A Young Kid with a Dream - BUMPED

UPDATE: "He believes in what he believes in." Vonn Miller, on Tim Tebow.

I bumped this because it's a story that just won't go away. After yesterday's thriller in San Diego, I brought this post back, with a question.

Isn't this kind of fun?

Mark Kiszla of the Denver Post suggests that pro sports could use a little bit of enthusiasm for something other than "showcasing my skills" attitudes. Isn't it nice to see a group of professionals rally around the idea that "they" make each other stronger?

From early November:

"It's not show friends, it's show business."*

Tim Tebow. Has there been an equally polarizing sports figure in the last decade, at least here in Denver? Even I - did he ride the Tour de France for Radio Shack, or Garmin? - I have an opinion.


Last week's game against Detroit, he was pretty bad. This week, he made a few plays, got the ball to open receivers and did a bit of running. Got knocked on his butt a few times, too. In the end, he did what professional athletes of all shapes and sizes do - he contributed to his team's victory.

There was a poignant little moment, right at the end, where a few of the Raiders had some after-the-battle comments for him. I couldn't hear them, of course, but the facial expressions and body language said - "Nice game, kid. You did fine today."

Maybe he won't make it. Maybe he has the wrong skill set for the NFL. But, damn...a young kid on a cloudy Sunday afternoon in especially hostile Oakland did the job he's always dreamed of earning.

What a great moment.

SOL? WTF! - UPDATED

Racing engines, flashing lights and a rain of spent brass ringing like tiny bells as they fall to the asphalt - those are the stuff of police dramas. Also...long legs, plunging necklines and double entendre. Is that the plural?

Largely forgotten, unless made compelling by a sad story line in search of a cause, is the arcane world of criminal law. Every officer operates under must/may/cannot statutory language which is often tortured and confusing. While we have repeatedly advocated laws of general application (Misdemeanor "Guilty of Something"; "Driving with Head Up Ass") we are compelled to apply the laws our legislatures (in their infinite wisdom) have written in a way our courts (in their infinite inventiveness) have interpreted. Mostly it works, but sometimes it doesn't and cops aren't the ones who suffer. The victims are.

Countless times a true victim has brought a case to police only to be told that they arrived too late. We could investigate up a storm and nothing would come of it. Are we lazy, stupid or unfeeling? Hardly.

We, and our victim, are shit out of luck. Welcome to the strange world of the statute of limitations.

Bear with me - this isn't what you think.

Back at You

"And you guys...take some more lessons.*"

In what may be TVs version of the "make up call," Jimmy Fallon's (no clue who that is) band played a song titled "Lyin' Ass Bitch" as Michele Bachmann was welcomed to Fallon's show. It's a show, right? Because I'm not sure where to look for it or what his act is.

Really? Really?!

Enough. Like her or not (not especially) she's a congresswoman. At what point do we all stop for a second and ask ourselves.... Selves, does it make us better people, or schmucks, when we treat others shabbily?

Ha ha ha. And then you just look like a big dope.

*Al Czervick (Rodney Dangerfield) to the Bushwood Country Club band, Caddyshack, 1980

Cold Blooded Murder

My friend Mitch and I stood at the sixth-floor window of a nondescript building in Dallas. Below, the freeway ramp seemed within reach. I freely admit the lump in my throat was masking real tears.

Beside us, a Plexiglas wall guarded the corner window, boxes arranged before it in what could only be described as a sniper's nest. From that vantage point one man killed another in broad daylight, in front of the world.

The former school book depository, Dealey Plaza.

No one old enough to recall the events of forty-eight years ago is unmoved each November 22nd. Perhaps each generation grapples with the awful truth revealed that day - I don't know. I lack the wisdom to look before my years and feel. Even at nine I felt something hideous had occurred, something that transcended the vile nature of even a particularly cowardly murder. The man taken from us that day left children, a wife who witnessed the act, family. Something else was stolen.

I'd Rather be in Philadelphia

"Captain Sobel, we salute the rank, not the man.*"

NASCAR fans, apparently forgetting that Michele Obama is the First Lady of the United States, reportedly booed her at a track in Florida this weekend.

I'm not an O-Man fan (not forgetting that he's the President of the United States) so my tepid rush to the First Lady's defense can only be described as reflexive, at best. I've sent as many e-mails questioning the administration's policies as anyone working two jobs.

But.... C'mon, man! It's a car race. She's there to say a few words, hang out and do the grip and grin thing. How about a little respect?




*Major Dick Winters (Damian Lewis), "Points," Band of Brothers, 2001

For an explanation of the Philly reference, Wiki WC Fields.

Amy Painter

My first full length writing project was called A Parasol in a Hurricane. Written in the early days of my quest to gain notice - and a publisher - it didn't go anywhere, but generated substantial numbers of rejections. Rewritten, and then edited by my writing instructor, mentor and email friend Terri Valentine, it continues to garner little fanfare.

Except from me. I admire this character. While most hard-bitten police women one sees on TV or the big screen have a secondary feminine side, I wrote Amy to be the opposite.

One Amy Painter piece that received a bit of fanfare is Over Crab, which won honorable mention in a Writer's Digest short story competition. Click on the hyperlink.

Perhaps someday you'll be able to read Amy's story, now called A Miracle of Ones and Zeros. And pay a publisher a modest sum, which they will share with me. Until then, please enjoy.

Shameful

"Support, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States."

Michael Avery, professor of constitutional law at Suffolk University (Boston), believes it is "shameful" to send care packages to American service members during the holidays. Apparently, boxes full of sunscreen, carmex and nut mix so aid the war effort that those who send them support killers.

Oh.

Who would have guessed a backlash spirited enough to prompt the president of the law school to issue something of a "clarification," reminding everyone that faculty members' personal views, while protected by law, do not reflect the opinions of the law school. Also, that the school has a long tradition of support for military members, programs that aid veterans and educate future JAG officers and so forth. Also, that Professor Avery is an idiot.

Wait.... Strike that last sentence, he didn't write that. Let me.

Happy Belated

"That two battalions of Marines be raised."

I hate missing birthdays, especially this one. To that end, apologies to everyone to whom the wishes should have been timely addressed.

November 10, 1775 is generally considered the birthday of the US Marine Corps. Samuel Nicholas, the first Commandant, used Tun Tavern in Philadelphia as his headquarters and recruiting office. Given all of the Marines I've known it seems most fitting and proper.

My late father enlisted in the USMC during the Second World War and fought in the Pacific. An early wave arrival on the black volcanic island of Iwo Jima, he fought to the end of the battle sustaining one injury - a cut on his finger from a can opener. Evacuated when the island was secure, he returned to their camp in Maui to a tent city of strangers and empty bunks.

Many decades later, ill and suffering the effects of a failed knee replacement, he would summon himself every 10 November, put on a USMC cap and follow my brother out the door to the birthday ball. Treated like a rock star, flirted with shamelessly by women of all ages, he proudly accepted the sabre to perform the annual cake cutting - an honor belonging to the youngest and oldest Marines in the room.

He's gone, as all Marines must someday. Yet, in a very real sense, the men and women who carry on the Corp's traditions give him an eternal presence. As with any immortal, Marines believe that Iwo Jima's sands, Falluja's streets and alleys, the frozen reservoir at Chosin and the many other places Marines have shed their blood for our freedom are hallowed, sacred.... Remembered forever for the Marines who went before them in the service of a higher notion - that free men and women are strong because of the value of the thing they defend.

Happy Birthday, Marines. Happy Birthday, Dad. We miss you.

Midnight In the Garden of Good and Evil* UPDATED

"I should have done more."

I profess no special knowledge of the sordid, sad, unbearably tragic events over the last several weeks at Penn State. The news accounts and talk-show discussions paint an especially disturbing portrait of a popular, talented and vile assistant preying on children. While prudence suggests a caveat - all of the individuals charged or suspected of wrongdoing are afforded the legal presumption of innocence - experience suggests more.

I worked as a child abuse detective for a short period in the mid-nineties. A temporary assignment, I got what can only be described as a chilling glimpse at the nastiness of sexual crimes against children. The offenders weren't readily identifiable (no raincoats or boxes of chocolates), were known to the victim and often justified their acts using variations of the phrase "he/she wanted it." Many of my closest friends passed through the Crimes Against Children unit, staying only long enough to gain investigative experience before accepting reassignment or promotion. The day my boss let me go back to my original gig (crimes committed by juveniles) was one of the best of my career.

Two things struck me while reading about the Penn State situation.

A Young Kid with a Dream - BUMPED

"It's not show friends, it's show business."*

Tim Tebow. Has there been an equally polarizing sports figure in the last decade, at least here in Denver? Even I - did he ride the Tour de France for Radio Shack, or Garmin? - I have an opinion.

Last week's game against Detroit, he was pretty bad. This week, he made a few plays, got the ball to open receivers and did a bit of running. Got knocked on his butt a few times, too. In the end, he did what professional athletes of all shapes and sizes do - he contributed to his team's victory.

There was a poignant little moment, right at the end, where a few of the Raiders had some after-the-battle comments for him. I couldn't hear them, of course, but the facial expressions and body language said - "Nice game, kid. You did fine today."

Maybe he won't make it. Maybe he has the wrong skill set for the NFL. But, damn...a young kid on a cloudy Sunday afternoon in especially hostile Oakland did the job he's always dreamed of earning.

What a great moment.

UPDATE: "He believes in what he believes in." Von Miller.

Mark Kiszla of the Denver Post suggests that pro sports could use a little bit of enthusiasm for something other than "showcasing my skills" attitudes. Isn't it nice to see a group of professionals rally around the idea that "they" make each other stronger?

*Bob Sugar (Jay Mohr), Jerry Maguire, 1996.

Under the Influence

"Then I fell under the influence of Earnest Hemingway's short stories and Bob Dylan, and moved to Paris."

My dear wife, love of my life, listens to public radio to and from work. Whenever she hears something she thinks I'd like (NPR and I had a falling out when they canned Bob Edwards) she calls. This week, it was British actor Bill Nighy discussing his work, and his early life. He described moving to Paris "under the influence." I get it.

Good writing doesn't just tell a story, it moves the reader - to laugh, to cry, to action. Good writing empowers, it creates such intimate relationships that the characters become life-long friends, or mortal enemies. A local film critic wrote a fictional bicycle racing murder mystery that was brilliant. Two books later he killed off a main character, the wife of the original protagonist. I was devastated.

Even average books can leave a reader under the influence of a character, or a place. Shoeless Joe spawned the movie "Field of Dreams" but was an especially uneven read. Nevertheless.... A corn field baseball diamond that the spirits of dead players find? Incredible.

Almost forty years ago, a security guard working graveyard shift at Xerox Corporation in Upstate New York, I read Mitchner's Centennial. Suddenly, it was so clear - my destiny lay in Colorado. Don't ask me how I got from one to the other. In 1977 I loaded my meager belongings into an old Chevy and headed for Denver. Thirty-four years later - still here.

The writer in me celebrates these captivating works, and at the same time struggles to replicate those moments. If that seems a bit pretentious, it is the aspirational aspects of writing that drive my daily migration to the keyboard. Not for the notoriety, and the money isn't all that great for all but a few. The desire to move, to stir.... To have, for example, a J-school graduate daughter (I have two of them) effuse about something I've written, or to make my PhD candidate wife laugh. I'm often frustrated with my meager writing talents.

Feeding the Crocodile

Winston Churchill said, “An appeaser is one who feeds a crocodile, hoping it will eat him last.” Perhaps, where the various occupy movements are concerned we have met that crocodile.

Last week, the mayor of Oakland gave city employees the day off to participate in the “Occupy” rallies. In return, she got a riot. Property damage, injuries, the Port of Oakland shut down. The only city employees not granted the opportunity to bite the hand that gorges? The police.

What was she thinking? Maybe, to quote Young Frankenstein’s Inspector Kemp, “A riot is an ugly thing. And it’s just about time we had one!” Maybe she figured to get out ahead, to appear hip and fashionable when the inevitable happened. Who knows.

Imagine yourself a police officer, on duty as a part of a team charged with protecting your city from the inevitable outcome of an out-of-control mob. Imagine further that portions of the horde throwing things at you are fellow city employees. You know some officers are going to be injured;