Throwing Things Out

It is Thanksgiving 2009, and I am spending the day, not with family & friends, but taking care of some overdue tasks. I am now double-rooted (if that’s even a word…whatever) with a house in Post St. Lucie & an apartment in Orlando. I am at the house. And I need to get the place cleared out in order to rent it, which means I am going through stuff that I thought I would hold onto forever.

Stuff.

No, this is not going to be a rip-off of George Carlin’s famous routine. Instead it is more of a melancholy review of times gone by. See, I am 51 now and my son is 15. When I first moved here I was 42 & he was 6. Not a big move age-wise for me, but light years for him. Because I just went through the stuff in his room, and that’s where the memories slammed me. Here’s what I came across -

• A Hot Wheels slot-car track.
• Stuffed animals
• Various board games “For ages 12 and under”
• A half-finished log cabin kit
• A model airplane kit that never really worked right
• Jigsaw puzzles
• His artwork

And I had to make hard decisions – what to toss, what to keep. For certain, none of that stuff holds value to my son, but each one just floods me with thoughts of where were & what we were doing. But I can’t keep this stuff anymore!

So now all of that resides on my devil strip. With one exception – the artwork. I made a vow when my son was 2 years old that I would keep every bit of artwork he ever created. I am not going to break that vow. Besides, he will be famous one day & those ‘portraits of the artists as a young man’ will hold some value. If not in the open market, then with me. Always.

But the memories are also pleasant, as they are proof of the good times we have shared. Now my son has an ipod, a laptop & a Wii. He likes to school me in Wii tennis.

Life moves on.

Brace Face No More!

It all started with an innocuous query to my dentist four years ago. During a routine cleaning I asked him if he could whiten my teeth. Well, much like an alcoholic that asks a friend "Do you think I have a drinking problem?", my dentist saw the opening to give me the ugly truth.

"Jerry, I could whiten your teeth. But given the shape your teeth are in, it wouldn't be worth it. Your bite is collapsing, your molars are slanting inwards, you still have a baby tooth, and your upper teeth are slanted inward so far that they are digging into your lower gum & is causing serious periodontal disease. You will need dentures within ten years. So yeah, I could whiten your teeth, but you really should get braces first."

Dr. Vincenzo is nothing if not direct.

He then handed me the card of a local Orthodontist, Dr. Mark Lively. I called & scheduled a consult. And thus started a 37-month sojourn that ended two days ago, when I finally got my braces removed. The initial consult was, if nothing else, illuminating. Dr. Lively is a guy whose name fits him perfectly - an always smiling, upbeat, song-humming, joke-telling wiseaker. "Bite down", he instructed me. "Now open.....hmmmm....bite down again....hmm..." Much like a lumberjack inspecting his next tree, he looked, inspected, hummed whatever song was playing in his office, hummed some more, then stopped, took a deep breath, exhaled & gave me the prognosis. "Okay. You got like four things going on in your mouth..." He then explained them in great detail that pretty much confirmed what I thought. I should have gotten those dang braces when I was 15 years old. I asked him, well, can you fix me? He replied, "I love challenges, and YOU, Jerry, will be a challenge. Yes I can do it."

And he did it. For three years and one month, I learned all about bite plates, utility arches, slanted incisors, scissor bites, impacted cuspids...and pain. Broken wires. Jabbing wires. Double-helix wires reinforced to somehow keep my constant gum-chewing deep bite from severing...but still did. There were many times where I would call up his Angel Of Mercy, Lindi, and cuss up a blue streak & threatened felonies unless Mark would pull these things out of my mouth. Gimme the dentures. I had had enough.

But I talk big. I hung in there. Mark & his staff were eternally patient with me, and on Monday October 12, 2009, they came off. As I was scheduling my follow-up for my retainer fitting, Mark came out & handed me a gift. A bottle of wine. Probably cuz I was a 'bottle of whine' throughout the whole process. I actually cried when he gave me the gift.

Now, who in the heck cries getting a bottle of wine from an orthodontist? For that matter, who in the heck GETS a bottle of wine from an orthodontist? Well I did. And I did. So there. And part of the reason for the tears was the realization that, even though the day I had long been waiting for had finally arrived, there was genuine sadness that it was over. I had grown very fond of my visits to see Mark, Lindi, Michelle, Essie & the rest of gang. And I think that they enjoyed seeing me. Well, except for the felony-threatening part. The realization that I wouldn't be seeing these wonderful people anymore made me sad.

But now for the good news:

NOW I can go get my teeth whitened.

O-Town Plus Three Months

I see that I haven't posted a story here since way back in the halcyon days of April, when I was one month into my new gig working for Lynx in downtown O-Town. Well, since I have bulging following of SEVEN members now (roughly a quarter of the population of Wasilla Alaska if you don't count the children that look like moose inbreeding), there is such a responsibility-laden commitment now. Or something like that. Life is pretty good these days, as the paycheck spigot is now full on, and meals no longer consist of whatever is a Publix Bogo. So I thought it would be interesting to give an update of my thoughts of this place I am now calling home, three months since my initial glow -

• It gets hot in Orlando in the summer. While this is hardly a news flash, bear in mind that I moved from SOUTH Florida to here - I moved 150 miles NORTH. But the key geographic direction here is not north/south but from about 5 miles from the ocean to 55 miles away. I never realized the impact of a sea breeze to Florida climatology. The other day the high in Orlando was 98 degrees. With no breeze. And 85% humidity. The best way to give a graphic of this is, I wear glasses & the nanosecond I go from an air-conditioned building to outside, instant condensation.

• Keeping with boring weather talk, it doesn't rain in Orlando. We have apocalyptic, Scriptures-induced storms. More electricity in the air than rumors of a Beatles reunion tour. Every afternoon.

• People are friendly here. Bear in mind that I moved from the Sixth Borough also known as South Florida. Not to pick on New Yorkers, but I've found that when there are less of them in an area, said area tends to be a bit more laid back. And while I wouldn't necessarily call Orlando 'laid back', it definitely has a different vibe than SoFla. More natives here.

• So much to do here. This is not a boring town. There is a reason why it is the #1 tourist destination in the world, and it's kinda cool to hear folks talk about things like 'Hey, Universal Islands of Adventure is having a 3-day special this week.' Yeah I know I lamented about this fakeness in my last post, but now I'm talking from the standpoint of what to do during down time, and living in a place where you got the pick of Disney, Sea World, Universal, Wet 'N Wild, Aquatica, International Drive, $20 helicopter rides, and scads of golf courses doesn't suck. And I've come to find out the 'cheapie' methods of entertainment, like Downtown Disney - free parking, free admittance. Two words: Lego Land.

• You hungry? We got it. Mongolian barbecue? Check. Sushi restaurants everywhere. Vietnamese cuisine. Good ol' fashioned rib shacks (it's still the south). Sidewalk cafes in College Park. Authentic Puerto Rican cuisine in Kissimmee. Think of you favorite chain restaurant where you live & I'll betcha we got it here - Carrabba's, White Castle, Olive Garden, whatever. I haven't been stumped yet on that challenge.

Now, I know what you're thinking - 'Great Jer, but are you happy?' Uh, yeah, I am. The job is fantastic - and that may be the topic of a future blog - but the point of this post & others I've made is that life is so full of unexpected twists & turns, that you truly do not know where you may be a month or year from now. If you are finding yourself in the middle of a rough patch, just believe. Then get busy. And maybe you will find yourself, say 6 months from now, gushing about a new place that you now call home. I look forward to hearing from you with such a story.

O-Town O-My!

I have lived in Southeast Florida for over 25 years now, having moved here from Ohio in 1982. My domiciles have ranged from Port St. Lucie in the north to Boynton Beach in the south - centering around Palm Beach County mostly. And like any metropolitan area, we exhibit pride in our choice of residence. Part of the expression of pride is to decidedly trash other areas of the state. And the one area that has long be the whippin' boy is Central Florida, specifically the Orlando area.

Land of the Fake, Mickeyville, RatLand...home of overpriced happy meals, tourist traps & horrific traffic. That's the Orlando that we have portrayed. Much of which is, well, true - especially the traffic part. As my friend Lyle puts it, Orlando's the only town where, the fastest way to get from point A to B is to go in the opposite direction. Mind-numbing traffic. (Tip: Avoid International Drive).

Well, due to various sets of circumstances like the desire to not starve, I have been seeking gainful employment in my chosen career path, which led me to a real nice job offer in - you guessed it - Goofyville. And it was with real trepidation that I decided to take the position offered. That was a month ago, and I can tell you that I have discovered an area of Orlando that very much flies under the radar & is not talked much about - the downtown area.

Before I talk about what is in downtown Orlando. let me tell you what's not there. You will not find any souvenir shops, mouse hats, Chuck E Cheese, Japanese tourists, German tourists, hell - Florida tourists, insidious background 'It's a small world after all' music, or 45-minute wait lines for a 2-minute ride. All that is a 30-minute drive to the southwest that locals barely recognize, let alone point to with pride.

What downtown Orlando is, is one of the coolest urban settings I've ever been a part of. My office is smack downtown, and as such, I've been exploring the area - either on foot or through use of an awesome method of urban mobility unique to O-Town: The Lymmo. A cool decorated bus that has its own dedicated guideway & signal preemption. Translation: cars & traffic lights are not a factor - it glides past any traffic. And it delivers you to the center of bars, restaurants, musicians, museums, open markets & a cool/funky environment that, unlike more famous areas of Orlando, is completely organic and natural. Nothing contrived here. In downtown, It's a legit world after all. And there's no subliminal reinforcement needed of that fact.

The other thing unique to downtown is the proximity of great places to live. And by proximity I mean walking distance. Truly. Like 5 blocks away from a thumping night life & great restaurants are neighborhoods like Lake Eola Heights, Thornton Park & Colonial Town. Safe. Clean. A lot of pride exhibited by the residents. Totally freekin' cool as hell.

So there's my little advertisement for downtown Orlando. Coming from a jaded Floridian with long-held preconceived notions of what Orlando is, downtown has been an awesome eye-opener. And my advice to any would-be traveler to O-Town is this - Take the scads of money you would spend on a hotel with a mouse-shaped tub & overpriced admission tickets for the privilege of standing in mind-numbing lines, and stay downtown. Take in a Magic game, stroll around Lake Eola, try the Vietnamese cuisine on East Colonial...and basically enjoy the REAL Orlando.

Neurotic Browns Fan interviews Browns Head Coach Eric Mangini

Browns head coach Eric Mangini sits down to talk with Neurotic Browns Fan -


NBF: Thanks for taking time out of your busy schedule of remodeling the practice facility to speak with us.

Mangini: Uh, you’re welcome. Are you referring to the relocation of the Browns mural?

NBF: YES YOU INTERLOPER! HOW DARE YOU BESMIRCH THE PROUD HISTORY OF THIS TEAM! BELICHICK MUST DIE!

Mangini: Your passion is commendable. Also a little creepy. But don’t worry – I have only relocated it to an area where the public can see it. Have you ever seen the mural?

NBF: Are you being condescending? We pay your salary, bub.

Mangini: Actually, Mr. Lerner does tha…

NBF: LERNER!?! You mean that tea-sippin’ soccer-loving rich boy that cannot fathom the pain we have lived with all these years?

Mangini: Uh, yeah, Randy Lerner, the owner.

NBF: I know who he is! Now you’re insulting my intelligence. You’re not endearing yourself to us, Mangelichick.

Mangini: Well, since you mentioned him, you know that I got my start with the Browns when Belichick was head coach here. I was a go-fer, I broke down film, basically did anything that was asked…

NBF: So you supported the decision to cut (cue the choir) Bernie Kosar?

Mangini: Uh, actually, I didn’t have anything to do with that decision. During that time I was ordering pizza for the press corps that was gathering to attend the press conference…

NBF: I deliver pizzas for Hungry Howie’s.

Mangini: Uh…good…good for you.

NBF: That doesn’t mean I don’t know my football though, Mangoofus. Don’t try me. I once delivered a triple anchovy pie to (cue the choir) Dave Puzzouli. He sacked Elway during The Drive.

Mangini: You must have been proud.

NBF: YOU DON’T KNOW ME!

Mangini: Uh, okay. Anyway, I am real excited about being the head coach of this great team, with its proud history and tradition. It is my goal to bring a championship to this great city and to you fans. You all deserve it.

NBF: What about the Steelers?

Mangini: Uh, what about them?

NBF: My God, are you as blockheadedly obtuse as your former boss, Beliprick? Are you going to beat the Steelers?

Mangini: Well of course. It is my goal to beat whichever team the Browns play on a given week…

NBF: Ya gonna instruct your players to disembowel Roethlisberger? Maybe face-plant him like (cue the choir) Turkey Jones did to Bradshaw? Maybe yank Polamalu’s hair until it rips the flesh off the top of his head exposing his brain matter to the frigid Cleveland air causing him to die a slow agonizing death? Cuz that would be cool.

Mangini: Uh…yeah. Look, my team is going to play tough, nard-nosed blue-collar football, but we will also play within the rules.

NBF: You’re a wuss.

Mangini. Noted. Anyway, the ultimate goal is a Super Bowl win, right?

NBF: No. Beat the Steelers.

Mangini: Pardon?

NBF: BEAT THE FREEKIN’ STEELERS!!! What’s this “Super Bowl” thing you talk about?

Mangini: Uh, it’s the championship game of the NFL, played every year.

NBF: Oh. Do you get there by beating the Steelers?

Mangini: Actually, you get there by making the playoffs & winning all your playoff games. Technically, the Browns could lose twice to the Steelers and still make it.

NBF: I don’t like that then.

Mangini: Sorry to hear that. Anyway, look – I gotta run. I’ve got a ton of evaluation to do on the current players & get ready for free agency & then the draft. There’s just not enough hours in the day, you know?

NBF: Yeah right. You need to go buy some more white paint. I get it. Not enough time for the FANS WHO PAY YOUR SALARY AND WHO YOU SHOULD WORSHIP, YOU FRAUD!

Mangini: Yeah. Anyway, have a nice day.

NBF: DON’T LEAVE BEREA!

...And There Was Much Yawning

So, the Cleveland Browns have announced their new Head Coach - Eric Mangini, the recently deposed head coach of the New York Jets.

And we collectively shrugged.

And I don’t get it. The apathy, that is. I understand that most fans were holding out for a ‘big splash’ hire like Marty Schottenheimer, or the whale of a catch in Bill Cowher. Neither materialized, and in retrospect, they were not going to happen – those were the wet dreams of the fans, but not the wishes of the guy who pays the bills, owner Randy Lerner.

But ponder for a moment what the hiring of Mangini brings to Cleveland, and that is this: A head coach with experience at being a head coach. Yeah I know, you’re yawning again. But for the Browns, this is an accomplishment. The last EIGHT head coaches of the Browns came to the job with zero experience at being a head coach. We have to go all the way back to Nick Skorich to identify the last Browns coach that had such experience when he took the job, and further, the list of such coaches ends there. Eric Mangini and Nick Skorich – the only coaches in Browns HISTORY to bring experience to the head coaching position.

Insanity is defined as repeating behavior expecting different results. And I would have placed the hiring of yet another assistant coach to head the Browns squarely in the insanity category. That is not to say that assistants cannot flourish in their first gig – Sam Rutigliano and Marty Schottenheimer are two examples. But for every Riverboat Sam we had a Forrest Gregg and Butch Davis. For every Marty we had Chris Palmer and Romeo Crennel.

So why is Browns Nation unimpressed with the Mangini hire? Some point to his dour persona and lack of sideline or press conference animation. Seems I remember people describing Paul Brown the same way. Some point to Mangini being part of the ‘Belichick Tree’ of coaches, and here in Cleveland, that is not considered a positive thing since our personal experience with Mumbles was not necessarily a positive one. But love or hate him, he has produced three Super Bowl victories, and the byproduct of that is a tree is planted & his assistants go on to head coaching gigs. We could certainly do worse.

Some think we should have hired a General Manager first, and then let that GM do the hiring of a Head Coach. Sort of like Phil Savage selecting Romeo Crennel. ‘nuff said there. Hiring one before the other guarantees nothing, so get over that.

What I really think is happening is that Browns optimism is at a low ebb. I think it is a defense mechanism us Browns fans have cultivated through the years of Butch Davis mismanagement and Romeo Crennel cluelessness. We don’t want to get excited until we are given a reason to. And hiring another head coach is not sufficient reason. Yet.

But like the Buzzards returning to Hinckley every Spring, you watch what happens when training camp opens in July. We will be back. But for now, we are treating the Mangini hire like we would opening our Christmas present and finding that instead of getting a Big Wheel we got a calculator. Disappointed.

But ultimately, it was the right gift.

The World According To Dee

Mother’s Day is over five months away, so the following story is not meant to serve as any kind of flowery tribute befitting that day we set aside to keep FTD and chocolate companies in business. Instead, it is simply a long overdue introduction for whoever reads my blog to the most amazing person I have ever known. My mother.

Dolores Mae Peroli Bryan, born February 21, 1927. Child of the depression. Married Charles Herald Bryan on February 12, 1949, and remained his devoted wife until his death in 1997. Mother of four more-or-less normal children. Everyone knows her as Dee.

I, of course, know her simply as Mom.

Dee is now 81 years old. At that age she is not the person, either physically or mentally, that she once was – who is – but even at this age she does things that astound. I will get to that shortly. I am her youngest child, and as such share what I believe to be a unique bond; much of which was forged when I was a child, but transcends just that closeness. We are kindred souls with very similar views on politics, sports and how to interact with the world in general. Virtually all that I am as a person can be directly traced to her, and that is not an exaggeration.

In 1974 Dee was diagnosed with breast cancer and had to have a radical mastectomy. In those days that meant not only removal of her breast, but most of the muscles in her upper right arm. The night before the surgery, people came over to visit with her, and I still remember how everyone arrived concerned for her welfare, but left feeling energized by her spirit. To her, it was just one of those things that sometimes happens, and you just face it head on, deal with it, and move on. What I am trying to say is that the word ‘pity’ is not part of her vocabulary.

Her politics are liberal, she thinks LeBron James is a ‘nice young man,’ thinks Romeo Crennel is cluelessly over his head as coach of the Browns, believes that family is the most important asset that a person can have, and you always balance your checkbook to the penny. Not surprisingly, I share all those views.

Dee is perpetual motion. It infuriates us to this day how she simply refuses to sit still, that we fear she will take a fall or simply wear herself out. And even when she is sitting in her chair watching her Cleveland Cavaliers or Indians, she crochets. Ravenously. Like, afghans-for-the-world levels. And while this may not seem unusual, it is worth noting that due to a rough patch of circulatory problems, she has two fingers & half a thumb missing on her right hand and one finger on her left hand.

How much does she crochet? Well, each of us kids have at least five of her afghans, all her relatives, most every neighbor on the street, half the city, and over 300 sick kids in local hospitals. She has donated over 300 afghans to Project Linus, which is a program to basically give sick kids a blanket. Even with about a third of her hand missing, she cranks out about an afghan a week. There are hundreds of children in the greater Akron area with a Dee Bryan-original afghan.

These days, Dee is forgetful and often repeats herself. She often asks which day it is. She will tell you a story at least a dozen times, and in the spirit of quid pro quo, it is best to repeat stories to her so that she will remember them. The onset of dementia perhaps? Nah. She’s just old. And what do I do when she repeats herself? I give her the same patience she always gave me when I was ripping through parts of my life; times where I knew I was causing her to lose sleep fretting over my welfare. I smile and nod, laugh at the appropriate time, and show her the respect she has earned. Not that she has demanded, but earned. Hers has been a life well lived, and one that anyone through emulation would dramatically improve their own life. She is the embodiment of attraction rather than promotion – never boastful, just an example of grace, courage and dignity.

One day in the future – one I hope is still well off – there will be a funeral. It will be an event. Hundreds will be there, because I am not sure she totally realizes it, but the scope of her positive impact to others is vast. And on that day the world will become a far crueler, selfish place with her no longer occupying it. There is no doubt she will be in heaven, as she has lived her life as an angel within our midst.

Ode To The Semicolon

I have always rooted for the underdog, which would help to explain my devotion to a team that has never made it to a Super Bowl in their existence. But now I am going to take this cheering to a level of subliminty heretofore not expressed. I am going to talk punctuation.

More specifically, the misuse of punctuation. It truly shocks me the pervasion of sloppiness in writing. With the proliferation of e-mailing, texting and other 'shorthand' versions of writing, a subculture of punctuation paucity has flourished. And don't even get me started on texting acronyms like lol, roflmao & gtg (Question: Does anyone truly 'roll on the floor laughing their ass off'?). But aside from this bastardization of the language for brevity's sake (or to save money on texting charges), proper punctuation seems to have become a lost art.

I see you rolling your eyes. Stop it.

Punctuation, when used properly, delivers the message or the story in the proper timing; in the way the writer intended it. If not used properly, the message gets garbled, or worse, misunderstood. Hey, wars have happened over misunderstandings, so let's not trivialize punctuation, mmmkay?

Which brings me to the bastard stepchild of punctuation. The semicolon. It's sort of a colon, sort of a comma. And totally misused, or worse, ignored. Semicolons are very important in writing. They are used within a sentence to express a shift in thought yet still having connection to the initial thought, like the following: "I like to eat cows; however, they don't like to be eaten by me." Alas, such sublety is lost on many.

But let's talk about the poor semicolon for a moment. First off, it's a terrible name. Semicolon. It doesn't even rise to the level of a full colon; it's existence is to be only partially like a symbol that has the same name as the body part that carries human waste. How sad. "All I want to be is sort of like the punctuation mark named after the duct for carrying feces from the body."

Such humility.

We could all take a lesson from the humble semicolon and try to emulate its acceptance as a forgotten punctuation mark. The semicolon has been dealt an unfair hand, but it still sits there, ready to be used in its proper place. In fact, look at your keyboard right now - note that the semicolon shares a key with the colon (right side of the keyboard, next to the L). But a closer look will reveal that you do not have to hit the shift key to attain the semicolon, but you DO have to in order to get to the colon. What are the QWERTY creators telling us? That the semicolon is more important than the colon perhaps? That's how I choose to understand it.

So next time you are searching for that right punctuation mark, give the humble, underused and totally misunderstood semicolon a try.

But if you misuse it I will rof and lmao.

What's It To You?

I have never been one to wrap myself in the American flag. Instead, I have looked askance at the injustices of our society with a jaundiced, sarcastic view and wondered, ‘What the hell is our problem?’ To elaborate, it consistently galls me this absolute obsession we as a people seem to have in making sure we have a group to hate. For some bizarre reason, it seems to make us more comfortable with our shortcomings.

Time was - less than fifty years ago in fact - we used to hang blacks from trees for looking at white women. Women have had the right to vote for less than a hundred years. Seems like the newest wave of immigrants are ostracized by those that passed through Ellis Island before them, as if to say ‘The door closed behind us, bub.’

But over time, the assimilation of these peoples, and the simple adherence to our founding principles has rendered the heinous injustices to these people more or less to the history books. Racism still exists, but at least they aren’t lynching negroes in Mississippi anymore. Women still have glass ceilings to break through, but the cracks are extremely evident – it's just a matter of time there.

So the pool of people to pick on has shrunk. But we are a creative bunch, we Americans. Don't tell us we can't do something. Don't tell ME that we are all created equal. By golly, we will find someone to turn our unjustified bigotry and anger towards. And we’ve seem to have found our latest group. Gays.

I am not gay. And I am also about the least homophobic person you will ever meet. I am firmly of the opinion that if someone can find another person to love, honor and cherish to walk hand-in-hand through this sometimes very dark dirge we call life, it matters none whether they share the same sexual organs. If two people are happy, what’s it to me.

And what’s it to you?

Really. If you are a person that is against equal rights to gays, or ever worse, harbors anger towards gays, what the hell is your problem? What is it that makes you hate two people finding love and happiness? Is this a sociopathic streak that you’re secretly fermenting towards people that seem to find a happiness that has somehow eluded you? Does everyone have to be as miserable as you? Does the idea of two people of the same sex copulating repulse you - is that it?

Or do you just need someone to hate? If so, welcome to America. You’re fitting in quite nicely.

Because you are far from alone in that neanderthal view. Laws are being passed in scores of states banning gay marriage. Now please ponder that for moment. Our legislators & by extension the people they represent feels we need laws preventing something that does not impact you in any way. If gays are allowed to marry, it does not affect your marriage or your life in even a remote way. If you're happily married, you are free to remain that way whether gays receive that same right or not. If your marriage is a mess, why not allow gays the same chance at that misery? For that matter, why are you defending something that only about fifty percent of the participants are successful at? As Anna Quindlen stated in a recent issue of Newsweek, "As for the notion that allowing gay men and lesbians to marry will destroy conventional marriage, I have found heterosexuals perfect willing to do that themselves."

Again I ask - What's it to you?

Opponents to gay marriage say its about not allowing people a loophole to receiving health insurance benefits. Well heavens no – we can’t actually have MORE people freed from the anxiety that a broken leg could mean financial ruin, can we? Others cite religious reasons and Bible passages as their justification. Well look – I’m not a Theologian, and as such do not want to delve into what this Book of Solomon says or that Book of Job says. Those that profess to know what God thinks (Here's a piece of advice: avoid these people) would say that homosexuality is a sin, punishable by eternal damnation.

That seems a bit harsh for committing an egregious act of love. But maybe that’s just me. Instead I would just offer this simple & very un-religious-trained observation over this whole ‘religion’ angle – 

What would God think? 

I believe the answer is that He (or She) wants us happy, and as such would be pleased at two people finding love and companionship. I really don’t think flesh-burning in eternity is what is in store for those who have found a life partner to live, love and laugh with simply because Tab A doesn't fit into Slot B. My guess is that God would smile at such an event.

A friend of mine says the reason for our ongoing search for a group to hate is because we are a ‘young’ country, in that we have not yet gotten through our growing pains. I can kinda hang with that. My guess is that most more ‘mature’ countries laugh at us for our teenaged impetuosity & predisposition to hate.

I see only one answer. We need to grow the hell up. There's really no need to hate anyone, and any two people that enjoy each other's company to the point that they wish to make a lifelong commitment to each other should be honored, not derided. 

And certainly not made illegal.

Advice for DA

So…in an extremely disturbing case of déjà vu, a struggling Brows Quarterback got hurt & some fans cheered. Player gets upset. The knee-jerk opinions are the fans are classless jerks, and pity the poor player who is just trying his best under trying circumstances.

A bit of perspective is in order.

First off, the victims here are the fans, not Derek Anderson. The fans are the ones that have shelled out the $50 for the ticket; during an extremely disappointing season & in an economy where the purchase of pro football tickets cannot be a very high priority. That money could be far better used for like, oh I don’t know, maybe Christmas gifts or simply paying bills. Instead, they spend it to watch the Browns play football. Very lousy football.

Secondly, has DA considered why the fans cheered? Does he have the ability to look in the mirror & ask whether HE’S the reason that the ‘fans don't like him’ as he put it? Does he really think that he was doomed to be the bad guy just because the team drafted Brady Quinn? Psychologists call this a ‘victim mentality’ in that a person never looks at how he contributed to a situation but rather how he has been victimized by it.

Lemme help him out. The fans booed you, DA, because they were fed up with your mediocre play & were relieved that they did not have to witness any further of it. An excuse for their behavior? Perhaps. But an understandable one for anyone who cares to put themselves in the shoes of a Browns fan for five minutes.

A pro player that in any way shape or form blames the fans for anything lives in a bubble. And here’s DA’s bubble: He is a very wealthy young man playing a game. The reason he’s wealthy are those booing fans that chose to spend their money on tickets. All his medical bills will be paid for in full – no co-pays, no premiums. He will heal & be healthy in the span of about two months. He will be 25 years old with a number of suitors willing to give him a lot of money for his skill set. He will be financially set for life.

Meanwhile, those nasty booing fans will, if they’re lucky, go back to their $35k a year jobs & scrape change together to pay the electric bill. If they’re not that fortunate, they will hope they don’t get hurt – not because someone will cheer their misfortune but because the resulting medical bills will bankrupt them since they do not have medical insurance.

So DA got hurt & some fans booed. Here’s my advice to him: Get over it. And be thankful you’re not here in the real world with the rest of us.

Everything Is Broken

- Bob Dylan

Whenever a situation strikes me as full of uncertainty, complexity or ambiguity, I go to a reliable source to ferret through the static - Bob Dylan.

Now I am sure that the Twentieth Century Troubadour was weighing in on far more socially impactful issues than the status of a professional football team when he wrote the above, but it still has that clear finality when applied to the status of the Cleveland Browns.

Everything is broken.

Sound familiar? Doesn't it have that 'Oh Gawd here we go again' discordant ring to it? 1991. 1999. 2001. 2005. I swear they should rename the franchise to the Cleveland Cicadas with its rhythmical pursuit of putridity. Our president-elect ran his successful presidential campaign with the message 'Change We Can Believe In'. With the Browns, it's 'Change We Can Set Our Watches By'. Whether the team exhibits success on the field (The firing of Schottenheimer after the 1988 season) or presents another lesson in Murphy's Law On Steroids, this team will embrace change as its mantra.

Look, I'm not here to proffer solutions - at least not in this post - but rather to vent my spleen. This is not about Bring In The Chin or Phil Must Go. It's about that extremely familiar yet still disconcerting feeling deep within my bones that comes with being a Cleveland sports fan. A feeling I do not enjoy, but have come to accept as my lot in life

So I have to find a scapegoat. And I have one. My parents. Do they deserve it? No, they're great people. But they conceived me in Akron Ohio. I had no choice in this. When I was seven years old, my dad said to me, during a Browns-Steelers game, 'Son, see those guys in the black helmets? That's the enemy." Okay Dad. I believe you. And at the time - 1965 or so - it was a true statement. Cleveland owned Pittsburgh. Sunday spaghetti dinners included the Browns on TV with Ken Coleman & Jim Graner. Touch the dial and you die. My choices were root for the Browns or go to my room.

So here we are at the tail end of another Browns season that has inextricably yet almost predictably spun out of control. And yeah, the Cavs are kicking ass & taking names at the moment but the buzz is not how good they're playing or whether they can bring Cleveland a ridiculously-overdue championship...but whether LeBron is going to the Knicks or Nets in two years (Who else but Cleveland fans are already apoplectic over their star leaving two years before the event actually occurs? It's Pavlovian conditioning). And the Tribe - I'm still wondering how a team with All Stars at every position lost a World Series to a bunch of mercenaries eleven years ago. I still cannot get past 'Two Outs To The Title I Hate You Jose Mesa Edgar Renteria Must Die' mental block.

So bring on the latest reboot of the Browns. Clear the cookies, erase the Temporary Internet Files, hit Control-Alt-Delete. Once the screen comes back up, I'll expect to see an improved performance...but I know it won't last. In four years we'll be doing it again.

Ain't no use jivin'
Ain't no use jokin'
Everything is broken.

Tiger's Intermission

(Originally written June 18, 2008)

Much is being written about the knee injury that Tiger Woods exacerbated at the U.S. Open, which has resulted in shutting it down for the balance of the 2008 season. Did he press his body too far? Will he be able to pick up where he left off? Will he have to change the swing that has resulted in 14 majors & 65 wins? For that matter, will he even be able to play golf at the highest level anymore?

A note to everyone - relax.

First off, we are talking about the most mentally disciplined athlete of our generation, if not of all time. We are also talking about an athlete that borders on the edge of obsession in his chase to catch and surpass Jack’s 18 majors. His season now ends just four shy of tying that mark. Thankfully.

Thankfully?

Yes.

Here is an athlete that nothing stops – not his so-called competitors, not juiced-up golf courses, not history. But now something has – temporarily. And it could not have come at a better time. At 32, we are in the smack middle of The Tiger Era. He has been on tour for twelve years now, and the injury bug has finally caught up on him. An injury that will force him – FORCE him – to hang it up for about six months. The longest period of time in his career.

Those of a ‘certain’ age will remember when movies in the theatre were so long that they would have an intermission – a period of time of about 15 minutes or so where patrons could stretch their legs, have a smoke or bathroom break whist the screen displayed dancing jujubees singing ‘Let’s go out to the lobby…’

This is Tiger’s intermission. And it had to happen lest burnout took its toll. It seems odd to consider a torn ACL and fractured tibia a blessing, but I think they are in this instance. Tiger has an adorable one-year-old daughter, a new home to be built on Jupiter Island, a knockout wife that I would imagine does not see enough of him, and a sweet yacht that is just dying to be filled up with $5 a gallon diesel fuel for a few laps around Bermuda. Tiger does not seem the type to stop and smell the roses, but he has the toys, the family…and now the TIME to do just that.

When the calendar turns to 2009 and the only physical ailment Tiger has to deal with is scar tissue, look out. A rested, restless and hungry Tiger will be ready to pick up right where he left off – sans limp & painful grimace. Do not think for a second that his swing will be affected by the surgery – he will not allow it. But even if it somehow does, well, that will just be swing change number 4 (I believe) he will perform in a career that by the time it is done will obliterate every meaningful record.

He goes into his forced intermission with 14 and 65 – majors and wins. Twelve years from now, at age 44, look for those numbers to be doubled. And a career with 28 majors and 130 wins is not only not too shabby, it is downright obscenely inhuman.

Just the way Tiger likes it. Enjoy the intermission.

Baby With A Chainsaw

(Note: It was not my intent in creating this blog to have it serve as an overtly political forum. Having said that, I would be remiss if I didn't make at least one post on the subject of the American Tragedy that was the George W. Bush presidency. This will be my first and last post on this subject)

As the days wind down on the Bush presidency, I am fairly confident that there is not enough time for his administration to inflict any further damage to the Constitution, or to trump up perceived threats from a distant land to substantiate a preemptive strike in the name of national defense.

But hey, you never know.

I realize there’s not much of a future in Bush-Bashing. Anyway, the electorate gave a far stronger repudiation on November 4 than I could ever muster. And as an aside, I have to say that the election results extinguished what had been a long-festering resentment I have had as to the ability of Americans to elect competence. But that’s not the focus of this article.

Instead, it is – in the waning days if a disastrous presidency – a look back on what I thought was the most abject act of hubris that I thought that even Bush could not dare try. First, let’s get the obvious gaffes out of the way: A preemptive war against a perceived enemy that did not attack us, an erosion or outright removal of carefully-constructed civil liberties, an inexcusable dithering while an American city flooded, removal of regulatory firewalls that resulted in the largest financial meltdown since 1929…and the hits just kept coming.

But there was one act Bush committed that, to me, trumped all of those in terms of in-the-bubble cluelessness: The nomination of his personal attorney to the Supreme Court. Talk about bundling arrogance, contempt & idiocy into one nice neat little package. Think about that for a second. It can be debated that the most influential power that a president wields is nominating Supreme Court Justices. Much is made about policy decisions that a president makes whether militarily or economically in nature, but the true enduring impact a president has on the national landscape is shaping the makeup of the Supreme Court - it literally touches our lives for decades.

Thus the President’s choice has to be a sober, reflective, clearly-though-out decision. Usually a President has advisors report back with a list of candidates, & policy briefs on each one is provided, other judges & lawyers’ opinions are sought, the list is winnowed down & eventually a decision is arrived at.

Why do I get the impression that Bush's ‘search’ consisted of looking around in every corner of the West Wing, then hitting the com button on his phone & saying ‘Hey Harriett, wanna be on the Supreme Court?’ Does anyone truly understand the shallowness & contempt of this decision? My Gawd, it’s one thing to believe in a cause that turns out to blow up in your face (Iraq) or to be hamstrung by bureaucracy to the point of ineffectiveness (Katrina), but the true measure of someone’s intellect is the quality of their decisions when given ample time and counsel. Under this standard, Bush is a baby with a chainsaw - too immature to be given such powers, and too feeble to avoid disastrous results with it.

I am thrilled his days of using the Oval Office as his personal sandbox are almost over.

Red State/Blue State?

It sounds like the title of a Dr. Seuss book.

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It seems appropriate that our presidential election has been dummied down to the point of using primary colors to denote the complexities of our country’s collective electorate. We have fifty states, hundreds of urbanized areas, a few dozen religions, about a hundred nationalities represented (and all the blended permutations within), sexual preferences spanning the spectrum…not to mention geographic proclivities.

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So we categorize all of this into two colors. So what is lost in nuanced difference is made up for in simplicity. Hey, don’t want to confuse the gun and religion clinging crowd, eh?

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Yeah yeah…I get that the election was the choice between two individuals, or more specifically, the ideals of the parties they represent, so I guess the choice of between two entities should have two very bright shiny colors as representation.

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Is it me, or does anyone else resent this oversimplification? Wait, let me put it another way – is anyone else alarmed at our degenerating collective intelligence? Have we gotten to the point that the average American’s cranium can only grasp red or blue? Sadly, I think the answer to that question is yes.

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I can tell you this – Democrats & Republicans LOVE the current two-color system, since they are the occupants of those colors. It makes qualification to hold office brutally simple – be better than the other person. Thus, the strategy of winning office is equally simple – bash the other person. Repeatedly. Into oblivion. “He’s a Marxist” – “She can see Russia from her house”…

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Does not such a diverse electorate deserve better?

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What I want to see is more colors. I want Yellow states. Green states. A nice shade of Ecru perhaps. I want more choices. A viable third party? How about a viable fourth, fifth & sixth party? How about a political structure more representative of us than this guy or that guy?

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Beyond having more choices, I’ll tell you what having, say, six parties will do. It will stop the negative bashing. When you only have opponent, ‘don’t vote for him’ is a viable strategy. When you have FIVE opponents, such a strategy is impracticable & politically suicidal.

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The ultimate irony of the most diverse, melting-pot society in the world is that we are only given two people to choose from. My God, the McDonald’s Dollar Menu gives me more choices. And choosing the next leader of the free world is a bit more important than Double Cheeseburger versus McChicken.

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Well, at least to me it is. Check your own moral compass for the answer that best fits.

Hurts So Good

Don't worry, I am not going to take you on another trip down nostalgia lane by invoking long-lost cheesy rock songs. Polls show that I went over the head of 87 percent of my audience with the Aldo Nova reference a few weeks back.

But you are now humming that John Cougar (after he was & before he became again Mellencamp) aren't ya? "C'mon Baby, Make It Hurt So Good..."

All right All right...I'll get to the point. In the NFL, injuries happen. And I realize that every franchise that drafted Tom Brady has now nominated that for the Most Inane Comment Of The Year.

But my point is, for every Tom Brady that goes down, a Matt Cassel emerges. This is what makes fantasy football such a hair-pulling exercise in vice avoidance...and waiver wire scouring. We are now heading into Week 11 of the NFL season & names like BenJarvis Green-Ellis, Tyler Thigpen and Ryan Torain are cascading off the lips of snake-bitten fantasy owners everywhere. Heck, these guys may even be the players that make the difference in making the playoffs for some fantasy teams.

Tune in this week to FANTASY FOCUS this Thursday, November 13th on Prime Sports Network. Our guest co-host this week is Paul "Crimson Tide" Bogin, a veteran of over 15 years of the fantasy football wars...with the scars to provde it & we're gonna talk about these unsung heroes & how they are reviving the snuffed dreams of fantasy team owners across the globe.

Join us at 6pm! Just go to the Prime Sports Network website -

www.primesportsnetwork.com

and click on the Listen Live link. Call in with your fantasy football questions, concerns & dilemmas. Hum a little 'Jack and Diane' and we'll give you bonus points.

- Jerry "Rozelle" Bryan