Good morning!
Well, it looks like the Lions gave their fans just what we were looking for: a butt-kicked basis for the people to rise up and let their voices be heard as they chanted the poignant refrain, "Fire Millen!" until faces turned blue and shirts turned orange. The main disappointment for most was that Chad Johnson's Non-Celebration Celebration was not what anyone was expecting. (I liked it, personally.)
So, what now? The housetops have been shouted from; what next? Millen's not going anywhere. Any Lions fan old enough to drop fifteen bucks on a beer should remember that this is the same organization that withstood the "Fire Fontes" movement for at least the same number of years as young Matthew Millen has even had this job. And that was when we had Barry Sanders and were making the playoffs every other year. Fontes won a playoff game! THOSE WERE THE GOOD OL' DAYS.
The answer to "What now?" is simple: nothing. Nothing will change, at least not personnel-wise. All that fans like me, those who remember what it was like to be in the position to have your heart broken by Sterling Sharpe touchdowns or Scott Mitchell interceptions, have to hope for is a change in attitude. Not merely, "Okay, let's rededicate ourselves to winning! Restore the roar!" or any other cornbread-laden nonsense, but a change along the lines of bringing in players who can block and coaches who can teach guys to tackle. Drafting character and ability, not drugs and "potential", even if both are homegrown. Maybe then we can throw a parade every once in a while, and not just marches.
Monday, December 19, 2005
Sunday, December 18, 2005
Pole Position
Good morning!
Well, the ol' Motown Steamroller was fine tuned and playing pitch-perfect last night. Los Pistones took care of the Charlotte Bobcats by about 25 last night, a day after they took care of the Chicago Bulls by nearly 30. Most importantly, they took care of Ben Wallace.
You may have heard Big Ben chiming in about how he didn't understand his role in the offense a few days ago. Ben's offense? The same Ben Wallace who is a career 6.6 points-per-game scorer? What gives?
Here's what: Ben is the leader. As much as Chauncey manages this phenomenal team on the court, Ben does so in the locker room and in the media. Maybe it's that he understands that the team has been winning games, but has not been playing up to the level they need to be. Maybe it's that he sees that every single team in the Central division is above .500, and that all of them are likely to make the playoffs. Maybe he knows that, despite Detroit's quick start, this race has a lot more laps to go before anyone crosses the finish line, and if they forget about playing Pistons basketball, they'll crash and burn ... just like everyone is waiting on them to do. They have pole position now, but if the Pistons don't power this run The Right Way (even without LB.-For-LB. on the sidelines), they can't win it all. And for a team of this caliber, nothing else will do.
Plus, it gives everyone something else to talk about besides the Angry Fan March. Go Lions!
Friday, December 16, 2005
Off the board
Good morning! (on the West Coast, anyway; someone tells me there's a difference ...)
I'd love to get into Ben Wallace's crazy goggles and his comments that he doesn't understand his role in the offense, but I'll save that until I see Los Pistones play tonight. I think I'll go off the board a bit for this one:
I and many others are lactose intolerant. It sucks not to be able to have milk, milkshakes, ice cream, chocolate, brownies, cheeseburgers, etc. without having to take little pills. So, a buddy of mine (LDBJ aka The Lord Diggus) and I were in McDonald's yesterday, and I said they (oh, the crazy things the infamous "they" will do) should start selling human milk.
Uh-oh. Stop. Ok, no, I mean, KEEP READING. It all makes perfect sense! Seriously, cow milk is for COWS, right? Well, human milk is for humans and that's the end of it. Simply, take human breast milk, pastuerize it and so forth, and you have a good, nutritious dietary supplement that's good for everyone.
Now, LDBJ (who works for me) said that if I told him to help me draw up plans for this as an upcoming project he'd quit immediately, and call the cops and child services. So, consider this as a STRICTLY HYPOTHETICAL (but entirely plausible) model:
First off, our breast milk providers are prescreened for disease and "genetic unpleasantness" immediately, thus taking the public health factor into account. Those who pass the screening process are employed at a breast milk farm (probably for close to minimum wage - thus eliminating the unseemly "human slavery" aspect), where they enjoy a leisurely work day of eating highly nutritious meals and watching television. Further, the milk can be treated and flavored to make it nutritious and wholesome for all.
Much like traditional dairy farms, the breast milk farming industry would be subsidized by the government, but costs could be offset by conducting paid tours of the farms. And of course, there would be specialty celebrity milk makers. People would, I'm sure, pay a hefty sum to be nourished by the milk of such luminaries as Halle Berry and Katie "We Crazy" Holmes. It is an idea whose time has come, people! Who will step up to the plate and get it started? ... My girlfriend won't let me.
And, one more thing: I hearby dub that zany couple, Tom and Katie, The White Bobby and Whitney! "Heck-to-the-yes!"
I'd love to get into Ben Wallace's crazy goggles and his comments that he doesn't understand his role in the offense, but I'll save that until I see Los Pistones play tonight. I think I'll go off the board a bit for this one:
I and many others are lactose intolerant. It sucks not to be able to have milk, milkshakes, ice cream, chocolate, brownies, cheeseburgers, etc. without having to take little pills. So, a buddy of mine (LDBJ aka The Lord Diggus) and I were in McDonald's yesterday, and I said they (oh, the crazy things the infamous "they" will do) should start selling human milk.
Uh-oh. Stop. Ok, no, I mean, KEEP READING. It all makes perfect sense! Seriously, cow milk is for COWS, right? Well, human milk is for humans and that's the end of it. Simply, take human breast milk, pastuerize it and so forth, and you have a good, nutritious dietary supplement that's good for everyone.
Now, LDBJ (who works for me) said that if I told him to help me draw up plans for this as an upcoming project he'd quit immediately, and call the cops and child services. So, consider this as a STRICTLY HYPOTHETICAL (but entirely plausible) model:
First off, our breast milk providers are prescreened for disease and "genetic unpleasantness" immediately, thus taking the public health factor into account. Those who pass the screening process are employed at a breast milk farm (probably for close to minimum wage - thus eliminating the unseemly "human slavery" aspect), where they enjoy a leisurely work day of eating highly nutritious meals and watching television. Further, the milk can be treated and flavored to make it nutritious and wholesome for all.
Much like traditional dairy farms, the breast milk farming industry would be subsidized by the government, but costs could be offset by conducting paid tours of the farms. And of course, there would be specialty celebrity milk makers. People would, I'm sure, pay a hefty sum to be nourished by the milk of such luminaries as Halle Berry and Katie "We Crazy" Holmes. It is an idea whose time has come, people! Who will step up to the plate and get it started? ... My girlfriend won't let me.
And, one more thing: I hearby dub that zany couple, Tom and Katie, The White Bobby and Whitney! "Heck-to-the-yes!"
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Losing Pace
Good Morning!
Let's get right to it: Ron Artest is a freak. Not a curiousity-inspiring, South Park-spoofed carny freak, like Girl With No Torso or Man With No Face (or Boy With Ba-- nevermind), but a far more disturbing creature. Let's call him Baller With No Perspective.
It isn't his not wanting to be in Indiana that shows the lack of perspective. That's pretty crummy if it's a "I'm not getting the ball enough" thing or something like that. That would just be Stephon Starburyesque foolishness. That happens, unfortunately. But, if it's more like "we can't catch a break from the refs with me on the floor. I gotta move on for y'all and for us," then it's a horse of different color. Heck, that's almost noble.
Regardless of the motive, however, the execution is the problem. How on Earth are they supposed to get value for you if you tell the media you want to jump ship, Ron? You at least owe the team that stood by you during the ridiculous travails you sparked off last year at least THAT much. And, who's going to want you when you add "malcontent" to the litany of other reasons not to want to touch your crazy, angry, clueless, self-promoting, technical-fouling self?? Think, man!
One thing's for sure ... it won't be the Pistons. ;~)
Let's get right to it: Ron Artest is a freak. Not a curiousity-inspiring, South Park-spoofed carny freak, like Girl With No Torso or Man With No Face (or Boy With Ba-- nevermind), but a far more disturbing creature. Let's call him Baller With No Perspective.
It isn't his not wanting to be in Indiana that shows the lack of perspective. That's pretty crummy if it's a "I'm not getting the ball enough" thing or something like that. That would just be Stephon Starburyesque foolishness. That happens, unfortunately. But, if it's more like "we can't catch a break from the refs with me on the floor. I gotta move on for y'all and for us," then it's a horse of different color. Heck, that's almost noble.
Regardless of the motive, however, the execution is the problem. How on Earth are they supposed to get value for you if you tell the media you want to jump ship, Ron? You at least owe the team that stood by you during the ridiculous travails you sparked off last year at least THAT much. And, who's going to want you when you add "malcontent" to the litany of other reasons not to want to touch your crazy, angry, clueless, self-promoting, technical-fouling self?? Think, man!
One thing's for sure ... it won't be the Pistons. ;~)
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Everything must go.
Good morning again.
These last two weeks have been a terrible dream. Unfortunately, none of us wake up in this life. Losing a parent, especially at a younger than usual age, is a devastating thing. My sister (the one and only HCB -- may she live long and prosper!) is only 14, so it may be twice as devastating for her as for me. I cannot really tell. All I do know is that returning things to a pastiche of normalcy is a unmitigated struggle. But we struggle on. What else is there to do?
To that point, I started a new arm of the many-tentacled Mythic Group yesterday. American Internet Distributors, an idea born from the need to get rid of some of my old things (just DVDs right now) and the recognition that others may need the same thing. That is, a way to find distribution for products by using the Internet's wide array of available marketplaces, without the hassle of developing such distribution on their own. I started yesterday afternoon, and I've already received my first 9 orders. I just sat down and said, "We're starting now." Why wait? What does waiting do but forestall the inevitable? What exactly would I be waiting for? For the grieving to stop? To exit the stage of mourning? Neither of those things happen, exactly. Life doesn't "go back to the way it was"; it changes. And so, we change. We each find a New Normal. We each laugh and cry and think and feel in a different world. We do it every day. But now, I am more keenly aware of that. It's knowledge that is useful, but a lesson I wish I'd never learned.
In any case, I could continue that line of writing, but I won't. Not now. I know some other things that are important:
I love HCB. I love TNT. We are family. As are my friends and those relatives who came to our aid through this tragedy and who wished us well.
My life has changed ... and it does all the time. From now on, I must grab hold of the reins of change and master it as much as man can. In the words of my favorite poem: "I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul." So, let it be.
There's a new shaman in town, folks. Grab your gear -- It's time to go to work.
God willing, I'll see you here tomorrow. Hope you'll join me.
Ron
PS - Don't worry; we WILL be getting back to sports. In a world with Ron Artest and the Detroit Lions, we just have to.
These last two weeks have been a terrible dream. Unfortunately, none of us wake up in this life. Losing a parent, especially at a younger than usual age, is a devastating thing. My sister (the one and only HCB -- may she live long and prosper!) is only 14, so it may be twice as devastating for her as for me. I cannot really tell. All I do know is that returning things to a pastiche of normalcy is a unmitigated struggle. But we struggle on. What else is there to do?
To that point, I started a new arm of the many-tentacled Mythic Group yesterday. American Internet Distributors, an idea born from the need to get rid of some of my old things (just DVDs right now) and the recognition that others may need the same thing. That is, a way to find distribution for products by using the Internet's wide array of available marketplaces, without the hassle of developing such distribution on their own. I started yesterday afternoon, and I've already received my first 9 orders. I just sat down and said, "We're starting now." Why wait? What does waiting do but forestall the inevitable? What exactly would I be waiting for? For the grieving to stop? To exit the stage of mourning? Neither of those things happen, exactly. Life doesn't "go back to the way it was"; it changes. And so, we change. We each find a New Normal. We each laugh and cry and think and feel in a different world. We do it every day. But now, I am more keenly aware of that. It's knowledge that is useful, but a lesson I wish I'd never learned.
In any case, I could continue that line of writing, but I won't. Not now. I know some other things that are important:
I love HCB. I love TNT. We are family. As are my friends and those relatives who came to our aid through this tragedy and who wished us well.
My life has changed ... and it does all the time. From now on, I must grab hold of the reins of change and master it as much as man can. In the words of my favorite poem: "I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul." So, let it be.
There's a new shaman in town, folks. Grab your gear -- It's time to go to work.
God willing, I'll see you here tomorrow. Hope you'll join me.
Ron
PS - Don't worry; we WILL be getting back to sports. In a world with Ron Artest and the Detroit Lions, we just have to.
Friday, December 02, 2005
Thursday, December 01, 2005
Somber
Good morning!
Ok, I gotta tell another joke. Slow sports day and all:
There was a Packers fan with a really crappy seat at Lambeau. Looking with his binoculars, he spotted an empty seat on the 50-yard line. Thinking to himself "what a waste" he made his way down to the empty seat. When he arrived at the seat, he asked the man sitting next to it, "Is this seat taken?" The man replied, "This was my wife's seat. She passed away. She was a big Packers fan." The other man replied,"I'm so sorry to hear of your loss. May I ask why you didn't give the ticket to a friend or a relative?" The man replied, "They're all at the funeral."
Ok, I gotta tell another joke. Slow sports day and all:
There was a Packers fan with a really crappy seat at Lambeau. Looking with his binoculars, he spotted an empty seat on the 50-yard line. Thinking to himself "what a waste" he made his way down to the empty seat. When he arrived at the seat, he asked the man sitting next to it, "Is this seat taken?" The man replied, "This was my wife's seat. She passed away. She was a big Packers fan." The other man replied,"I'm so sorry to hear of your loss. May I ask why you didn't give the ticket to a friend or a relative?" The man replied, "They're all at the funeral."
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