Et Tu, Brute?

"Even the losers...

Get LUCKY some time..."

--Tom Petty

The last time Anna and I posed for a picture, little Anna lost the Jersey bet when the Bears went to the Super Bowl. This time we bet the Bears would win the Super Bowl. If the Bears won, She would wear the Jersey, a hat, and an "I-Hate-Farve" sign.

However, it was not to be.

Anna won because the Bears lost--and I was forced to wear a cheesehead all day.

What we do for the students...what we do for our team.

By the way, that was an original foam cheesehead Anna borrowed for another student.

Go Bears! You cannot say I am not a "good sport."

Now I have to bring the class a loaf of Panera Bread.

Sheesh, it never ends.

You're On Your Own

“Some days are easier said than done;
Always expecting something's wrong.
I'd rather live alone than drag this on.

Take your time- please lay your hands on me;
Don't wanna be alone, oh no;
A mask behind the face and then you're gone;
Oh,yeah- comes a time when you're better off alone;
You're on your own.

I've got a kaleidoscope of memories;
Visions of you locked up inside of me;
Can't you see.

We once collided like a broken wheel;
So undecided what was real;
Maybe a crash somehow has sex appeal;
Whatever turns you on.

Take your time- please lay your hands on me;
Don't wanna be alone, oh no;
A mask behind a face and then you're gone;
Oh yeah- comes a time when you're better off alone.”

--Rick Nielson of Cheap Trick from Carnival Games, from Cheap Trick (Red Ant, 1997)

I always vowed not to make this too personal and keep it light-hearted to a degree, but many folks read this, and many folks keep in touch with me through this blog.

At this point, it is best to let folks know that Pam and I have separated.

Some folks have displayed some surprise and others have not. Some folks have told me that there is a gambit of emotions I will experience and some say the time will go quickly on. I tend to vote on the latter for both of us. That said, we are individuals and we will deal with this as such—so we believe that neither is to blame and both share the responsibility. There is, honestly, no hostility.

Foggy, Guinness and Chumley will stay with me and Pam has moved with Dylan.

There will be adjustments and there will be changes—but this is honestly the best for both of us. We do not think that it is fair to continue going the way we have “acted” over the last ten years or so.

Something changed for both of us, within both of us, about both of us, and towards both of us. The last thing we want is to dislike or feel anger towards the other. That does not mean there will not be some hurt or other emotions, but we are both truly "fine" with this.

Both of us felt a relief just on making the decision.

Pam may have thought this might be harder for me, but truly, I will be good. I am fine with this move and with the situation. The acknowledgement was difficult, but once I made it, I understood what had to happen.

Judge us not, please. Understand that we will not allow others to say bad things about either of us. We also will not blame ourselves or each other. As the lyrics suggest, there comes a time when it is better off to be alone.

Excuse me if this forum is a tacky one, but as I have often noted; this blog is just as much an outlet for my thoughts as it is a place to entertain.

Something more entertaining next time—I promise.

Pay The Man

“Cheap is small and not too steep;
But best of all cheap is cheap.
Circumstance has forced my hand
To be a cut price person in a low budget land.
Times are hard but well all survive;
I just got to learn to economize

I’m on a low budget
I’m on a low budget
I’m not cheap, you understand
I’m just a cut price person in a low budget land.”
--Ray Davies of The Kinks from Low Budget, 1977.

Why are we even discussing, writing about (in my case), or even thinking about paying Lovie Smith a top-notch coaching salary in the NFL?

He led his team (two years ago 5 and 11) to the Super Bowl. Three years after Jerry Angelo hires Smith, and four years after Angelo joins the Bears—the team has certainly improved.

This is simple; a no-brainer; and common sense. Pay the man. Whatever he wants—pay him. My brother will disagree, but there is something to his style that turns merit out of mediocrity.

Let us take a look at a few accomplishments:

I am a fan of Hunter Hillenmeyer, and as such, I admit bias. I met Hunter a few years ago as he spoke at our United Way Breakfast. I had the honor of introducing him and chatting with him. He is a nice, intelligent, decent guy. Noting that as Keith tells me I have a crush on the guy every game we watch together; he was a walk-on reserve player in Green Bay. Smith turned Hillenmeyer into a legit starter.

He has stuck with Grossman—which could not be easy. Note, however, that Grossman was NFC player of the Month in September. Two drives against New Orleans in the Championship game were nothing less than spectacular. Further, he had a great game against San Francisco after being much maligned. He played well this season and, folks, please note that he is essentially a rookie. He started every game and was their best chance.

Mark Anderson was considered an unmotivated player in college—that was why this dynamo slipped to the fifth round. Look what he has done this season—12 sacks. He was a factor in the Post-Season, much more so than any other defensive line player. He was coached well by Lovie.

Charles Tillman, Nathan Vasher, Chris Harris are decent enough, but hardly household names. Lovie, especially in the case of Harris, turned them into a fairly consistent group of players who take pride in winning. I am the most critical person of “Peanut” Tillman, but no one can doubt his play in the post-season.

The infusion of Thomas Jones and Cedric Benson is a great idea—considering that both are different styles of runners. Imagine having to deal with Jones’ attitude and Benson’s wimpiness and creating a one-two punch in the running game. Whereas Jones probably did not deserve the “demotion” he seemed to take two seasons ago, Lovie lit a fire under him to play tough.

I would also note that the same fire was lit for Grossman by the hiring of Brian Griese.

The franchise tag on Briggs is a smart move. One thing the Bears have been slammed for was letting two quality linebackers go—Roosevelt Colvin one of them. Whereas I agree Colvin can still play, I would rather have the corps of linebackers the Bears currently have than what they had four years ago.

The most important positions in the Bears unit/team are found in the offensive line. The inclusion of Miller and Tait with the rising star status of Garza and the reliability of Brown and the pure talent of Kruetz shows that Lovie knows which ingredients to add and which ingredients to take away.

So, why the hesitation to pay him?

Well, here is the worst kept secret in the NFL—the McCaskeys who own the Bears, are the cheapest bastards in the universe. That has been the complaint from the Ditka and McMahon years to the present. Noting that, the McCaskeys have let some quality players slip through their hands over the years and have hired some sub-par guys because they were cheaper. Have any fans forgotten the Dave Kreig "solution?" Noting that, to really make money—a team need be in contention for the Super Bowl (thanks Mr. Angelo for reminding the owners such) the Bears have tried to remedy that situation.

They have the team back for the most part—now give them their head coach!

The World According to Chumley

“Don’t you know how to be dumb?”
--Elvis Costello from Mighty Like a Rose, 1989.

I love Chumley, please make no mistake.

He is, alas, a fairly unintelligent cat. He is also quite a male.

Chum’s greatest asset is his heart. He puts his stubborn, “male”, and ignorant personality in all he does. It is difficult to be angered with him.

While I sit in the high back chair, the quizzical Chumley will climb into my lap and begin to purr. Not that I mind his comfort and warmth, but Chumley is a bit too warm. As the weight of the animal grows (and my discomfort level with it), I begin to shift. Chumley will then begin his low, guttural growl. He is not angry so much as he is stubborn. He will not bite, but he lets his displeasure be known.

He is very sensitive to having his tail touched, except at the base where he consistently purrs as his hind and tail base is scratched.

He is an oaf of sorts as he bounds down the steps, knocking over any cat in his way—“Duh…OK Tennessee.” As he runs into and pushes aside the others, they seem to look up with rolling eyes—they understand that this is Chumley’s way.

More than a few times I have caught him and Guinness napping together. Then Guinness also tires of Chumley’s weight and heat and moves along. Not understanding that he is not wanted (Chumley cannot take a hint); he follows Guinness until a fight ensues—well less of a fight and more of a desperate yelp from Guinness which frightens Chumley.

Chumley is also a bit fearful of Princess Foggy, as the lummox of 24 pounds cowers at Foggy’s frail 6 and a half pounds of hiss and growl. He loves to smell Foggy’s tail and she is not a fan. He learns (eventually) to keep his distance.

Chumley’s world is one of sleep, playing with any object on the floor, running into things, eating, and using the litter--often on that last one.

He is a greeter cat and welcomes all.

He whacks at people’s legs and likes to chase them.

His paperwork from the Humane Society implies he has been leash-trained. I cannot believe it, because no offense to my good friend Chumley, but that requires more aptitude than he has exhibited.

Chumley is a bit like the awkward, “big” kid we all knew at some point in our grade-school years. We all liked him, but we never really understood him. Like the Larry Mondello’s of old, Chumley always seems to be eating something. Unless the sport required brute strength like football, Chumley’s human counterpart would be the last chosen at any given activity that involved exercise. Like that “husky” kid, Chumley would always seek out friends; and in class, he would often make ill-advised answers without knowing how…well…trying to be sensitive and all…but…”STUPID” his answers sounded.

Still Chumley is one of the crew and his often misguided failures makes him more endearing and more special. His once matted, then shaved hair is growing back and he looks like when that “Husky” kid from grade school chopped off his hair with some scissors because…well…we really do not know why that goofy kid did it, but rest assured every awkward, big, goofy kid did something strange to his hair.

Also like that goofy, “husky” kid, Chumley has the grace of a hippo in heat. I swear, that cat bumps into more things than any cat I have seen. Good thing he is too fat to jump on stuff, otherwise I would go broke.

And like that awkward kid, Chumley just needs some love and someone to care for him.

Welcome aboard, old Chum (Batman TV show reference—as if you did not know).

Meet Chumley

“Pounding the world like a battering ram;
Forging the furnace for the final grand slam;
Chopping away at the source soon the course will be done;
Leaving a trail of destruction that's second to none.”

From Rapid Fire from Judas Priest—British Steel, 1980

Meet Chumley.

Chumley was, at one point, a twenty-six pound male cat whose owner had died. Chumley was depressed further because his partner cat had to be put to sleep due to disease. Chumley’s hairmats were so thick, he needed to be shaved, which added to his depression.

Chumley was allegedly to be fostered by me since he was “depressed” and “not eating” (should a 26 pound cat be eating that much anyway?), but we all know how that goes. He found a place in the house and my heart.

Chumley has slimmed to 22 pounds and is in great health.

His name came from the Tennessee Tuxedo cartoon, as he is named after the Walrus that is lacking some basic intellectual skills. “Duh..Ok Tennessee.” His original name was Shiloh.

He is a great friend, grunting and growling a bit whenever he is picked up or moved. But like a dog of sorts, his snarl is much worse than his bite. He also likes to “swat” at legs when people pass.

Milt and I added some finer points to decorating the “PUB” Dining room, and Chumley wandered around most of the day. Milt fell in love with him, as Chumley seemed at home helping us with the drilling and measuring and the like. He also attacked any and all discarded objects or garbage.

Chumley is certainly a warm cat and loves to be fed and petted. When he sleeps against me, the sweat flows. When fed, his purr motors on and on, as if it were droning. He makes a snorting noise when he is petted , and he loves to be scratched at the base of his tail.

He also tends to stick his nose into wherever I go; as his head was clocked by a cabinet door, which knocked him back a bit; and then he purred.

He is such a Chumley.

Super Bowl Sunday...OH, I WAS THERE, BABY!

“This is the end…
My only friend, the end.”

--Jim Morrison of the Doors, The End; from the LP The Doors, 1968.

This is my Super Bowl Sunday and trip recap.

I arrived in Florida at 11: 45. Jeff snagged me at Orlando’s airport and took me to a too cool condo where I had my own room, after I ate a McMeal which cost me McCalories and McGas. Jeff ate a Longhorn Steakhouse and saw “Big Tom” from Survivor.

Saturday, we woke up and went to Universal Studio’s Adventure Land to hang out with the characters from the Marvel Comics theme. We rode the Spider-Man ride, The Hulk rollercoaster, Dr. Doom’s Drop, and ate lunch at the Fantastic Four Café. We also went to other attractions.

Super Sunday began at 6:00 PM with an early morning jaunt to Miami to watch the Bears (for me) and The Colts (for Jeff).

En route to the Super Bowl, I received a call from a local radio station where I conducted a thirteen minute interview about going to the bowl. It was fun.

We arrived in Miami at 11:00 and wandered around before we decided to go to the “NFL Experience” inside. Jeff and I visited the Hall of Fame tent, the shops, the card show, and watched part of the NFL Today show. We appeared on TV when the Pizza Hit Logo appeared just before the crew went inside. It was cool.

At 4:30 we found our seats in the stadium and watched warm ups. The place was huge and the screens were bigger. I cheered for my guys, Jeff for his.

The moment arrived when in the first 14 seconds, it seemed as if all was right in the world. Hester ran the ball back. Then a few moments later, the Colts missed an extra point. The Bears followed up with another TD and the seesaw began, until the last 11 minutes. Then Manning dominated.

Still it was fun.

So my season ended, as did the Bears. I saw some great things at the Super Bowl as Ralph Jercha signed my ticked (offensive lineman in 1955). I met some nice folks, saw Hootie in the airport (of Hootie and the Blowfish—real name Darius Rucker). I made it to the TV on the last outside crowd shot before the CBS guys moved indoors (follow the Pizza Hut add, I am to the left of the screen in Orange holding up my Bears hat while Jeff is yelling “Colts are #1” in his Manning Jersey. And even before I left, I “starred” with the students in a make-shift Super Bowl Shuffle Video that our Head Football coach and my personal good friend Mick made.

The stuff dreams are made of, I guess. I even talked my way out of a traffic ticket for speeding on the Florida Turnpike as the cop said, “You two (Jeff and me) are lucky I am a Colts fan and you do not look like drug dealers.” Jeff was wearing his Manning Jersey. I should have said I was a Bear fan, but even I know when not to be a smart-ass. Destiny was behind us as we then, a bit more slowly, drove to the airport.

And I went; I went to the Super Bowl and I enjoyed myself at a time when I needed to enjoy myself.

Now I wait for next season, and I know that The Bears will make it back again.

Oh, and a thousand times over, I thank Jeff. We had a great time.