Tearing Down the Language Barrier

For reference: http://sports.espn.go.com/sports/news/story?id=2119529

The above link goes to a story where a Little League umpire order the players and coaches to speak in English only. The coach of the team whom the order was directed at left the game in protest, and claims that his players were demoralized by their inability to speak in their native language.

That is partly a crock.

The ruling may have hindered the team's communication abilities, but do you really think they were demoralized by it? No. It might be a bit of a distraction, but I don't see the demoralizing effect of not being able to speak Spanish on a bi-lingual team. (The article references that the players all spoke English, some just don't do so very well). So the team speaks in English, no big deal-- if you can't find the word you are looking for in English, drop in a Spanish word, and if the umpire takes offense to one or two words, then he has the problem.

And I'm sure some of you out there in the world are thinking-- these kids are in America, why can't they speak American (English)? Quite simply, they don't have to. We have no official language (Canada has two). I believe (I could be wrong about this-- if you know for sure, please tell me so I can learn) there is a provision that requires legislation to be in English, but Spanish (and several other languages) has become widely accepted when it comes to legal documentation.

Yes, I have a bias towards English, as it is my natural language, and it would make things much easier on myself, and many other Americans if English were instituted as the official language... but that is just selfish thinking.

Do I agree with the umpire's decision-- not fully. You have to permit the team to communicate with each other. But you can also limit what they say to you. As a hockey referee, I have been faced with the issue of teams from Quebec playing, and speaking fluent French. The only thing I could do at the time was instruct the players that any comments directed towards me were to be in English-- not being able to speak French, I would assume anything said to me in French was being said so I could not understand it-- you know, dissent. But you have to check with the team before the game, and make sure they understand why.

Since then, I have lived in Canada, and spent most of my time roaming around French-Canadian towns. Unfortunately when you play hockey in these towns, you pick up the wrong end of the language. I always like to say, I know enough French to start a war... and not nearly enough to end one. And with that education, my stance on French-speaking teams has loosend to the point where I can tell them-- speak all the French you want, but if I recognize a word you're saying, you're in trouble.

Think about the heritage of this nation. Who are we? Where did we come from? This nation was started by the English, the French, the Spanish, the Dutch, and the Swedes-- that's five different languages at the very beginning. Not to mention the native tribes of the land and their languages. And we have remained a melting pot society, we continue to be a haven for those who wish for freedom, and we have added to the list of nations of where our bloodlines began-- the Germans, the Irish, the Chinese, the Italians, and the Poles... and that is just the tip of the iceberg. Why should we change the rules for people coming into the great nation-- just remember your family came from somewhere, too.

I think picking up my grandmother's genealogy has helped me to understand all this. Just looking at the birthdates and birthplaces of my ancestors I have bloodlines in about a dozen nations-- Germany, Scotland, Ireland, Wales, Sweden, Canada, England, and a few other nations that come up once of twice, and I'm not totally sure how they fall into place.

But if we are turning our backs on those who are new to this land, aren't we just turning our backs on our ancestors? Branch out, take a little time to learn some Spanish from a co-worker or a neighbour. These are some of the things that can bring us closer to peace in our time.

Have you no decency? Have you no pride?

I've been stewing over this for a couple days. And the more I think about it, the more pissed off I become.

I went to a party hosted by a friend last weekend. He had gotten there much earlier, been drinking, so I'm hoping this was just the effects of his consumption of alcohol. I get to the party, and my friend is the only person I know. By the time I left, most people knew me by name-- but they didn't know me. Why not? Because everytime my friend would introduce me to someone, he'd tack on a lie about me. I'm sure he thought he was helping me with the ladies-- but I really didn't need it. I'm not the type to live a lie.

Now, I wouldn't say he was flat out lying-- he was more exaggerating...and he's not the only person to do this, and normally I don't care if they lie about themselves or somebody else, but when the truth is skewed about me, not it's personal... and I have to take offense.

I found myself in the position of either letting it go, figuring I'll never see these people again; or denying what was being said, and making my friend look bad. I chose option one. And ever since, I've been wondering why people find it important to "boost" what they do, why they feel the need to misrepresent themselves to others.

Where is the pride, people? Why can't you be proud of what you do? Where is the guy, has worked 13 years as a garbageman-- and loves every minute of it? Perhaps that person never expected to live beyond the age of 15. Maybe that garbageman is an environmentalist, who loves cleaning up this great planet of ours. Why can't he be proud of what he does? I'm sure somewhere out there, there is a guy who is just like I described. He may have hit pretty low on some of our standards, but if he loves it, if he is happy with his life, then he has no reason to lie.

My biggest problem with the friend, this weekend, was a comment he made to me about something I had done. He said something along the lines of "your secret is safe with me" in reference to my hockey playing days. Dude, what the hell? You weren't there, you don't know exactly what I did while I was there. This is the pride I talk about-- I was in Sioux City on a tryout-- I played in a handful of preseason games-- yes, friend, I played. And I was told by Coach Hakstol that if he wasn't leaving to coach UND, I would have broken camp with the team-- maybe he was blowing smoke, but I can only go on what he tells me. Did I play in Texas? No. And I never said I played for them-- only that I was invited to camp, only to be told there wasn't a roster spot for me. Where is the pride? The pride is in who the goaltenders that kept me off that roster: one plays D-1 college hockey at Michigan and is a draft pick of the New York Rangers (Al Montoya), and the other also played D-1 college hockey and recently signed a contract with the Pittsburgh Penguins (Brandon Crawford-West). It took two guys, well on their way to professional careers to keep me off that team. There is no shame in that. I moved on. I moved on because there is no sense in looking back at what might have been.

The other thing is, I am a lot more humble than people give me credit for. And I understand that-- they don't know the whole story about who I am, where I came from, what I've been through. Do I use my experiences to give people insight into what I'm thinking? Yes. But for every reference I make to my playing days in junior hockey, or my time on the end of the bench at UNO, there are 3 or 4 other references I don't make about myself. Things like how I turned down an offer to play juniors in Sweden during my senior year of high school, the high school state record I set my senior year in soccer, or the breakup of my engagement.

Now think about this... had I gone to Sweden to play juniors, I would not have been available to set that state record my senior year, I would not have gone to Iowa State as a freshman in college because teams didn't want to take a chance on a goaltender who hadn't played juniors, I wouldn't have left Iowa State to go play juniors in Canada, and I wouldn't have met my ex-fiancee in Winnipeg.

Do I have some regrets. Sure I do, who doesn't? But life goes on, you find your path through life, and I think it has worked out just fine for me. There are positives and negatives to every situation, no matter who you are.

Hypothetical situation #1: Had I gone to Sweden, I probably would have come back to the states, and been a true freshman walk-on at UNO. But I would have missed my senior prom, and graduating with my friends of four years. There also would not be a state record on the books with my name on it. I opted to stay home, set a state record, and went on to ISU for a year-- UNO got Brian Haaland to walk-on.

Hypothetical situation #2: Had I gotten married, my life would be totally different. I would probably be back in Winnipeg right now, and I had considered just uprooting to move up there with her. That would have meant the end of my education, and the end of my hockey playing days. As it is, the January after our breakup, I got added to a D-1 college hockey roster... replacing Brian Haaland, who graduated.

And this is just the tip of the iceberg... there are so many more opportunities I passed on, other roads I could have taken, but I am content with who I am, and what I've done. My friend, you can tell people how I played juniors, and how I was a pen-stroke away from representing Germany in a junior tournament, or how I was offered a contract by a professional team in Germany, but certainly don't go telling people that I HAVE played minor-pro hockey. It's dishonest, it's not me, and I know I can pickup women on my own merits. I take much pride in the exploits of my life-- some would argue I show too much pride, but they have yet to get to know me.

And to the rest of you. Be yourself, and be happy with who you are. We all thought we would be the starting centerfielder for the Boston Red Sox (or whatever)-- but right now only one person is... and he looks like a flippin' caveman. There is no shame in being yourself. Be decent, be proud, and most of all... BE YOURSELF.

I am: Johnny Onthespot

Who knew?

Who knew anybody watched public access television? Who knew anybody would see me on the tube? I mean seriously, how often does anyone admit to watching PBS?

Still, I have been caught. For those of you who have been watching KYNE-TV or TKN (The Knowlegde Network of Greater Omaha)-- yes, I am Johnny Onthespot.

I have actually appeared on a couple of shows in the past year, and have worked on many others. But so far, I have been able to hide my exploits in front of the camera from my parents. Not that I'm ashamed... ok, yes, I am ashamed of the big deal my parents would make if they saw me on TV. They know I work at the TV studio, they know I work on many shows, they know I've been on camera during shows, they just haven't seen it for themselves-- and I hope they never do.

The story behind the show itself is not that interesting. The only requirement for a class I took last fall (Television Production II) was that we each produce one half-hour long show to air on public access. (For the record, the show I produced for this class has not aired yet, is still in post-production, but will air within the next 6 months) We were responsible for staffing the show, and we used our classmates to staff the show. Most chose to host their own show-- which left me as director for most of them. I did not host my own show, but I did host someone else's. So, if you saw me back in October talking about the upcoming election (as myself)-- that was the start for me. After the semester, the teaching assistant-- who served as series producer, graduated, left, moved to New Jersey. I got her job.

So in the spring semester I was the teaching assistant/series producer for the same show (TV 2 Presents-- what a name, how creative), but with an all new crew. I really took on a jack-of-all-trades role-- though I would have preferred to be more hands off-- let the students run (read: ruin) their own shows. But we didn't have as many people, so I often found myself again directing, or doing something.

How short staffed were we? I remember finishing one show with just myself and the prof in the control room calling the shots, as the producer/host and guest finished an interview. And the story behind Johnny Onthespot is similar.

The problem with it being a class requirement was that the studio was usually only available to us during class time-- the studio is never busy, and we were able to continue taping after class was supposed to be over-- except we're students, and some of us have classes back-to-back. There's the problem.

So on the day of "Spoofed News", we were running behind schedule-- as always. By the time 10.00 rolled around, we had maybe 15 minutes of the program done-- we blame Jill Van Stone. Well, most of the crew had to leave-- including Jill, thank God. (And that's not her real name-- if you've seen the show, I'll spare her the embarrassment of naming her) But it left the problem of us being short an anchor. We had to scramble.

We could have left Todd Warshington to finish on his own-- but some of the script was written for Jill, and what wasn't written for Jill was simply Todd hitting on Jill. Well, that wasn't going to work. So, I volunteered to help anyway I could. So I stepped in as an anchor. But we still had to decide how I would fill that anchor role. Would I be the fulfilment of a running gag about women and steroids-- where I become Jill on 'roids? Or do I just come on as a replacement (at mid-show). We decided a new identity was better. So heeeeeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrres Johnny!

But we forgot one minor detail-- the script. Everything on the teleprompter in front of me was still written for Jill. And as I mentioned before Jill and Todd had a very interesting relationship-- Todd pretty much harassed Jill. So, does my character start hitting on Todd, or does Todd continue to hit on me-- what do we do?

Todd got off easy-- he just kept on with his script as much as possible-- a few changes to reference Jill, without her being there, but I think he pulled it off. (We hated to see her leave, but we loved to watch her walk away!) What did I do? I did the only thing I could-- I improvised. And it was painfully obvious. Reading the news stories wasn't bad-- but when it came to fillers, I was up the creek without a paddle. I did what I could, and figured the few lines that I couldn't change, I could blow off and they would get edited out. Unfortuantely, Erik found it funnier to watch me seat on the set and left them in.

So before you judge me on that show, please remember a few things. To start, if was 10 am on a Thursday morning, and I was hungover from the night before. I hadn't shaved, and I hadn't planned on being on camera. The script wasn't written for me, and oh yeah-- beyond the 4 of us on the set, only the prof and Jason Schwie (who had made an appearance) were in the control room. That said, I do it again in a heartbeat.

And I might get a chance to. Erik, myself, and my boss at UNOTV are currently discussing plans to make "Spoofed News" a permanent fixture. Why not? Those people who run up to me on the street telling me they saw me on TV seemed to enjoy it. Now just imagine if we actually had a chance to work full time on it-- not just a one-off.

For Todd Warshington, Jill Van Stone, Jason Schwie, Tim Roses, and what's left of the TV 2 Crew... I'm Johnny Onthespot, have a good night.

Redemption for a Travesty

Maybe I just had too much time on my hands. But for some reason when "Slap Shot 2" was staring me in the face last week, I decided to give it a second viewing. The movie itself, sucks. I hated it the first time, I wasn't impressed the second time. It does no justice to the first movie-- a sports cinematic classic. There are, of course, a few classic lines in the sequel-- my personal favourite: "What the fuck do they know about hockey in Omaha, Nebraska?" But other than that-- the movie is nothing compared to the original.

But in between my first viewing, about 3-4 years ago, and my viewing last week I have changed. As part of my studies, I have taken a film theory class and a film history class. And the first thing they said in the film history class was: "you'll never be able to view a movie in the same way." They were right.

Watching a movie no longer is just watching a movie. (Don't get me wrong ladies, I still love to curl up with someone sweet and watch movies at home) Now watching a movie involves a deeper knowledge of the film, the director, what was happening in the world when the movie was made-- and upon a second or third viewing, you can see things that normally seem mundane. Everything in the scene is there for a reason.

So, I bit. I decided, I wanted to know what possessed these people to drag down this movie franchise. And the answers I found made me much happier about the movie. It's a propaganda film-- combating the changes the blowhards in the NHL continue to force on the game itself.

It is so basic-- why did they make the second movie? To re-emphisize what the first movie was about. Old Time Hockey. There used to be two reasons to cheer at a hockey game: a goal, and a fight. Hockey games used to be battles. But people perceived the game as too violent and decided to make a change.

Why? Are we saying hockey is more violent than football? More violent than basketball? More violent than soccer? More violent than rugby? Hell no. In fact, it has been said that there is more contact in a basketball game than in football. I'm not sure I totally believe it, but someone made the assessment. And football has contact on EVERY play.

Fighting, checking, tempers-- it's a part of hockey. There is allegedly no fighting in baseball-- yet every couple weeks there it is on Sportscenter-- a bench-clearer. And don't get me started on the amped up tempers in the NBA. Hell, fights and suspensions in the NBA come everyday anymore. Hockey has done a fine job of restricting the frequency of bench-clearing brawls-- you might see one or two in a season-- and usually in some low-level game, not in the NHL. But that doesn't mean we need to eliminate fights from the sport completely. If there was no place for fighting in hockey, then there would have been rules to prevent it before now. By messing with the rules we are messing with the history of the game. And this isn't some small changes to the playing conditions-- this is a change to satisfy a vocal minority.

This vocal minority is the same group who years ago thought Elvis was obscene. If you are that uptight about what you see-- just don't own a television, listen to the radio for your news, and build yourself a bubble where you can rule your own personal space as you see fit. Stop ruining things for other people.

Yes, the players are getting bigger, and with bigger players, open space on the ice is going away. So what? They're athletes. They have skill. They have the strength and agility to fight through this. A hard-hitting, low-scoring, action-packed, thriller is much better than an 18-goal game decided in a shootout. If the recent influx of European players can't take the physical play of the NHL, then they should go back and play in Europe. When the NHL had just 6 teams, every player on each team could shoot, pass, check, play defense, and fight if they had to. Now we have Jaromir Jarg bitching because he has no room to skate. Too bad. Toe Blake, Eddie Shore, Dit Clapper, Bobby Hull, and Gordie Howe are going to kick your ass in the parking lot.

Gordie Howe was ten-times the player Jagr, Lindros, Forsberg, and Kovalchuk are put together. Ever heard of a Gordie Howe hat-trick? That's a goal, assist, and fight in the same game. Yes, Gordie could do it all. And don't get me wrong, there are a few guys in the NHL that are of the same breed. I'd put Iginla, Bertuzzi, Pronger, Rob Blake, and Gomez up against any other combination in the game. Guys who can score, and don't mind getting their noses dirty.

Hockey is a great sport. It's takes a delicate blanace of many abilities. It might very well be the hardest sport to play. I love it. Stop trying to mess with the game. If you don't like the physical play on the ice, I suggest to look to swimming or chess. I'd suggest curling, but the stone crashing together might be too violent for you.

Explicit Lyrics: Going Overboard

OK, I'm still in college, have gone over the hill yet, don't have any kids, but yet I feel old. I have reached the point where I am tired of hearing every song on the radio and its graphic language.

Now don't get me wrong. I understand that cursing and swearing and language of the such have pretty much become mainstream. But does anybody else think it is being taken too far? I mean, I cuss like a sailor-- and so do most of my friends, but when it comes to music, we are talking about having younger children being exposed to it. I know I watch my language around children (and most women). Unfortunately, 50 Cent (pronounced: fiddy scent) being played on the radio (or worse CD) does not have that control.

Anybody remember the Simpsons episode when Sideshow Bob gets paroled? "We object to the use of the term urine-stenched hellhole, when you could have used pee-pee-stenched heckhole." OK, doesn't have the same ring to it, but it makes the point and isn't as fiery.

My point is that 50 Cent does not need to sing (or whatever you call it) about being a "Mother-F***ing P.I.M.P." Mother-Loving would have fit just fine, a little cleaner. We know he has several illigitimate (and some legitimate) children-- OK, that's an assumption, but he gets action-- you can't deny that. Not only is he a mother-f***er, he's probably also a cherry poppin' daddy, in the truest sense.

The alternative above doesn't sound as great, and if he wants to talk about that-- fine. But is it really necessary f*** this, and f*** that.

There was a time (and probably a few people still) when Paul Anka's "Put Your Head on My Shoulder" was considered obscene. It's not. Nor is Bowling for Soup when they tell us that Jenny "was gonna shake her ass on the hood of Whitesnake's car." (and that gets edited by some radio stations). I also don't mind a few dropped in. But when there are so many edits that it sounds like the CD is skipping at the radio station-- there is a problem.

And I really don't mean to pick on 50 Cent-- but he has crossed the line. I also take offense to "I'll let you lick the lollipop" and "unbutton your pants just a little bit, take 'em off, pull 'em down just a little bit". Is this what we really want to hear? Is there a point to those lyrics? Not really-- just glorifying himself for pressuring someone into sex. And that really has no place on the airwaves. I'll give him credit for an attempt to mask it by calling it a lollipop-- but we all know what he means. He is just Mike Tyson without the helium and without the dictionary. And for those who don't agree with me: feast on the rump-- if you know what I mean.

It used to be that a few CDs a year would have a parental advisory on them. Now you almost have to try to find one without.

Now, I am working on a music history minor, so I have read/learned about the roots of hip hop. I know it is based on standing up against opression, and has roots in the music of slavery. And believe it or not I am not offended by "F*** the Police". Why not? Because it could have been much worse. And while it is repeated in the song many times, in today's language, it just does not seem as bad-- as obscene. Just about everybody says "f*** that", so much so that the f-word almost isn't a bad word anymore. Yes times have changed, and some words are more accepted, but others are just outright offensive.

I know, obscenity and offensiveness are in the eye of the beholder, but should we really be pushing the limits on this? We have reached a point where we are turning words that used to describe an innocent act, dirty. The context of these lyrics almost make you want to shower after hearing them-- and I just have to ask: where the hell are the people who were offended by TV shows like the Simpsons and Married With Children? This is like ten times worse.

I write lyrics, a friend of mine writes music, and in the dozen years we've been writing as a team, we have not stumbled into such graphic terms. I guess I'm saying we need to leave some of this to the imagination-- don't force the visuals on to people.

Hey Kids: Shut the $#*@ Up!

What is up with the bad attitudes of kids these days? Do they really think they are God's gift to whatever they do? Guess again.

Now I know, I've only been on this planet for just less than a quarter century, and I have learned a lot in those years. One of the things I've learned: You're never going to stop learning. Believe me. I have held many jobs and many roles: rookie, veteran, mentor... starter, backup, bench-warmer (shut it, Joel)... butcher, baker (haven't been a candlestick maker-- but there's still time)... student, assistant, instructor... hockey, soccer, baseball... etc, etc, etc.

Last week I was wroking the Rick Heinz Goalie School-- for the second time. The first day of camp, the head instructor (who plays in the CHL) comes into the lockerroom and says "these kids have terrible attitudes, I'm afraid to go back out there". He was right. The kids didn't want to listen, and worse yet, they were terrible-- as in perhaps the RHGS was too advanced for them.

It seems all kids do these days is make excuses: my equipment won't let me do that; my shoulder hurts; I just don't feel like it. I got a message for you kids: sit down, shut up, and listen. You're going to learn-- and don't expect us to be all nice about it. When you get into the real world nobody is going to come up to you and say: "It's ok that you failed, because we wanted you to do something new, and we could tell your heart wasn't really into it."

I enjoy working as a coach, or instructor. Why? Because not only do I get an opportunity to pass on my knowledge, but it also gives me a chance to work on my weaknesses, AND I still learn new things. Why am I so engaging on a message board? Beacuse I want to share what I know, offer what I believe to somebody else, and hear what others have to say. Knowledge is power, and it is the key to growing stonger.

I was talking to my dad about a year ago-- and I asked him: "Do you have days where you feel like you're ten years-old?" His answer? Yes, just about every day. It's amazing, here I am feeling immature, or like I've been belittled... and my dad-- 30 years older than me-- has the same feeling. What does that say about him? It says he's still a kid at heart, he's still maturing, and he's still learning.

The worst feeling I ever had in sports, was when I coached an under-8 soccer team. And you know kids at that age-- don't listen, want to do their own thing. Well, I told the kids on the bench to sit down, watch the game, and cheer on their teammates. And a parent runs up to me yelling at me, "you can't tell my kid what to do." WTF? I'm a coach-- if I can't tell your kid what to do, I'm useless as a coach... See ya! And I turned my back on 7 year old kids playing a game I love. All because someone felt the need to tell me he was better than I was. I was 16 years old. I didn't turn my back on the kids completely-- I had just started coaching a U-12 team, and I enjoyed that much more... because they listened, and were willing to learn.

When are kids and parents going to learn that is not about whose ass you kiss, and how much money you have. It's about discipline. It's about a willingness to keep quite, forget your personal indiffrences, take the experience as it is, and learn from it. Those who learn, prosper. And so I ask... parents, kids, everyone-- listen to what others have to say. You may not agree with it, but the enlightenment makes you stronger.

To deny the existence of contrary opinion is to deny the existence of truth.

The Curse Returns

I have never liked to make details of my personal life public knowledge-- not that I have anything to hide, just that I feel my personal life is between myself and whoever my girlfriend is at that time. Maybe it is just paranoia from my past-- unfortunatley stalkers happen, and people will always try to use your personal life against you. I usually keep my cards close to my chest-- and I only talk about it, in person, with my closest friends. In other words, don't get too used to this. But the comical frequency of this happening to me, has made me want to share it with you. Well, that and Joel asked who pissed in my Cheerios this morning (for the record, I had Rice Krispees for breakfast).

I'm not totally pissed off at the world for this, and it is really nobody's fault. But last night I found out that my girlfriend is moving. (As I still speak with her, I will not divulge a name) Yes, Adam this is a recent development, starting a couple months ago. So, everyone is going-- big deal, love leaves, life goes on, either go with her or move on. That's not what is bothering me. What bothers me is that this has happened to me way to often.

Everybody remembers their first case of puppy love, right? I had mine in 5th grade, sweet girl named Valerie-- so what happened to her? I don't know. She moved away, and I never heard from her again. And it has started a disturbing pattern in my life-- one where my heart is never where I am. OK, I wasn't as shaken about Valerie leaving-- how could I be, I was like 10. I was care free, and there is no way it would have lasted. Nor was I in love with her-- but back then, 10 year olds didn't date-- except for maybe a walk around the swings at recess. It is just the starting point for the pattern.

The pattern includes my move out to Nebraska just before I started high school-- that one hurt a bit more, as I had finally shed the lable as a nerd in school, and found out what the girls really thought of me-- apparently, I was more popular than I knew.

It quieted down for a bit, and then what my parents refer to as my "North American Hockey Tour". It started early in my junior hockey career-- when I was signed to play for Texas in the NAHL. My best friend, my first true love moved to Texas just after I graduated. (Yes, hockey players have emotions, too) Well, this could have worked out-- in fact it was too perfect. Kali's mom worked closely with the Texas team, and had already arranged to be my billet. Oh, but I forgot to mention. Texas already had two goaltenders-- Brandon Crawford-West (who left Miami-Ohio to sign with Pittsburgh), and some 15 year-old name Montoya (yes, THAT Montoya). Guess what, Texas cut me lose from camp before I even took the ice.

From there it was Robin in Winnipeg (my first stint there), Lyndsey in Syracuse, Katie in Binghamton, and Rachel in Peoria. The only girl who was a constant in my life was Kat, during my second (and longest stay)-- and even then, I was still changing teams more often than the members of Duran Duran change hair colour.

By the time I went back to Winnipeg (St. Boniface) for my second season, I didn't not expect to be there long-- I was on loan from Cincinnati, and just going through training camp to stay in shape-- biding time until one of the goalies in Cincinnati played themselves out of the lineup (long story, ask me some day). By then, the fact that my hockey life and my love life were never in the same place had become a joke among my roommates and friends. Then I met Crystal.

I remember so much about the night I met her-- I remember sitting at Boston Pizza, watching the Blackhawks getting pummeled by the Wild, I remember what I had to drink and how many, I remember the bitch-slap fight Andrew and I started at the table, I remember that I didn't drive home that night because I was drunk off my ass (who knew I would remember that?), and I remember turning to Andrew (my roommate) and saying "I just found a girl who is interested in me-- I'll be back stateside in two weeks."

I was wrong.

Ten days later I found myself the subject of trade rumours, the last cut from the team (three games into the season), packing my bags, and back in Omaha-- waiting for the call to return to Cincinnati. Those who know me, know how the story ends.

If only that was then end of the curse-- I certainly wasn't expecting it this time. I knew I would face a decision in the next year after I graduate, and hopefully have a job. I have accepted the fact that I will probably find myself moving next summer. But a lot could happen in twelve months-- I wasn't expecting it after two and a half.

I know I'll move on. There will be others. And I'm sure everyone has a broken-hearted story, tales of how they've been pooped on. But at some point I have to ask: who the hell did I wrong? Why do I have this bad karma? Am I just unlucky?

Life goes on, and I will survive. What doesn't kill me only makes me stronger-- but I'm still just a little bitter about being so snakebitten.

Ah screw it, who needs love anyway? Now-- where did I put my Joan Jett CD?

The Philosophy of Sam: Part II

When used properly, the words of the English language speak nothing more than truth.


2 examples:

crackpot (krak' pot'), n. - term used to describe a person of irrational thought by referring to them by the halllucinogenic drugs they are smoking.

politics (pol' i ticks), n. - compound word derived from latin words 1. poly, meaning many, and 2. ticks, meaning blood-sucking parasites.

The National Anthem: It Is What It Is

Happy Indpendence Day. We are in the patriotic time during the summer, you can't turn a corner without seeing red, white, and blue. And it is great to see that. But I do have a major complaint. "The Star-Spangled Banner", our national anthem.

Why is it the everybody wants to but their own little twist on the song? What the hell people? It is a song about a battle during the war of 1812-- the war to retain our independence. We had beat down the British wankerism just over a quarter decade before, and it was our first true test as a new nation. It tells the story of a diplomat, and his fear that he feels as he watches helplessly from the sidelines, wondering if he has set foot on his homeland for the last time. The lyrics are an emotional ode to the bravery and resilience of true heros. As long as the stars and stripes were above Fort McHenry, we were free from the tyrannical rule of the tea-totlers.

OK, so Francis Scott Key screwed up. He put his words to the tune of a drinking song. It is a very difficult song to sing, and it requires a very rangeful voice to sing. Many a person has crashed and burned while attempting to perform it, and nobody is really safe from that embarassment-- even the mighty have fallen. So, then why do these "true American stars" insist on making it harder on themselves. You should be glad you made it through unscathed, take your bow, and get the hell out of the way before you are hit with a baseball, tackled, or run over by 40 speeding rednecks.

If you dare to change the song, you might as well perform the same version as Enrico Palazzo-- you are not singing the National Anthem you are singing a completely different song, and that is disrespectful to EVERYTHING the flag stands for (please revert to my Flag Day rant for details).

The song itself is our national anthem. It is not open to interpretive dance! Sing the damn tribute the way Frankie wrote it. The words should have a significant meaning to anyone who sings it, and to those who hear it. If any of you have veterans in your households, take a look at them during the anthem-- with people cheering, and singers changing the song-- it makes those who have fought for our freedom tear up. The disrespect shown really tears at their heart strings.

The best I have ever heard the anthem sung was during the 1991 NHL All-Star Game. As our troops were marching into Baghdad for the first time, Wayne Messmer stood at center ice of the old Chicago Stadium and attempted to belt out the anthem over 17,000 flag-waiving, screaming fans. Yes, he was drowned out at times-- but under the circumstances, it was understandable. It was a true show of patriotism. They actually sell Messmer's version of the anthem, and it still brings chills to my spine to hear it. And here is the best part-- you can throw in the audio tape (I'm sure its on CD as well), go to a Cubs game, or go to a Chicago Wolves game and hear Messmer sing the same version of the song-- he never changes it, and he doesn't attempt to spoof it up. And still, everytime you hear it, you get chills. He sings it the way it was meant to be sung-- as written, with emotion.

Stop jazzing up the song. If you want to impress us, impress us with your vocal ability to find the range of the song, and with the purest sound of your voice. It is not available for re-write.