3WW (Ambitious, Incredible, Ugly): Drunk Driving

I watch from the parking lot as the car weaves. It’s about 2:15 a.m. on a Saturday. An appropriate time for this kind of scene. It’s a Ford Taurus. Green. Looks like a company car. I’m almost hoping the car stops. Its battery goes. Or maybe a flat tire. Then I could go and help as the ambitiously drunk driver tries to open the trunk and retrieve the spare. I don’t really care about my quota this month. I’d rather just But no. The car pulls out onto the thoroughfare. Continuing to weave. I start up the cruiser and pull out of the parking lot, keeping my eye on the Taurus up ahead. The green car swerves into the oncoming lane. Thankfully, there’s no one coming. I hold back and hope that they turn. The car swerves again, just missing a truck coming in the other direction. I sigh and make my move.

I turn the lights on and get behind the car. I assess the situation. Two people. Man driving. Woman in the front seat. I can see the silhouettes. I run the plates. Double take the screen. And groan. I wish I hadn’t turned on the lights. I wonder if I could just flip the switch and drive by. Or I could act like I’m on my way to another call. But my conscience gets the better of me. I continue to proceed hoping that this won’t get ugly.

I sit in the car and watch as the man gets ready with his license and registration. Between his driving and the movements in the car, I know he shouldn’t be driving. A tired feeling washes over me. If only I could be at home in my own bed. Enjoying a good night’s sleep before going off to some desk job. But no, my grandfather was a cop. My father was a cop. And here I am an only child and a cop. Family pressure’s fun. I grab the clipboard and make my way to the passenger side. I justify this move since we’re on a busy street.

It’s what I expected. I don’t recognize the woman in the front seat. But I recognize the guy. ‘License and registration,’ I say. He provides. Still doesn’t know who I am. ‘Do you know how fast you were going?’ I ask. He doesn’t know. She’s blitzed. I should pull him out of the car and punch him. Can’t do that. I should pull her out of the car and send her home. I wonder if she’s older than 18. He’s had a soft spot for the younger girls since college. Never illegal, but close enough. I inspect the license. Same address that I visited two weeks ago to celebrate his youngest daughter’s third birthday. His wife made the best macaroni and cheese for the occasion.

‘Sir, please step out of the car.’ He does. As he exits, he starts to explain that he knows someone on the force. Until he sees me. And realizes that I’m the one he knows. I ask him what he’s doing. He has no answer. I ask him if he knows how incredibly stupid he is. He chuckles in that demeaning way he has. He smirks and asks me if I’m going to take him in. There’s nothing I want more. But I can’t. He laughs again and opens his car door. He looks back a last time and shakes his head. The car starts and takes off. Weaving into traffic.

I stand watching him drive away. And wish to God he had never caught me sleeping with that other woman.

It's Personal: You Decide... FFL

My first experience with Fantasy Football didn't come until I reached Seattle. Even then, it was 3 years after I had arrived. Fantasy Football had never captured my fancy, as it were. I was content to cheer for the Giants and against the Cowboys. The idea of following individual players didn't seem to make much sense; in fact, it almost seemed disloyal. In 2005, I received an email from an old college friend. He told me that another member of the old clan had decided to cease playing, especially since he hadn't been terribly good. So, I said what the heck and threw my name in the mix. The name of my team? The Northwest NeeKnights for all you Monty Python fans. My draft consisted of Shaun Alexander, Larry Johnson, Tom Brady, Antonio Gates, Jimmy Smith, and Anquan Boldin. Now please don't laugh overly much, but I had fallen out of touch with football since moving to Seattle. I followed only the Giants and knew very few other players except for the superstars. And so, before the first week, I dropped Larry Johnson, Jimmy Smith, and Anquan Boldin. After some research, I had determined that Johnson was too young, Smith too old, and Boldin just had a weird-sounding name. I did realize my mistake after doing a bit more research and tried to get them back. Somehow, I succeeded in getting Johnson back. But not the other two. I recovered from losing Smith by picking up Jurevicius. But I could have used Smith. Nevertheless, I won that year by defeating the Gunslingers. And I haven't stopped playing since. Four teams in four leagues this year: New York State of Mind, A$$ Kickin Chickens, Seattle Buzz, and Spruce Moose.

My first experience with Fantasy Football came at the Outback at 27 Possum Park Mall in Newark, DE. The proprietor, an avid football fan, invited 14 of the staff - all guys, I seem to remember - to partake in the fun. As soon as I learned of the opportunity, I b-lined to a book store and purchased at least 3 separate magazines to make myself a fantasy expert. Having never played before, I didn't quite understand how points were awarded, so I concentrated on understanding what role running backs, wide receivers, quarterbacks, kickers, tight ends, and defenses played in the game. I soon learned that strong running backs were a must. Followed by at least 1 great receiver and a serviceable quarterback. I can tell you this. I didn't get Terrell Davis. No Randall Cunningham. Nor Jamal Anderson. Not Steve Young. Suffice it to say, I didn't draft particularly well. You see, I had spent so much time trying to figure out who the diamonds in the rough would be that I forgot to pick the studs, the guys who win FFL leagues. So instead of the highest ranking guys, I chose the likes of Keenan McCardell and Scott Brunell. Yeah, but they weren't bad, you might say. True, but I was only in the middle of the pack that year because I wasted my first 2-3 picks. A good lesson. Now if only I had used that and the other lessons I had learned. Instead, I decided against playing again until I reached Seattle. And only then, 3 years after I arrived. Which meant about 7 years between my first attempt and my second.

Sporting Rants and Raves: September 26, 2009

Happy 28th Birthday to Ms. Serena Williams, an incredible tennis player who, with her sister Venus, has dominated the world stage for the past decade. The reigning Australian Open and Wimbledon singles champion, Serena has won 23 Grand Slam titles.

Trivia of the Week
Serena and Venus own part of this NFL franchise. Extra Credit: In which year did Serena turn pro?

Answers to September 19's Trivia of the Week
Abbott played for 4 teams in his major league career; name them.
California Angels, New York Yankees, Chicago White Sox, Milwaukee Brewers
Extra credit: Abbott pitched a no-hitter on September 4, 1993. For which team did he play? New York Yankees Against which team did he pitch? Cleveland Indians

Mora says Hasselbeck likely out for Seahawks
I'm a fan of Matt Hasselbeck. Maybe he's not been the greatest QB of all time, but he has heart and skill. Still, at 34 and as injury prone as he's been, I wonder if he's coming to the end of the line as the QB for the Seahawks. If he is, Seneca Wallace is NOT the answer. Time to start planning for the future...

Yankees, Rodriguez bruise Lester and Red Sox
The magic number's down to 3. So who do you think it's going to be? Detroit or Minnesota against the Yanks? The way both are playing, I'm not altogether concerned. Then again, I've seen teams with their adrenaline pumping once they actually get to the playoffs.

Wayne Gretzky resigns as Coyotes coach
The Great One on the ice wasn't so great on the sidelines. Neither was the great one in baseball (Babe Ruth). Nor the great one in basketball (Michael Jordan). It has always amazed me that people with such talent do not show similar talent as coaches. But having recently become a manager, I come to understand the phenomenon better. Great ones have talent. Statement of the obvious, I know. And usually these great ones don't need to concentrate on working as hard as those who don't have as much talent. (Please note that this is all relative.) So those who are considered to be the best of all time usually have a natural inclination to that thing they do so well. As I've noticed, those with such natural inclination have a VERY difficult time explaining that inclination to others. I just know when to go in front of the net. I just know where I'm going to hit the ball as soon as it's released from the pitcher's hands. I just know when to set the pick. And 'just know' doesn't help the students of the game. Teaching does. It's rare to find that great one who can teach...

TD's NFL Picks - Week 3
In the interests of time - I still have to do work and study before going out this evening - I shall keep this brief:

Green Bay @ St. Louis
Green Bay hasn't shown me much. I know because I have Aaron Rodgers as a QB in Fantasy Football. But it's St. Louis. So, TD chooses: Green Bay Packers

Kansas City @ Philadelphia
Weird game. With McNabb out and Westbrook questionable. And with the Kolb, Vick thing happening Kansas City could come out and surprise them. Still, it's Philly and the Iggles just seem to have a better team. TD chooses: Philadelphia Eagles

Atlanta @ New England
Wow. Could Brady be on the verge of losing his second straight game? Against the high flying Falcons it's certainly possible, especially given the fact that Moss and Welker are questionable. In New England though? Against an angry Brady? Yes. TD chooses: Atlanta Falcons

Cleveland @ Baltimore
Practical jokes in the Cleveland locker room that lead to fights. Odd. Ray Lewis smacking down, Darren Sproles. Not so odd. TD chooses: Baltimore Ravens

Washington @ Detroit
Detroit will win one of these days. I'm just not sure when. And being somewhat risk averse, I'm not confident in saying that this is the week even though Washington beat St. Louis by a ridiculous 2 points last week and didn't even score a TD. TD still chooses: Washington Redskins

Jacksonville @ Houston
Jacksonville's at 0-2. They're being blacked out at home. I have a friend originally from Jacksonville - who now lives in Seattle - that told me he was texting his friends in Jacksonville about the game since they couldn't see it on TV. Oh, and Houston doesn't look bad. TD chooses: Houston Texans

San Francisco @ Minnesota
San Fran at the top of the NFC West. Okay, I'll believe that. San Fran has a good QB. Yeah, jury's still out on that one. Minnesota, meanwhile, looks pretty solid. Even with Favre. TD chooses: Minnesota Vikings

Tennessee @ New York Jets
Here's the game I can't decide. Tennessee loses to Pittsburgh, barely. And then they lose to Houston by 3. New York beats Houston and New England. According to record, the Jets win. But not so fast. Tennessee is a good team. And they're hungry for a win. And they have a D the likes of which Sanchez has not yet seen. I will, for 1 final week, go against the Jets. But if they win this week, I can't really do that anymore. TD chooses: Tennessee Titans

Pittsburgh @ Cincinnati
The Bagels are coming around little by little. But a win against Green Bay doesn't convince me. Although Pittsburgh's loss to Chicago surprised me quite a bit. Nevertheless, TD chooses: Pittsburgh Steelers

New York Football Giants @ Tampa Bay
Tampa's building. The Giants are peaking. Everything points to a G-Men win. TD chooses: New York Football Giants

Chicago @ Seattle
If Hasselbeck were healthy, I might have called this game differently. Especially if I had any indication that Cutler might be inconsistent. As it stands, I don't believe Wallace can get the job done and Cutler was impressive last week. TD chooses: Chicago Bears

New Orleans @ Buffalo
Before the season began, I had a tough time choosing this game, but not for the reasons that I now similarly have a difficult time choosing. Buffalo has shown themselves to be contenders. A good team, still getting there. New Orleans has the offensive weapons. And suddenly, the defense is stepping up. So, who will win? TD chooses: New Orleans Saints

Denver @ Oakland
I expected both teams to be bad this year. And I expected this to be similar to a St. Louis v Detroit game. As it turns out, it's a better game than expected. Denver has won 2. How? Ohio, that's how. The Bagels make an infinitely stupid mistake. And then there's the Browns. Well, as I said last week, Oakland showed me something in going back to the basics. I believe in that theory. TD chooses: Oakland Raiders

Miami @ San Diego
Boy, did Miami come prepared last week. And boy did they lose. Last week, I did not do well predicting games, but I did say, 'I said at the beginning of this season that Peyton would win a couple games single-handedly this season. I'll say this is one of them.' I think Manning won this one single-handedly. Can Miami duplicate the feat? And does San Diego have what it takes to shut them down? I say Miami plans well again. For Rivers and Sproles. TD chooses: Miami Dolphins

Indianapolis @ Arizona
As we saw last week, Indy does well on the national stage. But Warner ain't no slouch. I'd call for this to be a shoot-out, but Indy has a good pass D. And Arizona's D isn't looking too shabby. I think Warner and his receiving corp turn this on. And Manning doesn't come back to save the day. TD chooses: Arizona Cardinals

Carolina @ Dallas
You better believe Dallas is not happy about losing the opener in the 'Palace'. And Carolina just hasn't looked that good. TD chooses: Dallas Cowboys

There ya have it. Until next I write, happy sporting...

3WW (Eclipse, Languis, Velocity): The Story of George Porter

George wakes as he does every morning, hugging his second pillow. Somehow, the pillow always escapes from under his head and magically appears in his arms. It's not the pillow he intends to hug but Mary. His Mary. He hasn't actually hugged her in 40 years. He has forgotten her face, her smell. But not her touch, not the sweet caress of her hands across his back. If only he had a picture or some keepsake.

His wife's touch is soon eclipsed by the fading faces of his four children. Two girls and two boys. Vibrant young minds and bodies. Full of energy. He remembers them preparing for the holidays. It's his last memory of them. And then they were gone. Like his wife. His entire family gone in the blink of an eye.

He lifts himself from the single bed slowly, his 78 year old bones creaking and crackling with each movement. He moves to the small kitchen and gets the coffee perking. He rounds out his morning routine with a trip to his front door to retrieve his paper. October 13, 1986. On the front page, Reagan and Gorbachev sitting in chairs opposite each other. Atop the picture reads the headline, 'Reykjavik Talks Collapse'. He laughs to himself every time he sees Reagan. An actor as president. And not a particularly good actor. He can't help but think of Bedtime for Bonzo.

After he lost his family - the winter of 1947 - George moved downstate to the City. With no money, no family, and no friends, he wasn't certain how he'd survive. So, he languished on the streets of New York. Covering himself with what blankets local churches offered. Picking through trash outside restaurants and markets. Walking the streets of New York in a daze, cursing his luck.

An old man named Henry 'Hank' Porter - a recent widower - took George in after finding him rummaging through the trash outside Hank's market. An ironic twist, George admitted. George happened to fit into the clothes of the son Hank had lost in the Great War. Hank eventually offered George a job in the market. George repaid Hank's kindness by acting like the son Hank hadn't had the chance to have. In fact, George even changed his surname to Porter; it was the only time George saw the old man cry. When Hank retired, he made George the general manager. Hank died in 1964 at the ripe old age of 92. His last words to George, 'I thank God for you.' In his will, Hank left everything he had to George.

George smiles at the memory. His mind wanders to the sale of the market. A good chunk of change that's serving as his retirement fund. He thinks about Hank, such a generous old man. Unlike another Henry he once knew, the old codger. George reads through the paper. In the local section, he notices an article about the Purnell School in Pottersville, NJ. A feel-good article about a local scholar athlete.

The name triggers the memory of the night that his life changed, the night he lost everything. He had had a lot to drink, too much. And he made the stupid decision to drive. The car's velocity increased along the snowy road. He came to a sharp turn and couldn't maneuver; the car rammed a tree. Disgusted with himself and his circumstances, he made his way to the bridge ready to do the unthinkable. When some nutjob named Clarence jumped into the icy cold water. George saved the man.

While in the bridge's guard house warming themselves, George spoke the words he wishes, to this day, he'd never spoken, 'I wish I'd never been born.' He recalls all too clearly Clarence's response, 'Okay, you have never been born.'

George laughed at the odd little man and departed only to find that his wife, kids, friends, town, house - everything - was gone. Not gone, exactly, but not the same. No one knew him. No one remembered. Somehow, his entire life had been erased from existence.

The doorbell rings. George opens the door. On the welcome mat lay a copy of Mark Twain's The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. George opens to the title page. It reads, 'Dear George, It was still a wonderful life. Thanks for the wings. Love, Clarence.'

It's Personal: You Decide... Not Feeling So Well

One of these stories is true. The other isn't. Can you guess which happened to me?

A friend of ours worked for a magazine, one of those local periodicals that waxes poetic about all things Seattle. A common by-product of his employment with the magazine was a plethora of certificates to local establishments, not to mention invitations to food and wine tastings. He invited Joseph and me to one of the latter. A nice little spot near the Fremont bridge. They served seafood that night. I remember only because I had the taste stuck to the roof of my mouth for what seemed to be days following the 'incident'. Ah yes, the incident. It had to do with wine tasting. I started with a white of some kind. Perhaps a Pinot Grigio, one of my favorites. And then I followed with another white. I think a Riesling. A Pinot Gris. A Merlot. A Syrah. And then a Cabernet Sauvignon that reminded me of the old man. So, I kept drinking it. Having a grand old time. Until the room started going wobbly. It was worse than the effect of any hard alcohol I'd ever imbibed. It hit like a freight train. I told Joseph I was ready to go. And so we packed ourselves into our friend's car. A Toyota, I seem to remember. We almost made it. Back to our apartment, that is. Or maybe we didn't. I don't really recall. What I do recollect is getting terribly ill in the car. What was most remarkable was my ability to catch nearly all of the 'whoopsed cookies' in the jacket I held on my lap, thus saving the car of said friends from a vomitous experience.

It was around this time of the year. Joseph and I made our annual trek to the Puyallup Fair, a local fair many times the size of the North Haven Fair (contextualization for those in Connecticut). At the fair, we saw gourds and sheep and booths with rigid basketball hoops. In addition, there was food, glorious food. A hamburger the size of a frisbee, a treat I tried but didn't finish. There were cow chips - huge cookies - and corn dogs and cones of delicious ice cream. Let's just say I splurged a tad. Okay, more than a tad. We walked around a while after gorging ourselves, convincing ourselves that a healthy trot would work off the billions of calories we had ingested. We played a few games, saw a few more gourds, and mooed at cows. But we couldn't avoid the inevitable. Joseph was becoming impatient. It was time for the rides. Thinking we had sufficiently cleared our stomachs, we headed for the 'easier' rides first. The water floo. The Scrambler and the Spyder. A number of other whirly rides, to boot. And none caused any issues. We tried our luck with the rickety roller coaster. And then with that weird ride that sucks you to the wall while the floor drops out from under you. Still no sign of an issue. Free and clear, we thought. We thought. Then we decided to go on the Pirate Ship. You know, that ship that swings like a pendulum. Until it gets enough momentum to make a full rotation. I was okay after the first full rotation. But on the way up in the midst of the second rotation, I witnessed a phenomenon I hope never to witness again. I watched as a reformed conglomerate of cow chips, hamburger, ice cream, French fries, and other assorted fried foods ascended into the air. It came to its apex and fell in a kind of gelatinous blob on the floor of the ride, splattering the shoes of all within a five-foot radius. Completely embarrassed, I exited stage left as quickly as I was able. And headed to the next ride...