So, I've taken quite a bit of ridicule from my wife over the past few weeks. As the Indians went to the playoffs, and advanced into the ALCS, I began to notice that certain behaviors I had correlated with some decent level to the outcome on the field. The things I ate, the clothes I wore, the places I sat.
And I wasn't alone in my being mocked, either. Ryan, who I watched a few games with, sat through the exact same thing.
Our wives thought we were crazy. Others laughed and joked about what they might do (in jest) to help the Indians win this year.
But Ryan and I ... we are not alone. According to that article on ESPN.com, 1 in 5 fans do things to help their teams win or to avoid jinxes.
I'm just shocked its that low. I figured it'd be closer to 4 in 5, to be honest.
So I might be crazy, but at least I'm not alone!
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Sunday, October 21, 2007
The Agony of Defeat
I know.
I know.
It's just a game.
But this sucks. It really sucks. I really thought this was the year for my beloved Tribe. I thought for certain this was the best chance in my lifetime for the season to end with a stream of tears of joy running down my face. Instead, it ended with my curled on my couch, tears running, but not of joy.
The Buckeye egg laying in Arizona. The Buckeye house building in the finals. The Cavs getting swept. And now going 0-3 in knockout games in the LCS.
Yes, it's just a game. They are all just games. But it still sucks.
You have no idea how much I want to see Boston College and Ohio State play for the National Title in Football right now. How I'm already trying to picture the Little Animal sacking Matt Ryan, and then RoboCatch going for a long bomb touchdown.
You have no idea how much I'm looking forward to the first Cavs-Celtics game. How much I'm looking forward to and picturing LeBron posterizing Garnett on a mammoth dunk. How I'm hoping we draw them in the playoffs and knock them out.
Heck, at this point in time I'm even daydreaming of the Browns backing into the playoffs as a six-seed, winning in the opening round and knocking off New England, ending their season at 16-1.
I know.
It's just a game.
But this sucks. It really sucks. I really thought this was the year for my beloved Tribe. I thought for certain this was the best chance in my lifetime for the season to end with a stream of tears of joy running down my face. Instead, it ended with my curled on my couch, tears running, but not of joy.
The Buckeye egg laying in Arizona. The Buckeye house building in the finals. The Cavs getting swept. And now going 0-3 in knockout games in the LCS.
Yes, it's just a game. They are all just games. But it still sucks.
You have no idea how much I want to see Boston College and Ohio State play for the National Title in Football right now. How I'm already trying to picture the Little Animal sacking Matt Ryan, and then RoboCatch going for a long bomb touchdown.
You have no idea how much I'm looking forward to the first Cavs-Celtics game. How much I'm looking forward to and picturing LeBron posterizing Garnett on a mammoth dunk. How I'm hoping we draw them in the playoffs and knock them out.
Heck, at this point in time I'm even daydreaming of the Browns backing into the playoffs as a six-seed, winning in the opening round and knocking off New England, ending their season at 16-1.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
If you are wondering
Last night: Chicken McNuggets
Tonight: Two four ways with beans.
I can't make this stuff up.
(if you have no idea what this post it talking about, read down a few posts)
Tonight: Two four ways with beans.
I can't make this stuff up.
(if you have no idea what this post it talking about, read down a few posts)
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
On The Path To Where, Exactly?
So, this morning, I was driving to Marion, OH. I was heading down 15 out of beautiful Findlay Ohio on a morning that finally felt like Autumn. Traffic was fairly light, as is usual for the path on a non-holiday travel day. Straight ahead in the sky was a giant white cloud surrounded by the only patch of sky I could truly call blue. The rest of the sky was gray. Very gray.
My attention became fixed on the giant white cloud in the one patch of blue. I traveled down a straight path of 15 for what seemed like a very, very long time. No turns, no hills. Just a straight path. A path that almost defines Northwest Ohio. And my attention remained fixed on the big white cloud with the patch of blue around it.
And that big white cloud with the patch of blue around it seemed to not get any closer. Even though I was traveling at a rate faster than one mile per minute, that patch of blue with the big white cloud in it simply would not come closer. I was stuck, it seemed, to be surrounded by the gray sky, and the less bright clouds. The less inviting and less promising part of the cool Autumn sky.
And I started to wonder if this was a metaphor for my life. That I could see a bright spot. I could see a path to that white spot. But no matter how hard I tried, and how fast I traveled, and how straight my path was, I couldn't gain ground towards it. I was stuck in the less promising part.
And I then began to wonder if it were a metaphor for something else. Not just me. Perhaps my career? Perhaps my life goals? Perhaps the universal Church? Perhaps my church? Perhaps my fraternity? Perhaps America? Perhaps the world? Perhaps "society as a whole"?
I trust in the ideology that I get more true insight from questions than from answers. That the path is more fulfilling than the destination. I hope that holds this time. Because I have a lot of questions. And a long path. And I'm not certain the end goal is actually attainable.
My attention became fixed on the giant white cloud in the one patch of blue. I traveled down a straight path of 15 for what seemed like a very, very long time. No turns, no hills. Just a straight path. A path that almost defines Northwest Ohio. And my attention remained fixed on the big white cloud with the patch of blue around it.
And that big white cloud with the patch of blue around it seemed to not get any closer. Even though I was traveling at a rate faster than one mile per minute, that patch of blue with the big white cloud in it simply would not come closer. I was stuck, it seemed, to be surrounded by the gray sky, and the less bright clouds. The less inviting and less promising part of the cool Autumn sky.
And I started to wonder if this was a metaphor for my life. That I could see a bright spot. I could see a path to that white spot. But no matter how hard I tried, and how fast I traveled, and how straight my path was, I couldn't gain ground towards it. I was stuck in the less promising part.
And I then began to wonder if it were a metaphor for something else. Not just me. Perhaps my career? Perhaps my life goals? Perhaps the universal Church? Perhaps my church? Perhaps my fraternity? Perhaps America? Perhaps the world? Perhaps "society as a whole"?
I trust in the ideology that I get more true insight from questions than from answers. That the path is more fulfilling than the destination. I hope that holds this time. Because I have a lot of questions. And a long path. And I'm not certain the end goal is actually attainable.
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
Monday, October 08, 2007
Superstitions
Everyone has some superstitions. Whether it's how you walk, where you drive, what you say to your wife before you leave in the morning, etc ... we all have them. I'm willing to bet that 99% of us don't really believe the superstitions we partake in, but we do them out of that inkling of doubt and the "what if" and "just in case" nerves in the back of our necks and brains.
This is more true than ever when it comes to sports fans. Sports players might top us (see Wade Boggs eating before a game and Patrick Roy entering and exiting the ice), but then again they might not. We have traditions we stick to. Something we did once that lead to a win, and we're afraid that if we don't, our team will lose and we'll be at fault. It's another way of involving ourselves in the game, but this time it only comes at a catastrophic price. There is no reward, there is only punishment. No one runs around yelling "Ohio State won against Michigan because I'm wearing the same underpants I was wearing when they announced the hiring of Jim Tressel!". But someone, somewhere, was thinking to themselves "man, I always make homemade buckeyes for Ohio State Games, and I bought store made ones this time. If I hadn't done that, we would have beaten Florida and we'd be the reining champs!"
I'm far from exempt from this. Back in the run to Super Bowl XL, Pittsburgh got an improbable win over Cincy in Cincy in the wild card round. I was wearing my smaller brown corduroy pants, my original Pacman boxers, and my green Monty Python shirt. A week later, it's Pittsburgh vs. Indianapolis, and all the above mentioned clothing is clean. So I wear it again. And Pittsburgh pulls the upset that no one outside of Merrill Hoge picked on television. The following week on Saturday I look in the closet, and discover the clothing is not there, and is in fact, dirty. So I beg with Rachel to wash them. She does, and I wear them that following Sunday. Pittsburgh defeats Denver. And there's no need to ask what I wore on Super Bowl Sunday, is there?
Now, I know deep down inside that if you asked me rationally, I would tell you that my choice of clothing had nothing to do with the Steelers winning Super Bowl XL. But, somewhere else down there, in the pit of my stomach and grabbing at the back of my neck is an inkling of doubt that says "don't risk it". That says that maybe all things are equal, and the "sports gods" are looking around, seeing which sports fans are respecting them most, and giving victory to their team. Again, rationally, I don't believe this, but emotionally, I don't want to risk it.
Fast forward to present days. The Indians are in the playoffs, facing the (hated) New York Yankees in the first round of the playoffs. For game one, I headed to Ryan's house, and brought a pot of Cincy-style Chili with all the fixings. I enjoyed two four-ways w/bean as I watched the Indians pummel the Yanks. The next night was game two. I heated up the leftovers, again had two portions, and survived the extra-inning nail-biter the Indians won. Last night was game three. The Indians were leading 3-0 when I got home from jOURney and Wal-Mart. I made Rachel and I dinner: fiesta hamburgerittos, scalloped potatoes, and California Blend. The Indians lost the game.
Any guess on what I'm eating during the game tonight? I only hope it's not too late and the sports gods haven't already considered me lost. I'd hate to see the Indians lose this series. And I'd hate to have even a small, irrational part of me think it was my fault.
This is more true than ever when it comes to sports fans. Sports players might top us (see Wade Boggs eating before a game and Patrick Roy entering and exiting the ice), but then again they might not. We have traditions we stick to. Something we did once that lead to a win, and we're afraid that if we don't, our team will lose and we'll be at fault. It's another way of involving ourselves in the game, but this time it only comes at a catastrophic price. There is no reward, there is only punishment. No one runs around yelling "Ohio State won against Michigan because I'm wearing the same underpants I was wearing when they announced the hiring of Jim Tressel!". But someone, somewhere, was thinking to themselves "man, I always make homemade buckeyes for Ohio State Games, and I bought store made ones this time. If I hadn't done that, we would have beaten Florida and we'd be the reining champs!"
I'm far from exempt from this. Back in the run to Super Bowl XL, Pittsburgh got an improbable win over Cincy in Cincy in the wild card round. I was wearing my smaller brown corduroy pants, my original Pacman boxers, and my green Monty Python shirt. A week later, it's Pittsburgh vs. Indianapolis, and all the above mentioned clothing is clean. So I wear it again. And Pittsburgh pulls the upset that no one outside of Merrill Hoge picked on television. The following week on Saturday I look in the closet, and discover the clothing is not there, and is in fact, dirty. So I beg with Rachel to wash them. She does, and I wear them that following Sunday. Pittsburgh defeats Denver. And there's no need to ask what I wore on Super Bowl Sunday, is there?
Now, I know deep down inside that if you asked me rationally, I would tell you that my choice of clothing had nothing to do with the Steelers winning Super Bowl XL. But, somewhere else down there, in the pit of my stomach and grabbing at the back of my neck is an inkling of doubt that says "don't risk it". That says that maybe all things are equal, and the "sports gods" are looking around, seeing which sports fans are respecting them most, and giving victory to their team. Again, rationally, I don't believe this, but emotionally, I don't want to risk it.
Fast forward to present days. The Indians are in the playoffs, facing the (hated) New York Yankees in the first round of the playoffs. For game one, I headed to Ryan's house, and brought a pot of Cincy-style Chili with all the fixings. I enjoyed two four-ways w/bean as I watched the Indians pummel the Yanks. The next night was game two. I heated up the leftovers, again had two portions, and survived the extra-inning nail-biter the Indians won. Last night was game three. The Indians were leading 3-0 when I got home from jOURney and Wal-Mart. I made Rachel and I dinner: fiesta hamburgerittos, scalloped potatoes, and California Blend. The Indians lost the game.
Any guess on what I'm eating during the game tonight? I only hope it's not too late and the sports gods haven't already considered me lost. I'd hate to see the Indians lose this series. And I'd hate to have even a small, irrational part of me think it was my fault.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Good Times and Good Music
So, last night I saw Ellery perform here in Findlay. They're simply amazing. They take a style that I wouldn't characterize as "my style" of music, and make it just an amazing performance that I enjoy like nothing else. The honesty in their songs, and in their voices, captivates me. I'd encourage everyone to go out and see them if they get the chance. A lot cheaper than most concerts, I'd imagine.
They were with a couple of "local" talents last night as well. The concert was a benefit to raise money for flood relief here in Findlay. Just a fun night. Good music. Probably not as talented as what you'd see at a concert sponsored by Radio U or at a big music hall, but it seemed more real. More true to what personal music should and could be.
I think I'm finally starting to appreciate the "independent" types of the world. The less refined acts. The beauty of heart and soul over pomp and circumstance. I dunno.
I've conversed with Rachel a few times about what a "dream concert" looks like. And most of the time, I'm naming a couple of big name bands to headline and seeing an awesome evening of music, performance, lights, pyrotechnics, etc. But I think at the moment my "dream concert" would be RC Foshizzle and the jOURney House Band and Ellery opening for Hawk Nelson.
That would be an evening I could enjoy.
Oh, and if you've never heard Ellery, here's my favorite Ellery song:
They were with a couple of "local" talents last night as well. The concert was a benefit to raise money for flood relief here in Findlay. Just a fun night. Good music. Probably not as talented as what you'd see at a concert sponsored by Radio U or at a big music hall, but it seemed more real. More true to what personal music should and could be.
I think I'm finally starting to appreciate the "independent" types of the world. The less refined acts. The beauty of heart and soul over pomp and circumstance. I dunno.
I've conversed with Rachel a few times about what a "dream concert" looks like. And most of the time, I'm naming a couple of big name bands to headline and seeing an awesome evening of music, performance, lights, pyrotechnics, etc. But I think at the moment my "dream concert" would be RC Foshizzle and the jOURney House Band and Ellery opening for Hawk Nelson.
That would be an evening I could enjoy.
Oh, and if you've never heard Ellery, here's my favorite Ellery song:
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Remembering
So, right now, I'm watching NFL network. They're showing this:
It's the U2 halftime show from the Superbowl following 9/11.
It's amazing how clearly I can remember small details from that day.
When the first attack happened, I was supposed to be in my Interpersonal Communications class, but I slept in and missed class that day. When I went to my next class Economics, folks were talking, but I couldn't piece stuff together. The professor tried to quiet everyone down and have a normal class, stating something to the effect of "no need to change until anything is known". I passed it off as nothing and as usual didn't pay attention to his lecture.
When I got to my next class, Physics, was when I finally got to see television broadcast of what was happening, and we started talking about it. Dr. Fisher came in visible shaken and told us that today was no day for class, and that we should all go home and call our family to make sure everyone is ok, and then he left. So, I went to McIntosh Center to get some lunch with Josh Ketelson. We took in some more television, and then had lunch: chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes, which were lumpier than usual.
After that, we headed back to the house. We stood dumbfounded all day, watching the TV, calling friends and family, wondering how to proceed with some sense of normalcy. Brothers we rarely saw at the house, including Dr. Banfe, stopped by, and we all seemed to eat Taco Bell. A couple of brothers went with me to prayer at the chapel, and then most of the brothers went to the chapel service where we watched President Bush address the nation. His resolve and compassion that night still strike me to this day, and that will be the President Bush I remember 20 years from now.
It's almost surreal to me how clear the day is to me still. A little clearer than Columbine, but it does allow me to wrap my mind around my parent's tales of the day JFK was shot.
I wish the day had never happened, but I hope the memories never fade.
It's the U2 halftime show from the Superbowl following 9/11.
It's amazing how clearly I can remember small details from that day.
When the first attack happened, I was supposed to be in my Interpersonal Communications class, but I slept in and missed class that day. When I went to my next class Economics, folks were talking, but I couldn't piece stuff together. The professor tried to quiet everyone down and have a normal class, stating something to the effect of "no need to change until anything is known". I passed it off as nothing and as usual didn't pay attention to his lecture.
When I got to my next class, Physics, was when I finally got to see television broadcast of what was happening, and we started talking about it. Dr. Fisher came in visible shaken and told us that today was no day for class, and that we should all go home and call our family to make sure everyone is ok, and then he left. So, I went to McIntosh Center to get some lunch with Josh Ketelson. We took in some more television, and then had lunch: chicken fried steak and mashed potatoes, which were lumpier than usual.
After that, we headed back to the house. We stood dumbfounded all day, watching the TV, calling friends and family, wondering how to proceed with some sense of normalcy. Brothers we rarely saw at the house, including Dr. Banfe, stopped by, and we all seemed to eat Taco Bell. A couple of brothers went with me to prayer at the chapel, and then most of the brothers went to the chapel service where we watched President Bush address the nation. His resolve and compassion that night still strike me to this day, and that will be the President Bush I remember 20 years from now.
It's almost surreal to me how clear the day is to me still. A little clearer than Columbine, but it does allow me to wrap my mind around my parent's tales of the day JFK was shot.
I wish the day had never happened, but I hope the memories never fade.
Out To Get Me
Have you seen the movie Final Destination?
If so, I'm sorry. I, too, wish I could have those couple of hours back to spend a different way. For the rest of you, I envy you, for not having wasted those hours. There are also two sequels, which I've never bothered to take in, but again, if you have I'm so sorry for your lost time.
To sum up the movie, you basically get on a collision course with Death and you're stuck on that collision course. If you avoid it somehow (like missing a plane that crashes), Death will track you down. I'm fairly certain the sequels are the exact same things, just with Death trying to get you in new and different ways. And, yes, you can feel free to insert a Gilmore Girls' joke here.
Anyways, I'm starting to think there's some truth to the premise of this movie. And that death has relatives who do the same thing.
Take for example, Death's distant cousin Burn. I think Burn is out to get me, and send me to the ER.
Consider the following: Last weekend, we were in Columbus. I was trying to reach the microwave at my mother-in-law's house to reheat some dinner (mmm ... Bob Evan's slow roasted pork dinner). As I do so, I bump my finger against a hot iron. A small scar exists to this day. But, my quick reflexes kept it from being as bad as it could have. Or should have, I suppose, because Burn stayed after me.
Sunday night, I was cooking dinner. I made chicken w/vegetables with brown sauce and steamed rice. As I'm plating dinner, one of the bowls I'm putting things into starts to fall, and I instinctively reach out to catch it, causing hot, freshly steamed rice to fall onto the the corner of the palm of my hand. The same hand that has the burn mark from the iron, a week earlier. Fortunately, I got the rice off quickly, and put some aloe on my palm, and have only a very small mark from this encounter with Burn.
But he wasn't done yet.
Today, I was working down in Marion. I got hungry as I was set to leave town, so I went to Starbucks. I got a tall coffee (just plain coffee. Not a mocha latte caramel sissy drink. Straight black coffee ... coffee the way Jesus drank it) and an old-fashioned donut. As I'm traveling up 23 and throughly enjoying my snack, I'm moving the coffee from my mouth back to the cup holder, when I hit a small bump in the road. A very, very small bump. But, the laws of gravity were defied for a few moments, as a large splash of coffee jumped from my cup, through the spout, and landed on my leg.
No mark today, but still ... I got the reminder that Burn was still after me ... watching, waiting for his next move. I hope he gets bored and moves on soon.
If so, I'm sorry. I, too, wish I could have those couple of hours back to spend a different way. For the rest of you, I envy you, for not having wasted those hours. There are also two sequels, which I've never bothered to take in, but again, if you have I'm so sorry for your lost time.
To sum up the movie, you basically get on a collision course with Death and you're stuck on that collision course. If you avoid it somehow (like missing a plane that crashes), Death will track you down. I'm fairly certain the sequels are the exact same things, just with Death trying to get you in new and different ways. And, yes, you can feel free to insert a Gilmore Girls' joke here.
Anyways, I'm starting to think there's some truth to the premise of this movie. And that death has relatives who do the same thing.
Take for example, Death's distant cousin Burn. I think Burn is out to get me, and send me to the ER.
Consider the following: Last weekend, we were in Columbus. I was trying to reach the microwave at my mother-in-law's house to reheat some dinner (mmm ... Bob Evan's slow roasted pork dinner). As I do so, I bump my finger against a hot iron. A small scar exists to this day. But, my quick reflexes kept it from being as bad as it could have. Or should have, I suppose, because Burn stayed after me.
Sunday night, I was cooking dinner. I made chicken w/vegetables with brown sauce and steamed rice. As I'm plating dinner, one of the bowls I'm putting things into starts to fall, and I instinctively reach out to catch it, causing hot, freshly steamed rice to fall onto the the corner of the palm of my hand. The same hand that has the burn mark from the iron, a week earlier. Fortunately, I got the rice off quickly, and put some aloe on my palm, and have only a very small mark from this encounter with Burn.
But he wasn't done yet.
Today, I was working down in Marion. I got hungry as I was set to leave town, so I went to Starbucks. I got a tall coffee (just plain coffee. Not a mocha latte caramel sissy drink. Straight black coffee ... coffee the way Jesus drank it) and an old-fashioned donut. As I'm traveling up 23 and throughly enjoying my snack, I'm moving the coffee from my mouth back to the cup holder, when I hit a small bump in the road. A very, very small bump. But, the laws of gravity were defied for a few moments, as a large splash of coffee jumped from my cup, through the spout, and landed on my leg.
No mark today, but still ... I got the reminder that Burn was still after me ... watching, waiting for his next move. I hope he gets bored and moves on soon.
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