If you've ever read this blog before, you know that I'm a Chicago Bears fan. To a degree that's really probably not healthy to be honest. This is been a very tough month of August. And while I'm looking forward to the season starting, and I know the preseason games don't really mean anything, I'm still fighting this nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach that I've had since the Wannstedt years.
But I don't want to talk about the current edition of the Bears. I want to talk about the so-called "longtime fans." So-called because it's a qualifier they feel the need to use. You hear them on the radio all the time.
"Hey this is Rich, I'm a longtime Bear fan."
"I'm a longtime fan, since 1985."
Or the worst:
"I'm not a Bear fan. I'm a longtime Packer fan."
Do not, I repeat, do not attempt to engage in any sort of meaningful sports conversation with anyone who feels it necessary to offer the "longtime" qualifier to their fan credentials. The simple reason being they're usually full of crap.
"Longtime" fan to me means "since birth" or at least "since I started watching football."
The longtime Packer fans are the ones who really bother me. Because very seldom have I ever come across one who's been a fan since before the 90s and Brett Favre. I got into a conversation with one recently and decided to take him at his word. We were talking about players past and present and I mentioned Eddie Lee Ivory.
The guy responded with a blank stare. I grew suspicious.
David Whitehurst? Nothing.
Randy Wright? Nope.
Mossy Cade? Charles Martin? Terdell Middleton? Not a clue?
Bart Starr? Well, of course, let's not be ridiculous.
I've had similar exchanges with "longtime" Bear fans.
Terry Schmidt? Huh?
Wally Chambers? What?
Golden Richards? Bob Thomas? James Scott? Noah Jackson? Revie Sorey? C'mon!!
Donnell Woolford? Jeff Graham? Trace Armstrong? Joe Cain? Barry Minter? Raymont Harris? Seriously!!
Cade McNown?
"Oooh yeah, he sucked."
Finally.
I have no problem if you don't have the psychosis I do that requires you to retain all of this information. But please don't pretend to be the biggest fan in the world when your knowledge doesn't go back to Jim Harbaugh at quarterback.
And age has nothing to do with it. If you ask me who Bill George or Doug Atkins or Willie Galimore are, I can tell you. If you ask who George McAfee or Bulldog Turner or Rick Casares is I can tell you. As can any other who lives and dies every Sunday wearing blue and orange.
And for you "longtime" Packer fans. Either just move to Green Bay or at the very least, get on the Interwebs and look up Chester Marcol.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
I can't do this anymore...
That's it. It's over. After last night, I just can't do this with you any more. This just isn't working out and I think we'd be better off apart from one another.
I know we've been together a really long time. When I met you, I was just a kid and I didn't know what I was getting myself into. I didn't understand the pain that you would cause me over the years. You were my great love and we'd spend every summer together. When you would go away in the fall, I'd miss you all winter long. I'd count the days until the weather turned warm again and you would come back.
You've always been a bit superficial, more concerned with what you looked like than what you actually were. In my younger days, that didn't bother me so much. You looked good to me, I loved you no matter what. When friends wondered what we were doing together, I always defended you, always said you had my heart. Many people tried to get me to forsake you for others, tried to hook me up with another. Especially my friends who wanted to set me up with the one across town. "She's a little crazy and rough around the edges, but a lot more fun!" I never would.
We had many crazy, wonderful nights together. Remember Pittsburgh in 1984? What about going up to Montreal in 1989? Even those nights in Atlanta and Miami in 2003. They were some of the best nights of my life, and at those moments I didn't think it could have been any better, and I couldn't have loved you more.
But the problem is, after every one of those good times, you'd go off and break my heart, just a week or two later. You did it in San Diego. And again in San Francisco. Hell, in 2003 you came back home and did it to me here in Chicago.
Maybe I'm the one who's superficial. I mean, I have to be honest. A big problem here is that I have needs, and you just wouldn't go all the way. I think you wanted to, but somehow, things always ended with me feeling unfulfilled and disappointed.
But what happened last night just tells me that you won't ever change, and that you just don't care. Oh, you're still popular and everyone likes to hang out with you at your house, but for all the wrong reasons. And I can't any more. I want more than this.
Maybe I'll feel differently later. Maybe you'll finally realize the error of your ways and really commit to this relationship. But until then, I just have to be away from you for awhile.
I'd love to tell you that it's not you, it's me. But that would be a lie.
It's you.
Goodbye Cubs.
I know we've been together a really long time. When I met you, I was just a kid and I didn't know what I was getting myself into. I didn't understand the pain that you would cause me over the years. You were my great love and we'd spend every summer together. When you would go away in the fall, I'd miss you all winter long. I'd count the days until the weather turned warm again and you would come back.
You've always been a bit superficial, more concerned with what you looked like than what you actually were. In my younger days, that didn't bother me so much. You looked good to me, I loved you no matter what. When friends wondered what we were doing together, I always defended you, always said you had my heart. Many people tried to get me to forsake you for others, tried to hook me up with another. Especially my friends who wanted to set me up with the one across town. "She's a little crazy and rough around the edges, but a lot more fun!" I never would.
We had many crazy, wonderful nights together. Remember Pittsburgh in 1984? What about going up to Montreal in 1989? Even those nights in Atlanta and Miami in 2003. They were some of the best nights of my life, and at those moments I didn't think it could have been any better, and I couldn't have loved you more.
But the problem is, after every one of those good times, you'd go off and break my heart, just a week or two later. You did it in San Diego. And again in San Francisco. Hell, in 2003 you came back home and did it to me here in Chicago.
Maybe I'm the one who's superficial. I mean, I have to be honest. A big problem here is that I have needs, and you just wouldn't go all the way. I think you wanted to, but somehow, things always ended with me feeling unfulfilled and disappointed.
But what happened last night just tells me that you won't ever change, and that you just don't care. Oh, you're still popular and everyone likes to hang out with you at your house, but for all the wrong reasons. And I can't any more. I want more than this.
Maybe I'll feel differently later. Maybe you'll finally realize the error of your ways and really commit to this relationship. But until then, I just have to be away from you for awhile.
I'd love to tell you that it's not you, it's me. But that would be a lie.
It's you.
Goodbye Cubs.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Random Thoughts
I haven't been on here in awhile. A half dozen random thoughts from the day, while sitting eating Ritz crackers for lunch -- pay day is Friday.
#1: I've decided I want a Jeep. It's the perfect vehicle -- top down and doors off in the summer, four-wheel drive when the freakin' snow piles up in the winter. If you would like to purchase me one, I prefer blue.
#2: Me and little man Matty bought the same shoes at Target this weekend -- Converse one-star high tops, black and white. He calls them "Chuck shoes" after the TV show, which we watch together because we're "Chuck buddies." He looks adorable in them. I probably look like a dork. But they are comfortable.
#3: I obliterated a bird the other day while driving. I haven't hit wildlife of any kind with the car for years. It was an explosion of feathers. And it freaked me out a little bit.
#4: My new wish is to acquire enough capital to buy some land and open a drive-in movie. We took the kids to one down in Gibson City, Illinois a couple of weekends ago -- shout out to the Harvest Moon Drive In (www.harvestmoondrivein.com )-- about 70 miles from our house. And it was a fantastic time. Reminded me how much I loved the drive in when I was a kid. The owners/operators of the place seem to have a great time running it and do a wonderful job. It's such a bummer that there aren't any more around the Chicago area anymore. The Sheridan in Bridgeview, the Starlite in Chicago Ridge, the Double up on Archer Ave, the I-80 in Tinley Park, they're all gone. But some still exist. You just have to do a little digging, and a little driving, but they're worth it. Check out www.drive-ins.com. They have a searchable database for drive in theaters nationwide. Anyhow, we're going back on Friday night, you're all welcome to follow us down!
#5: The entire town of Westchester is under water. I realize the rainfall totals were unprecedented, but c'mon. The whole town? Something is seriously wrong with your drainage system guys.
#6: I cannot wait for the Blago trial to end. Please Rod, just go away.
BONUS: Lastly, training camp starts in TWO DAYS. Baseball, once again, has been a trainwreck. Bring on the Bears!!
#1: I've decided I want a Jeep. It's the perfect vehicle -- top down and doors off in the summer, four-wheel drive when the freakin' snow piles up in the winter. If you would like to purchase me one, I prefer blue.
#2: Me and little man Matty bought the same shoes at Target this weekend -- Converse one-star high tops, black and white. He calls them "Chuck shoes" after the TV show, which we watch together because we're "Chuck buddies." He looks adorable in them. I probably look like a dork. But they are comfortable.
#3: I obliterated a bird the other day while driving. I haven't hit wildlife of any kind with the car for years. It was an explosion of feathers. And it freaked me out a little bit.
#4: My new wish is to acquire enough capital to buy some land and open a drive-in movie. We took the kids to one down in Gibson City, Illinois a couple of weekends ago -- shout out to the Harvest Moon Drive In (www.harvestmoondrivein.com )-- about 70 miles from our house. And it was a fantastic time. Reminded me how much I loved the drive in when I was a kid. The owners/operators of the place seem to have a great time running it and do a wonderful job. It's such a bummer that there aren't any more around the Chicago area anymore. The Sheridan in Bridgeview, the Starlite in Chicago Ridge, the Double up on Archer Ave, the I-80 in Tinley Park, they're all gone. But some still exist. You just have to do a little digging, and a little driving, but they're worth it. Check out www.drive-ins.com. They have a searchable database for drive in theaters nationwide. Anyhow, we're going back on Friday night, you're all welcome to follow us down!
#5: The entire town of Westchester is under water. I realize the rainfall totals were unprecedented, but c'mon. The whole town? Something is seriously wrong with your drainage system guys.
#6: I cannot wait for the Blago trial to end. Please Rod, just go away.
BONUS: Lastly, training camp starts in TWO DAYS. Baseball, once again, has been a trainwreck. Bring on the Bears!!
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Joy Never Gets Old
Pure joy.
That's how I'll describe the feeling last night. Absolute, utter, pure unabashed joy. My boys, clad in their jerseys, jumping up and down. My wife wondering loudly, "Did it go in? Did it go in?" The fireworks going off in the neighborhood, the dogs barking. The wide grin on my boy Mike's face.
Joy.
This is why you watch sports, this is why fanatics pour their heart and soul into their teams, why we schedule our lives around it, read about it. It's why we grumble when things go wrong, and why we die just a little when they come so close and disappoint.
It's why we say, "we did it" or "we won" when just about everyone one of us had absolutely nothing to do with the actual game played.
For moments like this.
For really just the second time in my life of 42 years, my die hard fandom has yielded the ultimate reward -- an actual championship for one of the teams I pour so much of my own heart and soul into.
Yes, the Bulls won six titles in the 90s. But I have to be honest. I was every bit the bandwagon jumper with those teams. I would never say that I was a die-hard Bulls fan. Before Michael Jordan came along, I could probably count the number of Bulls games I ever watched on one hand. It was fun to see the Bulls win, but they were never really one of my teams. The Chicago Bears. The Chicago Cubs. The Chicago Blackhawks.
In January 1986, my Chicago Bears won the Super Bowl. As a complete sports idiot, it's one of the marking posts in my life. At that moment, it was the first time one of my teams had won the whole damn thing. I was 17 and it seemed like those Bears would win 3 or 4 more. They didn't.
The Cubs -- well, we aren't going to talk about them today.
The Blackhawks are a team I've followed my whole life. I remember my Grandma Johns, who was most certainly in my thoughts last night, and her having the game on WGN-TV on the big console tv in her living room in Chicago Ridge in the mid 70s, back when Hull and Mikita and Magnuson still roamed the ice in Indian head sweaters.
I remember my dad and my Uncle Art playing furious games of rod hockey between periods on multiple Saturday nights. And my dad telling tales of Bobby and Dennis Hull, and "little Lou Angotti" and Blackhawk triumphs of the past. My dad was never a huge story teller about baseball or football, but hockey was different. It was the one sport where he got excited to tell me about the way things were back when.
I watched great Blackhawks players entire careers here -- Jeremy Roenick, Denis Savard, Doug Wilson, Chris Chelios, Steve Larmer, Tony Amonte, Ed Belfour. I watched great Hawks teams in the mid 80s through the early 90s, teams that kept running into those damn Edmonton Oilers. I watched the great 1992 team win 11 straight playoff games and then lose 4 straight to Pittsburgh. And I watched it all fall apart in the late 90s through to about 3 years ago, when forgettable names like Zhamnov, Mironov, Dychehouse, Daze dominated the scene. When stars like Doug Gilmour and Paul Coffey came to wear the colors about 3 years after their legs had already retired.
So when Kaner's wrister slipped through Leighton's legs and into the net and there was that unreal few seconds where no one besides Kane himself was sure what happened, and then his teammates poured over the boards to celebrate while the Flyers and their fans sat in stunned silence, there was joy. And when Toews lifted that unwieldy, beautifully ornate what used to be silver punch bowl -- themost beautiful trophy in all of sports -- up, there were tears too. For my Grandma. For my dad. And yeah, for me too.
Hopefully my boys won't have to wait the rest of their lives for another. I don't begrudge them the waiting. I hope they're spoiled, I do. And I welcome the bandwagon jumpers. Stay on board folks -- with this team, we're hoping the ride's a long one and we get to do this again and again and again.
The Chicago Blackhawks are Stanley Cup Champions.
Joy NEVER gets old.
That's how I'll describe the feeling last night. Absolute, utter, pure unabashed joy. My boys, clad in their jerseys, jumping up and down. My wife wondering loudly, "Did it go in? Did it go in?" The fireworks going off in the neighborhood, the dogs barking. The wide grin on my boy Mike's face.
Joy.
This is why you watch sports, this is why fanatics pour their heart and soul into their teams, why we schedule our lives around it, read about it. It's why we grumble when things go wrong, and why we die just a little when they come so close and disappoint.
It's why we say, "we did it" or "we won" when just about everyone one of us had absolutely nothing to do with the actual game played.
For moments like this.
For really just the second time in my life of 42 years, my die hard fandom has yielded the ultimate reward -- an actual championship for one of the teams I pour so much of my own heart and soul into.
Yes, the Bulls won six titles in the 90s. But I have to be honest. I was every bit the bandwagon jumper with those teams. I would never say that I was a die-hard Bulls fan. Before Michael Jordan came along, I could probably count the number of Bulls games I ever watched on one hand. It was fun to see the Bulls win, but they were never really one of my teams. The Chicago Bears. The Chicago Cubs. The Chicago Blackhawks.
In January 1986, my Chicago Bears won the Super Bowl. As a complete sports idiot, it's one of the marking posts in my life. At that moment, it was the first time one of my teams had won the whole damn thing. I was 17 and it seemed like those Bears would win 3 or 4 more. They didn't.
The Cubs -- well, we aren't going to talk about them today.
The Blackhawks are a team I've followed my whole life. I remember my Grandma Johns, who was most certainly in my thoughts last night, and her having the game on WGN-TV on the big console tv in her living room in Chicago Ridge in the mid 70s, back when Hull and Mikita and Magnuson still roamed the ice in Indian head sweaters.
I remember my dad and my Uncle Art playing furious games of rod hockey between periods on multiple Saturday nights. And my dad telling tales of Bobby and Dennis Hull, and "little Lou Angotti" and Blackhawk triumphs of the past. My dad was never a huge story teller about baseball or football, but hockey was different. It was the one sport where he got excited to tell me about the way things were back when.
I watched great Blackhawks players entire careers here -- Jeremy Roenick, Denis Savard, Doug Wilson, Chris Chelios, Steve Larmer, Tony Amonte, Ed Belfour. I watched great Hawks teams in the mid 80s through the early 90s, teams that kept running into those damn Edmonton Oilers. I watched the great 1992 team win 11 straight playoff games and then lose 4 straight to Pittsburgh. And I watched it all fall apart in the late 90s through to about 3 years ago, when forgettable names like Zhamnov, Mironov, Dychehouse, Daze dominated the scene. When stars like Doug Gilmour and Paul Coffey came to wear the colors about 3 years after their legs had already retired.
So when Kaner's wrister slipped through Leighton's legs and into the net and there was that unreal few seconds where no one besides Kane himself was sure what happened, and then his teammates poured over the boards to celebrate while the Flyers and their fans sat in stunned silence, there was joy. And when Toews lifted that unwieldy, beautifully ornate what used to be silver punch bowl -- themost beautiful trophy in all of sports -- up, there were tears too. For my Grandma. For my dad. And yeah, for me too.
Hopefully my boys won't have to wait the rest of their lives for another. I don't begrudge them the waiting. I hope they're spoiled, I do. And I welcome the bandwagon jumpers. Stay on board folks -- with this team, we're hoping the ride's a long one and we get to do this again and again and again.
The Chicago Blackhawks are Stanley Cup Champions.
Joy NEVER gets old.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Vote 'Em All Out? Maybe...
The news is full this morning of stories of schools in crisis. Schools in crisis because of massive budget shortfalls, caused in no small part by the State of Illinois.
Because the State of Illinois doesn't pay its bills. According to the sign at my son's high school when I dropped him off at baseball practice the other day, the State owes our little school district $1.2 million. One. Point. Two. MILLION.
They owe the school district in Elgin more than $13 MILLION. Which is going to force the layoff of 1,100 teachers and others. In Chicago, the schools budget shortfall is more than $700 million, which will mean the layoffs of more than 3,800 people.
Just what in the hell are our wonderful elected officials in Springfield doing about it? Where the hell is the money going down there? They have shirked responsibilities for years, decades and the now the bill has come due. And who pays the price for their sloth, for their focus on self-preservation and re-election? Our kids.
I've never been one of those who subscribes to the simplistic "vote 'em all out" mentality. But I'm getting closer and closer. Democrats are you listening? I've been a loyal and consistent Democratic voter all my adult life. But the mess in Springfield has me strongly considering the concept of voting against any and all incumbents, Republican or Democrat. We need a change. You folks who are down there have had long enough.
So you're on your last chance. Do something this spring session. Work together and compromise and make the budget adjustments you need to make to get the schools paid, to make sure public safety is a priority. Make the cuts that need to be made to the non-essentials.
But make no mistake, public schools DO NOT fall into the non-essential category. Cut your perks, your member initiatives, your vanity license plates, your travel expenses, your SALARIES.
But get those schools paid. Or come November, you've lost my vote.
Are you listening?
Probably not. Because you don't care.
Because the State of Illinois doesn't pay its bills. According to the sign at my son's high school when I dropped him off at baseball practice the other day, the State owes our little school district $1.2 million. One. Point. Two. MILLION.
They owe the school district in Elgin more than $13 MILLION. Which is going to force the layoff of 1,100 teachers and others. In Chicago, the schools budget shortfall is more than $700 million, which will mean the layoffs of more than 3,800 people.
Just what in the hell are our wonderful elected officials in Springfield doing about it? Where the hell is the money going down there? They have shirked responsibilities for years, decades and the now the bill has come due. And who pays the price for their sloth, for their focus on self-preservation and re-election? Our kids.
I've never been one of those who subscribes to the simplistic "vote 'em all out" mentality. But I'm getting closer and closer. Democrats are you listening? I've been a loyal and consistent Democratic voter all my adult life. But the mess in Springfield has me strongly considering the concept of voting against any and all incumbents, Republican or Democrat. We need a change. You folks who are down there have had long enough.
So you're on your last chance. Do something this spring session. Work together and compromise and make the budget adjustments you need to make to get the schools paid, to make sure public safety is a priority. Make the cuts that need to be made to the non-essentials.
But make no mistake, public schools DO NOT fall into the non-essential category. Cut your perks, your member initiatives, your vanity license plates, your travel expenses, your SALARIES.
But get those schools paid. Or come November, you've lost my vote.
Are you listening?
Probably not. Because you don't care.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Instant Gratification
I'm already worried that I don't like where this is going.
Since he took over, new Cubs owner Tom Ricketts has made a point of saying that the goal of the new owners is to win the World Series.
Amen to that.
And then he mentions making improvements.
A second amen, 'cus this team needs improvements.
But the improvements he invariably winds up talking about center around things like cosmetic and structural changes at Wrigley Field, ballpark advertising and a new spring training facility in Mesa.
Nary a mention of finding a reliable number 4 or 5 starting pitcher, a reliable set-up guy out of the bullpen, addressing the mediocrity at 2nd base or getting a strong left-handed bat off the bench.
You know, the things that actually help you win a World Series.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the new Cubs owners -- and they sound an awful lot like the former Cubs owners, more interested in the revenue stream than moving a runner from first to third or turning a double play.
Unfair assessment? Too early to tell? Perhaps.
But if one more person tells me to be patient, I'm going to take a Louisville Slugger -- you know, that stick that Alfonso Soriano swings and misses with -- and smack them in the head. No, I will not be patient, and neither should any other Cub fan. This team has not won the World Series in over 100 years and hasn't been to one since before my father was born.
No, I will not be patient. I want my World Series. And I want it NOW. There's no room for goodwill, no room for player development or building for the future. Screw that. I don't care about 2011, 2012 or beyond. Win me the Series this year and you'll buy yourself breathing room. Be the Yankees, BUY the title. I don't care.
But I'm sick of waiting, my patience is used up. I'm 42 years old today. I ain't a kid anymore.
Win me pennant goddammit. I deserve it.
Since he took over, new Cubs owner Tom Ricketts has made a point of saying that the goal of the new owners is to win the World Series.
Amen to that.
And then he mentions making improvements.
A second amen, 'cus this team needs improvements.
But the improvements he invariably winds up talking about center around things like cosmetic and structural changes at Wrigley Field, ballpark advertising and a new spring training facility in Mesa.
Nary a mention of finding a reliable number 4 or 5 starting pitcher, a reliable set-up guy out of the bullpen, addressing the mediocrity at 2nd base or getting a strong left-handed bat off the bench.
You know, the things that actually help you win a World Series.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the new Cubs owners -- and they sound an awful lot like the former Cubs owners, more interested in the revenue stream than moving a runner from first to third or turning a double play.
Unfair assessment? Too early to tell? Perhaps.
But if one more person tells me to be patient, I'm going to take a Louisville Slugger -- you know, that stick that Alfonso Soriano swings and misses with -- and smack them in the head. No, I will not be patient, and neither should any other Cub fan. This team has not won the World Series in over 100 years and hasn't been to one since before my father was born.
No, I will not be patient. I want my World Series. And I want it NOW. There's no room for goodwill, no room for player development or building for the future. Screw that. I don't care about 2011, 2012 or beyond. Win me the Series this year and you'll buy yourself breathing room. Be the Yankees, BUY the title. I don't care.
But I'm sick of waiting, my patience is used up. I'm 42 years old today. I ain't a kid anymore.
Win me pennant goddammit. I deserve it.
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Death of the Sick Day
This morning I woke up feeling like hell. Actually, that's incorrect. You can't really "wake up" when you never really got to sleep. But the "feel like hell" part is accurate. So, rather than cough my germs all over the office and my co-workers, I chose to just spread them amongst my beloved family. Except the dog. I don't share dishes with him, so he's safe.
I took a sick day.
As I sit here typing this, waiting for the Sudafed to kick in and knock me out, saving me from the indignities of morning TV, I'm struck by how the sick day has really changed.
Already this morning, I've finished and sent two client memos, sent out a variety of e-mail correspondence and reviewed some client-related newsclips. All before 9 am.
What the hell happened to the good ol' sick day -- wearing torn sweats, sucking down orange juice and watching bad 80s movies on the VCR while drifting in and out of sleep on the couch. My personal sick day favorite was "Better Off Dead." The title appealed to my male tendency to inflate my symptoms to near death. A headcold and a slight fever might as well be malaria. Yeah, I'll admit it.
But VCRs became DVD's, cell phones got smaller, Al Gore invented the Internet, everybody got laptops and now we can check e-mail and phone messages ANYWHERE, ANYTIME.
Don't get me wrong. A substantial portion of the time, these are good things. Technology gives us greater flexibility.
But it also killed the sick day as we used to know it. Even when you'e running to the bathroom every 10 minutes with stomach flu, you can still check e-mails in between "driving the bus."
I'm not making any value judgement. But I miss "The Breakfast Club" while comatose on cold medicine.
I took a sick day.
As I sit here typing this, waiting for the Sudafed to kick in and knock me out, saving me from the indignities of morning TV, I'm struck by how the sick day has really changed.
Already this morning, I've finished and sent two client memos, sent out a variety of e-mail correspondence and reviewed some client-related newsclips. All before 9 am.
What the hell happened to the good ol' sick day -- wearing torn sweats, sucking down orange juice and watching bad 80s movies on the VCR while drifting in and out of sleep on the couch. My personal sick day favorite was "Better Off Dead." The title appealed to my male tendency to inflate my symptoms to near death. A headcold and a slight fever might as well be malaria. Yeah, I'll admit it.
But VCRs became DVD's, cell phones got smaller, Al Gore invented the Internet, everybody got laptops and now we can check e-mail and phone messages ANYWHERE, ANYTIME.
Don't get me wrong. A substantial portion of the time, these are good things. Technology gives us greater flexibility.
But it also killed the sick day as we used to know it. Even when you'e running to the bathroom every 10 minutes with stomach flu, you can still check e-mails in between "driving the bus."
I'm not making any value judgement. But I miss "The Breakfast Club" while comatose on cold medicine.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
A job quiz...
A quick one. Tell me what would happen at your job.
You're arguing with a co-worker one day about a bet on a college basketball or football game. As a joke, you decide to pull out a couple of guns and lay them out on the table as an illustration of what happens if the co-worker doesn't pay up. Guns that you've decided to keep at work, because you don't feel comfortable keeping them at home. And it's currently illegal to keep them in the locale you live and work in. But hey, they're not loaded.
Your bosses find out. Do they:
A. Immediately fire you.
B. Immediately suspend you, without pay, pending the police investigation of the matter
C. Allow you to come in to work as if nothing had happened, because you acknowledge that it was a dumb thing to do, but hey, they weren't loaded
I think for most of us, the answer is A or at the very least B. But then, most of us are not NBA millionaires. Because that's what happened to Gilbert Arenas, current NBA superstar/idiot for the Washington Bullets -- er, Wizards. Sorry, I slipped a little bit on the irony of the franchise name change.
This guy played in the Wizards game against Philadelphia last night. It's like you or me pulling a weapon on a co-worker, joke or not, and still being permitted to lead the staff meeting on Wednesday.
I love sports, but situations like this show where they've really lost touch with reality. David Stern, NBA czar, has done NOTHING. The Wizards themselves, nothing. NOTHING. And this, Mr. Stern, is one of the reasons I don't watch the NBA. Oh, and your league is boring, but that's another subject.
I know, it's just the latest in a long line of superstar, or even mediocre, pro athletes bumbling along without any consequences for their actions. They lie. They cheat. They get in bar fights at 2 am on a Wednesday. They drive drunk and kill someone. Because they can put the ball in the hole, because they put asses in seats, the rules don't apply. Or, no one has the gumption to MAKE the rules apply.
And folks wonder why some people grow more and more disillusioned with sports.
You're arguing with a co-worker one day about a bet on a college basketball or football game. As a joke, you decide to pull out a couple of guns and lay them out on the table as an illustration of what happens if the co-worker doesn't pay up. Guns that you've decided to keep at work, because you don't feel comfortable keeping them at home. And it's currently illegal to keep them in the locale you live and work in. But hey, they're not loaded.
Your bosses find out. Do they:
A. Immediately fire you.
B. Immediately suspend you, without pay, pending the police investigation of the matter
C. Allow you to come in to work as if nothing had happened, because you acknowledge that it was a dumb thing to do, but hey, they weren't loaded
I think for most of us, the answer is A or at the very least B. But then, most of us are not NBA millionaires. Because that's what happened to Gilbert Arenas, current NBA superstar/idiot for the Washington Bullets -- er, Wizards. Sorry, I slipped a little bit on the irony of the franchise name change.
This guy played in the Wizards game against Philadelphia last night. It's like you or me pulling a weapon on a co-worker, joke or not, and still being permitted to lead the staff meeting on Wednesday.
I love sports, but situations like this show where they've really lost touch with reality. David Stern, NBA czar, has done NOTHING. The Wizards themselves, nothing. NOTHING. And this, Mr. Stern, is one of the reasons I don't watch the NBA. Oh, and your league is boring, but that's another subject.
I know, it's just the latest in a long line of superstar, or even mediocre, pro athletes bumbling along without any consequences for their actions. They lie. They cheat. They get in bar fights at 2 am on a Wednesday. They drive drunk and kill someone. Because they can put the ball in the hole, because they put asses in seats, the rules don't apply. Or, no one has the gumption to MAKE the rules apply.
And folks wonder why some people grow more and more disillusioned with sports.
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