One of a Kind

While we were in New Orleans for the Sugar Bowl game between the Florida Gators and Cincinnati Bearcats, we saw an artist painting a portrait of Tim Tebow. The other subjects on display were Marilyn Monroe, Barack Obama, and Jesus. We commented on the elite company that the artist was placing Tebow in. The story below is written by a fellow that writes for the Knoxville newspaper. He says a lot about Tim that I agree with, and he tells it a lot better than I could. Enjoy, Larry

Clay Travis
Clay Travis is a college football Writer.

NEW ORLEANS -- On Friday afternoon, the first day of 2010, an artist named JT Maurer sits alongside Jackson Square in New Orleans's French Quarter. The skies are overcast. Sunlight occasionally spirals down on the milling tourists, illuminating the old gray stone sidewalk. Throngs of Florida and Cincinnati fans, in their requisite blue and red, swarm the old city. On the black iron bars that surround Jackson Square park, Maurer has placed his black charcoal paintings of famous figures for sale.

On the top row, from left to right, rest the following: Barack Obama, Tim Tebow, Jesus.

As the sun begins to decline over across the muddy Mississippi, and night comes on, Tim Tebow's college career still has 60 minutes left, a Sugar Bowl tilt against the Cincinnati Bearcats.

I ask Maurer how the $50 Tim Tebow paintings had been selling.

"Not that well," he says. "I haven't sold one yet. Most people are focused on drinking and they don't want to carry around a painting. Lots of people have stopped and looked, though. I think the Gators are upset about being here."

The only other football figure for sale is legendary Alabama coach Bear Bryant.

"To tell you the truth," says Maurer, "I was kind of hoping Alabama was going to be here again. I was expecting it. Last year, I sold 11 Bear Bryant's to Alabama fans."

My wife stands alongside me. She speaks before I even say anything. "You are not," she says, "buying a picture of Tim Tebow."


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Let me be clear, I love Tim Tebow because he is the most authentic figure in sports today. Maybe, in all of American public society. Too often our sports heroes like Tiger Woods or Mark McGwire are steeped in artificiality. The same is true of our political figures, our religious leaders, virtually everyone in the public arena today is selling us something that has nothing to do with reality. In an age when we crave authenticity more than any other trait, when our television shows seek to capture reality and when players, coaches, and everyone associated with them sells an artificial image of themselves, I love that Tebow is refreshingly honest, direct, disarming, a man in full.

I don't want to be sold a false image anymore.

And, what's more, I don't want a player to do or say something because he thinks I want to hear that. We've reached an era where player and coach answers are so cliched, they don't even realize that they're spouting cliches anymore. We've all seen athletes and coaches interviewed on television so many times that we know what's coming before it's even said; our athletes are all playing roles.

Tebow isn't playing a role.

Because his role isn't to be cool, or to be calculated, or to do anything like that, it's to be as real as real can be.

That's why no matter how many times Tim Tebow scored touchdowns against my team, no matter how many times he triumphed over other teams that I was rooting for, I don't want to see Tim Tebow leave college football.

Watching him play is too much fun.
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As the Gators took the field on New Year's night 2010, come along for an italicized recap of the game interspersed with a retrospective of Tebow's career.

Call it Tebowiana.

1. Do you remember when we all watched Tebow play in the MTV reality show, Two-a-Days?

He was a top recruit then, a home-schooled lefty with a rocket arm. His team lost to Alabama's Hoover High School and a few months later Tebow spurned Mike Shula to join Urban Meyer's first full recruiting class.

Imagine how much the world of college football changes if Tebow picks Shula and Alabama. Is Shula still at Alabama?

Probably.

Forget two national titles, has Urban Meyer won a single national title at Florida?

Probably not.

The fine fault line between success and failure is exposed in that decision, the moment when Tebow first became a star.

Recall the Two-a-Days television conversation.

"Is he good?" a Hoover cheerleader asked.

"Yeah," the Hoover player said, "he's real good."

Indeed.

Kickoff arrives in New Orleans.

One play after Jeff Demps is carried off the field -- Cincinnati fans in front of me are chanting, "See you later, alligator" --Tebow hits Aaron Hernandez with the 19th touchdown pass of the season, and the 86th of this career.

Tebow is 7-for-7 on the first Gator drive.

2. Tebow and Verne Lundquist first became an item on a September night in Knoxville. A then-freshman Tebow came in for a fourth down conversion against the Vols.

The Gators trailed 20-14 in the fourth quarter. Tebow lined up under center.

Shotgun.

I was watching from a sports bar in Auburn, Ala., having just watched Auburn beat LSU 7-3.

"Are they really running him out of the shotgun?" my friend asked.

Yep, they were.

Tebow converted and celebrated on the field.

The Gators won 21-20.

Lose this game and not only do the Gators not play Ohio State for a national title, but they don't even win the SEC East.

On the second drive, Tebow uncorks an NFL-caliber pass down the seam. It's one of three more completions that Tebow has to begin 10-for-10 and give the Gators a 9-0 lead.

3. Then, later that freshman season, came the jump pass against LSU.

I was in Athens, Ga., getting ready for the night game between Georgia and Tennessee. The only thing that united Bulldog and Vol fans was rooting against SEC East foe Florida.

As Tebow threw his jump pass for a touchdown, the tailgate reaction was stunned silence.

Eventually, a Bulldog fan grabbed my arm. "Before he is done at Florida," said the Dawg, "Tim Tebow is going to be more hated in college football than Shane Battier."


Latest College Football PhotosAP500 photos Florida quarterback Tim Tebow celebrates with Boomer Hornbeck, 8, after a 55-24 win over Cincinnati in the Sugar Bowl NCAA college football game in New Orleans, Friday, Jan. 1, 2010. (AP Photo/Patrick Semansky)(Note: Please disable your pop-up blocker)http://xml.channel.aol.com/xmlpublisher/fetch.v2.xml?option=expand_relative_urls&dataUrlNodes=uiConfig,feedConfig,localizationConfig,entry&id=797850&pid=797849&uts=1262415814
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Latest College Football Photos
Florida quarterback Tim Tebow celebrates with Boomer Hornbeck, 8, after a 55-24 win over Cincinnati in the Sugar Bowl NCAA college football game in New Orleans, Friday, Jan. 1, 2010. (AP Photo/Patrick Semansky)
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College Football Photos
NEW YORK - DECEMBER 12: Running back Mark Ingram #22 of the Alabama Crimson Tide speaks after being named the 75th Heisman Trophy winner at the Nokia theater Times Square on December 12, 2009 in New York City. (Photo by Getty Images/Getty Images) *** Local Caption *** Mark Ingram

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A Navy midshipman yawns while in formation before an NCAA college football game between Army and Navy, Saturday, Dec. 12, 2009, in Philadelphia. (AP Photo/Matt Slocum)

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In this photo taken on Thursday, Dec. 10, 2009, Heisman Trophy finalists from left, Stanford running back Toby Gerhart, Florida quarterback Tim Tebow, Alabama running back Mark Ingram, Texas quarterback Colt McCoy and Nebraska defensive lineman Ndamukong Suh gather for a photo at the Home Depot ESPNU College Football Awards in Lake Buena Vista , Fla. (AP Photo/John Raoux)

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Army players react after losing 17-3 to Navy in a college football game in Philadelphia, on Saturday, Dec. 12, 2009. (AP Photo/Matt Rourke)

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Appalachian State quarterback Armanti Edwards (14) scrambles during the last series of the game, trying to find an open receiver, as Montana defensive end George Mercer(92) tries to wrap him up during the fourth quarter of an NCAA college football Division 1 playoff game in Missoula, Mont., on Saturday, Dec. 12, 2009. (AP Photo/Mike Albans)

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Montana quarterback Andrew Selle (12) celebrates win over Appalachian State after the game to advance to the championship next week in an NCAA college football Division 1 playoff game in Missoula, Mont., on Saturday, Dec. 12, 2009. (AP Photo/Mike Albans)

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Montana wide receiver Jabin Sambrano (16) catches the winning touchdown pass late in the fourth quarter against Appalachian State defensive back Ed Gainey (28) in an NCAA college football Division 1 playoff game in Missoula, Mont., on Saturday, Dec. 12, 2009. (AP Photo/Mike Albans)

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Montana wide receiver Marc Mariani (80) leads the cheers as Montana defeats Appalachian State 24-17 to advance to the championship game next week in Tennessee, after an NCAA college football Division 1 playoff game in Missoula, Mont., on Saturday, Dec. 12, 2009. (AP Photo/Mike Albans)

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Appalachian State quarterback Armanti Edwards (14) scrambles during the last series of the game, trying to find an open receiver, as Montana defensive end George Mercer(92) tries to wrap him up during the fourth quarter of an NCAA college football Division 1 playoff game in Missoula, Mont., on Saturday, Dec. 12, 2009. (AP Photo/Mike Albans)

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Montana quarterback Andrew Selle (12) celebrates win over Appalachian State after the game to advance to the championship next week in an NCAA college football Division 1 playoff game in Missoula, Mont., on Saturday, Dec. 12, 2009. (AP Photo/Mike Albans)

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In my column that debuted the term Tebow'd in October of 2006, I even wrote: "Here's a ClayNation prediction for you: By the time he's a senior [if he stays until he's a senior], Tebow is going to make J.J. Redick seem downright lovable in comparison."

But that never happened.

In fact, it never came close to happening.

Of course I also wrote then, "Urban Meyer has forbidden Tim Tebow from ever flexing both his biceps at the same time. The last time Tebow flexed, every coeds' top at the University of Florida miraculously rose at the exact same time. This caused two plane crashes, 96 fender benders and all classes were canceled at the university."

What I should have written was this, "When Tebow flexed, every coeds' top at the University of Florida miraculously rose at the exact same time ... and Tebow covered his eyes."

On the third drive, Tebow runs his streak of complete passes to 12, converts a fourth down on a shotgun draw, and tosses a perfect touchdown pass to Deonte Thompson. He's now 14-of-15 for 168 yards and two touchdowns.

4. Tebow converts on fourth down at The Swamp during Florida's 17-16 victory over South Carolina, and then heads out to The Swamp, the restaurant on University Avenue in Gainesville, for a postgame meal.

People forget once more what might have been. Lose that game against the Gamecocks and Meyer is 0-2 against Steve Spurrier.

Uneasy would lie the headset on the coaching crown.

Instead Tebow carries the Gators to victory.

That night, Tebow goes out for a post-midnight meal. Word spreads that Tebow is in The Swamp Restaurant and gives me the first indication of what it would have been like to see Elvis in his prime.

Tebow is in the building!

There's a rush to the second floor where an 19-year-old is having a meal. Or trying to have a meal. He's swarmed.

Just three months after turning 19, Tebow, wearing an oversized white shirt and jeans, is already a star.

Still more, Tebow leads the Gators to a fourth consecutive scoring drive and with seven minutes remaining the Gators are up 23-0.

Tebow's eye black? Ephesians 2:8-10

8For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God:

9Not of works, lest any man should boast.

10For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them.

5. Being e-mailed 14-million different attachments featuring Tebow wearing jorts.

It didn't matter that the picture was fake, it was everywhere.

Barry Bonds once said: If 70,000 people are willing to boo you, you must be good. Now it's time for the Tebow addendum, "If every Southern football fan has seen you photoshopped in jean shorts, you must be pretty good too."

On their fifth possession of the half Tebow hits Riley Cooper for an 80-yard touchdown. Did you know that they are roommates? I'm told that Thom Brennanman shared the most overtold stat immediately on the Fox broadcast.

Somewhere Verne Lundquist chortled.

6. The next year, in early September, Tim Tebow was stopped by Ole Miss on a fourth down sneak and the Rebels stunned the Gators 31-30.

Lots of attention has come from the "promise speech" that Tebow made after the loss. That's always been secondary to me. Because I was more interested in the response across the SEC.

No one could believe that Tebow had been stopped on fourth-and-short.

What's more, the failure offered a more interesting narrative, a player challenged as opposed to a player who was always dominant. In responding to defeat, Tebow became more interesting than he ever was in victory.

Tebow goes over 300 yards passing, 320 to be exact, with three touchdowns and 28 yards rushing tossed in for good measure.

At the half.

If Florida leaves him in for the entire game, he'll pass for 500 yards.

7. The circumcision of Filipino boys is something only Tebow could pull off.

Yeah, it's absurd and funny. And something that you and I wouldn't do.

No matter what.

Why?

Because even if it's beneficial to someone, you and I aren't touching Filipino foreskin because we would get killed for it by friends.

Question: "Where'd Clay go on his vacation this year?"

Answer: "Oh, you know, he went and circumcised Filipino boys again."

Result: For the rest of my life I hear about this after any friend has more than a beer.

But Tebow?

He makes circumcising Filipino boys cool.

Okay, maybe even Tebow can't pull that off.

At the half Cincinnati has 55 total yards on 28 plays. Tebow has 348 total yards on just 31 plays.

Also at the half Ephesians 2: 8 10, what Tebow is wearing on his eyeblack, is the No. 2 search result on Google hot trends.

What's No. 1?

Tebow cam.

8. Yeah, I asked Tebow if he was saving himself for marriage.

And all his answer did was burnish the mythological and otherworldly image of Tebow. But what it also did, was provide still further evidence that Tebow was refreshingly honest, someone who was willing to live his faith and continue to propound that faith even when it might not be cool.

I'll be honest, if I'd have to choose between being an SEC quarterback on the field, or an SEC quarterback off the field, I'm picking off the field. And you'll know exactly what I've meant if you've ever spent any time on SEC campuses.

In my experience, some of the biggest hypocrites on earth are those who profess themselves religious and evangelize for their faiths.

But Tebow's different.

How different?

My mom e-mails me the Bible verses he puts on his eyeblack.

On the first drive of the second half, Tebow runs his tally up to 366 yards passing and, on fourth down, after drawing the defense tosses a pitch to Emmanuel Moody to put the Gators up 37-3 and end all talk of the Big East being in the BCS title game in the foreseeable future.

Amazingly, Cincinnati was one second being put back on the clock from playing Alabama for the national title.

9. His lack of fear in returning when only a perfect 14-0 season and a championship could sate Gator fans.

Think about this for a moment, the Gators went 12-0 in the regular season and lost a single game, the SEC title. Tebow had a chance to become the greatest college football player ever, but he'd set the bar so high for himself that anything less than absolute perfection disappointed us.

And because he didn't achieve perfection, we devalued him.

Think about this for a moment, if Tebow leaves early, is drafted somewhere and heads to the NFL, do we rank him higher as an all-time player?

I think so.

Why?

Because Tebow occupies such a high perch in our estimation that we would have given him a perfect season and a national title by default.

We really would have.

And, by the way, if you don't favor a playoff then you're a damn fool. Having Tebow end his career in the Sugar Bowl, a game that is virtually meaningless, against an awfully matched team is a complete anti-climax. It doesn't do justice to Tebow's career.

Tebow is now 28-of-31 for 435 yards passing. As if that weren't enough, he scores on a four-yard run to make his tally 471 total yards rushing and passing. That 471 yards is the most by any player in BCS history.

Prior record holder, Vince Young put up 467 against USC in the title game.

What's most amazing about Tebow's yardage?

There's still 2:40 left in the third quarter.

10. Crying at the end of the Alabama game in the SEC Championship.

If any other player on a team cried after a loss, I'd mock them to no end. I might even write an entire column about it.

But somehow this was the perfect ending for Tebow's SEC career.

Why?

Because Tebow cried even though Alabama fans cheered his crying. He's so honest with us, that when his team lost, he didn't even think about the joby he might be providing to Alabama fans via crying. Nope, he just reacted as he saw fit.

And Tebow wept.

On the final complete drive of his college career, Tebow runs his total yardage stats into the stratosphere: 31-of-35 passing for 482 yards and 14 rushes for 51 yards. Add it all up and that's 533 total yards in a BCS game, a record that might stand for decades.

With 3:13 remaining in the game, Tim Tebow leaves the field for the final time of his football career. The crowd, mostly Gator fans, chants,"Thank you, Tebow," Tebow raises his hands in acknowledgment, and one of the greatest careers in college fooball history is over.

But not quite yet, as the witching hour comes to New Orleans, Tim Tebow doesn't want to leave the field just yet. He sprints to midfield, in front of the few fans remaining, and runs a semi-circle around the Superdome field, slapping hands with Gator fans.

Until, at long last, Tim Tebow leaves the building.

"It was better than a dream," Tebow says later.


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For four years, Tim Tebow wasn't better than us, he was honest with us.

And that's why when I show up back in Nashville, I'm going to be carrying a Tim Tebow painting that spent Sugar Bowl week resting on the fence outside Jackson Square.

OK, not really.

But a Tennessee fan even thinking about it, says all you need to know about Tebow's career at Florida.

Our Journey

I walked a mile with Pleasure,
She chatted all the way;
But left me none the wiser
For all she had to say.

I walked a mile with Sorrow,
And ne're a word said she;
But, Oh! The things I learned from her,
When Sorrow walked with me.

ROBERT BROWNING HAMILTON

Some Times You Lose

This past Saturday I remembered what losing feels like and it ain't good. For twenty two straight football games other fans have left football games against the Gators with the same feelings I had Saturday night. Truthfully, I never once put myself in their shoes, I liked winning and most of all I enjoyed being smug about it. I had comforted myself with the certainty that if and when we lost it would be a close game and probably we would lose on a bad call by the referees. Didn't happen that way, not even close. We got our butts handed to us. In Vegas I have always felt sorry for gamblers, I mean don't they know that all of those beautiful casinos and astronomical salaries paid to performers are not financed by people beating the house? I mean, come on how dumb can you be? But, when it comes to the University of Florida football team, I thought they might never lose. How dumb can can I be? Pretty damned dumb.

Two national championship in football and two national championships in basketball, all within in five years. So cheer up, the sun rose this morning and you know what, the sun was still orange and the sky was still blue. Go Gators!

Something is Very Wrong

Last night a pal was relating a story about an American Navy SEAL commando team that had captured an Arab terrorist who had been responsible for murdering American troops and innocent civilians. In the course of his capture the Arab received a swollen lip. He reported to the military superiors of the commando team that while in custody he had been abused. The accusation was one of the commandos had punched him. Three witnesses, who were not members of the team, said his accusations were false. The terrorist had no corroborating witnesses. Based solely upon the word of this self confessed terrorist, the military authorities of the United States decided to court martial the entire Navy SEAL team. I thought my friend had misunderstood the news report. This morning I heard the same story on one of news shows. Incredible, just a jaw dropping, mind boggling lack of judgment by the same American military who ordered them to risk their lives to capture the murderous bastard. Are you kidding me?

How can I put this? The world we live in is insane, completely off its rocker and the inmates have taken over the asylum. What in hell has happened to the military? The word of a mass murderer is given more creditability than that of genuine heroes that have voluntarily placed themselves in harm's way to protect me and my family.
I am astounded at the utter stupidity of all of this.

A few days ago I was watching the news and heard a Marine field grade officer state that his primary mission was to ensure that no civilians are harmed as a result of military action. When did the change happen where non-combatants were more valuable there your own troops? Who decided that even if Americans are under fire and being killed that you cannot return fire unless you are positive that there are no civilians in the area? No one is wearing a damned uniform except for us. They all look like civilians and when you are being shot at it is hard to determine who is a civilian and who is a zealot doing their level best kill you. If you are not ready to do what has to be done to protect our forces, get the hell out.

While I am on a rant, let me add this. If terrorist have my son, or any American soldier captive, and are going to torture and kill him and you have a captive who knows the location where he is being held, do whatever it takes to make him tell all that he knows. And yes, I mean anything. If we lack the will to fight and win the war, then for the sake of our forces, get the hell out.

On Veteran's Day I was watching the news and they did a program commemorating the sacrifice and service of veterans. Guess who they interviewed for their "Profile in Courage?" a North Vietnamese army captain. He told of the awful things he had endured during the American invasion of his country. Maybe he did, I don't care, but couldn't a major American TV network find one American serviceman worthy of mention on, what is after all, an American holiday? So many gave so much and yet an enemy officer is selected for national television as an example of courage and devotion to duty. Keep in mind his duty was to kill American servicemen and women. Something is wrong.

I was born in 1943; the Civil War had ended just seventy eight years before I came into the world. As a boy I heard firsthand from those who had observed a war fought on their soil. Georgia was subjected to tens of thousands of troops being released to burn and kill everything from Atlanta to Savannah a distance of some three hundred miles. Homes were burned, crops destroyed, animals slaughtered and people, soldiers as well as non-combatants, were killed. The great hero of the Union, William T. Sherman said "War is Hell." He proved it to the people of Georgia.

In World War II it was the stated policy of the allies to bring the war to the civilian populations of our enemies. Cities were targeted and carpet bombed. Incendiary bombs were the preferred weapon. Bombing cities was not considered as collateral damage, they were the targets. The war was finally brought to an end by dropping two nuclear bombs on two cities, the citizens of whom were all non-combatants.

Had we applied today's standards to any war we have ever fought, all would have been lost. The South would be an independent country and in all likelihood, both the North and South would be speaking German. Hawaii would be in the Japanese empire and Italy would control Africa. It is hard for a Southerner, especially one born in Georgia to say this, but Sherman had it right. War is hell and those who think other wise are delusional.

Seven hundred thousand Americans dead in the War Between the States, twenty million dead world-wide in World War II and hundreds of thousands more from the other war fought by our country. Worth it? I don't know, but it is fact.

Contrast the mission of bombing the German city of Dresden where forty thousand civilians were killed with a prisoner with a swollen lip. Want a better comparison? During World War II, Germany put five saboteurs ashore to plant bombs in American cities. They were captured, tried and executed in less than two weeks. The revered FDR gave the order and I don't think he asked if they had puffy lips before they were shot. The folks that captured them were given medals, not a Court Martial.

I do not condone anything about war, it is an unspeakable blot on humanity. A testament to the inhumanity and terrible deeds that mankind is capable of inflicting on fellow human beings. However if a government makes a decision to send men and women to fight and die, don't you have to stand behind them? I know that I have to. And when such a gross miscarriage of justice as this trumped up atrocity of a court martial happens, it sickens me and adds to my increasing concern about the direction in which our country is heading. I hope that I am wrong.

As to whether or not the terrorist was punched, I damned sure hope he was.

Slow Saturday in Title Town

This is a great Gator tailgating video.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BCFbx87OAxs

Florida International University is coming to town tomorrow and it is a little hard to get excited. I just do not think the Golden Panthers will be that much of a game. (I wonder if Michigan said the same thing before Appalachian State blew their doors off?) I know, I know, any given team on any Saturday can ruin the season for us. But F.I.U. really? We are four games away from winning it all again and knowing what is to come serves to keep my emotions in check. After this home game we have Florida State and all of the heat that comes with that bitter rival, then Alabama for the Southeastern Conference title. I am confident that the SEC championship game is not only for the conference title, but in reality is the national title game. If Bama can beat us, especially given our terrific defense, then the Crimson Tide will whack the Texas Long Horns. So for me the game in Atlanta is for all the marbles. Yep, you are right, I do have on my Orange and Blue goggles.

The picture at the top is of my nephew and his son. Skip is my brother's son and Jackson is his son and my brother's first grandchild. I first saw Skip when he was just a baby. In April of 1969, my Dad died in Viet Nam. I came home from Alaska and my brother Stan, Skip's mother Robin and Skip came home from California. I had been in Alaska for more than four years and had not been home during that time period. If I remember correctly Stan was in his senior year at Stanford and he and Robin were the proud parents of a new baby boy. It was also the first time my mother had seen Skip and my two year old daughter, Kimberly. Think time does not fly? Kimberly was 42years old this year. Losing our dad was a difficult time for everyone. However, in the midst of our mourning my father's passing, we shared the joy of celebrating his grandchildren joining our family. It was over forty years ago and yet it seems as if it were only yesterday.

So why the picture of Skip and Jackson? I received an e mail from him today and I remembered the first time I saw him. And maybe it is close enough to Veteran's Day that my Dad has been on my mind.

Dreams to Remember

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dhpMMIOccSo

This picture was taken when I was fourteen years old; the young man on my left is my oldest and best friend, Earl Vaughn. Earl and I first met in the second grade and have remained fast friends for the rest of our lives. Like most boys our age, our entire beings were consumed with thoughts of teenage girls and how to act around them. This was eons before HBO, R-rated movies, heck even Playboy magazine was still in its infancy. The only sources of information about girls were "older" boys. Years later I realized not one thing they told us was true.

After every football game there was a sock hop at a place called "The Shanty." (For you youngsters a sock hop is so named because people shed their shoes and dance in their socks) The Shanty was a World War II era Quonset hut and as I remember was located on part of the school grounds. Boys lined one side of the building and girls were grouped on the other side of the room. After finally getting your nerve up to ask a girl to dance, the walk across that floor seemed to take forever. But it was nothing compared to the trek back if she turned you down, Ahh, the pain and humiliation. I am sure walking to your execution is tougher but not by much. At least not to a teenager.

If by the grace of our Lord a girl did agree to dance then I prayed for an Otis Redding or Percy Sledge song. I do not think I will ever again know the absolute passion of holding a girl and feeling so absolutely alive with both anticipation and fear. I am not sure what being bi-polar feels like, but I think that experience came damned close. I mean the thoughts racing through your mind and the hormones rushing through young veins are enough to short circuit a nuclear power plant.

A favorite place to take a date was the drive in picture show. Now in the crowd we ran with you were not taking any young lady out without a pre-date interview with her dad. Water boarding? I would take it anytime if it would have avoided southern fathers of teenage girls. The era of the fifties was not just different from today's morals and customs; it was a completely different universe. If you were going to be truthful about going to a drive in movie, it was required that it be a double date. That left us with a problem namely do you double date or do you lie? Keep in mind being caught in a lie by a father of that era did not merely mean the loss of dating his daughter; it may well portend the end of your stay on the planet. Sometimes we double dated and sometime I risked life and limb and misled the parents. Lie is such an ugly word, misled just flows better. Alright, sometimes I lied.

I think the first girl I ever kissed on an actual date was named Shirley. She was a year older and tried to instruct me in the fine art of osculation. She said to pull your lips back over your teeth and press on the girl’s lips as hard as you could. It would be a few months, or maybe years, before I realized she had a convoluted understanding of what was supposed to be a tender act. Not only did you look like someone with no teeth, you were likely to maim your date. Some where along the line some young lady said "Larry, let me show you a different technique." Yes indeed it was way better and my world took a turn for the better.

I am not satisfied that I caught the essence of what I am trying to convey. I wish I could remind everyone of the absolute magic of first starting to interact with the opposite sex. There was the feeling of being totally lost, confused and yet knowing the best was yet to come. It was such a glorious and yet painful time. but were you ever as alive?

What started me down this thought process was a song I heard this morning. I am putting a link to it at the end of this posting. I am still in awe of how a song can immediately transfer me back in time and bring back long lost memories and emotions. Music has always done that for me. I hope it always does. Dreams to remember, I have them

Note: If you want to get a feel for what it was all about, copy the link below and go to the site, turn up the sound and just listen and remember.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dhpMMIOccSo

Gators and Gamecocks

Menacing looking Gator huh? Think he is menacing? Wait until Saturday night and the Gamecocks see Brandon Spikes with his Edward Scissor Hands gloves on. Oh yeah, there are going to be be some chicken remnants spread across the grass in South Carolina this Saturday afternoon. The Old Ball Coach will wish he had stayed in retirement. Hell is surely coming and it is wearing Orange and Blue!

(I am going to keep this post short just in case I have to eat these words.) There is only one more SEC game left. Tomorrow afternoon we beat the Gamecocks and we will have completed an undefeated run through the toughest conference in college football. Of course there is the small matter of the Alabama Crimson Tide, but we will cross that bridge when we get to it. Football season, undefeated, ranked number one, defending National Champions...you just gotta love it.

I forgot to remember to forget

"The day she went away I made myself a promise, that I would soon forget what now I know. But something sure is wrong, for I'm so blue and lonely. I forgot to remember to forget." Apologies to Elvis Presley for paraphrasing a song he did back in the mid fifties. Just knowing a song from that era tells you how old I am. This Saturday I will be sixty six years old and thankfully I do not forget to remember to forget. These days it seems forgetting is what I do best.

True story; (as if everything else is not) A few months ago I became so concerned about my increasingly frequent memory lapses that I made an appointment with a neurologist at the University of Florida's clinic specializing in Alzheimer's and other brain impairments.

I spent the day being tested, prodded and having my brain scanned. It was an interesting, enlightening and somewhat disheartening experience. After all of the testing and a three hour chat with the head of the Neurology Department he finally asked why I thought I might have a problem. I told him that, for more than twenty five years, I had been an air traffic controller. I had been capable of working more than twenty aircraft climbing, descending and turning and remember each of them. Throughout my life I could hear a set of numbers one time and add them in my head as quickly as I heard them. I always finished first on any exam and could remember phone numbers after only hearing them once. Lately I have trouble remembering my own phone number. I frequently forget why I am looking in a cabinet and/or what I am looking for. People describe events that I attended and I have almost no memory of what occurred and sometime have difficulty in remembering that I was even there. I told him that it didn't happen every day but often enough that I was concerned.

He smiled and said I have some bad news and some good news. I thought why in hell is this man smiling while telling me he has bad news. (Keep in mind his comments about good news went right over my head.) He said, "Larry, can you run as fast as you could when you were twenty years of age?" I said, "of course not." He responded, "Do you have the same color of hair, let alone as much hair?" Again I replied negatively. He said "The bad news is you are aging and your mind like your body is not what it once was." He continued, "The good news is your brain function is average for a man your age, no disease, no abnormality, you are in every mental aspect...average." To make matters worse, he later sent me a three page document attesting to the fact that I am of average intelligence and average mental capabilities. I guess he didn't want me to forget.

Knowing Everything is for the Young

When I was young I had the certainty that only comes from illusion. Now I am old and I have the certainty that almost all knowledge is merely an illusion. Someone much smarter than I coined the above two sentences. Anyone with a modicum of self- awareness knows the truth of the statements. This morning I was reading a three column article written by a college student. This particular youngster had recently spent five hours in a city in Europe and was writing that the city did not meet her expectations. The city has a history of more than a thousand years and it is amusing that someone with less than twenty years on the planet, nevertheless felt qualified to author such a lengthy piece. Equally amusing is whom the local paper selects to publish. The same paper that supports a bicycle path from downtown to the airport so that commuters can pedal to their flights. Global warming could be slowed if only I would load my luggage on a ten speed? However, it does make as much sense as most of their editorials.

I lived in Alaska for a number of years. I spent several years in Anchorage and later lived out on the Aleutian Chain. I fished commercially for salmon and flew extensively throughout the state. Given all of that, I still cannot speak definitively about our "Last Frontier." It has been years since I have been there and while there I only saw a tiny portion of our largest state. While I was in the "Land of the Midnight Sun," many folks from the rest of America and the world would come up for a week's visit and then go home and write a book about Alaska and what was best for the state. It was infuriating to the local folks to be lectured to by people who had zero knowledge of their home.

Everyday I run into people just out of their teens who are absolutely certain that have all the answers. Recently I said to one of them, "You do realize that by the time your are sixty, almost every thing you know will be proven to be untrue?" I always get the same response, it is the same response I had to doddering old folks, they look at me with a mixed feeling of pity and incredulity. I mean, hey, if in the year 2070, Florida is under water from Orlando southwards and if Palatka is on the shore of the Atlantic Ocean, then they will be proven right. However, I am fairly confident that this too shall pass, the world will not be consumed by carbon gases and there will always be another catastrophe just over the horizon.

Does anyone remember the book, "The Late Great Planet Earth?" The author, Hal Lindsey, predicted the world would end during the 1980's. His premise was based on his interpretation of the Bible. He believed the scriptures to say that one generation after the establishment of the state of Israel, (1948) the world would end in fire. (A generation in the Bible is forty years) Note to Mr. Lindsey, it is now late in the year 2009.

Another prophet of doom was the distinguished scientist Paul Erlich. In his best seller of impending doom, "The population Bomb" published in 1968 he boldly predicted world wide starvation and also said all petroleum stocks would be exhausted by the mid 1990's. All creditable geologists now acknowledge there is more oil still beneath the surface than has been found in the past one hundred years. Oh, do you know what Professor Erlich speciality was? Lepidoptera, that's right, butterfly's. Scared the hell out of everyone, lectured at colleges, went on talk shows. He was years ahead of Al Gore, no less well informed, but years ahead.

Don't misunderstand, I know there are going to be upheavals, maybe even on a planet- wide scale. The ice age was a reality but it happened without any of us humans. The dust bowl of the 1930's was absolutely reality but there were not enough vehicles to have been the cause. I have seen the Grand Canyon and heard the park ranger's lecture on what happens when water meets rock for a mere three hundred million years. I do not think even Methuselah lived quiet that long so humans were not culpable for that either. The dinosaurs came and went without human intervention. Yet still, our mother planet endures.

So what is my point? As usual there is not one. I am only smiling at what I perceive as our human arrogance and need for self importance. In the long run I think I haven't learned much as I have gotten older. Mostly I have unlearned a great deal of nonsense, most of it centering around how much I know. I think it is important to unlearn things and from time to time say "I don't have a clue." Maybe the title of this posting should have been "I don't have a clue." because you know what? I don't.

Tentative Thoughts as Told by a Traveling Troll

The picture here is of my oldest son, Don. His mother is the former Sharron Ann Martin. Some of you know our story and some don't, I think I will leave it at that. The only reason for his picture is that I am so proud of him. He has been a paratrooper, a college wide receiver, (fast for a white boy is how he was once described) an officer in a bank and now a Youth Pastor. Don, and all my children, are so much better people than their dad. I have told them how much I love and respect them, but I haven't told them often enough. Don is now a grandfather, earlier I posted a picture of the new baby. Let's see, if my son is a grandfather, that makes me a...great-grandfather. Time marches on...hopefully.

Man doesn't everybody wish that had been a Miami Hurricane, or better yet, a Florida State Seminole, football player with his hands inside of the others player's helmet trying to poke him in the eye? Can you imagine how righteously indignant Gator Nation would have been? At the very least we would have been calling for a public flogging. Unfortunately, this time it was it was our guy.

In the history of the University of Florida, Brandon Spikes has done more for our football program than all but a handful of players. In this incident, he was wrong and there is just no way to justify what he did. However, I am not naive enough to believe that this type of behavior is unusual in football, clearly it is not. Number 51, Spikes, is the middle linebacker and the team enforcer. The play before this happened, the same Georgia back had punched Joe Haden (number 5) in the face. Also earlier in the game a player put his hands under Brandon's helmet, poked him in his eyes and then ripped his helmet off. While his helmet was off, another Bulldog player butted him in the face with his helmet. I was at the game and there was a lot of trash talk and shoving. Both sides were ready to fight and several times it could have exploded into a bench clearing brawl.

Football is an emotional game played by strong, fast, aggressive young men. Some times tempers get out of hand, this time it was one of us. You know what, as far as I am concerned, Brandon Spikes is still a great Gator. He made a mistake but it does not overshadow his tremendous career and contributions. How does the song go? "We are the boys from old Florida, in all kinds of weather, we all stick together....for F-L-O-R-I-D-A."

As far as our opponent from Athens goes, it is no longer a traditional rivalry. We have won seventeen games out of the past twenty contests. That, my friends, is the definition of domination. So the question for the Dawgs is this; Who is your Daddy?

Georgia Florida Week

Is there anything better than this week? Think about it, all year during the off-season we talk football and wonder if the season will ever arrive. Then comes the beginning of Spring practice and we can actually go out and watch the Gators practice. Three weeks later it is time for the Orange and Blue Spring game and we get to see the freshmen perform and a few of the starters. Just as an aside you think we aren't fans? Sixty six thousand came to the Spring game, that is just about double what the University of Miami draws to an actual game. Then comes the long, slow, foot dragging summer that never seems to end. Finally, and I do mean finally, the September weekend rolls around when we kick it off. Usually there is little doubt about the outcome but, it is still Gator football. Following weekends are filled with anticipation of opening Southeastern Conference football, with us, Tennessee is first,(with their lame brained coach.} Afterwards it is game on for the rest of the season. But, there is nothing like Georgia week, especially when you are ranked number one and the hated Dawgs are having a bad year. Does it get any better than this? I don't think so.

The other night I heard someone say that we are going to lose a lot in graduating seniors and they are already worried about next year. Are you kidding me? Next year? What about this year? Man oh man, I want to just enjoy now....you know the present time... Ranked first in the country and seventeen straight wins, the most in school history...how can we be thinking of next year? I never want football season to end, especially this year. In truth I think this is my favorite week of the year. Yep, for me more than Christmas. The kids are gone raising their own children and the holiday present I want is a victory over those folks in silver britches with the red and black jerseys.

Now the down side. We (the Gators) have a lot on the line, the Dogs? Not so much. The Bulldogs would like nothing better than to ruin our season. I am confident that we are the far superior team but I have seen a lot of these games in Jacksonville and not all come out as expected. The older fans, like myself, know that you cannot be certain of the outcome. There is way too much emotion on the line. A stadium evenly divided with forty five thousand football fanatics on each side, teams fired up with memories of past humiliations, it is an electric atmosphere. I can't wait. Just walking through the thousands of fans in RV"s, tents, and smelling the barbecue and hearing the (mostly good-natured) verbal jousting is great fun. With all the rides, flags and team colors, it seems more than a college football game. It is more a combination of a State Fair, October Fest, and a maybe, a medieval jousting match.

Yes indeed, it is Florida Georgia weekend and as Michael Buffer says "LETS GET READY TO RUMBLE!"

From a distance it looked like beer.

This picture was taken in the Joshua Tree National Park the day after Florida defeated Ohio State in the 2006 National NCAA National Football championship. The park has an amazing variety of plant life and animals. Every curve you round appears to be a completely different landscape. Some of the larger boulder strewn fields will remind you of pictures taken on the moon, then around the next corner there are acres of white, onyx, crystalline rocks with pointed spines. The Joshua tree, for which the park is named, is an eerily beautiful plant growing almost straight up with only the top portion having what appears to be a combination of Spanish bayonets and fronds. We were there at sunset and all around us some of the distant mountains seemed to turn blue as the sun was setting behind them. While others still in the fading sunlight, were orange and red. All in all, it was a beautiful afternoon and evening.

I had went there to see the site where Gram Parsons was cremated. What a great story! Gram Parsons was, and is, an icon in Country/Rock music history. In the beginning he was a solo act. Later he played with the Burrito Brothers and the Byrds. He wrote some amazing songs and more importantly he discovered another music legend, the "Gray Goddess" Ms. Emmylou Harris. Rumor is they were involved romantically, but in any case they recorded some wonderful tunes together. Gram and his manager loved the Joshua Tree Park and made a covenant that which ever died first, the other would bring his body to a location in the park and cremate the remains in the park they both loved.

Little did they know how soon their pact would be tested. Gram died a few months later in his mid twenties. His manager got an early morning call from a distressed girl that awakened to find Parsons dead in her bed. The best bet was a rough night of booze, cocaine and sex overwhelmed his heart. Anyhow by the time the manager reached the hotel the body had been picked up and was at the Los Angles Airport awaiting a flight to Louisiana for burial. To make a long story a bit shorter, the manager rented a hearse from a hippie commune and he and one of the members drove to airport and pretended to be transporting the body to the plane waiting on the tarmac. After stealing the body,they carried it to the agreed upon spot in the park. His manager soaked the coffin in gasoline and burned it. Later, the manager said there was a hell of a secondary explosion. He said, "We failed to allow for the amount of alcohol Gram still had in his body." Is that a great story or what? A few years ago they released a movie entitled "Grand Theft Parsons." If you haven't seen it, check it out.

I talked with an old and dear friend of mine today. He and I have stories we can only tell in each others presence. Without our cross verification, no one would believe most of them. Come to think of it, even with our attesting to the truthfulness, a lot of folks still do not believe us. He reminded me of one time we were going to the races at Sebring. My wife had strenuously objected to my going, I seem to recall something about "if you go I will kill you" or something like that. Anyhow, we were driving toward the highway and suddenly a car came driving across a grassy median and thru a row of shrubbery headed straight for my new corvette. Luckily the Vette was nimble and we managed to avoid the wife attempting to carry through on her threat. I don't remember much of that weekend or any other time we were at the twelve hours of Sebring. We wre young and in our natural prime and we did have some times. There were four of us that ran together, Wayne, Floyd, Lee and myself. Only Lee and I are left, Floyd and Wayne left this world far too soon. Neither of them saw sixty, so you can imagine how surprised I am to still be here.

My friend, Lee Simmons was a marine at the siege of Khe Sahn, we were air traffic controllers together in Miami before the PATCO strike and in San Juan when we were rehired. I was the Best Man at his wedding in Puerto Rico, (an event that deserves it's own story) Suffice it to say the entire ceremony was in Spanish and at that time Lee only spoke English. After the vows were over, I said "Hell Lee, you don't know if you are married or have reenlisted in the Marine Corp." We have been friends for almost 40 years. It was good to talk to you today, and no I am not going to tell the New Orleans story. Yet.

Messing with Perfection

This beautiful football weekend was the first time I wished I had the Musstang back. What a glorious time for a convertible. I know the front spoiler was too low to the ground, the motor's rumble a bit too loud and I do prefer an automatic transmission. (I know, I know, I am old) But on a campus in Late October, there are worse things than having the top back on a Rousch Racing designed, Red Mustang.

Saturday night in Starkville was a great college football atmosphere. Mississippi State has made numerous improvements to their stadium since my last visit in 2004. They have the largest and best video screen that I have ever seen. Crystal clear and a great sound system. Before our game they had the Tennessee vs Alabama game on. What a great idea, the fans can come early, get to their seats and watch another SEC football game. Great idea.

The game itself? Didn't like it so much cosmetically, but hey, it is a conference road win. Every Gator fan knows how tough it is in this league to go into another team's house and beat them. All in all, it is great to be seventeen and zero. The State fans were fired up and ready. As an aside, I still do not know how they are permitted to bring in those damned cow bells. I mean they are thousands of them and they are deafening. Artificial noise makers are banned by the Southeastern conference, so what is up with that? They say tradition, but I say to hell with that. What if our tradition was to bring air horns and when the other team had the ball thirty or forty thousand people blew their horns? Think the commissioner would permit it? Me neither. And if you think they are loud in a stadium, let some drunken fans ring them on a bus to the game. Deafening, painfully deafening.

Ya'll all watched the game so I am not going to try and make this a sports column. I will leave that to the nay-sayers at the Gainesville Sun. Just a thought on Tim Tebow, the finest college football player to ever strap on a helmet. I believe Tim came to Florida a better quarterback than he is now. Every attempt to change him has been counter-productive. The young man was the leading passer in the history of Florida high school football. As a sophomore at Florida, he lead the nation in college football passing efficiency. Put simply, I believe he has been over-coached. My thought is this; Coaches have a preconceived idea of what constitutes good passing mechanics and exactly how a quarterback should throw. However,Tim Tebow is a once in a lifetime player with unique physical gifts. He can make unbelievable throws because of his superior physical gifts. A coach looks and say if he can do that using unorthodox methods, what could he do if utilized "good passing" technique? The answer, he doesn't do as well. The attempted alterations and changes to his natural motion is simply too much to think about. He was far better when he was just reacting and having fun. If he were my son, I would say "Tim, just go play forget everything else and just be yourself." Because when he is just Tim Tebow...he is simply the best that has ever played the game.

Memories of Starkville circa 2004

Now the question is this...how shaky is my resolve that Florida will win tomorrow's game? I was last here for the Ron Zook debacle. You remember, when our Gators lost to the same team that had that same year been beaten by the Division II Maine Black Bears? Not Grizzlies, not Polar Bears but Black Bears? During the morning, while driving to the game, I had been informed of the result of my ill fated candidacy for the National Presidency of our Union, I lost by thirty seven votes. The young man that called me with the election results started our conversation by saying, "Larry, great news! you carried the Southern Region by a 7 to 1 margin and had a landslide win in the Alaskan Region." I said, knowing full well I was not talking to the sharpest knife in the drawer, "So I won?" He said "No, She did by 37 votes." Alas, my hopes for doing far less work, with even more time off and for more money were dashed. What, you thought I was altruistic?

Arriving in Starkville that year we found the fan base of Mississippi State resigned for the coming beat down. A common refrain from the wearers of the Maroon was " Hey, please take it easy on us, save something for Georgia." And while we were magnanimous in our verbal responses, inwardly we were confident that Custer had came out better at Little Big Horn than their team would with the Mighty Gators. Didn't quite work out like that, I left that Stadium as depressed and angry as I can remember. However, after the game our coach, the aforementioned Mr. Zook, on his post-game radio show took my anger up a notch or two when he said "I am proud of our team they did everything I asked them to do." I was livid, almost screaming at the radio, "Did you ask them to lose? huh Ron, did you ask them to lose?" But then I remembered a bit of poetry..."Be still my heart and cease repining, behind yon cloud, the sun is still shining. Some days must be cold and dark and dreary." The sun was indeed about to Shine, on Monday Zook was fired, later Coach Meyer accepted the Florida job over an offer from Notre Dame and all was soon to be well in Gator Nation.

BBQ Joints and Alligator Farms

Can anyone tell me why there is never an alligator farm that is the biggest in the State? or City? or the South? Why is every damned one of them the "Biggest in the whole wide World? Think about it. While you're at it, why is every BBQ joint posting awards and reviews claiming they have the World's best BBQ? I mean if you have the best BBQ in Mississippi, ain't that pretty darn good? But noooo! it has to be the best in the world. Just something else to drive me closer to the edge.

We tried to end run the weather today by driving North to Atlanta, then I-20 to Birmingham and through Tuscaloosa to our hotel in Columbus, Mississippi. For the most part it worked but added a Little more than an hour to the trip. We encountered light rain leaving Atlanta and then about twenty miles West of Atlanta it turned into a downpour. Fortunately, it only lasted for about an hour and more fortunately that wasn't my segment to drive. Timing folks, gotta have it. I thought all in all her driving was admirable and I am sure my finger nails will grow back.

Anyone remember the song "Am I Fool Number One"? The opening lyrics went something like, am I fool number one or fool number two? Well, in traffic I changed the lyrics to "Are you moron number one? or moron number two?" How many other drivers have been killed by fools like you? I know the number is far from being small, but until now, you are the biggest moron of all. (close quotes with apologies to Brenda Lee) That directly reflects my opinion of an ever growing number of drivers with whom I unwillingly share the road. I don't have time to go into all of the stunts, hair raising tactics and just plain stupid episodes of driving we encountered on this trip. Suffice it to say that I called 911 to report a drunken driver on I-75 before we were twenty five miles from home. When he continued to swerve from the right shoulder to the left median, I thought "why the poor man must be ill." Jeannie said that what I actually said lets call the police before this damned drunk kills us. (expletives deleted)

Anyhow we made it here and checked in without any problems. In the lobby we met a guy from Hattisburg, Mississippi, he is a huge Gator fan. He is here with his wife and three young sons. He told one son, who appeared to be about six years old, to show us what you do when you meet another Gator fan. The boy began doing the Gator chomp. It is sad that as football grows more and more expensive colleges are pricing many families out of the opportunity to see their teams play. It may turn out to be a marketing mistake to disregard cultivating the next generation of fans and boosters.

We ate at a local landmark, "Little Dooey's BBQ" Great food, every bit as good as advertised. Jeannie had catfish and hush puppies, I of course, judging by the name of the place, had pulled pork. The sign said BBQ, right? Everything, even the catfish was great. Hey wait a minute, did I say as good as advertised? I take it back, it was really, really good but not the best in the entire World. But definitely real good.

Today is the pre-travel day before the eight and one half hour trip to beautiful Starkville, Mississippi. What in hell were their city fathers or founders thinking when they named the place Starkville? Talk about a tough place to recruit football players. How they get a kid to come there instead of Gainesville, Baton Rouge, Columbia, Nashville or Athens is beyond me. It is not near anything and has nothing to recommend it to a testosterone filled eighteen year old boy looking for adventure. Well, there are the co-eds. Mississippi has produced some striking young ladies and as I remember beautiful girls are fairly important to young men. (and old men)or so I have heard.

We will leave around eight in the morning. The question is do I follow mapquest and go through Alabama via Montgomery and then West or do I choose the slightly longer route via Atlanta and Birmingham. Google tells me the Atlanta route has far better highways but I am yet to drive I-75 when construction wasn't a significant impediment. What has the world came to? I am actually debating over two navigation systems that I did not know existed a few short years ago. Then, of course, I can simply type the address of the motel in the GPS and follow the instructions. Heavy rain is forecast along the whole route.

Enough of the travel talk. Oh and by the way, the good looking baby in the picture is my first Great-Grandchild. Am I proud? You bet I am. My son, the baby's poppa, tells me I should be proud because without me none of this would have been possible. I believe that my dad, his dad and his dad's dad live on through all of the children, grand children and now great a grand child. My dad died in Viet Nam before he ever saw his grand children. It is left to me to also look for him. He would be proud of them and they of him.

A letter to my oldest friend

June 19, 2008

1:50 PM

Response to Earl Vaughn's E-Mail



Earl,



I appreciate the music; I have been a big Tom T. Hall fan for a long time. I heard him once say that his middle initial "T" was an abbreviation of his middle name which was also Tom. Thus, his name was Tom Tom Hall, I don't know if it is true or not, but if it's not, it oughta be.

You mentioned that I seem unhappy, or to be more precise, "disgruntled." Disgruntled is probably too mild a term to describe my feelings about the world in general. The adjective I would pick is cynical, followed closely by amused resignation.

With all my heart I believe the Country is on the wane but the bright side is the Country will become what the people that wanted change deserve. Better them than me, and thankfully it will be them.



One of the reasons that I see little hope for us is based somewhat upon my years as a Human Resources Director. One of the first positions I had was in charge of Broward County employee testing; The United States Justice Department required that our entire county workforce be balanced. In other words we had to have the same percentages of minorities and women as the county. To accomplish this requirement we had to adjust written test scores based solely on ethnicity and/or gender. Any written or physical test which were given, had to have the same number of eligible minority or female applicants as the number of white males who passed the test.

We had to establish passing points for all written tests based upon the results for each minority or female group and then scale all of that particular group's scores accordingly. This system is called “test weighting.” IN order to have a sufficent number of minorities I once had to set a passing point at 38 percentile for one group and 86 percentile for another group taking the exact same test. Are you still following this? Hence, a person making an actual score of 39 would pass with an adjusted score of 74. The white males, with far higher grades, may have a person make an actual score of 85 percent but because of a “weighted” score, fail the exact same test. In other words the white guy answered more than twice as many questions correctly as did his minority counterpart. Yet, the white male failed and the minority passed. Neat system? you bet, fair? No way.

After all of the tests were scored, we ranked candidates by their adjusted or “weighted” scores and selected police officer and firefighter candidates based upon those scores. No one taking the tests was ever told the tests were adjusted because it would "appear" that our testing system was "unfair" and worse, it would indicate that some groups scored less well than other groups.

Stay with me a second, lets just suppose that the selection process for athletics were conducted in a similar fashion. For example, if I ran a hundred yard dash in twenty seconds, under test weighting, the timer would tell me I ran it in ten seconds. Then another person, from a different ethnic group, runs the same distance in nine seconds but the timer would tell that person that their time was twenty five seconds. We would all wonder why our team was so slow when our recorded times were so fast.

I think most folks would agree that it would be silly and dishonest to lie to people about their performance, particularly in something as trite as athletic competition. But, if that is true, why does it make any sense to use weighted testing when selecting those involved in life and death professions?

As an aside, all of us were “astounded” when many of the candidates, with artificially inflated scores, later had problems in performing their assigned job tasks. It was even more inexplicable given how well they had performed on their entry level examinations.



The United States Department of Justice mandated this testing practice to enable employers to meet established goals, not quotas. It is a mantra in human resources that thou shall not use the word quotas, it is far too insensitive. The goal was to have a workforce that reflected the racial makeup of our county. Kind of like the "ethnic balance" of the workforce in the National Basketball Association huh? A quota is illegal, a goal is not, unless, alas you fail to meet the goal. In our case, the Federal fine for failing to meet the goal would have been $50,000 per week. A few years later the Justice Department was sued by a white job applicant who claimed discrimination based upon race. Only then did the Justice Department discover that employers routinely used test weighting in employee selection. This was the same Justice Department that had not only designed the system, but also went into federal court and mandated that it be implemented. Now their story became, and I quote, “We are dismayed, weighted testing is blatantly unfair and we demand this outrage be stopped.” With a giant sigh of relief employers complied.

Heck, it is a lot easier to score a test once and not have to re score them using the Justice Department formula to weight the scores. Subsequently President Clinton came into office with his new Attorney General, the ever lovely Janet Reno, the system was reinstated. Luckily they changed the name, it was no longer weighted testing, it became "enhanced testing." Cynical? Why on earth would I be cynical?

I mean pick a football team based on "weighted" forty yard dash times, weights lifted, and disregard previous work experience and go compete against those who use the traditional method of player selection. Oh, and then your team must be fifty percent women, eighty percent white, twenty percent Latino and have disabled people. Think you will win many games? Me either, but that is the current American work place. Wonder why the Chinese and every other civilized country is beating our brains out in world trade and commerce? Could it be? No that is not politically correct, and we can't ever be insensitive, even when it is God's own truth.



But to give the devil his due, the testing process worked splendidly in Miami. They only had 83 police officers indicted for drug trafficking, racketeering and murder. For that particular group, all entry level testing had been suspended. You see Miami also needed to balance the work force. In their case the reason the testing was suspended was simple. The written tests were in English. Couldn't do background checks, too many minorities tended to have criminal records. Fortunately for the citizens of South Florida, the criminal court system had interpreters.

When I was rehired to be an air traffic controller in 1998, I had a chance to see the impact on my profession, air traffic controller. Disastrous is not too strong a term. People controlling traffic who had never flown, could literally not tell a Piper Cherokee from a C141 Star lifter and some had failed radar training three or more times.



Alright, enough of this whining about the world according to Larry. Things I like in no particular order are; college football, San Francisco, New Orleans and leaving Puerto Rico.



Among the things I love are; lyrics by Kris Kristofferson, songs by the Eagles and Credence, my friends, family, cold draft beer, my former job as an air traffic controller and leaving Puerto Rico.



Actually, I am one of the luckiest people in the world. I have survived a lifetime of abusing my body and whatever is left of my mind. I have had a multiple cardiac by-pass operation. I have been blessed by the friendship and love of so many wonderful people. I have seen things I never even knew how to dream about. With my own eyes I have seen my children, grandchildren and hopefully soon, my first great grandchild. I have seen an Alaskan volcano erupt, seen and felt the earth move in a quake. I have seen just how vodka clear water can be over coral reefs in the Virgin Islands. I have seen bullfights in Madrid, skied mountains in Colorado, fished for Salmon in Alaska, and the sunset in Key West. I lived to see my team, the Florida Gators, win a college football championship, back to back National championships in basketball, Muhammad Ali fight and Hank Aaron hit home runs. I have sat in Nashville bars and heard country music like it was meant to be sung and I have stood in the Ryman auditorium, the Mother Church of Country Music and heard Vince Gill sing. I even married the first girl I ever loved, although it did take awhile. And how did that turn out? Moving right along, did I mention, I once saw Puerto Rico fade in the distance



I don't think that I am actually all that angry. Maybe I am a bit like the quotation on Robert Frost's tombstone, "I seem to have had a lover's quarrel with the world."


Your pal,

Larry.

Winning and losing

One of the questions I ask myself about this time every year is whether or not I am going to give up following college football. I am serious, really I mean it. For a long time I have wondered if I hate seeing my team lose more than I enjoy them winning. I already recognize that I have an adolescent passion for the game. More specifically, for the team I follow, the Florida Gators. I have always lacked perspective on most things. I am impulsive and I tend to be overly controlling and just a tad obsessive. From the crib forward, I have been this way, sometimes it is helpful, usually it is not. As someone once said to me, "Son, moderation ain't your high suit."

For a passionate fan, football, or any other spectator sport, is the antithesis of what a control freak really wants. I mean in my heart I know the players on the field want to win far more than me. But when I am caught up in the moment, I think that fumbles are meant to cause me personal dismay and interceptions are a deliberate stab in my heart. Yesterday, Florida played Arkansas. Florida was on the receiving end of six sacks and we lost four fumbles inside the opponent's twenty yard line. Based upon my view of the game as being intensely personal, every time our quarterback went down I blamed an offensive lineman for deliberately blowing his blocking assignment for the sole purpose of heaping more misery on me. The fumbles cut up my heart more than the six way cardiac bypass I had in Puerto Rico. I left the game physically and emotionally drained. What a way to spend a Saturday afternoon. So much energy expended, so much tension and worry and for what? Watching eighteen to twenty year old young men play a child's game? All that money, time and emotion in a situation over which I have zero control of the outcome? Maybe it is time to give it up. Did I mention we won? Yep, came back and kicked a field goal with nine seconds remaining in the game. Did I also say we are undefeated? Or that we have the longest winning streak in America? See what I mean, I focus on the negative and glide right by any contrary information that might make me rethink my belief that the game is played only for me. The other ninety thousand fans are merely extras in my movie and are no more relevant than background noise. Egocentric? You decide.

I like Kris Kristofferson

Silver (The Hunger)


Silver was a rounder with a wicked reputation
words were his magic and his madness rolled in one

It's said he charmed the fairest hearts of this world's fairest maidens
Quick as silver mercury and slippery as a song

Winding like a river through a thirsty world of strangers
Carving out a legend in a dream-forsaken land

Silver took his pleasures just as freely as he gave them'
Cause hungry eyes weren't quick enough for Silver's flashing hands

Then once upon escaping from the world of silk and shadows
Suddenly growin' sicker of the secrets and the shame

He stumbled onto something real that beckoned like a candle
And never lookin' backwards, he surrendered to the flame

Silver moved instinctively within her soft defenses
Soon unfolding mysteries he'd never seen before

And wakening an ancient need, she slipped inside his senses
And Silver took it easy as the closing of a door

Then soon he touched the secret fears she'd hidden with her sorrows
Darker than her raven hair and deeper than her eyes

And he dared to try to lead her to the sunlight from her shadows
Following the line between her laughter and her lies

But Silver left his magic with the legend he'd abandoned
Love had stripped him naked of illusion and it's charms

Then one long night her changing mind took kindly to a stranger
And morning found her moving in the golden stranger's arms

Because Hunger, is the surface, of a darkened pool of sadness
Silver pale reflection of a deeper need below

Mystery and magic are the holy forms of madness
Sacred as the ecstasy that slumbers in your soul

Silver stared in silence at the tangled scene before him
Time was burning frozen in the oceans of his eyes

And sadly turning backwards to the world that he'd forsaken
He donned the shining mantle of deception and disguise

Slowly, with the patience born of silent desperation
Silver worked his way into the darkness of her mind

Weaving through her conscience like a chance she might have taken
Sadder than the shadows of the love she'll never find

And Silver's spell was stronger than the softly smiling stranger
Whose star was burning smaller in the naked light of day

And Silver took her hand again, a wiser man, but sadder
Ready for the stranger who would steal her love away

Because Hunger, is the surface, of a darkened pool of sadness
Silver pale reflection of a deeper need below

Mystery and magic are the holy forms of madness
Sworn to free the ecstasy that slumbers in your soul

Gators win the game finally

It is two in the morning, we had a great time at the game. Throughout the evening the skies were dark and threatening, it looked as if we were in for torrents of rain but amazingly just a few sprinkles. I am glad because guess who left the ponchos back in Gainesville? Here is a hint, it wasn't Jeannie. We have had a wonderful time and I want to tell you about some of the funnier events but it will have to be tomorrow. Most importantly the Gators have played five games and we (the mighty Florida Gators) are undefeated. In the world of college football fans that is what matters. Adios, no mas...no mas...no mas Buenos Noches all.

Here come the National Champions

La Vie est Bonne

I know that everyone says a line outside of a restaurant portends good things to come. If the place is so busy that there is a long, slow moving line, the food served must be good. Okay, I get it. However, standing in line is one of my least favorite things. Come to think of it, I have never met anyone who said standing in line was one of their favorite things. I am sure they are out there. Hell, I even met a lady that was a big fan of Richard Simmons. Richard Simmons? She loved him, thought he was funny and could not get enough of the ingratiating little pest. I never again asked her another question, nor did I ever turn my back on her, just a little too scary and a little too far out there in the infinite. But, I digress.

Meanwhile back in line at Mother's Restaurant on this specific hot and muggy early Autumn night, we hear the first the low rumble of thunder, then feel the initial drops of rain as they began to fall. We are outside, there is a small covered porch where the first three or four people in line are huddled. When the rain begins, the original four people on the porch become eight or nine. All crammed together and trying to obtain some part of the small roof to protect them from what was a rapidly approaching line of thunderstorms. Then it gets better, the diners inside having completed their meals, (lucky bastards) come out onto the same tiny porch. They linger there while trying to decide whether to run to their cars or to return inside and wait out the rain. I don't care what you do, but pick one! Pandomonium is the order of the day. To quote our beloved leader, "never waste a crisis." In all of the confusion we slip inside with the diners that are returning to sit out the rain. Inside and dry at last, I look out through the glass of the door at the poor wretches still stranded outside subject to a driving, wind blown rain. Another prime example of survival of the fittest, or in my case, survival of the fattest.

We ordered Crawfish Etouffee, Fille Gumbo and a house Po-Boy sandwich. I learned several things, first Etouffee literally means "smothered." The vegetables are smothered in onions, okra and a sea food stock, which is ever so slowly reduced down to a roux. Rice and crawfish are added and New Orleans voodoo does the rest. Thats the best I can do, want more? Try Justin Wilson, wait a minute, that Cajun is dead. Oh well, then it is Google, Food Channel and ultimate Etouffee. Enough about food, everything was wonderful, more importantly Jeannie was estatic about the entire meal. Sometimes you just need to leave well enough alone, I think I will. We are back in the room. New Orleans on a Friday night and I am in my room and more content than I can ever recall. The title of this post is wrong it should be, La vie est magnifique!

Outbound to New Orleans

"Good Morning John,". "Hi Larry, are you on the road? I said, "Yep, we are about eighty miles from Gainesville." John Responded, "I just got off the phone with my brother Randy, his flight was cancelled due to weather and he is driving from Dallas to Baton Rouge." I had this telephone conversation with my friend John Morgan this morning. He was in Gainesville in his truck, I was on I-10 headed West for New Orleans and then on to Baton Rouge. Earlier John had spoken with his brother in the Dallas airport and learned of the flight cancellation. What struck me about this was how common it has become for us to be able to instantly communicate with anyone anywhere. I know I am old but damn it, it is still astounding . A phone smaller than a book of matches and not only can you talk, you can send pictures, movies, hell I don't know what else. Push a button and see it now. Magic it has to be magic.

We made it to New Orleans around four o'clock our time. Luckily we missed most of the rush hour traffic. For those of you familiar with New Orleans, we are staying about a mile from the Cafe Du Monde and Jackson Square. (Tomorrow I will try to post some pictures.) The Hilton where we are staying is an absolute bear to find. It is down a two way, single lane street with cars parking on both sides of the byway. You hide behind the parked cars and wait until the head-on traffic passes, then you seize the right of way and hope the other drivers extend you the same courtesy. We waited fifteen minutes while cars streamed through in the opposite direction. Madness, pure madness but having lived in Puerto Rico, I know sometimes all there is left to do is to laugh. I tried my best to see the humor in all of it....but I enjoyed swearing much more.

Alright, tonight we are off to a local eatery that has been recognized as having the very best Etoufee in America. The New York Times food critic said it should be a historical landmark and no one should be able to serve Cajun food that has not first eaten at "Mother's." Those of you that read our cross country blog this summer will remember that we have eaten here before. Unfortunately we did not know of their reputation for Etoufee. Worse yet, I talked Jeannie out of ordering it in favor of another dish. The food was exceptional. Indeed, everything was peaches and cream until we returned home and she watched the Travel Channel. They had visited several cities around the world each known for exquisite cuisine. They narrowed the dozens of location visited to five finalists. They then selected each establishment's signature offering. Yes indeed, when the announcer said the only restaurant in the South making the list was "Mother's Cafe" in New Orleans, we both sat up. You know how that is right? Hey look, we have been there! The feeling of goodwill lasted for about ten seconds, Then the food critic said to go there and not eat their Etoufee was criminal. Jeannie looked at me, and with that look I knew we were going back. And here we are.

South Louisiana

I first went to New Orleans forty eight years ago. By going to New Orleans, I was living the dream of many young men of my generation. Since first learning to read I had wanted to visit this den of decadence. Man alive! Bourbon Street, Strippers, Dixie Land Jazz, Strippers, famous saloons Like "Pat O'Brien's", Strippers, Cajun food and did I mention.... STRIPPERS!!! Keep in mind I was eighteen years old and if I didn't think about girls at least twenty three hours a day, it was either a slow day or football season. How was my very first visit to the Crescent City? Truthfully, I don't remember very much. I do remember being sick, I mean multi-colored, projectile vomiting sick. So in one of the worlds best cities for dining what was my very first taste of New Orleans cuisine. Sadly, it consisted of a chili dog purchased from a cart on Bourbon Street. Maybe that is what made me sick, or it might have been the booze? Nah, it was the hot dog. I mean I only drank a couple of Zombies, three Hurricanes, a Singapore Sling and a lot of beer. How could that have made me ill? Hmm...should I rethink almost five decades of blaming the chili dog ? No, I will stay with my life time habit of often being wrong, but never uncertain.

Many years later I went to the New Orleans Heritage and Jazz Festival. If you haven't been to this celebration, make plans to go. It is held over two weekends in late April or May. There are more than a dozen stages featuring headline musical talent. The performers are diverse and every genre of music is represented. From Willie Nelson, to top flight Reggae artists, there are gospel choirs, the Neville Brothers, the elite of jazz musicians, and the best of Nashville singers, all are a part of this phenomenal festival. As good as the music is, it may be topped by the food. Restaurants and caterers from all over the country bring their talents to this show. For me, it all about having the chance to eat so much exceptional Cajun food. You can hurt yourself eating and I always set out to do just that. Do not ask if they serve alcohol, I already said it was a New Orleans festival. If there are any businesses in Louisiana that do not sell alcohol, I have yet to run across them. To tell you what an impression the food made on us, I ate in a tent set up by Hebert's restaurant. (the name is pronounced as A-Bears) The main business is located in Houma, Louisiana. When the festival ended I went to Houma and stayed for a week. I ate in Hebert's every day and evening. On Friday nights and all day Saturday they have a Zydeco band and a party as only Cajuns can throw them. It was a blast. My first visit to Houma was over ten years ago, I have gone back almost every year since.

There is just something about all of South Louisiana that I love. It is beyond the partying, the wonderful food and the unique accents. There is great beauty there and an underlying peacefulness that speaks to my soul. On one of our trips I visited an open-air pavilion under a group of cypress trees. The pavilion had been converted to a local bar. It was only about a hundred yards from the shores of the Gulf of Mexico. This is as deep South as it gets. The inland waters of the Gulf were a translucent, smoky green. A local at the bar told me it was from floating seaweed. Looking further out I could see where the water changed to a dark blue. There were brown pelicans diving along an off shore sandbar. I sure hope they had better luck fishing that day than I did. Drinking ice cold Dixie beer and listening to the accent of folks who are more at home in their version of the French language than English made for a memorable afternoon. For that day it was great to just listen to the sea breeze blow through the hanging Spanish moss, watch the water and just enjoy being alive. Maybe that is what the bayou country of Louisiana is to me. A place where time seems to slow down and everything smooths out.

Enough already, On Saturday my fondness for Louisiana disappears. Beat LSU like a drum! Go Gators!

Football and passion

The football season really warms up this week. The mighty Gators go to beard the Tigers in their den. Two years ago we were in Baton Rouge for the game and the crowd was unbelievable. Over twenty thousand people who were without tickets were there just to party. The Cajuns started drinking about nine in the morning for an eight PM kickoff. We rolled in about seven in the evening and walked around just observing the crowd. Lots of drunken revelers wearing the Purple and Gold, cooking gumbo and screaming various versions of their fight song, "Hold that Tiger." They have a huge Bengal Tiger as a mascot. They have constructed an elaborate facility for him that rivals any thing you would find in the San Diego Zoo or Busch Gardens. It is really first class. Mike the tiger lives well. When the game started, Florida won three and a half quarters of that game, we absolutely dominated them but the game is a full four quarters and when it mattered LSU delivered. On the final drive five times they went for it on fourth and short and all five times they made it work. Lucky or good? Doesn't matter they won, and went on to win the National Championship. After the game we got on the local "express bus" and it did not move for three hours. We reached our hotel room after four in the morning. Are these out of town football trips fun or what?

The plan is to leave Friday morning and drive to New Orleans. Dinner in the Crescent City is always a treat and we are looking forward to great food. New Orleans is a city in decay, Hurricane Katrina made it worse but the City has been caught in a downward spiral for several years. It is a truly dangerous place and you need to always be aware of your surroundings. Having said all of that, it is one of only a handful of cities that is truly distinctive. San Francisco, Key West, Santa Fe and one or two others are true "one of a kind places." Most American cities are so similar that if you unexpectedly woke up in most of them, you would have to ask where you were. New Orleans does not fit the category of cookie cutter towns, it has soul. It is a unique combination of cultures and people. New Orleans has always reminded me of an aging prostitute wearing heavy make up but with the age and mileage lines showing through. I began a love affair with New Orleans almost fifty years ago, but I have reluctantly concluded that I may love my memories of what she was more than the present reality. I hope not, I need my youthful view of "the City that Care Forgot." Just another romantic illusion? probably, but hey, I am full of those.

We are debating whether to remain in New Orleans for the weekend or to go deep into Cajun country over near New Iberia or Houma. We can stay in the city and take a bus with the New Orleans Gator club to and from the game. The other alternative is to get rooms further South into the bayous but closer to the stadium. If we had more time I would definitely spend it in the smaller Cajun towns. You have to experience them to believe it. The Zydeco music, Cajun food and the absolute devotion to having a good time is unmatched. There are many locations where people start cooking and drinking well before the noon hour. They have a band outdoors under giant oak trees and another group inside, all ages from the elderly to toddlers are up dancing to the music made by guitars, wash boards and squeeze boxes. Man do I love it! Those French descendants know something about the value of a good time that too many of us have forgotten.

No matter, you cannot go to that part of the world and not enjoy yourself. If you do, check your pulse.