I had a great uncle named Oscar, and one of my favorite roles was Oscar Madison, played by Jack Klugman in "The Odd Couple". But the Academy Awards leave something to be desired. I have never had much faith in the Oscars ever since "Bull Durham" did not receive best picture. This year didn't change my views. Jon Stewart's opening monologue had me believing that the writers were still on strike. For sure, all the hairdressers in Beverly Hills must have gone on strike. It appeared that most of the fashion stylists had their clients slip into their $10,000 original gowns, and then roll around on the floor for awhile until their hair looked like they just got out of bed. It gets pretty bad when the Oscar for best hair style goes to George Clooney or Regis Philben.
And why put us through all of those awards for set decoration, art direction, visual effects, costume, makeup, etc, when all anyone is interested in are Best Picture, Actor, Actress, and maybe director. You don't suppose it could be so that they can stretch the show out three or four hours and sell advertising. Or maybe the display ad in the paper can read "Winner of 7 Academy Awards!!" I have an idea. Why not give the Oscars away as the halftime show at the Super Bowl. Then we could get it all in one Sunday, and save the other Sunday for bowling.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Boomers
Recently at one of my bowling leagues, the subject of Baby Boomers came up, and one of my teammates claimed Boomership, having been born in 1965!! These “wannabe-me too-come lately” attitudes border on fraud, so it behooves me to set forth standards of Baby Boomerdom. If you cannot remember, you are probably too old to be a baby boomer.
If you remember exactly what you were doing when you heard John Kennedy had been shot, you might be a baby boomer.
If the first game you ever bowled was when the pins were set by a guy with a Brylcreem ducktail, and wearing a dirty t-shirt with one sleeve rolled up over a pack of cigarettes, you might be a baby boomer.
If you were ever at a Minneapolis Millers vs. St. Paul Saints baseball game, you might be a baby boomer.
If you are counting the days until you can draw social security, rather than years, you might be a baby boomer.
If you were ever at a Minneapolis Millers vs. St. Paul Saints hockey game, you might be a baby boomer.
If you ever kept score in open bowling with a big sheet of paper and a jumbo pencil with rounded lead, you might be a baby boomer.
If you watched Butch Levy wrestle Vern Gagne for the heavyweight Championship of the world, you might be a baby boomer.
If you kept the TV on after the match to watch “Championship Bowling” from the West 7th Street Rec, you might be a baby boomer.
If your first grade class was in a janitor’s room, cafeteria, church basement, or somewhere other than a classroom, you might be a baby boomer.
If you ever saw the Minneapolis Lakers play at the Minneapolis Auditorium, you might be a baby boomer.
If “Sputnik” was the first Russian word you learned, you might be a baby boomer.
If you watched the Gophers play Washington in the Rose Bowl, you might be a baby boomer.
If you turned on your black and white TV, and had a choice between Channel 4 and Channel 5, you might be a baby boomer.
If you bowled your first game with a house ball, and you had a choice of black, black, or black with speckles, you might be a baby boomer.
If you went to the penny arcade at the State Fair, and you could actually get something for a penny, you might be a baby boomer.
Part II
If you think the Minneapolis Skippers had something to do with the Aquatennial you are NOT a baby boomer.
If you thought the Beatles’ first album was “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band”, you are not a baby boomer.
If your first car did not have fins, you are not a baby boomer.
If your first date, after securing your first car, was not a drive-in movie, you are not a baby boomer.
If the coin left under your pillow by the tooth fairy was not 90% silver, you are not a baby boomer.
If the tooth fairy left you folding money, you are definitely not a baby boomer.
If you did not qualify as a boomer, don’t feel bad. Go out and get a Jeff Foxworthy CD. You might be a redneck.
If you remember exactly what you were doing when you heard John Kennedy had been shot, you might be a baby boomer.
If the first game you ever bowled was when the pins were set by a guy with a Brylcreem ducktail, and wearing a dirty t-shirt with one sleeve rolled up over a pack of cigarettes, you might be a baby boomer.
If you were ever at a Minneapolis Millers vs. St. Paul Saints baseball game, you might be a baby boomer.
If you are counting the days until you can draw social security, rather than years, you might be a baby boomer.
If you were ever at a Minneapolis Millers vs. St. Paul Saints hockey game, you might be a baby boomer.
If you ever kept score in open bowling with a big sheet of paper and a jumbo pencil with rounded lead, you might be a baby boomer.
If you watched Butch Levy wrestle Vern Gagne for the heavyweight Championship of the world, you might be a baby boomer.
If you kept the TV on after the match to watch “Championship Bowling” from the West 7th Street Rec, you might be a baby boomer.
If your first grade class was in a janitor’s room, cafeteria, church basement, or somewhere other than a classroom, you might be a baby boomer.
If you ever saw the Minneapolis Lakers play at the Minneapolis Auditorium, you might be a baby boomer.
If “Sputnik” was the first Russian word you learned, you might be a baby boomer.
If you watched the Gophers play Washington in the Rose Bowl, you might be a baby boomer.
If you turned on your black and white TV, and had a choice between Channel 4 and Channel 5, you might be a baby boomer.
If you bowled your first game with a house ball, and you had a choice of black, black, or black with speckles, you might be a baby boomer.
If you went to the penny arcade at the State Fair, and you could actually get something for a penny, you might be a baby boomer.
Part II
If you think the Minneapolis Skippers had something to do with the Aquatennial you are NOT a baby boomer.
If you thought the Beatles’ first album was “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band”, you are not a baby boomer.
If your first car did not have fins, you are not a baby boomer.
If your first date, after securing your first car, was not a drive-in movie, you are not a baby boomer.
If the coin left under your pillow by the tooth fairy was not 90% silver, you are not a baby boomer.
If the tooth fairy left you folding money, you are definitely not a baby boomer.
If you did not qualify as a boomer, don’t feel bad. Go out and get a Jeff Foxworthy CD. You might be a redneck.
Friday, February 8, 2008
Casey on the Lanes
The outlook wasn’t brilliant for the Mudville five that day,
They found themselves down fifty with just one frame left to play.
When Thayer doubled in the tenth, the team let out a cheer
And Casey, waiting for his turn, ordered up a beer
But Heywood from the Joe’s Bar team answered with a double
Observers moved to their seats’ edge ‘cause Mudville was in trouble.
Then Gardy tripped a four pin, and Herbie did the same
And when the dust had settled it was just a nine pin game!
The Joe’s Bar team hung in there but their lead had slipped away,
And they could feel momentum swinging Mudville’s way.
When Joe Bob rung a ten pin, the fans let out a shout
The Muds could claim the season if Casey could strike out.
A silence hovered on the folks as Casey took his place
A bead of sweat was forming o’er the smile on Casey’s face.
Casey’s slide was graceful with firmness on the grip
He sent it to the one board and it gave the pins a rip.
Ten in the pit for Casey but that wasn’t half the chore,
The crowd looked on in earnest and pleaded for two more.
And now the resin covered sphere came blistering down the lane,
Another Strike! And Joe’s Bar’s team was grimacing in pain.
It all came down to one last shot, the smile left Casey’s face
The tinkle of a pin drop could be heard within the place.
And now Big Casey grips the ball, and now he lets it roll,
And now the pins are splattered by the force of Casey’s blow.
Somewhere birds are singing and the sun is shining bright,
And somewhere bells are ringing to welcome fall of night.
Somewhere there is darkness and somewhere lamps are lit,
But there is no joy in Mudville, Mighty Casey left a split.
They found themselves down fifty with just one frame left to play.
When Thayer doubled in the tenth, the team let out a cheer
And Casey, waiting for his turn, ordered up a beer
But Heywood from the Joe’s Bar team answered with a double
Observers moved to their seats’ edge ‘cause Mudville was in trouble.
Then Gardy tripped a four pin, and Herbie did the same
And when the dust had settled it was just a nine pin game!
The Joe’s Bar team hung in there but their lead had slipped away,
And they could feel momentum swinging Mudville’s way.
When Joe Bob rung a ten pin, the fans let out a shout
The Muds could claim the season if Casey could strike out.
A silence hovered on the folks as Casey took his place
A bead of sweat was forming o’er the smile on Casey’s face.
Casey’s slide was graceful with firmness on the grip
He sent it to the one board and it gave the pins a rip.
Ten in the pit for Casey but that wasn’t half the chore,
The crowd looked on in earnest and pleaded for two more.
And now the resin covered sphere came blistering down the lane,
Another Strike! And Joe’s Bar’s team was grimacing in pain.
It all came down to one last shot, the smile left Casey’s face
The tinkle of a pin drop could be heard within the place.
And now Big Casey grips the ball, and now he lets it roll,
And now the pins are splattered by the force of Casey’s blow.
Somewhere birds are singing and the sun is shining bright,
And somewhere bells are ringing to welcome fall of night.
Somewhere there is darkness and somewhere lamps are lit,
But there is no joy in Mudville, Mighty Casey left a split.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Teach your Children
We spend the early parts of our lives wishing we were older so we could do big people things, and then when we get there we spend our middle years protecting our kids from those same bad things that we wanted to do. Then as seniors, we wish we were younger so we could do all those things that we planned in our youth but forgot when it was time.
The kids get involved in junior bowling, and we spend a lot of time preaching about how it is just for fun, no pressure to win, just competition and good sportsmanship. Then there are the junior tournaments. No cash prizes, no pressure, just scholarships that are worth more than I paid for my house. Eventually they grow up and join the Friday night Fred Flintstone league at the local center. You know the one where they have a fall meeting where everyone who shows up complains about last year, complains about the rules, complains about the food at last years banquet, complains about the team that always shows up late, makes new rules to deal with all this, and then nothing changes. All this for the privilege to bowl 32 weeks and try to win $200 instead of $150.
I wonder how many of these folks played kid hockey. When I was a kid, we had a stick, a puck, and a couple of “Life” magazines secured around our shins with the wide red rubber bands that came off stalks of celery. Not any more. Now it’s about $1700.00 worth of helmet, mouth guard, elbow pads, knee pads, shoulder pads, skates, breezers, sweaters, ice time, and don’t forget the little plastic thing that protects future family jewels. And that’s just for the six year old mites. It gets more intense as you move through the system. Now here you have a meeting in the fall where no one complains. Everyone sits around with idealistic views of the future, where everyone plays great, all the teams win, and all the kids end up playing for Universities like Minnesota and Wisconsin. The complaining starts about two minutes into the first game. “How come that slug gets more ice time than my kid?”. “Don’t we have someone else that can play goalie?”. “Is that big kid only 6 years old? If he crosschecks my little Billy one more time, I’m going over and smashmouth that coach back to Medicine Hat, and my wife is going over to big kids Mom and rip off her fake eyelashes and smear mascara all over her green Edina cashmere sweater. ($249.95 at the Galleria).”
So what’s the point? In the words of Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young, “Teach your children well, their father’s hell, will slowly go by”.
Plan ahead. While there are a few adult hockey leagues in the Twin Cities, there are hundreds of bowling leagues. And bowling lasts for life. There’s a fellow in one of my leagues that is a spry 93 years of age.
I’ll bet there’s no one over 80 playing hockey.
The kids get involved in junior bowling, and we spend a lot of time preaching about how it is just for fun, no pressure to win, just competition and good sportsmanship. Then there are the junior tournaments. No cash prizes, no pressure, just scholarships that are worth more than I paid for my house. Eventually they grow up and join the Friday night Fred Flintstone league at the local center. You know the one where they have a fall meeting where everyone who shows up complains about last year, complains about the rules, complains about the food at last years banquet, complains about the team that always shows up late, makes new rules to deal with all this, and then nothing changes. All this for the privilege to bowl 32 weeks and try to win $200 instead of $150.
I wonder how many of these folks played kid hockey. When I was a kid, we had a stick, a puck, and a couple of “Life” magazines secured around our shins with the wide red rubber bands that came off stalks of celery. Not any more. Now it’s about $1700.00 worth of helmet, mouth guard, elbow pads, knee pads, shoulder pads, skates, breezers, sweaters, ice time, and don’t forget the little plastic thing that protects future family jewels. And that’s just for the six year old mites. It gets more intense as you move through the system. Now here you have a meeting in the fall where no one complains. Everyone sits around with idealistic views of the future, where everyone plays great, all the teams win, and all the kids end up playing for Universities like Minnesota and Wisconsin. The complaining starts about two minutes into the first game. “How come that slug gets more ice time than my kid?”. “Don’t we have someone else that can play goalie?”. “Is that big kid only 6 years old? If he crosschecks my little Billy one more time, I’m going over and smashmouth that coach back to Medicine Hat, and my wife is going over to big kids Mom and rip off her fake eyelashes and smear mascara all over her green Edina cashmere sweater. ($249.95 at the Galleria).”
So what’s the point? In the words of Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young, “Teach your children well, their father’s hell, will slowly go by”.
Plan ahead. While there are a few adult hockey leagues in the Twin Cities, there are hundreds of bowling leagues. And bowling lasts for life. There’s a fellow in one of my leagues that is a spry 93 years of age.
I’ll bet there’s no one over 80 playing hockey.
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