Tuesday, August 23, 2005



   A lot of people fail to understand my unilateral decision to put myself in the AOL Journals Hall Of Fame. Some might even object to it. There are several good reasons for this objection:

- I had to submit stuff to a certain journal by a certain time, and I didn't.

- My journal might have 25% of the visits some of the other HOFers have.

- My journal runs a fairly sizable risk of screwing up your children.

- I'm a sloppy writer, favoring things like.... this and things- like this. I rely way too much on it, and many professors I've had told me my writing style is too "conversational."

- I talk about myself too much.

- While ascribing terms such as "good" and "evil" to blogs is unfair....I'd probably look pretty evil compared to my supporting cast in the HOF.

- Normally, one gets voted in by others to these sort of things.

   Good reasons, all. What I've done is the equivalent of Jose Canseco doing a fat shot of Winstrol, then breaking down the doors of Cooperstown with his Testarossa and putting his own statue in.

   I've listed the objections....now I'll tell you why I really SHOULD be in:

- There were about 45 days between my starting this blog, and it being voted the best Sports Blog on AOL.

- I can guaran-damn-tee you that Cosell, Madden, Rice, and all the others didn't get assigned to go to the All Star Game less than two months after taking up sportswriting on a lark.

- No other AOL Journaler (before the spectacular ascent of Childe Alex) has ever been sent anywhere, provided lodging, given money, and appeared on the Welcome Screen for their talents.

- I honestly believe that I have more talent in two of my fingers than any other blogger out there (too bad they aren't the ones that actually hit the keyboard). That's no diss on J-Land, by any means....I enjoy AOL Blogs, and I visit some daily. I've laughed out loud, and been moved to tears. I've made friends. Still... I'm just that damned good.

- Calvin Coolidge was kicking around names of potential cabinet members with friends. One proposed member elicited a "He's a cocky SOB" comment from more than one of these friends. Coolidge smiled and said, "Don't they have the right to be represented, too?"

- At the time, inducting myself seemed like the thing to do. In all candor, it still does.


   This Journal is but my first step on a long and brutal path that will end in either World Dominance or Involuntary Committment. There are other areas that I am now focusing my attention on:

- Monponsett X

   Much like my self-induction into the AOL HOF, it is difficult at first to understand why a pasty French chick plans on developing a Black Voices Journal that will pretty much set the tone for race relations between breast and drumstick meat in America for the next 50 years.

   Forget the fact that my people- the French- have suffered slavery far more recently than any American black. Forget the fact that we are all Americans, sort of equal parts to that theoretical turkey I discussed in the previous paragraph. Forget the fact that a girl in a sports blog is just as poorly received as a white in a race blog.... and with that being considered, that I am the best person for that particular job.

   It just sounds like fun. I already have the bones of the Journal on the table.....growing up in Brooklyn (Zoo!), spending the summers with a kindly grandfather in the Ozarks, my time playing on the hoop team at Grambling, a slowly building awareness of African culture and the history of the black man in America, and- the best part- coming to see the joy of the differences between myself and Weiss, my Jewish best friend. It'll be like Roots, but with Woody Allen worked in somehow.

   At the 1998 Freedom Rally in Boston, rapper B-Real reflected on how hard it will be to legalize marijuana in this country. "We have legitimate grievances," he paraphrased, "but it's hard being taken seriously when every supporter you have is on drugs. It'd be nice to have some non-smokers on our side, even if they supported us only for reasons of principle." While B-Real was probably trying to elicit legal and legislative sympathies so he can smoke marijuana, he sort of spelled out the basic argument for Monponsett X.

   I aim high, and I fully expect to resolve all racial tension in this country by Thanksgiving or so. I blame Old White Wealth for everything. I plan to argue for a legal settlement that will give American blacks the big part of Michigan as reparations for 400 years of oppression. The American borders will be lined with casinos, and a blind eye will be turned towards any Northern imperialistic expansion. Full citizenship, tax incentives, complete military security, another holiday or two, and an additional NFL franchise.... I'd go for it if I were an oppressed minority.

   By this point, I will be a demagogue without peer. The next logical step would be a run for the Presidency. I really don't have any inclination towards being a governor or a Senator- I figure on starting at the top.

    Unfortunately, I won't be 35 by the next election, and it would be difficult running the whole French thing past a country that now "freedom kisses" and uses "freedom ticklers." Therefore, I need a figurehead.

   Big fat Marshall Joffre seemed like a bad choice to lead the French armies in WWI, but he was there as more of a father figure than a strategist. "Joffre est un bouclier vaillant derrière lequel des esprits plus subtiles peuvent diriger la politique militaire française"...."Joffre is a stout shield behind which  more subtle minds can direct French military policy."

   This thinking also gave us Reagan, Bush, and Bush Jr...seemingly harmless talking heads who allow their cronies to smash Arabs and fleece American poor. Nice men, all...but their goodness is being used for evil. I plan on using evil for good.

   Once I get the right brother on point (I was really hoping for Allen Iverson, who is a big fan of this journal...though there is something sort of Presidential in a more reasonable way about Dr. J... but Iverson is younger.), it's only a matter of time.

   People will again fail to understand my motives for nationalizing the Middle East....especially since it really isn't ours to nationalize. President Iverson will be hard to reach, after his decision to move the White House to the Bi Baby Bi sorority house on the Georgetown campus, where he is more comfortable. When reporters do find him, he'll feign indiference.... referring all questions to a "Miss Moreau," who turns out to be even harder to reach.

   Once gas is $.59 a gallon again, who'll be complaining? If we're all rich and happy, I have a feeling that any remaining black-white tensions can be resolved individually at some future Ann Arbor craps table, where both parties can have a complimentary drink or two. The Europeans will be pissed, but they always are.

   99% of the Arabs will be just as rich or poor as they were before we stole their sole source of international revenue, and they will live a happier quality of life once they get a few NFL and NBA franchises (The Baghdad Ruins? The Syria Bread? The Istanbul Constantinoples?). People will always vote Hungry in a Guns/Butter quandry.

   Europeans can just ride horses for 50 years or so, until they like our football better than theirs.. at which point, they can deal with Presidents Belichick, Brady, or Lohan....depending on how quickly they assimilate. We'll need them when we turn on the rest of Asia.

   Violence and appeasement go along way in today's world, and they speak many, many languages. If you've read this far, you have to be one of my people. What can you do? Just wait....we'll contact you when we need you. Know Your Role.

   Mr. Iverson, I can be reached through DCSportsGuy@aol.com.



Monday, August 22, 2005

AOL J-Land props

91-year-old 'tomato man' shares produce and know-how online

South Knoxville resident Ray F. White knows a lot about the tomatoes he enjoys growing and sharing. For nearly 50 years, he's planted 50 to 100 tomato plants each spring and tended and harvested them each summer. White, who'll be 92 on Sept. 2, doesn't grow other produce. "I'm a tomato man," he says simply.

Bushels of tomatoes come from his garden each year. He doesn't sell them but gives them to friends and family. "I tell everybody I charge them a smile a bag," he says.

White also gives away his expertise and experience with tomato gardening via the Internet. He began an online garden journal on Aug. 27, 2003. Readers have accessed the page more than 39,000 times since. Readers of the journal and his other Web pages include people from Hawaii, Wisconsin, California and Germany.

White writes in his journal every day but Sunday, and his thoughts aren't just about tomatoes. Written in a friendly style as if friends are talking over cups of coffee, the journal includes Knoxville weather conditions and inspirational daily thoughts.

He also maintains a blog, "Dad's Views and Tomato News," as well as a Web page about fried green tomatoes and other tomato recipes, a Web page about tomato gardening, and another Web page about songbirds and roses.

White and daughter Mary White eat tomatoes as often as three times a day in the summer. A favorite sandwich is one or two slices on a hamburger bun spread with a little mayonnaise. He likes green tomatoes, too. Cooked and frozen tomatoes are used in wintertime soups and chili. "I never get tired of them," he says.

To cook and freeze, White recommends skinning tomatoes before putting them in a large pot. Water isn't needed; the tomatoes supply it as they cook. Cook "just a few minutes," he says. Freeze in quart bags.

Each spring, he picks four tomato varieties at Stanley's Greenhouse in Knoxville. This year he planted Better Boy, Celebrity, Burpee and Early Girl. He likes the Celebrity variety, having planted it four to five years. This year, Better Boy is his favorite; he may plant it again next year. He also planted six Brandywine heirloom tomatoes.

White's first tomato gardening was as a 10-year-old helping his father. "He had about 10 plants, I think," White says. White really got going with tomatoes, he said, after moving to his current home in 1959.

He gets to his 30-by-50-foot garden by using a golf cart that was a 90th-birthday gift. Depending on the weather, his tomatoes last until the end of August or into September. As soon as one season ends, he's thinking about the next. "He starts dreaming right away," says Mary White.

Though White has planted as many as 100 plants in previous years, this year he planted 50. "I had to cut back. But if you don't have close to 50, you can't take care of everybody (who enjoys the tomatoes)," he says.

He is thinking of increasing the price of his tomatoes. "I might go up to two smiles a bag,"




Neighbors and friends will reap the rewards of Ray F. White’s work in the garden.

Here are tips from longtime tomato grower Ray F. White:

  • Plant tomatoes in full sun; he puts wire cages around plants to support them as they grow.
  • Plant after danger of frost is gone; Whiteplanted this year on April 15.
  • Mulch around plants to help retain moisture and prevent weeds.
  • Expect the first ripe tomatoes, depending on variety, 60 to 75 days after planting.
  • Plant in good soil. Put a handful of cow manure in bottom of hole dug for plant.
  • If soil isn't good, enrich it. White enriched his garden through the years by tilling in cow manure.
  • Fertilize plants for about four weeks after planting. White uses Miracle Grow he mixes and sprays on plants with a water hose. He fertilizes when he plants, and then weekly for four weeks.
  • Water is a big factor in tomato growing. While how much watering plants need is somewhat weather-dependent, White recommends tomato plants be watered at least twice a week. Most of the time he waters once a day.
  • Pinch out side shoots in plants' leaf axles when shoots are about three-fourths of an inch long. To help put energy to fruit instead of getting taller, pinch out top of plant when it has grown four flower bunches.
  • Leave tomatoes on vine until ripe.
  • Don't refrigerate picked tomatoes. "It takes away their flavor," says White.

    Source Ray F. White and his garden journal Web page


Used without permission from the Knoxville News Sentinel


Sunday, August 21, 2005

Wreckage In The Fast Lane

Thomas Herrion

Tough goings in the NFL last night, as 23 year old San Francisco lineman Thomas Herrion died after an exhibition game against Denver.

They had just heard the post-game Coach Speech when Herrion collapsed. The team medical staff was on him immediately, and were performing CPR when Thomas was taken to the hospital. He was pronounced dead 3 hours later.

The death of an athlete is always a shocking thing, especially where this kid hadn't just been smashed in the neck or anything. For a sport where the largest/strongest/fastest are taught and exhorted to use their bodies as missiles against other human beings, football players don't get killled a lot.

Before they started armoring themselves (what old guys call "The Leather Helmet Days"), it wasn't that unusual for football players to fracture skulls, snap necks, stop hearts, gouge out eyes, or, in one case, rip out the liver of an opponent and eat it in front of his wife. It's a man's game, and boys will be boys.

Teddy Roosevelt, William McKinley and Woodrow Wilson all spoke out against the violence in football- with Roosevelt, an avid sportsman, threatening to ban the game at one time. Roosevelt's efforts to reform the game eventually led to the development of a ruling board that is still in effect today- the NCAA.

A few less deaths on the field, and a new mega-sport is on. Given a choice between football and, say, space travel....I think most Americans would have been content to let the Soviets walk around on the moon, provided we could still bomb up on them somehow.

Still, big men fell.  J.V. ("Co") Cain and Chuck Hughes died of heart attacks in the 1970s. Arena League guy Al Lucas died after severing his spinal cord on some running back. It's not unusual to hear of a college or high school guy dying after a tough practice. Throw in a few guys with an affinity for ocaine-cay, and you'd get the occasional funeral where you simply needed six behemoths to serve as pallbearers.

Korey Stringer, a 330 pound Minnesota tackle, died of heat stroke a few moons back after practicing in 110 degree heat. His wife sued, and the NFL began to take steps to protect players. No more eight hour triple session marathons. No more running them till they puke themselves into shape. You had to be nice. Things seemed to be improving.

Then, Herrion dies. It wasn't a desert afternoon- it was about 60 degrees out...although you can die of heat stroke in Antartica if your body somehow loses the ability to rid itself of excess heat. We're still waiting on the coroner's report to see if the kid had a heart problem, a nose full of cocaine, a bullet wound- anything that could strike down a powerful young man who could probably have flipped over a Hummer if asked.

Until then, our condolences to his family, and a "B-safe" to everybody else out there on the field entertaining us.


Speaking of people who just may be killed entertaining us, former Charlotte/Chicago/Illinois guard Kendall Gill is now 2-0 in his newborn career as a prizefighter.

Picking up a life-threatening sport when you're 37 is usually a bad idea, kids. If Kendall isn't doing this for laughs, he must have a Colombian Infantry Battalion stationed in his nasal cavity.  

He smacked up some tomato can last night, on a card more notable for a melee that involved fighter Fernando Vargas' posse. Set off by someone who punched a trainer's wife in the face, Vargas' posse took on the whole lower section of the stadium in a swirling brawl. Several were arrested, although Vargas himself kept his hands clean.

 "I only hit people who they pay me to hit," said Vargas, who watched the whole fight while sitting on the top turnbuckle like a wrestling valet. "You can get f***** up out there."

(Editor's Note: Entering "Kendall Gill: Boxer" into an image search produces a picture of some guy holding up a sign saying, "Bad Idea.")



Thompson Memorial

My favorite author- and the deep, cold center of Sportswriter Lake- goes out with a bang.

Dr. Hunter S. Thompson's last wish was granted, and his ashes were loaded into fireworks and detonated over Woody Creek, Colorado.

"Hunter always loved explosions," said his wife, Anita.

Props to Thompson portrayer Johnny Depp, who footed the bill for the soiree.....which included a 15 story tower depicting the late author's logo- a dual thumbed fist extending from a dagger hilt, clutching a peyote button. He also paid for the cannon, which will be left there as a memorial.


Tuesday, August 16, 2005

Two Minute Warning






Warn The Villagers!!


A Daily Sports Journal.... with all the SBL Community.


We'll crush MSN our damn selves.



Monday, August 15, 2005

Shaq Man

I happen to be in the minority that finds Shaq to be cute. That said, here is the Shaq Man video game, thanks to Laker Board Contributer JMartin2 or something.



Riding Shotgun On Gorgeous George's QB Ratings



Cool article from "the man they call 'Georgie Pudding Pie'...he kissed all the girls, and made them cry....."  


George ranks the top 30 or so QBs......here's my comments.  


Tommy Cool deserves to be #1. He walks taller, spits further, f****s longer and is generally cooler than you or I...or at least you. I have a celebrity escape clause in my marriage vows that would allow me to hop up on Champagne Tom if such an option proffered itself. Also, either Belichick or Brady seem to be able to exert some sort of control on the weather.    




Anyone who pukes in a Super Bowl huddle can be rated no higher than #3 on my list, babe. I threw up on a field once, Donovan.....but I'm a housewife, now. If Chunky Soup bases their 2005-06 advertising campaign on a man known for vomiting, I'm selling all  my stock....in everything.      



  If you mix Peyton and McNabb, the end result will choke on his own vomit. Belichick is the recurring thought that makes Peyton go impotent with that Miss Teen Tennessee 2001 wife of his.  Peyton, despite his supermodel name, will be OK once he figures out that being Mister October is a bad thing in football 


  Duante- my favorite Italian since Brando and Sinatra died- does everything but win. 

The only guy who will miss Randy Moss more than Culpepper will be Kerry Collins.

   I always play Culpepper on Madden because I tend to get happy feet a lot, and I like to Run Big when I have to run at all.      


  French people from Boston are the only non-Louisianans who pronounce "Favre" properly (It's sort of like "five," but not really) . Defensive linemen with poor eyesight often lose Favre as he blends in with the grass background.  (If someone in your fantasy league took Favre already, you can usually get the cheaper Jake Del Homme -a bastardization of de l'homme = "of the man"- in a later round and not lose any points in the Big Stupid Cajun categories.)      


  Michael Vick and his Gonnohrea will be playing at a stadium near you. My urination burns just thinking about how good this kid can be.


        Sorry, George... I hate your QBjust cause he's named "Chad." I don't even feel that I need a logical reason beyond that.


  What do Trent Green, Chad Pennington and a Christmas tree have in common? None are much good in January.      


  If Big Ben were a woman, he could marry someone named "Dover" and suddenly become the funniest player in the NFL, just like that.      


    As George knows, Marc Bulger is only the second most threatening Bulger walking God's green earth today. No matter what happens in life, Bulger can secure immediate seating with just his name alone in eating establishments all over South Boston.  To illustrate Whitey Bulger's former hold on this city of ours, my husband- who is 6'6", 270, and was in Desert Storm- saw me writing this and said, "You're gonna make a joke about HIM???"  


    Steve McNair simply hit the wall....and the wall hit him back a few times. "I need a six letter word for 'washed up'."      


I wonder if Bledsoe has ever been like..."Damn....I'm the 2nd best QB named Drew in the NFL"      


  If David Carr played in Boston, he'dnever hear the last two letters of his name pronounced. If he didn't watch basketball growing up, he'd be like "Why are people calling me 'M.L.' all the time?"      


  Doesn't Byron Leftwich sound like someone who does Crew at Harvard? I just can't see a bunch of Crips being like, "Don't open that forty dog....Byron Leftwich isn't here yet."      


  "We'll take the ball....and we'll be eliminated."        


  Saying "Carson Palmer" backwards five times in front of a mirror is said to summon a Scratch Lady who will sack you for a loss.     


  Jake Plummer doesn't want you to know his nickname is "Mister."      


  Dallas could have put a statue in the backfield, and it may have at least hurt the other teams' players while it generates a similar passing attack to ol' Nancy Drew. On the plus side, Drew isn't as concussion-dizzy as Aikman looks.....in fact, he couldn't be.     


  I was amazed when I saw that Aaron Brooks had his own shoe commercial. He stinks like freshly-vomited Gumbo. I bet every now and then he goes "OWWWWW" for no reason, as someone in New Orleans spears a voodoo doll bearing his likeness. 


Either Patrick Ramsey can't play in this league, or Joe Gibbs and Steve Spurrier can't coach. Several Angolans died mining the diamonds Uncle Joe can lay down on the Super Bowl Ring Table. Hmmmmm....  


 Thanks, Mom!

Kurt Warner qualifies for the Married A Really Ugly Girl Before I Got Famous alimony amnesty clasue that the left wing doesn't want you to know about.  


If Kyle Boller can't get it done this year, Ray Lewis may kill him.  



Joey Heisman has three top ten picks to throw to. If he doesn't perform this year, the Detroit crowd may perform a Reverse Artest.  


 You'd figure a guy named Greise wouldn't be so easy to tackle for a loss.....you'd think he'd slip away.   Even my friend Tammy- a hippy who knows nothing about the game, once asking me why Corey Dillon "doesn't just run behind all those guys who are standing on the side of the field"- thinks this guy is terrible.


The Nazi genetic scientist in us all demands that Peyton's kids be bred with Eli's kids, and the offspring be raised by Archie at an isolated cattle ranch in Feepshucker, Texas. We want the New Breed.  


Rex Grossman just dislocated his wrist scrolling down to his name in this article.  Given the current US Population and some figures from the insurance companies, there is a 1.4% chance that if you hear someone say "OUCHH," it was probably Rex Grossman.


Dan Marino hates that someone named Trent Dilfer has a Super Bowl ring and he doesn't. As far as scoring points goes....The Dil is less effective than a fumble (which MIGHT score), and not much more effective than running the ball into the opponents' end zones for a safety himself.  


JP Losman seems like a nice kid, but I'd hate to play an outdooor sport in Buffalo that would likely involve my  face being forcibly driven into the ground by 300 pound men in December.  


Alex Smith should make people forget about Joe Montana in about 400 years or so.  


If TO gets traded to the Raidahs, that'll make for 2 all pro WRs with a really bad QB.        


While I'm sure that AJ Feeley is a nice guy and a fine drinking companion, signing both Ricky Williams AND Quincy Carter would be like introducing an economic stimulus plan into southern Florida's struggling drug subculture.



Wednesday, August 10, 2005

20k Contest


We're nearing 20,000 hits here, and it's time for a contest.

Whoever ends up being the 20,000th visitor here gets a free present from the High Above Courtside offices.

I'm always on, so just hit me off when you roll that sucker over to twenty grand, and we can settle the business in IM.

If I'm the 20,000th, I'll just hook myself up.

Good luck!


You'll be able to choose from one of these fabulous prizes....recently edited for an all-AOL approach that keeps you from having to give your address to some freak on the Internet.

- a page from Stacey Monponsett's long-awaited S+M novel  Arf, She Said

- a virtual dip into Stacey's prized "Worst Essays Ever Turned In To Me" collection....name of student removed, of course.

- (MAYBE) a picture of Shock and Awe, the Two Minute Warning Cheerleaders....I'm saying  "maybe" because:

A) I haven't asked them yet

B) I know Shock can kick my ass, and it doesn't look too good with Awe, either.

- Stacey's new poem, sent to your email. The poem is called Stop Snitching.

- for one quarter hour, Stacey will make up a screen name :  "(Your Name Here)'s #1 Fan," and follow you into chatrooms.

- an email with 20 absolutely random picks from Stacey's bookmarks.

- Stacey will write an insane letter to Dr. Paul Zimmerman at Sports Illustrated, demanding his vote on your behalf in the NFL Hall of Fame elections next year.

- For one week, Stacey will advertise your small business in her profile.

- At one point during the school year, Stacey will help your children(through the IM of a legal guardian only) with any History paper they might have due.

- In one IM session, Stacey will teach you enough French to get a bartender's attention in Quebec.

- You'll get an email with 10 of Stacey's favorite recipes...and remember, girls.....Stacey has a 270 pound husband.

- brief tips about how to kill with your hands, via email, gleaned from Stacey's time in the Mossad in the late 1990s.




The best part about High Above Courtside is that it is the only AOL Journal where you can get recipes, sports, homework help, S+M,and tips about how to kill with your thumb.


Monday, August 8, 2005

America's Sweetheart Update

   For those of you who enjoyed the TOS article a few days ago, check this:  I have done the rarely-seen "TOS within a TOS," when I threatened the AOL Service Rep I was arguing my TOS violation with.

   While I'm working from memory here, my threat was along the lines of "If I have to come down there, be warned that it will be the 100% opposite of your commercial where that mousy girl brings you her 'famous apple crumb cake' to thank AOL for their anti-virus software. You'll smell blood."

  The AOL Employees you can reach online will talk to you, but those Terms Of Service still count. The woman who took my complaint was some poor Okie who had no idea what was about to hit her, 5 minutes after the office opened. I always try to secure an early advantage by hitting the argument at a full run, as sprinters say, and I was obviously too much for the first 3 people I spoke to. I may have been kidding, but she had no way of knowing that....especially in Font.

   My husband- who tells me that I "sneer" at him- has refused to argue with me for years now...."You're condescending when you compliment me, let alone now.".....and my own hometown priest has told me that I have an "explosive temper....like a wolverine."

   I kicked the holy hell out of him all the way up the walk, let me tell you. He tried to regroup.... but by the time he got back up, the Rottweilers were on him.

   Either way, I ended up with the TOS Squared after my attempt to justify my statement- made in a F vs F wrestling chatroom- that children should be forced to read this journal at gunpoint, and to defeat the TOS that followed it. Even as she was doing it, the TOS Rep congratulated me on what she assured me would be the talk of the TOS office staff at Happy Hour that night....and probably several others.

   I evaded criminal prosecution by telling that lady's boss- who I immediately demanded to speak to, as you should do every 7.5 minutes in any argument with a corporation- that it would be a poor career move if he TOSd "Ted Leonsis' neice."

   A bold-faced lie....but it worked. I've defeated another TOS by convincing the rep that I was a rogue Kennedy daughter. 

   Morality has always been a hazy area for me, and I'm very competitive. I waver a bit in most Ends/Means situations, kids....and the Number of the Beast can be dialed whenever you need it, in a pinch.

Sunday, August 7, 2005

How 'Bout Them?

   The Bourne Braves start their playoff season tomorrow, and I plan on getting to one of the games as soon as my Jeep gets fixed....which is where hubber is right now. Sundays are good days to send the hub off to Auto Mart or wherever they go for that ignition thingy you need when your wife goes to start the car and the key spins all the way around without resistance.

   I was going to fix it myself, except that I had absolutely no intention of doing so. Imagine me trying to take apart anything that has gasoline in it? Thuck fat.

   I'm no help there, so I get to sit around while he gets grease on his forehead and stuff. Hahaha.....another lemonade, anyone? Besides, Gabby, Lissa and I have a lot of important stuff to do, like color and nap. Even Sloppy Dog is engaged in canine pursuits, playing in the yard with her new neighbor, a chien called "Mister Pooch." I have time to write.

   There are some gems in the paper today.

- Undertaker Brown is coaching in the Dallas Cowboys summer camp. One of the benefits of stopping vertical growth when you hit 5'1" is that your Undertaker Brown shirt still fits in 2005...even if it is all ratty and the name has worn off. While I feel their red uniforms were the best, I distinctly prefer the electric blue color of the Parcells era team to the conservative navy blue worn by Your Super Bowl Champions today.

   Undertaker- real name, "Vincent"- Brown was a Patriot linebacker when I was a kid. He was a terrifying physical specimen who had played with Jerry Rice at Mississippi Valley State. Frequently voted "Best Body In The NFL" by whatever magazine does that, this dude was jacked like Triple H, hit people so hard that they briefly saw a bright light and dead relatives acting all consoling and peaceful, and led the team in tackles every year until his knee rotted like....like I don't know what. I was saddened to see him go, and I am happy to see him land a temp job with the Big Tuna.

Vincent Brown

   Any New England fan will have an eye on Dallas, which seems to be a final resting place for old Patriots. Le Tuna always keeps his people around him, and he has several expatriots in the gang as we speak. Undertaker merely has the best nickname.

   I don't know what he was thinking, but he brought Nancy Drew Bledsoe in from Buffalo to QB his team. I'll give Bill the benefit of the doubt there, but my thinking on the matter is that he could have spent three to five thousand dollars and put a statue back there with no overall loss of mobility from the position.

   To his credit, the Bills finished on an upswing last year, and Tuna took a considerably less seasoned Bledsoe to the Super Bowl many moons ago. Word has it that Drew looks good so far....although if Dallas still has Drew Henson, Bledsoe might be only the second best quarterback named Drew on the team....not really something that fills one with confidence once they realize it.

  Terry Glenn is also down there. Strange, because it seemed like Glenn hated Parcells when the Tuner rolled over on the team in the Super Bowl. Parcells used to call Glenn a "she," which also pissed him off. Still, when New England and Green Bay tired of him and all seemed lost for the troubled Terry, there was the fatherly Big Tuna showing thathe really cared after all. Glenn hasn't torn the NFL up, but he's playing well and not being a *****.

   Dallas also has old friends like Maurice Carthon on his staff. I hope he has Al Groh down there. Groh, who I think coached on the defense, was known to walk around the sidelines with a shovel during playoff games in New England. You should always have one of those kind of guys around when you have a job you need to get done.

   Tuna is still a trip, too. Asked about the recent episode where Coach Saban in M'ami yelled at a 300 pound kid so ferociously that he burst into tears, Parcells said that he personally wouldn't consider it that big a deal when judging a player....."He cares," I guess.

   ''I've had a couple of 'em cry. Not when I was screaming at them, but crying at the situation. It's a human emotion. We all do it. That doesn't bother me.... unless it's a woman crying, at which point I try not to pay attention."

   On a personal note, I almost had to cry in a crowded breakfast nook called "Leo's," in Buzzard's Bay. After I threatened to castrate him when he began moving his fork towrds my pancakes (it seems that the "Double Hungry Man Breakfast" is merely an appetizer in these parts.....and this is no dig on Leo's, because the DHMB was an eggs/pancakes/toast/home fries combination that took up a whole side of the table and actually merits a note in the menu to the effect that several patrons have died trying to consume it), hub had the idea that acupuncture would solve the incessant tricep pain he suffers from. 

   He has had this pain since he carried in the armoire in a shoulder-based fashion that one saw in 1982-era urban teens carrying those ridiculous radios. He refuses to see a doctor, even though the last of my Percs (I was bitten by a snapping turtle...never mind, please) didn't shut him up. 

   He refuses to see a doctor, and now he decided he was going to fix it himself....sort of like my ignition,which may or may not merit a blog entry later. Unlike my Jeep, he was going to do this job in front of 40-70 of our new neighbors, who are probably going to have enough trouble getting used to me........let alone this.

"I could do it right here, with this very silverware," he said. His only experience in medicine comes from watching me get injured/pregnant.

"You could also look for a new place to live right there, at that very realtors office," I said, pointing across the street. For those of you who aren't familiar with Buzzards Bay, Massachusetts....there is indeed a realtor across the street from Leo's.

"Arrogant American," said hub, who is from Massachusetts, to me, who is from France. "You close your mind to Eastern methods." He then raised his arm, and began sizing up fork thrust possibilities.

"You-will-put-that-fork-down-this-instant..." I said as quiet/loudly as I could without losing the smile I was faking. I had taken a knife into my hand (I automatically remembered my Mossad knife-fighting training- I joined in an attempt to represent for Israel in the 1995 New Hampshire Winter Olympics team bobsled competition that never actually ended up being conducted- and a voice in my head was saying, "there are several attacks which can be made from this position."), though I was trying to look pleasant.

"Shucks, hunny... how hard can it be? I'm doing it, now."

   I shot my hand out and grabbed the plate with his toast, which I then slid behind my purse. "You get your food back when you've promised me we'll drop this."


   I stared. He slowly handed me his fork as I brought his toast back within reach of him. After several fakes, we both came back with what we wanted. The rest of breakfast went off without incident.

 Parcells has his methods. I have mine.   


Friday, August 5, 2005

Guest Editor

   High Above Courtside has the honor of being your Guest Editor this week. Journalslavia is one of the nicest spots in the AOL world. It is a pleasure to be able to share a few journals with you that are much enjoyed here at HAC.

      Some people get down on journals, blogging, etc.... They say that it is the height of banality- "I got up, brushed my teeth, ate some Rolos, went to bed."  That happens. Part of opening the floodgates is releasing a few drips. Still, if you let a shallow wannabe Bombeck or two steer you away from the Blogosphere, I feel sorry for you.

   "Just play it again, Sam."  How many bad scripts do you think the Casablanca guy went through before he stumbled onto that gem? Did you know that a North Carolina high school coach cut Michael Jordan from the JV team?

   Don't get blown away by the classics. Moby Dick is a fishing story no better than fifty I heard waitressing as a kid at the local lobsterman's tavern. A bad episode of The O.C. still has more buff guys and exposed thighs than any of that Wuthering Heights  nonsense they force on you in English Lit. MacBeth  is just about a guy with an absolute nag of a wife. The Great Gatsby is  simply a bad Melrose Place episode.

      "So we beat on, boats against the  current, borne back ceaselessly into the past " is some good stuff, but so was the last Vanessa Carlton CD with the video where she plays the piano on a flatbed truck driving through some suburb. Hopefully, somebody likes one or the other. If not, there's always porn. Knock yourself senseless, killer.     

   There is joy in simplicity. Sure, we're no Hemingways here for the most part....what do you want for nothing? Lighten up. Celebrate the small things. Read a blog. It's free, it will be appreciated by the blogger, and you may enjoy yourself. See the blog....be the blog...

      I may as well introduce myself.....I'm Stacey, aka 'Thumper' or "The Smurf." I'm a female sports blogger, which is funny enough....but I'm also 5 feet tall, French (born in Rouen), overeducated and underemployed. I have two young daughters and a 35 year old child that I happen to be married to. I was raised near Boston, and I was lost to sports fandom by about 5 years of age. I just moved to Cape Cod, and I haven't found a store with a proper cheese section yet. Properly tanned, I can be passed off as Portuguese, even in Fall River.

      I started my career teaching, then I got more degrees and ended up counseling. I used to drive from a rich suburb that Joe Perry lived in to a nasty school for criminal teens in a squalid ghetto. I coached a basketball team that is one looming conviction away from having the entire starting five in jail. Then my Catholic fertility reared up, and now I'm a housewife with two kids and a sports page. It's all good.

      My writing experience is limited to drawing up lesson plans....and this very blog you are visiting as we speak. I managed to win the All Star Blogger contest, and AOL sent me to last year's All Star game. I also disturb the staff of Sports Bloggers Live with incessant bad humor. I tell a lot of jokes. Not  all are funny. I succeed by sheer volume. "Quantity has a quality all its' own," Stalin once said, when asked if 10,000 shoddy tanks can beat 2,000 good ones.

      Since then, it's been a non-stop love affair between the good people of AOL and yours truly, America's Sweetheart. I get so many hits to this journal, I can't be sanctioned to fight in Nevada. See that site counter on the side of this page? I've rolled that sucker so many times, epileptics have gone into seizures watching it.

      I really don't mess around at all. That's just the kind of girl I am. Smashmouth style. Undeniable competence. Blue eyed soul. Brains, beauty and brawn. Sophisticated, but gully.

   I've accidentally gone to a formal party at a million dollar house in my Duxbury High School soccer uniform(the game went 4 OTs, and I'm punctual before stylish). I lost a potential $15,000 bet on a blocked field goal attempt, then went out and bought four pairs of shoes. "Lite Piano" is next to "Biggie Tribute" ('you can't touch my riches, even with MC Hammer and those .357 girls)in my Radio AOL presets.

      I write the kind of journal that you can kick back and smoke a fat a** blunt to. My style is like pouring a Scorpion Bowl into a word processor. Marvel in my much-maligned magnificence.      

Enough about me....let's check out the talent

:      http://helpshari.typepad.com/shari_kurzrok/  


      This lady needs your help. I kid around a lot, but check out this site and do what you can. No person stands taller than when they stoop  to help others...and I think you can write it off.

     This lady is illin' like a villain, so if you're, ummm, late with your donation, send it to Toys For Tots. .          




  Beth is young, pretty, intelligent, observant, insightful, creative, funny, and fresh. Beth is also buck nutty like a Snickers.  No worries....a little eccentricity is good in a writer- it helps with the press later if she gets Big. She knows how to write. She's a Lean Mean Teen Quote machine. Check out these gems:  

"So, I think I accidentally threatened someone via eBay."

About Antigua: "For the price of buying him a few drinks and a meal or two, you get to brag back home about your Latin boyfriend."

"To enter the contest, you needed an original song about why you shouldn't do drugs, or why they are bad, yanno? Anyway,  if you win you get five thousand friggen dollars"

"I'm in a whole new world of pain.. and kinda hungry. My next workout is called "cupcakes" .. that's where I put on a 20 pound meat suit and take on a couple lions. I call it cupcakes because that's the name of the hungriest lion."

"I really really hate conflict with people. It's such a waste of my time to sit there, get totally pissed and angry at some idiot, probably a complete stranger, about how right I am..I try to ignore them..... If they flip me off I just follow them home and steal their things, then resell them on eBay. It's  win-win. "

" I think I am scarred, if not forever, then  at leastfor a good week.I don't ever plan on attending any little league event, nor am I entering my kids in any sports. Theywill play an instrument and take dance lessons, even if it's a boy. I'm sorry- that's the way it's going to be.   "  

"Drowning fat kids in lakes isn't what I am all about. Didn't you know it's only French Canadian midgets?"  

Beth's Thoughts While Shopping...."I wonder what they think I look like? 
a suburban teenager wannabe housewife? 
making vegetarian dinners from a recipe, 

"Yea, New Jersey is one of those really weird places you hear about. If you grew up here you probably hate it, but once you leave you realize you really have an emotional attachment to white trash and overpopulation. "


   That's talent, folks. Roaming in this girl's journal is like being repeatedly smashed in the face with a bottle of Atavan. I can read her all day.

      She didn't respond to my request to feature her journal, but I phrased it so that I'd run it unless she responded in a bad way. If she finds out and has a problem, I'll remove it. I defer to greater talent and better legs.

   "We can settle this like gentlemen, or we can get into some gangsta s***"            




      Some days, you need CNN, while some days you need to follow some suburban mom as she builds a backyard garden.  

Image hosted by Photobucket.com   

    Susan is also a sort of NRA den mother to what I believe is called the Georgia Teen Pistol team...girls who can pull off a shotgun wedding without the old man.    

Image hosted by Photobucket.com  

       This is a Garden Journal at  heart, though....Susan will either finish her yard or die trying. I'm sure there are mountain soldiers in Afghanistan that aren't working as hard as she is. This stuff has been going on for months, and she has the pictures to prove it.     

    I didn't pick up on whether Susan lives in a hurricane zone, but if a Category 5 wrecks that stone wall after she impacted vertebrae building it......well, let's just say that I'd be anywhere but that yard when ol' Susan comes out and sees that her stuff has been scattered to the four winds. With a year of her life wasted and another year needed to clean up the rubble, she might start laying hands on people.

      All because a Mom wants to look at a nice yard while she floats her hard-earned Chill Time away in her pool. Forced onto a jury at her trial, I wouldn't convict if she killed someone afterwards, to be honest.  

Image hosted by Photobucket.com  





        Nothing fancy on the surface, here. This is a woman who is sharing out some recipes. 

 -  Baked Apples w/fruity & nutty filling

-  Deep Fried Ice cream w/raspberry sauce OR Carmelized Apples

 -  OUTSTANDING Baked Ham with MY Special fruity Ham sauce

-  Vermicelli Salad

-  Best Chili Recipe  

-  Spinach Balls

 -  Sweet Crunchy sweet Potato's

-  Raspberry Balsamic Chicken Breasts, with raspberry sauce  

      Girls....insurance people tell us that you'll live 78.8 years. You'll be married for about 50 of them, and you'll only be really pretty for 10-20 of those.

      Once you have kids, you can sort of sit home, watch soap operas and blog while Hubby works for the lot of you. It's been that way since caveman times, and he won't question it if properly managed. "Properly managed" is as follows....

      He'll roll in from work at 6 PM or so, and be sound asleep at 11. If you can cook well, one of those five hours in between will be pleasant. If you're good at sex, that takes care of another hour. Baseball games last 3 hours.This isn't a coincidence. Learn how to cook. It's the tastiest Art.

      Read the blog, marry well, and call Halo with thanks while you watch Jerry give his Final Thoughts on Guys Who Love Girls Who Love Vegetables. Don't worry that she's in Georgia or something....you're not paying for the call. 




     Alex the Phenom gets a lot of attention, but Zach over at Calling The Shots can hold his own like a teen sports blogger should probably be able to. Dedication is admirable, and if there's a path to ESPN, a Youth Blog would probably be on it.

     Kids rule the Internet already, anyhow. Go to a chat room if you don't believe me. The Internet- modern, ever changing, faddish, open ended, abstract, base, sexual and violent- is better suited to teenagers, and it is almost required that an adult give up childish things at some point.

      I was walking Gabby and Melissa when I came across some kids playing with a Pogo Stick. I never had a Pogo Stick when I was a child. The kids came over to play with the babies, and I took the opportunity to borrow the Pogo Stick.

      I'm not much bigger than a kid anyhow, and I had observed them bouncing on it. It couldn't be that hard, no? The key would be to just jump on it full weight, with absolute confidence that things would sort of take care of themselves once the  process was started.....sort  of like sex, right down to  the dueling bedspring sound a Pogo Stick makes when used properly.

      When not used properly, it makes a sound like a woman falling onto a lawn off a Pogo Stick, snarling in the French she lapses into when forced to speak without thinking first. There is also some posterior bruising involved, as well as a charming 7 year old girl saying, "You can't do that....you're old."

      This blog Zach has fashioned is probably the exact opposite of the feeling I had when I didn't Ike Turner some tact into that ragamuffin..     

   I taught high school, and I understand American kids. Properly marketed, Calling the Shots should get Zach at least 20% more physicality in his slow dances at the next school social function. In the great scheme of things, that's what it's all really about anyhow.  




  This dude is like 90 years old, and reading down this far in the article may just finish him off. It'd be a shame, though....this guy rocks hard, like Godsmack.  

   This isn't going to give you a happy ending oranything...it's just the thoughts of some 92 year old old guy who is pretty much about working in his garden. It is very heartwarming, like when his grandkids get him a golfcart, or when he muses about the cat  who joins him at  the computer.

   The cool thing about this blog is the author. This is a guy who was born during the Roosevelt campaign....TEDDY Roosevelt. They didn't have cars, TV, quality porn,  Buffy the Vampire Slayer or anything. He's probably cooked meals over a cave fire, and fought off brontosauri. 90 years is a long time...a Triple Monponsett, and change.

   By all accounts and demographics, he should have gone to that Great Garden In The Sky in the 1980s....but just look at him now.   His tomato garden makes mine look like pizza sauce. He's on top of the news and the weather. He has a web page. Young women notice him, and give him national recognition. Heck, I'd be happy to party with him just 'cuz he's a 90 year old with a web page. That's pretty cool.

     I get a sense that he's an old charmer who can still cook a fine pasta dinner, drink a bottle of wine, and invite a young lady to dance. I hope I'm kicking this much butt when I'm 90, I can tell you that.

 -  "Depression Era Guy Work Ethics"......This man  doesn't miss a day blogging. I moved 15 miles south in Massachusetts, and I missed 2 months. He's absolutely diesel.......  

Picture from Hometown                


Thursday, August 4, 2005

Bloodthirsty Shut-Ins Arise!

   I'll tell you....you'd need to have Senator McCain's sense of hope to be a Celtics fan these days. Ol' John knows about Asian methods of torture, and he'd be the first to tell you that sometimes the worst part of the Chinese Water Torture isn't the millionth drop hitting you in the head....it's WAITING for the drop to hit you that makes you tell the Vietcong where the airbase is. There's no real shame in it....after awhile, a human can't stands no more, as Popeye used to say.

   I can remember Rick Pitino's last year running Gang Green. They had just got blown out again, and reporters were up in his sauce regarding why the team still sucked 3 years after they shamefully retired Auerbach and gave Pitino a ransom to turn it around.

   The team had just got brown trouted on, the press was unforgiving, and Pitino had seen enough. He had been at Kentucky too long, and wasn't used to having no answers for some Boston Globe scribbler's day-after-day questioning. Finally- about a week or two before he fled like a wharf rat- he unloaded on Boston and it's media.

   "There's this doomed attitude among people in this town.....the bloodthirsty shut-ins that make up this 'Fellowship of the Miserable'. That's the real Curse here. They just won't let these kids learn and grow. Well, I'll say this to them....Larry Bird ain't walkin' through that door....neither is Parish or McHale.....and if they do, they'll be old and grey."

   It was the best non-Lasorda rant I ever saw (check Howard Stern's show occasionally to hear Tommy's drunken rant to some poor call-in host....best interview ever), and you could just tell that the end was near. Pitino was generally so composed, so hopeful, so seemingly competent, so well-dressed...imagine a positive Michael Corleone, and you'd understand how hard it was to watch Pitino reduced to doing low-rent General Hospital drama in some sweaty Boston locker room as it became clear that he had failed. He fell to pieces like dropped puzzle.

   The Celtics rebounded from those dark days....as soon as Pitino was shown the door, they went on a run and made the playoffs. Some guys just don't have it. It's never easy cutting your losses.  Pitino was an East Coast guy, perfectly at home in some North End pasta house, and it should have ended differently. It didn't.

   The only thing more pitiful is when it happens again. Take a kid who played for the team in the glory days. Watch him earn his stripes on TNT and in Phoenix. Listen to him talk about youth/desire/fundamentals. You get to feeling good about the future. If Pitino had said "Danny Ainge won't be walking through that door," he'd have been wrong. In fact, Danny has Pitino's GM job now.

   And he sucks at it so bad, you are almost personally drawn to Boston by the force of it.

   Keep in mind....I love my Celtics. Always have. I love them when they win titles, and I love them when M.L. Carr coaches them to 18 wins. I love them now. I'll love them when I'm some crazy old lady in a morphine coma in some Florida nursing home. That's why it hurts so much when Danny Ainge starts haphazardly tossing players around like a brood of raccoons set loose on an all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet.

   Women in America generally live to be 78 or so, and I'm on the far side of twenty already. I saw too many old men die around here without seeing the Red Sox do the job to tolerate the team I love bringing in an incompetent. Ainge is in over his head...we just need someone with a big foot to step on his head for 3 minutes or so.


  Strong statement, yes....but the evidence is too damning for denial now. Here's my Flow Chart of Damnation for the Ainge regime, in order of how I bring it up.

- Danny may not have inked the whole thing, but Vin Baker's situation was handled about as poorly as it could have been. Vin's constant thirst ended his time here, but we're stillpaying Gin Baker 5 million a year. That's a Jason Richardson salary, being paid to some guy who lists "wake-up slug out of the night-stand rum flask" as his favorite drink as he wastes space on Houston's bench.

- Antoine Walker gets shipped off with change to Dallas for the 6 year, fifty-plus million dollar contract that is Raef Lafrenz. Raefer Madness took on a new definition: paying some stiff Kobe money to put up 10/6 numbers and not being able to guard anyone with darker skin than Renee Zelewegger.

   If you look really closely at Raef's forehead, you can see a dim Jerry West sillhouette.....forcibly imprinted there by the hundreds of NBA jerseys smashed into his face as people drove down the lane and gigged on him, as Shaq used to say. As a defender, he's slightly less effective then the Maginot Line, and slightly more effective than just taking the ball and putting it into the opponent's basket for them yourself.

   He's also paid to the extent that means , unless the salary cap is modified with Goofy White guy exceptions, he'll be our second best player until 2010.....unless Pierce is traded, at which point the team is (financially) built on Raef and his paper mache knees.

   Even if we cut him, he's still hanging off our salary cap like a 6'11" albatross.....unless he takes the league minimum to ride bench with a good team- and whatever Raef's problems may be, he isn't suffering from the Traumatic Brain Injury that would process that scenario as a "good idea."

- The Ricky Davis deal that drove Coach OB out of town was just plain ugly. Trading the heart of his defense (Tony Battie and Eric Williams) against his wishes, Ainge basically Steinbrennered a pretty good coach out of town to bring in a kid who was famous for missing his own shot to get a triple double.Ainge was forced into this- he had traded a 20ppg guy for a 10ppg guy, and had only bench players to deal.

   Ricky Davis has actually made Danny look good. "He's a changed man," aswe like to say here. He may have been the best 6th Man in the NBA last year, and can put his name up with Pierce's when credit for last year's playoff team is handed out. While Mr. Richard Davis has behaved most of the time, he's near the bottom as far as Pippenesque sidekicks go. So we have to score in the draft....

- Ainge has brought in Marcus Banks, Kendrick Perkins, Al Jefferson, Delonte West, Tony Allen, Justin Reed, Gerald Green and Ryan Gomes to town these past three drafts, with middle first round picks to work with. Not bad at all. West and Allen are the 4th guards you expect to get in the late twenties. Banks, while struggling to learn the position, is one of the NBA's fastest guards. Perkins and Jefferson are promising high school big men, while Green and Gomes both look like keepers.

   While Ainge supporters point to these players as proof of his GM abilities, I see it as a sign that Danny would make a good scout for a GM who doesn't do stupid s*** like pay Raef fifty million dollars. None of these dudes has averaged more than 6ppg in the NBA, either.....that's 6 first rounders with no star, unless Jefferson and Green are the real thing. We are youngyoungyoung, and getting younger every year.

   Simply put, while not equipped to win in the NBA, the youthful Celtics look to be the team to beat at the 2004 McDonald's All American high school all star game. Too bad they already played it....

- Worried that Raef might Lafrenz a few of those 6 years on the IR, Danny Boy went out and signed the very average Mark Blount to a 6 year deal that made those dudes who sold Manhattan to the Dutch for $24 look like Donald Friggin' Trump. Mark is a nice guy, but his Hands Of Stone talent doesn't merit a 6 year deal.

- Since his #1 pick didn't know how to run the point, Danny went out and got Gary Payton. Payton, already beginning to calcify, kept the kids (West, Allen, Banks) on the bench while he showed them how to revoke trades by threatening to not report.

- Remember Antoine? Wasting away in Atlanta, Employee #8 had a huge contract set to expire. Ainge went out and got him for Payton, some expiring salary and a #1 draft pick. He then was traded- after a first round playoff exit- for a pair of second rounders and some guy that Utah didn't want and a guy who is awaiting trial for dogfighting.

   That's right, folks....Antoine Walker was traded for/away 3 times in a year and change....by the same team.His legacy is Tony Allen, the ghost of Gary Payton, and Captain Raef of the U.S.S. Frequently Injured. And the Hawks, who traded for a guy (Payton) who never reported to the team, ended up getting the better of the Celtics in the long run. You just don't see that anymore.

   Walker and Raef also served to keep Jefferson and Perkins on the bench, so we could screw up our present and our future at the same time. It's like an anti-IRA.

- He has done not a blessed thing to squash the Pierce trade rumors.  Pierce must want out of here like yesterday, and when he leaves, this is a twenty win team unless Gerald Green turns out to be Jordan Now. 


   Enough is enough. Danny Ainge should be seized by a mob, dragged through the streets of Boston, and thrown off the pier in Charlestown with specific instructions given to the Atlantic Ocean to deposit him somewhere in the area of Liberia. Hopefully, he'll get involved in the insurrection there, and he'll learn how things work when your decisions actually have a little consequence to them. Pinned down by Monrovia sniper fire as he takes the wrong street, it will seem like a million miles away from those days when he tore up my Celtics like a goat set loose in the vegetable garden. 

Oh, what might have been...