I wrapped up a catch-up call last week with one Johnny V. Chang this morning, aka Coach K because he's a spittin' image of Duke's stalwart hall of fame coach. This kid - I mean he's not really a kid 'cause he's closing in on 40 - is still to this day one of 'those guys'. You know he'd always be there for you when you went "all in", and loyalty is his middle name.
Coach K somehow managed to attain Active status in our fraternity despite a meltdown on night 2 of Hell Week, he battled chronic fatigue which I'm sure wasn't helped by downing pint after pint and shot after shot night after night, and he still managed to scrape his ass off of the puke-stained fraternity house - getting his undergrad in 6 or so years. Coach K now? Active duty in the Coast Guard, finishing his second Masters Degree - this one from Johns Hopkins, and he's got a bow-hunting smokin' hot wife from Canada. Her maiden name was Molson, so she's loaded. I made that up, but that would have been awesome if it were true. Although he loves Rush Limbaugh, voted for Bush twice, tried to bang my sister in college, banged Kenny's sister in college, and mised wide right in a soccer game against the PIKES back in '88 that kept us out of the Championship game, I can look past all that. Hope to see you this fall Johnny.
Monday, March 23, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Livin' It Up
Out the door at 8am on Sat in 40 degrees for 1.75 hrs on the roadie with a nice splint for my hand. It worked great, but I lost a couple of fingers in the cold. They came back to life in that hateful -sort of semi-unfrozen way finally warming up when I got to my driveway. Quick lunch, down to Phoenix to get my daughter - and it's 87 degrees. The McSheffrey's Pool was 86 degrees. That's what I'm talkin' bout. Salmon, properly decantered Pinot and I was fat, lazy, and enjoyin' some good conversation. Rottenberg rolled by with Wife and Kids and it was a great evening.
That's my last trip to Phoenix for a while. It'll be too hot in a month and the whole place just catches on fire. Time for some payback weather up here in cool country. Of course - that means yardwork, staining my deck and fence etc....I wish I could outsource that sh*t.
That's my last trip to Phoenix for a while. It'll be too hot in a month and the whole place just catches on fire. Time for some payback weather up here in cool country. Of course - that means yardwork, staining my deck and fence etc....I wish I could outsource that sh*t.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Heart Attack
I spent no more than about 15 minutes filling out my NCAA bracket and ante'd up $45 for two separate pools. One has 20 entries with a grand prize of $450, and the second pool has 222 entries with a grand prize of something stupid like $3,000. So - I went for a semi-longshot in Villanova. When I came home from work last night and was getting ready for racquetball they were down by 14 in the second half to American University. American what? I turned off the wi-fi...went to the courts...played Luis for an hour and 15, checked the score and they had won by 13. Whew! A first-round bow out would have been a total shitburger.
This morning I took a nap for 40 minutes while the MRI machine scanned my wrist. The assistant put on a little Mozart and I was out cold. See ya next Tuesday Doc, and we'll know the full scoop then.
Milan-San Remo is on Saturday. Check it. Lance is downplaying his interest in the race, yet he has an entire Astana team of henchmen to help him. Lance the man, I ain't no fan - but I wouldn't wager against him and he's always fun to watch. Boonen, Napolitano, Cavendish, Flecha, Rebellin, O' Grady, Pozzatto - they'll all be there near the end of this one. Too bad Ballan and Cancellara are out of action or it would truly be a heavyweight battle.
This morning I took a nap for 40 minutes while the MRI machine scanned my wrist. The assistant put on a little Mozart and I was out cold. See ya next Tuesday Doc, and we'll know the full scoop then.
Milan-San Remo is on Saturday. Check it. Lance is downplaying his interest in the race, yet he has an entire Astana team of henchmen to help him. Lance the man, I ain't no fan - but I wouldn't wager against him and he's always fun to watch. Boonen, Napolitano, Cavendish, Flecha, Rebellin, O' Grady, Pozzatto - they'll all be there near the end of this one. Too bad Ballan and Cancellara are out of action or it would truly be a heavyweight battle.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
F'd Up
That ride last weekend left me with a very sore left hand the last 10 miles. Swinging a golf club at a range with Juanski on Sunday - I felt a little tick in my hand on every swing and didn't have as much power as I usually do. So off to the doc today.....
Damn - X rays came back as 'positively inconclusive', but the doc then said 'oh you'll be in a cast'. Great. I get the ol' MRI on Friday Am for confirmation and then probably a cast next Tuesday. It looks like a broken scaphoid. The last time I broke one of these it was in my right hand and I was out of action for 5 months following surgery - then left with an atrophied stick for a right arm, and I actually took up the worst hobby on the planet besides methe addiction - running.
The good news is that you can ride a road bike with a short arm cast. Here's to praying its a short arm cast. Who am I kidding. the last time I prayed, it involved more of a life/death situation - so I better save my prayers for situations that really mean something. Here's to the power of positive thinking willing me a short arm cast for 6 weeks or less. Either way - it pretty much wipes out my April racing calendar which featured four great events - State Series Races #5 and #6, Dawn 'til Dusk in Gallup NM, and the Whiskey 50 in Prescott. Another way of looking at it is I just saved $350 in entry fees/travel/food. So I'm buying a new Espresso machine to celebrate the savings. Glass is half full, right Sheck?
Damn - X rays came back as 'positively inconclusive', but the doc then said 'oh you'll be in a cast'. Great. I get the ol' MRI on Friday Am for confirmation and then probably a cast next Tuesday. It looks like a broken scaphoid. The last time I broke one of these it was in my right hand and I was out of action for 5 months following surgery - then left with an atrophied stick for a right arm, and I actually took up the worst hobby on the planet besides methe addiction - running.
The good news is that you can ride a road bike with a short arm cast. Here's to praying its a short arm cast. Who am I kidding. the last time I prayed, it involved more of a life/death situation - so I better save my prayers for situations that really mean something. Here's to the power of positive thinking willing me a short arm cast for 6 weeks or less. Either way - it pretty much wipes out my April racing calendar which featured four great events - State Series Races #5 and #6, Dawn 'til Dusk in Gallup NM, and the Whiskey 50 in Prescott. Another way of looking at it is I just saved $350 in entry fees/travel/food. So I'm buying a new Espresso machine to celebrate the savings. Glass is half full, right Sheck?
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
All that you SHOULD leave behind....
The new U2 cd sucks. Every big name critic is kissing Bono’s ass on this traveshamockery of a cd and I don’t get it. I’ve spent 4 hours of time I’ll never get back trying to ‘get’ this collection of 11 songs to make sense in my head and other than 2 songs, the whole pile of plastic and paper is a flaming Bananas Foster fiasco. If I were in the CIA and some guys captured me crossing the Suez canal with plans to nuke some country over there – and then tortured me with this new CD and excluded tracks 3 and 5, I would tell the interrogator everything about everything until they made it stop. If they played Coldplay, I would hang myself with dental floss.
You can have my copy for the low, low price of $2.00+ shipping which will give me enough money to download the two tracks I liked.
You can have my copy for the low, low price of $2.00+ shipping which will give me enough money to download the two tracks I liked.
French Fry Cyclists
Cycling media always make fun of French cyclists because they can’t win anything that means something. They have the Tour de France in their backyard and the last time a French Fry won it – well – nobody really remembers – maybe Laurnet Fignon? Anyway, everyone jokes about French riders searching the race calendar looking for the easiest races, just so they can claim VICTORY!
Anyway, I felt like a French cyclist on Saturday as I lined up for the start of the Phoenix American Diabetes Tour de Cure road “race”. I woke up at 5am, stopped at IHOP and put down a breakfast bigger than any man has ever eaten. I didn’t even make it out the restaurant without stopping for a 10 minute rest room break as the walk from my table to the cashier got my GI moving faster than the Colorado River during spring run off. Back in the car, drive to the venue and to the line. I found our corporate teammates, and one of them didn’t have his race number on yet – Goooooooo! Screamed the City Council Loudmouth, while we sat there getting him pinned up. A minute after the gun, we departed – staying together at a very, very, very, very relaxed pace on flat roads of around 13mph. Well, after a half hour of social talk, corporate talk, and gobbledegawk, we were probably 10 places from last on the road. 400 people started. Nice…..I said my good byes at that point and hit the gas to a steady pace of 20-21mph for the next two hours.
First I passed the discount store mountain bike crowd with sheepskin seats, cotton t-shirts, and Camelbaks. This group proves that anyone can ride a bike 62 miles. ANYONE. Next, I rode up on the entry level road bike riders with crazy posture, low seats, and bags dangling from their seats with enough rations for a 3-course meal for the 3rd infantry in Iraq. Then came the group of 50+ age men who were pacelining at 17.5mph on $10,000 DeRosa’s and cusom fit Serotta’s. These guys are never very friendly. Next came a wave of guys on time trial bikes wearing anything from skinsuits to baggy shorts. These clowns were pushing huge gears on the flats and were sure to burn out well before the finish. At the ½ way mark I finally reached a group that I could only describe as moderate talent overachievers. These guys were working wayyyy too hard to early, but they were not going to be denied a 100th place finish if their lives depended on it. Finally I caught the front of the group. Speaking of working too hard, I was starting to fade a bit having skipped every aid station and running on a nearly empty bucket of IHOP food.
Fading, and fading some more, I saw what looked like a mirage of red jerseys so I punched it until I caught on. It was the lead group riding a steady pace in Diabetes jerseys with Colavita shorts. This national team had raised buckets of cash for the event so they were leading the race to the finish line. Since I had raised nothing, and was only here because my company threw in the $150 minimum entry fee – I assumed my position at the back of the group and coasted home. I could have pulled a French cyclist move and punked them at the line while they weren’t even expecting it. Instead I finished anonymously in a pack of 20 riders where I rightfully belonged. It was a good day on the bike.
Anyway, I felt like a French cyclist on Saturday as I lined up for the start of the Phoenix American Diabetes Tour de Cure road “race”. I woke up at 5am, stopped at IHOP and put down a breakfast bigger than any man has ever eaten. I didn’t even make it out the restaurant without stopping for a 10 minute rest room break as the walk from my table to the cashier got my GI moving faster than the Colorado River during spring run off. Back in the car, drive to the venue and to the line. I found our corporate teammates, and one of them didn’t have his race number on yet – Goooooooo! Screamed the City Council Loudmouth, while we sat there getting him pinned up. A minute after the gun, we departed – staying together at a very, very, very, very relaxed pace on flat roads of around 13mph. Well, after a half hour of social talk, corporate talk, and gobbledegawk, we were probably 10 places from last on the road. 400 people started. Nice…..I said my good byes at that point and hit the gas to a steady pace of 20-21mph for the next two hours.
First I passed the discount store mountain bike crowd with sheepskin seats, cotton t-shirts, and Camelbaks. This group proves that anyone can ride a bike 62 miles. ANYONE. Next, I rode up on the entry level road bike riders with crazy posture, low seats, and bags dangling from their seats with enough rations for a 3-course meal for the 3rd infantry in Iraq. Then came the group of 50+ age men who were pacelining at 17.5mph on $10,000 DeRosa’s and cusom fit Serotta’s. These guys are never very friendly. Next came a wave of guys on time trial bikes wearing anything from skinsuits to baggy shorts. These clowns were pushing huge gears on the flats and were sure to burn out well before the finish. At the ½ way mark I finally reached a group that I could only describe as moderate talent overachievers. These guys were working wayyyy too hard to early, but they were not going to be denied a 100th place finish if their lives depended on it. Finally I caught the front of the group. Speaking of working too hard, I was starting to fade a bit having skipped every aid station and running on a nearly empty bucket of IHOP food.
Fading, and fading some more, I saw what looked like a mirage of red jerseys so I punched it until I caught on. It was the lead group riding a steady pace in Diabetes jerseys with Colavita shorts. This national team had raised buckets of cash for the event so they were leading the race to the finish line. Since I had raised nothing, and was only here because my company threw in the $150 minimum entry fee – I assumed my position at the back of the group and coasted home. I could have pulled a French cyclist move and punked them at the line while they weren’t even expecting it. Instead I finished anonymously in a pack of 20 riders where I rightfully belonged. It was a good day on the bike.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Week 2 - Racquetball
A busted-up left wrist can't keep me off the court, so I headed over this evening to battle Big Dave, Medium Dave, and Lefty Mike. Big Dave has dropped 12 pounds in the last month, and all of a sudden the dude's got game. He's always had a Howitzer right arm, so throw in some new-found quickness and I was quickly behind 1-4. Enough of that...time to run his ass around. Left - right - lob shot to the back - dink to the front corner. His Coolmax shirt was soaked and I was outta there after a couple of games without any welts on my ass or leg from his missiles. Whew. He would win this league every time if he could drop 40 pounds. That ain't gonna happen, so I'm good for the foreseeable future.
Medium Dave is the 'racquetball coordinator' for the club - meaning he's a mid-level player with a love for the game. He also plays a guitar like a pro and teaches Lyza once a week - small town, ya know? We threw it down for a game, and the key to beating Medium Dave is keeping it light....laughing every now and then, complimenting him on his shots - and before he knows it he's having a good time but he gets behind and its over.
Lefty Mike is a son of a bitch. Fast, loves to play defensive ceiling ball all night, and out of nowhere can get on a roll by controlling the middle of the court and forcing you to the back by cutting off your angles. He got off to a good start on me, so I drilled a ball into his back - apologized - walked off the court for some water, and resumed whizzing shots close to him until he started shying away from the middle which opened up crosscourt shots for me. Crosscourt, down the line, cross court, down the line. Lefty didn't know where the ball was going, and after a few F-bombs...it was over.
So, 6 matches down, 6 wins, and 6 matches to go before the next club tourney. 666. Hmmm. I am a little devil on that court. No cell phones, no kids, no budgets, nobody but him and me and no excuses.
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