Blah, Blah

Hello all,
Been quite a while since I last posted to this blog. Let's see, where are we....hmm...ah, yes! The Buckeyes continue to underwhelm me, especially after they lost to Penn State. My wife was having a little party that evening, so I ventured out to Z's (a local bar) to watch the game. I had a nice spot at the bar with a great view until about the middle of the second quarter when Joe Footballguy saunters up next to me and makes brilliant comments to me like "Man, that quarterback has to start making better throws" and then some girl a few seats down insists on telling me how she's a much better pro football fan than a college fan and all of the thirty reasons why. So halftime comes and what should I do? Well, I pay my tab and leave. I drive around the block for about 10 minutes, park, then head back inside to see with much delight that my chatty pals have all left and my seat still open. But the good fortune ended shortly as the Buckeyes offense got back onto the field.
Say what you want, but Troy Smith is killing that team. I don't feel like going on much longer, but I'd love to debate this with anyone (Tressell included)
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There is a gas station nearby that I sometimes stop at to get a coffee. More specifically, a French Vanilla cappucino. Does this make me queer? Anyway, I find it funny that this particular gas station employees a person to stand by the machines and wipe them down, refill with grounds/filters, and for the ultimate show in how gourmet their coffee is they grind their own beans. I like to think of him as my own coffee steward. My morning barister who dishes out fresh french vanilla powder into a hot cup of water. Ahhh. Reminds me of Paris..and Jean-Luc. For a few minutes I think I'm in a freakin' Starbucks but those thoughts quickly disappear as Sandy the 500 lb chain-smoking night manager tells Thirdshift Joe in her raspy voice that his 40 ouncer for "the way home" will be $1.80.
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If at anytime you ever find yourself wearing a leather baseball hat, immediately yank the steering wheel of the car you are driving into a bridge abutment. Similarly, if you have ever even thought of wearing one of those silly koifa African hats (ala Jim Brown. pictured..), put a bullet in the chamber then pull the trigger.
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I went to my first Bengals game in Paul Brown Stadium a couple of weeks ago. I really enjoyed myself. The Bengals won and at the time were 4-0, which if you are a Bengal fan you are used to see the number "4" and "0" but usually in reverse order. The stadium is wonderful and the crowd was intense. What an electric atmosphere. I have to say that 90% of the time I enjoy just listening or watching the game at home. But I do feel that everyone should experience a major sport like this live.
From the earliest days when my brother took me every year to the Indy 500 (where nothing will ever prepare you for the moments leading up to the race, the fly-overs, the Anthem, and the first few laps...I had goose bumps and tears in my eye every year) to recently at, say, a Dayton Dragons minor league game (where the summer sun shines, the sounds of the game and smell of the grass and a cold beer with friends make it all great)...it is always something special to be "there".
Many times when I went to games I always thought that it would be cool to tell my kids about. I'm constantly blurting out "I was there" as the blank, confused eyes of my daughter stare back at me. Just as it is neat to hear my mom and dad talk about seeing someone like Stan Musial play at Crosley Field. I imagine telling someone that I was at the last Celtics/Lakers game in the old Boston Garden. I was at a Red Sox/Yankees game at Fenway when Mo Vaughn cracked three dingers. I can go on and on about being at Wrigley for an afternoon game with my wife and the incredible time we had as we sang Take Me Out to the Ballgame with Harry Caray up above us in the booth. I've been to a ton of neat places and there is always that "feeling" you get when you are actually there...where it all has happened. And maybe you'll be lucky enough when this game you're at will be the one they always talk about. And you can tell your kids "I was there"
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Recently my dad and I borrowed a tractor and big mower to cut down a lot of the weeds that had been growing in my back couple of acres. I have visions of making this a lovely little area with grass, trees and random islands of flowers and such. So I come home this friday to see dad already working on mowing down the thick underbrush. It really looked great but I was super excited about doing it too. I just really enjoyed being out there with the warm fall sun shining down and the big tractor working as it was meant to do. I even managed to scare up a pheasant and marveled at its beauty as it flew up and out ahead of me. This prompted me to leave quite a bit of land un-mowed to possibly provide a bit of sanctuary to my lil' animal friends (except you, Mr and Mrs Skunk. I don't like you. You smell. Go away!)
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My birthday is coming up and I've come to realize that I could really care less about it. Some people may get excited. Others may dread the fact that another year has been ticked off the ledger. Not me. I'll be 33 and I really couldn't be much happier than I am. If I could change my job, I'd do it in a heartbeat. But while I drudge through my work day and clock out completely unfulfilled and unchallenged, the thought of what I have at home is enough to erase the melancholy of the past 8 hours and forget about everything except for my house full of wonderful women.
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Speaking of the male species in my house, my only ally on this daily war I wage on Estrogen is my dog Zeke. Zeke just had his 10th birthday! We treated him to his own cake and sang Happy Birthday to him. His favorite part of the day probably came when we went for a little walk around the soybean field and he found an old tennis ball that had been there since spring. He had that ball all night and even fell asleep with it.
That boy has been through it all with us. We got him a few months before we got married and he's been with us ever since. He was once the king of the house until the arrival of these kids. But we've never forgotten him and realize that not only is he a great friend but he's a great part of this family...even though the needs of our kids are a little more important than his (that's our opinion, not his).
I heard this said a while back and traced it to a quote by George Graham Vest, who wrote:
The best friend a man has in this world may turn against him and become his enemy. His son or daughter that he has reared with loving care may prove ungrateful. Those who are nearest and dearest to us, those whom we trust with our happiness and our good name, may become traitors to their faith. The money that a man has, he may lose. It flies away from him, perhaps when he needs it most. A man's reputation may be sacrificed in a moment of ill-considered action. The people who are prone to fall on their knees to do us honor when success is with us may be the first to throw the stone of malice when failure settles its' clouds upon our heads.
The one absolutely unselfish friend that man can have in this world, the one that never deserts him, the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous, is his dog. A man's dog stands by him in prosperity and poverty, in health and sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground, when the wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely, if only he may be near his master's side. He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer; he will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounter with the roughness of the world. He guards the sleep of his pauper master, as if he were a prince. When all other friends desert, he remains. When riches take wings and reputation falls to pieces, he is as constant in his love as the sun in its' journey through the heavens.If fortune drives the master forth an outcast in the world, friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks no higher privilege than that of accompanying him to guard against danger to fight his enemies; and when the last scene of all comes, and death takes the master in its' embrace, and his body is laid away in the cold ground, no matter if all other friends pursue their way, there by the graveside will the noble dog be found, his head between his paws, his eyes sad, but open in watchfulness, faithful and true even in his death.
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I have realized that I've gotta start writing ideas down. I have these grand plans to add some insightful, riveting paragraphs to this blog only to find myself saying "now what the hell do I ramble on about?"
I'll try harder.
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Finally, I've been having some trouble with the "comments" section on this blog. I've become inundated with spam-like comments that typically go "Hey, Great column Mike. I really enjoyed reading it. By the way, visit my sight to learn more about how to get a long, hard sustained boner" or something like that. So I try to block them and delete them and often screw up the whole works. Please please please, try to leave comments. They are like my little easter eggs that I get to find at the end of each column. Keep 'em up and I can assure you that my staff are hard at work trying to rectify the problem.