Does Heaven Have a Football Team?

I couldn't pass up the opportunity to pay tribute to one of the men who put my favorite sport on his back and helped make it the truly great professional event it is today.

For those of you who haven't heard, Lamar Hunt passed away last night at the age of 74 after a battle with cancer. Who is this man, you ask. Well, I could never put his entire life into this post, so I suggest anyone interested in that do a quick google of the man and read his incredible bio, but I can tell you this much:

When Lamar Hunt petitioned the National Football League in the late 50s to grant him an expansion team in Dallas, the league turned him down and suggested he ask current team owners if he could buy one of their teams. That did not work, but that did not stop Mr. Hunt. Mr. Hunt, being a sportsman who incidently had a lot of money due to his family's oil interests, decided to form a group and create his own professional football league. Thus, the American Football League was born with such teams as the Boston Patriots, Buffalo Bills, Los Angeles Chargers, Houston Oilers, Denver Broncos, Oakland Raiders, New York Titans and, of course, Mr. Hunt's Dallas Texans.

Shortly thereafter, realizing their mistake, the NFL reconsidered and offered Mr. Hunt a franchise in Dallas, but Mr. Hunt, being a man of his word said he could not accept because he was already committed to the AFL. The NFL then granted Clint Murchison a franchise in Dallas, the Cowboys. Realizing the business problems this could present, Mr. Hunt moved his Dallas Texans to Kansas City where they became the Kansas City Chiefs.

After several mildly successful years, if only strategic for competing with the NFL, ( and due to the fact that many of the AFL owners had a lot of money to pump into the organization) competition for players sent salaries stratospheric, for those days anyway. So, the NFL humbled itself and agreed to discuss a merger with the AFL.

The merger was announced in 1966, stating the leagues would have a common draft and a title game that year, later to be named "The Super Bowl" by none other than Lamar Hunt.

Mr. Hunt has had stunning successes in starting American professional tennis, Major League Soccer and basketball franchises (Chicago Bulls...) on top of his contributions to the NFL. I really do suggest a little research into this man's life.

On a final note though, one of his grandchildren asked a family member just before Mr. Hunt's passing, "Do you think there's a football team in heaven?"

The family member responded, "I just don't know..."

To which the child replied, "Well, if there's not, I bet Pappy will start one."

Here's to Mr. Hunt and the NFL's expansion into the Great Beyond.

Who gives you the bird on Thanksgiving?

And I'm not talking about your grandma serving you some delicious turkey either.

I'm talking about driving down the road on Thanks-freaking-giving Day and getting the bird from two dudes in a pickup. Not kids either. One was no less than 45. The other, no less than 60.

Let me take you back there with me. (Do that Wayne's World thing with your hands and make that "doo-dee-doo, doo-dee doo" noise now, please.)

So, I'm driving to my Aunt Nedra's to see my dad's side of the family for Thanksgiving. We got up early that morning, took the dogs to Carrollton and now it's about 8:30 AM, and we are cruising.

The next thing you know there is a cop on the side of the road with someone pulled over. (Now keep in mind...I am not speeding. Been busted for that twice this year already, so I posess extra motivation to drive the speed limit.)

So, what do people do when they see a cop? They all slow way down and get in the lane opposite where he has someone pulled over. So far so good. We all move to the left lane. Then, when you pass by the cop you resume your normal speed.

Here's where our story takes a foul turn. Pun intended.

Everyone but a truck two spots ahead of me speeds up. I can see this guy is on his phone. No big deal if you don't want to speed up, but pull to the right if you're going to go 57 in a 70. He never moves, so the car in front of me begins to pass him on the right.

I think to myself, "Okay...I'll do that, too."

The only problem is that when this guy realizes he's only going 57 and he's being passed on the right he decides to speed up. At this point I am ahead of him, but not so far ahead as to make the safest move into his lane. I see I am coming very quickly upon the truck ahead of me. What to do?

No way am I not getting in here. This dudes just being a jerk now that he knows he's getting passed. So I mash it and slide in between him and the truck, with plenty of room to spare, but I'm sure Mr. Indecisive had to put the brakes on.

Well, now Mr. Indecisive is very decisive. He decides to ride my tail as close as he can. His truck is slightly larger than mine, but I'm not intimidated. I do however decide that if he wants to speed, I'll let him by.

So I get around the semi beside me and pull to the right. He begins to pass me, but instead of passing on by, slows to my speed so we are even and issues his unseasonal gesture. Along with his old man in the seat next to him.

I'm pretty shocked, but pretend not to see it. Don't want to give them any pleasure, you know?

The car behind us saw it, though. And then they speed up to us and in an effort to make sure we see it, proceed to return the same gesture to the men in the pickup as they pass them...on the right.

We soon enter a construction zone so I have to follow behind these guys for miles. 68S-MJ2. 68S-MJ2.

When we leave the construction zone, these men have forgotten, once again, the speed limit, but they are at least on the right side of the road. As I speed up to 70 again, I slide by them and never glance their way. Like I never even noticed their unseemly act.

On Thanksgiving Day.

Cincinnati Road Trip

About four years ago, four friends embarked on a journey from College Station, TX to Cincinnati, OH. Why would four friends leave College Station at four o'clock in the morning four years ago to drive to Cincinnati and back in four days?

For that great forgotten thrill...the roadtrip. That and one of these friends had been a Cincinnati Bengal fan for 14 years. and it was high time he saw them play in person. The Bengals were awful that year and ended up being mauled by the Steelers in that game, but the road trip was about more than a game. It was about friends connecting in their last (well, mostly) semester of college.

And now four years down the road, it was time to have a reunion tour. So tickets were purchased for the Bengals-Chargers game, and the road trip was on again.

It all begins with Lyle calling me on Wednesday afternoon. "Hey Ty...I think I made a mistake."

"What do you mean?"

"When are we leaving for the game?"

"Friday morning...why?"

"Yeah I made a mistake." I thought he was going to say he couldn't go. "I'm over halfway to Dallas right now, and I ain't turnin' around."

Awesome! Bonus time with Moog!



Day One

We left at 5:30 Friday morning from Dallas to swing by Longview and pick up Amanda. We picked her up and hit the road, but we soon saw a sign that made us all think we had the makings of a special road trip.



Yep. That says what you think it does. Lyle obliged for the guy, but he just pointed to his sign and kept smoking. I guess he thought we read it wrong or just didn't understand. He also had a much larger sign saying roughly the same thing on the back of his cab.

After a lot more driving, sleeping, movie watching and iPod surfing (not to mention a risky lunch at a roadside Mexican food restaurant that used to be a gas station) we finally rolled into Nashville. Actually through Nashville, as we were going into Lebanon, TN to stay with our friends Mandy and David who had just moved there from Dallas.

After a quick shower, we hit the town. Broadway in downtown Nashville is a pretty cool place. There's live music coming from every little bar and club.



The first place we stopped in was an old place that Hank Sr. used to hang out in. The band there was pretty good. I really liked them when they played Charlie Robison's My Hometown. The next joint had a band that had a BR-549 feel, if you're familiar. They played some great tunes including Old Crow Medicine Show's Wagon Wheel.

All in all downtown Nashville totally exceeded my expectations. We rolled back to David and Mandy's at about 1 or 2 in the morning feeling pretty good about Day 1.

Day Two

We woke up bright and early on Saturday (it felt early anyway) and made our way back to Nashville. It was backtracking a bit, but we really wanted to go to this boot store on Broadway that offered "Buy 1 Pair, Get 2 Free." And sure enough...we bought one and got two free. Moog and I also got some hats for the Bengals game which you'll notice in later pics.

We also figured we should pay homage to Elvis since he was right there and all.





The it was on to Cincy. We had planned a stop at Mammoth Cave in Kentucky, but it didn't really work out for us. For future reference, when the lady on the other end of the line at Mammoth Cave says you should be fine and don't need to reserve a spot for a tour, just say, "That's cool. I'll reserve one anyway just to be safe."

That's all I'm gonna say about that.

But we did pass a place called Diamond Caverns on the way in and figured what the heck. Let's check them out.

Turns out, Diamond Caverns were pretty cool. They were discovered in 1859 by some kid who felt cool air just coming up out of a hole in the ground. There were already cave tours being given in the area and the landowner was no fool. So, he developed the caves and in 35 days, yes thirty-five days, he was giving his first tour.

Before they would let us in though, they made Lyle put on special spelunking gear...



Now here's some shots of the cave.





After our little caving detour, we hopped back in the car and headed north to Cincinnati. We rolled into town at about 8 PM local time, threw our stuff in the hotel and headed to dinner. We had been tipped off about a place called Montgomery Inn and Boathouse right on the river. And it was very good.



Amanda and Lyle at Montgomery Inn



Stacie and I at Montgomery Inn



That's our crazy old drunken waiter Dave putting Amanda's bib on before she digs into the ribs. Dave later recommended that we go to an area of Cincy called Mt. Adams if we wanted to hang out. He told us to tell the cab driver to take us to the Pavillion. So we did.

Once at the Pavillion, we realized Dave did not lead us astray. It was a three level club with patios (too cold to stay on, however), music, dancing...the works.

It even had random guys insisting to hold the picture until he gets down the stairs.



We actually closed this place down believe it or not. I think it's been since college that I heard the song Closing Time while the lights came on over me at 2:30 in the morning.



While we were out front waiting for our taxi we ran into Candians in town for a rugby match. The funny thing is these particular Canadians had played one of Dallas' better rugby teams right down from our house sometime last year.

They also dropped their pants to reveal their underwear right outside the club. Once because...well, we're not sure why because it was freakin' cold. And the second time because somebody...I'm not naming names...made a comment about it that came across as a request for an encore. This later had our cab driver saying in his Mozambique accent, "Please don't ask me to undress." Crazy times in Cincinnati.

So, finally at four o'clock in the morning, Day Two came to an end.

Day Three

Day Three was pretty much about the game. I'll let the pictures do most of the talking. We had a great time, even though the Bengals lost 49-41. But I did manage to sweet talk a gatekeeper at the club in order to get some Skyline Chili since that was the only place they were selling it. How could they turn away a couple of Texans who had never had Skyline Chili?












After the game we were going to drive to Louisville, KY to meet Stacie's Aunt Susan for dinner. I say "were" because that would mean driving to Louisville, not Lexington. I realized I'd missed the I-75, I-71 split about 20 miles from Lexington. Oops.

Instead we just had a major Karaoke session all the way to Bowling Green and ate at a Cracker Barrel.

We rolled back into David and Mandy's in Lebanon at about 11 PM and went straight to bed.

Day Four

We hit the road at about 8:30 Monday morning, and just like we knew all was well on the way up, we also got a sign on the way back. We strolled into a Chick-Fil-A to order breakfast and found out it was free. Turns out they do that in Mount Juliet, TN on Monday morning. Free breakfast entree, just like that.

We watched Man on Fire between there and Memphis, but decided to stop in Memphis for lunch down on Beale St. I'm really glad we did that because that is a neat town. I would like to hang out in Memphis at night, but that may have to wait until the next road trip.



We also got to see Elvis again.



From there it was smooth sailing back to Texas. We dropped Amanda off in Longview and cruised into Dallas at about 10 PM Monday night. And that was Day 4.

I don't believe there's any way we could have fit more into this trip than we did. It was an awesome time. Better than the first one by far. Maybe because we actually all have a little money this time. The road was fun. The friends are great. And the time had was marvelous.

We may have to stop going, though. The Bengals have yet to win a home game when I drive up to see them.

A Tragic Story

I go to baseball games on occasion. Mostly Texas Rangers games because they're closest to my house; well, that, and I have this knack for rooting for teams that just aren't that good that often.

To be honest I'd rather just stay home and watch the Rangers play on TV with my good friends Craig and Jaime. I can usually see more that way. The City of Dallas is stupid, so the stadium was placed in Arlington. Plus let's all be honest. The Ballpark in Arlington is a tourist zone. What do people come to Dallas to do? Shop. Go to Six Flags and Hurricane Harbor. See where JFK got shot. And since we're staying in Arlington we might as well go to a Rangers game.

That's why by the fourth inning the wave is already underway.

I hate the wave. People do the wave because they are completely disinterested in the game of baseball. They've downed their beer (or soda), polished off their hotdog and had a little ice cream. Since to entertain themselves for the next 5 innings by eating would require a second mortgage, they must come up with something to do to pass the time.

I know! I'm going to stand up, yell like an idiot about nothing for one full second and tell the guy beside me to pass it on. Then all the poor, bored souls will have something to do.

I apologize. I seem to have gotten off track.

For all that I dislike about the ballpark where my favorite team plays, I still go pretty often. And I try to never turn down free tickets; which is where our dark tragedy begins.

"They're 13 rows behind home plate," I told my wife.

"Oh, well then you've gotta go."

"You sure it's cool. I know I was supposed to watch the dogs."

"You have to go. Those seats are too good. I'll take care of the dogs."

"You rock."

I knew she was cool with me going, but I also knew that we both had early mornings the next day. It was a Wednesday night after all. And the game is in Arlington. If it's close, I'll definitely stay to the end. But if it's not, I'll leave early, beat the traffic and be home before 10 instead of after 11. She'll appreciate that.

The seats were amazing. I'd never sat that close before. We were definitely in easy foul ball territory. In fact, one came within two rows of us almost immediately. We all lost it in the sky, as the sun had yet to set, and the sky had that washed out look. It wasn't white, but it wasn't blue either. Apparently the family in front of us lost it, too, as they all bent over to shield their heads.

The dad would've been better off shielding his daughter, who was about 5 years old, because the ball slammed down in the middle of her back. Her little brother, only three at the oldest, grabbed the ball excitedly and then fired it down the aisle toward the protective net. I guess that's all he knew to do with a ball. The girl held up pretty well. I would've too if the ballpark ushers had come down and consoled me and then brought me a free glove and a free t-shirt. A nice fan brought the ball back to the girl, too.

We had taken an early one run lead, and in the third Ian Kinsler began what would turn out to be an 8 run inning by hitting a missile of a homerun to straightaway center field. It was amazing to watch from directly behind him.

The most impressive of the 8 runs were the four driven in by Nelson Cruz with one swing of the bat. That's right the almighty salami, The Grand Slam. Not only did we get the runs, but an army seargant, just back from Iraq, happened to be in the seat slated to win $10,000 if just such a thing occurred that inning. He received a deserved standing ovation when that was discovered.

I know what you're saying. Where's the tragedy? Sounds like a great day at the ballpark. True.

I looked at the clock on the right field scoreboard. 9:15. We were winning 9-2. The top of the 8th inning was just underway.

"Boys. I gotta get outta here. Me and the wife have early mornings and I know she won't go to bed without me. I think I'm gonna beat the traffic."

"Alright, man."

"Mike, thanks for the seats dude. They were perfect."

"No problem."

And with that I headed to my truck. When I was settled inside, I decided to finish listening to the game on the radio. I knew we were going to win, but I just like baseball, so why not?

And then it happened. Bottom of the eighth, Angels pitcher Kevin Gregg threw a pitch behind Ian Kinsler.

Oh, man! It's happening. That's the thought that ran through my head as I drove away.

You see the Rangers and Angels don't exactly like each other. There's a little bad blood between the two clubs because the Rangers keep hitting Angels batters and well, the Angels keep beating the crap out of the Rangers. The Angels feel they owe the Rangers a little payback for some of those hit batters. And it was happening. And if the conditions were just right, it might get ugly.

Both benches are warned not to throw anymore beanballs. But on his next batter, Kevin Gregg beans Michael Young.

Ejected.

Bring in Brendan Donnelly. Immediately he drills Freddy Guzman in the back.

Ejected. Too far? Maybe. Or was that what the Angels felt needed to happen to even the score.

The clouds were brewing over the ballpark like a heat driven West Texas afternoon thunderstorm. I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

The eighth inning mercifully came to an end. The Rangers send in Scott Feldman to close out the game in the ninth. After securing the first two outs pretty easily, it happened.

As I was turning onto my street, Feldman pegged Adam Kennedy. He said the ball got away from him. The Rangers managers said he was told specifically not to hit any Angels. But the truth is that obviously the Rangers believed the Angels went too far throwing behind Kinsler, hitting Young and hitting Guzman.

Regardless, Kennedy charged the mound, with Rangers catcher Gerald Laird in hot pursuit. But Feldman didn't back down. Stepping forward, he yanked his glove off and swung for Kennedy. Kennedy dodged, only getting hit in the shoulder, but the next thing he knew he was on the ground as Mark DeRosa had swooped in from third and laid a perfect form tackle onto the surprised Kennedy.

Benches cleared. Bullpens raced in from center field to get in on the action.

And I sat in my truck with the full realization that I may never again have seats that great for a real Major League Baseball bench clearing, bullpen emptying brawl. I thought I was going to be sick.

I had walked out, to be a good husband sure, but I had walked out.

So to all you ladies out there, if you're man wants to get to a sporting event 30 minutes before the game begins, and if he wants to stay right up to the end, even if the game is well in hand, I'm not saying that you must oblige, but remember this: You never know what you may get to witness.

And that's what makes us guys want to be there for every second if we have a ticket. We don't want to be that guy, the guy I was. The guy who says, "Yeah. I was at that game, but I left early," and then watch as your buddy's face fails to hide his feelings of pitty and shame on your behalf.

And that, my friends, is tragic.

A Point Well Made a.k.a. Things That Don't Piss Me Off

Last week at church my pastor made a really good point. I generally hate it when he does that because it means I relate a bit too closely to the topic he is speaking on, meaning maybe something less-constructive should be weeded out of my life.

A few weeks ago I wrote a blog entitled "Things That Piss Me Off." I was upset after the Mavericks got screwed, I wasn't getting a lot of sleep, I was in the middle of job hunting, next excuse here, followed by 5th excuse, and capped off with excuse numero seis (for my Spanish speaking readers-you know who you are, Pedro, Consuela.)

Anywho. The point he made was that "anyone can tell you what they hate, the things they dislike; it's harder to tell people the things you like."

So essentially I was called out for "easy-writin'." Cheap thrills. Taking the downhill path. Taking that sweet yummy candy from a tiny, sleeping baby. However you label it, I had to admit, it was easy. I could've written for days about things I dislike. And I almost did.

So now I would like for you to embark on a journey with me. One that may test you, and push you to really think about yourself. It'll be like going through our own little Fire Swamp together. There will be random blasts of fire, desiring nothing more than to set you ablaze. There will be hidden dangers in the form of lightning sand. And there may be rodents of unusual size but I really doubt they exist.

The journey is this: I will make a list of things I do like. Things I really like not stuff like "air" or "sunsets." More like "the air at the top of Tucker Mountain just before you ski down it" or "the sunset I watched with my wife on our honeymoon in Maui." I'm talking stuff that means one has really thought about who one is.

After making my list, I think you should comment with just one thing you really like. That's all. Just one. You don't have to. I'm not seeking a tracker of who's reading this dribble I throw out every so often. I just think it would be good for us all to think about what we really like.

Because like my pastor said, it's the easy way to tell everyone what you don't like.

Thing I Like:

Having anywhere from 5 to 15 of our friends come to mine and Stacie's place for dinner almost every Thursday night.

Long roadtrips to Cincinnati with three of my favorite people in the world.

Taking my wife out on a date when she had no idea it was coming (especially when the night is just so fun that we have to pull the truck over and dance under the stars...you all probably thought I was going to say "make out." Well that happens, too.)

Making pieces of wood and metal go from being nothing to a creation exactly as it was designed.

Wacthing a great band put on a great show and then, if the venue was Gruene Hall, getting up the next morning and spending the whole day on the Guadalupe River.

Dreaming about being running mates with my brother for the 2016 presidential nomination.

I really like the TV show Scrubs. A lot. It makes me laugh a lot.

Disagreeing with someone I really like about politics, world view, religion, etc., but realizing that it's okay because we still really like each other and that it's cool to disagree.

Spending 7 straight weeks on the road with my great friend Zach.

Going snow skiing in Canada with three great friends, eating Grandma Fehr's amazing dinners, and overhearing a ski patrol woman saying, "You'd have to be insane to ski that mountain today if you didn't know the terrain," as we were packing it to the car after a long day of insane skiing.

Falling asleep on the couch with my wife, while my two dogs Walker and Texas Ranger (just kidding...Bradie and Reese) sleep on the ground beside us on a rainy Saturday afternoon.

Well there it is. Some things I really like...maybe even love. I actually think I could've gone on for months writing those. I'm glad about that. It's nice to see that Cynical Ty is not killing Ty Who Likes Things.

Post yours if you dare. Or just write them down and forget about all those things you don't like for a while.

To be or not to be...a doctor.

You know, I've never really wanted to be a doctor. Had no desire whatsoever. I don't like hospitals. I don't like to be in them. I don't like how they smell. I don't like how they're really clean, but yet pretty cluttered. I don't mind my own blood; I don't ever want to see a whole lot of it up close, of course. Not real interested in other people's blood either.

The funny thing is two of my favorite shows on TV are about doctors. Scrubs (possibly the best show ever) totally gets my sense of humor, and the writing is pretty creative if you pay attention. Grey's Anatomy is more of a guilty pleasure...but that's another topic.

The point is, I was watching an episode from my Scrubs: Season 3 DVDs, and one of the characters, Dr. Cox, totally made me want to be a doctor when he said this to JD:

"Tell ya what, I'm gonna go ahead and write you a prescription for two testicles. Feel free to get that filled whenever you get a chance."

Oh man! Have I wanted to say such a thing to a few people! Now, I could say that, but it would mean nothing. I'm not a doctor. Dr. Cox gets to pull out his pad, write a prescription for two testicles, sign it and actually pass it off to JD. I'd love to be able to do that.

My career path just doesn't allow for it. It's not believable.

Pepsi...nope.

Random marketing company...nope.

Carpenter...hmmmm....I don't think so, but I could say:

"Tell ya what there Ginger, I'm gonna go ahead and rout a couple of testicles for you out of this piece of oak. Go ahead and try 'em out for a few days and see how they suit you. Maybe one day you can start wearing them full time. Whaddaya say?"

Not bad...maybe I don't have to be doctor. Maybe I just need to be a little more creative.

If I hurry, I can withdraw my application to medical school before they reject me and hurt my feelings.

Red Stripe Commercial Quandary

I'd like you to watch this commercial if you have the time.



(If not, a quick description: The Jamaican Red Stripe promoter is dancing to reggae holding a beer. An obviously confused white guy can't seem to figure out what to do. The promoter gives the white guy the beer and now he can dance.)

Now, I'm a fan of Red Stripe beer commercials. The beer itself tastes more to me like a moldy Otis Spunkmeyer muffin (you can ask, if you must), but the commercials I enjoy. Even this one. However, couldn't I be offended by the content if I wanted to be offended?

The idea that a white man cannot dance unless aided by a beer is a bit stereotypical. Sure, most white men probably are less comfortable at dancing to reggae, and probably aren't very good at it either. I, as a white man, am okay with that. I prefer to dance to a good country song anyway, and I feel like I can do it just fine.

But what if the roles (and perhaps for the sake of argument, the product) in this commercial were altered? Now, I don't want to go into any specifics, but if this were to be a white man peddling a product that would improve a black man's ability to do something that black men are stereotypically regarded as being poor at, would this commercial fly? Or if this were a white man and an Arabic man? Or a Latino? Even if the subject of the inadequecy was somewhat lighthearted...nothing political or whatnot...I still feel this would never even make it off the runway in a brainstorming session.

Why is this? Is it because I simply could care less about being offended, and others would rather raise an objection and receive that offense? I don't think you can say it is because I've never been treated differently because of race, religion, gender, etc. because I have. When I was applying for collegiate scholarships I was flat-out told that "because I am a middle-class white male I will have a great deal of difficulty receiving any scholarships." And the person telling me this was correct. There was a scholarship specific to every person on earth I felt, except for myself. There was American Indian only, African American only, Latin American only...you name it. No caucasion American only, though.

When I played football for Texas A&M, I was merely a walk-on trying to live a dream. However, after my first season, the athletic department came to to the football coaches and told them that due to Title IX (equal opportunity legislation for female athletics---which has done a lot to advance women's athletics by the way---) the team had to stay at 120 players. It could not go above this because it would cause there to be an unequal ratio of men to women athletes.
S
o nine players had to be cut. Nine. On a freaking college football team. I obviously didn't make it. I am obviously disappointed. But at the same time a lot of good things that happened to me would not have happened had I kept playing football.

But the point is, I've been discriminated against. You've been discriminated against. We all have been. It's a part of life. If we were all the same color, people would still find a reason to congregate together in groups and other small minded people in different groups would make fun of those groups.

"Look it's the brown eyes!!! Ha, ha...losers have brown eyes!"

Or..."Tatooed people smell! Everyone with a tatoo smells like a week old kolache!!!"

Look at the new Jetta commercials, for example.

You get my drift. So, am I wrong for being okay with being made fun of for a stereotype in a commercial? Should I be pissed off and raise hell to Red Stripe in defense of my race?

Or should we all lighten up and realize that we're different and that's okay?We are all different, in and out of our races. No big deal.

Or is there some middle ground where a line is drawn, but good natured fun-poking is just part of life?

Maybe the answer is in building relationships with groups (racially based or not) that are different from us. I have a friend who is white. His best friend is a black guy. They both know that the other would step in front of a bullet for each other if only to preserve the other one's life for one more second. The white guy calls the black guy "Big Color." Someone may have just been offended. But not this particular black guy. He knows there's not a racist bone in his friend's body. His friend may not like you, but it has nothing to do with your race. He knows his friend and loves his nickname for him.

So maybe it is about relationships, maybe it is about defending when defending is called for and maybe it is about letting stuff go as lighthearted, non-malicious jocularity when necessary. Like I am doing with the Red Stripe commercial. Even though I think I'm a pretty awesome reggae dancer.

Things That Piss Me Off

Well, if you're a Mavericks fan and you watched Game 5 of the NBA Finals last night, then you are most likely pretty irate. I am. I did. And, well, I am. There's several reasons for my attitude.

First, the Mavs needed this win. And before the game even begins the worst-run league in all professional sports suspends Jerry Stackhouse for a hard foul on Shaq in Game 4. Yes, the foul was hard, but in no way warranted a suspension. Why the NBA insists on taking the focus off of the games and putting it on the league I will never understand.

Secondly, Dwyane Wade is being treated like Michael Jordan. This warrants two notes: (1) He's not. (2) Even if he was, you cannot call fouls that are not there just because you assume a player is so good he can't miss unless he is fouled.

Thirdly, the refs decided this basketball game, and I'm being told by writers and sports radio folk around the area not to be pissed off. They say that the Mavs missed free throws (they were 21 of 25.) They say the Mavs should've taken the ball to the basket more and need to be more aggressive (why be aggressive if you are getting knocked around but not getting a call.) Here's my problem. The Mavs were in a position to win the game, up by one, 9 seconds left. Dwyane Wade makes an erratic and out of control drive to the basket, throws up a shot, and it misses. Replays clearly show nothing but great defense. No foul. To call that foul and to not be sure of it is wrong. And that pisses me off.

True. The Mavs could've done a hundred things better to be up by 10 instead of by one. But the bottom line is they were in a position to win the game and the rug was pulled out from under them.

So now that I am good and fired up, I feel like writing about some other things that piss me off. Right or wrong, they make me mad. And listing them will probably make me feel better. In no particular order:

A driver who has the right of way at a four-way stop, but absolutely insists that I go ahead. By the time we finish with our hand signals if said driver had just gone like they should've we could've gone through the intersection about 8 times.

Bad Saturday Night Live sketches. Seriously, are they even trying anymore.

The fact that people advance through this life just because they are good-looking. I've seen so many bimbos and mimbos in Dallas without a brain cell to their name who rake in cash simply because of their...other assets. Just watch a reality show if you can stomach it. And answer me this: How come there are no ugly people in the last decade with good enough voices to get a record deal? There's gotta be at least one.

My golf game, when I care about it.

The Cincinnati Bengals finally have a great season and are only awarded 2 prime time games, but the Green Bay Packers go 4-12 and get 3.

Forgetting something and having to turn around to go get it.

Stopping for gas and having to re-pass all of the cars you had trouble getting around initially.

Steve Dennis on ESPN 103.3 FM in Dallas. You know if you live in Dallas. He's the worst and least intelligent of all sports personalities in the Dallas/Ft.Worth area. He must be good-looking to still have his job.

Shaquille O'Neal intermixed in Superman Returns previews.

When I was a kid and someone would accidentally hit the cord connecting my controller to the Nintendo. It would totally freeze my game and I'd have to start over!

Getting shot at, and consequently peppered with bb's, while hunting with a dude from Detroit.

Accidentally ordering my burger without telling the order-taker that I want mayo instead of mustard.

Well, I'm sure there are more, and like I said before, I'm probably completely wrong in letting most of this stuff anger me; but it does and so does the Mavs game last night.

Here's to hoping we rebound and win this thing...

Share in my boredom...if you dare.

Currently I am taking an online defensive driving course in an attempt to save a little bit of cash on a speeding ticket. I know what you're thinking..."But, Ty, you driving is impeccable. You rarely, if ever, violate the laws of our roads..." While what you are speaking to yourself, in your head at this very moment is factual, allow me to explain myself while I wait for the mandatory time that must be spent on my current section to expire.

The violation occured on an afternoon unlike any I had ever experienced. The usual February chill of North Dallas was forced away by an irrepressible Texas sun. It was hot. As I drove south on Skillman Avenue, I depressed the button on my door briefly. The mechanism inside the door understood my action: the window must go all the way down. As the tinted glass made it's journey, I also pushed the sleeve of my sweater up to let the heat escape. The false cool that morning deceived me, and I fell right into its evil plan as I pulled out a sweater for church rather than a Polo.

It was then, that up ahead I noticed a police car pulling out of a neighborhood with its lights flashing. I thought it odd that he stopped at the stop sign, allowing me to pass, but at the same time police in this area quite often use their ability to speed and drive in emergency-mode merely to hasten their trip home or to the nearest 7-11. I have even seen officers fly by school buses letting children off at the end of the day, no lights flashing, while the rest of us followed the law and stopped.

As I passed the street the officer turned in behind me, but kept at an odd distance, inconsistent with that of an officer intent on pulling a vehicle over. Was I speeding? I don't think so. Maybe. Who knows? I know I'm in no hurry. It's Sunday afternoon. I'm with my wife, my love. Why rush? I was meeting friends at my house so that they might borrow season four of Smallville, but they were right behind me. No hurry whatsoever.

"Should I pull over?"

"I don't know."

"He's not coming after me. He's so far back. I'll turn right at Mockingbird and see if he follows me."

I put on my blinker and proceed through the green light. The officer stays back at least one hundred yards, but he does turn to follow me. Maybe if I switch lanes, then I'll be able to tell if he's really after me. Left blinker. Left lane.

The cop does nothing. Whew. I didn't think he could be...wait. Now he's changing lanes. Okay...well, what if I move back. Right blinker. Right lane. The cop...nothing. Wait a minute. Dang it! He must be after me. Is he?

"I'm just going to turn onto this side street, stop and see what he does."

You must realize all of this occured over the course of less than one mile. Nevertheless, the cop approaching my window is slightly pissed off with an obvious chip on the ol' shoulder.

"When did you see my lights come on?" he demands.

"Well...they were already on when I saw you coming out of that neighborhood, but I wasn't sure if you were..."

"You have to stop when you see lights flashing."

"I just wasn't sure you were coming for me...you were so far back."

"It doesn't matter. That's a good way to get drug out of your car. You have to stop; it's in the book." Now I'm pissed off. First don't threaten to drag me out, drag me out. Second, please do not call my '97 F-150 a "car" unless you want to get drug out. And third, I call BS on that being in the driver's manual. Sure you have to move out of the way, but stop? No way.

GIVE THE RIGHT-OF-WAY TO EMERGENCY VEHICLES

You must yield the right-of-way to

police cars, fire trucks, ambulances,

and other emergency vehicles

which are sounding a siren or

bell or flashing a red light by

pulling to the right edge of the

roadway and stopping.

Awww...dammit!!!

Moral: Read the manual.....yeah right! Damn the manual! Save the Empire! Back to DD for me. I'll keep you updated.

Otto Graham

So, this may seem totally random to most people and way out of the blue to everyone else, but I a historical person I'd like to meet is Otto Graham. Maybe nobody out there really knows about this guy.

And if that is the case I thought I'd take a moment to tell you.

Otto Graham played quarterback for the Cleveland Browns of the AAFC and later of the NFL. Originally drafted by the Detroit Lions, Graham first had to serve in the US Navy. Not wanting to wait to sign Graham, the Lions passed while Browns' head coach, Paul Brown, quickly scooped him up to play for the fledgling team in 1946.



Thus began Graham's ten year professional football career. In each year of the AAFC's existence Graham and the Cleveland Browns won the AAFC Championship. Criticized for playing in a sub-par league, the Browns joined the NFL in 1950 and won the NFL Championship.

So for those of you keeping track at home, that's 5 years for Graham, 5 Championships for the Browns.

The next three seasons were dark years for Graham. The Browns reached the title game all three but failed to win a single NFL Championship. But in 1954, Graham was back on top again winning the championship over the Detroit Lions.

Graham was expected to retire after that season, but having not found an adequate replacement for his star QB, Paul Brown pleaded with Graham to return for one more season.

Graham did and Graham won one more NFL Championship.

Now for those keeping score..that is 10 professional seasons. 10 Championship games, 7 championships. Never once did Otto Graham walk of the field having not played in the final game of the season. He finished his career with a 105-17-4 record and an 86.6 passer rating.

Oh and one more thing...before jumping into professional football, Otto Graham played one year of professional basketball for the Rochester Royals.

And the Royals won the NBL Championship. The dude was awesome...too bad he died in 2003. I wish I could've met him.

New Puppy

As some of you may know, Stacie and I have a new puppy getting a lot of our attention. She likes to pee, poop, eat, sleep, whine and be really cute.



We know her mom is a yellow lab, but until recently we couldn't determine what her dad was. Another lab? A Boston Terrier? A Great Dane? No matter how hard we tried to deduce her true breed we came to no conclusions, but then it dawned on us.

The paws. The growl. The way she walks. The way she moves. The color and texture of the fur...

Her dad was...a bear. That's right folks! We have the one and only Lab-Bear in North America! It takes two to tango and somehow a bear snuck into our friends backyard and knocked up their yellow lab.

But we are the beneficiaries. We get the only puppy out of the litter to actually be more bear than dog. I know you're all jealous. You'll just have to come see her soon.

You might want to bring a salmon.

Texas Independence Day: March 2, 1956...?

As many of you may know, Texas Independence Day was yesterday. I spent an awesome evening at Love and War in Texas listening to some great music by Brian Burns, Rusty Weir and Billy Joe Shaver in order to pay my respects to the great Lone Star, but while I was there I couldn't help but think...What if Mexico had won? What if General Antonio Lopez de Santana hadn't been defeated...? What if...

Luckily for you, I know a guy who knows a guy, so last night when I got home, I went back in time and whispered a warning to Santana at San Jacinto to create, that's right, an alternate Texas Independence Day 2006. I've obviously righted the situation since all is well, but wouldn't you like to know what this alternate universe looked like...

Below, you'll see North America as you know it now, but soon after the Texians overwhelming defeat at San Jacinto, Santana, full of his pride, his power and homemade tortillas, marched northward.

Don't forget, it was the War with Mexico in which the United States acquired the lands west of Texas and set the southern border of Texas once and for all as the Rio Grande. But this war was initiated over the annexation of Texas into the U.S. So this war never happened right?

Wrong.

Santana, full of himself and his military might marched into the U.S. capturing everything west of Pennsylvania and Georgia. Then without the protection of the American's mighty military Canada soon fell as well.

And Mexico became the most powerful nation on earth.

Soon, however, Santana realized he didn't need that much maple syrup and figured hockey would never take off...so he returned Canada to the Candians and apologized for any inconvenience. They were pretty cool about it.

But what the general did not know was that at this very moment a secret society of surviving Texans had been started. With no resources and no choices the group agreed to never let the spirit of Texas or of the Republic die. They agreed to ensure the dream of Texas lived on.
Almost one hundred years passed.

Then in 1933 in the small town of Abbot, Texas, a revolutionary was born. When young Willie was only 10 years old, his dad passed down the story his dad had passed down to him. He said, "Willie, we must not let the dream that was the Republic of Texas die." To which the young boy replied, "Why is it still dead?"

In 1956, 23 year old Willie Nelson and 19 year old Waylon Jennings, inspired by Willie's dream, gathered a band of miscreants and outlaws and began the second Texas revolution.
With help from other Texan leaders like the transplanted Kinky Friedman and Merle Haggard, and Texan natives like Kris Kristofferson the second Texas Declaration of Independence was drafted in Abbot, Texas on March 2, 1956. General Willie Nelson led the new army of Texians into many battles with the overwhelming Mexican forces led by President Adolfo Ruiz Cortines, marching fearlessly while the battle cries "Remember the Alamo!" and "Remember San Jacinto!" echoed throughout the land formerly held by the Texans.

As the Texan army gained speed, reinforcements from the United States gave the Texans the edge needed to defeat the abundant, yet complacent Mexican army. And the Republic of Texas was born in 1958.

Soon after lands were returned to the United States, the California Territory was confiscated by the Texans and then given as a gift to the United States for their help in securing freedom. Most Texans agreed the country was fine just like it was anyway, bordered on the north by the United States and the Red River and on the south by the Rio Grande.

The Texan dream is a dream that could not die. And never will.

My progression through time was beginning to wear me down, so I decided to go back and fix my mess. I headed down to San Jacinto and found the prettiest yellow rose I could and asked if she wouldn't mind entertaining a Mexican general for the cause of Liberty.

She agreed and the rest is history.