Man Moments

For some reason yesterday morning, I thought back to a time in college. I'm not entirely sure what caused this momentary flashback, but it was there.

"Who knows where thoughts come from? They just appear." Empire Records. Anybody?

Anywho. So, I was taken back to a night during my junior year standing outside of a friend's house. We had just finished with a meeting for an organization when one of the guys there said his truck wouldn't start. Naturally, all of the men began to walk that direction to assess the situation. Usually my assessment would go something like this:

"Pop the hood."

hood pops open

"Yep. That's an engine."

looks a little closer

"Something's keeping that thing from turning on."

closes hood

However, that night as he turned the key, I heard a familiar sound. I knew what was wrong. I knew what was wrong.

Anybody got a screwdriver, I ask. Next thing I know, screwdriver in hand, I crawl underneath the truck, locate the starter and begin tapping on it. He turns the key and the engine comes to life.

I tell him that his starter is failing and that he should probably get that taken care of soon. He drives away probably thinking I'm a car genius. That's not true in the slightest. I've just come across starter related issues before and was in the right place at the right time.

But here's what I was thinking about: that made me feel like such a stud. Manly, you know? I mean, c'mon, crawling under a pickup and fixing a mechanical problem. It felt good.

I think we need that as men. Those moments when we totally come through in a traditionally manly way. That's not to say that a woman couldn't do what I did. Heck, I guarantee you that my cousin Kelli knows much more about the inner workings of an engine than I do, but my point is men need to have manly moments.

Which leads me to last night.

I find three things curious about what led to the events of last night:

1) The story I just told you about remembering feeling particularly manly.

2) The fact that I was unusually careful about which shirt I chose to wear to my flag football game last night. Selecting one, that I knew I could sort of replace if I chose to do so.

3) The fact that I had just had a conversation with my sales manager about how it takes a bit longer to recover from sports injuries than it did a few years ago.

So, last night I head to my football game a little more pumped than usual. Why? Because I was playing quarterback.

I hadn't played a game at QB since I've moved to Chicago. The team I found to play on was already assembled and already has their quarterback, and he does a good job. It just so happens that he couldn't make the game last night, so I nominated myself for the job of fill-in. I was pumped up, but also nervous because I wanted to make a good impression and win the game, so I was hoping the rust wasn't too thick.

The first drive was awesome. We moved the ball right down the field and scored a touchdown. That definitely calmed the nerves a little.

Sadly, the next drive I threw a pick six. Underthrowing my intended target on a short flag route (the receiver runs straight and then breaks at an angle toward the sideline.)

To get you to the point of this story quickly, a blown call cost us one touchdown (as I was reaching the ball across the goal line the defender hacked my arm causing me to fumble; attempting to strip the football isn't legal in flag but it went uncalled). And their only offensive score came on a deep pass against one of our more reliable defenders (fluke.)

Fast forward to the last few minutes. We're down 14-6 and we're driving. We were fired up and wanted to win this game. I had found some success running the football when the coverage was good, so with about 30 seconds left in the game and us driving I decided to take off.

I slip through a couple of defenders, and as I approach another I decide to spin and hope that keeps him from pulling my flags.

And that's when the lights went out.

Next thing I know, I 'm on the ground. I remember spinning. I remember a flash of pain. And what sounded in my head like a car crashing.

My hands are on my face. Blood is on my hands. Stars are in my head.

Slowly everything starts to settle down. I know that the refs have stopped the game. Someone says there are nineteen seconds left.

I sit up. Then I stand up, wiping blood on my shirt. My carefully chosen shirt. The tears from the initial impact have faded away. I can see pretty clearly. My face hurts, but other than that, I'm okay.

The refs are pulling me off the field. My team is finding a QB.

"I can play," I tell no one in particular. "I'm gonna play."

"No. You have to see the medic," says the ref. "Lie down here. Tilt your head back."

I do as he says. He tells me the medic is right over there, and I should go see him.

"Tell him to come here, " I say.

He goes and gets the medic. I stand up as he comes over.

"Oh...,"he says. "Let's see. Yeah. That's broken. Here's an ice pack and here's..."

"Can I play?" I interrupt. "There's nineteen seconds left. Then I'll be right back here to see you."

"I guess. Are you sure you want to?"

I go back on the field. The team had already sorted out the new positions, but I tell them I'm good; let's finish this.

*I must note here that my friend Cory Minton did attempt to get me to go and sit down and not play. (This should keep him in slightly less hot water with Stacie for not stopping me.)

We're about 16 or 17 yards from the end zone at this point. On the very first play with my new look nose, I attempt a pass but get hammered by the defensive lineman who was rushing.

In flag football.

No sympathy on this field tonight. The clock stops for the penalty.

12 seconds left.

Incomplete pass. Clock stops.

5 seconds left. Last chance.

I drop back. I look right and as I my eyes scan to the other side of the field I see a hole opening up and my receiver, Chris Bartas, moving right towards it. I throw. He catches.

Touch. Down.

14-12.

Sadly, we don't convert the two-point try, so the story ends with a loss. But I have to be honest with you. That was a moment that I felt like a man. Throwing a pontentially game tying touchdown with a broken nose. How many people have done that?

I don't tell you this story to boast in our near comeback. I don't tell you this story to let you know that I am now the proud owner of a broken nose (though some of you probably need to know that, so, hey I broke my nose).

No, I tell you this story because as men, we need to take opportunities to feel like men. We need to remind ourselves that being a man has nothing to do with the losers we see portrayed in modern sitcoms. Or the losers we see in modern advertising who can only be motivated if the end result includes beer, TV or women.

There are the everyday moments when we can achieve this feeling. And then there are the bigger moments that come around less frequently.

It was as if throughout the day, I was being prepared for my mid-sized man moment and the backstory for this post. And it felt good to step up to the challenge. I encourage you to do likewise.

Joe the Plumber

I haven’t written much of anything about politics during this emotionally charged political season, and I feel like that has a lot to do with the fact that I’m not impressed by either candidate. Now, I have certain fundamental beliefs which are more represented by one candidate than the other, but at the end of the day I ask myself, "Really, America. This is the best we could come up with?"

So, why am I writing today? Well, they brought one of my own in to the mix. That’s why I felt the need to inject my thoughts into this campaign.

You see, there are many times when I go out in my super stylish 7 jeans or my awesome Buffalo jeans with a cool Jedidiah t-shirt. But inevitably while I’m out something happens.

I flash a little crack.

It used to bother me, but that was until I realized something.

I am ¼ plumber.

Being one quarter plumber is not to be confused with PCS (premature crack syndrome). I have a friend with PCS and it is a serious, often untreatable condition that causes the crack to start a little higher than it should and leads to crack exposure at an above average rate.

That’s not my issue at all. My grandpa on my Dad's side was a plumber. Plus my dad taught me the only two things you have to know to be a plumber: Sh%t flows downhill and payday's Friday. Therefore I’m ¼ plumber. I can’t help but show off the goods every now and then. I’m also ½ roughneck, but that’s for another post.

So, being one quarter plumber, it is my duty as a Plumber-American to comment about my brother Joe’s unusual rise to stardom and subsequent attacking over this past week.

First, for those of you hidden under a giant rock, Joe the Plumber met Barack Obama on the campaign trail and essentially said, "I’m a plumber. I want to buy the plumbing business that I work for, but if I do that it puts me into your category that you’re going to tax at a higher rate making it harder for me to be successful. Why are you going to do this?" Obviously this is not word for word, so here’s the link to the clip:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=baIFocVnJpc

Notice that Obama says at the end of the clip:

"When you spread the wealth around, it’s good for everybody."

Joe the Plumber has not said who he is voting for, but the attempts to tarnish this man’s character are everywhere. In fact, just this morning the Chicago Tribune website’s main page had a link that read:

"Joe the Plumber’s Story Has Some Cracks."

Perhaps some headline writer just couldn’t resist the chance to print that lead and had to dig up some dirt on this man (I can’t fully blame them for that), but it seems this man is being taken to task to discredit him. That’s fine. If Joe the Plumber isn’t all he’s "cracked" up to be, I think it’s okay if we get to the bottom of that.

There's also stories out about how he isn't a licensed plumber, owes back taxes, couldn't make $250,000 in a year selling toliets made of solid gold and now SNL is going to do a skit this weekend about how Joe the Plumber is actually John McCain's made-up invisible friend (that's kinda funny).

But the real story here should not be Joe. I don’t care if Joe was a Republican plant who really makes $10 Gazillion a year and had to look plumber up in the dictionary to find out what a plumber actually does, and I also wouldn't care if he was on the cover of Plumbing and Mechanical Magazine (the dream of every plumber, my grandad was on it twice, the first time in the latter part of '36).

The real story should be that Barack Obama’s policies align more closely with Marxism and Communism than they do capitalism. This is not the first time Obama has let on that he prefers a more "fair" socialist system, but this is the most publicized.

Like, Joe the Plumber, my vote is between me and the ballot box, but if you know anything about me and you read this piece you probably have an idea which way I’m leaning. I don’t point these things out about Obama to get everyone to vote for John McCain. As I stated in the beginning I’m not so crazy in love with Johnny Mac either. And I think both men will have a tough row to hoe (or pipe to snake, to keep my references in sync) come inauguration time, and I’d be surprised to see either one of them make it to a second term.

I point this out because I want as many people as possible to understand that Obama believes in some economic policies that are scary to me. I believe that if you work hard for something you deserve to keep it. America is the land of opportunity even in her worst economic moments. If you work hard, save more and spend less, you'll find yourself in a great economic situation in no time.

If you believe that our country would be better off with a more Marxist form of economic policy, then Obama is your man. But if captialism is your bag baby, well, John McCain will have to do for now. Until 2012 when my man Joe the Plumber "cracks" his way into the race.

I’m sorry. I can’t help myself.