Christmas Movie Review #4: It Started Off as a Cold

Well, it was bound to happen, sooner or later.

I got Covid-19.

Thousands of Americans are catching it daily. Here in Ohio, it's absolutely out of hand. More people I know get diagnosed every week.

It's a strange feeling, now that I know I have it. Stranger still, now that the worst of the symptoms have gone.

It started off as a cold. I was getting a bit stuffed up throughout the day Saturday. By late afternoon, my energy was starting to leave, so I left work two hours early to go home and relax.

Overnight, I came down with serious chills. I had a fever of 101.7 (I never get fevers higher than, like, 99.0). My head ached so bad it felt like it was splitting off my neck. But by Sunday night, the headache subsided, and the stuffiness hung around.

Then the double-whammy hit.

My boss texted me and said two coworkers' tests just came back positive. Minutes later, I sat down to dinner: tikka masala, one of my favorite dishes, as only my wife can make it.

I couldn't taste it.

I got up and grabbed one of my wife's Essential Oil bottles and opened the cap. I tried to smell it. Nothing. I stuck the entire bottle of Thieves up my right nostril. Still nothing.

I left and got tested. The results just came back. But I didn't need to hear the results.

My wife, who has had the same sniffles as me for two days, came down with the same headache tonight. All three of my kids came down with fevers.

I currently work at a butcher shop. The owners are great and generous people. My co-workers are kind and easy to get along with. But, there is no mask rule. Not only is Ohio's mask mandate not enforced, but many of the workers there say they'd quit before putting on a mask. The owners even put up paper over the windows, to stop the health department from seeing the cutters and packers in the meat room violating Ohio's mask mandate.

I am doing better now. My sense of taste is slowly coming back. My sense of smell is ever so slight, but it will come back eventually.

Listen, folks. I'm sitting here right now, watching all three of my kids wrapped up in blankets, my wife with an ice pack on her head. I feel absolutely miserable. Not because I'm sick, because I'm not anymore -- I hate seeing the four people I love more than anything else in the world in misery, all because of the people I work with.

Screw politics. Screw your personal views. Screw your temporary comfort. Wear. Your. F***ing. Mask.

CHRISTMAS MOVIE REVIEW: FROSTY THE SNOWMAN/FROSTY RETURNS

The good news is, I'm stuck in quarantine for another week, so that gives me plenty of time for Christmas shows to review, including:

They're using the term "holiday favorite" here very, very loosely.

Now, I have no issue with the original Frosty The Snowman. I watched it every year since I was knee-high to a snowball. You all know the story. The magician sucks. The kids groan. Then they cheer, which sounds like more groaning. The hat ends up on the snowman. The snowman talks and sings. The magician disappears or something.

The snowman tries to buy a train ticket but has no money. This is when it dawns on me that the girl with him is named Karen. If she really were a Karen, she wouldn't have taken no from the ticket broker; she would have asked to speak to his manager.

They travel north. They end up in a greenhouse with a door that magically locks only when Karens try to open them apparently, since Santa had no trouble opening it twice just minutes later. Santa then threatens the magician. Frosty flies away and proclaims, "I'll be back on Christmas Day," seemingly oblivious to the fact that, since he's traveling with Santa, it must already be Christmas Day.

Now, let's dive into the unauthorized sequel: Frosty Returns.

Let's not.

It's actually the third sequel. It's the first one that uses a new animation company as well as new voice actors. It has a freaky miniature Jonathan Winters who seems to show up everywhere for no reason, yet can't be seen or heard by anyone except the viewer, which is their way of convincing the viewer that s/he is slowly losing his/her mind.

The show itself starts with a bunch of Karens (a "complaint" of Karens?) singing a humor-leveling song about how bad snow is. We then see a little girl's "magic hat" fly off her head, fly through the air, and land on a snowman, predictably bringing it to life. Not so predictably, he takes the hat off his head at least three times throughout the show, yet does not revert to zombie form, because loopholes.

Then we see some old guy selling an aerosol can that eliminates snow. At one point, he used it too close to Frosty and it burned a hole right through him (Frosty, not the old man, though that would make the show infinitely more enjoyable).

Eventually, Frosty sings a song to the people, who side with him and name him king or something. The old man tries to run him over with a car (yes, this is a kids' cartoon) but drives into a lake. Frosty, however, forgives him, and everyone is happy in the end.

Do me a solid. When you buy this two-episode DVD, stop after the first one.

Christmas Movie Review #3: I hate Xichigan?!?

 Finally! Michigan found a way to eliminate Ohio State from the Big Ten Championship!

As I believe I mentioned could happen in a not-yet-irrelevant blog post, Michigan canceled Saturday's game against Ohio State. Predictably, this sent local pundits in a complete tizzy. I spent the next two hours listening to local Columbus, Ohio, radio while following various Twitters and news feeds on my internet machine. You'd have thought there was a meteor headed for North High Street.

First, a little background for those of you who are not from Central Ohio. For many in this population, Ohio State football is, to sum it up in one word, life. Besides their immediate families, there is nothing that is more valuable to some of them than Buckeye Football. And for some of them, they'd give up some members of their family for another victory over that hated Team Up North.

I'm told this is former OSU tight end Jake Ballard on the left. On the right is his sister.

You think I'm kidding. This rivalry with Michigan is serious business around here. The week before The Game -- as it's called around here -- many local businesses scratch the letter "M" off anywhere they see it. (For instance, "Macy's" would show up for the week as "Xacy's", or "Moron" would be "Xoron".) Many people refuse to say the name of the state. Ever. Certainly, this is the most hated rivalry in all of sports.

At least, that's what Ohio State fans would want you to believe.

Michigan fans in Ann Arbor hate Ohio State, make no mistake. I've been there. I've spoken to the fans. And many of them will tell you: The Michigan Wolverines' biggest rival is, of course, Michigan State.

YEAH, WE HATE... wait, what?

They compete for media attention. They compete for recruits. They compete for the fans' love. Michigan and Michigan State compete for a whole lot more. Sure, Ohio State makes a better national rivalry, and a better story for the national media. But the Spartans have a much more immediate impact on the Wolverines and their fans.

Sorry, Buckeye fans. I know what it's like to love, and not be loved back. I imagine the same is true for hate as well.

CHRISTMAS MOVIE REVIEW: SANTA CLAUS, THE MOVIE

Ever have a movie you loved as a kid? Then, you watch it for the first time in years (like, since you noticed girls) and wonder what in the hell you ever liked about it?

That's the case for me with this dog.

Dudley Moore, one of my favorite actors, plays Patch, an elf who tries to help Santa Claus by making him irrelevant. But I'm jumping ahead.

The movie starts with an older couple traveling by sleigh through a snowstorm to deliver a bunch of toys to a family on Christmas Eve. On the way back, they get lost and become a few degrees above becoming a pair of Clausickles.

But they're rescued by a group of elves who take them to their castle. Once the old couple is settled in and warmed up, the elves inform them that they are not allowed to return home ever again.

No, I'm not kidding.

Accepting their fate, they begin managing the elves, who are expert toymakers. Later, they get the old guy a red suit and explain to him that he will deliver these toys all over the world and that he will now be called Santa Claus.

The man seems cool with all of this.

Now, don't ask me how he knows where to deliver all these toys the first time around. Nor does the movie accurately explain how the kids know to write to him, considering he's never done this before so they can't know who the hell this old, bearded guy breaking into their house really is.

We then moved ahead several hundred years, Patch screws up and builds a bunch of inferior toys one year, and suddenly everyone hates Santa Claus because of his shoddy toys.

Patch leaves and hooks up with a toy executive, who lets him create a magic lollipop that makes people fly. Then he decides to fly back to the North Pole in a magic flying sled. (I don't really know what led to this; I fell asleep) and Santa saves Patch when the sled blows up.

Also, Burgess Meredith plays some really, really old elf whose only job is to spout off something about a prophesy and walk around with a really bitchin' beard.

He then told Santa he was going to eat lightning and crap thunder.

Slowly, one step at a time, I think I'm destroying my childhood.

Christmas Movie Review #2: Ref-Beating Madness

 Who says Texas high school football isn't the best in the world?

It's certainly the most interesting.

Edinburg High School was eliminated from the playoffs Thursday thanks to one player. He didn't fumble a sure game-tying touchdown. He didn't throw a late interception. He didn't even spike his team's pregame pizza with Ex-lax.

No, he did something much dumber. He slammed into the referee. After he was ejected.

This moron -- we'll protect his identity by calling him Emmanuel, though his real name is Emmanuel Duron and he's an 18-year-old senior at Edinburg -- got ejected from Thursday's game. He had been called for a personal foul, then was given an unsportsmanlike conduct penalty and ejected for arguing with the referee. No, they were not arguing about who put the Ex-lax on the pizza.

Apparently, Emmanuel didn't get his message across during the argument. So he got it across, WWE style.

The referee (I won't use his name, seriously, to protect his anonymity, though I did actually learn it. Hey, I do my research!) left the game and was evaluated for a possible injured shoulder and concussion symptoms. He did not return.

Emmanuel isn't returning, either. Probably not for a long, long time. He was escorted from the stadium by police and has since been charged with assault.

Emmanuel is a clear winner. He was suspended from soccer for an entire season for a "similar encounter," showing he clearly lacks the capability of learning anything and, indeed, I'm stunned he passed his studies enough to make it to his senior year. The Monitor, a newspaper that services the Rio Grande area in Texas, named him last year's All-Area Wrestler of the Year, showing that the Monitor does not base its choices on what the athletes have in their head.

Coincidently, The Monitor's choice for Inspirational Athlete of the Year

The mugging in question took place during a Texas 31-6A Zone Play-In Game, with the winner advancing to the Bi-District round, proving once and for all that Texas has too many damn teams.

The game was won by Edinburg, though the school's athletic director chose the safe route and withdrew his team from the playoffs. Is that fair for the other players on the Edinburg team? Short answer: No. Long answer: No, but they can take it out on Emmanuel by force-feeding him Ex-lax.

It was a classy move by the AD. I know a few former (and maybe current) ADs who wouldn't make such a move. They would punish the player, though, for sure. Maybe suspend him for a few plays. Or maybe make the bold move to ban him from eating any pregame pizza. Well, maybe one slice, but cheese only, no pepperoni.

And hey, in only three years, he'll be draft-eligible. Hello, Cincinnati.

CHRISTMAS MOVIE REVIEW: HE-MAN & SHE-RA: A CHRISTMAS SPECIAL

Because I'm doing this blog 25 straight days, you're not going to get 25 reviews. Sorry. But you will get reviews for whatever I end up watching this year.

The last special I watched was a special I didn't even know existed until a few years ago, despite the fact that this was my favorite cartoon as a kid.

The original TV show, as it aired for three years on syndicated television (check your local listings), was called He-Man And The Masters Of The Universe. But, none of us kids called it that. It was "He-Man." That's it. Screw the Masters of the Universe. The people at Mattel were certainly not Masters of Creative Toy Naming.

In our Christmas special, Prince Adam (he's He-Man's alter-ego who looks exactly like He-Man. Think Clark Kent walking around without glasses.) is decorating for his birthday along with his twin sister Adora, who lives on another planet but is there for some reason. Their mother, Queen Mrs. Adam, reminisces about Christmas, a holiday on her home planet of Earth. Adam asks more about this holiday, which he has never heard of even though they use Christmas-style decorations every year for Adam's birthday and the queen has certainly never mentioned this fact.

Moving along, Orko (continuing the Superman theme, think Bat-Mite) gets in a spaceship and heads to Earth completely coincidently. He rescues two Earth kids from the snow, and they teach Orko about Christmas, including the worst rendition of Jingle Bells you've ever heard.

Even worse than his.

Skeletor (Lex Luthor) is sent to Earth to learn about the "magic of Christmas" to be used for evil purposes, and he kidnaps the kids. Now, he could have picked out any of the 100 million-or-so kids in the United States, but he picks these same two because bad TV writing. Long story short (too late) Skeletor is about to deliver the kids to his boss, Horde Prime (General Zod), but does a sudden face turn and saves the kids from Horde Prime's grasp. Somehow, He-Man and She-Ra get involved.

Yeah, I don't know either. If you have an hour to kill, watch it. And have fun MST3K-ing the heck out of it.

Christmas Movie Review 1 of 25; The Legend Returns Again

The biggest conspiracy in United States history could be taking place in Michigan. It involves counting results that may not be as they are reported.  The repercussions of such a conspiracy could upset the balance of power like never seen before in this country.

No, it's not the presidential election. It's COVID-19 testing in the Michigan football program.

So, the Wolverines have a bunch of players who are suddenly testing positive for the coronavirus. Although never numbers were directly reported to the media, practices were shut down and the entire program was ground to a halt. One day later, Saturday's game against Maryland was cancelled. There's already talk that the team's final game -- against Ohio State -- may be in jeopardy. Bear in mind, that game is 10 days away.

Where I live, people are having trouble getting test results within a week. Apparently, we all need to move to Ann Arbor. They're getting results in a manner that defies the space-time continuum. It's as if the Michigan doctors are using Hermione Granger's Time Turners.

Okay, so maybe there are a lot of positives. What are the numbers?

Michigan's AD isn't giving any numbers, claiming he is "not provided with a sport-by-sport update." Makes perfect sense. I'm an athletic director, which means I, literally, direct the athletics at the place where I work. So I wouldn't be at all concerned that I don't know how many players tested positive for the most devastating world pandemic in 102 years.

Smell that? That's sarcasm.

So, when can Michigan resume practice? The team doctor said we have to see "positive trends over two to three days."

Keep in mind, we don't know precisely how many positive tests we have.

Wow. That's so low. It's not like a class program like Ohio State would do something like that. Except, they totally did.

Remember Ohio State's cancelled game against Illinois last weekend? Ohio State cancelled it. They didn't reveal how many positive cases they had, either. All we know is that it didn't exceed the 5% threshold established by the Big Ten.

In other words, Ohio State called off the game just because.

So now, Michigan is doing the exact same thing. And, if they do it next week too, then no Ohio State game. The Buckeyes get only five games, and that's not enough to qualify for the Big Ten Championship.

ESPN analyst Kirk Herbstreit suggested this exact same thing on Tuesday. Now, I came up with this back on Monday, and told everyone I knew about it. Then, he goes on TV and steals my thunder.

Herbstreit, reveling in stepping on the toes of a small-town sports blogger.

Herbstreit apologized on the Twitter machine an hour after the broadcast. Personally, I don't think he had to. At least, not to Michigan fans. He needs to apologize to me, dammit!

It brings up whether Ohio State called off their game Saturday just because they didn't want to risk their unbeaten season in a useless game against Illinois, easily their toughest opponent on the rest of the schedule, especially considering Ryan Day wasn't going to be on the sidelines due to his positive test. If that's the case, Michigan likely is cancelling their last two games simply because they suck.

CHRISTMAS MOVIE REVIEW: A CHRISTMAS STORY

I am a creature of habit. I have a set way I do things, and one of those things is how I get ready for Christmas. So, for 25 days, I will review the 25 Christmas movies/TV shows that I consider my own personal must-sees in December. I will sit back and look at them from a whole new perspective: are they really worthy of seeing every single damn year?

Today: A Christmas Story.

I'll admit, showing it all day on TBS is one of my favorite Christmas traditions. Before I got married, I would have it on for most of the day. It would air four, maybe five times that day.

Then I got married. Sorry, Ralphie.

Somewhere, Aunt Clara is crying.

If you've never seen this movie, I urge you to stop whatever you're doing now, and pop in the DVD. (Or stream it, or whatever.) I first saw this movie in the theater, where it was bombing big time. (My mom and I were the only two people in the theater, and it was a week before Christmas.) I loved it then, and I love it now.

I can totally relate to this movie. I wanted a Christmas present desperately once. No, it wasn't a Red Ryder BB gun. It wasn't even a deranged Easter Bunny costume. It was an Electric Football game. And I did everything to let my parents know I wanted it, including tearing the page out of the Sears Catalog (remember those? The Sears Wish List catalog is a pleasure today's kids will never relate to.) and placing it in my dad's Time Magazine. Like in the movie (oops, spoiler alert!) it worked.

That same year, our Christmas turkey was ruined, too. Only it wasn't the Bumpus' dogs. My mom went to check the turkey close to dinner time and noticed she forgot to turn the oven on.

Best. Christmas. Ever.

The Greatest

I had a different blog post planned for tonight.

I held it off -- wisely, it turned out -- when I heard that one of my childhood idols had fallen ill.

It's hard to begin. My mind is racing. For those who never saw him in action, never heard him speak, never knew the kind of man he was, both in front of the cameras and in private, it's impossible to describe Muhammad Ali. All many people will remember is his inability to walk, or speak, as his disease robbed him of the grace he showed so well for much of his life. He was so ahead of his time that he became the time. He was color, when the world was still black and white. He was a digital voice, when the world was analog. He was an iPod, while the rest of us carried Walkmans.

I don't remember the first time I saw Muhammad Ali. I do remember my father talking about him. I remember, growing up, seeing him on ABC's Wide World of Sports, and I remember hating Howard Cosell for grilling Ali and forcing him to defend himself. Years later, I learned that the two were really best friends, and Ali had virtually scripted every encounter. But that's another tale for another time.

Ali was more than just the heavyweight champion of the world. There were, after all, a lot of champions. Some of them had better win-loss records. So why aren't they celebrated?

Because he reminded the world something it had forgotten since the days when boxers didn't wear gloves and matches would go on for hours. It was the same reason baseball exploded in the early 20th century. And the reason the AFL began to catch up to the NFL, and attention was being taken away from Johnny Unitas and Joe DiMaggio, and given to Joe Namath and Mickey Mantle. They were entertaining.

Ali didn't just beat you. He told you he would beat you. Then he would describe it in detail. Then he would shadow box and threaten to "take that rag off Cosell's head." We cared whether he won or lost. We had to care.

He borrowed elements of pro wrestling in his boxing career. He was a long admirer of George Wagner, a.k.a. "Gorgeous George" and borrowed his flair. He used quotes from wrestling champions like Dick The Bruiser and "Nature Boy" Buddy Rogers. Why? Because wrestling was popular, even though there was a "stigma" at the time that the whole thing maybe, just maybe, isn't completely legit. Ali took what was popular in wrestling and brought it to a legit sport. By himself.

I never had the chance to meet Muhammad Ali. I always with I had. I wanted to know what the real Ali was like. My eyes are literally filled with tears as I write this. But I think it finally hit me -- Ali was everything we saw. There was a piece of Ali in every shred of film, and in every interview with every family member, confidante or opponent. (In many cases, someone was all three.) Ali touched so many lives, and every single soul he encountered is actually a part of him. I realize that now.

It's just too bad it took his death for me to understand that.

I can see it now. Ali is being welcomed by St. Peter, who tells him he's led a good life. Ali's response, "Never mind that. Where's Frazier?"

Ali/Frazier IV. The Altercate at the Pearly Gates.

Rest in peace.

Travel Ball Star? Whoa! Bust Out the Confetti!

It’s hard to put a definite description on me, but there are three things that truly define me: 1) I am the picture of perfect health. I turn 44 years old later this week, and I feel like I’m 18, despite the fact that I eat more pizza than each of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles combined (including Donatello). 2) I am patient and easy to talk to, ready to lend an ear and, when called upon, to give advice to help my fellow man. And 3) I am a compulsive liar on blogs.

So I recently visited my favorite ethnic health food restaurant to partake in one of my favorite dishes, named after a great military leader (I believe his name was General Tso) when in walked a family of five. What stood out was the youngest member of the group: A girl, maybe 9-10 years old, wearing a softball uniform. The family members were holding the dual glass doors for her, and she entered with one of those pre-teen smirks on her face. It really looked more like a young movie star and her entourage -- only she forgot to leave her costume at the Bad News Bears set.

Real bears do their bad news elsewhere.

As I waited for General Tso to get his butt in gear and give me my food already, the oldest person in the group starting bragging on the girl. “She hit a home run today,” he said with, I must note, what looked like a miniature celery stalk in his front teeth. “She hit two yesterday. She leads her team. She’s supposed to play in 10U, but they bumped her to 12U, because she was just that good. Her first at-bat she hit a triple. She stopped while rounding the bases to heal a leper. Then she flew in the air and the team built her a ziggurat etc. etc. etc.”*

I wanted to take those little red peppers that came with my dinner and shove them in his eyes. But I couldn't. His eyes were hiding behind the nose that was sticking way up in the air.

It was another case of a family going way too out of its way to make a girl play softball on some traveling team whose only purpose is to make money enrich the lives of the players. I see it all too often: Little Jimmy is hitting .600 or .750 or 1.500 and has like 8 thousand jillion home runs. Unfortunately he has to miss the big family cook out because we’ll be in Hakensak, New Jersey, at some national-level tournament which, if his team places in the top four**, they’ll qualify for this other national-level tournament in Talequah, Oklahoma, and then qualify for another national-level tournament in Fargo, North Dakota, and so on.

 Then, for fun, we'll all try to fit inside our coach's uniform.

These kids are playing the sport they love and going to all these exotic places. They’re traveling the country! No expense is too great, because in the end, Jimmy will get his college paid for and then go on to be a really big star in the majors.

At least, that’s what they want you to believe.

In reality, Jimmy is miserable. He’s already burned out from baseball because all he does is get up, swing his bat, eat breakfast, throw into a net, bat some more, lunch, pitch into a net, hit off a tee, dinner, run bases, go to bed. Twelve months a year. He plays for his school team. He plays for two travel teams -- one in the spring, one in the fall. In the winter he plays in an indoor gym baseball league.

Jimmy would love to play some hoops with his friends, or hang out at their house, or play Madden. But, no, none of those things will help Jimmy get to Baseball U. so they’re completely worthless. Quit letting your mind wander, Jimmy***. Time to think about polishing your glove. And while you're at it, lift that nose a few inches.

Nobody told Jimmy that just about every coach in every major league in the country recommends multiple sports at his age. No one in his family ever thought, “You know, if I hand him his basketball, maybe he’ll enjoy baseball even more when he does get to play it.”

In this past NFL draft, 28 of the 31 first round draftees lettered in more than one sport in high school. Twelve of them actually lettered in at least three, including Jared Goff, who played football, baseball and basketball.

No one told Jimmy that I’ve seen a lot of kids who had parents focus on one sport only, and have yet to see a single one of them sign for a scholarship at the NCAA Division I level. Or even Division II, for that matter. I’ve seen a few D-III athletes, but they earned scholarships with academics, because the NCAA doesn’t allow athletic scholarships at that level.

Even if you ask nicely.

A recent study by USA football concluded that D-I college athletes began focusing on one sport at the average age of 15.4. For all other students who participated in high school sports, that average dropped to 14.1. The study sites, over and over, how learning skills in one sport translate to other sports, and build the player’s overall skill level, not to mention their confidence.

My daughter plays softball. It's the only sport she's played, save one (very embarrassing) season when she played soccer and basically spent the entire year chasing the ball around.

Apparently, soccer hooliganism is frowned upon in 5U.

If my daughter wants to play something else, I'll sign her up in a second. But she's content with just softball. And I think it's because I haven't even suggested driving her 2 hours one way to try out for a team she's never heard of, and has no allegiance to. With players who have tall noses.

As I watched that family get seated at the table of my favorite ethnic health food restaurant, I couldn’t help but to think of the irony. Someday, she’ll have a coach call her about that. And, after the coach asks her about those three home runs in two days, the next question will likely be, “Did you figure the tip?”

P.S. The General Tso was yummy.




*--He did not actually say “etc. etc. etc.” It was more like “et cetera et cetera et cetera.”

**--Out of five.

***--Now that I think about it, his name may not be Jimmy. So, from this point forward, I’ll call him Jimmy.

RETURN OF THE LEGEND!

My nickname came about 16 years ago.

I was visiting my best friend in Indianapolis who was engaged to be married. (As opposed to engaged to be what, exactly?) He opened the door and said, “Here’s my fiancee.”

She looked me up and down. “I’m going to find out.”

Wow. Forward.

“Your middle name,” my friend quickly blurted out. “She wants to know your middle name.”

It’s L.

Just the letter.

This wasn’t good enough for her.

We spent the evening together having a good time. Beers were involved. When the night was through, I took my leave and went home. The next morning my friend called me.

“She figured it out,” he said.

Okay.

“The L stands for ‘Legend’,” he said. “Because you don’t meet Bill. You experience him.”

That nickname has cropped up off and on over the 16 years since. It’s pretty much retired -- there’s not much room for personal ego when you have three kids -- but, every now and then, I like to remind my wife that she’s married to the Legend.

And then she reminds me that she has the ability to roll her eyes so far back she can actually see her own brain.

I haven’t blogged in years. I did it sporadically about eight years ago, but I didn’t really enjoy it. I didn’t feel like there was anything inside me that I wanted to let out. (Insert own multiple beer joke here.) But, recent events have led me to realize that, unless I get some things off my chest, I’ll never feel right.

So here we go.

I’m a sportswriter in Mount Vernon, Ohio. Actually, I’m the sports editor. Which carries about as much weight in this town as being a head waiter at a Burger King. I digress. I married my beautiful wife 11 years ago, and have produced three wonderful kids with her. (To be honest, she did most of the work. I simply contributed the raw materials. She ran the factory.) I’ve lived here for seven years. Before that, I lived in 15 different cities in seven different states.

Never went too far north at least.

Not long ago, I had a really bad bout with depression. It’s a diagnosis I don’t take lightly, and I haven’t had a bout like that one in years. But I found out who my friends are. (Read: almost none.) Which is okay, as that’s been a running theme for a guy who grew up getting moved from one school to another because your parents are in real estate.

Since I have few friends, but a lot of thoughts, I plan to take advantage of both with this here electronic diary blog. I’ll fill you in on what’s happening in the world of sports, movies and life as I see it. As you read in the coming weeks and months, you’ll get some laughs. You may think a little bit. (Very little.) And I guarantee, at some point, you’ll be pissed off.

So pull up a chair. Share your thoughts with me. I’ll respond. And come see what I’m made of.

See what I mean? You just experienced the Legend.

Yeah, okay. Lame. I’ll do better next time.