And Heeeere They Are!

It's time.  Week #1 of NCAA football.  The point spreads are big, and so are the favorites...Big 10, that is.  Let's get started

****  Arkansas State @ Illinois -21
Saturday 2:30 on BTN

The new face of Illinois football...
came from Kansas City, MO.

My partner, Two Gun Pete, is opening the season with a PPP Pete's Perfect Pick, and we are confident enough to put 4 stars on it.  The Illini have a string of big opening day wins and this should be another.  I haven't been a big Illini backer in the past because I don't like Ron Zook and I haven't liked the character make up of the team.  A lot of that changes based on Nathan Scheelhaase, the Illinois quarterback.  He's had a year to grow up, and he looked really good last year as he grew.  Opening day opponent is Sun Belt conference Arkansas State, the Red Wolves, who are going to be overmatched, and if the mismatch is as great as I think it will be, Coach Zook will have an opportunity to make a really big splash nationally by piling up points.

*** Akron @ Ohio State -33 1/2
Saturday 11:00 on ESPN
I watched a video of Terrell Prior working out today with the Raiders.  His departure, along with his mates and the coach, will have a huge impact.  A similar impact to that which the Buckeyes are going to make on the poor Akron Zips.  The Zips were 1-11 in the MAC East last year, almost at the bottom nationally in scoring and not much better on defense...and that was not against the depth of OSU.  The new Buckeyes will annihilate Akron to christen the term of their new coach and tell the nation that they've reloaded.

** Chattanooga @ Nebraska -35
Saturday @ 2:30, no TV listed
Welcome to the Big 10, we're throwing a party at our house and we've invited Southern Conference Chattanooga to come get shredded.  The Big Red needs to make a statement to its new conference on opening day.  The only question is wil NB run the ball too much to run up the score. 

*  UNLV @ Wisconsin -35
Thursday @ 7:00 ESPN
Wisconsin is going to be really strong this year.  It's the very first ESPN game of the year, and it's going to be a madhouse in Madison.  UNLV was near the bottom nationally last year on both offense and defense, and the Badgers are expected to make big noise.  This is another match up that is tailor made for a blow out.

My Son is a College Student

Move-in day is here.  As we prepare to walk out the door to drive to the campus, I am compelled to hug my son and tell him how proud I am, and to tell him I love him. 

The Supermen, reunited in Metropolis.

We got all his gear moved in and started setting up his room, and he bounced out the door to go clear up some administrative issue.  He just went.  By himself, without prompting, without asking counsel.  I witnessed another benchmark moment, and I was a bit stunned.

He returned, we headed off to lunch together, and another moment occurred.  While my son and I waited for Mom outside the cafeteria, I asked him what was bothering him.  His response was that he was uncomfortable that his mother was treating him like a child.  He's changing as I watch.

Shortly thereafter, he explains that he has some plans.  Right now kind of plans. With his friends. 

We are very gently being asked, by our little boy, to leave.

OK, then.  So we head off to the store to pick up a few things he's missing.  When we return, he explains that he's having dinner with his friends. 

We have been dismissed for the day. 

Tomorrow, there is a designated "drop by and say good-bye" time.  Sayonara. 

My son is a college student now.

All Together Now : "Transition"

We're at the Hyatt next to the bay, as are a few hundred others who are in our same mode.  We checked in online fromt the interstate (amazing, isn't it), so we shoot up to our room, get reassigned to another room because the neighbors are really noisy (at 2 in the afternoon, so we're not sticking around to try an evening), and find ourselves in one of the villas adjoining the big building--and adjoining Tyler's pal DJ and his parents.  This is a fortuitous move, just like Tyler and DJ meeting during recruiting.

DJ's folks are wonderful people, and they're suffering the same separation anxiety that we are.  The boys immediately disappear together, and we parents sit around and commiserate.  It's reassuring to find that while we may be a bit over the top, we're not the only ones taking this hard.

The next day, Tuesday, is spent mostly at the campus tending to business stuff.  We and our new friends go out to a big celebration dinner, which we have to do a bit early because my son has been organizing via Facebook an evening pool party at the hotel.  He's acclimating very quickly and very robustly. 

Mom(s) and Dad(s), on the other hand, are doing a brave-face thing.  Tomorrow, Wednesday, is move-in day. 

Hoo-boy...the future has arrived.

A Little Light in the Tunnel

We spent Sunday night in Tifton, Georgia, hit the road around 8:00 and ground out the remaining miles of the Peach State.  Southern Georgia is nicer than the rest, and then it's Welcome to Florida.  Everything feels different.  No more need for maps.  No more apprehension about the roads.  It's Florida.  We've been coming here forever.  We've always had great times. 

Disneyworld when he was so tiny.

Passing Gainesville.

Our first Daytona 500, when he was 10.

Passing Ocala.

New Year's in Reddington Beach, and the Outback Bowl with Northwestern, just a couple of years ago.

46 miles to the 275 bypass.

I want to turn around, and maybe we'll try this again next year.  I'm not letting go of my boy.

6's lacrosse pal from Jersey, DJ, his mom texts Mimsy to say they've landed in Tampa.  Meet you at the Hyatt, how exciting!

Downtown Tampa comes into view, and my son happily chirps from the back seat "School!"

My son is starting college. 

I never dreamed this would be so hard.

Georgia Requires Commitment

Sunday morning we woke up in Nashville, Tennessee at the Fiddlers Inn, smiling at what we'd experienced the night before. 

Sunday night I collapsed into a bed in Tifton, Georgia, grateful to be nearly through this state. It has been 450 or so miles of absolute boredom.  I've made this drive before without such a draining experience, I can't tell you why this time it is so tough, but it is. 

There was some early in the day entertainment as we passed through the hills around Chattanooga. It's an attractive area, and the difficulties of the big trucks climbing up the mountains and flying down the other side is entertaining (and scary), so the early hours passed quickly. 

The only other exciting thing to happen was that we got around Atlanta, a place that creeps out Mimsy every time we travel through.  Another story for another time.

So, Sunday was Georgia.  Tomorrow we will arrive in Tampa. 

Unless we run away, again.

You Gotta Visit

Leaving Illinois in the rear view mirror is a good thing. I say that in the context of this trip, though I confess to regularly dreaming about making it permanent. Our car is fixed, we've calmed down, and we are into Kentucky, a fact underscored by the condition of the roads: smooth and free. We drop vertically through the horizontal space of KY and start rolling through the hills on Tennessee. Shortly, we have arrived in Nashville.

Think back a year ago to the national news stories about the floods in Nashville.  Thirty or forty seconds of video each evening for a week or so.  Barely caught your attention.  On Saturday evening we saw the scope of the damage. It was enormous. 

Here's what the Grand Ole Opry looked like when the
Cumberland River came gushing out of its banks. 

If you're from the Chicago area, imagine the shopping centers of Orland Park, all strung together, from 159th Street north to 143rd.  Add in a big Bass Pro Shop and a beautiful, 4,500 seat state of the art theatre (the Grand Ole Opry).  Now put 10 feet of river water in the mall and the surrounding parking lots.  The river spread out from its banks over a half mile when the levees broke, spilling over the adjoining highway.  Incredible scope.  Stores, restaurants, bars, everything, and the area I'm referencing is just one small spot on the map.  The mall has not yet reopened, but the Grand Ole Opry has.  That's where we spent Saturday night.

If you have any interest in country music, you absolutely must get to the Opry. 

The theatre itself opened in 1974, assuming the shows previously put on downtown at the Ryman.  While the Ryman is small and quaint, the Grand Ole Opry is 4,500 seats of state of the art technology.  It retains one of the neat features of the old building : all the seating is in church pew types seats, though they have nice thick upholstered seat cushions.  The Saturday night shows are live radio broadcasts on WSM from Nashville, the focal point in the universe for country music, starting promptly at 7, with a different host for each of the 4 half hour segments. 

This format, this entire presentation, a stage show on radio, free, AM radio, is so at odds with contemporary channels that it's hard to grasp how it can possibly work.  Be assured, it does indeed work.  There are incredible talented performers, huge video images in four different places, acoustics that seem flawless...and every few minutes, they cut away to the stage announcer, who reads live commercials.  To the AM radio audience.  They're also broadcast on Sirius XM satellite radio, but that's not a huge outlet.  It's mostly AM radio listeners.  Amazing.

We saw lots of great performers, had a wonderful time, as the show bridged the generations.  Then we spent another hour in a bar, the three of us, mom, dad and child, listening to some more live entertainment.  Nashville is a fun, fun place.  I am amazed at the resilience of these people and this place. 

Tomorrow we move on south, through the tedium of Georgia.  Tampa has become an inevetible conclusion. 

It's Going to Get Worse

Moving right along from yesterday...

We're in southern Illinois on a dark highway, it's late, and the car is telling me, in a most dramatic fashion, that its electrical system is very, very unhappy. As suddenly as the dashboard hysteria began, so it stopped. The beeping and blinking of the warning stopped, that is, and the car kept running. The city of Effingham pops up in front of us and that's the end of our early departure day as we check in to the nearest motel. It will not, as it turns out, be the end of the electronic adventure.

We decamped early on Saturday morning. My son assures me that he is dumbfounded by his car's behavior, saying it only did this recently a couple times. Upon further review, we learn that "a couple" is an undetermined number extending back over the summer. As we reenter the interstate, the voltage meter begins descending as steadily as the U.S. economy, accompanied by an occasional sharp trill from the warning system, the same electo-hysteria we met last night. After about 15 minutes, I pull off to a fuel center, buy a tool set (that would be the set that 6 said he didn't need), top off the battery water and tighten the cables and hope we've found the issue. Just in case, I grab from the counter a business card for "Dynamite Emergency Service" (sounds ominous), located at some undetermined distance further south along the interstate.

We're back on the road for maybe five minutes when the voltmeter needle starts plummeting. I call Dynamite and get a gravel voiced gent who hears my symptoms and is unconvinced when I suggest it may be the alternator. He says his shop is 7 miles down the interstate, he'll be there soon, and encourages me to try to make it that far.

We make it, pull into a gravel lot dotted with assorted auto hulks, and park in front of the firmly closed garage door. I turn off the car, get out and try the service door. Locked. No sign of life, just a ski boat and a half a Chevy Blazer inside.

We sit down and wait, there in a gravel lot in some little town a dozen miles south of Ina, Ilinois, across from a quickie mart gas stop and not much else, as the morning heat starts to rise. I'm not optimistic about getting anywhere in the near future, much less getting 6 to Tampa.

Then we wait some more. Then some more. After 15 or 20 minutes, a little SUV pulls into the lot, and a man in a t-shirt and night reflective pants pops out, a cigarette in one hand and a Diet Coke in the other, followed by four small children.

"Hey. Keith. Brought the troops."

Keith unlocks the garage and growls "pull her in".

No, sorry. Cannot do that. The car has died. Three clicks and...silence. The car has brought us to Keith, and it cannot go one inch further. It is muerte, here in this gravel lot next to the interstate. Keith and "the troops" stare at the car, and us, wordlessly.

Now, if you're getting a creepy feeling from all this, good, 'cause so was I. I am imagining all sorts of bad outcomes, including lots of money changing hands and lots of time being spent here in...wherever we are.

I will fast forward at this point. Keith is knowledgeable, very skilled, friendly, and very fast. He gets the car started, diagnoses the problem (the alternator), gets a replacement delivered and installed and we are on our way in a little over an hour more, and for less than it would have cost at home. If we stayed on the road, we'd have broken down within 15 or twenty minutes. Disaster averted, and a reminder of how nice strangers can be.

An hour later we are in Metropolis, Illinois, posing with the big Superman statue next to City Hall. Then we head to Harrah's, just down the street from Superman, where Mimsy and I (mostly Mimsy) win back most of the cost of the car repair. Pretty sweet.

Tomorrow, the adventure continues as we head for Music City USA.

A Change of Pace

I'm changing temporarily to a life and travel topic. This week, we're taking our son (aka "6") to start school at the University of Tampa in guess where, so come on along!

Mimsy scheduled a graduation soirée for 6 as a farewell par-tay last weekend, so that set things in motion. A week of last minute preparation and purchases led us up to a planned Saturday morning departure in 6's jam packed SUV.

Friday night came around, the dreaded last night at Stately PFOS Manor. 6 had been developing a growing case of melancholy and separation anxiety all week -- as had his parents, OMG did his parents have separation anxiety -- and Friday evening was shaping up to be a tear jerker. Imagine watching all the sad movie endings you've ever seen at the same time. It was getting like that. So we did what every red-blooded, testosterone dominated, in-your-face stand up and fight kind of family would do under the circumstance (as if there was another group like us to take as an example, ha!).

We ran away.

We packed up and left, right then and there, Friday evening. Just got the hell out of Dodge.

Driving off was terrible, watching over my shoulder as 6 stared at the homestead, shrinking behind us , tears rolling down his cheeks. We had discussed, Mimsy and I, the merits and drawbacks of deferring this moment until 6 was around age 30, and decided against that particular course of action, lest we turn into a Boo Radley type of family, but this was so freakin sad I felt sick.

The cost of filling up the gas tank in the SUV a few minutes later didn't help, but at least I was back on emotionally familiar ground.

So off we headed, clicking off points (mostly sports events that 6 had played in) in time that coincide with highway exits. This took us as far as Bourbonnais (youth football), then Champaign (high school football and lacrosse). The melancholy was slowly evaporating as we drove, mostly silent, into the black night of central Illinois.

Our torpor ended when the dashboard of the SUV started beeping and flashing like that robot from the old Lost in Space tv show ("DANGER Will Robinson DANGER"), telling me that the electrical system was taking a dump, late at night, in the middle of nowhere.
What will happen to our intrepid band of travelers, under assault from within, miles from home, miles from help?

Tune in tomorrow.

The Day After the Bomb Went Off

Whew, the storm is brewing in the aftermath of the Univeristy of Miami news blast! 

The most amusing rip job (click to go there) I've read so far is from writer Dan Wetzel, who spews considerable venom from the perspective that everyone who has a hand in running college football makes money, so the players are getting screwed, so it's understandable that these things happen.

This is a photo of

A.  Two Gun Pete

B. Two Gun's alter ego

C. The new manager on The Office

D. Nevin Shapiro

If that sounds like an unfinished symphony to you, welcome to my party. 

Yes, there could be some more money channeled to the players, who ostensibly are in school to get a college degree while they play football.   Practically, a lot of these players are simply and blatantly using college football as a training ground and an extended audition for a Sunday job.  They are not students beyond what is technically required to have them be "qualified" as such. 

Further, a number of the chaps who don the colors on Saturday afternoons seem to have rather exceptional requirements and expectations of "college life" vis-a-vis your average college student, and these "needs" are being offered as more the norm than the exception. 

Thousands of young men (and women) across the country hone their respective skills at their chosen sport in university settings.  Many of them receive some combination of tuition, room and board, and a stipend in return.  Many others get partial tuition grants.  Many, many more get nothing beyond the joy of competition.   

I won't go through the list of examples of those schools, sports and athletes who appear to be quite happy with the rewards, financial and otherwise, that are gained legitimately according to the rules as they exist that govern college athletics.  Suffice it to say that the list is very, very long. 

To try to legitimize head-hunter bounty payoffs, hooker parties and club nights as meeting the needs of "student/athletes" is demeaning to everyone who has ever performed as a college athlete.  The system and the rules may need to be revised, but that doesn't justify supplying hookers, liquor and cash to keep the gridiron gang happy.  These behaviors have happened, are happening, and will continue to happen.  The administrators, the coaches and the players know what the game is:  get as much as you can for as long as you can and hope you don't get caught. 

Memories are fleeting.  What was it that Jim Tressel and the Ohio State players were doing that got them all chased off?  Oh, yeah...the players sold some of their swag and the coach knew about it. 

How competitive can they expect to be without hooker parties? 

BTW, the Hurricanes are 5 1/2 point favorites in their Monday night opener, September 5, at Maryland. 

This Is Gonna Leave a Mark

I'll begin with the conclusion: the U, Doc's treasured alma mater, will likely be invited to the woodshed in very short order for improprieties that are gargantuan in stature.  I invite you to partake of the recitation by clicking here.

Football at the University of Miami is likely to be taking a pretty big hit soon.  Think USC-type punishment.
Tsk-tsk.

Picking (up after) the Dogs

Lest you feel compelled later to wag your finger, allow me to begin with the admission that I tricked you to get you here.  The dogs to which the title refers are not underdogs in our customary reference.  I am telling you today a tale/tail of actual dogs.

There is a company in Knoxville, TN, BioPet Vet Lab, that has launched a new franchising venture call PooPrints.  Their business is...dog crap.  Here's how it works.

This $100 device is marketed
to vaccum up the evidence.
Provides up to 50 cleanups
 after a 12-hour charge.
  Includes 25 3-lb.-capacity bags.
Ugh.

An apartment buidling or homeowner association signs up for their service. All resident canines are required to submit a cheek swab to establish DNA identity. When an unclaimed pile of you-know-what is discovered, some lucky soul on the building or grounds staff takes a crap sample and mails it to the poop sleuths, who provide the identify of the author for a fee of $60. 

This is when the s&%# hits the fan.  Conviction with DNA evidence will be a certainty, assuring that the random crapper and its owner are collared and sent straight to the dog house. 

Nothing to do with football, I just had to share the story. 

That is all.

Two Gun Gets a Belated Birthday Present

This is
A. Ozzie Guillen's successor  
B. Ozzie Canseco, bro of Jose
C. Ozzie Osbourne's new gig 
D. Joe Vandal                        

The greatest joy of our season is the post-season (a contradiction, yes).  As if to salute my handicapping partner of all these years, the good people of Idaho have dumped the Humanitarian Bowl.  The game will endure, the name will not.  Out with the old, in with the new.  We salute:  the Idaho Potato Bowl.

We can no longer refer to the University of Idaho's Vandals as the Idaho Potatoes.  The moniker is reserved to the bowl game.

That is all.