Trav's Thoughts

Beckeye at The Pop Eye got me for this one.

A. Available or Single: I'm single, but not available, deeply committed to My Lady.

B. Best Friend: My Lady and M&K.

C. Cake or Pie: CAKE, CAKE, a CAKE fiend am I.

D. Drink of Choice: Diet Pepsi.

E. Essential Item: Ipod filled with tons of tuneage.

F. Favourite Colour: Black.

G. Gummi Bears or Worms: GACK! No gummy type stuff for me.

H. Hometown: I really have no hometown. There's the place I grew up as a kid, and then there's the place I spent my youth and early adulthood. But a hometown should have an emotional connection. And I have none to the places I grew up. So my hometown is where I currently reside because this is the place where My Lady and I met and are making our life together.

I. Indulgence: Did I tell you how much I love CAKE?

J. January or February: I'll say January, only because February is such a tough month for me at work because of our wonky fiscal calendar. Neither month is my favorite, especially after this year because of the trouble I had with severe pain.

K. Kids: Not only NO but HELL NO! Let me explain here...I like kids. I just never wanted any of my own. Luckily for me I've met a woman who shares this attitude. I have tremendous respect for those who choose to raise kids, but it's never been in me to do it. I prefer the freedom to pick up and go. Call me selfish, but if My Lady says she's off to Rome for business and would I like to join her...well I call the job and get the time off and we go get on the plane!

L. Life is incomplete without: Emotion (You thought I was going to say My Lady again. Well you're right, because she brings out so much emotion in me that I've ignored in the past.)

M. Marriage Date: See K. This marriage thing is not for us, and I don't think that lessens our relationship in the slightest.

N. Number of Siblings: Just one, a younger sister.

O. Oranges or Apples: I like both, but in a pinch it would have to be apples because I don't have to stop what I'm doing to eat one.

P. Phobias/Fears: I'm a little nervous about heights. I have an aversion to spiders. And I have an irrational fear of rodents and reptiles.

R. Reasons to smile: Anytime I'm thinking about My Lady.

S. Season: Summer in the pacific northwest - it's not too hot and I'm rarely impacted by my chronic pain.

T. Tag 3 People: I tagged folks for the Janna meme, so if you want to do this one then consider yourself tagged.

U. Unknown Fact About Me: I've dislocated both shoulders, had both knees destroyed, sprained both ankles, and had fingers mangled...but I've never broken a bone.

V. Vegetable You Hate: Peas. GACK!

W. Worst Habit: Swearing at traffic.

X. X-rays You've Had: Knees, hips, ankles, chest, full body CT scan.

Y. Your Favourite Foods: Mashed potatoes, CAKE, tuna casserole.

Z. Zodiac: Aries.

Today I celebrate 2000 visitors to my place. I went looking for some special treats.

Stevie and Stevie


Chuck Berry, Eric Clapton, and Johnnie Johnson


Carlos Santana and Buddy Guy


Jeff Beck and BB King


Thanks for stopping by!!

I just saw some fantastic news for Taylor Hicks fans - such as ME!!

Taylor's fist single off his self-titled CD, Just To Feel That Way, has reached #20 on Billboard's Hot Adult Contemporary chart. Wooooooooooooooooo!!

Click here to go to the chart and purchase the CD.

Congratulations Taylor!!

Janna of One More Raindrop in a Bloggy Ocean has tagged me for a new meme. And since I'm fairly certain that she could track me down and murder me, I will comply.

Just kidding about the murder part...I think. **insert nervous laugh here**

Here goes:

LIST FOUR SENTENCES YOU'VE NEVER SAID BEFORE:
1. Will you marry me?
2. I don't wanna watch the football game and you can't make me!
3. Sex is boring.
4. I completely understand the novels of James Joyce.

LIST ANY NUMBER OF SONG TITLES THAT DESCRIBE HOW YOU'VE FELT THIS WEEK:
1. The Right Place, Taylor Hicks
2. I Honestly Love You, Olivia Newton-John
3. On Being Sick, words by William H. Gardner, music by Robert Coverly, adapted by Terry Kluytmans

IMAGINE YOU'RE HAVING THE IDEAL PERFECT DAY. WHAT FOUR THINGS WOULD YOU BE DOING?
1. It begins with my lady in a 1956 TBird, cruising mountain roads with the top down
2. We're listening to great jams
3. We stop at a quaint bed and breakfast and feast on CAKE
4. The day ends as we make passionate love with moonlight streaming in through the windows

MAKE UP FIVE CREATIVE NAMES FOR A NEW ROCK BAND:
1. Too Damn Loud
2. Accoustical Ceiling Tiles
3. Snuggle Bunnies
4. Felonius Munks
5. Creamy Nugget

CONGRATULATIONS! YOU GET TO GO BACK IN TIME AND ENSURE THAT THREE SONGS WERE NEVER WRITTEN, THUS SPARING HUMANITY FROM EVER HAVING TO HEAR THEM. WHAT THREE SONGS WOULD GET THE AXE?
1. Bette Davis Eyes, Kim Carnes
2. Ice Ice Baby, Vanilla Ice
3. Rico Suave, Gerardo

According to Janna's rules, I don't have to tag anyone. But this is too wacky not to share. So I tag:

Bond at The Couch, because his wit and wisdom will be a credit to the meme.
Anndi, because The Luggage understands the art of a wacky meme created for the purpose of spreading the silly.
Matt-Man at Bagwine Ruminations, because if he chooses to participate his answers will be hilarious.
Julie at Jewels and Junque, because she's been working hard and needs some fun!
Mary at Mary's Flybys, because I never tagged Mary before.

Have fun!!

Quick Dancing note - Paulina and Alec are the first to go. Next week's dances are Jive and Tango. Wooooooooooooooooooo!!

And now, a Musical tag...and no ranting this time for me!!

First, let me say I'm enjoying this particular meme as it makes its rounds. Such diverse musical tastes we all have.

As Tagger Morgen suggests, I am a music lover! Ironically, I'm not musical. I don't play any instruments, although I am a maestro when it comes to the virtual harmoncia. Just ask any Soul Patrol ladies, they'll tell ya. Imagination is a wonderful thing.

But I never learned to play a real instrument. I was busy with athletics, and for me it didn't leave any time to get involved in band. If I'm going to do something, I'm going to focus on it and practice until I do it well. And for me, that was football. I don't regret the choice, but I do sometimes wish I'd taken the time to study music.

Still, that focus on football never prevented me from developing a love of music. My mom is responsible for this. She always had music playing. I grew up on jazz, old style country and western, 1940's big band swing, 1950's rock and roll, 1960's Motown, even crooners and show tunes. You name it, my mom had a record of it. We sang, we danced, we laughed.

So my musical tastes are diverse.

I'm just going to hit the random button on my Ipod and see what plays out of the 4953 songs in my catalog.

1. He Ain't Heavy He's My Brother, The Hollies
2. Roll Me Away, Bob Seger
3. Back in Black, AC/DC
4. Words of Love, The Mamas & The Papas
5. One Way Out, The Allman Brothers
6. Beyond the Sea, Bobby Darin
7. Sing A Song, Earth Wind & Fire

That's my seven. Just a random stroll through my Ipod and part of my life soundtrack.

I wasn't going to post any video (dang audio codes anyway), but I found this one and it's just too good not to share.

YAY! Finished my Manic Monday rounds just in time.

It’s 20:00 on Monday night…Dancing time!!

I introduced the celebrities and their professional partners last week, so here’s the link if you need a refresher.

Dancing With the Stars Week 1

Tonight, the fellas dance Quickstep,


...while the ladies dance Mambo.


Apolo and Julianne: Now she did a wise thing with this Quickstep by incorporating slide elements from speed skating right off the top. That got Apolo comfortable with it. The steps were quick and they had all the elements of a proper Quickstep. Some of the choreography was a little rough, but overall it was a really good dance. Judges say 8,9,9 for a total of 26 and highest of the season so far. Combined with last week's score = 47.

Shandi and Brian: She still looks very awkward and he went for some very difficult choreography. Not wise - she's not ready for it. He should have tried something a little simpler that she could do. She was so focused on trying to do those hard steps that she forgot the most important thing in Mambo - sexy hip swivels!!!!! Judges say 6,7,7 for a total of 20. Combined with last week's score = 39.

Clyde and Elena: His footwork was fantastic and he really did the best he could with his frame. But I know something of bad shoulders - there's no way he's going to have a proper frame. He definitely enjoyed it more than last week, but it really wasn't very good in terms of a ballroom dance. Better than last week and the crowed was in his corner. I applaud his effort. Judges say 6's across for a total of 18. Combined with last week's score = 34.

Leeza and Tony: It was a little slow and she was less wooden, but she didn't have as much hip action as she needed. She seemed to enjoy it more and she danced much better than last week. Tony kept the choreography simple and matched to her ability, and correct for Mambo. Judges say 7's across for a total of 21. Combined with last week's score = 36.

Ian and Cheryl: His frame is fantastic to start and he's a great partner. He's leading her through the dance and that doesn't usually happen with the celebrity men this early. He's really good. As the dance went on, he lost some frame and glide, but as he progresses with Cheryl he can definitely challenge. Judges say 7,8,7 for a total of 22. Combined with last week's score = 43.

Paulina and Alec: Dang! She's so tall! Oh, I said that last week. She did nothing with hips and the dance was not sexy. She did dance the steps and Alec had all the Mambo elements. It wasn't horrible, but she's so tall and elegant. I think ballroom suits her better. Judges say 7's across for a total of 21. Combined with last week's score = 40.

Hey - Dionne Warwick performs on the results show. And you'll see some fantastic professional dancing. Results begin at 8pm Tuesday with recaps of all the dancing from last week and this week. Eliminations begin at 9pm.

Billy Ray and Karina: You know what? That wasn't horrible. He had the steps and he actually danced. She had to remind him a couple of times what came next, but it wasn't the worst thing I've ever seen. Gotta give him credit. Judges say 7's across for a total of 21. Combined with last week's score = 34.

Heather and Jonathan: Her posture through the whole thing was poor, but she danced it really well. Jonathan had some really tough choreography and she nailed all the steps. Judges say 8's across for a total of 24. Combined with last week's score = 42.

John and Edyta: He had some trouble with frame during the runs, but he was able to get most of the steps. It wasn't as fast as it needed to be, but Edyta controlled the tempo of the dance really well. He performed it extremely well, which over-shadowed some of the difficulty. Judges say 7's across for a total of 21. Combined with last week's score = 38.

Laila and Maks: THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP. And she can dance too. Oh my word. Sexy, sultry, hip action that will put you on the floor. She's this season's Emmitt - this Mambo was outstanding. Judges say 9's across for a total of 27, best score of the night and deservedly so. Combined with last week's score = 50.

Joey and Kym: He's a ham. Very quick feet and outstanding performance. They work very well together. The choreography was difficult and fun and they hit on every step. Very strong, and his ability to perform and entertain makes this pair a strong contender. He is also another of the male celebrities that is leading his partner through the dance as he should. Judges say 8's across for a total of 24. Combined with last week's score = 48.

As it was with the last season, the guys are the better overall dancers right now. But unlike last season, a lady is the best of them all so far.

It's Manic Monday time! The word is Spring. Don't forget to visit Mo at It's A Blog Eat Blog World.

Spring has sprung
The grass has ris
I wonder where
The birdies is
...Bulwinkle J. Moose

No, that's not my Spring post. But I couldn't let the chance go by to quote Mr. Bulwinkle.

My MM offering is a poem I wrote many years ago.


As I Walked

As I walked I saw a bird and grew very still
A splendid white dove come to share this quaint hill

I smiled to be touched by so gentle a taste of spring
Then quick as a sigh the dove spooked and took wing

My heart beat faster, bewitched by sudden flight
Overwhelmed and slightly daunted but punctured by insight

How fleeting and precious can be the joys of love and faith
Marred and cast aside by an admirer's softly exhaled breath

I walked further, found a stone and rolled it
I paced its circular journey until it bounced against a mate

Seeing the first aside the new, my thoughts again grew bright
One stoned added to another, row upon row, can bridge the night

I continued my stroll, attentive but casually so
Aware of the boundless beauty captivating my very soul

Serene and content amidst fresh life in musical silence
A young heart beat loudly, inviting all to rejoice in dance

Soon flowers did I see drinking life from a crystal pool
And I stretched down among them, engulfed by brilliant hues

Sweet wild flowers, poppies and jasmine, tossed by fickle breeze
So pleasant I forgot in my joy that spring blossoms make me sneeze

Simple rain as I walked to ease frantic senses
Brief showers and welcome, soft and full of fragrances

I paused to rest beneath a stately oak, contemplating the sky
Raindrops spattered on leaf and limb, trickling softly in my eye

Benign intelligence did I find as I walked
Not tempted toward chronic need for ponderous talk

Simple solitude the law enforced by nature's perfect reason
Balanced in daily wonder of Mother's ever nurturing seasons

Tickets are punched for next weekend's Final 4 in Atlanta.

Florida meets UCLA in a rematch of last year's championship game in one national semifinal. In the other game, Georgetown meets Ohio State in an intriguing match up of quality centers.

The potential is there for a repeat of the NCAA Football championship game between Florida and OSU. And Florida can become one of the few schools to claim national titles in both football and basketball in the same school year.

My bracket is completely busted. I did pick OSU to go to the Final 4, but I had Kansas winning the championship. Oh well - I never get this right.

Saturday is usually the day when I add to my links. But yesterday I ranted a little bit.

So today I want to link up with three blogs that illustrate my point. None of the three is an information spreading blog, although you will find informative and thought-provoking posts. Each blogger, in her own unique way, stimulates me to think, laugh, ponder, and feel.

If these ladies are not already on your list of reads, then take a few moments to cruise by and check them out.

Mags over at Ms Maggie Moo Talks 2 U has a talent for making your mouth water with her descriptions of her culinary exploits. She is a successful caterer and award winning chef, making her way through life as best she can.

Tammie Jean expertly takes her readers on Long Drives to Nowhere, exploring poignant and sometimes troubling childhood memories. She is an extraordinary writer.

Alice of I Was Born2cree8 raises chinchillas! She's also a poet and photographer, with a subtle wit and a sublime writing style.

These are three more blogs I try to visit daily.

WARNING: This post evolved into a bit of a rant.

Terra Shield at The Secret Back Up Blog says that my blog is one of five that makes her think. I'm truly honored.

Along with that designation comes The Thinking Meme. I've seen this interesting meme making the rounds at some blogs I visit.

So now I'm supposed to follow the rules, the first of which is to post the rules:

1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think.
2.Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme
The Thinking Blogger Award.
3. Optional rule is to display the 'Thinking Blogger Award', which you can get by checking out the link in rule #2.

I went back and read the original post, just to get an idea what this is all about. The first thing I noticed was that this blogger is blogging for a reason completely different than the reason I started blogging. Another thing I noticed is that the blogger requests donations. That's fine, but it's not why I blog.

The next thing I noticed was what I hoped was an unintentional insult to folks who blog because they choose to share their thoughts, or their writings, or their photography, or their funny stories, or their musical likes, or their forays into dating, or their adventures in child raising. There seems to be a dig at memes in general, and a suggestion that memes somehow are not "worthy" blog topics.

Then there was this quote, "Please, remember to tag blogs with real merits, i.e. relative content, and above all - blogs that really get you thinking!" OK. But then there was this quote from the meme originator in the comments section, "I hope this meme will encourage, even if a tiny little bit, for better content among other blogs."

"Better content"? I beg your pardon?

Got some news for you - there's nothing wrong with the content of my blog. It suits me, and it's full of things I felt like posting when I posted them. If I want to post three days worth of videos from groups that recorded 30-40 years ago, well then I damn well will! And if I want to write a treatise on what I think is wrong with the government, then I'll do that too. And if I want to post a string of silly words, then no one is going to tell me that my content is inferior.

I'll post a full recap of Dancing With the Stars and I'll post my thoughts on American Idol. And you know what? I'll read blogs that do that too. And enjoy them and post encouraging comments.

I'll also read military blogs. And blogs from college students trying to get through the day. And blogs from story writers and poets. And blogs from comedians. And sometimes I'll read a blog for information or for discussion or to see what the "other" side might be thinking.

The point is this - when I go cruising through the bloggosphere, I have no particular intent in mind. I enjoy stumbling across something funny or profound or socially relevant or just plain silly. I don't need to read an "important" post all the time. Sometimes I just want someone to make me relax.

I visit an assortment of blogs that cover the bases for me. And I participate in memes.

As for my own blog, if something I write makes a visitor think, well that's a happy by-product. I don't set out to write posts that will change the world. Or change anyone's mind. That's not my gig y'all.

I'm a writer. I'm a music lover. I enjoy American Idol and Dancing With the Stars. I have a goofy cat. I'm in love with a beautiful woman. I really enjoy classic cars. I like to read. I'm buying a new condo. Sometimes my job sucks. I like CAKE. That's my life and that's what I'll write.

If that content isn't good enough for you, then click the Next Blog button at the top and move along. There are plenty of blogs out there that have what you want. There's no need to denigrate a whole class of bloggers, even if it was unintentional.

Terra, I'm grateful to you for listing Trav's Thoughts as a blog that makes you think sometimes. This isn't a rant against that. It's a rant against someone who would have the audacity to suggest that "better content" is needed in the bloggosphere. I say there's room for all types of posts and all types of bloggers.

There's no right way to blog y'all. It is what each individual blogger makes of it.

Every blog listed in my sidebar has made me think at one time or another, and they've made me laugh and relax and feel like a member of a community. There are many other blogs that are not in my links yet that do the same.

To all of you, I say thank you.

End of rant.

I'm fading fast gang - I seem to have picked up whatever flu is making the rounds. So today it's another oldies fix.

I'll try to get around and visit sometime this weekend.

Enjoy!

Paul Revere & The Raiders, Kicks


The Rascals, Loney Too Long


The Guess Who, Share The Land


Loving Spoonful, Summer in the City


Dusty Springfield, You Don't Have To Say You Love Me

Sorry about all the video gang - I would have preferred just the music, but no dice again on the audio codes. Here's my salute to the British Invasion of the early 1960's. Hey - anybody can do The Beatles and The Rolling Stones.

Lulu rocked a version of To Sir With Love on the American Idol results show last night.

Here's a more traditional version. Give it a minute to get through the introduction.


Gerry and The Pacemakers, How Do You Do


The Buckinghams, Kind of a Drag


Wayne Fontana & The Mindbenders, The Game of Love


The Zombies, She's Not There


The Incredible Shirley Bassey, Somewhere

Herman's Hermits were in the vanguard of the British Invasion in the early 1960's. They had a string of top 10 hits from 1964 through 1967.

I would have done these from audio codes, but it's still not working. And there isn't a grand selection from the group.

Henry the 8th


Baby Can't You Hear My Heartbeat


I'm Into Something Good


There's a Kind of Hush

Yes, I am a Dancing With the Stars addict. My lady and I are simply hooked on this show. You can call it cheesy and I won't argue with you. But we love it!!

Can you say sexy mambo hip swivels?? Heehee!! My favorite ballroom style dance is the slow waltz - it's an elegant and incredibly romantic dance. My favorite Latin style is mambo and I'd like to learn to dance it at the right tempo. I also love to swing dance, but I'm finding I have to be careful with that one because of my knees.

And the show begins!!

The guys start with Cha Cha Cha...


...while the gals begin with Foxtrot.


Ian Ziering, actor, is paired with Cheryl Burke, World Champion Latin dancer. She's a 2-time champ of this show with partners Drew Lachey and Emmitt Smith. Well, if you have any rhythm whatsoever you're gonna dance well with Cheryl. Ian is an excellent partner and for the first dance he did terrific. The judges threw 7's for a total of 21. I'll agree with that.

Paulina Porizkova, model, is paired with Alec Mazo, teacher, choreographer, and season one champion. She's really tall! That was very basic foxtrot - very smooth and more graceful than I expected. She has a long way to go. For ballroom style, her length will work in her favor. The judges threw 6,6,7 for a total of 19. I'll agree with that too.

Billy Ray Cyrus, singer/actor, is paired with Karina Smirnoff, World Champion and 5 time US National Champion. Well, cha cha to country music is interesting. And it wasn't much of a cha cha. Not a total train wreck, but not very good dancing. Judges say 5,4,4 for a total of 13, which might be generous because there was no cha cha in that cha cha.

Leeza Gibbons, talk show host, is paired with Tony Dovolani, World Rhythm Champion. Foxtrot should be smooth and this wasn't. They had all the steps, but Leeza was tight and wooden. Dangit - we like Leeza too. But this wasn't quite up to par. The judges say 5's across for 15. The right score.

Joey Fatone, singer/actor, is paired with Kym Johnson, Australian Dancesport Champion and Survivor Vanuatu castaway. Hip Hop dancing is not ballroom dancing, but he is a performer and he knows how to move. He's also a terrific entertainer. This was a disco cha cha with lots of energy. It had all the elements, it was fun, and they pulled the crowd right in with them. Excellent! The judges gave it 8's across for a total of 24. Yup.

Laila Ali, boxer, is paired with Maksim Chmerkovskiy, teacher and choreographer. OK...Laila is HAWT y'all!!! She's also paired with a professional who has really pulled the most out of each one of his celebrity partners on the show. This foxtrot was a little more upbeat and sexy. It was fluid and smooth and she's so powerful. Uhm...uhm...uhm...WOW...THUMP! The judges say 7,8,8 for a total of 23. Now that's not quite right after the praise they gave to the dance. I thought it should have been all 8's or maybe two 8's and a 9.

John Ratzenberger, actor/author, is paired with Edyta Sliwinska, Amateur Latin Champion and professional dancer. Cliffy doing the cha cha cha!! Hey, you know what? John replaced another celebrity who had to leave the show, and for only working on that for 2 weeks when all the other celebrities have been training for a month, it was really good! He really sold it and had fun with it. The judges threw 6,5,6 for a total of 17. That's a good score and I'd like to see John stick around for awhile.

Brief interlude - I didn't know there would be a trailer for Pirates 3. Too bad the cast in these films is better than the scripts.

Shanndi Finnessey, Miss USA 2004, is paired with Brian Fortuna, professional dancer. This was another wacky music choice. Who does the foxtrot to The Power of Love? I'm talking Huey Lewis, not Celine. This is a hot, young, and sexy pairing. They had to dance to that music so there were some problems with it, but it was a decent effort. The judges gave it 6,6,7 for a total of 19.

Clyde Drexler, NBA Hall of Fame basketball player, is paired with Elena Grinenko, American Rhythm Champion. Clyde can move but he seemed just to be doing the steps. He seemed a little hunched and kind of apologizing for being so tall. He looked a little embarrassed, which Pam thought was charming. The judges gave it 6,5,5 for a total of 16.

Heather Mills, activist, is paired with Jonathan Roberts, teacher and professional dancer. Whatever you think of her, that took some guts and she danced well. The judges say 6's across for a total of 18.

Apollo Anton Ohno, speed skater, is paired with Julianne Hough, under 21 Latin champion. He's a natural and if he can make enough time to train during his competitive season, he could do very well. He needs to work on technique and posture. Speed skaters are habitually bent over. The judges gave it 7's across for a total of 21.

This is a good group of celebrities. It should be an enjoyable season. Each celebrity gets one more dance next Monday, with the first elimination next Tuesday.

Mambo for the ladies and Quick Step for the fellas next week. Oooooh - mambo!!

Let's dance babies!!

Welcome to another Manic Monday! Today's theme is Chip. Don't forget to visit our fearless leader at It's A Blog Eat Blog World.

This is my silly post for the theme.



And if you have the time, here's a story for you, sort of a cross between The Couch's Monday Matinee and Mo's Manic Monday. It's an exerpt from a memoir type story that's been sitting around for awhile.

Like Everyone Else

All of my friends had real bikes. Mine had tires, a seat, and handle bars, and it didn't disappear when you put your hand on it.

But the tires were the hard, inflexible kind of rubber that didn't need tubes on the inside. Of course, they never went flat, but the stupid thing didn't look like everybody else's.

It had plastic white rims without spokes, just a couple of bars that crossed through the center and kept the wheels from falling off the forks. Not even mag bars, which would have been half way cool. Just two white hard metal bars. It had fenders that my dad refused to remove. It was a puke green color and most of the paint was chipped and peeling. The handle bars were deep forks that curved into long hand grips with plastic nubs at the end where green and white streamers used to be. It had a banana seat and screamed "I am a goober geek head" whenever I rode it. I made sure that wasn't very often.

At the dinner table every night, I'd look for ways to bring up the possibility of a new bike for my birthday. I’d describe cool new things I'd seen my pal Gino do on his BMX light weight racer. Gino had foot pegs mounted on the back wheel forks, and he could roll the bike on its side and make sparks off the pegs. They were good for me to stand on too, so Gino could pump me around and save us both the embarrassment of my bike.

The other kids I crewed with knew about the puke green weenie. We all swore a solemn oath, the way twelve year olds do. My friends swore never to tell what was hidden away in my garage, or make up stupid jokes about it unless I did first. I vowed never to embarrass the crew by riding it to school. I hitched with Gino.

I laugh at it now, but I remember the day we all swore. It was in Gino's garage. The seven of us stood in a circle. We crossed our arms in front of us, closed our eyes, and pledged. Then we all spit in the palms of our right hands and slapped them down hard on the concrete floor. Then we rode to the park. Well, they rode and I hitched.

That year just before my twelfth birthday, the only thing I wanted was a new bike. Years of mimicking my little brother paid off. I had the moaning and whining thing down. I gasped and groaned every time a BMX commercial came on television. I made sure Gino came by to pick me up every morning for school. He helped with spins and wheelies in the drive way, while I trudged disdainfully through the garage past my own sorry excuse for two wheeled transportation.

At school and at the park, I bragged lavishly about the new bike I was getting for my birthday.

In those last few weeks before I turned twelve, the only time the little green weenie saw the light of day was when I needed it for super jumps. This was a game we played when we could think of nothing better to do. About two blocks from my house was an uphill street on a short cul de sac. The street seemed to go straight up. The sidewalk was the kind with drive way curbs all around. It made a perfect jump ramp for bikes or skateboards. None of my crew was into skating, but we all had bikes. Mine did the best wheelies and jumps off that curb because the tires were so hard. Everybody else's conventional tires went flat after five or six jumps. Donnie Clayton even bent his front rim once. He had a heck of a time explaining that.

I guess I could have been smug about my situation. Patches don't cost too much, but the cement glue was expensive. Explanations were the worst. Parents insisted that tires just shouldn't wear out so fast. Once Gino stuck a nail in his tire, and that worked on his folks. Everybody tried it, but then the parents got together at one of those block party barbecues to compare notes.

After awhile, it got so parents held back allowances as punishment for an over abundance of flat tires. Some of the crew missed out on a week or two of wheelies because they couldn't afford glue and patches. We loved to jump that curb, though. Even the loss of income and walking to school for a week never dulled anyone's enthusiasm for the game.

Of course I was lucky. I never had to worry about explaining flat tires to my folks. My rock hard rubber goon tires never even dented. They were hard enough to chip sidewalks. I commiserated with my friends anyway, and even went so far as to walk when one of the crew was without wheels.

I still wanted that new bike, no matter the advantage the green weenie gave me. I realized the uniqueness of my position. I could probably put the hard tires on my new BMX for jumping, and then switch back for regular every day riding. I began to think I was about to enjoy the best of all worlds.

I bragged it up pretty good about that possibility. Then I was ashamed. My crew and I had sworn an oath, and I felt I might be betraying it by throwing my potential benefits in the face of my friends.

Shame turned to worry as it occurred to me that my plans were premature. My parents were as unreadable as ever. As many times as they gave me what I asked for, it was likely that this time they might not. My dad maintained that I had a perfectly good and sturdy bike. What did I want with a new one?

One day at the park, I guess I got carried away. A kid I didn't know challenged me to a race. I was bragging and telling stories about a new bike that I didn't even have, and this kid called me on it. He told me that if I was so hot, then I didn't need a flashy ride. He said he could probably take me in a race anyway, no matter what I had. I protested that I didn't have anything yet, but when I did I'd be sure to burn his tail.

We went back and forth at each other, and my friends kept their oath and backed me up. Ironically, none of us was riding a bike that day. One of the new kid's friends offered me the use of his bike, but I refused to depend on strange wheels for this kind of challenge.

It almost worked and I almost got out of it. He was about a head taller than I was, and out weighed me by about 20 pounds. He would have beat me in a race just like he said, and it wouldn't have mattered what I rode.

Just as we were running out of twelve year old insults and bravado, my friend Jennifer opened her mouth. She never meant to, but somehow Jen’s helpful suggestions always got me in some kind of trouble. Her bright idea this time was that this kid and I could settle the disagreement by jumping swings. This game consisted of swinging as high and as hard as possible, then diving out as far as your momentum would take you. Ordinarily I would have hugged Jen for her quick witted suggestion. If I ever hugged girls, that is.

But like I said, the other boy was larger. Quick was not the word I would have chosen to go with witted in this case.

I was stuck, though. Here was a solution and I wasn’t backing down, even though I had been bragging. I thought of the oath. It seemed that in order to defend the sanctity of it, I would have to accept the challenge, and win. This was my first introduction to honor. It was brought about by my childish bragging, yes, but at some point a guy has to stand up. Not backing down in the face of stacked odds seems stubborn, but I'd rather see it as holding to a principle.

Oh, hell, I was only twelve.

We chose the middle three swings, leaving one between us to prevent mid air bumping. We picked four judges, two to watch each of us, with teams consisting of one each of our friends. Jen and Tammy were my two judges, because they were always the most fair. I couldn't vouch for my opponent's friends, but I wasn't worried. Tammy Barnes was just as big as my opponent and she would enforce fairness with more than a word if necessary.

Tammy yelled go and we started to kick. Suddenly, my embarrassment and uncertainty took hold and it was like I had a tornado beneath my swing. Sweat poured down my face as I pumped harder and swung higher. I surged two kicks ahead of the other kid, then three. My heart slammed against my ribs. I exulted. A fierce grin split my face.

Then I realized something. The swing was situated in the middle of a large sand area, but I remembered one time I had almost gone too high and jumped out of the sand box. Stubborn pride almost cajoled me into flinging myself that far, but prudence won out. I eased back on my kicks and prepared to moderate my trajectory so as to land in the soft sand.

My opponent, however, had panicked at my fantastic speed. He pumped harder and harder as I slowed down. Just as I was preparing to launch, he flew out of his swing. I remained seated and watched him, hoping he wouldn't break anything when he landed.

Objectively speaking, it was a brilliant flight. Certainly he would have been crowned jump king. He sailed out of the sand box and only just cleared the pavement, landing in a heap on the grass. He probably would have been fine if he hadn't kept flailing his arms and legs. It ruined the perfect parabola he should have cut. And all that screaming threw off his landing. I jumped out of my swing and went over to see how he was.

He was trying not to cry. He sat on the grass cradling his arm.

"Is it broke?" asked Gino.

The kid snuffled. "It hurts."

"Yeah, but is it broken?" Tammy repeated.

The kid wiped his eyes and gathered himself. "I don't think so. I had a broken arm once and it was different. It's probably just sprained."

"Good," said Tammy. "If it was broken, we'd have a draw. Adam wins."

"Whaddaya mean?"

"Broken bones disqualify everybody," Tammy replied in the matter of fact way she had of resolving disputes. She ticked off her fingers. "Bumps, bruises, cuts, sprains. Those are all losers. Adam wins."

Using the sudden outbreak of predictable protests as cover, we retreated. I decided to stop bragging so much, at least until I had something visual about which to brag.

That evening, I went into the garage loaded down with the day's garbage. After dumping it into the big can, I went over and contemplated my bike. I stared at it awhile, then, quite deliberately, I kicked it very hard. I blamed it as the cause of my trouble at the park that afternoon. I thought that a better bike would solve all my problems. It's easier to accept the inanimate as the cause of all your despair when you're twelve than to admit you are simply silly and ridiculous.

Life just seems to go a little better for a kid when he has someone or something else on which to blame things. Accepting responsibility for your own foolishness is a lesson a kid has to grow toward slowly. Repeating mistakes, and enduring the correction of parents and teachers, is essential. Sooner or later, a kid gets isolated enough so he can see that he's really the only person to blame. A kid eventually might figure out that not every action requires blame to be placed.

Although, in the twilight of my eleventh year, all I knew was that my troubles would all be solved if I could just be rid of this stupid weenie excuse for a bicycle, with it’s geek handle bars and banana seat and chipped puke green paint and white no-mag wheels with hard rubber tubeless tires.

The day before my birthday was a Sunday. It was a gorgeous autumn day in early October. Leaves coated the grass. I don't remember exactly how I got out of raking the backyard. I walked to Gino's and discovered to my delight that he was also free for the day. With a grin and a wink, we dashed back to my house and got my green weenie. We headed for the steep street.

The crew was assembled. Now that I think about it with a few years between that time and this, I’m sure I could make a case for that day as a seminal moment. Great historical figures seem to have them. Any one who has done anything worth writing and reading about has had them. Even ordinary guys like me can find some in their lives. That day may have been one of mine.

Everyone had already jumped once. Gino stepped up and said he was next. Tammy nodded. "OK. But I've got something I want to try that I saw on TV."

I didn't mind if she went after Gino. I wasn't ready to jump yet. Besides, when Tammy tried something new, it was always pretty spectacular.

Gino took off, but he didn't go very far up the hill before he started down. I could see he wasn't trying for anything impressive. When he hit the curb he wasn't quite right. He didn't pull his front tire high enough, and it went flat almost immediately. Nobody ever laughed. It had happened to everyone at least once, except me. Though, when it happened to Gino it was like it happened to me. If his bike was down, then we both walked. The school may have been just around the corner, but it's the principle, not the distance.

We put our heads together for an excuse. We hadn't been to the curb for awhile. Miraculously, there had been no flats that time. We decided to use the nail excuse. Gino said it was worth a shot, and he told me he was sure his parents wouldn't ground him. Or they might, but after my birthday party. Gino was the champion at sweet talking parents. He was the perfect Frosted Flake; just enough sugar.

Tammy set up for her turn and we all watched eagerly. She rode up the hill, farther than any of us usually went. She pedaled so fast on the way back down that I wondered how she kept her feet on the pedals.

She hit the curb and flew into the air, way over our heads. Then it looked like she lost control, because the bike turned sideways and Tammy kicked her inside leg way away from the pedal. She got her foot back just in time and turned the bike right. It came down on both wheels and she skidded to a stop. We broke out in cheers.

"Anybody else wanna try?"

Every once in awhile, that thing comes over me. It's like the stubbornness I had shown at the park. It makes me do stuff I shouldn't. It almost always gets me in trouble. I spoke up and said I'd do it. My bike was the best at popping the curb and I thought I could do the jump with the least amount of risk to my green weenie. What I didn't consider was that Tammy's BMX was built for stunts. Gino's was a racing bike and wasn't nearly as sturdy in the wheel forks as Tammy's. Donnie and Matt had bikes built strictly for style. They got most of the flat tires. Jen's was sturdy, like Tammy's, but she wasn't the daredevil. I didn't think of any of this. I wanted to do that stunt.

I rode to the top of the hill and wheeled around as I'd watched Tammy do it. I pumped hard and thought I hit the curb exactly right. I flew into the air. Just as I started the trick, I noticed something was wrong. The handlebars were wobbly, and just as I realized how strange that was, they pulled loose from the socket. The front tire spun off the forks and sailed one way while I landed in the dirt pile, still clutching the handlebars. The body of the bike narrowly missed my head and slammed against a fence. I sat there, stunned but not really injured. The gang scattered.

Except for Gino. I was afraid to go home. I dragged the bike frame and handlebars. Gino carried the front tire hooked across his handgrips. We concocted several plausible stories to cover his flat tire and my complete destruction. We considered the truth, that's how scared we were. Finally, we settled on half a confession.

We got to my house and went into the garage. My dad was working on his car, and he looked at the two of us and what was left of the green weenie. I blurted out the story. We were riding along, I went up a driveway curb, and the bike disintegrated. It was as close to the truth as I was going to go.

Dad gravely considered the remains of the bike. I don't know if he believed the story.

The next day was Monday. We were out of school on one of those SIP days they have early in the school year. It was my birthday and I was officially twelve. I had developed a habit for stating my next age before I actually turned it. "I'll be twelve next month." Or, "I'm almost twelve." The waiting used to really get to me.

I woke up depressed. I had no bike. I actually missed the stupid little green weenie.

When my friends started to arrive, I perked up. It got better after some games; even better after cake and ice cream, chocolate and chocolate, my absolute favorites. And then came the presents.

I got baseball cards and an album from Gino; a scale model fire engine that I could build and paint from Donnie; a Ninja wagon for my mutant turtles from Jen; a rap tape from Matt (not my favorite music, but it was the thought); a painter's cap with the Dodgers logo on it from Tammy. From my parents came a new walk man, the outfit I had on, and a case of tire patches and cement glue. For some reason, I was dense and the significance of the last gift didn't hit me.

And then my dad wheeled in a new BMX light weight racer just like Gino's. It was white with black racer trim. It had streamlined handle grips with spikes on the rubber. The tires were medium wide with blackened spokes. The seat was simulated leather with plenty of padding in case I needed to sit down.

I also got a brand new lock and uncountable admonishments to be careful and lock it up and not lose the key and so forth.

The crew and I were gone then. I guess that's why we had cake before presents. We rode everywhere. We ended up at the steep street, but I wouldn't jump this bike, not any time soon. I remembered the case of patches and glue. Something told me a flat wouldn't be appreciated on the first day. Truth be known, I had a horrifying image of my new bike in pieces just like the green weenie.

I hardly slept that night. Never before had I been so ready for school. Now I would back up all the bragging I'd done. I rushed through breakfast and ran out the door so fast I forgot all my stuff for school. I didn't hear my mom yell for me to stop. It wasn't until I got to Gino's that I noticed I didn't have my lunch, or my backpack, or the lock for my bike.

I rode straight home after school to test my theory. I wanted to see if the tires from the weenie would fit on the racer. When I got home, I couldn't find the old bike. It wasn't in the garage. I knew the pieces had been there in the morning before I left for school.

Mom cleared up the mystery. She said Dad had taken the wreck with him to work. One of the men my dad worked with had a boy just about my brother's age who was ready to learn to ride a bike. My dad had offered him the green weenie.

I'm pleased now to remember that I was upset, but not because my plans to use the tires had been ruined. For the longest time, all I had wanted was a new bike, a good bike, like everyone else had. I had finally gotten my wish. Now that I had the same as everyone else, I realized that I missed my small piece of individuality. Sure it was puke green and the paint was totally chipped and the handlebars were geeky and the tires didn't have rubber tubes. It had still been mine; unique, one of a kind, like my dad said.

Even now, I still miss that little green weenie.

Mr Tucker doesn't like my laptop. I usually keep it on the ottoman in front of my chair, a place Mr Tucker considers his own. But he rarely sits there...unless I'm working on something. Then he has to sit there, if for no other reason than to stop me from doing whatever it is I'm doing.

He'll sit up on the floor next to the ottoman and fuss at me. I'll tell him to wait and he'll give me the eye. Then he'll jump up on the arm of the chair and wedge his way down behind me, forcing his way underneath my arm.



Next comes the face. This is not an easy face to read. It could be the pathetic face, looking for sympathy. It could be the evil kitty face, meaning I'm about to get swatted unless I move the laptop and make room for Mr Tucker. Or it could be the sweet face, wondering how I could possible favor the laptop over kitty.

Next comes the determined 20lb cat, using all of his strenght to push underneath my arm and get where he wants to go. And now I have two choices. I can force him to get down, in which case he'll just try again. Or...

I can give him his little victory, knowing that in a matter of minutes...

...he'll have decided he'd much rather lay on the floor anyway!

I've been remiss in linking up with some new blogging friends. So that gets corrected today. You may already be familiar with these wonderful ladies.

Neila at Blot That Mommy regales with wacky stories of her rambunctious yungins. Or she'll target your more sensual side with her Passion Products.

Whether it's cruising on the high seas or giggling at a blonde joke, it's certainly never dull at Empress Bee's. Bee is also an expert gardener and may be enticed to share some of her tips.

Skittles is changing her life, one day at a time. There's definitely a rainbow of topics and an array of things to learn.

Check in with these lovely ladies once in awhile.

I swiped this from Songbird, who got it from Local Girl.

Here are 13 things I love about the NCAA Tournament.

1. Pete Carril and Cinderella Princeton, on one of the most basic plays in the game - a simple back door cut - beats defending champion UCLA 43-41.



2. I love the score/stat tickers at the top and bottom of the screen.

3. My CBS affiliate is channel 7. And Comcast has a secondary channel 117 for CBS. So now I can flip between the channels during commercials and halftime.

4. I have so much respect for the Kentucky Unforgetables - Richie Farmer, Deron Feldhaus, John Pelphrey, and Sean Woods - but for Duke fans this is the moment of moments in the game of games. This is arguably the best college basketball game ever. It was the 1992 East Regional Final, #6 Kentucky against #1 Duke. Duke won on this incredible play, 104-103 in overtime.



5. The moment in the game between a 16 seed and a 1 seed when you think the upset might just be possible. Sometimes it's the first basket scored by the lower seed, and the score is 2-0. Sometimes the moment comes late in the game, when the #1 seed just hasn't been able to pull away, and the lower seed gets within a bucket. And you think...is this the year? It's a fleeting moment. And it's a pure tournament moment. A 16 seed has never beaten a 1. But the day is coming when it will happen.

6. Selection Sunday.

7. Moments of heart-stopping joy and mind-numbing defeat.



8. More unreal moments.



9. The rise of the mid-major conferences is changing the tournament. Butler, out of the Horizon League, is a 5 seed in the tournament, while Duke, one of the premier college basketball programs of the last 20 years out of the Atlantic Coast Conference, is seeded 6.

10. Filling out the bracket and trying to figure out which 12 will beat a 5, and whether this year it makes sense to pick a 15 upset over a 2. Where's the gotcha game for a 1 seed? What hot highly ranked team will fall to a determined lower seed on a buzzer beater? How quickly will your bracket be busted?

11. Coming to grips with the fact that your expertise will most likely be eclipsed by the total novice who fills out his/her bracket based on which school mascot would win in a cage match.

12. Where else will you find terms like Sweet 16, Elite 8, Final 4? It's March Madness baby!

13. One Shining Moment.

Well, three games are in the book and two more are underway. My bracket is already busted - happens the same way every year. I pick the wrong upset in the first round!!!

But I don't really care. I'm off work, I'm in front of my TV, and the tournament is on!!!!

So, Stewart over at House of Sternberg set a writing assignment. The theme is Renewal and the challenge is to make an emotional statement.

The piece I set out to write is not the piece I have posted today. As with so much of my new work these days, I started typing with a basic idea and my thoughts told my fingers where to go.

So I present...uhm...this piece actually has no title.


“Hang on Toby!!”

Toby couldn’t spare any breath to answer. It took all he had to keep squeezing his fingers around the exposed root. He knew he was going to fall. He just didn’t think he should give in so easily.

Such a stupid thing and he’d known better. Just last summer he’d nearly slid over the edge chasing jack rabbits. That’s why Papaw had the fence built. Papaw always shook his finger and grumbled on and on about mule-headed boys.

“Three hunnerd acres,” the old man groused. “Still y’all rush on out to that soft pack yonder, like some stubborn ole jackass grazin’ after the sweet grass.”

It hadn’t always been so loose up on the bluff behind the sprawling ranch. Toby’s Daddy and uncles had played out there as boys, when the blue spruce had grown thick. Back then you could sit beneath one of the dense trees and gaze out over the bay, listening to the waves wash against the cliff face 200 feet below.

The rains had come earlier and more intense over the years. The bluff turned muddy. Disease had taken most of the trees. The rest had gone into the bay as the edge of the cliff eroded and the bluff became a dangerous place to walk.

But as often as you can tell a boy to mind the edge, that point doesn’t seem to settle until he catches up against it. And even then, the lesson doesn’t always hold.

A small avalanche of loose dirt and pebbles washed over Toby’s head and down his back. He heard a muffled oath and the sound of scrambling above him. All that rain that Papaw had praised over the winter…this spring it was about to cost the old man his youngest grandson. Toby reckoned there was no way they could get to him with the ground so soft at the ledge. That’s why he was in this mess.

That, and not wanting to lose the new baseball. Chris always threw it too hard. Toby was learning to catch better, but sometimes he just ducked out of the way and then ran to fetch the ball. Toby got a good giggle as he ran too, because he knew his big brother would be annoyed. But then Chris would throw it a little softer so Toby could catch a few before he started winding up for high hard ones again.

Then the baseball rolled under the fence. And Toby skittered beneath the rails, running to get the new ball without a thought. And the ground evaporated beneath his feet.

By chance he caught the root, and now Toby dangled by one hand about 20 feet below the new ledge, with Chris yelling at him to hang on. Toby had watched his new glove tumble through the air and hit the water. The splash looked so tiny. He didn’t see what happened to the new baseball. He’d saved his allowance all winter for that glove. It’d take him another six months to save up to replace it…if he didn’t fall.

It wouldn’t be so bad to fall, would it really? Like the glove…just floating down and down and down. Flying. And then a little splash in the water.

The ground shifted. The root bent and creaked. Toby tightened his grip. His hand was starting to cramp. He didn’t really want to fall. He tried again to dig his feet into the cliff face, but they just scrabbled at the loose rock. His shoulder strained and he felt his fingers slip.

“Help Chris!! I’m gonna fall!” Toby's thin voice cracked as the panic started.

Toby tried to reach his other arm up so he could grab the root with both hands. The stabbing pain reminded him why he was dangling by just one hand. Tears of fear and frustration burned in his eyes.

Something dropped past him. He gasped and cringed. His fingers let loose of the root and he screamed.

But he didn’t fall. He felt a strong grip around his waist and heard his Daddy’s deep voice.

“It’s ok now. I gotcha.”

Toby opened his eyes and looked at the waves crashing against the rocks below.

Nope – it wouldn’t have been so good to fall.

I know. It's not really a Tuesday Tunes post. For some real music today, head on over to The Couch for an Allman Brothers treat.

As for me today, well I'm still on a little high with the NCAA Tournament about to begin on Thursday. I got Thursday and Friday off as my reward for surviving hell week at work. I'll be in front of the tv at 09:00, ready to watch whatever regional coverage CBS sees fit to provide.

But I'm not bitter. Noooooooo. Not yet anyway. We'll see if they do the usual and stick with a regional blow out while at the same time a 15 is upsetting a 2.

At least I don't have to listen to Dick Vitale do color anymore this season. I'm stuck with Billy Packer instead. Yeesh! Someday CBS will do the right thing and put Clark Kellog on the #1 college basketball broadcast team. Mr Packer, you have done your due service - it's time to step down Sir.

I offer today One Shining Moment - and again and again and again, and one more time for good measure. Sorry gang...it's just that time of year.


1987


1998


2002


2005


2006


It's enough to make a grown man weep.

Welcome to the March Madness edition of Mo's Manic Monday. Don't forget to visit our host and fearless leader at It's A Blog Eat Blog World.

Our theme today is the word Click.


Click

Blue, 53-52, with 33 seconds left in the third overtime of an epic championship game between two teams of 12 year olds.

I had thought the blue team would be over-matched. The red team was a traveling all star team, using our friendly little tournament as a tune up for their league championship. They hadn’t been challenged in four games, winning each contest by more than 20 points.

The blue team wasn’t even the best in our league. But something had clicked for these kids in the opening round. They were confident and playing well. They had beaten our league powerhouse to advance to the championship game – another overtime stunner.

Here we were again. I clicked my whistle against my teeth, then exhaled through it and called the teams back to action after the time out.

On the inbound, Red tried a long pass off a play that had worked to perfection all game long, but Blue had it’s defense well prepared this time and the ball sailed past everyone and went out of bounds across the other baseline.

On the subsequent inbound for blue, Eleven worked for defensive position and I rewarded his effort with another charge call against blue. Eleven was a crafty kid who had scored 32 points in the game, including three buzzer-beating long-range jump shots. One of those shots had been from near mid-court and was responsible for this third overtime.

The young man was also a natural athlete with good defensive instincts. He was just one of those kids who knew how to play. Blue’s coach exploded off his bench at my call, the first interference from either sideline since the third quarter. I waggled my finger at him. I wasn't about to call a technical, and he knew it. But he didn't abuse that knowledge. He grumbled and sat down.

Now there were only 7 seconds remaining. Blue was up by a point. Red took the additional time out they had been granted for this third overtime.

As the teams made their way back onto the court for the final :07, Blue deployed at mid-court, not wanting to risk a foul with the full court press. Two red players came to where I stood beneath the basket. Eleven stopped at the foul line, and the other boy prepared to inbound the ball. I blew my whistle to alert both teams that play was about to resume. I gave Red the ball.

He rolled the basketball onto the court. And it clicked in my mind that they were trying to save the time on the clock by getting the ball as far up the court as possible without touching it. That’s a good strategy, and Blue was vulnerable to it because they had decided not to pressure the inbound.

But as I counted three, Eleven showed no sign that he was ready to pick up the ball. He was going to let it roll as far as he could. I counted four, and silently screamed at him to pick up the ball. You see, you only have a five count to get the ball inbounds, and the ball must touch someone. Otherwise it’s a violation.

Such an incredible game should not turn on my whistle. All the plays had been bang-bang to this point, straightforward and relatively easy calls to make. Traveling, three seconds, jump ball, even the block/charge calls had been simple enough to get right. I didn't want a petty infraction to figure in the outcome.

As my hand dropped and I counted five, Eleven had still not picked up the ball. I actually gave him another half count. Then I blew my whistle.

"That's five seconds. Blue ball, this way."

For a moment, the gym was eerily silent. It was as if my call was settling into the collective consciousness of the crowd. And then, click, like a light turning on, the reaction exploded.

The blue side heaved to its feet, elated as they discovered that it was now their game to win.

The red side clamored its disbelief and displeasure, unaccustomed to such an impudent challenge to their dominance.

It's not a well-known rule. If you don't know the game, you might not be aware that there are time limits in situations other than three seconds in the key. I didn’t want to call it. Most would say it shouldn’t have been called. But how would that have been fair to the blue team?

Blue raced down to where I stood, anxious to get the ball in play and run out the clock. Their excitement could no longer be contained. Red didn't have a time out left; but they might still have the character to overcome their shock. If they weren't totally demoralized by the rapid reversal of the game, they might be able to force Blue into a mistake.

Blue inbounded and Red immediately fouled. Only two seconds ticked off the clock, leaving :05. Blue still needed to focus. We had all seen what Eleven could do and how little time he needed to do it. Five seconds was an eternity. One made free throw would guarantee at least a tie and possibly an unbelievable fourth overtime, two shots would win it.

Blue was celebrating. They sent only the shooter to the line. The other players fell back to prevent fouling on a rebound. There were plenty of hugs and high fives. Eleven wore his confidence like a cloak.

The blue player missed the free throw. A red player scooped the rebound out of the air and fired a pass to Eleven. He grabbed the ball, took a steadying dribble, and loosed the shot from thirty feet for the win.

The ball hit the front of the rim…bounced high…dropped straight down…and clanged off the front of the rim.

The buzzer sounded.

This is wonderfully unexpected. My new blogging friend Skittles wrote a wonderful review of my blog over at Bestest Blog of All Time

Trav's Thoughts is Bestest Blog of the Day for 12 March 2007. Ain't that a kick??

Thanks to Skittles and thanks to Bobby. And thanks to all who come by and check out my thoughts.

This is my 27th Selection Sunday.

There wasn't always a tournament selection show. But I've kept the brackets since 1983. I've watched the tournament since 1979.

I remember in the early 1980's, when ESPN was young and had exclusive coverage. They had no regional contract responsibilities, so they showed the best games. They had no problem leaving a first round blow-out to go a close finish. I remember watching all day and feeling like I was there. I remember split screens.

I remember when Dick Vitale wasn't so annoying.

I remember Bird and Magic. Before the Celtics and Lakers, it was the Sycamores against the Spartans.

I remember Jim Valvano running around looking for someone to hug after his NC State Wolfpack shocked the mighty Phi Slamma Jamma of Houston for the most improbable championship upset in tournament history.

I remember Dan Dakich and Indiana spoiling Michael Jordan's bid for a championship to close out his career at North Carolina.

I remember Danny Manning and the Miracles overcoming one of the most high-powered offenses in the history of the game, beating Oklahoma.

I remember Bo Kimble of Loyola-Marymount, shooting the first free throw left handed in honor of his friend and teammate Hank Gathers, and the improbable run spurred by grief, that finally ended in the West regional final against a powerful UNLV team that went on to win the championship.

There are so many things I love about the NCAA Tournmaent. The thing I love the most is that once you're in the field of 64 (I don't count the play-in game), anything truly can happen.

A 16 seed will beat a 1 seed someday. The day is approaching when you won't be able to pencil in those 4 gimme picks.

RIP Cap.

Better day today - and the last of the 10-12 hour days. I think.

Thanks for the encouragement y'all.

And to those about to rock in B'ham - woooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!

Exultant - That's what I felt at 08:00 Tuesday when it looked like my 10-12 hour days were about to pay off and I was going to be finished on schedule.

Disbelief - That's what I felt at 08:30 Tuesday when they brought me 17 invoices that a vendor had just submitted and had to be posted for end of year. WTF?? Now I get them? Some were dated 6 months ago for cripes sake!

Irritation - That's what I felt at 09:00 Tuesday going through the process of posting the dang invoices with people bugging me every 10 minutes wondering when I would be finished. It's a three step process and it takes as long as it takes. Now go away.

Flabbergasted - That's what I felt at 11:40 when the invoices were finally posted after four different interruptions. I was three hours behind schedule.

Can I punt now? No! Gotta go for it on 4th and 27. There's no play for 4th and 27.

Hungry dammit - Lemme just run the frigging utility and get something to eat. It takes 45 minutes and I can't do anything else while it's running. I'm getting food.

Bite me. No I didn't say it, but I did think it.

Focused - Ahhhhh. That's what I felt at 12:50 after two double decker tacos and grilled steak taquitos from the Bell. Now time to really get down to reconciling.

Grrrrrr - Why won't the feakin' report run???? Fix the *$%$()(&($## system!!!

Sigh - Why did I think it would tie out?

Blush - My bad...forgot to post something.

NO!!!!! Don't delete that one!!! Delete THAT one and post THAT one!! Yeesh.

Done - Well, at least done with reconciling. Now I get to catch up on the orders that have been piling up, and the reports that need to be summarized, and the prep for audit.

Tired - I'm off to ZZZZZZ-ville.

Hell week extended.

This is just a little different from my normal Tuesday Tunes. Usually I'll just post five random songs. Every once in awhile there might be a theme that ties the five songs together.

Today I thought I'd share one of my favorite singer/songwriters, Don McLean. And there are only two songs to hear today. That's because I got tired of fighting with the site to get the dang things to play. Luckily, two of my favorites did work.

I've always thought that this song demonstrated the brilliance of an artist. McLean showcases his songwriting ability while lyrically painting the genius of Van Gogh's art. The vivid imagery in the lyrics evokes the tapestry of the paintings.

This is a very simple melody and lyric poignantly penned not only as a tribute to love, but in wonder and gratitude for requited love.



One of the most analyzed and interpreted pop songs of all time, American Pie really has a very simple meaning. The song is McLean's anthem for America, inspired by the plane crash in 1959 that took the lives of Buddy Holly, Ritchie Valens, and JP "Big Bopper" Richards. In February 1972, Bob Dearborn produced what is widely considered to be the definitive analysis of the lyrics. I encourage you to check it out here. Audio codes has the song, but alas "the music wouldn't play". So here are the lyrics.

A long, long time ago...
I can still remember
How that music used to make me smile.
And I knew if I had my chance
That I could make those people dance
And, maybe, they’d be happy for a while.

But february made me shiver
With every paper I’d deliver.
Bad news on the doorstep;
I couldn’t take one more step.

I can’t remember if I cried
When I read about his widowed bride,
But something touched me deep inside
The day the music died.

So bye-bye, miss american pie.
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
And them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."

Did you write the book of love,
And do you have faith in God above,
If the Bible tells you so?
Do you believe in rock ’n roll,
Can music save your mortal soul,
And can you teach me how to dance real slow?

Well, I know that you’re in love with him
`cause I saw you dancin’ in the gym.
You both kicked off your shoes.
Man, I dig those rhythm and blues.

I was a lonely teenage broncin’ buck
With a pink carnation and a pickup truck,
But I knew I was out of luck
The day the music died.

I started singin’,
"bye-bye, miss american pie."
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
And singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."

Now for ten years we’ve been on our own
And moss grows fat on a rollin’ stone,
But that’s not how it used to be.
When the jester sang for the king and queen,
In a coat he borrowed from james dean
And a voice that came from you and me,

Oh, and while the king was looking down,
The jester stole his thorny crown.
The courtroom was adjourned;
No verdict was returned.
And while lennon read a book of marx,
The quartet practiced in the park,
And we sang dirges in the dark
The day the music died.

We were singing,
"bye-bye, miss american pie."
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
And singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."

Helter skelter in a summer swelter.
The birds flew off with a fallout shelter,
Eight miles high and falling fast.
It landed foul on the grass.
The players tried for a forward pass,
With the jester on the sidelines in a cast.

Now the half-time air was sweet perfume
While the sergeants played a marching tune.
We all got up to dance,
Oh, but we never got the chance!
`cause the players tried to take the field;
The marching band refused to yield.
Do you recall what was revealed
The day the music died?

We started singing,
"bye-bye, miss american pie."
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
And singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."

Oh, and there we were all in one place,
A generation lost in space
With no time left to start again.
So come on: jack be nimble, jack be quick!
Jack flash sat on a candlestick
Cause fire is the devil’s only friend.

Oh, and as I watched him on the stage
My hands were clenched in fists of rage.
No angel born in hell
Could break that satan’s spell.
And as the flames climbed high into the night
To light the sacrificial rite,
I saw satan laughing with delight
The day the music died

He was singing,
"bye-bye, miss american pie."
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
And singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."

I met a girl who sang the blues
And I asked her for some happy news,
But she just smiled and turned away.
I went down to the sacred store
Where I’d heard the music years before,
But the man there said the music wouldn’t play.

And in the streets: the children screamed,
The lovers cried, and the poets dreamed.
But not a word was spoken;
The church bells all were broken.
And the three men I admire most:
The father, son, and the holy ghost,
They caught the last train for the coast
The day the music died.

And they were singing,
"bye-bye, miss american pie."
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
And them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die.
"this’ll be the day that I die."

They were singing,
"bye-bye, miss american pie."
Drove my chevy to the levee,
But the levee was dry.
Them good old boys were drinkin’ whiskey and rye
Singin’, "this’ll be the day that I die."