puzzle were in place.

The run was successful and, in my humble opinion, was the most entertaining show offered last season. One night, Matt's sister filmed us. I watched some of the footage again today and decided to offer it to you. Every night, we tried to up the ante with something. Watch for this in the video...Matt slaps my shoulder after I say "twelve". I really believe he was trying to hit me harder and harder every night.