clothesure

Before reading this post you must accept the following disclaimer. Please read the disclaimer, close your eyes and nod to confirm and acknowledge:

I acknowledge whereby reading said blog entry I hereby indemnify said author from any and all thoughts, accusations or premonitions of being anything less than a man’s man.

I certify said author loves to wrestle farm animals, brush his teeth with Johnnie Walker Red, roll his own cigarettes and watch MMA marathons. In fact, said author would rather sit through a symposium on global affairs with “The Situation” and Paris Hilton than watch one minute of Lifetime or the Oprah network.



Thank you.

I hate my clothes.

Not all of my clothes, not all of the time, but I hate my clothes.

I go into the closet each morning and try to fill out the lineup card.  Suits, ties, shirts.  In my next life I'm coming up with garanimals menswear.

A couple of suits are designated strictly for “spot start and long relief.” Don't like 'em, and I'm not sure how they got there.  Most times when I wear them I go ahead and pile on with an "emergency call up tie" and "designated for assignment" shirt.

I don't part with clothes.  Some are icons.  And if it was good enough for the Carter administration it's bound to come back. 

I once owned a suit for nearly 20 years that despite my best efforts always looked presentable, on the outside.  My Rasputin suit.  On the inside it looked like an episode of “Seamstress Gone Wild.”

I don't part with clothes.  Rock bottom was when my daughter, then nine, turned to me at a hockey game and asked “How long have you had that shirt?”  Think break dancing, then add a few years. 

I hate to shop (guy + no shop = redundant).  I'd rather run from a tornado in high heels. 

I've been shopping with the wife.  Twice.  Each time, the salesperson initially turned bug eyed with a joyful, "I just broke the bank" look,  picturing Taina as Gunther Gebel-Williams and me as the hapless lion. 

We all nodded in agreement for a few minutes until things quickly deteriorated.  My problem is that I am the most amenable shopper on earth until I am left to make a decision, at which point I breathe fire and we're forced to add the store to our list of "places we can never return."  

So I learned.

I’ve evolved, and as they say, the only normal people are the ones we don't know very well. 

I use a frames for my posters instead of tape.  I drink from a glass instead of swigging from the bottle.  

And I use duct tape and nod at department stores.

Blaze Orange of Glory

Only in Chicago.

Only in Chicago could a visit by Chinese President Hu (Hu's on first?) Jinato be upstaged by Mike Ditka.

Front page news on this frigid Friday is Da Bears, not Da Prez.

We interrupt the earth's rotation for an important announcement.  Ditka speaks, and he (still) hates Green Bay. Spits green and gold, he hates them so much. 

It's personal.  The cheese fiends are coming.  Win or go home. 

I never saw it coming.  In August I thought the Bears would be lucky to win 6 games, their offensive line exactly that, offensive. 

Who knew.  Luck, as they say, is what happens when preparation meets opportunity.  Or better yet, when you play in the inferior conference and have Superman returning kicks.  Devin Hester is indeed ridiculous.  Having a 20 yard head start (if Hester hasn't already scored) makes up for a lot D-league talent. 

It's personal.  Don't like the Packers.  Growing up they were mediocre, just like the Bears.  But they were our team, our Bears.  We gathered on the playground with our Walter Payton iron-ons and orange wristbands.  A 7-7 season was cause for a parade. 

John Brockington?  Chester Marcol?  The Packers were harmless, the Bears more like puppies.

It didn't get nasty until the 80s, when Ditka and Forrest Gregg came along. 

Chuck Cecil.  Mark Lee.  And Charles Martin, who body slammed Jim McMahon like an empty beer bottle.

Bears-Packers is the NFL's oldest rivalry, dating back to 1921.  Over 90 years, but never a game with so much at stake.  The Halas trophy, then the Lombardi trophy.

Win or lose, we'll head back to work in one of the world's great cities, worthy of foreign dignitaries. 

Packer fans? They'll still have stock car races and fish boils. 

A Vulnerable Place

I found myself with a heavy heart over the past few days. 

My heart goes out to the victims of the Arizona shooting and their families.

My thoughts keep coming back to mental health.   The health of our families and friends. 

Most of us have experienced at some level the pain of mental illness, and the helplessness that often comes with it. 

We are learning more about the shooter, clearly a sick individual. 

And a son.  And neighbor.  And classmate, co-worker and friend.

Estimates are that 10% of our population is on anti-depressants.  And how many of the remaining 90% should be?  How many people on the subway could use meds to "take the edge off" but go untreated?

Our country has changed, and few (hopefully) would want us to go back to institutionalizing across the board.  We're certainly more open about mental health.

But mental health is hardly a political priority.  As budgets bleed, facilities close or lose staff.  

So many of us are teetering. 

We don't know much, if anything, about the shooter's parents or how he was raised. 

I keep coming back to shows like "Intervention" or "Celebrity Rehab."  Shows so predictable in many ways. 

An idyllic childhood.  Smiling pictures in a football uniform or princess dress.

Then a dark secret, and addiction gradually sets in.

Family and friends try for years to intercede.  Glimmers of hope.  Fleeting glimmers.  Helplessness.

If you haven't read Beautiful Boy by David Sheff I highly recommend it.  As a parent I found it both inspirational and terrifying. 

Godspeed to us all.

Champagne and Hamster Wheels

If you are at your ideal weight, raise your hand.

Thought so.  Saying "I could stand to drop five pounds" is kind of like saying "I could stand to comb my hair." 

I feel fat.  Have for about a month.  Must be all of the egg rolls, bacon wraps, crab cakes and mini hot dogs I've inhaled since Halloween. 

We all feel fat this time of year, don't we?  And we resolve to hit the gym.  Right after the New Year.  Or Presidents Day.  Or the next commercial. 

Americans love their cars, guns, TVs and fantasizing about looking younger and thinner (waist not hair).

Most of all, we love to eat.  Nothing like grazing the buffet trough four or five times.  And who needs a buffet when servers lay portions on us the size of phone books?

I keep active, mind you, by swimming several days a week.  Chasing my kids helps keep the pounds off also, I guess.  Still, sometimes I feel like a float in the Macy's Thanksgiving parade.  Seen the ad with the "exploding" pants buttons?  Keep me away from windows and large pets.

There was a time when I could eat, and eat, and eat.   Then I hit 40, and my metabolism came...to....a....screeching.....halt, like Spike Lee's speech to the Republican National Convention.

I don't look heavier this time of year (wishful thinking?), just feel that way.

So I swim, but nobody will confuse me with Michael Phelps, or Bo Jackson.  I am reminded of sportscaster Dick Schaap's reaction to Bo's physique.  "Once you have seen Bo Jackson coming out of the shower," Schapp said,  "you will never want to shower again."

Exercise has always been vital.  My time.  No phone, no kids, no screens.  

Swimming is my gig.  A friend does triathlons. Often I will hear from him after a weekend biking up mountains or running through the forest. Me? I get tired hearing about it.


I used to workout at night but switched to (early) mornings many years ago for two reasons:  1) We always control when our day starts, but rarely control when it ends and 2) No matter how my day ends up (trust me I've had some doosies) I know I did something right.

And I'm not into diets.  Always felt like to go on a diet means by definition you will go off of it.  So I try to eat well, consistently.  But we certainly are bombarded by them. Personally I am waiting for the cigar, Mountain Dew and Combos diet. Maybe I'll commission a study.

As an aside, my wife is forming a militia to harm the radio lunatic who claims, "Studies show women over 40 have to work out an hour each day just to maintain their weight."  Applications pending.

So with the new year comes the rush to the gym and annual ritual I call the "hamster chase." 

Regulars know November and December are light gym months.  Then January hits and suddenly the locker room feels like fraternity rush week.  For about three weeks, people are being guided around as if visiting a foreign land, sans the cameras and fanny packs.  You see the newbies either flailing in the pool or hitting the treadmill in dress socks. 

At least they're trying.  I heard at my local Y over 75% of gift memberships aren't used even once. 

See you at the gym. 

Merry Christmas

May your life be filled with hope and happiness.

For our leaders both here and abroad, who are called on to guide the future of our children, my children...wisdom.

For our brothers and sisters who are hungry, without shelter, or lonely...comfort. 

For those who are blessed...give 'till it hurts, then give some more. 

And may all of us live with the sheer joy of a child on Christmas morning.

My daughter needed one word upon looking in our first box of ornaments.

WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!

Peace be with you.

G.I. Joe and Dandy Don

There were a few deaths in the news recently.  These things happen in threes, right?

Leslie Nielsen, Elizabeth Edwards and Don Meredith.  Each passing was sad in its own way, as they left behind family, friends and fans.  And each achieved fame, or at least notoriety, in ways not intended.

Leslie Nielsen didn't set out to be a comic actor.  He had dramatic roles for many years prior to becoming a caricature in "Airplane" and the "Naked Gun" films.  He was serious - and don't call him Shirley. 

Elizabeth Edwards was an accomplished attorney best known for her courageous battle against cancer. 

And "Dandy" Don Meredith was the original "star" of the Dallas Cowboys, a Texan through and through who never played a home game, at any level, outside of his home state.  But Meredith is best known for  broadcasting "Monday Night Football" in the 70's and early 80's.  Teamed with Frank Gifford (the straight man) and Howard Cosell (the blowhard), Meredith was the booth comedian.  For example, during the 4th quarter of game where the hometown Houston Oilers were getting drilled, the camera focused on a single fan in an otherwise empty section.  The fan looked up and flipped the bird, prompting Meredith to say, "Well, at least someone thinks the Oilers are number one!"
Don Meredith didn't set out to be a TV star.  Yet Meredith's death is felt mainly because he came of age during my formative years in the 1970's.

When Don Meredith began on Monday Night Football it was exactly that.  The big game.  A night game, held once a week.  And because it was the only night game, it was an event. 

I used to beg my Dad to stay up until halftime to catch Howard Cosell's "halftime highlights."  Because back then, those were the highlights.  And maybe, just maybe, our beloved Bears would make the two minute reel. 

I remember one Monday game vividly featuring the Bears against the Green Bay Packers when Wally Chambers, the Bears All-Pro defensive tackle, was featured in the intro as Jim Croce's "Bad, Bad, LeRoy Brown" played in the background.  What did I want to be when I grew up?  Meaner than a junkyard dog. 

I also remember watching baseball's "Game of the Week" on NBC with Joe Gargiola and Tony Kubek because that's exactly what it was.  The game of the week; the only nationally televised game.  I watched, even though it always featured the Yankees, Red Sox, or Dodgers. 

Now games are ubiquitous, available now or on demand.  A big game?  Only until tomorrow night.  Reminds me of Dallas Cowboys running back Duane Thomas, who said shortly before playing in the Super Bowl, "If the Super Bowl is the ultimate game, why are they playing it again next year?

Growing up we had electric football (with the vibrating field), Slinky's and Pong. And Etch a Sketch.  You could either call sports phone (at 50 cents a pop) for scores or wait for the local news. 

My kids play interactive video games, pull up Internet highlights and choose among Sunday, Monday or Thursday night football games. 

We didn't hear much from Don Meredith after his retirement in 1984.  I admire him for knowing when to walk away, unlike Frank Gifford, who is trotted out like a weekly circus act.

Don Meredith won't ever be mentioned in the same breath as Vin Scully or Walter Cronkite, but his death is significant for two reasons:
First, Meredith was one of the last personalities in broadcasting. Can you name more than a couple network announcers today? Do you tune in to listen to them? Nobody "turned down the sound" in Monday Night Football's heyday.

Second, Meredith's death represents one of the last links to a bygone era, when the channels and games were few. Today everything seems instantaneous. Less was more. Or was it?

Bowled Over, and Over, and Over

As I write this, Oregon and Auburn, both undefeated, figure to play for the college football's national championship. 

They play for a championship on the field now, not like the old days when writers and coaches voted for champs.  It's on the field, sort of, based on nerdy computer rankings through something called the BCS. 

Two teams, Auburn and Oregon, will battle for the brass ring. 

On January 10th. 

In the mean time, 68 other teams will go at it in an endless orgy of bowl games. 

This year there are 35 bowl games.

35 games, 70 teams.

70 teams will appear in bowl games out of 119 teams in major college football.  In other words, college bowl games have become the NHL playoffs, where the saying used to be "let's play 82 games to eliminate Winnipeg."


The original idea behind bowl games was to reward a handful of successful teams with the opportunity to play another game after being shuttled around by the host city for a series of photo-ops and glad handling.  Sounds cool, but the definition of "successful" team has been stretched quite a bit.  Stretched, shaken, stomped and spit on.  In today's college game, its six wins and you're bowl eligible, baby.  6-6.  Mediocrity rules. 

It wasn't always this way.  To illustrate, I looked back a few years.
I was born in December, 1967.  I picture my Dad with his infant son asleep on his chest, a stiff drink and cigarette in hand (must be true because I watch Mad Men), waiting on the evening paper and a chance to watch his alma mater.
In 1967 there were nine bowl games, and they were pure exhibition games, since the final polls came beforehand.  In fact, the AP writers poll had only 10 teams until 1968. 

USC finished first in 1967.  Wyoming was the only undefeated team, but finished sixth.  I'm sure nobody outside of Wyoming noticed. 

The 1967 bowl lineup was Orange, Rose, Sugar, Cotton, Sun, Gator, Tangerine, Bluebonnet and Liberty.  That's it.  In those days plenty of good teams went home after final exams.  Purdue finished the season ranked #9 with a 9-2 record.  No bowl. 
Fast forward to 2010 and the land of money spewing scrimmages.    Why so many bowl games?  Two reasons - money and programming. 

Schools love bowl games because they get big payouts and provide another reason for proud alums to cut a check or show up with face paint and a corncob on their head.  And coaches love it because a bowl game means a few extra weeks of practice.  And players love to play. I get that.


Then there's programming and those omnipresent letters - ESPN.  After all, how much pool and poker can a viewer take? 
So get ready, because bowl season starts in a week or so.  Just think, some day players can gather the grand kids and tell tales about:

- The GoDaddy Bowl (are they virtually hosting?)
- The Ticketcity Bowl (plenty of tickets available)
- The Meinecke Car Care Bowl (do players brake with pads or shoes?)

And they can reminisce about their lovely December week in Detroit (Little Caesars Bowl) or Boise (Humanitarian Bowl).  Regarding Boise and the "blue rug," wouldn't it be more humane to stay home?  Do players ride snowmobiles to the game?

The BCS is not without controversy.  The plan was to settle things on the field, but there still are issues.  TCU is also undefeated but shut out of the big game because they play in the Mountain West conference. 

Big conferences rule, such as the Big 12, SEC and Big Ten.  And teams feast on directional schools early (Southeastern Middle Florida, Northwest Virginia State) to ensure gaudy final records.

As an aside, next year there will be ten teams in the Big 12 and twelve teams in the Big Ten.  Discuss.

Some have called for a playoff.  I like the bowls.  But only a few of them.  What do you think?