Monday, February 26, 2007

160. Rule On!

So, depending on the angle from which you look, big Rulon is either the luckiest man on the planet or he is one boat trip away from going over the falls in a barrel only to survive the fall and then get 'done in' by a Niagara strain of the West Nile Virus and SARS.

If you haven't heard, Rulon Gardner has cheated death for the third time. THIRD. As in thrice. In 2000 Rulon was the oversized darling of the Sydney Olympic Games when he became the first heavy-weight wrestler to beat Alexander Karelin--the latter having won every match he EVER competed in. Well, until Rulon.

Unfortunately, RG tried to turn tragic on us and in 2001 he had some digits amputated after wrecking his snowmobile and spending the night in the snowy mountains. Then in 2004 he was blessed to have a motorcycle accident. I'm pretty sure it wasn't his fault though, because he doesn't have enough toes left to go real fast anymore (refer to 2001 time line).

And just yesterday, RG and a couple of friends survived a plane crash in Lake Powell only to have to swim nearly a mile and a half (1.5 miles) in forty five degree (45˚) water. The pilot was flying very, very low when he caught the wheel on the surface of the water and they wrecked at one hundred fifty (150) mph in the cold water. They had just enough time to swim to shore, dry out their scant clothing, build a wind shelter, and huddle together to retain warmth until the morning when a fisherman decided to veer from his normal course because he had a 'feeling.'

Rulon, buddy, I respect the heck outta ya especially for the class and dignity with which you handled yourself in both Sydney and Athens, but ya gotta stay down for a while man. Aron Ralston thinks you've got thrill issues. Cats are jealous of your ability to land on your feet and keep plugging away. Me? I think you're very lucky.

If I were you, I'd find a bathtub, curl up in it, suck my thumb and pray the grim reaper forgets he missed three times. Either that or go Howard Hughes and lock myself in a movie theatre (theater) and save all my trash and waste so no one can use it to prove I'm still alive. Either way, it's time to find a new set of hobbies.

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

159. Because I'm Admirable

What I'm giving up for Lent:

Eddie Murphy
The Hague
additives and preservatives
sky diving
hay fever
and harpsichords.

Have I forgotten any items you could remind me about?

Friday, February 16, 2007

158. Oh, Crap!

Was it Valentine's Day yesterday?

That's what I would have been saying if my wife Limpy gave a rat's patoot about stupid holidays. And then I would have been sorry for telling her sorry about missing Valentine's Day yesterday, because Valentine's Day was, in fact, two days ago.

Guys, here's how you avoid screwing up Valentine's Day every year for the rest of your life:

Don't marry an American. They have too many presuppositions of what's supposed to be and what you have to do. Just marry a foreign girl and she'll love you regardless of what day it is. You have to treat her right and all that junk, but you won't be forced to live up to any expectations that have been lodged in her brain like Mercury from the fish her mom ate during pregnancy.

Then, when it's not Valentine's Day and you give flowers or cards or chocolates, she won't compare it to anything. She'll just say thank you in her own way--hopefully in a way that doesn't involve listening to Celine Dion.

Monday, February 12, 2007

157. I Make Myself Sick

Today I got carsick.

On a chair.

That wasn't moving.

I was sitting on an adjustable chair and it was a bit too tall, so I decided to lower it. I pulled the lever expecting to be lowered a few inches, and when the chair didn't descend, my head started swimming.

I've come to grips with the fact that I'm going to get motion sickness in some few given instances, but to get motion sickness for the anticipation of movement that never comes to fruition is absurd. And stupid.

And some housekeeping: Until recently, my blog had a sidebar feature that included Asteroids--one of my favs from childhood. What I didn't know about it was that it included a little chime every time you reloaded the blog. I wouldn't have known this, because I usually don't have the sound turned up on my computer. So to all those who hated the chiming sound on my blog, I apologize. To the rest of you I might as well apologize anyway and get it over with.

Wednesday, February 07, 2007

156. I [Heart] The Soccer.

Right now, I’m watching the USA men’s national soccer team play Mexico’s team. USA is about to seal an eighth (8th) straight shutout of Club Mexico on US soil. Not only can’t Mexico win here, they just gave up a breakaway goal by Landon Donovan to put USA ahead 2-0.

And the Mexican players HATE the American players. Case in point: just after USA scored the goal, the keeper tried to trip the US player while he was running across the box to celebrate with Donovan. A couple of years ago, Colby Jones was kneed in the ribs at the end of a 2-0 shutout in the 2002 FIFA World Cup. Every time I watch the matchup I see it, and to top it off, the game just finished and the Mexican national team is refusing to shake the hands of the American players.

And I ask, why the hate? It seems to be one sided—and I’m not just being a nationalist; the American side continues to receive slight after slight at the hands (or feet, if you will) of our southern neighbors.

I look at it this way (and I’m speaking in broad population terms): They love soccer; it’s by far their most popular sport. We are indifferent about soccer; we pay our pro players peanuts. (In some cases, peanuts would be an upgrade for players whose minimum is twenty four thousand dollars ($24,000)). They hate that we are indifferent toward soccer yet we win. They hate that our players have to live in mom’s basement just to afford to play soccer, yet our players are still competitive.

I can understand that chafes them, but I just smile a wry smile and point to the scoreboard. Don’t try to injure our best. Don’t try to wring fake foul calls from the referee. Don’t disrespect us by not shaking our players’ hands. Beat us and be gracious about it. Kick the soccer ball down our keeper’s throat for all I care. Soccer’s cool by me, but I wouldn’t care too much if our team got beat. Make our team pay, and then make them pay the next time. But don’t cry about losing, and don’t be poor sports about it. This rivalry, which could have all the makings of a great rivalry, will be nothing if the Mexican national team can’t back the poor sportsmanship up with good play.

And call me when your team finds a shred of dignity.

Monday, February 05, 2007

155. Who We Thought They Were

"The Bears are who we thought they were! What - who we thought they were. We played them in the preseason - everybody played three quarters. Who the [heck] treats the 3rd game of the preseason like it's BEEEEEEEP? BEEEEEEEP! Everybody played three quarters; the Bears are who we thought they were! That's why we took the [dang] field! Now, if you want to crown them, then crown their BEEEEEEEP! But they are who they thought they were! AND THEY LETUSOFFTHEHOOK!"

Sincerely, Peyton Manning.