When Does Football Season Start?

courtesy of http://www.NewOrleansSaints.com

Super Bowl is over.  The party is done and the people have gone home.  I was amazed at how fast the time went during the game – I enjoyed it that much.  My biggest problem?  I liked both teams.  Living not far from Indianapolis, I almost always root for the Colts but this year I also followed and enjoyed New Orleans.  So I found myself jumping for both teams but in my heart I wanted the underdogs to win – I’m a big fan of underdogs.  Oh yeah, and then there are the fun commercials – that Betty White – I hear the Washington Redskins scouts are looking at her for next season.

We all complain a lot about the ridiculous amounts of money spent on Amerian Sports.  NFL is no different – the players’ salaries are akin to the nonsense of CEO bonuses.  And who pays for this?  Why, the fans, of course.  We are the ones willing to shell out the big bucks for tickets and merchandise so that the teams can pay the outrageous salaries and the outrageous amounts for commercial backing.  That’s business.

I used to whine about football salaries until I started closely watching the games — these young guys get hurt on a regular basis.  In fact, every time they walk out onto that field, they literally have a chance of being paralyzed for life from a hard hit.  It’s that dangerous.  They deserve their combat pay.  Not only that, the lifetime of their poor beaten and battered bodies is shorter than yours or mine.  These guys routinely get hip or knee replacements at a much younger age than the rest of us.  And many end up crippled up in their later years.

Plus I think they deserve that money for just putting the uniforms on – c’mon have you taken a close look at those uniforms lately?  The shoulder pads alone should be declared lethal – I used to wear some heavy duty shoulder pads but at least when I turned around quickly I wouldn’t break some guy’s nose.  And let’s talk about those uniform pants — I would demand a big salary, too, if I had to Spanx my butt into those things — they’re like wearing a second skin.  Plus I would demand a bonus for wearing the helmet since I’m claustrophobic by nature.   Yes, they deserve the big bucks.

What some also deserve, unfortunately, is a lesson in etiquette and good sportsmanship.  I was very disappointed when Peyton Manning walked off the field without at least congratulating his opponent.  I know it’s the biggest game of the year.  I know thoughts were going through his head like…he let his team down…he let his family down…he let his fans down…he would lose megamillions in endorsements (oops, sorry that one slipped in).  But I have always thought Peyton Manning to be a nice man – I’ve watched how he interacts with others on the field and this really surprised me.

Yes, I know he later called Drew Brees to congratulate him.  You know what?  In my eyes, that wasn’t good enough.  He should have sucked it up like a man, gotten his sorry a$$ across that field and said something nice, THEN have your pity party and go to the locker room.

So now football season is over and I am left with NASCAR (blah) or Basketball (oh blechh) and you truly don’t want to hear my opinion of Baseball even if it is supposed to be the great American pastime.  My only saving grace is the fact that the Winter Olympics are a few days away and at least I have those sporting events to enjoy.

Guess I will have to be content with some reruns on NFL.com…and drinking coffee from my New Orleans Saints coffee cup… sigh…

Could You Have Told Me This Maybe a Little Sooner?

On the 10th of June my local newspaper ran a tiny blurb announcing that June is National Womens’ Golf Month.  On the 10th of June.  That means by the time they announced it the month was one-third over.  Why didn’t they announce this on the first of June?  It could have made a tremendous difference at golf courses all over the country as women decided if it was National Womens’ Golf Month, perhaps they should get out on their local golf courses and take advantage of the golf pros…no wait a minute…I mean take advantage of lessons from golf pros and enjoy some nice exercise, all the while celebrating something special for women.

Now it is the middle of the month as I finally get around to blogging about this and the month is half over.  That means even more potential women golfers have failed to understand that this month is dedicated especially to them.  How sad is this?  Women golfers everywhere have barely a half month to stand next to the 18th hole,  hoist their clubs into the air and proudly proclaim to the world, “It’s National Womens’ Golf Month, which way is the club house, I need a drink!”

I’ve played golf before – way back when I actually was in good shape and had a spine that worked properly.  It’s a difficult game to play as far as I’m concerned.  This observation is based on not using one of the electric golf carts, but carrying around your own clubs and playing an entire 18 holes of golf.  I did it once with one other young woman and two young men and it nearly killed me.  Oh I did well – it was totally beginner’s luck that I hit this stupid little white pebbled ball across a ton of green grass, without hitting any trees (or other golfers) over what I considered the world’s largest sand box and onto what I think is called the green – the place where the little hole in the ground is and there is a flag sticking out.  On another hole my shot went over this big amount of water and onto the next green.  I swore up and down to these young men I had never even held a real golf club, let alone played the game.  They didn’t believe me, but when we finally finished and I managed to crawl back to the club house at least they were gracious enough to buy the drinks.  I never played regular golf again.  But I did play tons of miniature golf.

Here’s the difference between the two:  In regular golf you hit the ball, try and avoid obstacles, walk your ass off, wait for some big fat guy in strange clothes to finish yelling something that sounds like Four,  all the time wondering where the heck One, Two, and Three went, hit the ball, avoid the obstacles, walk your ass off, etc. etc. ad nauseum.  It’s hard work, it’s rather expensive, I don’t like wearing golf shoes (they’re almost as bad as bowling shoes but that’s another blog) , and frankly it’s boring.  When I played the one regular round of golf I found I hit the ball, then I had to entertain myself while everyone else in the group also hit their ball, oh you’re not allowed to talk outloud while someone else is teeing up so you sing stupid songs in your head, you count blades of grass, that kind of thing…then it’s walk, walk, walk, and you start again.  Reminiscent of a basic computer program.  Boring, repetitive and can lead to golfer’s tunnel syndrome which is rather like carpal tunnel but your entire arm hurts and you can’t seem to uncurl your hand.

In miniature golf you only need one golf club, there’s usually an ice cream shop not fifty feet from the game area and the holes are close together.   There are little windmills and little creeks with bridges to cross.   And there are only maybe 10 holes for the entire game.  Most importantly, the last hole is a big old cow and you only have to hit the ball into the cow’s mouth and he moos.   Now THAT’S my kind of golf.  The cow moos, you go get ice cream and life is good.

I’ll bet if June was National Mens’ Golf Month the paper would have announced it at the end of May.

If Those Walls Could Talk

Did I mention our friend, Bob, the hill-dweller, in West Virginia lives alone? Well, sort of alone. He has lots and lots of company in his house but not much conversation takes place.

Bob is an avid hunter and has traveled the world in search of game. Now, I’m generally not too bothered by hunters. It’s not like Bob doesn’t use what he kills — he brings home meat, he stuffs the body parts to hang as wall art, and he uses the skins as table coverings and some even function as bed covers. (Yes, there was an animal skin on my bed. Can I just say…ewwww??) So, he’s certainly not wasteful.

I’ve heard the hunter arguments and I know “they have to thin the herds.” I accept that. I’ve even been known to eat venison if it’s prepared correctly. Just don’t ask me to do the killing. I’m aware that if I were truly starving in the wilderness somewhere I would quickly beat the crap out of the first critter that got close enough to me so I could eat. I don’t dispute that. But I don’t consider hunting a very fair sport. A sport involves things like golf balls, or badminton rackets. A sport is something you participate in for fun. What is the fun in hunting? There shouldn’t be blood, gore, and death in a sport activity unless Bubba decides to smack you in the face with the bat. Those participating in the sport are usually equal in sporting equipment; all the players are suitably tricked out with the accoutrements of their sport. If one hunts for sport — to make this truly sporting, one should also arm the prey. In my humble opinion, hunting is nothing but the glorification of man’s ability to kill something. I can kill a spider but I wouldn’t mount it on my living room wall to show my hunting prowess.

Anyway, some of you know I’m not the world’s best sleeper. I tend to wake up and do something else for awhile until I’m sleepy once more. Now, when you are staying at someone else’s home, insomnia can present some problems. Sure enough, I woke up Saturday night and couldn’t fall back asleep. I tiptoed down the hallway to the basement stairs, down the stairs, flipped on the light, and prepared to watch a little tv. Everywhere I looked there was a deer looking back at me. I was outnumbered. I imagined them talking to each other and the difficulty in talking to your neighbor on the wall when you couldn’t exactly turn your head. I found I was having deep deer conversations and then I noticed their eyes seemed to follow me wherever I went in the room. It wasn’t long before I bade them goodnight and trucked back to the safety of my bed.

For Bob, animal pieces parts are appropriate home decor. For me, I’ll stick to framed landscapes for my walls and cotton tablecloths for my tables.

Little Known, Less Cared About, Olympic Factoids

Since it’s Olympics time, let’s talk about the little known areas of Olympics history.  For example, did you know there were Olympic sports that are no longer in the program?  How about live pigeon shooting?  Yes, ladies and gentlemen, in 1900 live pigeons were released and shooters tried to see how many they could decimate.  That lasted only one year.  But it was a great year for appetizers… 

Up until 1932 there was an event for rope climbing where competitors used only their hands and jockeyed to see who could reach the top first.  Yawn…

By 1920 the exciting event known as tug-of-war ended.  It was your standard two teams of eight pulling a rope six feet.  It was unclear whether or not a mudpit was involved.

In 1900 the Olympics celebrated the last underwater swimming event.  Apparently there were points awarded for how far the swimmers went and how long they stayed under.  With the addition of an obstacle course, and Rosie O’Donnell holding her breath, this could have been an exciting event.

In 1906 there was a dueling pistol event.  Frock-coated mannequins were the victims.  The event proved to be not well attended when it was learned no politicians would be shot.

The 56-pound weight throw last appeared in 1920.  The issue wasn’t the 56-pound weight so much as the 275 pound Bulgarian woman who was doing the actual tossing, especially when it came to light that the 56-pound weight actually was a dwarf.

Little know Olympic snippets.  Stick around — I’ll have more in four years.

Legally Blind Man Bowls Perfect Game

Where else but in America could a 78-year-old blind man bowl a perfect game? Apparently this senior citizen from Alta, Iowa made 12 strikes in a row and bowled a 300 during league play. The fact he plays on a league just boggles the mind. What, is he bowling by ear? How can he distinguish his bowling ball from anyone else’s? Are the bowling ball finger holes marked in Braille? He can’t be using a seeing-eye dog; dogs can’t wear bowling shoes. Maybe he’s using a bowling GPS system. Sonar bowling.

By the way, the spider I mentioned in my last post has gone to meet Jesus. Devoted Spouse’s two-pronged attack worked.