The Gophers go meekly down their hole

After starting the season with a 7-1 record, the rest of the Big 10 Conference caught up with the University of Minnesota and the Gophers were summarily dismissed in their final four games of the season to finish at 7-5. I, unfortunately, was on hand for all four of those beat-downs, including last Saturday's inexplicable 55-0 loss to Iowa.

The stakes were there for the Goofs: The last game of the year. A trophy game. A border rival. A chance to rebound from a disappointing loss to Wisconsin. All this and the lads didn't show up. The defense, which certainly wasn't good, held up at least early. It was the offense that was horrible down the stretch for the second year in a row. I understand that the loss of Eric Decker due to a myriad of injuries (shoulder, ribs and ankle) played a significant part in their ineptitude, there is no way that this team should have struggled the way that they did. Like the Michigan game, this team had less than three first downs at halftime. That's embarrassing. Weber regressed for the second straight season and there has to be major questions about his ability to lead a team to the first division of a now-mediocre conference. Coach Tim Brewster admitted that his team needs to do more weight training before next season in order to compete along the lines, but why wasn't that apparent before the season. Did weight lifting just recently become popular?

Defensively, they need better athletes at linebacker. Lee Campbell and Deon Hightower were decent players early in the season but when other teams had the tape on them, and saw what they could do to the Gophers' defense when they got those players in space -- they were done with. The d-backs were certainly an improvement from last year, but in this conference the games are won up-front. That needs to be addressed.

Saturday's game against the Hawks was over by halftime and we took our leave to head to a local watering hole where several Jameson drinks took off the edge. Apparently it didn't to a number of Hawkeye fans who were up for the weekend. Apparently everyone in Iowa comes from a wrestling background because my diminutive friend (5-6, 150 pounds) was challenged a couple of fights. Meanwhile back at the Metrodome, things were even crazier.

According to the Star-Tribune, a pair of drunk Hawkeye fans were arrested for having sexual relations in one of the handicapped stalls of the Dome (what's the deal with lavatory sex in the Twin Cities). According to the story, there was a crowd of cheering fans encouraging the behavior from outside the stall. Police came and arrested the couple and -- get this -- released the man to his girlfriend and the woman to her husband. How do you suppose that car drive home went?

Tough Chick

Jogger runs mile with rabid fox locked on her arm
Nov 5 03:27 PM US/Eastern


PRESCOTT, Ariz. (AP) - With a fox locked onto her arm, an Arizona jogger ran a mile to her car, where she was able to dislodge the animal, throw it into the trunk and drive to a Prescott hospital. The Yavapai County Sheriff's Office said the fox, which later attacked an animal control officer, tested positive for rabies.

The unidentified Chino Valley resident told deputies she was on a trail Monday at the base of Granite Mountain when the fox attacked, biting her foot. The woman said she grabbed it by the neck when it went for her leg and it latched onto her arm.

Thinking the fox was rabid, she wanted to make sure it didn't get away so she ran to her car, where she was able to pry open its jaws, wrap it in a sweat shirt and toss it into the trunk.

The woman is receiving rabies vaccinations, as is the animal control officer.

A House Divided

First it was the Packers-Vikings rift between husband and wife. Earlier this fall it was the rift between father and son as Little Man decided that his new favorite team was the squad that employed his favorite quarterback – Brett Favre and the Jets. Well we have a new one. Apparently the classes at Sheridan Hills had a presidential election at their school Tuesday and while Ella went the way of Obama, Nicolas went with John McCain. I don’t believe any of the “issues” that the general voting population focused on were in play at Sheridan Hills. According to Nicolas the information was more centered upon the candidates’ place of birth and their favorite foods. Nicolas was swayed by McCain’s interest in apples and baseball, while Ella was sold on Obama’s commitment to tomatoes. Considering the myriad non-issues that voting adults in our country seem consumed by, I guess the considerations of a 7- and 5-year-old don’t seem too ridiculous.

Must See Thursday TV, er film

For those of you who are childless, or flush with babysitters, and of course live in the Twin Cities, the Wholphin Shorts (a series of unconventional film shorts) is playing at the St. Anthony Main Thursday (Oct. 30th). The show opened last week to some pretty great reviews. The best of the shorts was the 24-minute "Heavy Metal Jr." in which a group of 9-year-old Scottish lads crank out Ozzy and Iron Maiden. The piece de resistance is when the group performs "Satan Rocks" at a redneck county fairgrounds in front of a shocked audience. Enjoy. Here's the link www.soundunseen.com/2008/movies/wholphin-shorts/

Flag football season comes to an end

Saturday morning marked the end of the 2008 Richfield Flag Football League season. Team Hypothermia (we were actually the Blue team, but the coaches decided to 'fancy it up' a bit) may have been out-gunned by teams that were two or three years older than us, but it didn't dampen our resolve. This was Nicolas' first year playing football. Technically he wasn't old enough -- flag football is for kindergarten through 2nd grade -- but I lied about his age and volunteered to help coach. In their season-ending contest, McLovin (aka Little Man) rushed for a pair of scores. The more dramatic one, a long run in which everyone on the other team missed grabbing his flags, came in the first half. My wonderful bride, who was responsible for videotaping the game as I coached, was tardy as per usual and missed videotaping the run. In the second half I took time off from my defensive coordinator duties to shoot some film, including the man's second score of the game.

What do you mean, who would? Who WOULDN'T?!

Excerpted from "The Smoking Gun" SEPTEMBER 12--A quartet of boys attending a high school football camp were assaulted last month by broomstick-wielding teammates in a violent hazing ritual that could lead to charges against the assailants and the New Mexico squad's coaches. According to police interviews, the attacks were targeted against freshman and sophomore members of the Robertson High School team, which spent four days last month at a pre-season camp in San Miguel County. During the attacks, each of the younger athletes was pinned to the floor of a cabin and had a broomstick jammed over their shorts into their anus, according to reports prepared by New Mexico State Police investigators. As seen in the below excerpts, one victim said his attackers "poked him in the butt four times," and "forced in" the broomstick on the last attempt. The boy said he "cried when they did it, because it hurt." Another player said he could "feel the broom inside him" and that he was warned during the attack to "take it now" or he would "get it worse later." A third victim recalled that after he was assaulted, he was patted on the back by an assailant and told, "Way to take it like a man." In addition to considering charges against several teenage attackers, police are examining whether the football team's coaches, all of whom resigned this week, ignored or failed to properly report the attacks. One boy said that, during his attack, a coach walked into the cabin and "smirked" at the attackers and "said something sarcastic" before leaving. Another victim said that during a football practice session a second coach warned linemen that if they did not run full speed, "he would make them hop on their broom sticks." Coach Raymond Woods told police that when he first learned of the hazing, he addressed his squad and asked, "What kind of guy wants to try to stick a broom stick towards another guy's butt?"

I wonder what the cops run a 40-time in?

It's damn near Christmas around here. I'm talking about football season -- specifically college football season. Yes, the NFL garners more attention, but I'll be honest: I get too worked up over how my favorite professional squad does on a week-to-week basis and sometimes can't enjoy the trees through the forest. Is that a mixed metaphor?

Anyway, the real fun happens on Saturday when the -- er, -- amateur athletes step onto the gridiron. Being a Gopher fan hasn't been that special the past couple seasons but we have reason for optimism with a young squad and an amazing stadium ready for unveiling next season. The Kapocius family took in the opener against the hated rival Northern Illinois and watched Ski-U-Mah escape with a 31-27 win. The game unfortunately wasn't settled until the last play of the game. Despite that, the tailgating was fun.

Many people here in the Twin Cities have made the statement that the Gophers will never succeed in football because all of the barriers they face: Lack of supreme focus on football, academics, a location far from high school football hotbeds (read Florida and SEC country). One thing that could really keep our ship sunk however, is the media in this frost-bitten town. Take this, for example: A week before the season started the Strib came out with a story about how the Goph's prime recruit had his ACT flagged for inconsistencies. What this probably means is that he didn't take the test himself. My thoughts: Who cares?!

I don't care if we have smart kids represent us. It's not about them. It's about the alumni in the parking lots drinking beer and playing bean bag toss (or 'the cornhole game' if you're from Wisconsin). It's about enjoying the scenery of co-eds and fall afternoons. It's about perceptions and not reality. The days are over when athletes came to institutions for academics. I could care less if a stud linebacker is making it to his Biology lab, or whether he's smoking chronic in his dorm. It's all about how he performs on Saturday. Granted, I'm not looking for him to create undue mayhem in Dinkytown during the rest of the week, but as long as it falls under the umbrella of "college kids will be college kids" I'm OK with it. I leave you with my favorite football quote ever, and helps to sum up my point. This came from a newspaper out East, covering a Virginia football win. I don't know if I'd want this kid watching my kids -- or managing my finances, but he seems to have an ability to return punts. Good for him -- and us.

Be careful what you YouTube

Court says police illegally taped nursing home sex

By RYAN J. FOLEY Associated Press Writer

Article Last Updated: 09/11/2008 12:30:05 PM CDT

MADISON, Wis.—Police illegally videotaped a Wisconsin man having sex with his wife while she was in a coma in her nursing home room, an appeals court ruled Thursday.

David W. Johnson, 59, had an expectation to privacy when he visited his wife at Divine Savior Nursing Home in Portage, the District 4 Court of Appeals ruled. Therefore, police violated his Fourth Amendment rights against unreasonable searches when they installed a hidden video camera in the room, the court said.

"We are satisfied that Johnson's expectation of privacy while visiting his wife in her nursing home room is one that society would recognize as reasonable," a unanimous three-judge panel wrote.

The ruling means prosecutors cannot introduce the video tapes as evidence in their case against Johnson, who is charged with felony sexual assault for having intercourse with his wife without her consent at least three times in 2005.

Johnson's wife, Leah, was admitted to the nursing home after suffering a stroke, unable to speak or sit up. Nursing home staff members fed, cleaned and turned her, checking on her at least every two hours. Prosecutors say she was comatose.

Johnson's attorney Christopher Kelly said his client would visit the woman he married in 1988 every day, reading her the Bible and moving her arms and legs so her muscles wouldn't atrophy. The woman's sister, who is now her legal guardian, is upset that prosecutors brought charges against him, Kelly said.

"She believes her sister's husband was merely expressing his love for his wife and was trying everything he could to bring her back to consciousness," Kelly said.

I heard you can lose some weight this way

CHICAGO -- A man who contends he got a 9-foot tapeworm after eating undercooked fish has sued a Chicago restaurant.

In the lawsuit filed Monday, Anthony Franz said he ordered salmon salad for lunch from Shaw's Crab House in 2006 and fell violently ill. He later passed the giant parasite, which a pathologist determined came from undercooked fish, such as salmon.

Franz's lawsuit seeks $100,000 from Shaw's and its parent company, Lettuce Entertain You Enterprises, contending the restaurant's staff was negligent in serving him improperly cooked fish.

Sigmund the Sea Monster

One of the most popular links on the CNN website last week was a story about a supposed "sea monster" which turned up on the shores of the Hampton's. I can just imagine Nancy North Shore poking this thing with a stick for an hour or so after her dog Muffy started chewing on it. I love that it has a beak AND a tuft of hair on its neck. My guess: a sea turtle without its shell. Thoughts? Discuss amongst yourselves...

The Voice of Reason

This has been the spring/summer where the term 'unretired' has come into our lexicon. The person who has improved our collective word bank is our beloved southern good-ol boy: Brett Favre. After his tearful departure in March, Packer Nation went through the process of grieving and moving on.

Starting a few weeks later, Favre decided half-heartedly, then wholeheartedly that he wanted to play football again. When it became apparent that the Packers' brain trust had seriously moved on with their plans to give 2005 first-round pick Aaron Rodgers a legitimate chance to see his skills before he left for free agency (his contract is up in 2009), Favre decided that he wanted to head to Minneapolis where he could play in the relative comfort of the Metrodome and play with his longtime golf buddy Ryan Longwell. When Packers' management said that wouldn't fly, Favre became petulant and started calling everyone out. He leaked private conversations, called out GM Ted Thompson for not hiring his buddy Mariucci, and not trading for malcontent Randy Moss. His interview with Greta VanSustern was a train wreck to watch. As my friend Kevin, a recovering alcoholic for the past 17 years simply said: "He's acting like an addict." Which, of course, makes sense.

Sense is what we've been seeking for the past several weeks. We were in Green Bay this week for our annual Lambeau Family Night with the kids and the scene was surreal. While the team was getting ready to take the field Sunday night, the monitors around the stadium were giving an O.J-esque blow-by-blow of Favre's plane landing and his getaway in an SUV. During the scrimmage, a camera panned the Favre-family suite and Deanna was displayed. Her quarterback husband, while not in the picture was somewhere in the suite out of camera eye. The whole thing made no sense to me, much less my 4-y-o, who asked me last week 'What is a diva'? He's been watching too much of the news.

Through this all, I've been waiting for Professor Bob McGinn to chime in on the situation. McGinn, for those who don't know, is one of the preeminent pro football writers in the country. The fact that he works for the Milwaukee Journal-Sentinel, and that he covers the Packers makes him a state treasure that rivals Summerfest and the Madelaine Islands. If you haven't had the pleasure of reading McGinn's work, let me give you a rundown. His network of contacts throughout the NFL is astounding. He out-works everyone else in his field and his insights are spot-on. His detail is amazing and I would gladly pay him personally in order to read his daily stories during the football season.

In a column penned today, McGinn came out and said that the Packers made the right decision in moving on without No. 4. Here were some of the highlights:

Regarding the organization's perspective --

"From a purely football perspective, the organizational shift against Favre began that November night in Dallas, gained steam in the arctic cold of Soldier Field and became a blaze during Favre's pathetic second-half showing against the New York Giants with a Super Bowl there for the taking.

Just about everyone who counted in the football department reached the conclusion that Favre could never win another championship. His dismal playoff record in the past decade couldn't be overlooked. And the Packers concluded that it would be the mother of all mistakes if Aaron Rodgers got away without being properly evaluated as a starter..."

And this --

"Once Favre tearfully retired, the die was cast. The singular comment made by Favre on March 6 that remains etched indelibly was his admission that he really didn't want the ball in the clutch anymore.

After that, the Packers cut the cord, and rightly so. Favre had come across to most as an emotionally spent 38-year-old with nothing left athletically that he cared to give."


And finally --

"The Packers blame themselves for making some communication gaffes along the way, which they did. They gave away their motives by announcing plans far too early to retire Favre's jersey and to send him his locker. Ted Thompson hid behind too many no-comments.

But when the endgame is to remove a legend, there is no smooth way of doing it.

Favre went on to risk his future as a heroic figure in the state for perpetuity by his actions last month. All but calling Thompson a liar. Revealing intimate details of conversations with Thompson and McCarthy. Selling out offensive line coach James Campen after he went out of his way to help his old pal.

During one interview, Favre criticized Thompson for not interviewing his buddy, Steve Mariucci, for the job that went to McCarthy. After the horrendous job that Mariucci did in Detroit, Thompson would have been roasted for even considering Mariucci, let alone hiring him.

Those were just a few examples of Favre operating almost in a delusional state, hearing only what he wanted to hear and acting as if he was larger than the team."

I couldn't add anything more than that. Favre is probably the most exciting quarterback ever to play the position and his style and exuberance made easy to relate to and cherish. In the end though, no player is bigger than the franchise and the Packers have one 11 NFL Championships without him. We'll see how long it takes to win No. 13.

Bastards of Young

The Replacements were a big part of my college years. I first heard their catalog of music after moving to Minneapolis in 1987. Granted, by that time they had released their final album with their original lineup and they were no longer playing local clubs. But their music was still revolutionary to me in the ways that Paul Westerberg's lyrics and Bob Stinson's guitar work made me think that music could still be great and fresh even without popular radio help.

This summer I spent a couple days reading Jim Walsh's "All Over But the Shouting" about the Replacements 1979-1992. The book consisted of interviews that were printed prior in various publications and interviews that Walsh did himself. It was a book that I've been meaning to read since it came out almost two years ago, but as they say 'The best laid plans...'. Anyway, I wanted to read it for quite a while.

Before I give my thumbs-up/down on it, I should admit I'm biased regarding the author. Walsh worked as the music editor at City Pages and the St. Paul Pioneer-Press (when I was there in 1996). He was also a musician of a minor note during the same period that the Replacements were playing local clubs. I never found Walsh's writing coherent or particularly insightful. His writing style comes across as the aborted love fetus of Lester Bangs and Virginia Woolf -- that is self-indulgent stream-of-consciousness B.S. I was less interested in knowing about Jim's personal mindset than I was in knowing what Wilco's set list was on their last show at First Avenue.

Walsh nearly sprains his shoulder patting himself on the back early in the book by placing himself as Westerberg's muse for the song "Unsatisfied". Several sentences later he writes that he didn't add that anecdote to make readers think he had any part in Westerberg's song, but you can't have it both ways my friend.

Walsh's book was without a narrative string. It merely consisted of one interview linked to another. Overall, the book disappointed me and I was left hoping that Walsh could have hit a homerun on this one -- even though I didn't expect it. His best work dealt with Bob Stinson's death (presumably due to a drug overdose) in Uptown. Walsh printed the eulogy that he wrote for Stinson's funeral and it was admittedly touching.

Despite the Replacements local ties, I never met or spoke to any of the band's members over a beer at a local tavern. Bob was the closest. I would see him occasionally at local establishments and his drug issues and mental instability were apparent. His mother still works at the Uptown Bar on Hennepin. I remember one time I was there having a beer with a friend and we were discussing famous rock-and-roll flameouts. I mentioned how Stinson's death seemed inevitable. I probably was talking too loud because a woman (I later found out was his mother) brought us our beers and said to us "Well, we did the best we could."

The Death of the American Dream: A documentary

“Gonzo: The Life and Work of Hunter S. Thompson” is an interesting look at one of the most interesting, er, ‘non-fiction’ writers in American letters. The film, directed by Alex Gibney, has a limited release and made it to the Twin Towns a week ago. What I found interesting was that, in an obvious paean to the founder of Gonzo Journalism (a sub-set of the New Journalism movement of the mid-late sixties), the film wasn’t a complete over-the-top gushing about the man. The film not only examined his talents (“Hell’s Angels” ranks among my top non-fiction novels all time), and his excesses (drugs, guns, alcohol, and did I mention drugs and alcohol?), but his failures and his diminished abilities toward the end of his life.
Among the really great interviews in the movie were Tom Wolfe and Pat Buchanon. Buchanon, who was Nixon’s speechwriter when Thompson was on the capitol beat during the early 70s, showed a particularly dry wit and appreciation for Thompson’s writing talents. Wolfe credited Thompson with supplying audio tapes of Ken Kesey’s rolling party with the Merry Prankster’s for his seminal work “The Electric Acid Kool-Aid Test.” Democratic candidate George McGovern and Jimmy Carter were also included among the interviews on the life of Thompson. Thompson’s best work culminated in “Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail,” which was a compilation of his work for Rolling Stone during the 1972 presidential primaries, and the book that became required reading for every pot-smoking college freshman “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas”. The crushing loss of McGovern, and subsequent writing failures -- the Ali fight in Zaire in which he got loaded and failed to show up and cover the event – were part of his spiral downward.
Thompson, according to RS Publisher Jann Wenner and Wolfe, was caught in a box that he created. He could no longer cover events because he was bigger than the events themselves. Coupled with that, his drinking and drug use was taking a toll on his writing acuity. His final years were Hunter covering Hunter. As much fun as the man’s persona seemed, he was in essence a sad man who couldn’t deal with diminishing skills and an inability to publish the great American novel.
One of the strangest points in the film was when Thompson’s son, Juan, was interviewed about his father’s death. Apparently it was a sunny winter day in Woody Creek, CO, when Hunter took a gun to his head and ended his life. Juan stoically recalled the day as being very peaceful and that his father undoubtedly chose the setting to end his life. Juan, in a very odd choice of words, called it “a warm family moment.”
Thompson ended his life in the same way that his hero, Earnest Hemingway, ended his. Still, as his first wife Sandi said, for fans who thought that Thompson’s act was one of strength, they were mistaken. Sandi said that Thompson’s act was cowardice and that he left while the battle was still at hand. His weaponry of words, according his ex-wife, could be useful today as the failures of the Bush Administration roll on.

Frank McCourt's "Teacher Man"

I finally got a chance to read a couple books that I’ve been meaning to get to. The first one was Frank McCourt’s “Teacher Man” and the other one was Jim Walsh’s story on The Replacements, “All Over but the Shouting.”

McCourt, who came to America as a teen-ager from Ireland, taught in New York public high schools for three decades. During the time he was dismissed from a couple positions and ran into pretty much the same issues that every other high school teacher has run into. There wasn’t as much sex, drugs and alcohol as I remember my students talking about, but maybe he just left those things out as a matter of taste.

Although the book was published several years back, my reading list is quite dated. Both my sister and wife had both read the book and while my wife didn’t like it, my sister said that I should read it. My sister taught in public schools in Milwaukee for several years as a speech pathologist. She’s since left schools to a stay-at-home mom. My wife felt the book was too negative and that he didn’t even seem to enjoy being a teacher.

There was a larger point that McCourt was making, however, and I didn’t take it as being an overly negative image of education in general. Any person who has spent time in a classroom has felt his frustration with the students’ unwillingness to learn for learning sake – cripes they’re teen-agers after all, a bunch of rock-head phy-ed teachers for administrators, negligent parents, or helicopter parents who NEED to have smoke blown up their asses regarding their children’s academic abilities. It’s enough to drive you to drinking. And, of course, it has. Still, there is a sweet undercurrent to McCourt’s path as a teacher. Eventually he developed his teaching voice and recounted a few of the students who affected his life in very meaningful ways. Overall, I thought the book was a powerfully strong voice in favor of teaching. I don’t know if McCourt realized how strongly he felt about teaching until he left. Oh yeah, he wrote a book or two after he left teaching and didn’t have all of those ungraded essays staring at him.

A Day of Firsts

There is something about doing something for the first time. I'm not talking about the first time that you get busted by the cops, or the first time that you got sick from a half-liter of vodka; or the first time that you, well, you get where I'm coming from. Saturday was a day of firsts. The first, and certainly the lessor, was when I finally nailed a lob wedge. I was the 18th hole at Les Bolstad (the University of Minnesota's course) and I sat about 75 yards away from the pin but directly in front of a large (say 45 feet) pine. I've questioned before why I even have this club in my bag. After a couple rounds you can tell which clubs get the most use from the mud and scuff on the iron. The pitching wedge and the 9-iron, unfortunately, get over-extensive use by me over the course of 18 holes. So, to be able to nail that sombitch and finish it out with a one-putt made a truly marginal round rather memorable.

A couple hours later I had a more momentous occasion to witness. My 6-y-o Ella has been working on riding her bike without training wheels. Yesterday she nailed it. I had been running behind her and holding the seat since last year and except for a couple moments, she hadn't been able to commandeer the vehicle on her own. After two or three running "practices" I let go of her bike. She didn't know that she was unaided until she saw me running beside her. That sight froze her momentarily, but she gained her balance and went flying along.

As a side note, for those of us who were born in the sixties or the early seventies, protective gear for activities was quite different than it is today. There were no helmets, knee or elbow pads. If you were smart you wore long pants and maybe a baseball cap to keep the gravel out of your bleeding skull. My parents had a rock the size of Gibralter next to their front yard and when I started learning to ride my first bike, that rock seemed like a magnet to my bike. There's nothing like a good shot to the groin that will give a young boy the encouragement to learn the art of balance and steering on a bike. I thought of that as I strapped on my daughter's elbow and knee pads and her titanium helmet. I didn't put the mouth guard on her as my wife was gone for the day and couldn't monitor.

I hope your own day of firsts don't include blood or compound fractures and Happy Father's Day to everyone who qualifies.

Another Local Celebrity-Criminal

Here in Minnesota, we don't get as many celebrity sightings as our friends in Los Angeles. That said, the few that we have are usually related to some indecent crime -- read Larry Craig. Well, it appears that we had another one this week. In our fine little hamlet of Mankato, home of the University of Minnesota-Mankato, a man approached a couple of young co-eds with an interesting proposition. Apparently posing as a professional CMT, he offered his services to the young women, both of whom were sunbathing near their off-campus housing. While neither took the man up on his offer, he was able to unknowingly follow one of the girls back into her apartment (where she was retrieving a drink for him). Once inside he was able to cop a feel on the girl before her yelling and protests drove him off. Normally a creepy story story like this would elicit a mere -- hmmph -- from me. It was the culprit's physical description that struck me:

“Police say they are looking for a white man, 30 to 35 years old, 5 feet 10 to 6 feet 2 inches tall, weighing 250 to 300 pounds. He has short sandy-brown brown hair.

The suspect also has several distinguishing characteristics: a large stomach, hairy upper body, a large head, a larger than normal nose and a high forehead. His voice was described as high-pitched. He also had a pimple or sore that was red and possibly irritated above the right side of his mouth. During one incident, he had no shirt on, was wearing shorts and was barefooted.” (Star-Tribune, A-1, June 7, 2008)

"Yes," you're saying to yourself. "He's handsome alright, but he's no celebrity Tom, is he?"

Well, I can't confirm this, but at the same time that this was taking place, suspected 911 terrorist Khalid Sheikh Mohammed was being taken out of his military prison cell (and a break from incessant water-boarding) for a trial. You may have heard of the case. He, perhaps inaccurately, assumed that by becoming a martyr in your cause -- in this case, killing as many Americans as possible -- that you'd get 70 virgins when you reached heaven.

My theory is that Mohammed took a break from his "destroy the infidels" efforts to visit Minnesota during our two-week summer and made his way to Mankato in an effort to score with some local beauties. But in his effort to fool the Mankato gals into thinking he was legitimately a masseuse and end up scoring with a virgin, he was sadly mistaken. As anyone whose been to the University of Minnesota-Mankato knows: There hasn't been one of those on campus in several decades.

In case you've forgotten what Khalid looks like, I've posted a picture at the top. Good luck with your own professional endeavors.

He may want to mix in a sweater vest

This story ran in the Green Bay Press-Gazette this week. If I were Mr. Witthoft, I wouldn't wait by the phone for the Hall of Fame to call...

Twelve-year-old David Witthoft wore a red Nike shirt to school on April 24.

It’s significant because on each of the previous 1,581 days, Witthoft wore the Brett Favre jersey he received as a gift for Christmas 2003 when he was just 7.

“His last day wearing the jersey was April 23, which was his 12th birthday,” Chuck Witthoft, David’s father, said from their Ridgefield, Conn., home on Monday. “It was tough for him for awhile but now that he’s 12, he is a little more concerned about his appearance. And the jersey barely came down to his beltline.”

David plans to frame and hang the jersey in his bedroom, but the family might also contact the Packers Hall of Fame to see if there is any interest in displaying it. The final decision will be David’s, his father said.

“He’s really attached to this shirt,” Chuck Witthoft said.

School burnout and a spider bite

For those among you who, like me, have to go through the grind of grading papers and poorly constructed essays, you know the feeling of being burnt out at this time of the year. Even if you don't have a stack high of essays proposing a hidden 'gay' relationship between Huck Finn and Jim (or George and Lennie), you know the feeling of wanting to say 'fuck it all'. That said, I'm sure that most -- nay, all of you -- are having a better spring than one of my students. I received a letter from his mom, accompanied by a doctor's note, that said that this student will have to withdraw for the remainder of the semester due to a serious medical condition. The condition: it appears that when he visited a family member in the southwest, he was bitten no less than five times by a Brown Recluse Spider.

I must admit I didn't know much about this arachnid so I did a little 'googling' and found this lovely image. I could see why this person doesn't have much interest in style guides or writing ledes, especially if his hand looks like the one in the photo. So, as I tell my students and friends: Always look under the toilet seats you sit upon.

Optimism abounds amidst the apathy

Despite the outdoor conditions which made the Friday night's Gopher Spring Game seem a bit mislabeled, the University of Minnesota mens' football squad took the field at the Metrodome. After reaching the nadir of football ineptitude with a 1-11 mark last year, Brew's Crew went out and landed a top-20 recruiting class. Some of that talent was on display last night as I ventured through the slush -- cripes, it's almost May! -- along with my No. 1 talent assessor, Little Man (aka McLovin). Here are my observations, for what it's worth.

Marcus Sherels, a junior from Rochester, recovered a fumble and returned two kickoffs for 93 yards and had a punt return for 21 yards. Offensively, Adam Webber was relegated to some quick checkdowns and outs. He was listed as 10-of-14 for 65 and a TD. His biggest weapon (Adam Decker) wasn't available because he is currently playing for the middling Gopher baseball team (see notes at the bottom). Also absent from Friday's scrimmage was David Pittman, a Juco transfer that aims to be a major component of the offense, according to Brewster. Pittman tweaked his leg in practice earlier in the week and was unavailable to suit up. The running load this year will fall upon Duane (that's DU-won to you, mister) Bennett and R.J. Buckner. Bennett had 43 yards on 11 carries. He is shifty and made several tacklers miss in the open field. He isn't, however, capable of being a 25 carries/game back due to his slight build (5-9, 195 pounds generously). Buckner had 15 carries and looked to move the pile a little more. Still, he isn't large either (5-11, 205) and fumbled once while being tackled. The Gophers can't afford Bennett to go down with an injury or have Webber carry the ball more than 8-10 times a game. He complained last year of being sore until late the following week after having being asked to shoulder the running load too much.

The defensive backfield that was one of the worst in Division 1A (and AA) will be completely reworked this year. Ryan Collado, aka Orange Cone, saw some action at corner, but I suspect that once summer ball starts he'll find his way to the bench area. Otherwise, it was difficult to gauge too much from the defensive side of the ball Friday. The first- and second-string defensive lines overwhelmed the Gophers starting unit, which is in complete rebuild mode from last year. Brewster is going to have to find some capable bodies up front, especially at tackle, otherwise he's going to go through a handful of quarterbacks due to injury.

Sherels was the bright spot on special teams. He looked good for a walk-on and will probably contribute as a returner. The ugliness was displayed in aces by field goal kicker Joel Monroe, a senior from Robbinsdale Cooper. He was 0-3 on field goal attempts, including ones from 36, 38 and 52 yards. I had to look twice at one of his extra point attempts to see if it actually went through -- apparently it did. This guy WILL cost the Gophers a conference game this year, assuming the team can get that close to another Big 10 team.

Bottom line: Too early to tell, but Brewster is going to put together a semblance of an offensive line, a big back to take the load off Bennett, and some speed outside to accompany Decker. Defensively, they may have up to nine new starters (Willie VanDerSteeg and Deon Hightower the holdovers) if linebacker Steve Davis doesn't stick as a starter.

Notes: Noticeably absent from the show Friday was Decker, a 6-2, 215-pound junior from Cold Spring. He is playing his first love, baseball, for John Anderson and the Gophers. According to the story I heard, Brewster was publicly all for the experiment, but when push came to shove he didn't think Decker was serious and wasn't keen on the idea. He told Decker that he didn't want him missing any football practices. So much for that threat... Decker, in addition to getting his scrotum punched by Jack Ikegwuonu in last season's season-ending loss, had his wallet stolen three times from the Metrodome locker room last year. He may want to leave that at home this year or invest in a better lock.

Fraudulent Calipari and Memphis fall in NCAA

When is a Final Four appearance not really a Final Four appearance?

I apologize for the riddle, but I wanted to make a point about the 2008 appearance of Memphis University, coached by John Calipari. Calipari, the coach who led Memphis to its first national semifinal since 1985, was such a feel-good story this season that the media nary touched on his previous indiscretions.

Let's retrace Calipari's coaching movements for a second, shall we. A lot of us can remember when Calipari first burst upon the national scene when then-Temple coach John Chaney burst into Calipari's press conference after a Temple-U Mass game and proceeded to try to choke him. Chaney felt that Calipari was an unethical cheat and a weasel to boot. (Note that despite Chaney's limitations of coaching at a ghetto school and never having reached the final four in his career, he's considered one of the most respected college coaches of the past generation).

Calipari led his Minuteman team to a Final Four berth in 1996 behind the play of star Marcus Camby. Calipari was named coach of the year for the team's efforts. It wasn't long after this storybook season that the truth about the program came out. Camby was getting paid by boosters as were several of his teammates. Additionally, there was a free hooker service that was made available to team members. Those perks were deemed illegal by the NCAA. UMass summarily dismissed Calipari, who then filtered into the NBA where ethics, money and hookers are par for the course.

In 2000 the carpetbagging coach resumed college coaching and came to the University of Memphis. His winning was immediate. After a pair of Elite Eight appearances in 2006 and '07, his team went all the way to the championship game played last Monday. The week before the final four, during the ubiquitous media swarm, Calipari was holding court and trying to sound like a upstanding member of society. First, he took a back-handed shot at Princeton University and their style of controlled, team basketball. He called his squad's style "Princeton on steroids," and by doing so diminished the efforts of a group of true student athletes and their respected coach Pete Carill. At another point, Calipari was talking about how he insists his team give back to the people who got them to where they are today. "After a big win, I tell my players to pick up the phone and call the people who have been important in their lives." Calipari included parents and friends and about a dozen or so other options. At no point did he ever mention a teacher; and this was coming from someone who coaches at a state university. He might as well have mentioned the AAU coach who gives him free gear, the unsavory booster who hooks him up or the other sleazy characters involved with their program. To be honest, it would have been disingenuous for him to talk about education considering his graduation rate at Memphis is a paltry 36%.

But the bottom line is winning and Calipari has some great recruits ready to take over for the "students" who leave after this semester. His top recruit is a young man who was involved in a drive-by shooting. As long as the winning continues, he keeps flashing his winning smile and shovels his B.S. at the dumb-as-fuck media, he'll continue to keep Memphis among the top programs in college hoops. That is, until the NCAA catches up with him again and sends him to the NBA for another go-around. At that point the NCAA and Memphis will probably pull the NCAA runner-up banner from the gym's rafters and erase its name from the record books. Oh yeah, that was done before with Calipari: the UMass team of 1996, hence the riddle at the start of this blog. Calipari's first trip to the final four never happened!

I have no idea of Kansas' Bill Self is sleazy or only pays lip service to education, but I'm guessing he's not in the same league as Calipari. So, for that reason alone, I was more than happy to see the Tigers go down in flames in OT Monday night.

Superman is now a verb

As an English teacher, I have always been a stickler for proper grammar usage. Every couple years or so, a new word emerges that breaks the rules in terms of parts of speech. We've got a new one now: "Superman" or "Superman-ing".

Before I get to the word and its usage, let me provide some background. The criminal trial that's been, er, engrossing, the public in Minneapolis has been the sexual assault trial of former University of Minnesota cornerback Dominic Jones. The former Gophers' captain was arrested more than a year ago and charged with assaulting a 18-y-o girl who was passed out. I'm not going to say that Jones is outright guilty -- I don't think I know enough of the facts to make that claim -- but I can say this: Jones and his buddies who were there are some of the dumbest a@##%! that I've ever heard of. While the four of them were finishing their, um, handiwork on the lady, one of the buddies in the room filmed the scene on their webphone. After the girl came forward to police and arrests were made, it was mentioned that the incident was caught on one of their phones for posterity. When the owner of the phone was told that the phone's hard drive could be restored and the video could be brought from the recycle bin -- he was apoplectic.

I won't go into everything the trial has uncovered thus far -- although I will give a shout-out to my old collegiate newspaper, The Minnesota Daily, for destroying the big dailies in terms of their coverage. Suffice to say it involved vodka shots, pornographic videos and other salacious details. But the video portion is something else.

The court was privy to the 16 second clip, both at actual speed and then slowed to a slide at a time. It showed Jones on top of the woman, whose eyes are clearly shut and is non-responsive. While the video doesn't show Jones inside the woman, it does show him "finishing" his act upon the girl's face. This is where we get to my original dissertation on grammar. Superman, which I previously believed to be a noun describing a guy in red and blue tights who could scale a building in a single bound, has a secondary meaning in the world of porn and hip hop. Jones' actions are an example of "Superman". Apparently some people like to do this and there others in the world (even outside the world of adult films) that appreciate having it done. Perhaps there is some value-add for the skin, I don't know.

As the tape was rolling, there was off-camera dialog that was captured as well. I wasn't sure if it was Jones or one of the other men in the room who said "Brown on brown is how we get down!" implying that the apparently passed-out woman was African-American. I was talking to some friend of mine last night and discussed whether the firestorm over this incident would have been even worse if the supposed victim had been a white girl, from say Edina or Minnetonka. My guess is that it would have been. That's not much solace for the alleged victim and her family, I understand.

On a final note, the defense's big witness Robert McField from Missouri, who was kicked off the Gophers team before this incident and is currently serving time in prison for robbery, was on the stand Friday testifying against Jones. McField's mother and another family member were there in their best Sunday outfits, sitting in the front row of the courtroom, smiling and proudly waving to the younger McField as he described his role in the supposed crime.

A New Hero

I can't say that I'm a big fan of ultimate fighting -- also known as Mixed Martial Arts -- but I never assumed it could be an arena for political ideas. I stand mistaken. Jeff Monson, also knowns as "The Snowman" is a 5-9, 240-pound kickass brawler. He's also a devout anarchist. Here's someone to rally the kids around.

Home Opener

Even if I don't have the same affection for baseball as I did as a child, the beginning of the baseball season always has a positive effect on my spirits. After a winter that never seemed to end, I finally heard the birds singing last week. I don't mind the snow so much but the bitter cold has taken its toll. Monday was the Twins' opener and I had plans to take the family. It's something that we've done for the last couple years but our plans had to change this year when little man (aka McLovin) checked in with a case of strep throat and scarlet fever to boot. My 6-y-o daughter wasn't too upset ("I only go because you want me to go") and my son was overly dramatic ("But daddy, I haven't seen Joey Maurer and Nick Punto for so long..."). Editor's note: A bad father would have followed the now-benched Nick Punto comment with something like, "Well Nicolas, you'd probably have better odds of seeing Nick Punto at the local VFW as opposed to on the field." But I didn't.

So I didn't go with the family. I went with Steff and Thor. Thor, surprisingly wasn't a 6-4 blond-hair, blue-eyed Viking with a large hammer, but a short, wiry guy from Milwaukee. Despite the fact that the opener is the unofficial beginning of spring, the gods kicked us in the groin here in Minneapolis with 6 inches of wet sloppy slush. Sucked. Big Time. It actually made the Metrodome a nice place to watch a game despite the ever-present smell of flatulence.

Growing up in Milwaukee, the home opener was like a holiday. Our version of Mardi Gras. I can't remember off-hand, but I don't think I was able to go to an opener until I was in high school. Before that it was verboten. I remember one time my cousin Jeff and I wanted to go to the upcoming opener and my Uncle Bud told us a story about a recent opener that froze us to the core. He said that he actually saw someone taking a poop on some old man's head. Now, thinking back on this, either Bud pulled this story out of the ether, or he went to some pretty crazy parties during the early 80s. I'm still hoping it was the latter. I can't forget, however, that this was County Stadium 25 years ago and 9-volt battery throwing was a competitive sport.

Anyway, this opener wasn't nearly as much fun as Bud's experience but since the Twins beat the Angels-of-Anaheim-near-the-megapolis-of-L.A., it could have been worse. And Nicolas is feeling better.

What doesn't kill us makes us stronger

When you're the father of two little people, you generally don't get a chance to enjoy as much cinema as you'd like. That said, there were a pair of movies that I really enjoyed this past month. One of them was available by the miracle of Netflix, and the other one was viewed through the traditional means of a theater. The films were dissimilar except for one common theme -- they both had Minnesota as a backdrop. The first film was "Juno" written and directed by Diablo Cody. I'm sure you all know about her background so I won't go into that, but suffice to say that this was the best movie I've ever seen that was written by a woman who rubbed her pubis mound on my leg for $10. 'Nuff said. The main character Juno, played by Ellen Page, was adorable. I haven't fallen for a young female character like that since Parker Posey in "Party Girl". The witty dialogue (courtesy of Cody), and Juno's relationships with her friends, parents and boyfriend (played by "Arrested Development" co-star Michael Cera), had a very authentic and hopeful feel. Taking the would-be tragic premise of teenage pregnancy and turning it on its head, the film's exploration of this theme was phenomenal. By no means did it glorify the decisions or take lightly the subject matter, but Juno's attitude toward her plight and the way she took people's attitudes in stride gave the whole film an optimistic feel.

Another film that I recently watched as "Sweetland" directed by Ali Selim, who won a Spirit Award for Best Independent Film in 2007. I don't know what connection Selim had to Minnesota, but he captured the setting (rural Minnesota during the 1920s) perfectly. The story was about an immigrant Swedish farmer who orders a mail-order bride to bring to his homestead in Minnesota. Once she gets there, they realize that she isn't Swiss but German, which is an issue since the U.S. had just finished a war with Germany and there was a great deal of prejudice against German immigrants. The movie's themes about ignorance, intolerance, perseverance and love made this a memorable film. The life that these two farmers created, after being thrown together in tough circumstances, gives everyone hope in a more complicated but equally prejudiced society today. I'm not sure there are many connections between these two films, but I think the one that stands out is this: there is an underlying moral code that we need to live by. Not one that's dictated by organized religion, or the expectations of others, but a real, tangible, understood set of codes that we live by in the face of obstacles and life's trials. Our winters in the heartland make us stronger mentally and force us to rely on one another. Maybe we have more time to consider our place and our body of work that we leave behind, but regardless of why, those values act as a bedrock that a lot of us rely upon when tough circumstances arise.

Dr. Love and the art of beating up kids

12

OK, I think I've reached the acceptance part of Kubla Ross (or is it Kubla Khan's) stages of mourning. This, of course, over No. 4's decision to hang it up. So, in lieu of reading about my favorite football team -- and definitely in favor of doing the job that I'm paid to do between 8-4 -- I took to the Internet to do a little surfing the past week. I'm not sure if there is a thematic string between the two sites I found, other than Armageddon .

When I was growing up, KISS was one of the baddest bands in the land and Gene Simmons was the baddest of the bunch. Seven-feet tall with the bottom of his tongue cut loose so that he could better enjoy the company of women, he was bad-ass. We all have heard the stories about Mr. Simmons' penchant for women. Now, I've seen clips of an aging Willie Mays botching fly balls in his last season as a Met, and I've seen a decrepit Johnny U in the powder blue of the San Diego Chargers, so it shouldn't have surprised me when someone sent me a link to the sex tape of Gene Simmons and the only feelings I had were sadness and revulsion.

Dr. Love, who is in his mid-60s now, is shown on the video having sex with some blond. The quality is BAD, and the sight of a shirtless Simmons with his pants down to his ankles having relations with this prostitute is only enjoyable for the shock value. Simmons is frighteningly out of shape and his performance reminds me of someone in the throes of a NyQuil buzz. On two different occasions he leans down to kiss the woman and she turns her head on him. Bottom line is this: not all celebrity porn is worth watching. (Editor's note: Alas, the host of the video, Blabbermouth.net, has removed the video over the protests of Simmons thereby depriving everyone of watching some one's grandparent having sex.)

The other site that has attracted my attention is the survey website "How Many Five Year Olds Could You Take in a Fight". Based on a scenario in which you're in closed confinement with a number of incensed kindergarten children, how many could you fight off? My favorite question in the survey asks whether or not you'd be willing to use one of the kids as a weapon to swing at the others. The results (shown above) indicate that I could kick the crap out of 12 rugrats. I have to call B.S. on this one, though. I've seen some pretty psycho kids and if one of them kicked me hard in the sweetbreads, I may just fold pretty quickly. If you take the survey, please report your score. And please be sure to stay away from my kid's Montessori.

AF-1: After Favre Day 1

Some notes on the day after the funeral:

The Vegas odds for the Packers winning the Super Bowl before Favre: 14-1. The odds after No. 4: 20-1.

The odds for Favre-successor Aaron Rodgers:

His total over/under yardage total for 2008-09: 3,250

Over/under for TD: 19

Over/under for INT: 15

Other misc. notes from the day... I sat down with Nicolas (aka McLovin) last evening and talked to him about Favre's retirement. It went something like this:

Dad: Nicolas, Brett Favre decided that he wasn't going to play football anymore.

Nicolas: Why?

Dad: Well, he felt that he was too old. When you get older it's tougher to do some things.

Nicolas: Is he gonna die now?

Dad: Well, I don't think so. He's daddy's age, you know.

Nicolas: Is it 'cause he's too fat?

Dad: Huh?

###

Editor's note: Nicolas wanted to know if Brett could play for the Gophers. If not that, then maybe he could coach his team when he's able to play next fall.

It's official: We're growing old

The first time that I ever saw Brett Favre throw a pass is implanted on my mental hard drive. I was sitting in some girl’s flat in London with my friend Chris watching a 30-minute NFL recap with a couple English broadcasters and a former kicker who was doing the color analysis. It was the first football we’d seen in several months while traveling the continent with our backpacks. In the game, Favre hit Kitrick Taylor (or was it Sanjay Beach) with a laser to beat the Bengals in the final seconds of their regular-season game. I looked at Chris and said something like “I hope Majikowski isn’t hurt for too long.” Also indelible in my memory was that we were summarily kicked out of that London flat a day later and had to spend the rest of the week in a crowded hostel. (Editor’s note: The fact that I broke the host’s toenail clipper while trying to cut my unseemly talons was just a small factor in her decision.)

The Majik Man never saw the field again for the Packers. Instead, Favre played for the next 17 years.

I can pretty much pinpoint the points in my life and what I was doing with various Favre moments. The playoff win against the Lions in which Favre’s last-minute (is that getting redundant) pass to Sterling Sharpe resulted in a huge hogpile on the floor of the bar, Fowl Play. The Halloween victory over Chicago in a driving rainstorm; the Raiders’ game that featured the first Lambeau Leap by LeRoy Butler; the game I took my then-girlfriend, now wife to – the Yancey Thigpen drop that gave the Pack the division title; the NFC Championship win over Carolina – I snuck into the game without a ticket and sat in the aisle; or this past January when a snowstorm hit us during the Seattle playoff game. Of course the Super Bowl victory receives the top billing: I remember my roommate and me spending several hours before the game creating our own version of the Lombardi Trophy. The “trophy” was a Nerf football on the top of an empty Miller Lite case, ensconced in aluminum foil. It looked ridiculous but there wasn’t one person at the party who didn’t want their picture taken with it after the Patriots had been dispatched.

All of those were pretty great memories that will stay with me until I die or dementia sets in. I would prefer the former rather than latter.

When I heard about the retirement, I tried to think back to any of the other retirements of Wisconsin athletes that had a similar affect. Robin Yount retired from the Brewers in 1993. He was special because I went back with him to the mid-1970, when sports still had a special magical quality. The only other retirement that I think comes close was Al McGuire’s retirement from Marquette University in the 1977 season. I remember I was home that afternoon and watching my mom cry during the press conference. I had a vague sense of who he was, but anytime you see your stoic German mother in tears it’s a pretty big deal for a 7-year-old. I guess we hold our icons pretty close to us in the heartland.

My 4-year-old, Nicolas, has become a big sports fan. He calls me his football buddy because I watch games with him and take him to games when possible. His favorite player – guess: Brett Favre. He has imitated Favre’s post-touchdown dance, the one with the index finger raised and running in a circle with hip thrown out to the side. In fact, it’s become his signature move after he scores in t-ball, soccer, and hockey. Minutes after hearing the announcement my brother called to commiserate. We were discussing how to break the news to our little guys. His 5-y-o cried for a half-hour after the Packers’ loss to the Giants, about 30 minutes less than his old man. Both Nicolas and his cousin are still in the stage that their sports heroes don’t get old or stop playing.

For Nicolas, his scoring dance has become habit. I imagine that in five, 10 years that he won’t have a clue where it originated from. That’s when his old man will pull out the DVDs – or whatever format is in use at the time – and remind him of when he thought his heroes were magical.

It's so nice here, why would 'they' want to leave?

Leslie and I returned from our trip to Cancun last week, after a week of enjoying the sun, ocean and copious amounts of drink and food. It was a nice respite from the sub-zero weather that we've been suffering through in the Midwest. (A local TV anchor said that this was the harshest winter, temperature-wise, in 12 years). Anyway, it was 10-below when we left and it was 83 when we landed in Cancun. That's a plus/minus that I can live with. (Unfortunately is was 4 degrees when we returned to the Twin Cities).

I'm sorry to say that we didn't spend much time outside the all-inclusive complex. We considered taking a bus to the Mayan ruins, but the 2.5-hour drive in one direction kind of steered us away from that. We stayed specifically away from any sort of culture while we were there. The closest that we came to the native culture was their beer and tequila. All of the staff members were tremendously polite and responsive to everything. "Hello, front desk? This coffee here sucks. Bring us up a carafe of some good stuff. Oh yeah, bring us some of those croissants and juice while you're at it. OK? Goodbye." 5 minutes later. "Front desk? Yeah, this is room 3939. When you bring up the coffee et al, don't forget some beer and some of those good cigars. And hurry."

No complaints from the staff, just "My pleasure, sir." I was wondering if deep down if they were justing hating our guts. During our last day or so, Leslie and I were sitting poolside and half-listening to this boorish, overweight couple from Boston (judging from their Patriots and Red Sox gear) berate a little cocktail waitress. I can't write a Boston accent, but it's sufficient to say that I was burying my head in the book as the bloated one with a beard (the man, I suspect), yelled out specific drink instructions and added some when she was 20 yards away. Nice touch. I didn't see a tip exchanged when she came back with their drinks. Nice touch, sir.

The golf course -- a Jack Nicklaus signature -- was immaculate and literally killed our foursome. The first nine was on The Dunes, which resembled a lunar landscape. The back nine was called The Jungle and had dense foliage with a 15-yard swath of fairway in between. We ran into a large crocodile on the front nine. According to the beverage cart driver, the croc's name was Carlito Jr. We didn't get a chance to see Carlito Sr., but that was a big reason why I didn't get near the jungle to retrieve any of the nine GB Packer logo balls that I lost in the woods. I ended up playing with a florescent 'Easter Egg' on the final two holes. (I didn't have a camera with me on the course, but I'll post a photo of the critter a little later.)

Like I said before, we experienced absolutely no culture when we were there. The irony was that upon returning to Minnesota, we went to a fundraiser at our church for some young people who are heading to Central Mexico this year for charitable reasons. There was a group of Mexican dancers for entertaining. Leslie aptly noted that we had to go 2,000 miles from Mexico to see any of that country's culture.

The shocker in the Minnesota bu-caucus

Double entendres aside, yesterday’s Super Tuesday was a
massive event in which the public turnout dwarfed all expectations. For the
record the black dude beat cankles to take the Democrat race and the Stormin Mormon topped Hanoi Hilton in the Republican race that amounted to little more than a beauty contest.

The flip side of the question, “What if someone held an election and no one came?” is “What if someone held a caucus and too many people came?” That was the reality of the caucuses throughout our frozen state last night. Masses of people braved the weather to fit into various elementary schools and churches to voice their opinions. In the caucus situation, their voices are often unheard as a result of political party stalwarts dominating the action. It was probably disappointing for those wonks to see the turnouts of people who normally don’t attend these functions as their control and domination of topics and tenor isn’t as clear. In my local caucus, I sweated through a 40-minute line to finally arrive at the front of the line and find
out that there were no more ballots available. Good thing I brought a notebook to fill out my national and local candidates. Once there the topics that people were trying to get on the ballot were guaranteed pension funds for school teachers and the rights of undocumented immigrants.

I encourage anyone who has never attended one of these caucuses to take in the spectacle if they can pull themselves away from the Hungry Man dinners and reruns of CSI. Like I said before, the caucuses are set up to be run by the zealots who feel their importance towers over the unwashed masses that have other interests outside of politics. I didn’t win too many friends in the zealot community when I had the temerity to question the appropriateness of guaranteed pensions considering they're going away in the private sector. I suggested that much more far-reaching changes were needed – particularly in secondary education – and the steps and ladder method of paying teachers was too much of an obstacle for younger teachers just entering the field. A 30K job with student loans and a car payment doesn’t allow much to set aside in the 401K, and I made that abundantly clear. The pay issue for newbies is an impediment to people who might start a secondary career in teaching after spending much of their lives in the private sector. A few hisses and furrowed eyebrows emerged from my comments.

What I love/hate about the election cycle is the inability of candidates to be honest with people. In order to get elected, candidates are everything to everyone. Even when not in candidacy mode, our elected officials can’t turn off the bliss faucet. Except for those people who have had family members sent to Afghanistan or Iraq, has anyone really faced any sort of sacrifice for the “conflict” that we’ve been involved with for six years. At least in previous war periods we’ve had to collectively tighten our belts. Not so much this time.

Which brings me to this idea: This country is up for some pretty harsh comeuppance. We’ve grown fat and lazy and have no idea how hard the scrubs in India and China are working to kick our ass. Read Tom Friedman’s “The World is Flat” to understand how the developing world is chomping at the bit to get at our bloated carcass. Between the people who insist that it’s government’s job to keep us financially secure and make sure that my idiot kid goes through 13 years of school and gets a degree without the ability to read critically or write coherently, and the waterheads in their McMansions who plan on dying with their greenbacks sown into their shorts, I think we’re in the deep stuff. Here’s an analogy for what it’s worth. A state rep in Louisiana was working on a bill that would fine restaurants for serving obese people (by serving I don’t mean that they are the main dish). Of course the bill won’t make it out of committee and it’s a clear violation of rights, but the point that we’re entitled to unrestricted gluttony is obvious. On Sunday I went to the Gopher/Wisconsin basketball game at Williams Arena. The venue is one of those old, dated places with wooden bench bleachers – no seats. When my friend and I arrived after spending a couple minutes too long in the local watering hole, the bench was completely taken up by butts. My seats 13-14 were taken by the people in 15-16 and respectively down the line. After about five minutes of looking annoyed I finally announced to the group, “Listen, you got 15 inches of ass room on this bench and if you need to take more, then buy another ticket. Now sit on your numbers and move the hell down.” There were more than a few evil stares – of course this is Minnesota and no one would actually confront me – before a great shuffling ensued and the tubby lady on the end put the pop and the popcorn down by her feet so we could sit.

I’m not bigoted to heavy people and understand the issues that they face every day, but it points to something larger. Our bloated, single-issue voting, entitled, what’s-in-it-for-me population is going to face some tough belt-tightening choices in the next couple years regardless of who’s elected.

Oh yeah, and the Gophers got their asses handed to them by the Badgers.

Where is "Old" Ulm?

New Orleans has Mardi Gras and Rio has Carnival, both of which are OK if you like beautiful people in exotic locations and tons of public nudity. But, if you’re more in the mood for drinking bock beer outside in freezing temperatures in nowhere Minnesota, well then New Ulm’s Bockfest is the location you’re seeking. Granted the aforementioned other festivals have their charm, but where else can you see a wide variety of overweight Midwesterners wearing animal pelts and being greatly over-served?

For the second straight year, the Herkimer Bar sponsored the bus ride from Uptown to New Ulm – about a 90-minute drive. We filled up two buses and couple of beer kegs brewed by the Herkimer’s finest.

The plan once we got the fairgrounds was simple. Get beer tickets, wait in line for beers, get in the line for the bathrooms and repeat. The highlight of standing outside drinking is getting, er, “poked”. In the middle of the grounds is a bonfire and those attending the fire have large iron pokers that they stick into your beer. The result is a carmelization of the beer. As far as highlights, though, it isn’t much of a highlight.

After about three hours of drinking with the folks from Mankato, LeSueur, St. Peter and Owatonna, we got back on the drunk bus and head back north on 169. En route back to the city we stopped at the “Crow Bar” – several drunks on the bus were quick to note the double meaning of the bar’s name. You can’t beat it when 150 drunk idiots descend upon a bar in the middle of nowhere. A bartender at the bar tried to get us to take some drunk home who had been left there by another group stopping by. Apparently this individual was “from the cities” and it was natural that we would want to take this guy home with us and find out where he lives. I imagine that this guy was pretty pissed off at his friends for leaving him when he woke up on the floor of some bar Sunday morning 100 miles from his house. With friends like that, who needs enemies.

Pack advance to conference finals

It was an inauspicious start for the Packers when running back Ryan Grant fumbled two of the first three times he touched the ball. Fortunately it was early enough in the game that the Packers were able to overcome the early 14-point deficit. Largely relying on Grant, who finished with 201 yards, the Packers tied the game up by the end of the first quarter and went off to an 11-point halftime lead. The second half was just about dominating the Seabags. The Packers didn't punt until there were eight minutes remaining and the competitive portion of the game was over. Further, Seattle didn't even accumulate 200 total offensive yards until garbage time. It was a thoroughly dominating performance and a heckuva party at Lambeau with 70,000-plus close friends. We had 85-y-o fedora-wearing Dick sitting next to us with a flask that he generously shared with us. There were also the girls from Chetek sitting behind us, who were celebrating a girls' night-out without their husbands. (Side note: How did the ladies get the tickets and the men were completely shut out of the deal?) After prodding from my rather drunk friend, the lady with the pink Packers hat allowed our friend Dick to "honk her horns" after every touchdown. I'm guessing that Dick was appreciative, although I missed the photo of him, er, appreciating the gesture. The link to the photo gallery is at the bottom.

The after-game party at Kroll's and in Appleton was more than adequate, and the 3 a.m. visit to George Webb's was necessary, but the four hours of sleep and physical degeneration that I suffered through will take several days to work out of my system. The drive home to Minneapolis sucked and the hours of grading essays that I put off is a penance for the bachanalian hedonism that occurred over the course of the trip. So, with that, I'll run and get back to grading papers. Yeah me.

Packers v. Seahawks

The joys and tribulations of online learning

When I was going to school (both high school and college), there was pretty much a similar path that people studying journalism would continue upon. If they wanted to become writers, they took their lumps (both physically, metaphorically and financially) by working for a low-level newspaper and eventually working their way up. My classmates who were more interested in making some financial hay went the route of advertising or public relations. That pretty much covered all of our career options. Towards the end of my run at the University of Minnesota, a strange but still novel idea of the Internet began to emerge. It was ugly and not a whole lot more useful than spending several hours in the basement of the Wilson Library, but the Gopher browser was at least a start.

It was a long road for me from journalist and editor, to teacher and eventually to ‘online educator’ but the last part is still being written. A couple years ago my interest in what could be accomplished teaching in an online environment got the best of me and I began working with the directors at Minnesota Online High School. Slowly, at first, I began to see the possibilities and the challenges of teaching with this medium. The advantages include not having to deal with classroom disruptions and endless staff meetings. It also forces you to think about how to leverage technology to instruct and reach kids the same way that you would if you were in front of them. The negatives include missing out on the relationships that inevitably build with your in-class students. Not that you can’t develop on-line relationships, but it’s just different.

I’m finishing up my second year as an online instructor and don’t feel as though I’ve hit my stride yet. I’ve got a lot of material to cover still and I want to keep honing the craft. I’ve appreciated the opportunity that MNOHS has given me to learn on the fly. Like I said before, this chapter of my life is still being written.