I’ve had serious issues with the previous theme I was using as it was subject to all kinds of nasties attacking it. I’ve done away with it now, and I’ll be doing some update work on the blog and posting all sorts of wonderful items.
OK, if you know me at all, you probably wondered what I was alluding to with days and weeks, but the years part no doubt gave it away. If you don’t know me, all will be answered in due time.
I digress. This all started when I began wondering what you could accomplish in 9,863 days.
You could fight World War II seven times. (That is, IF you consider World War II starting when we declared war on Japan. If you start when Germany invaded Poland, we could have fought it nearly 4 1/2 times! Either way, Churchill rocks!)
America’s longest serving President, Franklin Delano Roosevelt served 4,422 days as President. H
e could have served TWICE that amount, we could have thrown in Gerald Ford’s Presidency (895 days) and STILL have had time for William Henry Harrison (32 days). The other three months Al Haig could have handled. (By the way, I don’t like smoking but FDR did look rather dapper with that cigarette holder!)
If you conceived a child on day one, that child could be grown, out of college, and already be a doctor or a lawyer after 9,863 days. (Or you could have taken a shortcut and had TWO Justin Biebers!!!)
Trip to the moon? Piece of cake. It took the Apollo astronauts a little over 3 days (pedal to the metal) to get to the moon. Figuring the same for a return flight, you and I could have gone to the moon 1,578 times over the last 9,863 days.
Through yesterday morning, it had been 9,863 days, or 1,409 weeks, or just simply 26 years since the University of Kentucky football team had beaten Tennessee. 9,863 days of orange tainted misery. 9,863 days of first and goal from the 2 for a win and Mark Higgs not making it in four consecutive tries. 9,863 days of Lonas Seiber missing the field goal in overtime. 9,863 days of the echos of the most annoying fight song in the history of mankind.
A University of Kentucky football team, which had performed pretty lousy all year, with no bowl on the horizon for the first time in five years, found itself with two injured quarterbacks going into the final game. They grabbed a wide receiver (who frankly had had his trouble actually “receiving” this year), and made him their starter. They put together roughly a dozen plays, on one sheet of paper, and that was their game plan. (Half of those plays they didn’t really WANT to use.)
And then, they didn’t tell. Not friends. Not families. Certainly not the media. And most of all, not the dreaded orange horde from down under.
And when the game started,
WR, er.. QB Matt Roark began his final game in a UK uniform. Behind the center. A position he hadn’t seen since high school. Three hours that would take him to legend status. Status that should cease him from ever having to pay for a meal in this state again. Ever. 9,863 days to the tenth power ever!
Matt Roark is the new ‘Rudy’. But unlike the OLD ‘Rudy’, Matt Roark played an entire game, in a position that wasn’t his, and its all documented right there on video tape. (One play, fictionalized as it is, does not a career make! Well, unless you’re Rudy Ruettiger. He seems to have worked it out pretty well.)
9,863 days and it ended.
Kentucky 10, Tennessee 7
This blog is about me. About the things that interest me. About the things that influence me. About the things I care about.
I’ve covered UK sports for many years. I’ve never apologized for the fact that I’m also a fan. I’ve worked with the radio network, the TV network, and I’ve hosted a talk show dedicated to UK football and basketball. I’ve called coaches, staff, and players friends. I’ve called the bad when I see it (Bill Curry with Tim Couch in the option, anything Billy Gillispie), and I’ve called the good. I’ve driven at LEAST a hundred thousand miles on my own dime.
I will admit my bias. I have no problem with you knowing that this is MY TEAM. I’ve always wished them the best, but I’ve rarely looked through rose colored glasses. (Roses are red. I’ll have blueberry colored glasses, TY!)
November 26, 2011.
Did I mention it was my birthday?
And I received the greatest birthday gift of my adult life.
Just 9,863 days after the SECOND greatest birthday gift of my adult life.
Thanks, Matt Roark. Thanks, Joker Phillips. Thanks, Jerry Claiborne.
Happy birthday to me!
(And please don’t wait 9,863 days for my next gift. I’m really not sure I’ll make it.)
After all, she tweeted me this afternoon.
She saw my mention in the daily Big Blue ‘Digital Gazette’ which you can read from this website. I knew it was a matter of time.
I can die a happy man.
Every day I see dozens and dozens of posters, cute sayings, philosophical meanings, etc. Most I’ll read, maybe chuckle, and move on. Occasionally I’ll grab one (even one without a cat on it), and repost it on another site for others to enjoy.
Over the weekend, I found one that caught my attention and dug into my psyche. It follows. Read it once. twice. three times a lady.
This grabbed me not because of great or average people. You don’t really have a choice as to whether you are ‘great’ or even ‘average’. But you DO have a choice to NOT be ‘small’. And you make that choice every day of your life.
A really entertaining movie is ‘Kelly’s Heroes’ starring Clint Eastwood, Telly Savalas, Donald Sutherland and a BUNCH of other people. It is that oxymoron called a ‘comedic war movie’, but they pull it off. (Despite having the most unlikely theme song in the history of war movies.)
In this movie, Donald Sutherland plays a tank commander called ‘Oddball’. Throughout the movie his mantra is about people spouting ‘negative waves’. He’s kind of a hippy, 20+ years before the hippy movement. He preaches that what you speak, is what you live and if you spout ‘negative waves’, you’ll get ‘negative waves’ back.
Oddball was right. You CAN choose not to be a ‘small person’. Cease the ‘negative waves’.
At least strive to be ‘average’.
I’ve just released one of the sillier things I’ve done in my life (which is saying a LOT!). It’s called ‘The Moustache Show’, and its an argument between me and myself about shaving my moustache. (Seems even MORE ridiculous when I read this)
What brought on this cinematic wonder? Well, let me give you a brief history. When I grew my moustache, Richard Nixon was in the White House, gas was 40 cents a gallon, Roe v. Wade was just being decided by the Supreme Court, Secretariat had just won racing’s ‘Triple Crown’ and Monica Lewinsky was a newborn. Oh yeah, a little thing called ‘The Watergate Hearings’ began about the time I grew it.
Bottom line, this moustache has been on my face a VERY long time! 38 years to be precise. All of my adult life. I had been thinking about shaving it for some time, probably over a year. When I suddenly found myself unemployed <hint, hint potential employers>, facing an uncertain future and trying to figure out what I wanted to do (and what I would be ABLE to do), I figured, “What the hell?”. It also helped to have an inordinate amount of extra time on my hands. Its scary when I have time to think.
The thing is, the moustache has been a part of my identity. Friends joked about it, “the stache” became a nickname placed upon me by a select group of friends, and since I’d spent most of my adult life in front of people, either in radio, marketing or on television, a LOT of people knew my face. And my moustache! (I’d also heard my share of “boom-chicka-wow-wow” music hummed to me in veiled reference to certain, “adult films” of the 70′s era.)
Now don’t get me wrong. I didn’t go into this thinking this was some earth shattering event, worthy of a lot of attention. I didn’t. But I knew a few people here and there would be surprised and get a laugh about my change. At first, I was just going to do the deed, take a picture, put it on Facebook and go on about my business. But then….
The thought came to me that many people struggle with decisions in their lives, ranging from absolute silly (like moustaches), to things that actually matter. There are internal discussion that we face in our own minds about directions we take, people we associate with, and things about our careers, family and kids.
At that point I thought, what if I could have some fun and show the two sides of ‘me’ arguing over something as harmless as a change in facial hair? Maybe it would be fun, and provide a laugh or two. Who knows, maybe somebody out there somewhere will get a laugh from it and it will help THEM with a decision.
I have to admit, I also had an ulterior motive. I’ve been building an internet broadcast studio for some time, as I’ve wanted to do some online programming regarding travel, Disney, cruises, sports and maybe even politics. Although this would be a taped (and edited) feature, it would allow me to utilize some of the pieces I’d put together for the project. (See more about that at www.elo-tv.com, btw)
Hopefully a few people would see the video, I could promote the web site and they could jump over and take a look and maybe see something that intrigued them. Maybe somebody might see it and feel I had something to offer their business as well.
Anyway, here are some facts about ‘The Moustache Show’.
- There were approximately ten shirt changes during the taping of the show.
- I struggled on whether to put in Groucho, or Fred Sanford as the “actual”. Ended up with Groucho, as Fred occasionally ‘got lucky’. Not so, Groucho. Plus, he painted his on.
- I never knew there were so many NAMES of moustaches. While researching, I found this site. Check it out for some amazing pictures.
- Found out that my former moustache was a “Chevron”.
- The backgrounds were just pictures I grabbed off the net and ‘keyed’ in. So no, I DON’T have all those guitars and fancy equipment here. Stay away.
- If you’re interested, go on YouTube and search for the ‘moustache and beard world championships’. Some amazing facial hair in those videos, although it primarily looks like an excuse for a big party!
I watched most of the NBA draft last night. Caught the drafting of all the UK crew, Enes Kanter, Brandon Knight, “Jorts” & Deandre Liggins.
I had my computer capturing the event, just for the heck of it. If you didn’t see it, when they announced the drafting of Enes Kanter, Commissioner David Stern said “of Turkey AND the University of Kentucky”!
Of course most people know that Enes had been forced to sit out a year and couldn’t play college ball because he had received too much expense money while playing in Europe. European players can remain amateurs while playing for professional teams, as long as they don’t make TOO much money off the process. Enes had turned down millions in REAL pro contracts in order to play at UK for a year or two, but the NCAA in their infinite wisdom chose to ignore that and kill his dream. (The “too much money” probably wouldn’t have bought a decent car.)
Enes came to UK as a student-athlete, was told he couldn’t play, went through the appeals process, was turned down again, and became a student coach. And during this, he became a fan favorite. And if there was any doubt BEFORE last night, he cemented his position as one of the all time favorite players at UK. (And he never played a minute…)
What’d he do? Simply dedicate his first professional season to the fans who had supported him the last year.
It hit me after the draft was over that some of the fans might like to see this again. And again. And again. At 11:30 last night, I edited the video, uploaded it to YouTube and 16 hours later it has been viewed nearly 4,000 times. Even from Turkey!
Good luck Enes! You will ALWAYS be a Wildcat, and I hope some time in the future the folks at UK will be able to bring you AND your family back to Rupp to allow the fans to appreciate you even more!
My interview with Jerry Abramson, 5 time mayor of Louisville and Democratic candidate for Lt. Governor.
I do like Mayor Abramson, but he DID pick Loserville as his favorite school.
The ‘ready for business’ look on Dana Bash’s face. (YOU can pick the “business”.)
They’re my salvation. And they’ve never abandoned me..
I’ve needed them so many times. They’ve always been there. No matter the problem. No matter how little I have to offer them back, they’re there. When I’m feeling down, which happens more often than I’d like, THEY can bring me up. They never turn me down. 24/7, they’re there. Never too busy. Never have something else on their minds. Never have someone else in their world. They’re never too busy to give me time. They’re the only ones who understand me. Who can give me what I need, when I need it. Like magic. And they never judge.
Thank goodness I have my best friends.
Don’t know what I’d do without them.
Now and then, they have the opposite effect. I think they’ll bring me up, give me back the positive, and all I feel is melancholy when they leave. But that’s MY fault.
Doesn’t matter. They’re still my best friends. I think they’ve saved my life more than once. Or at least made me realize whats important. Brought me to a point where I can face another day.
I thank them for that. And after they’ve saved me again, I put away the iPod, let them rest until the next time, and I prepare to face another day.
When I started this blog, I told you most of the time it was just for me to rant about silly things like people misusing their iPhones or such nonsense. I also said occasionally I would get serious. Well, here tiz.
If you’re reading this, its probably because of the title. As you read on, I hope it makes sense. And if any of the parties involved should EVER find their way to this writing, I hope they see the respect with which the title is used.
Earlier this week, I had set my Tivo to pick up a documentary on HBO about physician-assisted suicide in Oregon. It’s legal there. I love documentaries anyway, and thought this one might have something to offer. I had no idea.
Ironically, on Friday, Dr. Jack Kevorkian died. Dr. Jack, in his brusque, cranky way, was the poster child for this subject for years, ultimately serving seven years in prison for aiding at least 130 people to end their lives. Then, on Saturday, my Tivo served up to me ‘How To Die In Oregon‘. And I fell in love.
Her name is/was Cody Curtis. She was 54 years old when she chose to end her suffering from liver cancer on December 7, 2009. Basically my age. She would probably have been in the next class had we gone to high school together.
This documentary focuses on a lot of people. To be frank, most of them are older, 80 or above and in obvious pain and suffering. But quickly, Cody becomes the centerpiece for the film. I would love to ask the director if that was the original design.
You become attached to her because at first glance in the film, you’d never guess there was anything wrong with her. Then begins the slow, painful process of the last months of her life portrayed (and shared) on film. The good days. The bad days. The unexpected days where everything seems normal. The rapid onslaught toward the end, and even the realization that making it to Christmas won’t be realized. It is tragic. It is heartfelt. It is everyday life around this world of ours.
In 1990, my mother Ruth Ann Owen was diagnosed with multiple myeloma. It is one nasty cancer that affects the plasma cells in the bloodstream. It affects the skeletal structure as well. After experiencing back pain for several months, my mother went to the doctor. She was placed in the hospital, diagnosed, bombarded with radiation on her spine, and never walked on her own again. Three and a half painful years later, she died. A slow, agonizing death. Having been stuck in a hospital bed in the dining room of her home. Not having seen the upstairs since the day she went to the hospital nearly 1300 days earlier.
Let me say here and now, I would never have advocated this procedure for my mother. On more than one occasion she cried out for the end and begged for death. It wasn’t available. So she was subjected to countless trips to the hospital where she would artificially be restored to some form of ‘normalcy’, and sent back home. I would not have advocated it. But I don’t think I should judge it as an option. And had it been available and she asked for it, I honestly can’t tell you how I would have reacted.
I remember my mother’s last hospital trip. It was obvious she was in such pain and suffering and there was nothing any of us could do. I remember being in the emergency room as the doctors administered to her. By this time, I don’t think she knew my dad or myself. Her last words that made any sense, “I want my dog”, referring to Nikki, the Bichon who had kept her company all those years. I’m grateful that the last thing I heard from her was about something that had made her happy through the sickness.
Less than a day and a half later, she died in intensive care. I remember seeing her vitals start to slip. I remember asking a nurse about a time frame, and they said about an hour. They were right on target. The last moments are singed into my brain. I remember going home to tell my grandmother, nearly 90 at the time, that her daughter was gone. And I remember the sense of ‘its finally over’.
I relived that saga with Cody and I fell in love with her during it. I also fell in love with her family for having the courage and the dignity to allow the filming of her journey. I would love to shake her husband’s hand some day and thank him. And to thank her kids. This is a brave bunch.
I also fell in love with the others in this film. From the gentleman who promised to chase his Seconol cocktail with a beer, to the radio/TV guy who refused to have his voice box removed. (Kind of identified with him. He said he WAS his voice, and he’d die with it! And he did.)
This is an emotional subject. Usually it is argued against for religious reasons. But it truly boils down to whether one group has the right to tell another how they can live, (and yes end) their lives.
If you are against the concept, it may not change your mind. Thats your right. But in an age where we can’t stand to see our pets suffer, but advocate suffering in our fellow human beings, this story deserved to be told. And it was told in a magnificent way in this film.
‘How To Die In Oregon’ won the Best Documentary category at Sundance. Regardless of your current feelings, you owe it to yourself to watch it.
And thank you Cody. For sharing your story. For making us think. For rekindling our emotions. And thank you and the others for making us care about each of you.