Nay, we are but men. Rock!

This is more of a post to make myself feel better.  Even though it is old, I hope you can get a couple laughs out of it, learning how to NOT fight.

So, the Redeem Team has been redeemed. That’s a very good thing. I heard some chatter about who might be on the team in London, and that got me thinking who I think might be there as a new olympian, and who might be returning to the team.

Can you imagine Greg Oden joining Dwight Howard and Chris Bosh on the inside? How about a little Andrew Bynum there, too? What about some Lopez brothers, or maybe a little Love (Kevin, of course)? Talk about some big guys that will just pound you around inside. That just makes me a little giddy.  Take that Gasol brothers!

Thanks for nearly 8 years of crazy memories.  So many people giving their opinions about this “end of an era,” but I found one from The Joy of Sox that was an excellent wrap-up.  Just to quote some from the full post (which you should go read, plus the comments)

Maybe one day we’ll have a better grasp on what happened over the last month, as Manny’s public attitude about being a Red Sock changed so dramatically. Maybe it will be forever clouded, a mystery of how everything spiraled out of control so quickly … Either way, he’s gone.

When I think back on Manny Ramirez Era, I will think of nothing but the prettiest swing I’ve ever seen, the no-doubt bombs and the Mummy, the Camden high-five, the bare-handed grabs off the Wall and perfect throws to the infield, the ropes to right-center, the Cairo catch and double point, the quotes, hugs, fist bumps — the sheer joy he was unafraid to show while playing the game he loved. And the two (two!!) World Series titles.

I will miss him, but I won’t.  He excited fans by excelling in the big things (home runs, clutch hitting), and annoyed fans by ignoring the little things (running out infield hits).  It’s almost as if he was half committed to the game.  As a fan I became apathetic and tired of the drama surrounding him, and ultimately that is why I have a bittersweet contentment that he is gone.  The Red Sox are a very different team without him, no doubt, but it’s almost like there’s a freshness to it; a new chapter has begun, which is new and exciting.

I’ll leave this with some photos of Manny being Manny.  Many more can be found over here.

There seems to be a growing epidemic among professional athletes to show their greed by holding out from pre-season activities.  The current examples are Devin Hester and Steven Jackson.  I think this “tactic” some athletes use is complete crap.

First off, you signed a contract for your athletic services for, let’s say five years.  You have agreed to play for this team for five years.  Where in this statement — least of all the contract — does it say that you can play for four of those years, and then hold the fifth year hostage while trying to squeeze additional years — at a higher salary no less — from the people you are already contractually obligated to?  Plain and simple, you have a contract for five years, so just shut up and play out the contract.

Second, you can (or more likely your agent can) negotiate an extension while you are working your tail off in pre-season drills.  All you are doing is keeping yourself from being prepared for the season, and making it harder on your teammates for them to be prepared for the season.  Every athlete will tell you that it is totally different in speed and intensity between reps in practice and the actual game.  For an 11-man team sport, being on the same page, going at the same speed, knowing what each other is going to do and when is vitally important to the success of said team.  It’s just plain selfishness.  Show you are a “team player” and they will reward you.

And to top it all off, league minimum salaries are set way, way, way above what anybody truly needs to live on.  An example of this greed and selfishness comes to us from Devin Hester, “I can’t go out and play this year making $445,000. Come on, man.”  Come on, how else is he going to afford the 4000 sq. ft. house in L.A. and Miami.  And you can’t forget the garage loaded with tricked out cars.  Gotta get me a Bentley to go with my Mercedes and Porsche and Hummer and Escalade.

I get frustrated when I hear athletes complain about being underpaid when there is somewhere around 5-6% of US citizens who can’t find jobs.  There are millions of families that live in poverty conditions in the US, let alone around the world.  There is a rapidly growing list of people who are being foreclosed on.  Be grateful that you have a talent that someone wants to pay you for, and you are not huddled in some shelter somewhere in downtown Memphis.

</soapbox>

Until last weekend, I had never participated in an organized running event of any length. I wasn’t exactly seeking opportunity either. I have actually avoided several. However, at about 9:00 pm, the night before a race someone called my bluff and I ended up promising to run a charity 5k in Santa Ana, El Salvador.

I awoke race day morning to the roar of pouring rain. This was our 8^th day in Central America and our first sight of precipitation before sunset. Each morning until now, only little puff balls dotted the sky. This wasn’t the ‘dry’ rain of the Pacific Northwest. This kind of rain is what some might call a torrential downpour, but a promise is a promise, so I strapped on the mint-condition, two year old New Balance runners and made my way to the bus with five other volunteers from my Habitat for Humanity crew.

We should have told the driver to take us home when watched the wipers flap wildly in vein across their windshield real-estate. We should have stopped the bus driver from driving off when we reached the registration table as soaked as if we climbed out of a river. Instead, we stuck it out and waited for the race to start for an hour (uncovered). We were the only five Gringos of nearly 400 runners, so naturally, the local news station couldn’t resist asking for interviews. Of course, we agreed.

I took it slowly to “keep pace with the group”, and finished the completely downhill 2.8 mile (not exactly 5k) in 22 minutes. Nothing on my entire body was dry including my super-chaffed nipples. That’s right; my nipples had been rubbed raw by my wet t-shirt. That last sentence reads funny, but it’s totally true. I had no idea this would happen, but looking back it makes sense.

• Wet clothing feels cold even in tropical storms.
• My nipples turn into ¼ karat diamonds below 70 degrees.
• Running makes even the smallest man-boobs bounce.

This combination chaffed my completely useless nipples enough to make me appreciate my wife’s breast-feeding agony.

Tuesday night, I actually asked her if she had any bag balm.

Back with the second athlete that I don’t like — in no particular order of course, just as they come across my TV (or mind).

Back in the mid-1990s a freshfaced teen yet to be known as A-Rod came up with the Seattle Mariners, and proved to be as important to that team as an older teammate, oddly known as Junior.  Alex showed his excellence both at the plate and in the field.  The fans in Seattle had a very solid team that was shaping up to be a playoff contender for many years to come.  One year after Junior skipped town to go play for his hometown team A-Rod did something that will forever make me root against him.

Alex got all Cuba Gooding Jr in Jerry Maguire.  “Super agent” Scott Boras went out and got Alex the money; 10 years for $250 million.  At the time an astronomical, totally unheard of contract.  At the time could he be foreseen as becoming one of the best players ever?  Yes, definitely.  However, it showed the true nature of most teens who become professional athletes who don’t know any better, and are led by agents looking for top dollar over anything else.  Let me explain.

Sure, the idiot owner of the Rangers coughed up the money, and A-Rod (and Scott) took it to the bank.  The problem is that Texas never was, and may never be a true contender.  Before, during, and after Alex being on the team.  When A-Rod signed that contract he became a mercenary.  No longer was he playing baseball for the joy of the game.  Going to Texas he definitely wasn’t playing for championships.  He was following the money, which is what mercenaries do.

You can say that I feel this way about him because he’s a Yankee, and I’m a Red Sox fan.  Totally not true.  Before he became a Yankee there was a failed trade of him to the Red Sox for Manny Ramirez.  I was totally against that trade, and I’m very glad that it didn’t happen.  I like Man Ram too much to have lost him to a mercenary.  He totally fits with the Yankees, though, because the love their mercenaries.

Most importantly I’m a lifelong resident of the Pacific Northwest, and the only MLB team around is the Mariners.  They are the region’s team.  The way A-Rod left the Ms totally smacks of the pretty girl who ditches her middle-class prom date for the rich kid who’s driving a Porsche.  It’s all superficial, absolutely zero substance.  I find it a bit more than ironic that the first year post-A-Rod in Seattle was the best year they’ve ever had.

I tried to muster up the energy to write this yesterday but as it turns out the only thing I had energy enough to do after about 10:00am was to eat, and I mean eat.  Whatever I could get close to that wouldn’t run away was mercilessly devoured.  I ran my half-marathon yesterday morning and it was one of the most difficult things I have ever done.  Let me take you through the timeline of the day:

4:30am       Wake up

5:00am       Leave with a friend for the race

7:00am       Start running at a pace that I’m sure made some turtles snigger

7:05am       Start wondering why I was doing this

8:30am       Become convinced that I was doing something completely stupid

9:15am       Wonder why the organizers of the race chose a course that continually lengthened itself

9:59.47am  Find my Holy Grail known as the Finish Line

A friend and I ran/walked 13.1 miles yesterday and I have no idea how it happened.  First off I was working myself through a 12 week training schedule to prepare for the race.  Due to some circumstances with family that far outweighed my running schedule I lost weeks 6-10; so basically I trained for 6 weeks, took a month off, trained for 2 weeks, and ran a half-marathon.  Oh, and did I mention that I weigh roughly the same as a baby bull elephant?

The first hour and a half of running wasn’t that bad, if you can believe that.  After about mile 9.5, however, I felt like I moved from the speed of an excited slug to that of a three-toed sloth on morphine.  There were a couple of reasons why I was able to finish.  The first reason was Christ.  I know that that might sound like any number of professional athletes on TV that give glory to God before going on to tell everyone how great they are but it is absolutely true.  My wife and I use prayer beads to help with the discipline and consistency of our prayer lives.  Prayer beads are basically a Protestant version of the Holy Rosary, but since Protestants apparently can’t be associated in any way with the wonderfully rich Catholic faith we get the term prayer beads, beautiful huh?  But anyway, I would run through the prayers in my head and it would take about 20 minutes at a time.  While I was going through the prayers I was fine but the moment I stopped I would hit a wall.  You could say that the only reason the prayers made running easier because it distracted my mind and let me focus on something else for a while, I just wouldn’t believe you.

The second reason I was able to finish was because of other runners.  I began the race with a good friend of mine.  We had decided to run together a while back.  He is in better shape than me and a fair amount smaller, though he himself is a big guy, so he was faster than me.  Despite this fact he chose to stay with me and put up with all of the times I needed to walk when he would have, I’m sure, preferred to be running.  But because we are friends we ran together.  It wasn’t until somewhere between miles 9 and 10 that I was able to convince him that it was alright if he went ahead.  He is a good friend.

After the race I was hungry like I have never been hungry before.  I ate everything.  If it was someone else eating it would have been impressive how much was actually consumed but since it was me it was a little embarrassing.  I just couldn’t get un-hungry, if that’s a word, let alone full.  Today I am pretty sore but doing relatively well.  I don’t know if running races is addictive or if I am still a little delusional from yesterday but my wife and I have signed up for a 10K in September called Pints to Pasta.  I don’t think it will be fun but there will be beer at the end of that one so that should make things a bit more bearable.

I’ve decided to start a segment here known as “Athletes I Don’t Like.”  It basically what it says, athletes that I struggle to like.  On with the show.

I’ve been watching some of the NBA Finals over the last few days, and I’ve been reminded about an athlete that I just can’t find any reason to like:  Pau Gasol.  There’s just something about him that makes me wish the worst for him.

I think he’s a bit of Bill Laimbeer with a side of Vlade Divac.  He flops all over the court.  He has never committed a foul, the refs get it wrong.  Just that stupid look of, “What? You’re calling a foul on me?!  Are you kidding?!?  What did I do?!”  Any call that goes against him is like someone abducted his firstborn.  He’s actually a good player, I just can’t get past his pathetic whining.  Play the game and stop acting like an infant.

Congratulations, Pau!  You’re number 1!

In light of my recent basketball post.  I thought I would post this video I was reminded of the other day.  It is an old SNL skit in which Charles Barkley takes on Barney.

I just got home from one of the most incredible sights of my life.  My wife just finished her first half-marathon and it was awesome.  First you have to take in the whole scene.  This race is called the Hippie Chick Half Marathon and encompasses women, and yes it is an all-female race, from every and I mean every walk of life.  There are you twenty-somethings that are obviously at the top of their game.  The winning time was something like 1:31.31, which is pretty impressive.  There is the sixty and over crowd, which is inspiring enough as it is.  There are the baby-boomers that run the whole race arm in arm. And there is everyone in between.  One of the most amazing aspects of this race is not necessarily that all of these women, totaling somewhere around 900, from all of these walk of life are here together but that they all want to see each other do well.  As they are passing each other those being passed are cheering.  I saw multiple women stop and get out of the way of other women in their sprint to the finish line.  It was a competitive atmosphere that I have never experienced before.

Then there is my wife.  She is the mother of my two children and probably the most amazing woman I have ever known, and I know so great ones.  She didn’t run the race fast but she finished.  She ran 13.1 miles and was able to smile at the end.  She uses the same tenacity in loving and raising our children and in being married to me, neither of which is easy.  She is the best woman I know and this race is merely the latest piece of evidence that proves what I have known all along.  She is awesome!!!

There is only one down side to today.  I have to run my half-marathon in July and I do not think I will beat her time.  Frankly put she is in better shape than me, which makes me love her more and go get on a treadmill.  Although 900 women can run a race and only wish the best for all of those involved I do not believe that is something men can do. We can cheer for people to do well as long as they finish behind us.