If anyone is hanging on my every word (I jest), like that great beer commercial ("even the prepositions..."), they've been disappointed in my inability to post anything, except in bursts. There are a number of reasons for this, all of them bad and flimsy. The truth is, those years of facing a deadline have made me a wimp.Or, would you believe, I've been sneezing for the past month?
Every once in while, I have an epiphany, usually when I'm soaking my aching bones. One occurred a week ago, when I was not in the hot tub, but attending a staff training day for the High Plains Library District here in Greeley. We had informative speakers, at least of couple of them on the new ebook craze that is sure to affect libraries. There seem to be more than a few experts who see the ultimate demise of the library in this new ability to download entire armies of books onto small handheld devices that are similar to my Zune music MP3. Seemingly, this is an upgrade over books ...
I'm not sure that is the case, but then again, you're hearing this from a person who was pretty late getting started on a computer, and who only has a cell phone because his wife forced him to. Some of these devices are pretty worthless in my hands; even a small child could give me lessons. Yes, I have been dragged kicking and screaming into the future, or present.
My daughter is a student in journalism at the University of Minnesota and she has asked me if I would come to her class sometime to speak to students. This is a harrowing idea for someone with a fear of public speaking, but if I did, I would stress to these students that all the technology in the world won't write your stories for you. They are only aids. It still takes a notebook and pen to do your job. Even a tape recorder, while it can ensure quality quotes, takes time to transcribe (or has something else been invented?). Students in journalism should, along with their other classes, take one in shorthand!!
The staff training day always gives me a start when young whippersnappers stand in front of the group and work the crowd with techno-speak that goes WAAAY over my head. I guess this why us 50- or 60-somethings are fading out. We've had our day. When did I get so old?
CONNECTING WITH OLD FRIENDS
I got on the horn in the past two weeks and decided I would make contact with some old friends. I called an old college buddy in Huron, S.D. and we chatted for more than an hour. Then this week, an old friend called me out of the blue and we wound up making plans for him to visit in August to see a Rockies baseball series.
It's exciting to make contact with old friends. Yes, we all have moved on and are living lives with our families and watching children or grandchildren grow. But to connect with old friends is special, and certainly brings up old memories.
Fodegraphing
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Friday, January 14, 2011
This is what a news media is for???
Folks, I don't know about you, but I can barely look at a purported newscast or pick up a newspaper these days without gagging. Maybe it's my age. Maybe I'm a frustrated old curmudgeon who doesn't like "progress."
I'm certainly glad that my daughter and others like her are in journalism school (and hopefully learning it the right way). I could drone on about "advocacy journalism" all day, but there is nothing like seeing it in action! Just turn on your tv or pick up a newspaper. Actually, I should qualify my remark by saying that TELEVISION is far and away the most blood-boiling of all news sources. Several stations are filled with people almost literally going hand-to-hand in their advocacy, calling people names and generalizing all over the place. Not only are they often wrong, but they rarely admit their mistakes, such is their desire to "change the world."
It's embarrassing.
Here I go again. In my more-than-30-year career, I had mentors like Prof. Walt Brovald at the University of Minnesota and Master Sergeant Perez, my instructor at Defense Information School in the U.S. Army. They taught my the only way --- and the best way --- to conduct journalism as a career. It's no secret; it's called being objective and fair. I'm sure I failed here and there, but nothing like the direct opinion journalism that is practiced in many newsrooms. Hence, the death of the media is at hand.
But my daughter's generation will try to stop the bleeding to return this wonderful profession to its deserved standing. I believe they can do it, with the outstanding professors that she and others have at the University of Minnesota. People voting with their feet are the proof: people want the facts, ma'am, and only the facts, from the 25-cent newspaper they get every day (or is it 50 cents?). If they don't trust the news, they won't buy the newspaper.
I realize the newspaper in each and every community in America tends to be run down by the populous. That's the way it goes, it seems. But you just keep plugging to earn the respect of the people, and if you handle tough jobs well, you eventually win them over. But not by being less than objective about the news that affects the folks. It's not that difficult. You see the news, you report it. If you want to opine, get a job on the editorial page.
Every day, it seems, the national media is challenged to fairly report the news. It's become a sad little affair that reveals itself everytime news is made, such as the tragic shooting in Tucson. The collective unprofessionalism has become sort of staggering to old-timers like me who learned only one way to publish a newspaper. It's up to the youth of today to correct what has become a national tragedy in itself.
I'm certainly glad that my daughter and others like her are in journalism school (and hopefully learning it the right way). I could drone on about "advocacy journalism" all day, but there is nothing like seeing it in action! Just turn on your tv or pick up a newspaper. Actually, I should qualify my remark by saying that TELEVISION is far and away the most blood-boiling of all news sources. Several stations are filled with people almost literally going hand-to-hand in their advocacy, calling people names and generalizing all over the place. Not only are they often wrong, but they rarely admit their mistakes, such is their desire to "change the world."
It's embarrassing.
Here I go again. In my more-than-30-year career, I had mentors like Prof. Walt Brovald at the University of Minnesota and Master Sergeant Perez, my instructor at Defense Information School in the U.S. Army. They taught my the only way --- and the best way --- to conduct journalism as a career. It's no secret; it's called being objective and fair. I'm sure I failed here and there, but nothing like the direct opinion journalism that is practiced in many newsrooms. Hence, the death of the media is at hand.
But my daughter's generation will try to stop the bleeding to return this wonderful profession to its deserved standing. I believe they can do it, with the outstanding professors that she and others have at the University of Minnesota. People voting with their feet are the proof: people want the facts, ma'am, and only the facts, from the 25-cent newspaper they get every day (or is it 50 cents?). If they don't trust the news, they won't buy the newspaper.
I realize the newspaper in each and every community in America tends to be run down by the populous. That's the way it goes, it seems. But you just keep plugging to earn the respect of the people, and if you handle tough jobs well, you eventually win them over. But not by being less than objective about the news that affects the folks. It's not that difficult. You see the news, you report it. If you want to opine, get a job on the editorial page.
Every day, it seems, the national media is challenged to fairly report the news. It's become a sad little affair that reveals itself everytime news is made, such as the tragic shooting in Tucson. The collective unprofessionalism has become sort of staggering to old-timers like me who learned only one way to publish a newspaper. It's up to the youth of today to correct what has become a national tragedy in itself.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Mom and dad --- you deserved better
It's been a year since my family gathered in Huron for my mom's funeral. Needless to say, it was a tough day, and it's been a tough year. Since everyone seems to think I take after mom, they would naturally feel I have taken it hardest.
Time does dull the wounds, but it never really takes them away. It's sort of a bad collection of memories to go with the good ones. In my 58 years, I have accomplished many things, but one thing I never thought I would successfully deal with would be the death of loves ones like parents, grandparents, mothers, nephews, uncles and aunts. I dwell on these things more than most, and it doesn't help that I tend to cry at a good card trick! In other words, I'm a pretty soft touch.
I think it can safely say that for the most part I drove my parents crazy. My three siblings didn't --- at least to my knowledge --- take the chances that I did, nor did they give them as many challenges. I wasn't much of a partier in high school, but my mom pretty much had these words on her lips for the past 30 years: "You made up for lost time." She may have been referring specifically to a party I threw for my baseball-playing friends in the summer of 1970, after we had graduated. One of my friends, while carrying a beer from upstairs to downstairs, tumbled down the stairs --- and didn't spill a drop of beer on my mother's new carpet. But despite the whirlwind job of cleaning the house that we did, I was busted when mom found a full beer can under the couch, of all places.
Dad's favorite quote to me seemed to be, to my memory: "What the heck were you thinking?" He would then take a deep breath and head for the garage, where he went when we wanted to be alone. (In later years, when he decided to start the barbecue grill in the basement and nearly asphixiated everyone, I got my revenge: "Dad ... what were you thinking?") I am quite sure he never said, "What were you thinking" to anyone else but me. He had been raised as a tough German and just wasn't used to running into someone as idiotic as I could be. I would sometimes remind him that at least I wore my four-buckle overshoes through high school, when my older brother refused. Largely, however, I was the one who pushed. I was the one who broke into the wine while I was in junior high and couldn't figure out why I was so sick. I bought too many clothes, joined the Columbia Record Club when I was still in junior high --- forcing him to send the records back --- and pulled for the Yankees. I listened to some really weird music to him and tucked in my sweaters. When I bought those colored bell-bottoms, he just about lost it.
Mom seemed to be nowhere to be found when dad was trying to figure me out. I do remember her walking away from me counting to 10, for some reason.
I wouldn't be surprised if my younger brother and sister didn't have to answer for me as they made their less tumultuous way through school. I can just hear their teachers, "Ah yes, I remember HIM well." Until then, our name was held in high regard in the community. Then I came along and my siblings had to restore the good name. My parents were probably sitting up at night, wondering what life was going to be like once I had left home. That finally happened in the early 1970s, when I went away to the Army. But when I was smashed up in an accident in 1974, it was my parents who pulled me through. Dad even built a special bed for me to stay on during my recuperation for a broken neck, and I think the event changed all of us. I still had a lot of growing up to do, but mom and dad showed that, despite all my issues and mistakes, they would still be there to help, and that I had a place to stay. Through the pain I suffered then and now, I believe the pain they suffered --- not knowing whether I would survive or not for several hours --- was much worse.
I miss them. Our growing up days were filled with fun (in addition to my missteps). My siblings and I still chuckle about our next-door neighbor, who was known to throw rocks at us and swear at us under his breath as he scampered from his house to his garage. A bit of a wingnut before wingnuts were invented! We took some eventful trips, and especially had great holiday get-togethers. We had fun. Mom's last few years were filled with pain and sorrow, as she battled cancer. It has been very different not having her there to call, or to talk to. But life seems to be about transitions. It has taken me a long time to figure that out.
Time does dull the wounds, but it never really takes them away. It's sort of a bad collection of memories to go with the good ones. In my 58 years, I have accomplished many things, but one thing I never thought I would successfully deal with would be the death of loves ones like parents, grandparents, mothers, nephews, uncles and aunts. I dwell on these things more than most, and it doesn't help that I tend to cry at a good card trick! In other words, I'm a pretty soft touch.
I think it can safely say that for the most part I drove my parents crazy. My three siblings didn't --- at least to my knowledge --- take the chances that I did, nor did they give them as many challenges. I wasn't much of a partier in high school, but my mom pretty much had these words on her lips for the past 30 years: "You made up for lost time." She may have been referring specifically to a party I threw for my baseball-playing friends in the summer of 1970, after we had graduated. One of my friends, while carrying a beer from upstairs to downstairs, tumbled down the stairs --- and didn't spill a drop of beer on my mother's new carpet. But despite the whirlwind job of cleaning the house that we did, I was busted when mom found a full beer can under the couch, of all places.
Dad's favorite quote to me seemed to be, to my memory: "What the heck were you thinking?" He would then take a deep breath and head for the garage, where he went when we wanted to be alone. (In later years, when he decided to start the barbecue grill in the basement and nearly asphixiated everyone, I got my revenge: "Dad ... what were you thinking?") I am quite sure he never said, "What were you thinking" to anyone else but me. He had been raised as a tough German and just wasn't used to running into someone as idiotic as I could be. I would sometimes remind him that at least I wore my four-buckle overshoes through high school, when my older brother refused. Largely, however, I was the one who pushed. I was the one who broke into the wine while I was in junior high and couldn't figure out why I was so sick. I bought too many clothes, joined the Columbia Record Club when I was still in junior high --- forcing him to send the records back --- and pulled for the Yankees. I listened to some really weird music to him and tucked in my sweaters. When I bought those colored bell-bottoms, he just about lost it.
Mom seemed to be nowhere to be found when dad was trying to figure me out. I do remember her walking away from me counting to 10, for some reason.
I wouldn't be surprised if my younger brother and sister didn't have to answer for me as they made their less tumultuous way through school. I can just hear their teachers, "Ah yes, I remember HIM well." Until then, our name was held in high regard in the community. Then I came along and my siblings had to restore the good name. My parents were probably sitting up at night, wondering what life was going to be like once I had left home. That finally happened in the early 1970s, when I went away to the Army. But when I was smashed up in an accident in 1974, it was my parents who pulled me through. Dad even built a special bed for me to stay on during my recuperation for a broken neck, and I think the event changed all of us. I still had a lot of growing up to do, but mom and dad showed that, despite all my issues and mistakes, they would still be there to help, and that I had a place to stay. Through the pain I suffered then and now, I believe the pain they suffered --- not knowing whether I would survive or not for several hours --- was much worse.
I miss them. Our growing up days were filled with fun (in addition to my missteps). My siblings and I still chuckle about our next-door neighbor, who was known to throw rocks at us and swear at us under his breath as he scampered from his house to his garage. A bit of a wingnut before wingnuts were invented! We took some eventful trips, and especially had great holiday get-togethers. We had fun. Mom's last few years were filled with pain and sorrow, as she battled cancer. It has been very different not having her there to call, or to talk to. But life seems to be about transitions. It has taken me a long time to figure that out.
It's a Friday mish-mash!!
It's been a few days, but they have been tumultuous ones. For one thing, the people have spoken, in the Nov. 2 election. It's refreshing to know that people can recognize when the train has left the tracks, so to speak.
Unfortunately, only a part of that is the people in office. The news media continues to be a huge head-shaker, and I can only hope that the next generation of journalism will wrestle back integrity lost by the current group of pretenders. It's not an impossibility, but it will be an uphill climb. It will take a concerted effort to remove incompetent "reporters" and others who have done seemingly irreparable damage to the Fourth Estate, and who have lost the faith of perhaps, oh, 150 million readers or so. This will probably stand as the most "shoot myself in the foot" moment in history!!
Rescuing media is not the issue. Repairing the media is the issue. My wonderful daughter Tonya, who is a student at the University of Minnesota, called a few days ago to report that her journalism courses at the "U" are wonderful. I believe her, because I carefully mentored her on what to expect. If certain "catch phrases" or other biases were found, I told her, report them to me. But she lauds her professors, saying they are professional, aware of the bias (not alleged) issues that are ruining the journalism profession. It has to be an uphill battle for professors who undertake this mission, in the face of a populous which is turning away from "mainstream" reporting of any type. I give them credit and would like to talk with them sometime. In the meantime, I am hoping my daughter and others like her can be the wonderful flowers who will save us from the wretched work a few incompetents have perpetuated.
Okay, enough about that. I could go on all day.
Once that issue is corrected, the country must go to work to correct (and protect) its election process. No more ballots found in car trunks in Minnesota. No more allegations of improprieties anywhere, whether they be in small-town America or in Las Vegas. If this country loses faith in its election process, then we're really in trouble. Specifically, Minnesota must get it together!!! Isn't that Minnesota nice?
I have enjoyed getting involved in Facebook, something 58-year-olds like me never envisioned would happen. I have reconnected with a couple friends, like Anne in the Twin Cities. At this age, especially men don't cultivate friendships like they used to. We kind of shuffle around with our wives, mumbling once in awhile (I should probably speak for myself). But talking to someone you haven't seen in 35 years is pretty special and I have appreciated visiting with Anne every now and then. We have to understand that life changes a lot in 40 years and people have new interests. I should say I have struck out on several other attempts to contact old friends from college, high school or Army, leading me to believe that the old saying, "You can't go back" is true. Can I help it if I'm a nostalgic person? I like to remember those old times, like the time my mom and dad were tenting in the back yard on a hot summer night. Who should appear in the wee hours of this night than a few of my State Highway Department co-workers, who were busy spreading mustard on my old woodie station wagon when dad burst out of the tent, yelling at them. He raced down the alley after them in his underwear as they tore off in their car.
We --- my dad as well as my co-workers --- laughed about that for years.
We had some enjoyable experiences "flipping the loop" in Huron, S.D., where we grew up. On one rainy night, my friend Mike and I had just passed Zesto when my windshield wipers stuck. He used his fist to punch the inside of the windshield, hoping to jar the wipers loose. A few hours later, I had to explain how the windshield had been shattered. Mike wasn't along when Verdayne and I did our "loop-flipping" into the early morning hours on a snowy night (imagine the gas we wasted!!??). We finally ran out of gas in his "Blue Goose" and we had to walk at least a mile in freezing temperatures and snow. We made it to my house, where we ate warm soup and tried to figure out how to get the blood back into Verdayne's nose. I won't even go into the night we tore the car door off by accidentally hooking it on a telephone pole. "Hope your dad isn't too made," we all blurted out to Verdayne as we left him to explain to his father how THAT had happened.
Life was good. It has me chuckling all over again.
Unfortunately, only a part of that is the people in office. The news media continues to be a huge head-shaker, and I can only hope that the next generation of journalism will wrestle back integrity lost by the current group of pretenders. It's not an impossibility, but it will be an uphill climb. It will take a concerted effort to remove incompetent "reporters" and others who have done seemingly irreparable damage to the Fourth Estate, and who have lost the faith of perhaps, oh, 150 million readers or so. This will probably stand as the most "shoot myself in the foot" moment in history!!
Rescuing media is not the issue. Repairing the media is the issue. My wonderful daughter Tonya, who is a student at the University of Minnesota, called a few days ago to report that her journalism courses at the "U" are wonderful. I believe her, because I carefully mentored her on what to expect. If certain "catch phrases" or other biases were found, I told her, report them to me. But she lauds her professors, saying they are professional, aware of the bias (not alleged) issues that are ruining the journalism profession. It has to be an uphill battle for professors who undertake this mission, in the face of a populous which is turning away from "mainstream" reporting of any type. I give them credit and would like to talk with them sometime. In the meantime, I am hoping my daughter and others like her can be the wonderful flowers who will save us from the wretched work a few incompetents have perpetuated.
Okay, enough about that. I could go on all day.
Once that issue is corrected, the country must go to work to correct (and protect) its election process. No more ballots found in car trunks in Minnesota. No more allegations of improprieties anywhere, whether they be in small-town America or in Las Vegas. If this country loses faith in its election process, then we're really in trouble. Specifically, Minnesota must get it together!!! Isn't that Minnesota nice?
I have enjoyed getting involved in Facebook, something 58-year-olds like me never envisioned would happen. I have reconnected with a couple friends, like Anne in the Twin Cities. At this age, especially men don't cultivate friendships like they used to. We kind of shuffle around with our wives, mumbling once in awhile (I should probably speak for myself). But talking to someone you haven't seen in 35 years is pretty special and I have appreciated visiting with Anne every now and then. We have to understand that life changes a lot in 40 years and people have new interests. I should say I have struck out on several other attempts to contact old friends from college, high school or Army, leading me to believe that the old saying, "You can't go back" is true. Can I help it if I'm a nostalgic person? I like to remember those old times, like the time my mom and dad were tenting in the back yard on a hot summer night. Who should appear in the wee hours of this night than a few of my State Highway Department co-workers, who were busy spreading mustard on my old woodie station wagon when dad burst out of the tent, yelling at them. He raced down the alley after them in his underwear as they tore off in their car.
We --- my dad as well as my co-workers --- laughed about that for years.
We had some enjoyable experiences "flipping the loop" in Huron, S.D., where we grew up. On one rainy night, my friend Mike and I had just passed Zesto when my windshield wipers stuck. He used his fist to punch the inside of the windshield, hoping to jar the wipers loose. A few hours later, I had to explain how the windshield had been shattered. Mike wasn't along when Verdayne and I did our "loop-flipping" into the early morning hours on a snowy night (imagine the gas we wasted!!??). We finally ran out of gas in his "Blue Goose" and we had to walk at least a mile in freezing temperatures and snow. We made it to my house, where we ate warm soup and tried to figure out how to get the blood back into Verdayne's nose. I won't even go into the night we tore the car door off by accidentally hooking it on a telephone pole. "Hope your dad isn't too made," we all blurted out to Verdayne as we left him to explain to his father how THAT had happened.
Life was good. It has me chuckling all over again.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
The World Series and so much more
Well, so much for Cliff Lee being invincible. As I watched in amazement, the San Francisco Giants did something no one else in history could do Wednesday night --- they defeated Lee in a game after the season ended (I hate the overused "post-season.") If one game means anything, the Giants can be expected to be pesky, especially if Freddy Sanchez continues to be Ty Cobb.
While the World Series is an overblown extravaganza, if is worth watching ... even with two non-marquee teams involved. In fact, it's kind of refreshing. Even if the Twins and Rockies aren't involved.
THERE ARE BIGGER THINGS, THOUGH
Like the mid-term elections. I did my early voting today and for the first time, used a computer to cast my ballot. The rural Minnesota precinct I used to call home used only paper ballots, and then used a machine to count the ballots. Many times, as I worked at "election headquarters" in my previous life as a news editor, there would be a monumental breakdown of the counting machine, inevitably making all of us sit in the courthouse until dawn's early light.
I was not a big fan of election night for that reason. I would get up bright and early on election day, cast my ballot, do my other work and then head for the "election headquarters" at about 9 to wait for the results to come in. If I was lucky, we had paginated most of the paper by then, leaving only a huge election article and charts and graphs to slap in the paper (with the up-to-date numbers, of course). But things never went as planned, despite the best efforts of the hard workers at the courthouse. Someone would always write in Mickey Mouse or George Jetson and, in addition, foul up their ballot by voting for two or three governor candidates to boot. That left the counting machine cranky and smoking, and the mainly-volunteers at the courthouse would go into trouble-shooting mode while I ate cookies, smoozed with other reporters or watched TV. I would phone in results as they arrived to the Associated Press, which would also get cranky when the results weren't timely. There were many elections when, after leaving my house at 6 a.m. to get to work, I didn't arrive home until 6 or 7 a.m. the next day. That's a schedule for young folks only.
I have to again heap kudos on the election crew. While people are watching television at home on election night, there is a beehive of activity with people counting votes. The number of voters must match the actual number of votes cast, hence the wrench in the works once in awhile. I was impressed with my experience here in Colorado Thursday. I went through several stations prior to processing my ballot. Many election judges were there to ensure that I had proper ID, that I had registered and that I knew how to operate the voting machine.
It was mighty nice to cast my ballot Thursday and not have to worry about dissecting the results on election night. I am mighty tired of "robocalls" from candidates, and the incessant, disgusting arguing on television. I have become good at avoiding these discussions, which for the most part, are an insult to Americans everywhere. As I've said before, when did it become so common to treat people with such disrespect? Perhaps this election will help to clear some of this muck away
While the World Series is an overblown extravaganza, if is worth watching ... even with two non-marquee teams involved. In fact, it's kind of refreshing. Even if the Twins and Rockies aren't involved.
THERE ARE BIGGER THINGS, THOUGH
Like the mid-term elections. I did my early voting today and for the first time, used a computer to cast my ballot. The rural Minnesota precinct I used to call home used only paper ballots, and then used a machine to count the ballots. Many times, as I worked at "election headquarters" in my previous life as a news editor, there would be a monumental breakdown of the counting machine, inevitably making all of us sit in the courthouse until dawn's early light.
I was not a big fan of election night for that reason. I would get up bright and early on election day, cast my ballot, do my other work and then head for the "election headquarters" at about 9 to wait for the results to come in. If I was lucky, we had paginated most of the paper by then, leaving only a huge election article and charts and graphs to slap in the paper (with the up-to-date numbers, of course). But things never went as planned, despite the best efforts of the hard workers at the courthouse. Someone would always write in Mickey Mouse or George Jetson and, in addition, foul up their ballot by voting for two or three governor candidates to boot. That left the counting machine cranky and smoking, and the mainly-volunteers at the courthouse would go into trouble-shooting mode while I ate cookies, smoozed with other reporters or watched TV. I would phone in results as they arrived to the Associated Press, which would also get cranky when the results weren't timely. There were many elections when, after leaving my house at 6 a.m. to get to work, I didn't arrive home until 6 or 7 a.m. the next day. That's a schedule for young folks only.
I have to again heap kudos on the election crew. While people are watching television at home on election night, there is a beehive of activity with people counting votes. The number of voters must match the actual number of votes cast, hence the wrench in the works once in awhile. I was impressed with my experience here in Colorado Thursday. I went through several stations prior to processing my ballot. Many election judges were there to ensure that I had proper ID, that I had registered and that I knew how to operate the voting machine.
It was mighty nice to cast my ballot Thursday and not have to worry about dissecting the results on election night. I am mighty tired of "robocalls" from candidates, and the incessant, disgusting arguing on television. I have become good at avoiding these discussions, which for the most part, are an insult to Americans everywhere. As I've said before, when did it become so common to treat people with such disrespect? Perhaps this election will help to clear some of this muck away
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
We'll see who has the last word
I love the story in the New York tabloids today about Texas pitcher Cliff Lee, or rather, about his wife, Kristen Lee. It seems New York's unruly Yankee fans were rude to Kristen when Cliff pitched against their team earlier this month, allegedly splashing her with beer and insults, among other things.
Why is this a story? Because Cliff Lee, as the best pitcher in the game right now, is in the Yankees' sights as a free agent acquisition. And with good reason. Every time Lee takes the mound against the Yankees, the "Bombers" are helpless against him. It should be noted that he's lights-out against every other team as well.
The funniest part of the story for me is that Lee's agent insists that Kristen's comments will not stand in the way of Lee possibly becoming a Yankee.
Right. I believe Cliff's wife's opinion will make a huge difference in where he plays in the future. Her opinion is certainly worth a lot more than his agent's. Money may not talk in this instance.
I also got a huge kick out of the fact that 38-year-old Todd Bouman, a Minnesota resident, was signed on by Jacksonville to play quarterback after its top two QBs were knocked out of a game, leaving the Jaguars without a veteran in this key position. Enter Bouman, who was in Pipestone, Minn., helping his brother Troy coach the Pipestone Area Arrow football team. He took what was probably a surprising phone call from his former coach Jack Del Rio, and within hours, was in Jacksonville. On Sunday, Bouman was leading the Jags to a first-half lead against Kansas City --- after not playing in an NFL game in a few years.
How many other athletes could have done the same thing? Not many. While Brett Favre has always been the darling of the media's eye, perhaps Todd Bouman should be the poster-guy for professionalism. It couldn't happen to a nicer guy from a nicer family.
Why is this a story? Because Cliff Lee, as the best pitcher in the game right now, is in the Yankees' sights as a free agent acquisition. And with good reason. Every time Lee takes the mound against the Yankees, the "Bombers" are helpless against him. It should be noted that he's lights-out against every other team as well.
The funniest part of the story for me is that Lee's agent insists that Kristen's comments will not stand in the way of Lee possibly becoming a Yankee.
Right. I believe Cliff's wife's opinion will make a huge difference in where he plays in the future. Her opinion is certainly worth a lot more than his agent's. Money may not talk in this instance.
I also got a huge kick out of the fact that 38-year-old Todd Bouman, a Minnesota resident, was signed on by Jacksonville to play quarterback after its top two QBs were knocked out of a game, leaving the Jaguars without a veteran in this key position. Enter Bouman, who was in Pipestone, Minn., helping his brother Troy coach the Pipestone Area Arrow football team. He took what was probably a surprising phone call from his former coach Jack Del Rio, and within hours, was in Jacksonville. On Sunday, Bouman was leading the Jags to a first-half lead against Kansas City --- after not playing in an NFL game in a few years.
How many other athletes could have done the same thing? Not many. While Brett Favre has always been the darling of the media's eye, perhaps Todd Bouman should be the poster-guy for professionalism. It couldn't happen to a nicer guy from a nicer family.
Monday, October 25, 2010
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