I haven't posted here on blogspot.com in over a year, so hear are some excerpts/full posts from the past year...
Radio Daze (10-1-08)A voice for a newspaper. A face for radio. That's what I've always said I have. So for goodness' sake, what am I doing taking a radio job?
Last week I was approached by Dennis, the station manager for WEVE and KRBT, about becoming their new sports director. Intriguing, I thought."So, what would I be doing?" I asked. "Play-by-play."Uh-oh.
My friends often tell me I mumble. I just tell them they have bad ears, and I do have a low voice that only certain species of dogs and dolphins can sometimes hear.
But an opportunity to go around and talk about football, basketball, hockey and the like and get paid for it? Sure! Sign me up! Then Dennis tells me my radio debut will be in two days, calling the Virginia-Hibbing football game from Cheever Field in Hibbing. OK. I guess I can do that. Jump right in while the water is wet, right?
Needing a color guy, I got a hold of my good friend Jimmy Laine, another writer who has never done radio.
"Sure," he says. "I'll join you in the booth." So I'm set for the debut. Dennis is going to come over and run the show. I'm a bit nervous, but it'll be OK. Right?
I get a call at 4:45 p.m. Friday from Dennis, 15 minutes before I head west. Transmitter is down at the station. I've got to take the radio equipment myself (which I've never set up), and head over there by myself. And we're off to a smashing start!
I'm no genius, although Jimmy kept insisting I was throughout the broadcast; I think he was being sarcastic. But I did somehow manage to get everything hooked up properly and ready for the broadcast. (I'm thankful for small miracles.)
There were definitely nerves aplenty when I got over there, and I stumbled through a pregame interview with Virginia coach Ed Cremers, which we ended up not using on the air anyway. At that point, I'm thinking, this could be ugly.
Five minutes before kickoff, we go on the air live.
My friend Scotty and his crew at MINNTAC were listening to us that night. He told me later, "I'll be perfectly honest with you. You butchered the first 10 minutes of that game."
'Am I gonna get fired?', I thought.
"But," he said, "after you guys got comfortable it was like you guys had been doing it for years." Wow, thanks Scotty. Maybe, this won't be so bad.
Some of the more memorable lines of the night were after I correctly predicted the Blue Devils would run a play-action pass on fourth-and-short, Jimmy said "Don't break your arm patting yourself on the back." And when Virginia came up just short on a measurement, I said "That looks about 10 chain links short." Jimmy immediately jumped down my throat: "Are you kidding me? You can't see that far!" (That is true.)
All-in-all, it was a blast, and I can't wait to do it again this Friday when we'll broadcast the Eveleth-Gilbert versus International Falls football game on 1340 KRBT. We might even venture into volleyball territory, which Dennis informed me has never been done before on their station.
The reason I asked Jimmy to be my color guy is because he's kind of the yin to my yang, the Hutch to my Starsky, the Sundance Kid to my Butch Cassidy, Angelina to my Brad. You get the picture.
He's a diehard Cubs fan, so I pity him. What's it been? A hundred years since they won the World Series? How long ago did the Twins win one? Two in 21 years you say? Wowie, zowie. He also likes Da Bears and all things Chicago and Notre Dame and many other teams I despise. My favorite player of all time, Randy Moss? Jimmy: "He's a criminal."
In fact I don't think we've ever agreed on a single sports argument. Ever. Which makes him my perfect foil. Thanks Jimmy. That was a blast. Hopefully we can do it again some time.
Enough about the radio. Let's talk some football!
An introduction (my first column for Hometown Focus, Sept. 2008)First off. A short introduction to this hopefully, usually coherent writer.
I was born a poor white child and an eternal optimist to two Aurora High School sweethearts in Beckley, West Virginia where my dad (my hero) was finishing his senior year at Appalachian Bible College. I was born with three strikes against me: hillbilly (strike one), Ranger (strike two) and 100-percent Finlander (steeeee-rike three!). But I digress.
I also have an unhealthy obsession with Randy Moss, who was born two months after and 30 miles up the road from me in WV. And Minnesota sports, pro, college and high school are my passion. For the past 31 years, I have lived here on Da Range, graduating from Babbitt-Embarrass by way of Palo. Hence, one of my 27 nicknames: B-Rabbit (or maybe there's another reason for that one).
Anyway, I'm random, sometimes off-the-wall, and maybe have a screw or two loose (in my hip), but that's another story for another time.
I have a wonderful, loving mother, three little brothers, who I am extremely proud of. Tim's a lawyer in St. Paul, Mike just got his first teaching and coaching jobs at a private school in Kansas City, and my third brother Jonathan was so much like me (personality-wise), it was a little scary. Sadly, Jonny passed away in a car accident on May 25 near his home in the state of Wyoming, leaving behind his wife Priscilla and my spitting image nephew Davin and brilliant, beautiful niece Carly. So I just might mention them (and Tim's daughter Brielle) in this space every once in a while.
I'm also the third-oldest of 52 grandchildren on my mom's side - yeah, Christmas is a blast - but enough about me. Let's talk some football.
I'm (not) with stupid (Aug. 1, 2008)Ahh. Five years. How they fly by when you're with the one you love. Today, as we always talked about, we renewed our vows in front of all our friends and family and threw a big reception, the one we couldn't afford on that Friday five years ago.
Oh, snap.
I forgot. That train got derailed two years ago when she decided she liked dumb, retarded, ugly, g-g-g-g-(ok I can't think of anything for g), substances more than she loved me. That was special. Not that I'm bitter or anything.
So instead, I'm sitting home with my kitten Crash, answering drunken text messages from one of my best friends, watching Scrubs and writing some pointless entry for my blog.
WTF?!?
I think I'm now gonna go wander into traffic...
*Sigh*
All about Jonny (June 4, 2008)I wrote the following about my brother Jon at 2 a.m. Monday and read it at his memorial service Tuesday evening.
Where to start about my little brother Jonathan?
How about that he had the sweetest, most laid-back disposition of any guy I've ever known.
As someone close to me recently told me, "Jon was so kind. He was always so sweet to me."
He was always quick with a one-liner and his dry, witty sense of humor was a thing of genius and beauty. You could tell when he had a good story or joke because he'd get that impish grin on his face. He always kept us in stitches when he was around.
Sometimes he'd do stuff just to get under our skin, like when he decided to become a Yankees fan, simply because he knew that we all hated them.
Of all us boys, he was by far the most daring, one day climbing the 200-foot radar tower on Radar Hill with his SKS rifle strapped to his back. I never did ask him if he took a shot from up there, but knowing him, he probably did. "Man, you can see Gilbert from up there," he told dad. The last time he was up here working on our cousin Eric's house, he was taking flying leaps over and sometimes through a bonfire one evening. He, of course, thought nothing of it. Then again, he did fight a few wildfires in his day. When he broke his femur doing a flying leap from the back of a moving pickup a couple of months ago, I told him between my hip and his femur, we had a good start on building the Bionic Man. His response was "Sweet."
He loved to take his trusty SKS and take long walks in the woods just to see where he'd end up. That probably started when he was very young, hanging out with his cousin and buddy Benny in the woods of Makinen. One day, he strolled into Giants Ridge with his rifle strapped on his back. I can only imagine what they thought. Another time, he walked all the way through the woods to Biwabik, hiding his gun outside town and calling mom for a ride. I'm sure she was thrilled.
As much as it hurts to say out loud, he was probably the most natural athlete in our family, excelling at soccer and hockey. He was no slouch at football, basketball or baseball either. Jon, Tim, Mike and I played countless games of any sport you can imagine growing up, including a few we just made up. Almost always, it was Tim and Jon, the two middle boys, against Mike and I, the youngest and oldest. Whether it was basketball, street hockey, soccer or tennis. Or football or baseball with Mark Fisher playing all-time quarterback or pitcher, the four of us found a way to play it. I still remember the spring when we played our own entire NCAA basketball tournament on the short hoop on the back of the garage. It was only nine feet high normally, and with the ice buildup on the slab that year, it was closer to seven-and-a-half feet tall. We were only about 14, 12, 10 and 8 that spring, but we could all dunk and were proud of it. There just might have been a little bit of trash-talking going on between us as we played for hours on end. I'm pretty sure Mike and I won the title, but I'm sure Jon and Tim would tell you my memory is faulty.
Last year, the city of LaGrange which Jon lived near decided to hold a duathlon, which entailed a 13-mile bike ride and a 5-mile run. So Jon went out and bought himself a nice Diamondback and decided to join the event. And even though he had never done anything like it before and even though he had the flu all week, Jon not only still biked and ran the entire dual, but he also placed in the top five. He was just a natural.
While soccer was probably his best sport, his favorite was definitely hockey. He loved to come home at Christmas time and get out on the ice and play hockey all day with his cousins. And since ice hockey rinks are few and far between in Wyoming, he found a roller hockey league to play in out where he lived. A bunch of his hockey buddies showed up at his funeral last week, and they played a game of roller hockey that evening in Jon's memory. Now I haven't had on a pair of hockey skates in 13 years and roller blades most certainly would be the death of me, so I just tagged along to watch and take pictures. But Tim donned Jon's gear and joined Jon's friends for that special game. He even scored the game's first goal - I'm not sure how, but he did.Several of Jon's friends were in tears throughout the evening. The guys there talked about how Jon never said a cross word to anybody, about the slap shot he refined into a deadly weapon, about how much they'd miss him. One kid in particular, Jesse, lost his father four years ago at age 15. Jon had such a soft, compassionate heart that he took him under his wing and spent a lot of time with him. Jesse said he'll never forget Jon's kindness.
One of the guys said that for the longest time, he thought Jon's name was Selanne. Jon was exceptionally proud of his Finnish heritage as are all of us boys. As I like to say, you don't find too many purebreds in our generation, and we're 100-percent Finn. Well, Jon's favorite player was Teemu Selanne, the Finnish Flash. He had every one of his jerseys and wore them to hockey every week, so he simply became Selanne. I'm sure he loved that. Tim took Jon to a Ducks-Wild game in St. Paul last New Year's Eve, Selanne's 1000th career game. Jon probably didn't make too many friends at the X with his rabid cheering for the opposing team. But he did get on camera. Probably mugged for it, too, knowing Jon. After Selanne scored two goals in the game, Jon turned to Tim and said, "Now I can die happy." Jon was in his glory when Selanne and the Ducks won the Stanley Cup last spring, and he would have been thrilled to watch last night's amazing three-overtime win by the Penguins, another one of his favorites.
When Jon and his wife Priscilla had a son almost six years ago, Jon had to find the perfect name for his boy. He found it. Davin. It means "brilliant Finn". I know that sounds like an oxymoron. But it was perfect.
And two years later, he had an adorable daughter, Carly Ann. Jon absolutely doted on his children. And they are beautiful reflections of him. Davin is a dead ringer for his dad, while Carly has his daredevil, carefree spirit. Both have his impish grin. I wish he could see them grow up, and I wish they knew their daddy better and how much he loved them.
Jon loved his wife Priscilla dearly. He loved Mom and Dad with all his heart and never wanted to let them down. I know he loved me. Of us four boys, our personalities were the most strikingly similar. But he especially loved Tim and Mike. He and Mike shared a room growing up and did everything together. They roomed together at college. He always tried to look after Mike and was as protective as he could be when his little brother had cancer. And he always really looked up to Tim. They became very close after high school. They spent a lot of time together even though they lived three states apart, and Jon would call Tim for advice about everything.
I know Jon was searching for peace. We all do in this life. He found it last Sunday when in that instant of what we think of as a terrible accident, he was carried home by angels to be with his Savior in heaven. We might think it was a terrible accident, but it was God's perfect plan. He took Jon home at His perfect time, even if I don't understand why. I know Jon is in heaven because he put his trust in Jesus alone as his atonement. He knew he needed a Savior, and he trusted Him. That's how I am convinced that I will see him someday soon.
The tears I shed today are tears of sorrow, because I miss Jon desperately and there is a huge hole in my heart right now, but as it says in Psalms 34:18, "The Lord is close to the broken-hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit." The tears I shed today are also tears of joy, because he is in a far better place than this. As his son Davin told me after the funeral Thursday, "Daddy's in heaven now. He's happy. There's no more sickness there." And no more tears.
I just know that right now, Jon is at peace and infinitely happy in the presence of God Himself and all of his splendor. And from the sounds of it, heaven is an awfully big place with plenty of room to explore. Maybe even some woods for Jon to wander off into just to see where he ends up. I think he's liking that.
Yeah, I watched The Notebook by myself (Apr. 11, 2008)It's funny how a freakin' movie can turn you inside out. I hate that, not in a really hate that kind of way, but you know. OK, maybe you don't. I'm not sure I do. Anyways...
So I've been kind of sentimental lately. (Kind of? Lately? OK, I have been for the past 18 months or so, I know. Shoot me.) Anyway, I had a number of friends tell me "You have to watch The Notebook! Seriously."
So it came out in 2004, and I haven't seen it yet and it's supposed to be this touching love story. So, fine, I put it kind of high up on my Netflix subscription list. It came in the mail a good three weeks ago. I finally got around to watching it tonight. I haven't been in the sappy drama mood lately, more just the sappy comedy mood, so I've been putting it off.
So I grabbed a Mountain Dew and a box of tissues (for my allergies, of course; I was told this movie might make them act up) and popped it in after Sportscenter tonight at about 1 a.m.
Sure enough, it's a beautiful story about a rich girl and a kid from the wrong side of the tracks, well, a poor kid anyway. And about undying love and devotion and all that jazz, and you know how I always get caught up in that sentimental song-and-dance.
(I'm not sure I have a point here.)
But I guess what struck me was Noah's forever love for Allie. I mean she's in a nursing home struck by ever-deteriorating dementia to the point where most of the time she doesn't even know who he is, but he won't leave her side. "I will always be here. I will never leave you," he tells her in one of her moments of lucidity. And earlier, he tells his children when they beg him to come home, "I can't leave my girl."
I'm not going to even give a spoiler alert here because this movie came out four years ago, and if you're like me and haven't seen it yet, it's probably not your kind of movie. (Just maybe, it's my kind. I just can't say that out loud.)
The movie ends with Noah and Allie dying in their sleep in each other's arms, at peace, together.
I guess I can't think of a better way to go.
(OK, guys. Sorry about that. Fire away with the insults...)
I'm in print! Things are going to start happening for me now! (April 10, 2008)When I was 19, my editor bought this fresh-faced kid a copy of the Steve Martin classic
The Jerk perhaps for no other reason than one of the opening lines is "I was born a poor black child..." (Long story.)
Tonight I was "picking out a Thermos for you. Not an ordinary Thermos for you. But the extra best Thermos that you can buy, with vinyl and stripes and a cup built right in."
Gotta love "The Thermos Song" and on about the 23rd page of Thermos’ on Ebay, I think I finally stumbled across not an ordinary one for somebody. (Another long story.)
It got me thinking of all the great lines in that movie with Martin maybe at the peak of his comedic genius.
Absolutely classic. Loved this exchange between Martin and his boss:
Navin R. Johnson: The new phone book’s here! The new phone book’s here!
Harry Hartounian: Boy, I wish I could get that excited about nothing.
Navin R. Johnson: Nothing? Are you kidding? Page 73 - Johnson, Navin R.! I’m somebody now! Millions of people look at this book everyday! This is the kind of spontaneous publicity - your name in print - that makes people. I’m in print! Things are going to start happening to me now.
Or this:
Mother: Navin, it’s your birthday, and it’s time you knew. You’re not our natural-born child.
Navin R. Johnson: I’m not? You mean I’m gonna STAY this color?
And my favorite:
New Accounts Bank Manager: I will need two pieces of identification.
Navin R. Johnson: Ah yes. I have my temporary driver’s license - and - my astronaut application form... I didn’t pass that though, I failed everything but the date of birth.
I might actually have to go out and find it on DVD. The copy I received 12 years ago was a VHS, and I’m pretty sure I wore it out all the times I watched it over the years.
How I started off on that tangent, I don’t know...
****
Good poem I came across today. Part of it goes like this:
God hath not promised skies always blue,
Flower-strewn pathways all our lives thro’;
God hath not promised sun without rain,
Joy without sorrow, peace without pain.
But God hath promised strength for the day,
Rest for the labor, light for the way,
Grace for the trials, help from above,
Unfailing sympathy, undying love.
Pondering true love, dread pirates and princesses improbably named Buttercup (March 9, 2008)True love. I have felt it once. And it cannot, will not let me go nor I it.
I wonder why people trifle with it so? Why and how they can discard it so easily? Why has it become such a throwaway? Why does the divorce rate continue to escalate?
Why does it seem to be just some knockoff perfume that someone can spray on one day because it seems to smell real nice, and wash off the next day when it becomes a little tiresome? Why is it something that so many try to cover up when they happen across some other worthless fragrance?
Is it because what most people call true love is not truly love at all? But rather some trite infatuation, a wanton lust disguised by the catch-all word love.
Hmmm... I wonder.
It makes me rather sad to think that a lot people never experience true love. Rather it's some cheap imitation that they fool themselves into thinking is the real thing.
Or if it actually was true love, why do they throw it away like yesterday's newspaper?
Because to me, there is nothing better in the world than true love.
Sure, it can make you die a thousand deaths. It can make you shed a million tears.
But, if you ask me, in the end, it's all worth it.
Because when you truly love someone, there's no better feeling in all the world. It doesn't matter what you have to go through for or because of them. It doesn't matter how long you have to wait, how far you have to go, how much your heart may break, how much you'll never know.
None of it matters because it's truly love. It's patient, it's kind, it doesn't envy or boast, it never fails.
So that is why I wait. You may call me a fool. I do not care.
Yeah, I believe all those storybooks my mom read me when I was little. Those fairy tales. Maybe to realize true love you truly need to have that child-like attitude of trust and awe.
Innocence. Rembember that?
I just watched "The Princess Bride", one of my favorite all-time movies again. (Ah, but you were wondering what prompted this. Yeah. Sappy. I know. Also, hilarious, genius.)
"As you wish," is my favorite line in the movie.
(Well, after "My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die." And, "I wonder of he's using the same wind we are?" And, "Do you always start conversations like this?" And, "You mock my pain." And, "You heard of Plato, Aristotle, Socrates? Morons, compared to me.")
The line is what the protagonist Wesley/Dread Pirate McRoberts told Princess Buttercup anytime she asked him to do something.
"She came to realize that everytime he said 'As you wish', what he really meant is 'I love you'."
Yeah. Call him whipped. Call me insane. Once again, I don't care.
Because isn't that really the thing about true love? It doesn't seek its own. It's all about what's best for the other person.
I admit, too often my own selfishness has gotten in the way in my past. Were to God it hadn't. Too often I've loved badly, selfishly. I can only hope I've learned from my mistakes.
I'm not sure if I have a whole point with this whole 3 a.m. rambling. Maybe you catch my drift.
Call me a hopeless romantic. Call me a sentimental sap. Call me a girl. I don't give a damn. Frankly, I've been called worse.
And now there is left: faith, hope and love. And the greatest of these is love.
Do you want me to stop yet?
As you wish.
