Happy Birthday to the Greatest Guy I Know

He was born during the Roaring 20’s, the decade of flappers, jazz, and Al Jolson.  Cool Cal Coolidge was in the White House; the Model T was at the height of success. That year, you could actually---for the first time---listen to a broadcast of the only post-season football game, live from the brand-spanking-new Rose Bowl stadium, on the radio.  Movies were silent, although there had been a test-showing of a new technology, “sound-on-film”, in New York City that year .  Alan Shepard, Chuck Yeager, Henry Kissinger, and Bob Barker all made their appearance within the same year, while Gustav Eiffel (of steel construction fame) made his departure.

Life expectancy for a baby born in the US in 1923:  56.1 years. 

In Arkansas, there existed about 20 miles of paved roadway outside of Little Rock and Hot Springs.  The “Texas Road” was a muddy track through the forest skirting the edge of the hills (it wouldn’t be numbered “US 67” until two years later); if you wanted to go anywhere, you took the train, of course.  Razorback Hogs and black bears still ran wild in the hills, and many people hunted and fished, not for pleasure, but for food.  Neither telephones nor electricity were plentiful, and most doctors had not been to college (but had apprenticed with an older doctor). 

Jester and Stella Jones were at a crossroads in their lives.  They lived in Willow, Arkansas, on a small farm.  Both their families were farmers, although Stella’s brothers had a tendency to “run ‘shine” from time to time.  Jester, being the second oldest of 13 (you had to have big families; you needed help on the farm, and manufacturing them seemed the easiest way; besides, whoever heard of birth control?  …and anyway, you were guaranteed to lose at least a couple along the way due to typhoid, cholera, measles, or some kind of cut or other accident that would lead to death from sepsis), looked around him and didn’t like what he saw.  His brothers all wanted to be farmers; his sisters all married farmers and started making more farmers.  Jester had liked school, so he had studied hard.  When he finished eighth grade (the highest level of education available in Arkansas at the time), the teacher offered him an unpaid position as his assistant.  The teacher taught Jester out of his own books.  Three years later, the teacher left and Jester assumed his position.

So, there they were, the young couple with two girls and a boy, and here came another boy baby.  Teaching school and farming part time were not getting the job done financially, and really, Jester had reached the end of his rope.  They decided to move to the “big city”; the nearest one of those, a buggy ride away, was the county seat:  Malvern.  Jester secured a position as “Assistant Teller” at Bank of Malvern (the oldest chartered state bank in Arkansas).  He worked for the Bank of Malvern for the next 59 years.

The family moved into a house on Clardy Street, and that was where that baby boy spent his childhood, chasing after (and being chased by) his older brother and sisters. 

The oldest, Virginia, held sway as “assistant Mother”, and one imagines she could probably be pretty commanding as an older sister (she certainly was as an adult).  She desired to be a “great lady” in the grand old southern tradition---and succeeded.  Her quiet voice was, till the day she died, instantly obeyed by her entire family.  She was sweet, wonderful, and everybody loved her---but you really didn’t want to make her mad.

The next eldest, Arline, has yet to be tamed, although it’s rumored she began to cut back a bit when she passed 90 last year (this blog does not believe rumors).  Arline got to 4’9 and stopped growing, earning her the (then unwanted) nicknames “Stumpy” and “Shorty”.  She couldn’t (and can’t) help it if she liked (and still likes) to have fun instead of sitting around all day being religious.  Like all her siblings, she feels that, if God didn’t want people to drive fast, He wouldn’t have put accelerators in cars with 400 horsepower. 

The oldest son, Houston, was a handsome devil---and the “handsome” part enabled the “devil” part.  Houston lived 66 years on this earth, and during those 66 years he ate what he wanted, drank what he wanted, smoked what he wanted, and “dated” what he wanted.  He liked his motorcycles, cars, and airplanes like he liked his women:  fast and flashy.  He lived his life his way, on his terms.  In short:  he lived fast, died young, and left a good looking corpse.

The baby, Maurice, was a bit of a “decepticon”, and a combination of all the siblings.  His sweet looks could mask the desire to play pranks, roam all over the countryside, get into trouble, get out of trouble, fight, play football, box, drive fast, and get into mischief.  At age 13, he wanted to go see his Aunt Lois and Uncle Joe (by then living in Atlanta, Texas), so he hitchhiked down muddy, dusty US 67 to do so---without bothering to tell his parents.

He had many adventures:  he was hit by a car on his bicycle; he got to hear President Roosevelt give a speech under a great oak tree on the lawn of a local church (they paved the road from Hot Springs to Malvern for the occasion, so the President’s Packard wouldn’t have to jounce him over the dirt track; the Pres had been to Hot Springs for a dip in the waters).  His boxing career came to an abrupt end following a broken nose. 

He was always crazy about airplanes, and took flying lessons at the local “airport”.  As the war clouds gathered, he graduated from high school and stuck out for Nashville, Tennessee for aircraft school.  He then went to San Diego, where he worked in an aircraft factory, learning how the things were made.  He lived there with his brother, Houston, who was doing the same thing.

He returned to Malvern and accidentally met the woman with whom he was to spend the next 68 years, and with whom he’d have three children.  After knowing each other two weeks, they eloped (I’ve told that story elsewhere on here) and settled into married life—such as it was. 

 

Dad went off to war with the rest of his generation, serving in the China-Burma-India campaign.  The Allies were flying routes across the Himalayas to keep the Chinese and Americans supplied, as they fought the Japanese on that front.  In order to navigate (still not easy today) over the Himalayas in DC-3’s and DC-4’s, a series of radio stations were installed.  By homing in on the radio stations, a plane could navigate the treacherous routes (while also trying to avoid the enemy).  Dad had one of the radio stations.  He doesn’t talk much about the war; many of his generation do, but just as many don’t.

As the war wound down, Dad received an early discharge:  his daughter, my older sister Ted, was gravely ill and he made it home in time to meet her---and bury her.  The emotional toll exacted on them was severe; they were afraid to try for another child for another 10 years.  In the meantime, they moved to Dallas, where Dad went to work in the aircraft industry, while remaining in the “new” USAF. 

Korea erupted, and Dad got 48 hours’ notice:  report to Greenville, SC or else.  He and Mother survived throwing everything they owned into their 1948 Buick (still their favourite car ever) and driving insanely from Dallas to South Carolina (no freeways…).  At one point during the trip, Dad woke up as Mother was pulling into a gas station.  “Are we out of gas already?”  “No, I woke up doing 90 mph on the shoulder and decided you needed to drive.”  They made it ok.

They moved back to Dallas after the Korean Conflict, and resumed their former lives.  I’ve always said they were stupid:  they had a new baby, a new car, and a new puppy simultaneously.  Talk about guts.  Talk about no cash.  Dad had a scooter he rode to work (and occasionally had a passenger…).

Dad exited the USAF and was out of a job.  He took 3 part-time jobs to feed his family:  Mom had difficulty after my younger sister’s birth and couldn’t return to work; her mother had moved in with them, and of course he had the two kids and assorted dogs, birds, etc.  An old boss of his called and offered an interview in Corpus Christi, Texas.  Dad took ME (way cool!!!!) and we drove down US 77 (no freeways) to Corpus from Dallas.  In LaGrange, a lady ran a red light and Dad plowed into her; there was only one injury:  I was asleep in the back of the station wagon and slid forward and bumped my head.  I came up out of the back in my usual calm and serene demeanor (ok, had I known any cuss words at age 6, I’d’ve been cussing like a sailor).  I sat in the car, looking (for the first time) at the Gulf of Mexico while Dad interviewed at the Naval Air Station.  He got the job and we went back to Dallas, packed, and moved to Corpus Christi. 

What a nightmare that move was for Dad.  He had 2 weeks.  He had to pack everything (no “relo” packages then).  He had to take a trailer full of household goods to Malvern, to store at his folks’.  He had to borrow money from his Dad, plus cash a life insurance policy in order to have the money to have the movers move us.  Mother was still in bad shape; he took the twin mattress off my bed and put it in the back of the station wagon (having driven HIS car to Corpus and ridden the train back); in short, we loaded up the (wagon) and moved to “Beverly”. 

Two years later, things were much better; he was making good money, they loved the beach (I hated it), they had a great home in a lovely neighborhood---and the same guy who hired him for Corpus, now in Ft. Worth, called.  Two weeks later, we were living in Ft. Worth, Dad having once again packed up all the junk, the kids, the dogs, the grandmother, and Mother.  Dad pretty much hated his new job, but we were all happier there, so he had some comfort.

But then, as now, RIF’s (Reduction In Force) occur.  Once again, he had to go find work (at least this time, the government was in all-out mode; Vietnam was cranking and Dad was in aircraft…).  He had the choice of moving back to Dallas to a job he knew he would hate (and a demotion); he could move to San Antonio, Texas for a promotion; he could move to Albuquerque, NM for a BIG promotion.  He chose the middle route, and moved a very sullen family (Mom moped; I was apoplectic---how DARE he move me away from my friends???  Grannie and Marla were not happy as well).  Things got worse when we pulled up in front of the house he’d rented for us in San Antonio; we had a lovely home in Ft. Worth.  This dump in SA---well, it’s still a dump, I saw it recently.  It was the best he could do with (again) two weeks to get it all done.  We pulled up in front and Mother took one look and said, “Ok, that is a funny joke, now where’s OUR house?”

 

They lived in San Antonio (having moved to a much nicer home) 8 years, then Tulsa, then (kids gone, parents gone), they retired and moved back to Malvern, Arkansas.  Dad lasted about a month before getting bored; he built Mother a ceramics shop, still bored, then got a call to do consulting work.  He took that job and had ANOTHER career, one of over 20 years of consulting.  Probably his favourite time in Malvern was spent on the boat; he’s always loved boating, and he finally had the cash and wherewithal to have what he wanted.

He loved those trips to Florida, too.  We spent several very happy Christmases in Navarre Beach, Florida, trips which he instigated and loved.

>>o<<

When I moved back to Houston, it was going to be very tough for them to remain in Malvern.  I hadn’t provided THAT much help, but my presence was enough.  Mom had had her stroke, and it was time to move on.  So, Dad once again moved, this time back to San Antonio (at least this time, Nathan packed!).

Throughout it all, Dad has maintained his equilibrium.  He’s been the Rock of Gibraltar for our family, the one to whom we’ve all turned for advice, wisdom, and counsel (not to mention money….;-).  He’s been solid and dependable for all these decades, and if he was ever afraid or worried, he never showed it.  (Mad, that one he showed…just mess with the “fine tuning” on the television set, or take one of his tools and not return it and see where it got you….). 

Even today, he goes every day to see Mother (who truly is in tough shape), maintaining his equilibrium through the shoals of another major surgery (I think the count is:  2 heart attacks, gall bladder, 6 stents, triple bypass), this time aortic aneurysm.  Like John Cameron Swayze’s Timex, he takes a lickin’ and keeps on tickin’.

Happy 86th birthday, Dad.  I love you and respect you more than you will ever know.

Seasonal thoughts and etc.

Here we are in the middle of all kinds of seasons.  College Football season is over (well, after this Saturday’s Championship games), Basketball season has started.   The Holiday Season started with Halloween and will end with New Year’s.  On October 1, it was almost 90 degrees in Houston; today it’s 51 degrees and pouring; we’re almost through the fall season and into the winter season (which will last roughly from Christmas to February….).  We’ll have a brief respite from football after the Bowl games, though the NFL playoffs will continue and the Supa Bow will be a few days before my 53rd birthday---which overlaps with the college baseball season…which overlaps with both the MLB season and the MLS season….

As far as the Hogs’ season, it was a good one, I think.  Plenty of disappointments, to be sure (the Georgia game, the Florida game, the Ole Miss game come to mind), but plenty of things about which to be optimistic.  If young Mallett can resist the siren call of the NFL (knowing that he’ll be holding a clipboard for 5 years), Arkansas ought to return a very good team next year.  The Cotton Bowl would be wise to snatch us this year, while they can.  I’d like to have another crack at LSU, but we’ll get our chance next year.

>>o<<

Thank GOD St. Tim of Tebow is at last graduating.  I’m sick unto death of his smarmy religionism, his celebrations that would land any other SEC player with unsportsmanlike conduct penalties, and his grandstanding.  I don’t like him.  Sorry, ‘murikuh, I just don’t care for your idol.

>>o<<

The Houston Dynamo acquitted themselves well, especially since they’ve not quite found the replacement for DeRosario.  Taking us on a thrilling ride to the semi-final game, they lost in OT to the Galaxy.  Dale dale dale dale Dynamo, son de Houston!

(Astros, I give up.  When y’all get serious about baseball, let me know.)

Razorback basketball is dead to me.  I hope they lose every game, and I will actively root against them for the remainder of the (mercifully short) season.  Pelphrey:  do the right thing, man:  leave (and take the thugs who are disgracing that cardinal and white uniform with you---or quit protecting them so they can go on to jail.).

>>o<<

Seasons indicate change.

Change is what it’s all about for me right now.  My company lost our contract; the new company says they will offer me a job.  My old company says they might have something –delicious- for me as well.  A choice?  How would that work, exactly???  I’d be glad to have any, but a choice would be sheer luxury.

I think maybe if you survive your 50’s, the 60’s should be O-K.  At least that’s what I hope.

Reconnected on Facebook with one of my old college roommates.  What a blast!  I always did love that jackass (he’s a great guy and I’m delighted to have his friendship back).  I guess now he’s morphed from “jackass” to “codger” or some such ;-)  We had a lot of fun, in our season as roommates, all those years ago….

>>o<<

Seasons sometimes cause us to sit back and reflect on where we’ve been and where we’re going.  I think back over where I’ve been, and say, “You know, even though it’s been bumpy in spots, it’s not been a bad ride.”  As for where I’m going….

Onward into the night, my friends….

 

Uh, waiter~~hold that order of Kool-Aid, please; I’ll take an Alka-Seltzer instead

You really just hate to see regression, but that’s what Arkansas Razorbacks fans observed Saturday.

It’s hard to single out any particular phase of the game as being more egregious than others---Ryan Mallett apparently determined that he needed to try to get the ball to the Mississippi Gulf Coast, several hundred miles south of Oxford, rather than to his receivers on the field.  Meanwhile, the receivers had their hands encased in concrete---or butter, take your pick.  The defense decided that, having taken the Florida game seriously, they’d just take the Ole Miss game off.  (Hey guys:  that McCluster fellow, you might want to consider blocking him.  You know he’s going to get the ball.  You know Houston Nutt has had propensities in the past to run the same back(s) over and over and over.  You couldn’t figure that out?

The most disappointing aspect of this weekend was this:  Bobby Petrino was outcoached by Houston Nutt.  Apparently, Bobby and his staff took a cue from the defense and mailed it in this week. 

Hey, Bob:  this is the SEC.  As Joe Kines once said, “they will slit your throat and drink your blood.”  You don’t GET a day off in the fall.  You make more in a month than I make in a year, so let’s not hear any whining.

This level of play will not be considered acceptable next year. 

>>o<<

I watched the Mississippi State/Florida game this weekend.  Once again, while State was finally put away, the officials “helped”.

Arkansas, South Carolina, Ole Miss, and Mississippi State (along with their fellow-traveler Vanderbilt, and maybe even Auburn) might as well give up their foolish ideas about becoming SEC champions.  That’s reserved for Florida, Alabama, LSU, sometimes Tennessee, sometimes Georgia.  The SEC is going to be sure of that.

Proud of the Hogs/A Public Apology/Love Them texass—er, SEC Refs!

Arkansas played #1 Florida in the Swamp today, and came as close to an upset as the Hogs have ever managed against the Gators (in the SEC era).  While Ryan Mallett still showed signs of nerves/jitters in the face of a top-notch defense, he mostly made plays when he needed to do so.

Arkansas’ offensive line played very well indeed.  The blocking up front gave Mallett the time he needed to make the plays. 

The receiving corps, likewise, did well, making some clutch catches (yes, they missed some, nobody’s perfect) they would have missed early in the season.

How bout that young Dennis Johnson!  Whoa, where did HE come from?  He certainly stepped up while Smith is out---and had some nice kick returns as well.  Ah, to be young again, and have that kind of stamina…

The Defense:  what can you say about these guys?  Worst to first!  They were trounced last year, and started out this year looking like “Second verse, same as the first!”  They’ve quietly improved, game after game, and today’s game---let’s just say the #1 Gators had all of the Arkansas defense they wanted and then some.

Ole Miss offense:  Be afraid.  Be very, very afraid.

I am very, very proud of the Hogs today---they stood toe-to-toe with Florida, with some of their best players on the sidelines, and won the game (with the exception noted a couple of sections below). 

Fearless prediction:  January 2, 2010, Cowboys Stadium, Arlington, Texas:  The SBC Cotton Bowl Classic, Arkansas vs. Oklahoma (or K-State, depending on how that shakes out).

>>o<<

A Public Apology:

Toward the first part of the year, in public and in private, I excoriated Willy Robinson, Arkansas’ Defensive Coordinator.  I publicly called for his head, stating that he obviously wouldn’t know Defense from a paper bag.

I was wrong.

Mr. Robinson, you have developed your players all year (something not seen at Arkansas for the past 10 years).  You’ve devised some very stout defenses against some very good offenses.  I am impressed.  I was wrong, and I publicly apologize.  Give ‘em Hell, Willy!

>>o<<

I watched the game today with Nathan and his fraternity brother and friend, Adam.  We were cautiously optimistic as the game began, but as it wore on and it became more and more likely that we might pull off the upset, we began to be very concerned with and interested in the game.  As the game wore on to the final quarter, Adam began twisting his hat, unconsciously running his fingers through his hair, and both he and Nathan started sitting on the edge of their seats.  I was sprawled back on the sofa.  At one point, Adam turned to me and said, “You look pretty relaxed for someone who professes to be nervous!” 

“Boys,” I said, “y’all are 26.  I’ve been living with the Arkansas Razorbacks for 52 years.  I’ll get excited when we get down to the last minute.”  (I was thinking of the scene in “Fried Green Tomatoes” when Kathy Bates slams her Ford into the young girls’ car, then says, “Face it, girls---I’m older and I’ve got better insurance!”).

They’re 26.  Full grown men with college degrees and homes and cars and careers and wife (one) and fiancée (other).  They were 9 years old when Arkansas played its last Southwest Conference game.  They vaguely remember us playing texass u (spit) and aTm and Baylor and SMU and TCU and Rice and Texas Tech and Houston; they’ve never been to Lubbock; Waco is someplace they’ve driven through going from Dallas to San Antonio; Austin is 6th Street (but not football); Texas Stadium is where the Cowboys used to play, and who was Amon Carter and where is Ft. Worth anyway?  They never owned a copy of Dave Campbell’s Texas Football (or the Arkansas version).  

>>o<<

Horton Nesrsta.

That name may not mean anything to young Razorback fans (see above) but it does to us old farts.

Arkansas was playing SMU at Texas Stadium; SMU was in full “Pony Express” mode with their bought and paid for players (Craig James you suck); when they got caught, that set in motion the demise of the Southwest Conference.

In any event, Horton Nesrsta was an official in that game.  He called Arkansas’ Nathan Jones for Pass Interference (which then was half the distance to the goal, period); this put the ball at the Arkansas 17 and SMU went on to win the game, which gave them the Conference Championship.  Except there was no Defensive Pass Interference.  It was obviously, positively, blatantly OFFENSIVE pass interference, should have resulted in a (drive-killing and probably game-losing) penalty for SMU, and everybody in the stadium and in the national TV audience saw it---except Nesrsta.  Even the SMU player later said he was play-acting, trying to convince Nesrsta that it was Jones interfering with him, when he knew he was guilty as original sin.

Out of all the hose jobs the Texas referees (for the young fan:  Arkansas refs could not referee an Arkansas game; the Texas schools were afraid we’d “cheat”.  So of course, ALL of OUR games were refereed by ALL-TEXAS refs---but hey, that was fair, right?) ever pulled on poor old Arkansas, that was by far the worst.

In fact, out of all the hose jobs EVER pulled on Arkansas in both the old Southwest Conference and the Southeastern Conference, that was the worst---until today.

THE SOUTHEASTERN CONFERENCE SHOULD DIE OF SHAME BECAUSE OF THE REFEREEING IN THE ARKANSAS-FLORIDA GAME TODAY.  Those referees (who likewise hosed Georgia in favour of LSU) should never be allowed to work another game in the SEC, if the SEC is to have ANY credibility whatsoever.  I have thought the refereeing in the SEC was bad, and I’ve heard the complaints of favouritism from other fans, but I’ve never witnessed anything like this hosing, except for dear old Horton Nestrsa.  What game were they watching? 

I’ll tell you what game they were watching:  they were watching the SEC’s bottom line, they were watching the fact that the SEC has the number 1 and number 2 ranked teams in the nation right now, and they were damned well intent on keeping Florida #1, even if they had to carry the ball across the goal line FOR St. Tebow and Co.

Normally, I am one who says, “Whining about the refs is for losers,” but in this case, it’s deserved. 

Look, when our team does something against the rules, fine.  There’s “holding” on every play in every football game; as long as it’s called evenly, that’s fine when we get popped.  Off sides, False Starts, 12 men on the field---we commit them all, and deserve to be penalized for it.

But when an Arkansas player is obviously going for the ball, does not push off, and otherwise just properly defends a pass into the endzone---and gets flagged for pass interference, when there clearly was none…when an Arkansas player gets called for blocking his man cleanly, with no other apparent issue—and gets flagged for it---both of which penalties result in keeping the Florida drive alive when it was sputtering---that’s just plain old bullshit.

Foul, Southeastern Conference, foul.  If Florida goes on to win the national championship (which I hope does not happen), it will be tainted as far as I’m concerned.  I hope St. Tebow and the Gators lose in the NC game.  I’ll sure be rooting for their opponent (for the first time since we joined the SEC in 1992), unless it’s texass u (spit).  If that’s the game, I just won’t watch it.  I don’t think my heart could take it. 

FOOBAW; or, how I learned to stop worrying and love the game

I had a little speed bump on the road of life Friday; spent the day getting checked out for “Chest Pain, nonspecific” at St. Luke’s.  (St. Luke’s is where some ol nobody doc named Denton Cooley made somewhat of a name for himself---I mean, if you’re going to have heart issues, Houston is the best place in the world to do it, no?). 

They checked me and found I was in no immediate danger (they figure it was “stress”), scheduled me for more tests (surprise!) and sent me home with instructions to not engage in any “heavy physical activity”.

I took this as an excuse to mean, “Don’t mow the yard; sit in the recliner all weekend and watch football.”

So I did.

I watched 6 games this weekend.

AUBURN at ARKANSAS

---photo courtesy Mr.. James K. Pork

Well, THAT was fun, wasn’t it!?

You could make arguments that Texas A&M was not ready for primetime; that we really hadn’t played anyone; that we were still very suspect in a number of areas.

The Auburn game proved the contrary.  Arkansas dominated Auburn from one end of the football field to the other; yes, Auburn helped with giftwrapped turnovers, but upon second viewing a lot of those turnovers were Arkansas-induced.

I’ve seen the argument on the Auburn boards that “Arkansas gets up a lot more for us than we do for the; they consider us a MAJOR opponent while we consider them like (snif) one of the Mississippi schools.”  Uh, yeah, NO, not really.  I mean, the Auburn game is an SEC game, all right; it’s a “big” game in that they are all “big”, but in no way does Arkansas consider Auburn to be one of the SEC elite teams.  I’d say we’re right there together, Aubies.  Y’all haven’t “broken out” either.  If you disregard us every year, well, that’s just great, you keep on doing so---makes it easier for us to beat you on our way to beating “REAL” SEC teams like LSU and Alabama. 

---photo courtesy Mr.. James K. Pork

The thing I liked about the Auburn game (well, I liked a LOT about the Auburn game) was the fact that the defense really does seem to be improving by leaps and bounds.  They were better against Auburn (a much better team) than they were against Texas A&M; better against A&M than they were against Alabama; better against Alabama (which is better than anybody gave them credit for being preseason) than they were against Georgia.  Had our defense played as well in the Georgia game as they played in the Auburn game, that would have been a win for us.

Receivers play is looking good, and we have a QB who can get the passes there.  He played 3 or 4 games for Michigan, otherwise, he’s effectively a FRESHMAN.  That’s the other thing you’ve got to love about these Hogs---they’re VERY YOUNG.  When they get some seasoning on them---well, let’s say I wouldn’t feel funny talking about Atlanta next year, especially considering Alabama loses a lot of that talent to the NFL next year. 

It’s like this, Aubies: 

HEY AUBURN!

HEY AUBURN!

HEY AUBURN!

WE JUST BEAT THE HELL OUTTA YOU!

WHOLE HOG, HALF HAM, ARKANSAS BY DAMN!!!

 

ALABAMA at OLE MISS

AND LO, THE HEATHEN GIANT CRIMSON BEASTS FROM THE BANKS OF THE BLACK WARRIOR RIVER DID RISE UP, AND SMOTE THE CHILDREN OF MISSISSIPPI WHERE THEY STOOD; OFFENSE AND DEFENSE THEY SMOTE THEM; THEY SMOTE THEM ON THE OFFENSIVE LINE, THEY SMOTE THEM ON THE DEFENSIVE LINE, THEY SMOTE THEM IN THE BACKFIELD, THEY SMOTE THEM IN THE KICKING GAME, THEY SMOTE THEM IN THE BOWL CUTS.  VERILY, EVEN THE MUCH-VAUNTED SNEAD REGRESS-ED ONCE AGAIN, THANKS TO THE TUTELEGE OF THE REVEREND, AND AS THE DARKNESS COVERED THE FACE OF VAUGHT-HEMINGWAY STADIUM, YEA, VERILY, I SAY THAT THE VOICES OF THE MISSISSIPPI FAITHFUL CRIED OUT IN DESPAIR, AND GREAT WAS THEIR MOANING, AND THERE WAS WEEPING AND WAILING AND GNASHING OF TEETH, AND THERE WAS HOTTYING AND TODDYING; THEY TORE THEIR GARMENTS AND ANNOINTED THEMSELVES WITH BOURBON!  AND DID CRY OUT, “BUT REVEREND NUTT, WE DRANK YOUR KOOL AID!  WE BELIEVED!  BUT FORSOOTH, OUR SPECIAL TEAMS WERE NOT SPECIAL, AND OUR LINES CAVE-ED IN, AND GREAT WAS THE SUFFERING OF OUR SNEAD!”  TO WHICH THE REVEREND REPLIED, “GIGGITAH!  SMEZMERIZE!”

And there was sadness in the valley of Oxford, and they were sore afraid, for the rest of the SEC schedule did not look promising, and it appeared their cousins from Arkansas were right; and this, surely, was the unkindest (bowl) cut of all.

 

BAYLOR at OKLAHOMA

Man, Baylah is a long, long way from the days of “I Believe” when Grant Teaff took us to the Promised Land. 

And there was sadness at Jerusalem on the Brazos, and the little light on top of Pat Neff Hall (where God lives!) was dark, and there was no green on Pat Neff Hall; and the natives cared not, for they were at George’s, snarfing down chicken fried steaks and Bud Lights, and trying to get into Betty Baylor’s (or, for that matter, Bobby Baylor’s) pants (without anybody finding out, since it IS Baylah….).

 

FLORIDA at LSU

Well, the great shoot out that wasn’t.  Seemed to me both teams struggled mightily with each other throughout the game.  At the end, Florida proved that they’re just a bit bigger, badder, and stronger than LSU.  Tiger Bait, indeed.  More like Gator Bait.

 

DALLAS at KANSAS CITY

Sigh.  What an exercise in futility.  Yes, we won (yaaaay!).  We managed (through the heroic individual effort of one player) to scrape by in overtime against one of the worst teams in the NFL.  Woo-Hoo!  Pardon me if I’m less than thrilled. 

As a head coach, Wade Phillips is a great defensive coordinator (whose defenses can’t seem to stop quarter-ending drives for game-winning TD’s).

As a quarterback, Tony Romo would be good holding somebody’s clipboard.  Yes, I’m ready to throw Tony under the bus.  Buh-bye.  Less celebrity dating.  Less nightclubbing.  More completed passes.

Bleah.  The whole experience was just foul.

 

HOUSTON at ARIZONA

Sigh.  Until the Texans get themselves an offensive line and a new QB (I’m not sold on Schaub at all), they’re never going to make the playoffs (much less win a game in the playoffs).  Kubiak’s last year in Houston.

 

COLTS at TITANS

Hey, it was a FOOBAW game!  Well, not much of one, and I could care less about either team, but it was foobaw!  Of course, it’s always fun to watch the Titans lose (and no, Titans, you CAN’T wear Oilers uniforms again!  There is a lot of bitterness in Houston about the way you left us in the lurch!  I personally hope you lose every game!).

 

And that was this weekend!  Whew!

 

Hogs have their work cut out for them in the Swamp next weekend.  Who knows?  It could happen!?

The cold, icy finger of dread/Roll, Tide!/Intergalactic ‘hoods

The cold, icy finger of dread is one of those things that afflicts those of us who are sports fans. 

We all start out new, fresh, rejuvenated when the team of our choice finally (FINALLY!) looks to be showing signs of life.  We feel that the glory days may once again visit us; that we are once again a “team of destiny”; that the pieces are falling into place once more for us to win the Mythical National Championship, the Tourney, the Supa Bow; that “one shining moment” will feature our team; that the confetti is going to rain down whilst the commish hands the coach the trophy.

This euphoria may last as much as a year or two.  Yeah, so we lost to the Bombers.  They’d better enjoy it now….  We can handle another year or two, knowing that we’re on the rebuild.  We are the Emperors, and we will be BACK, baby!

Then, there comes that game, that one particular moment in time, when the cold, icy finger of dread slithers down your spine.  There’s an interception run back for a TD, or your pitching just completely breaks down, or Barnacle State hammers you 111-60, and you think, “Oh, NO.  No, no no no no.  Not again.  Not now.  Not when we thought we had our breakout team in place.  No, no, NO!”

The first time I actually thought about the Cold, Icy Finger of Dread was in Waaaaar Memorial Stadium, Little Rock, Arkansas.  The previous season, after a great start and fun whupping of texass u (spit) in the Cotton Bowl, Arkansas had had an inexplicably poor outing in Lexington, which, along with several other subpar efforts had led us to the Las Vegas Bowl.  I went.  It was GREAT to be in Vegas again; I couldn’t get enough of the Bellagio; the Golden Nugget welcomed me like an old friend.  I knew we were in trouble that night before the game.  I couldn’t sleep (my buddy had the temp turned up to “Blast Furnace”), and it occurred to me as I flipped and flopped that I was in VEGAS, and I could just head downstairs for a little fun.  So, I arrived in the casino and was considering my options when, to my surprise, I observed 3 of our starting offensive linemen getting into a white stretch limo with three hookers---at 3:30 am.  “Uh oh,” I thought to myself.  Uh-oh, indeed.  But still, boys will be boys….  Of course, we lost miserably.  I figured, “Ok, it was the bowl game atmosphere, it’ll be better next season.”

The first game of the next season happened to be UNLV.  And the game went very badly, including some astonishing coaching moves by Hooty.  And I felt the Cold, Icy Finger of Dread go down my spine as I thought, “He’s clueless.  We’re screeewwwed!” (Lewis Black).

This last Sunday, watching the Cowboys’ haphazard, futile effort vs. a rebuilding Denver team, watching Tony Romo throw still more interceptions, and watching Wade Phillips’ headsets once again hit the Gatorade table, and watching Romo’s pass sail in and out of the hands of Hurd (Hurd?  Who’s Hurd?) (ok, the much-maligned Champ Bailey had a little to do with the pass being knocked down, but it was the GAME WINNING PASS IN THE ENDZONE!  And had it been thrown just a bit better, it would’ve resulted in a TOUCHDOWN.  The GAME-WINNING touchdown!)---and there were the matters of all those passes (to wide-open receivers) that were “Juuuust a bit high” (paraphrasing Bob Uecker, as Harry Doyle, Major League)---and there was the matter of the “deer in the headlights” look Romo had---the combination of all of these produced the COLD ICY FINGER OF DREAD down my spine. 

He ain’t it.  He’s cute, and he’s dashing, and he dated the Simpson skank, and he’s quite the kool kat around town, but on the football field he’s nervous and timid and it shows.  He’s got some big play potential, but he’s got some big downsides.

Wade Phillips…is a great Defensive Coordinator. The Head Coach is comfortably ensconced in the owner’s box, chatting with visiting royalty while consuming tasty snax and calling plays down to Jason Garrett.

Jason---may be Hooty Dale in disguise.  He makes some great calls, but he makes some really boneheaded ones.

Sigh.

I think I’ll adopt the Vikings.  THEY looked like they had it all together, and it’s fun to watch The Old Man take one more tour of the NFL.

 

>>o<<

You will not hear me say this often, so better listen up:  ROLLLLLLL, TIDE!!!! 

‘nuff said.  GO TO HELL, OLE MISS, GO TO HELL!!!

 

>>o<<

Houston, Texas is the largest city in the United States with no zoning laws whatsoever.  You can have a Target next to a dry cleaners next to a Stop-n-go next to a residential neighborhood next to a porno palace.  There’s no rhyme or reason to it.  (In fact, our local porno palace---Houston has them everywhere, and in the best areas---is located directly next to The Mattress Store.  One could say that has a certain ironic quality, but one doesn’t need to be TOO ironical…).

At first, you think, “Man, this is some kind of mess!” but the more you live here, the better you like it.  No zoning means there is an HEB/Central Market, a Kroger Signature, and a Randall’s Flagship within walking distance of my house (Ok, better drive to Randall’s).  There are Blockbusters, Walgreens, CVS, veterinarians, pawn shops, porn palaces, gas stations, and 50,000 restaurants within about a 2 mile radius---while in my neighborhood, you’d never know you lived in the city.  Why?

Houston has a huge proliferation of Neighborhood Associations.  These Hitler Youth Concerned and Involved Citizens mostly police the area, making sure you don’t forget to mow your grass to the specified height, or have a shrub out of place, or paint your mailbox a non-approved shade of beige. 

Lately, however, the Association has taken on new missions.  We have crime problems city-wide (Katrina “victims” + Great Recession = lots of people with too much time on their hands and no drug money available), and West Houston is no exception.  The Association has hired us an extra constable (look for those dues to climb next year…) and is in some ways not half bad.

In other ways, however, it’s more than half bad.  They recently tried to assess us all an extra $500.  We went to the big meeting they held (I’m sure they were surprised and dismayed at the size of the crowd).  They had no real plan (other than re-doing the pool and the kitchen at the clubhouse; Ms. Gotrocks decided she needed granite and Thermidor appliances in the clubhouse kitchen to match her own style; the neighbors and I determined that any granite and Thermidor appliances were going in our OWN houses, thanks much.  

We voted their assessment down.  They were apoplectic.

Imagine my surprise this afternoon to get a chirpy email from our chirpy Association Management Professional, advising us that we had joined the Briar Forest Super Neighborhood Council, consisting of Ashford Village (mine), Country Village, ShadowBriar, Walnut Bend, Briargrove Park, Rivercrest, Lakeside Place, April Village, Village West, Marlborough, and several others whose names I disremember.  We have several “stakeholders” (including, but not limited to, the Westchase District, the “Faith-Based” group (Ascension Episcopal, Grace Presbyterian), and a host of other organizations. 

Apparently this group’s function is to wield more “clout” at City Hall, to get “our issues” out there (Rivercrest tried an end-around; they attempted to get the City to close the public street through their neighborhood, to avoid the traffic from Westheimer trying to avoid the light at Westheimer and Beltway 8)---hey, if they get to usurp their public streets, we’re going gated, mmmkay? 

In any event, this is a more or less random observation, but here it is:

Nobody is happier than when they’re mind ANYBODY’S business except their own. 

It’s not enough that we have the Westchase District, which can levy taxes without sanction from voters OR City Hall; Southbriar (Ashford Village + ShadowBriar) Association and a host of other intrusive sorts---now we have to have the Briar Forest Super InterGalactic Neighborhood Council.  Hell, next thing you know, they’ll merge with other organizations and become a City!  Hey, we could name it after the Father of Texas, Sam Houston!!

Oh…wait….

Well, THAT was fun

Arkansas 47, aTm 19 has a nice ring to it!  Congrats, Hogs, on the victory.

See, kiddies, this is what the old SWC USED to be like---we’d win 1 of 4 from Texas, then pretty much beat the rest of the conference most years. 

aTm faced a Southeastern Conference team out there tonight.  Both teams are young; both programs trying to rise from the middle of the pack in their respective conferences.  aTm can complain because they have to play texass u (spit) and Chokelahoma every year.  We have to “get by” Alabama, LSU, and Auburn every year in our division.  Oh, and this year, on our SEC East rotation, we’ve got the #1 Florida Gators on the schedule; no biggie.

But hey, tonight the team won in the Taj MaJerry (thanks, fren, for that one!) and won convincingly.  The Defense seemed to find its way tonight after the Alabama defeat.  Mallett seemed to get his groove back, and even Broderick Green (for whom I’d given up all hope) played the best football he’s played at Arkansas.  Our offensive line is going to have to try to figure out how to open the kind of holes for the running game that they opened tonight for the rest of the season, not just against a Big 12 opponent. 

Once we get past Florida and Auburn, it looks a little easier.  I’m not convinced of some of the SEC teams.

Alabama looks pretty good to go all the way; that Alabama-LSU game in Baton Rouge this November ought to be a pretty watchable game.

LSU has been getting by on a wing and a prayer.  They aren’t all that and a bag of chips. 

Auburn is the real deal.  If they’re not ranked when the rankings come out, there is no justice.

(Tennessee sucks this year).

We get Ole Miss in Oxford (can’t wait to hand the Kernel the bitter pill of being beaten by his old team in his new home).  I feel pretty good about both Ole Miss and Mississippi State this year. 

South Carolina looks to be pretty even with us, imho.  That’s a tossup, but we do get them at home.

>>o<<

It’s hard to explain to non-football fans what the shouting’s about.  Nathan and Pam got a new 52 inch High Def LCD and went to AT&T Uverse.  They just got the thing set up, and it went out for a while this afternoon.  Pam opined that they’d have to bury Nathan and me if it didn’t get going in time for the game; I told her it wasn’t a problem for me:  their house is 15 minutes from mine, and I wasn’t going to miss the game.

Nathan (after a furious few minutes on the phone with AT&T) got the thing going again, and we enjoyed the game that way.  Pam was in her bedroom playing on her computer.  The dogs ran under the bed and hid when Mallett hit Joe Adams with 5:44 left to play in the first quarter; Nathan and I were shrieking and hollering and high-fiving, and again about a minute later when Green scored.  Pam came out and told us she was laughing at us.  We told her we didn’t care. ;-)

>>o<<

This “Southwest Classic” is good for both Arkansas and aTm.  Aside from that nice fat paycheck (and you’ve gotta love that), it gives both teams exposure in the DFW Metroplex, and indeed on national television.  It is a great showcase for both programs (see, kids, there ARE other SEC programs besides Alabama and LSU; there ARE other Big 12 programs besides Texas and Oklahoma.).  Dallas is the largest concentration of Razorback fans outside of the state of Arkansas, while it is the #2 market (after Houston) for aTm; both fanbases can enjoy the hoopla.  I understand from those who were there that the atmosphere was much like a bowl game.  That’s great for everybody involved.  From the television shots, it looked like Jerry enjoyed it too.

This game did what it is supposed to do for me:  it entertained.  This is all entertainment, right?

I had the opportunity to go today, but couldn’t make myself.  Too much money and too much windshield time.  5 years ago, neither would have made a difference.  Now, both do.

I’m truly getting old….

Good job, boys.  Good job, coaches.  Good job fans who went and cheered (we heard the Hog Call loud and clear, as well as the “SEC, SEC” chant.  Aggies, see ya next year, same bat-time, same bat-channel.  I’m going to be there next year.

But for now…

GO HOGS!!!  BEAT THE TIGERS!!!!

Hullaballoo, GO HOGS! GO HOGS!

My friend Trent over at The South Endzone got me going on the Arkansas-Texas A&M game this weekend.  Trent is a young fart (an old-fart-in-training, as it were); he was 10 the last time Arkansas played in the SWC.  Trent’s thesis:  he likes the game; likes the money (!), likes the prestige---doesn’t give a “hoot” about the “rivalry”.

I'm one of the old farts, so I remember playing (and beating) the Gagmes, and I've spent my time at Kyle Field in College Station, Texas (one of the old SWC's 3 -count 'em- 3 versions of Starkville---College Station, Waco, and Lubbock, specifically---listening to the "Yells" and all the rest.

The best-ever Aggie game, I’ve already described in my War Memorial Stadium post, since that’s where it occurred. 

Quoting: 

…Arkansas was taking on the #2 ranked Texas A&M Aggies; it was the ABC College Football Game of the Week (hard to believe now, but you only got ONE).  The announcing team was headed by the immortal Keith Jackson (the real one, not the current color guy on Arkansas’ Radio broadcasts).  Anticipation was running high in the entire college football fan world on that game.

We Baylor Arkies proudly decked ourselves out in cardinal from head to toe (with Uncle Heavy’s natch) and proceeded to the TV room at Penland Hall (one TV per floor).  We taught those Baylor boys how to Call the Hogs that day.

ABC cut to a live shot from the Goodyear Blimp, while Keith Jackson did the voiceover:

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRR MEMORIAL STADIUM LITTLE ROCK, ARKANSAS!!!!!  WHERE FRANK BROYLES’ ARKANSAS RAZORBACKS ARE TAKING ON THE #2 RANKED AGGIES OF TEXAS A&M!!!!  Hello, everybody, I’m Keith Jackson….”

The game was a bit lackluster until Scott Bull hit a streaking Teddy Barnes for the go-ahead touchdown (Frank Broyles, in his next-to-last season as Head Coach, called him “The Immortal Teddy Barnes”).  Arkansas went on to win the game; it was the last game of the season; A&M was unbeaten until then, with a probable National Championship in the making; Arkansas went on to beat Georgia in the Cotton Bowl (Frank Broyles’ last as Head Coach).  It was a GREAT MOMENT IN RAZORBACK HISTORY.

>>o<<

Actually, the Aggies are nice if eccentric folk. They have their share of drunk assholes, but so do we. They're fun to tweak (go stand on their "sacred grass" and see what kind of reaction you get from the nearest CT--that's "Corps Turd".

Herewith, for Trent, Nathan, and my other younger friends, is a partial listing of Aggie terminology:

CT:

Corps Turd.  Texas A&M used to be an all-male military school (until the 60’s, in fact).  Their traditions stem from all-male military school traditions, and  the keepers of the flame are the Texas A&M Corps of Cadets.  Their members are referred to (by us normal humans) as Corps Turds, CT’s.  (Privately, many of them refer to themselves this way).  Most of them are good ol boys and girls, trying to get along in the world, very conservative, frequently from small Texas towns.  There are a few, however, whose boots are just a bit shinier; uniforms just a little more snappy; voices pitched just a bit higher.  The best movie example of a CT (though not from A&M) was the character of Neidermeyer from “Animal House” (above).

The Aggie War Hymn:

There’s a great story about the Aggie War Hymn; supposedly written by an Aggie, in the trenches in World War I, thinking of his Aggie days.  The Aggies take the War Hymn seriously.  They all sing it, loudly, in 4 part harmony.  It is played by the…

Fightin’ Aggie Band:

The Texas A&M Aggie Band is my favourite band in college football.  They are everything a band should be.  They do not do a lot of showtunes.  Their members do not aspire to a career on Broadway, or Vegas, or Hollywood.   They march up and down the field in tight formations playing march music.  Their lines are crisp.  Their music is good.  They do not play “Salutes to 8-Track” or “Big Smith”, a la the Arkansas Band (what a joke…) or *Broadway!* like the Baylor Golden Wave (what a joke…).  They do one thing and they do it very, very well.

Here they are, doing the Aggie War Hymn at Kyle Field.

The 12th Man:

In the early days of Aggie football, coach Dana X. Bible was running short on players (this was in the leather helmet days, and broken bones were not uncommon in every game).  He grabbed a big student out of the crowd, dressed him in a borrowed uniform, and had him on the sidelines, ready to go into the game if needed.  He wasn’t, but now the entire Aggie student body stands during the entire game, symbolically ready to go into the action should the coach need them.  The 12th man, as it were.  Sometimes, their emotions just overcome them…

Yells, and Humping It:

Aggies do not “cheer”.  They “Yell”.  They have this big, elaborate “Yell Practice” the night before games, where they rehearse the “Yells” for the next day.  Kyle Field (about 80,000) is half-full every night before a game for Yell Practice.  It’s a great excuse for a party, great excuse to get drunk and take the girl or guy (see above) of your choice to the Yell practice; you can guess where that leads…

Aggies “hump it”.  Not sure what this is about, but it involves standing with hands on knees.  Here are the Aggie Yell leaders and team “humping it”.  Let us hope they don’t mean poor….

Reveille:

The A&M Mascot is Reveille, usually a female collie dog.  Reveille is a General in the Corps of Cadets and is, in fact, the highest ranking officer; her collar has 5 diamonds signifying her rank.  Should she be in the barracks (where she lives) and selects a cadet’s bed on which to sleep, that cadet sleeps on the floor while she occupies the bed.  If she wanders into a classroom and barks, the class is instantly cancelled.  As a dog lover, I consider all of this to be just normal activity and as it should be.

Sacred Grass:

When I was a freshman at Baylah (Baylor and A&M have a “thing”---they used to be fierce rivals, Baylor’s #1 rival and A&M’s #2 rival, and violence was a frequent part of their games and the days leading up to them; Baylor has a tradition of the freshmen barricading and guarding the campus with axe handles the night before the A&M game; I had mine a long time---you put Baylah stickers all over it and shellac it, then frame it on your wall…), the game was at Kyle Field.  On the A&M campus, there is a statue of Sul Ross (first President) on a lawn of beautiful, perfect grass.  We strolled up to get a closer look at the statue.  We were immediately accosted by a CT (see illustrations above) screaming at us (remarkably similarly to Neidermeyer above) that we were infringing on “Sacred Grass” and that we needed to –effectively- get the HELL off it.  We didn’t know. It looked like grass to us.  (A side note:  I have no personal knowledge of how Sully’s nose got painted green.  Is that prosecutable after 30 years?  That’s another old Baylor/A&M tradition:  Sully’s nose gets painted green; Rufus C. Burleson (on the Baylor Campus) has his nose painted maroon and white.).

I’ll close this small glossary with the words of the Aggie War Hymn:

Hullabaloo, Caneck, Caneck

Hullabaloo, Caneck, Caneck

Good bye to texas university

So long to the orange and the white

Good luck to dear old Texas Aggies

They are the boys who show the real old fight

"the eyes of Texas are upon you"

That is the song they sing so well

Sounds Like Hell

So good bye to texas university

We're gonna beat you all to…

Chigaroogarem , Chigaroogarem

Rough, Tough, Real stuff, Texas A&M

Saw varsity's horns off

Saw varsity's horns off

Saw varsity's horns off

Short! A!

Varsity's horns are sawed off

Varsity's horns are sawed off

Varsity's horns are sawed off

Short! A!

WHOOP!

Oh, one more:  “WHOOP!” 

Don’t know how that one got started, but the Aggies Whoop randomly and together as a group.  It’s similar to us screaming “WOO PIG!” at each other when we see each other.  I think.

>>o<<

But honestly, and speaking as an old fart: I'm right there with Trent. I used to miss the old SWC. Now I look back on it as a fond memory, but one I'm not keen to repeat. I'd much rather beat Auburn than A&M, Bama than texass u (spit), or even Vandy rather than Baylor (my own alma mater). The Hogs have been in the SEC a long time now. The SWC: RIP.

It's great to have a high-visibility game in Dallas, Texas on national television with an old foe, now a cross-conference thing. We've needed something like this and frankly, so has A&M. It's good for both schools in a metro area where texass u (spit) and chokela-u (spit) compete for recruits, and the second-pickings go to Texas Tech, SMU, TCU, and Baylor.

So, Hogs, go to Dallas, collect your paycheck, enjoy the fun of Big D, get us some good recruits, BEAT THE HELL OUT OF THE AGS…and then go home and get ready for the rest of the real season.

A funny thing happened on the way, and South Texas skies

If you drive in Houston long enough, you see a lot of things on the freeways.  Women putting on makeup, guys reading the sports page; EVERYBODY with the radio going, a cup of their favourite beverage going, and their blackberries/iphones going. 

You’ll see a bit of everything.

My new blackberry (thank you, Broadspire!) has a decent camera, and over the past week (!) I’ve taken some –interesting- photos.

I drive to and from work on the Katy Freeway (IH-10).  Since they widened it, it stands proud and strong at 20 lanes, 10 on each side.  It’s an immense span of concrete, truly amazing.  There are flyovers, HOV lanes, Toll Lanes, Managed Lanes, MainLanes, gargantuan interchanges, and a partridge in a pear tree (though the partridge is about dead due to inhalation of fumes from 219,000 vehicles a day).  It’s been featured on the show Modern Marvels, and is really a dazzling display of design, engineering, and construction expertise.

219,000 is a lotta cars.

The first three pics are from my commute this week (second is a crop from the first):

One and two:

Dude, you are going to DIE.  It’s like this:  in this picture, I’m driving a 2004 Chrysler Town and Country Minivan, clocking in at a modest 3,100 lbs of American Steel.  Note that next to him are a Chevy Tahoe (4,000), a Ford F-150 (about 4,000), and you can also see a Ford Expedition, another F-150, and a semi-trailer (80,000 lbs).  All of the aforementioned vehicles were moving at approximately 70 mph, and you’ll notice that there were merges from the left AND the right, with the merge from the flyover coming right up.  You should not be driving that scooter on the freaking Katy Freeway.

Three:

Oooooooh-KAY, you’re not going to see this every day, now are ya?  I have no idea what this car started out its life being, but now it’s covered front to back in purpley-blue carpet.  That is a steer skull as the hood ornament, and I don’t know what the shiny button things on top are (I was driving 70 mph on the Katy at the time).  Also, not sure about the coffin on the back.  Um, it appears to have stained glass windows.  Why do you need windows on your coffin?  Planning to look at the view?  I have seen some amazing things, but this one is pretty interesting.  (It’s part of the fun of Houston Art Cars, part of the wackiness that makes Houston…Houston.).

>>o<<

Anybody who’s ever spent any time in South Texas knows about the South Texas sky.  It really is bigger and better here, and it has its own particular look.  I love it; I didn’t realize how much I missed it living all over everywhere else.  It can be bluest blue with puffy white clouds, or it can be raining ferociously; it can be brassy with heat waves simmering; it can be brown with air pollution.

But sometimes, the Devil is beating his wife!  I’ve heard that one all my life; when it’s raining and the sun is shining, the Devil is beating his wife.  Poor thing, she’s worn out by now based on Houston alone.

I had been down to Clear Lake City (NASA Road 1, home of the Johnson Space Center) to the hospital to visit one of my staffers who is in for pneumonia (he called me today; he snuck downstairs in his little hospital gown and flippy flops, dragging his IV tree, and was leaning on his car in the parking lot smoking a cigarette or 20.  Gee, I wonder why he’s not better….).

Anyway, I’d been down to CLC to see Bill, and was coming home via the Beltway.  I called my lifelong friend Robert, and we were visiting.  I tried to describe the sky; Robert lived here many years, and knew EXACTLY what I was describing.  He misses the South Texas sky too.

After I hung up, it dawned on me that my blackberry takes pictures.  I tried to capture the beauty I was seeing.  Hope it comes through.

 

A Texas “Blue Norther” (first of the season)

Is it so wrong…

…for me to rejoice at the suffering of others? Shouldn't I be so ashamed? Shouldn't I cry large tears instead?

NAAAH!!!

GO TO HELL, OLE MISS, GO TO HELL!!!!

Rebel fans, that was CLASSIC Hooty Dale Nutt right there. And y'all keep wondering why we ran him out of Arkansas. You need to remember this game, Rebels. It will haunt your dreams. You'll look back on it as the day that first cold, dreadful finger of doubt ran up and down your spine---the game where you said, "What the hell was that?" "Oh, well, they had a bad day, everybody has one now and again; they'll fix it." Except they won't. Ever. What you see is what you get with the Nuttjob.

If I were y'all, I'd lock up the female TV anchors in town with Hooty on the prowl.

South Carolina 16, Ole Miss 10.
Glorious, simply glorious.

Giggetah!!!

Georgia vs. Arkansas: Oh, where, oh where has my Defense gone?

How many Arkansas and Georgia players does it take to have a Defense?  201.  100 players from each team, and one to turn on the television to watch Florida.

Hey, Willie Robinson (Arkansas) and Willie Martinez (Georgia):  The Little Sisters of the Poor called.  They want their defenses back if you’re through using them.

In a dazzling display of either a high scoring football game or a low scoring basketball game, the Georgia offense outlasted the Arkansas offense Saturday night in Fayetteville.  The Arkansas Defense was hosting the Georgia defense in a heated tiddlywinks contest in Jane, Missouri at the time, but the defenses for both teams took time out from their play to watch the game unfolding in Fayetteville on ESPN.  Meanwhile, the Referees for the game proved once again to the satisfaction of all that the Southeastern Conference leads the nation in blown officiating calls, makeup calls, out and out phantom calls, indecision, and general all-around laughability.  At least, as is so often said, the officiating was terrible on both sides.

Arkansas Defensive Coordinator Willie Robinson, meanwhile, when asked about the game, exclaimed, “Georgia?  GEORGIA!?!  I thought we were playing Missouri State!  We prepared for Missouri State!”  Uh, Willie, if you’ve not already bought a house in Fayettenam, I would stick with the apartment status.  Don’t hang anything on the walls, they charge you your deposit for those holes when you move out.

Holes---Arkansas surely had them.  One of the biggest was Middle Linebacker.  Why was there a hole there?  Because Jerry Franklin, a darn good one, was ejected from the game for pushing two players in the face mask and then bumping an official.  Fortunately, unlike the previous coaching regime, Jerry will most likely “feel the love” from Coach Bobby Petrino; stadium steps, anyone?

Holes---Arkansas’ offensive line couldn’t seem to open any for Broderick Green.   Wow, first and goal and you get stopped and have to run a pass play?  Oh, well, the same could be said for the Eli-Manning quarterbacked New York Giants Sunday night, as they accepted lovingly wrapped presents from Tony Romo to edge the Cowboys in the season opener of JerryWorld.

Oh, well, the Georgia game is in the books.  On to Tuscaloosa, where the Alabama Crimson “Tahd” awaits.  Bama is hungry, Bama fans believe they’re “back”, and I’d be hard-pressed to disagree with them.  Bama looks fierce.  We’ve won in Tuscaloosa and I’m not afraid of big, bad ‘Bama---except this year, maybe I should be.  They’re no Florida, though.  We’ve got them on the road, too.

>>o<<

Had a wonderful time at the tailgate party and the game.  Probably my only trip this year (me + career + finances + economic crisis = FAIL; annus horribilis continues unabated). 

Nathan and I were in downtown Houston on Friday afternoon at 4:30.  Drove to Tulsa, arrived 1:00 am, spent the night.  Saturday morning, drove to Rose, Oklahoma and dropped my little Bessie, the rescue dog, off at her forever home.  The people there are lovely and will give her a wonderful home.  We then went on to Fayetteville, tailgated with old friends, hugged everybody’s neck, had bourbon and coke, watched football (GO HUSKIES!), then walked across the street to Donald W. Reynolds Razorback Stadium.

I don’t know what it was, but it’s gotten a little too busy at DWRRS these days.  Sensory overload.  WAY WAY WAY TOO MANY FREAKING COMMERCIALS!!!

AND NOW, IT’S TIME TO MEET….A RAZORBACK!!!  BETTER PIZZA, MORE INGREDIENTS, PAPA JOHN’S!  GREAT MOMENTS IN RAZORBACK HISTORY!!!  (In 1954, Arkansas was fighting an uphill battle…”).  AND NOW, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, HERE ARE SOME SPORTS FIGURES FROM ARKANSAS’ PAST TO WHOM WE’RE GOING TO GIVE PLAQUES IN A NOISY FASHION!!!  THE ARKANSAS WOMEN’S TIDDLYWINKS TEAM NEEDS YOUR SUPPORT AS THEY TAKE ON AUBURN THIS WEEKEND!  PAPA JOHN’S!  WASTE MANAGEMENT!  PORT-A-JOHN, THE OFFICIAL OUTHOUSE OF THE ARKANSAS RAZORBACKS!!!

(Note to Long:  go to some of the other stadia and see how they do it.  It’s just not as intrusive).

After the game (exciting) and the hour getting out of the parking area, then another hour to Ft. Smith, spending the night at the Motel 6 on Rogers, then another 9 hour drive to Houston, then working all day, my brain is FRIED.  Accordingly, I’m going to stop writing and post pictures instead.

GO HOGS!!!  BEAT THE TAHD!!!

Nathan and his name on Senior Walk

Gage:  The Family 

Skinny and Minnie

Thanks, Joey, for a great party!

….you just had to be there….