I enjoy reading……………….the Sport’s Page.  How’s that for an intro?

(This is not my tough guy resume, because I’m not bright enough or tough enough to develop one.  I am, however, concerned enough to appreciate those in the news lately suffering from concussions.)

Many years ago, I heard tall tales about the word, “concussion”.  Then, I began to experience them.  For many physicians, the word was only a mythological brain hemorrhage not to be questioned or trifled with by eleven year old simpletons such as me.   My only doctor, providing annual sport physicals didn’t believe concussions were anything more than one of your older brothers beating the Hell out of you.   He merely described it as though I would eventually read about it twenty years later while following the vicious sport of American football.  Football was always violent, and littered with collisions, but you staggered onto the playing field expecting and accepting what may happen on that field.

Growing up, I never really knew what the term concussed meant, or even cared, but I will begin and end these chapters beginning and ending with concussions. Still a bit queazy when one brings up the word, “concussed” in the Sunday morning news every Sunday morning, I think about the recent circumstances while following college football and the NFL.  Concussions seem to be spread around the gridiron much like butter on my white toast.  As a youngster, concussions spread around our home like winter cold sores.  They were ugly, but you couldn’t seem to get rid of them until April.

Withholding sarcasm, I take concussions very seriously.  I blame all of my concussions and lack of brain cells on my brothers, sisters, tree houses, boxing gloves, monkey bars, baseball and beer.  Strangely, and as far as I don’t know, I never suffered a concussion playing football.  I’ve just been reading about those ones.

Chapter One Concussion:  Transitioning from wiffleball to aluminum bat baseball, someone smashed a 33 ounce Easton bat smack dab and well into my forehead.  That was the one and only time I wound up in the hospital because of a concussion.  The person on deck evidently didn’t know where the “on deck circle” was.

Chapter Two Concussion:  Transitioning from a treehouse full of fun to a chicken coup full of horrors equipped with a slip knot roped tire swing, I experienced concussion number two.  Next to our chicken coup, there was a tree.  For some odd reason, an old derelict car tire sat on top of that coup, and a rope nestled close by.  The tree, thirteen feet away from the coup, persuaded the rope, tire, and my brothers to form a unity.  I became the test dummy.  The rope was suffering from its own concussions and wasn’t strong enough to hold me or that tire.  We all crashed, and my brothers all laughed.  Only the chicken coup was left standing.

Chapter Three Concussion:  Elementary Monkey Bars.  Show me a child who has not been concussed when showing off for the first girl he may kiss, and I’ll show you an apple.  They grow, fall off trees and end up on monkey bars.  Shortly after, they fall off the monkey bars, hit the pavement, and eventually talk about it in a monkey bar.

Chapter Four Concussion: Boxing Gloves.  Way overrated.  This was, by far, my worst concussion.  Making the mistake of entering our basement, my brother, Tom, and I laced on a rusty pair of boxing gloves after watching a Sugar Ray Leonard vs. Roberto Duran fight.  For me, the rest is concussion history.  Four years older, Tom was extremely nice for sitting in a chair, thus, according to him, providing me an advantage.  I did have a one punch advantage.  After nailing him once, he proceeded to pound me to a point where he threw in the towel because Gilligans’s Island was starting on our basement black and blue T.V..  After removing the gloves,  I stumbled upstairs, vomited, and with eyes wide dilated, couldn’t see anything on that day.  Sincerely, that scared the heck out of me.

Chapter Five Concussion:  (High School baseball practice on a High School practice football field)  Challenging one of my coaches to hit a ball over my head, my head ended up discovering the dirty goal post forty feet past center field, thrusting me into baseball and football infamy.  After this experience, for one evening, I was known as The Elephant Ben.    My good friend, a man I still know as Chuck, laughed at my disfigure, but would not allow me to drive home.  He provided the cab ride home, and he remains a good friend of mine.  I can still sense his compassion, and additionally, hear his laughter.  Later that Friday evening, our coach contacted my father quite sure my parents were seeking legal counseling.   Quite the contrary.  My parents just appreciated his concern, kept me awake upon concussion’s orders, and didn’t allow me go to the Friday night party I promised to attend with my future wife who still takes care of me.  My excuse for accepting her kindness:  Concussions.

This concussion stuff is terrific.  You mention a few concussions, and wham, everyone assumes you have brain damage.  Does anyone not love Rocky?  Other than receiving quality beatings, his redeeming qualities were concussions and after the 15th round, maintaining a good attitude.  By law, you are required to love this man.

Chapter Six: Conclusion

O.K., enough playful banter.  During our Seattle deluge yesterday, I called and or texted some of my old friends inquiring much like The Enquirer about their own concussions.  Flippantly, most of them replied by saying, “oh, yeah, I’ve had a few”.  I asked them to elaborate just because I thought concussions were serious matters of the brain.  Kind of the contrary.

(I’ll try to protect the innocent by using phony names because some of these concussion excuses are a little fuzzy)

Yawn:  “My asshole mormon brother, while giving me a piggy back ride, deliberately let go of my feet as soon as we commuted from grass to concrete.  Asshole.”  These are his words.  I don’t know why Yawn had to include the word, “Mormon” to enhance his story.

Nate: (our High School quarterback)  “I don’t remember calling plays in the huddle”.  That’s because he didn’t call any plays other than, “I’ll just give it to you on two……ready……break.”  We lost most of our games.

Chuck:  “I only remember one…….yours”.  (as a former college lineman, he’s probably had a thousand, but has since chosen to be a successful business man as opposed to suing his former coaches……..that’s just far too stressful)

Fed Ex Guy ringing our doorbell:  “Your dogs give me headaches, but I don’t consider them concussions”.  (Finally, an honest man)

The UPS guy says he gets a concussion every time he has to use one of those pens not containing any ink.  That’s referred to as confusion…….not concussion.

Beer:  “I’ve never experienced one, but I’ve created about a Billion”.  Actually, that was George W. Bush.  I recognized his laughter after his statement.  I couldn’t believe I could find him just dialing 411 and more.

Thanksgiving is a couple days away, and if your relatives give you a headache, just call it a headache, unless you have a really good lawyer.

This piece is dedicated to those who are bored, thus spending evenings watching “Finding Bigfoot” on the Animal Planet Network.  The BFRO team behind the show is not working for me.  They stink as much as common charlatans in the woods.

Irrefutable Evidence of Sasquatch

Upon receiving the Eight Billionth award for a man not believing in Sasquatch, I will provide my acceptance speech….with a few exceptions.

This is embarrassing, yet personally rewarding.  Officially, I am out of the closet.  I don’t believe in Sasquatch.  There.  Are you happy?  (Applause from existing hairy, but not that hairy bipeds…. and  grizzly quadrupeds clapping)  That makes a little sense.

I have a gathering of people I wish to thank for opening my door called reality, sanity, and get your head out of your ass, you idiot.   It was a sturdy door for thirty years, but that door made of particle board and ten cent penny nails has officially fallen from Squatch Land, or as many now call it “Sasquatchlandia”.  My beliefs have crumbled like this hard taco disgracefully falling upon a carpet on this day of reckoning.  Sadly, truth is much harder than fiction.

Before the music starts, I will, with great brevity and furious anger, thank those crushing my imaginary dreams that a kind and gentle giant roaming the woods of the great Northwest could possibly exist.  They are the Bigfoot Research Organization (BFRO), or now referred to as the Big Fraudulent Research Organization.  Although you are disgraceful to those who drive cars and pay taxes, I thank you for keeping me and others from staring out of our heavily wooded northwestern hillside just to catch a glimpse of something that no longer exists.  Now, my nephews and nieces wishing to stay in the Sasquatch Guest Room (something I once took pride in designing), overlooking that hillside, will no longer have nightmares, and will just enjoy the view.   I thank you for that. Good luck.  Stay bipeds.  (more awkward applause, because the crowd, much like a shark smelling blood from a mile away, can equally sense the smelliest of odors in the first row……sarcasm)

The real story:

At a confused and influential age, (that means from the time of conception until now) I have imagined and dreamed about something existing which didn’t include my six older brothers and six older sisters.  Something more exciting, less painful, and perhaps a breakthrough in science.

Let’s talk logic.  Forgive me, because I’m not really used to the word logic.  I am familiar with the terms, Anthropology and Cryptozoology.    These are the studies regarding specimens known to exist and those we wish to exist.  The late and great, Grover Krants, a professor at Thee! Washington State University, at the very least, provided scientific knowledge of how this Gigantopithecus could exist.   It wasn’t a joke.  It was scientific, and further, a bit intriguing.  This hairy biped could roam the earth smelling the dandelions and hiding in caves while tricking us all to believe he or she may or may not continue to stroll through areas humans have infested.

We strive for honesty, and in this world, there is very little.  But, evidently,  little proof is better than none at all.  This is when we grow up.   We try to believe in things such as Bigfoot and baseball’s designated hitter.  Neither will ever exist because of two reasons.  Sports writers won’t acknowledge one and the other simultaneously.  That statement sounds as cloudy as all the pictures, film strips, drawings and voice recordings combined regarding the elusive Sasquatch. (I can’t believe I have to use a capital “S” when spelling it.  It’s simply ridiculous.  Yet, not quite as ridiculous as the Five Sasquatchions making money off of people watching Animal Planet.

These people make entertaining the notion of the unknown deem laughable, and have demolished my fantasy of having a Sasquatch over for Thanksgiving.  It’s just not going to happen.

Myth: The people hosting this show on the “Animal Planet” in the woods maintain some sort of credibility.

Fact:  They don’t.

Myth:  They set the bar high for those who wish to discover items such as the moon or the Pacific Ocean.

Fact: The only bar they set is at a bar.

Myth: Definitive evidence……something that crunches in the darkness does not mean a Sasquatch is arriving for dinner, even though he or she may be hungry.

Fact: Disputing and debating a frozen leaf falling from a tree can only be described as irrefutable casual evidence.

Fact: The Joke is on us.

My wife and dogs were convinced the other night our woods were filled with squatches. After detailed investigation, our deck was just covered with falling leaves and crap.

Go on with your lives, and stop trying to tease me.

Treading in luke and lewd warm water the other day, I decided to edit a great deal of my blog when it concerned pot and R -74.  No, not RG Three.  I don’t think he’s gay, and I don’t care if he is.  I know he’s black and I don’t care about that either.  It’s similar to me just not caring about pot or homosexuality.  I’m far too selfish to think about things I’m not involved with.  Personally, I’m hetero all the way, but this new law could be the gateway law allowing people like me to enter into marriage with another heterosexual dude.  I’ve often thought about it, because guys are just much easier than gals.  That’s why I’ve made a list of really good friends I would consider marrying. However, there would definitely be clauses and a prenuptial agreement. (I’m happily married to a female, but if she leaves me for a woman, I need to start preparing.) For a long while, when activists would approach me with issues concerning gay marriage, I would respond with, “I’m not just against gay marriage, I’m against all marriage.  It’s just one big bad dream.”

The list:

Ok, I hope I made everyone nervous.  You know who you are.  I will disappoint my six brothers who are not on the list, along with all of my nephews.  Sorry.  That’s just weird. With respect for your privacy, I’ll leave your names off this blog, but I will text and tweet about you.  No one sees that crap, right?

The clauses:

1) You must be heterosexual.

2)Shaking hands…..fine, but no holding them unless said spouse is on his deathbed after overdosing on hot wings and bacon.

3)No cards, just sticky notes.

4)No smoking pot.  This may strike you as strange, but I like a husband who is more smarter than me.  Legend has it, smoking that wacky tobaccy, only makes you appear extremely dumb.  I need someone to watch over me, and appear bright.

5) Absolutely no kissing.  Not even if it is on the cheek after drinking twenty five Henry Weindard’s or fifty Rainiers.  That’s called a gateway kiss.

6) Unless we win one in a fantasy football league, or if it’s on your collar, NO RINGS.  There’s a beginning, but there will also be an end if any other rings are presented.

7) Separate beds unless it’s a snowstorm and we can only find a motel with a one bed room.  Flip a coin or arm wrestle on which guy gets the cot, if another guy needs to share our room.

8) Fourth of July, Mother’s Day, The World Series and The Super Bowl.  All synonymous and you must celebrate them.  College basketball is optional, depending on how much money you have riding on it.

9) You don’t have to love Rickey Henderson, but you have to respect Him.

10)  Jaws, Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid, Cool Hand Luke, Shawshank Redemption, The Big Lebowski, Super Troopers, Meatballs, Paint Your Wagon (acceptable even as a musical, because there is plenty of booze present) will all be available in your library of DVD’s and also allowed on Sundays on TNT, HBO, or Showtime.  Cinemax must be viewed on one’s own.  Seinfeld reruns are required nightly from 10:00 p.m. to 11:00 p.m.

11) You must be willing to laugh.  Critical.

12) If you want to work out, fine, but I’m not going to the gym with you unless it’s to play racquetball.  I WILL NOT WATCH YOU DO CURLS IN FRONT OF A MIRROR!

13) Ice cream:  We will order TWO cones, and no, you may not have a bite from my spoon…………and by the way, no spooning at all!

14) No foot rubs…….period.

15) Astroturf lawn, unless you want to mow grass.

16) On Christmas, I only require a Mad Magazine and an orange in my stocking, labeled “happily not gay, but married”.

17) No Cats!  Unless they’re really cool cats.

And 18)  You must be at least 18.

Oh, and one member on my list suggested we never listen to the song, “Afternoon Delight” while driving with one another in a lime green Volkswagon Bug.

This list could go on and on and on and on like Star Trek, but I’m done for the morning. You provide the rest.

G bye

Much of my material comes from those I know and love, or people I don’t know yet despise.  This will be painless.  My brother, who I love, used to give out potatoes on Halloween.  After spending money on countless bashed in windows from the recourse of said potatoes, he has now found some form of redemption regarding the happy day where we can provide cavities for thousands of our tax paying youths.  Steve, my brother, no longer gives out potatoes on Halloween, he gives out advice.

What counselor will be tossed through his current window, and how much will it cost my brother and that young man dressed in a Yota costume for paying for this?  Yota would provide better advice.  “Sacred the Windows they are…..knocks on doors not.  Lay inside, secret apprentice, yes?”

(If it ain’t breakin it, don’t go tryin to fixin it)  Did I quote that cliche properly?  Did y’all hear me?

I’m celebrating today for three reasons.  One:  I have happily, officially and strangely conquered two years of marriage. That’s a personal record.  Thank you very much.  Two:  My anniversary gift to my wife was much like Christmas Eve.  If you are fortunate enough, you are allowed to open one gift prior to the next day when Jesus condemns you to Hell for only going to church once a year.  On our anniversary evening, I gave her the gift of patience.  (luckily….years ago, I gave up gambling……that may have something to do with it)

After watching a full day of college football, I didn’t throw one remote uncontrolled hat, wiffleball bat, cat, or even a couch off our deck.  I did consider tossing our house guest off said deck while watching The University of Washington Huskies lose yesterday.  But, I looked at my wonderful wife, and she provided a look which only can be described as this……………………………………did you get that look?  That’s the only way I can describe it.  The Hulk, Catwoman, or even the dynamic duo of Elton John and the band formerly known as Wham can’t match her eyeballs of terror.

Three:  I’m celebrating my second year of complete sobriety…………oops, I mean honesty.  I drank myself silly yesterday.  I am sending this out to cyberspace before my wife can read it.

(I hope the people, especially the in-laws, Earl and Gail, can discern my sarcastic tone)

Happy Anniversary to all including my current wife.

She’s gonna kill me.

Making the decision on how to rate movies must be a tricky situation.  Since we don’t have any children, we don’t really give a damn about ratings.  It’s my rule to keep things pretty clean when writing, but there is no way to watch a movie such as, “The Big Lebowski” without the glorious F bomb explosions.  That’s why I only watch TV when Seinfeld is on or a baseball game is being played which includes a lovely display of profanity by the players, my wife and her husband watching.  I ain’t no Saint.

One of my six favorite sisters once told me, “Kids are overrated”.  I thought that was funny.  But, sadly, it made some sense. We do have two gigantic dogs and I find them underrated.  We don’t have to save money to send them to college.  We don’t have to explain to them why unions are a phony way to get by in the U S of A.  (I actually respect unions….but I don’t respect the abuse of unions).  Our dogs play catch with me each day, whether it’s outside, in the office, or on the top of our house.  A tennis ball or baseball to them is like a beer to me.  They just have to have one…..or one hundred.

Ultimately, what’s underrated about dogs and children are their smiles.  Dogs smile just like wonderful children, but unlike dogs, many children use profanity just like they are in a local tavern.  Rated R for ridiculous.

I’d hate to know what our dogs would like to tell us some days.  So far, our dogs are rated G……for good.

This morning, I wanted to wish one of my six favorite brothers, Steve, a Happy Father’s Day.       As any good man would reply, he said, “Thanks”.

What I love about my brother is that he is genuine.  And, I think he knew I was speaking genuinely.  That brother, Steve, has done a great deal for me for many years.

Steve has three wonderful children and a handful of grandchildren.  I have none of the above.

But here’s the story.  I also had to ask him how he was going to spend this father’s day.  He replied, “I have to train a bartender”.  (Steve has established and maintained a bar for twenty some odd years……quite a feat.  That’s sincere)

Knowing that training a bartender is a difficult task when his children should be making him breakfast, I asked him a simple question before parting words:
” Can you teach this bartender how not to steal?”

His response?  “Impossible”.

I laughed and wished him a great day.

His laughter was my medicine on this day.

Having a spooky honker, I am capable of smelling many items no other person the age of thirty nine can detect.  I’m also close to being legally blind so my nostrils must do the walking.

Cat Box:  Disgusting, but easy

Dog Poop Patrol: I smell better with my nose and walk more efficiently in my sleep doing that crap

Receipts:  They smell sort of strange, but I have a keen sense of getting screwed, so I am capable of discussing the manner with any banker

Clean cut grass:  I search the world for this stuff because mowing grass smells like something I haven’t had to  do for a long time.

A Baseball Glove:  There’s nothing like the smell of leather which requires molding, shaping, placing beneath your bed, allowing it to marinate in the bathtub, (with epson salts of course) or dousing it with oil.

Napalm:  I’m stealing this from a famous movie, but I’ve heard there is no better smell.  I beg to differ.  My father, fighting in the Korean War, did not find the smell so warming, since he was hit by a patch of it.

A Post Office:  Most humans don’t believe they exist; Completely obsolete.  Today, I found one and I could smell the twenty dollars they required so my mother could receive my letter in time for Mother’s Day.  My sense of smell cost me an hour in line, some profanity and a parking ticket……….my mother is worth it.

Speaking and smelling of fathers, let’s talk about Mothers instead.  They smell of peace, tranquility, laughter, honesty and flowers you forget to purchase them on that sacred Mother’s Day.

I love my mom, just like all of you do your own.  She smells better, sees better, hears better (depending on her batteries) and loves better than anyone I know.

Hopefully, you feel and smell the same about your mom as I do.

Literature carries a dynamic following.  I love reading, but I just can’t handle people quoting established authors these days.  It doesn’t make me feel inferior; it’s just simply not inspiring to me and a tad annoying.  Shakespeare is too confusing, Chaucer once made me throw up, and Emily Dickenson died in an attic before being recognized by many as one of the world’s most prolific and uplifting poets.  She once wrote, “My life is a loaded gun.”  That really motivated me to show up to poetry class the next day when I didn’t have a car, there was a Washington State University, “Thank God there’s a Snowstorm” day, and I didn’t own a gun.  My professor, who required us students to write a ten page essay analyzing a three line poem may have had several caps popped in her behind if God didn’t create that storm.  God was a bit worried about her English teaching welfare.  She canceled class that day.

Quotes are actually great if they do inspire you to quit something.  Mark Twain was a pretty sharp guy when he said something like, “Golf is a terrific way to ruin a nice walk.”  That’s probably a misquote, but it saved me a ton of money, and being forced to purchase collared shirts I don’t feel should be required for walking on grass and utilizing incessant profanity.  I’m so glad my beloved mother never went golfing with me.  She would have been mortified to hear my F bombs explode and echo throughout the county.

Seriously, I do enjoy quotes from the Holy Bible.  They have honestly inspired me to try to live a better and more productive life.  It’s been awhile since I’ve attended Mass, but I know there were some great lines in that Book.  Other than the burning in Hell parts, Sunday Mass always made my Sunday waffles taste that much better.

I have a few quotes of my own, perhaps influenced by 15 years of teaching 11, 12 and 13 year youngs.  I hope they don’t offend you, or maybe I do, because it’s reality.

(These are in no order of importance and some of these are from pedestrians I have conversed with in bars)

“There is such a thing as a stupid question.”  I’ve asked a thousand of them and been on the receiving end of a thousand of them.

“In an interview, never bring your flask.”

“When teaching a class, play as many favorites as you deem necessary….that way, the unfavorites may eventually learn that the ones showing up on time, turning in their assignments and showing respect for peers and authority figures eventually pays off in life.”

“Never spray Formula 409 on your husband’s BLT.  He will divorce you.”

“Count all your chickens before they’re hatched.  It may save you a lot of money and a 13th child.”

“Don’t ever begin a paper with, Hello, my name is Russ, and I hope I get an A on this paper.”  This will result in your teacher not reading the remainder of your paper and giving you an F.

“Don’t ever conclude a paper with, I hoped you liked my paper, please give me a good grade”……because your teacher won’t make it to the end of your paper.  He’s at a bar talking to others about the frustrations of teaching.

“Do be creative.  If a teacher assigns an assignment pertaining to the solar system, and you have to write about a specific planet and how you could convince others to vacation on that planet, write something as follows……..What happens in Uranus, stays in Uranus.  That’s an automatic A+.”  This actually happened to one of my dear friends.

“Praying internally is a magnificent ritual, especially if it’s for others or a passing grade.  Praying out loud sometimes makes people think you are crazy and potentially results with you losing friends, family members and football fans.”

“A wise man once said, offend as many as you can.  That way you don’t have to call or text too many people.”  (I think I just offended  a few friends and members of my family with the praying quote.  That will save me a few birthday greetings)

“Your mother is usually right, and your father usually smokes………………crack.”

“A Christmas Tree is a beautiful thing to waste money on…….much like the Super Bowl.  A brain is overrated, much like Christmas Trees and Super Bowls.”

“Pray in the Masses and for the masses; we all need it.  Amen.”

I almost forgot: “When drinking, always call the one you love.  They really appreciate that at 2 in the morning.”