The Secret Of The Chicago Bear's Success

“Beware the middle child she'll bring you to your knees
She's just a little child who's falling in between
Save the middle child she's never what she seems
You can't blame the middle child she's drowning……she’s drowning”

--Nina Gordon, “Black and Blonde” from Tonight and the Rest of My Life, 2000.

Sometimes we need an outside perspective to steer us into intellect. The Tapper Tuesday crowd gathered last Tuesday at Fat Jacks and one of our troupe, Mike, brought his son-in-law. The Son-in-law from Philadelphia is a confirmed Eagles fan and remarked how incredible the Bears were. He thought the Eagles, and any other NFC team, would be killed if that team played the Bears.

Normally at Tapper Tuesday, I have a few too much, but this time I remained sober and I listened with great interest to what our visitor was saying. He was truly impressed with the Bears and the interest generated by the team.

You see, outside of the Soldier Field faithful, the rest of the country is amazed by the Bears. Now I love the Boys in Orange and Blue, but seriously, these “outsiders” are a bit amazed. Why?

Well here is the secret—the USA is like a family and Chicago is the Middle Child. Everyone likes the middle child to a degree—as the middle child does not have the responsibility of being the oldest and the burden of being the youngest (I am the youngest and attention and lower expectations can be a bitch—although I loved the spoiled nature of it all). New York is the oldest kid. LA is the youngest brat. Chicago is the middle child. The oldest had too many restrictions, the youngest tries too many liberal and weird things and takes advantage of situations—but we can always rely on the Middle Child.

So Midwesterners, take heed. The rest of the country loves us for our kind attitudes and self-reliance. They love are unique food, our lack of hustle and bustle, and our sense of developing our own heroes. They love our broad shoulders, our tough immigrants (German, Polish, Slavic) and our sense of hard-work and honest pay.

They love our Sports Teams as well.

They love our Cubs (lovable losers), Our Sox (Win the pennant), Our Bulls (five is a magic number) and our Bears. Remember, when the Midwest does well--Sox, Cubs a couple years ago, The Hawks in 1993, The Bulls throughout the 1990s and The Bears in ’85--everyone follows the respective sport.

We are sick of the Yankees, The Lakers, and The Rangers (uh, the NFL has more watered-down teams). We want that Middle Child to win—we root for him, we feel sorry when he falls, and we cheer when he succeeds.

Go Bears—and remember, the secret to the Bears are that we can never be disappointed in the Midwest.

Happy New Years

"I am an Ape-Man"
--Ray Davies, From "Apeman" from the LP Lola, 1971

Well, Happy New Years.

I will not make resolution on anything that be documented, although I hope to lose weight, be kinder (uh...I suppose), and be more studious.

Now that that crap-ola is over, I think New Years is also my time to send my warning. As the Monkey says, Don't rattle my cage. What do Monkeys do when they are ticked? That's right, they fling feces at objects of scorn.

We could learn a bit from a mad monkey.

I have looked at historically successful people and they all share the Monkey's philosphy as a common bond. George Washington--rattle his cage and he would rip you a new one. Truman would cuss you out. Teddy Roosevelt would scream and challenge you with his big stick. Patten would slap you and then run you over with a tank. Attila would conquor you. Ghengis would kill you. Taft would eat you like a twinkie. Lincoln would make you the butt of his jokes. Twain, the same. Poe would get drunk and then be obnoxious. Socrates, Plato, Descartes, and the like would outwit you. The list goes on and on.

I am reminded of our dearly departed feline friend Pep who was loyal and intelligent. She, however, hated anyone who rattle her cage and upset her world.

Dylan the tough buff shares that quality with Pep. We brought in a 22 pound cat for a trial basis. His name was Shiloh but I have called him "Chumley" like the cartoon Walrus. He is reasonably stupid like "Chumley" and he is kind-spirited at least to the people. Guinness, who likes everyone, is not fond of him. Dylan hates him, and Foggy hates everyone except me and sometimes Pam.

So Chumley follows us around, is a bit of a pain, and when he approaches Dylan, Dylan hisses and spits and the like. Dylan has rickets, hip dysplacia, bad teeth, and some slight emotional problems and yet he is willing to fight for his space.

Good Old Dylan. The old boy does us proud. Whereas Guinness will fight, he is much more readily approachable (somewhat like me).

He and I need to gain some of Dylan's fortitude.

Anyway, this has fallen into the rambling category that I try not to develop when attempting prose.

Have a Happy New Years and try not to rattle cages.

Next blog--The Secret Of The Chicago Bears.

Happy Holidays: Dylan Explains "How to Be a GUY!"

"No, don't ask me to apologise.
I won't ask you to forgive me.
If I'm gonna go down,
you're gonna come with me

You say 'Why don't you be a man about it,
like they do in the grown-up movies?
'But when it comes to the other way around,
you say you just wanna use me."

--Elvis Costello from "Hand In Hand" from This Year's Model, 1979.

Dylan has it right in the picture. All he needs is a beer and a remote as he relaxes and watches football.

Rather than sending fake holiday greeting cards, Dylan and I are giving you our Christmas Present--Ten Steps in "How To Be A Guy." Dylan is also showing in this image his and my idea of how to be a "guy." So here are our helpful hints.

1. Like Dylan--Scratch yourself where you want, when you want. Nothing wrong with it--if it itches, take care of it.

2. Like Dylan, voice your opinion. If Dylan does not like something, he lets us know.

3. As shown above, Dylan says to "relax in life." Life is too short to be too busy.

4. Watch FOOTBALL. This shot was taken while I was watching football (OK, it wasn't but so what--you would not have known). When I am at home on football games, Dylan is in the room with me. Dylan's favorite teams are The Bears, the Lions, The Jaguars, and The Panthers. He hates The Vikings, The Fudge-Packers, The Cardinals, The Eagles and the Seahawks (and any other "Bird" team I neglected to list).

5. Like Dylan--Sleep when you wish. Who cares if anyone is in the room or whatever--when you need a nap, take it.

6. Dylan will tell you "Guinness is good." Dylan's best friend (other than Pam) is Guinness. Guinness (one of our other cats or the beverage) is Good For You! Enjoy it.

7. Fight for what is yours. Dylan will fight for his space or if anyone annoys him--like Foggy. In that, Dylan would rather voice his opinion to scare off the intruders, so he tries to give a warning first. Then when it is on, it is on.

8. Have a favorite spot in life. Dylan's is the Wingback chair--which is also mine so we have fights and since I am bigger, I win. Still, I admire him.

9. Eat often and eat what you want. Dylan is a bit of a pig and will eat quite a bit. He enjoys a hearty meal. He eats all hours--Guys do this according to Dylan.

10. Play loud music. Dylan is a fan of most Heavy Metal, and he does not care if his hearing goes bad. Ok, that part is pushing the limits of truth, but he could be, right? He also likes Punk like The Ramones and Green Day. Uh...for the record..Dylan hates John Mellencamp, The Yardbirds (for "bird reasons") and all Country Music other than Johnny Cash. He is also not a fan of Jazz.

So there you have it: Dylan's Ten Step Guide To Being A Guy. We will skip his idea of making Pam cater to his needs or making her wait on him hand and foot--he refuses to tell me how he does it.

Happy Holidays from Dylan and all of us.

Bears In The Pro Bowl--Take Us to the Super Bowl!

“Bear Down Chicago Bears!!!!”

Seven Bears make the Pro-Bowl:

They are: Brian Urlacher, Devin Hester, Lance Briggs, Tommie Harris, Olin Kreutz, Brendon Ayanbadejo, and Robbie Gould (must not have seen Robbie’s game last week or Hester’s for that matter).

Great for the Bears Defense and Special Teams—kind of sad for the offense, but OK, it is what it is.

Here is a clue Bears fans—they are strong enough to win the NFC bid for the Super Bowl. After that, my prognosticating ends. The Chargers and/or the Ravens are among the elite—as are the Bears; its just that the AFC is sooooooo much better.

So I tip my hat to the Monsters of the Midway.

Further, “Tanking” Johnson for a game makes sense.

Good for the Bears. We are off to the magic kingdom of success.

By the way, if the Bears do not resign Lance Briggs, the management deserves a punch in the skull—just noting it all.

Technology News

“He's not concerned with yesterday
He knows constant change is here today
He's noble enough to know what's right
But weak enough not to choose it
He's wise enough to win the world
But fool enough to lose it -
He's a New World man...”

Neil Pert from Rush from New World Man from the LP Signals, 1983

This damn technology is screwing me at work.

Seriously.

Our district has gone “high tech” for Central Illinois, to be honest.

Here is my webpage: http://www.pontiac.k12.il.us/academics/socials/esweetwood.htm.

Notice the email. Yep, I have more parent emails in the last month than in my entire career.

The emails at work are similar to phone messages—I hate them. They are something else to answer. In a career where I answer questions daily, I tend to hate to be forced to answer the phone and emails. No one emails you to say "thanks" or to appreciate you—they do so to question you or beg for some sort of understanding/break for their kids.

I understand that, but it does not mean I have to like it.

I like my ANCIENT HISTORY link go here: http://www.pontiac.k12.il.us/academics/socials/anhist.htm and page. Cool stuff there. Go visit it—while you do so, I will finish my beer.

Anyway, there is another annoying aspect (Lord, I have grown to curmudgeon state, have I not?) that I would like to point out. A horrid website exists that ties every educator’s hands. Try this one on for size—Rate My Teacher Dot Com. Go Here: http://www.ratemyteachers.com. Talk about BS, a teacher cannot really respond to the comments here. A kid can rip on us—as I was called “rude” and “weird”—and I can “respond” if I wish, but I realistically look a moron for commenting. The student or parent does not have to leave a name; of course mine is plastered all over the place. By the way, I am rude, and I am weird.

Another high tech website-gadget for the folks who wish to make my life a target is here: http://www.thechampion.org/. This site gives my salary out to the world. As one looks at this site, one can learn, at least in Illinois, how much teachers make. For the teachers, we can look at other people in our district and judge one another, as well as other districts. My friend Chuck—an excellent educator in automotives in his own right—has commented to me that “no good can come from looking at this information” as he surmised that “we” would hen-peck one another. He is right as I have read this site and commented how much “harder I work” compared to people making more money than me. Imagine your salary plastered over everywhere. How horrid is this?

Emails, websites that rate me, websites that judge my financial worth, and websites of my own design—one might wonder why I would publish this blog.

Well…you see…it is not for the reason that you, gentle reader, would take some pity upon me and give me higher ratings on RATE MY TEAHCERS DOT COM—(but if you want to—go here: http://www.ratemyteachers.com/, wink—wink; nudge—nudge) or for the hope that you realize that looking up my salary is rude and intrusive no matter how legal it is (hey not doing too badly: wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more, say no more) or for the hope that you will email my direct supervisors and pretend to be parents (if you want a list of names to use—email me) to tell them how superior my school website has become. No, dear reader, it is simply to explain how the high tech world has its burdens that hinder my existence.

And that’s the truth ;^)!!!!!

A Reflection of Change

“I still don't know what I was waiting for
And my time was running wild
A million dead-end streets
Every time I thought I'd got it made
It seemed the taste was not so sweet
So I turned myself to face me
But I've never caught a glimpse
Of how the others must see the faker
I'm much too fast to take that test

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the strain)
Ch-ch-Changes
Don't want to be a richer man
Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes
(Turn and face the strain)
Ch-ch-Changes
Just gonna have to be a different man
Time may change me
But I can't trace time.”

David Bowie—Changes, 1972.

It is amazing to me how much things stay the same, the older I become.

Last week I celebrated 43 years of life and whereas there are many to thank (I thank you all--but its been no bed of roses); there are some things I think upon reflection I need to pass on.

Music, is a universal love to all. When I was a younger person in my teens, I had a fondness for Meatloaf, Jethro Tull, and the Moody Blues. I still love those bands, but now older, I have been drawn to “melodic” or “speed” metal—which has some characteristically fabulous “classic music” overtones. I just snagged the second Angra Rebirth CD from eBay. Awesome stuff to be sure. I cannot wait for the latest Kamelot CD (that's the band in the picture above) to arrive.

When I was younger, I think around fifth grade, the babysitter I went to had a black cat (named Sambo—forgive me political incorrectness—well actually the babysitter’s) who I was fascinated with. This cat really took to me and would sit on my lap and kneed his paws into my leg. It started a lifelong affection towards cats as the superior pet. Cats are so mysterious and so creative. Now at the age of 43, the cats in my life have become a very useful and life affirming part of my existence. I refuse to debate the cats vs. dogs argument—just note that a Maine Coon is a cat that thinks he is a dog.

Classical literature, classical history, and classical art are so much greater than the “modern” stuff. I knew this at a young age—however growing up in the mod sixties (which I vaguely remember) and the “gaudy” 1970s have given way to an understanding that far more inspired people existed much longer ago. I remember being a senior in high school reading Dante’s Inferno, Plato’s Republic, Don Quixote, and Antigone while knowing full well that the modern world offered nothing of value—comparatively speaking. Like Stephen King and Anne Rice could equal those folks—and perhaps it is unfair to believe they could. The foundations are the sturdiest part of any construction. Now that I have spent two years teaching Ancient History, I am amazed at how thoughtful and reflective the people of the past were. As far as art, well, if I would compare DeVinci with Warhol, I would be insane.

Old world ales and lagers are much better than the current “modern method” of brewing that have destroyed the taste buds of millions thanks to the likes of Budweiser, Coors, and Miller—among other faceless corporate bastards. I say if the ignorant masses prefer them to the classic old world beverages, well…to each his or her own. Who am I to judge—then again on my own blog, I can judge them all.

Like the gladiators of old, we still invite the violence and blood of physical encounters and call it a sport. My favorites of archaic bloodbaths are football and hockey. I find Football a great outlet, but Hockey is a true reach back to the past. My mother’s father (Grandpa Lou Kuglich) was a true fan and he has passed that down to his son (Dan) and his grandson (Eric) as a method of watching carnage. Thanks Grandpa.

Family and friends still mean quite a bit to me—so thanks Mom and Dad, Karen, Mark, and friends who are too numerous to mention (but regular blog readers of Pete, Keith, Joe, John, Dan, Jim, Sue Mac, Lou Ann, and Gene, among so many other good folks) thanks for forty-three wonderful years.

After 43 years, one would hope I am wiser and better than I was—but the older I become, the more I realize I will stay the same. Change is not my best friend, but I cannot help but thing I evolve. Whereas evolving utilizes some forms of change, evolution is just reaching the highest potential.

I probably have to wait another 43 years until I do it properly.

Speed Kills

“I fought the law, and the law won…”
--Bobby Fuller

I spent four grueling hours today at “traffic school” for a bullshit ticket. Normally, I would not say that, because I speed like The Flash in a race against Superman (how’s that for COMIC GEEK-DOM?), but this was a bogus ticket. I was passing someone and the cop pulled me over for what he could clearly see was me trying to move around some loser who did not know their way to navigate Normal’s ISU. He was a rookie, as he had a “helper cop” in his car and another pulled along side of me.

I, of course, could not find the latest proof of insurance card, as I had twelve or so of them, but not the current. He put me down as he curtly said “Sir, it is obvious you do not have proper insurance” as I rummaged through the stack of cards.

“Officer, I have insurance,” I said.

“Uh-huh…” he muttered.

“OK, I admit I collect these cards,” I exclaimed. I gave a rolled-eyes look at the other cop.

He nodded at me and said “Mike, calm down.”

I asked the other cop as I pointed at “Dick Tracy” on my left, “His first ticket?”

“Second,” he smiled.

So I went to court, produced my insurance card, and was granted court supervision—which in my county meant “TRAFFIC SCHOOL” on “Defensive Driving.’

Sheesh—what a crock of crap.

I listened to this former Sheriff tell us every mondo-bizarro (Ramones plug) scenario known to mankind. Then he broke down as he told us of the death of his foster son because of a lack of wearing a seatbelt. I feel sympathy, I honestly do. The former Sheriff seemed like a decent sort of person and this was somewhat therapeutic for him, I am sure (since he said it was).

That aside, this material could have been covered in an hour, but this puppy was dragged out for four bloody hours—four bloody hours. We had lessons on not drinking and driving, how much breaking distance one has, hazardous road conditions, and plenty of good old Southern Illinois Sheriff stories about traffic citations. I learned I should check my mirrors every fifteen seconds and that my speed will increase my risk of death by 6 times more than if I was driving 55 if I hit something at the speed of 85.

Now in the class was a chatterbox woman, some guy who bitched he and his son were unfairly pulled over (at least I bitch on a blog—not in a group as to not embarrass myself), some high school kids whose parents made them attend this for their first ticket, and some old woman should not be driving based on her lack of motion and her insipid questions.

Guess what though, for speeding, I deserve this.

I have learned that I should not speed—for sure—my first ticket in five years.

I also learned next time to take my chances because I will not ask for this again. I left that building pissed enough to want to ram into something—we covered road rage as well.

I also learned a lesson for teaching—never take a full period to cover what I can in fifteen minutes.

Slow down, kids—trust me—it is not worth it—rookie cop or not.

43 and Counting (Check the Anniversary!)

“Today’s your Birthday—Happy Birthday to you…”

--John Lennon, Birthday from The White Album 1968.

I was born on 12/06 and I thought I would share with you, gentle reader, the highlights of this day—the day before a date which lives in infamy.

According to History (my comments in Bold and in parenthesis):

In 1534 - Spanish found Quito, Ecuador (did not even know where that is).
1768 - First edition of the Encyclop椩a Britannica is published (boring kids everywhere).
1790 - United States Congress moves from New York City to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania (and began screwing the country a bit more inland).
1877 - First publication of the Washington Post (some liberal rag…).
1884 - Washington Monument completed (and site seeing up the giant phallic symbol begins).
1917 - Finland declares its independence from Russia (and when it was over the country was “finished”—heh heh).
1921 - Irish Free State Agreement signed in London by British and Irish representatives (and then “fun” really began).
1922 - One year to the day after the signing of the Anglo-Irish Treaty the Irish Free State comes into existence (for Guinness fans everywhere).
1933 - A federal judge rules that the James Joyce novel Ulysses is not obscene (probably because he is a democrat and can actually “read” unlike the conservative followers).
1947 - Everglades National Park in Florida is dedicated (which years later begins burning due to the heat and God getting even with Jeb Bush).
1957 - A launchpad explosion thwarts the first United States attempt to launch a satellite (Project Vanguard) (because the damn Russians beat us to it).

I share my birthday with many people—here are a few (my comments in Bold and in parenthesis)

1421 - King Henry VI of England (d. 1471) (a King—how cool).
1805 - Adolf Reubke, organ builder (d. 1875) (organ builder—heh heh—I bet he was).
1805 - Jean Eug讥 Robert-Houdin, French magician (d. 1861) (no relation to Houdini).
1875 - Evelyn Underhill, English poet (d. 1941) (now she’s "Underground").
1886 - Joyce Kilmer, poet (d. 1918) (that horrid tree poem).
1887 - Lynne Fontanne, actress (d. 1983) (who?).
1892 - Lina Carstens, actress (d. 1978) (who?).
1896 - Ira Gershwin, lyricist (d. 1983) (finally someone decent).
1900 - Agnes Moorhead, actress (d. 1974) (All right—Me and Endora).
1903 - Tony Lazzeri, Baseball Hall of Famer (Obviously not a Cub).
1905 - James Braddock, boxing champion (d. 1974) (Gentlemen Jim—Go Cinderella Man!).
1920 - Dave Brubeck, jazz musician (Yawn—BORING!).
1921 - Otto Graham, American football star (He was a Brown, wasn’t he???).
1928 - Bobby Van, singer (d. 1980) (Was this the same dude who had a game show--Make Me Laugh I think?).
1932 - Don King, boxing entrepreneur (and Hair Model for the blind).
1948 - JoBeth Williams, actress (she was in Poltergeist and went nude in TEACHERS).
1953 - Thomas Hulce, actor (Amadaeus and Animal House!).
1955 - Steven Wright, comedian (Always bright and cheerful).
1956 - Peter Buck, musician (REM rules).

My birthday is also an anniversary of some deaths:
1185 - Afonso, first king of Portugal (a king—how cool!).
1779 - Jean-Baptiste-Sim鯮 Chardin, French painter (I remember the Monty Python skit).
1868 - August Schleicher, linguist (with that name he ought to be).
1882 - Anthony Trollope, author (I feel sorry for his daughter—that "trollope").
1889 - Jefferson Davis, President of the Confederate States of America (No comment).
1955 - Honus Wagner, baseball hall of famer (Obviously not a Cub).
1985 - Bur Tillstrom, puppeteer (Who the Hell is this? I mean playing with puppets is worthy of fame? Wow).
1988 - Roy Orbison, musician (One of my all time favorites).
1989 - Frances Bavier, actress (Aunt Bea).
1993 - Don Ameche, actor (A great one).

If you want to know the good, the bad, and the ugly about your anniversary of your birth, go here: http://www.neohumanism.org/l/li/list_of_historical_anniversaries.html for historical anniversaries. Enjoy.