tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-49909177464478521162024-03-13T02:38:18.133-07:00Hoov's First AmendmentI like to wander, metaphorically speaking, and these are my written wanderings--various commentaries on social and political issues. Maybe sports too, once in a while. And music...oh man, do I love music. Or food. You know, restaurants and wine. But mostly social and political issues. Definitely social and political. Yeah. Definitely.Greg Hooverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00268286257051964998noreply@blogger.comBlogger13125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4990917746447852116.post-29615651972820572522013-01-08T10:35:00.000-08:002013-01-08T12:46:24.632-08:00SEC Dominance? Let's Start--And End--With Nick Saban<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;"></span><br />
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</span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">All
through the fall I’ve been hearing this chatter from SEC fans about their SUPER
conference, dominance, etc, et al, blah blah blah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
aside from some of these SEC fans being among the most obnoxious
and arrogant I’ve ever known, it seemed they had a good point.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">But
something about it just gnawed at me. Something didn’t fit.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">An then last
night, as I watched Nick Saban’s Crimson Tide dismantle my beloved Fighting
Irish in the BCS title game, it hit me: this isn’t about the SEC—it’s about Nick Saban.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He's the one-man wrecking crew that has
lifted the SEC into prominence!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Follow
me for a minute…</span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-frQaWZ9z7fs/UOxki3CawgI/AAAAAAAAAO8/kEQFYp7E0HI/s1600/Nick+Saban+1-A.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-frQaWZ9z7fs/UOxki3CawgI/AAAAAAAAAO8/kEQFYp7E0HI/s320/Nick+Saban+1-A.jpg" width="142" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">First off,
Saban won his first national title at LSU in January of 2004.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That began a ten year stretch in which the
SEC won eight BCS Championship games—the only misses being USC and Texas in
2005 and 2006.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Saban stayed at LSU one season after his title, and then left to spend two years in the NFL with the Miami Dolphins,
before returning to the SEC as Alabama’s head coach in the 2007 season.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Pause here
for a moment to credit Urban Meyer with being the Robin to Saban’s Batman in
the rise of the SEC: Urban came to Florida in the fall of 2005, and in only his
second season led the Gators to the BCS National Championship in January, 2007.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After skipping a year, he did the same in the
fall of 2008/January, 2009. Two titles in three years.</span><br />
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<o:p><span style="font-size: large;"></span></o:p> </div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q-LRTI4v1aw/UOxkj7H0J7I/AAAAAAAAAPI/2isc3PjRRh4/s1600/Urban-Meyer-image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q-LRTI4v1aw/UOxkj7H0J7I/AAAAAAAAAPI/2isc3PjRRh4/s320/Urban-Meyer-image.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The title
between those two by Meyer at Florida?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>LSU led by Les Miles--oh yeah, with the juniors and seniors that Nick Saban had
recruited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, in six years, we have two
titles by Meyer, one by Saban, and one by the team Saban put together and left
for Miles.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Re-enter
Saban in the fall of 2007 to a battered and lost Alabama program.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not to cut to the chase, but six seasons
later, Saban has led the Crimson Tide to three National Championships in his
last four seasons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His four total rank
second (tied with several others—Frank Leahy at ND and Robert Neyland at
Tennessee among them) only to Bear Bryant in the college game; but all of Saban’s have been won in
an era of unprecedented parity in the college game that did not exist 20 or 30 years ago, let alone in the era these other men coached. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-T0aTsTbmxGc/UOxkixJlsqI/AAAAAAAAAO4/s_-0y37WuaU/s1600/Nick+Saban+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-T0aTsTbmxGc/UOxkixJlsqI/AAAAAAAAAO4/s_-0y37WuaU/s320/Nick+Saban+1.jpg" width="246" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Back to the
SEC and their chirpy little fans. (Sorry—but it’s hard not to take that
shot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the fans taunting you about
their “premier college conference” include Tennessee followers…well, let’s just
say that both McDonald’s and Morton’s serve beef, but that doesn’t mean they’re
in the same league…)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Talk about your “Top
Gun” conference all you want, but this behemoth was built by Nick Saban, with a
little help from Urban Meyer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Together,
they are six of the eight championships won by the SEC in the last ten seasons,
and as noted, Les Miles won his with Saban’s talent and essentially, his
system.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">As an aside--the eighth championship not in the lineage above was won by Auburn just two years ago. Was it a fluke? Well, that coach has already been fired. Win a national title, and you can't even make it through two complete seasons after. So I'm just discounting Auburn's run as a brief Cam Newton sighting. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So back to your "dominant" conference? Well let's see: bowl losses this year to mighty Northwestern; a bowl loss by kingly LSU to Clemson; and two of your top ranked teams, Georgia and South Carolina, were taken to the wire by very average Nebraska and Michigan squads. </span><br />
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6rv7A49Xjnc/UOxrAoXelgI/AAAAAAAAAQY/V5uSV10vcJw/s1600/LSU+Clemson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6rv7A49Xjnc/UOxrAoXelgI/AAAAAAAAAQY/V5uSV10vcJw/s320/LSU+Clemson.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Oh, and I seem to have forgotten my own personal favorite: 3rd ranked Florida, who complained that they were left out of the BCS championship game, getting blown out--and I mean torched--by one of the Big East's FOUR co-champions, 21st ranked Louisville. You remember the Big East? That's the conference that was built for basketball and is in the process of going out of existence...?</span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-V2N470S7gec/UOxpndMwgzI/AAAAAAAAAPk/4XJUvFb7ZbE/s1600/Cards+Sugar+Bowl.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="199" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-V2N470S7gec/UOxpndMwgzI/AAAAAAAAAPk/4XJUvFb7ZbE/s320/Cards+Sugar+Bowl.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Apparently, Florida's membership card in the most dominant conference in the history of college football had expired prior to kickoff...</span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0E49sH-ZqF4/UOxp2QpgCLI/AAAAAAAAAP8/FSun5TMKoSo/s1600/2013-louisville-sugar-bowl-champions-shirt-150x150.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0E49sH-ZqF4/UOxp2QpgCLI/AAAAAAAAAP8/FSun5TMKoSo/s1600/2013-louisville-sugar-bowl-champions-shirt-150x150.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">In that
vein, I guess you could say that the NFC West was the absolute most dominant
conference in the NFL in the 80’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just
ask the Rams, Saints, and Falcons—who between them managed just two division championships from 1981-1990,
while their divisional brethren the San Francisco 49’ers were winning all the rest, and uh, oh yeah, four Super
Bowls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yeah, you get my drift…</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">So, all you (insert your favorite adjective here) SEC fans who want to credit your team with being part of the greatest conference in the history of college football: Cal and Arizona fans didn't do it with USC in the 80's; Northwestern and Minnesota didn't do it with Michigan and Ohio State in the 60's and 70's. How about you don't do it with arguably the greatest coach in the history of this hallowed game, and his sidekick. Here's to the great SEC! The conference of Nick Saban's Alabama, Nick Saban's LSU, Urban Meyer's Florida, and uh, all the other teams we could round up for them to beat. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;"></span><br />Greg Hooverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00268286257051964998noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4990917746447852116.post-46018168050447317862012-08-10T05:16:00.001-07:002012-08-10T05:24:03.960-07:00A Letter To My Friend, by Dave Wilson<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">As most of you know, my brother Tom passed away on Saturday, August 4, after a ten month battle with pancreatic cancer. At some point I want to post a tribute to Tom, but he impacted my life in so many ways over my 52 years that's it's really hard to sum that up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">In the meantime, I'd like to post a letter that our dear friend Dave Wilson wrote to Tom the evening after his death. Tom and Dave were best friends in the truest sense of the word, and as you can see in Dave's letter, Tom has left a very big hole in all of us--myself, his daughter Kelly, and the love of his life, his wife Becky...but none any bigger than that of his best friend Davie.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial;">Until I can get my post done, Dave gave me permission to share this amazing and personal tribute to our pal and brother, Tommie Boy Hoover:</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfeogeZkVMWnB1k1uqeTLGK562GirSU9fUcMTmvOuf77ONeGXa0MPOIdbPznvzIKteumeizuNoLJmKdFjspcXrayOZ02F5WOutsY3eTqfyiY7wRkxm6Y0RFmBZEtMQ_pUhda0FLepKgbun/s1600/Davie+and+the+Hoovs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfeogeZkVMWnB1k1uqeTLGK562GirSU9fUcMTmvOuf77ONeGXa0MPOIdbPznvzIKteumeizuNoLJmKdFjspcXrayOZ02F5WOutsY3eTqfyiY7wRkxm6Y0RFmBZEtMQ_pUhda0FLepKgbun/s320/Davie+and+the+Hoovs.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Left to right, Greg Hoover, Tom Hoover and Dave Wilson.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">August 4, 2012<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Tommie boy,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Thought I’d let you know the world changed a bit today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It might look the same……., but it’s really
not. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has diminished, like a breeze
lessening against one’s face.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You were the best friend I ever had.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not sure how many days we saw each other
over the past 35 years…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>three
thousand?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>four thousand?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know, but I treasured every one, and looked
forward to the next.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">You are a difficult guy to describe…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>very complex….<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>lots of black and white, but even more
gray.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You were one of the most
intelligent people I have ever met, but more notable to me was your
perception.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Countless times you would
ask me a question that came from out of the blue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And this question invariably would involve some
troubling aspect of my life at that time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I believe that you had a Rosetta stone on my thoughts, for which I am
grateful.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Speaking of intelligence, I did see you do a lot of smart
things (and some dumb ones), but the best thing you ever did was to marry that
Becky girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You and I had so many good
times together, so many doubled over belly laughs with tears in the eyes, yet… you
were never even close to being the person that you became after falling in love
with her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think any of your
friends would disagree even though you (ahem…) “could have done better”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If someone were to ask me what was the second
smartest thing you ever did in your life…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I would say; “I don’t know”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That you were a loving father is evident by your
daughter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People like Kelly rarely grace
this world and never by accident.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
know being a single parent and owning your own business couldn’t have been
easy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And as a brother?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Greg is the last guy that needs help from me
with words, but c’mon, nobody has ever had a better brother, or deserved one
more. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I won’t continue with names, it
would go on too long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway, it isn’t
necessary because you made all of us feel so special, like each of us were the
most important person in your life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
maybe we were.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">My most poignant moment with you that comes immediately to
mind was the day driving to Boone Valley, when I was telling you about the last
words I had with my father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to
pull over to the side of the road to wipe my tears, and when I looked over at
you, you were crying just as hard as I had been.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I also claim some responsibility for what I think was your
favorite nickname, although Kate is the one who really came up with it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After you moved my company out of the valley,
the very night the levee broke in ‘93, she nicknamed you Clarence; after the
angel that pulled Jimmy Stewart out of the water in “It’s a Wonderful
Life”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Truthfully, you saved me more
times than that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Our friendship went far beyond being able to pick out a
single trait I liked best.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But one of
the things I admired was your ability to avoid the rote.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never heard you respond to a question with
the standard answer or the common answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You always introduced some new angle which let the person you were
speaking with know you were engaged in the conversation, and had actually
considered their words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because of that,
people were quick to ask your opinion and trust it.</span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">And one more thing I loved was your irreverence, which was
really your reverence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As if you knew
that without challenge, things could be taken for granted, something you never
did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Remember when we would always tell
people that our friendship was “nothing special”?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some
people looked puzzled by this observation, but the informed mind knows that
when nothing is special, it’s the same as saying everything is special.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Oh it’s useless to go down the road with what I admired,
everyone who knew you admired it too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You never held back from anyone.</span><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So anyway, wherever you are, I hope you are well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m really, really going to miss you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Go ahead and make that tee time, but don’t blink your eyes
first.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We always talked about how fast
time moves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It won’t be long before we’ll
meet up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And just like every time
before this, I look forward to it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">See ya around……, fella.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Your friend,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Davie boy<o:p></o:p></span></div>Greg Hooverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00268286257051964998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4990917746447852116.post-21096950011764172042012-05-02T06:55:00.000-07:002012-05-02T07:58:19.652-07:00The Blues--52 Weeks Later<br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Photo credit to Scott R. Kline. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.scottrklinephoto.com/">www.scottrklinephoto.com</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">As Cooper
supervises the packing for he and Missy’s move from Baltimore to St. Louis, we’ve
been reminiscing via text this week about our Blues Road Trip—which took place exactly
one year ago. It's been all over my mind these past few days.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">First off, I’m
blown away that it’s been a year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Granted, I’ve changed jobs, moved from Chicago to Evansville to
Louisville, had one child graduate from college and another enroll…it’s not
exactly been a quiet year!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But all of
that said it still amazes me that it’s been a year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told Coop this morning that I can remember
touring Stax records in Memphis like it was last week, not one year ago
tomorrow.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Reading back
through our blog (check it out here: </span><a href="http://blues-mostly.blogspot.com/"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">http://blues-mostly.blogspot.com/</span></a><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">)
it was not only a great trip and great time, but both Coop and I did a pretty
good job of capturing it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">I’ll also
say this: we’ve gotten better over the past three years (ever since Bazoo’s
death) at doing these guys weekends and trips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Coop, Newly, Campbell, Ettinger…we’ve even got Hack and Scott in from
long distance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Andy Knoop and I started
doing this nearly ten years ago and those trips are a lifeline to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it’s great getting reconnected with all
of these guys too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Do it now. Life’s too short, and we’ve had
far too many reminders of that lately in our little circle.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">It's a very cool thing re-establishing your childhood connections as adults. There's a commonality that you either forget or take for granted...a shared memory. Until Dan and I started connecting like this again, I forgot that our Moms had been friends, and that Cooper and I started hanging out together when I was about 3 and he was 5. We rode the bus together, played HS golf together, fooled around on the guitar together, and as it turned out from this trip--it was no accident, we like hanging out together. LoL.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: large;">Anyway, this trip with him was just one of these myriad reconnections that have kind of sustained me through some challenging times over the past few years. Andy and I never really lost touch. Scott and I have also done a pretty good job at staying close. Newly and I got reconnected when I moved to Evansville in 2000. But Coop and Campbell has really just been over the past three years, and Hack within the past two. And it's very cool. Like finding money in your pocket you didn't know was there.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">No
real point to all of this rambling here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Just thinking back on one of the great trips ever, and alot of great friendships over the years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Coop…NOLA is calling again, and Austin is
still begging to be hit…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />Greg Hooverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00268286257051964998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4990917746447852116.post-14045387096741680802012-02-15T07:06:00.003-08:002012-02-15T16:34:21.297-08:00Rest In Peace Third StoneThe internet has changed the way we think, work, shop and probably most importantly, how we relate to people. I’ve considered this before, but last week it touched me in a very personal way. Let me explain.<br /><br />Several years ago, I think it was 2005, I joined the website operated by The Sporting News, TSN. At first it was just to play online Fantasy Baseball (for you true devotees, it was online Strat-O-Matic), but as I starting reaching out to the community I discovered a rich blogging experience. Initially a reader and commenter, I was encouraged by my new found friends to blog—primarily by my internet Godfather Lew Troop. I’ve always been a writer, but had not blogged before. And Lew pushed and encouraged and critiqued me into it. He’s the only one of my TSN pals that I’ve ever had contact with outside the ‘net, and we spoke often and regularly on the phone.<br /><br />Blogging became a wellspring for me. In addition to a creative outlet that really encouraged and developed my talent, it was a repository for my work—and I’ll tell you that I had some great stuff out there. Twice TSN recognized and posted my work on the national site, I won the only blogging contest I ever entered, and my colleagues recognized one of my pieces as among the best on the TSN site and named me to the Hall of Fame. This was all in the span of a little more than a year.<br /><br />Unfortunately, my advancing career limited the time I could spend on blogging at that point, and I drifted away from it. Eventually, the sight was shut down, and I lost over 100 of the best pieces and columns I’d ever written. That still grinds me.<br /><br />But in addition to the writing, I had stumbled upon an amazing network of friends. Not traditional at all, but friends none the less. I only ever had that one that I talked with on the phone, and have never met any of them in person; less from a conscious decision than from<br />circumstance. <br /><br />But they’re friends. We mourn each other’s losses, encourage and support, celebrate the highs. And when one of us is gone for an extended period without contact the network whips into action and we try and find out what happened to the missing member of the family.<br /><br />When TSN broke down, the core group started another blogging community. I’ve yet to engage to write or post there, but I read it regularly; and others of us connected via Facebook and Twitter. And I can tell you they’re among my closest friends. They’ve shared in my career and job changes, family moments and all of the things your friends are always there for. I’m attached to them. I need only get a retweet from Sharp Tusk (@SharpTusk) or a favorite from Jesse (@WhistlePig11) and it’s like my grade school best friend has called. They rally around you too. Through Sharp Tusk, I’ve become an adopted member of Arkansas Razorback nation, even thoughI’m a dyed in the wool Crème and Crimson Indiana Hoosier fan. I was struggling to reach 100 followers onTwitter (@GregLHoover) and ST fired out a missive to his beloved Hawg Nation and BANG! I had more #WPS tags (Woo Pig Sooey!, an Arkansas thing) than you can shake a stick at. I felt like someone from the country who was a little lost and had been taken in by his City neighbors.<br /><br />And while this is all centered on our writing and blogging, it’s like the friends you meet from work that you have a beer with or go to dinner or a ball game, you develop other closer relationships. We’ve got standing jokes about the Mayans, the Apocalypse (actually Hogpocalypse as my WPS buds call it), and many others. They’re a very significant and important part of my life and I love each and every one of them.<br /><br />And last week, the haunting shadow that I knew was back there but had never acknowledged came calling: we lost one of our old TSN gang, Third Stone From the Sun. Third Stone was a great writer—primarily on NFL and NFL Hall of Fame subjects—and he’d been MIA for a couple of weeks…when one of our friends was contacted via e-mail. Stone had suffered a stroke and passed away on January 22, 2012. Only 45, he left a wife and three young daughters.<br /><br />Now, I only knew Stone from his writing. He’d have recognized me as well, though we’d never even so much as exchanged messages. I’m not even sure I’d ever posted in response to one of his pieces. But he was part of my TSN family. Certainly not as close as Lew Troop, Frags, Sharp Tusk, Harvey Dakota or numerous others…but there none-the-less. I can tell you that when I learned of his passing I cried, and was maudlin for most of the day and the rest of that week.<br /><br />So how do you wrap your arms around that? Why this sense of loss for someone you’ve never even so much as exchanged an e-mail with?<br /><br />Well it’s not as complex as you might think. Our emotional attachments come from interaction…and in this case, I’d interacted with Stone by knowing his opinions, his writing style, his likes and dislikes; even if we hadn’t directly communicated. That’s the thing about the internet—it’s changing paradigms all over the place. And now it’s changed another for me by redefining how I meet, engage, grow fond of other people, and eventually mourn their loss. Hopefully this is the first of many such times, because while it hurts, it’s also the mark that we’re out there developing lasting and important relationships that matter to us; the essential point of life from where I stand.<br /><br />So Godspeed and Rest in Peace Third Stone; and prayers of sympathy and support to your family and little girls. While the old expression “we hardly knew you” might seem apt here, it really isn’t. Because even though it’s different from how I’ve known others for all of my 51 years, I knew you very well. I liked your writing, I respected your opinions, I looked forward to “seeing”you, and I am going to miss you being a part of my universe—even if it was the digital and virtual one.Greg Hooverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00268286257051964998noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4990917746447852116.post-2820167675229541302011-11-15T12:40:00.003-08:002012-03-28T13:13:33.557-07:00Fool for the City<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">With all apologies to Foghat and one of my favorite songs of all time, of the many things I’ve discovered in the past two-plus years, the fact that I’m a fool for the city may be both the most surprising and satisfying. </span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">When I took the CEO gig in Chicago in early fall of 2009, I was looking forward to being around the city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve always loved large cities and all that they offer, and had at times fantasized about living in the heart of one of them—typically Washington, DC or maybe NYC. But it was not on my mind in coming to the Windy City and my next career step.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And being downtown had never even occurred to me.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlO8KumSuKOurwnjvKH1BjYgKkGl58NGb7SfKizNw-IMECgsPrw6Cb35wdE4Q_S3Xnzwl6vE_JnqXTmZXTEa4we2QzvuyTXCV-QtNjRVaDoE3Gqcog_L1ZZFCB3jz0K1sXBEf7ocl1_lxr/s1600/Skyline.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 218px; height: 114px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675331881351955746" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlO8KumSuKOurwnjvKH1BjYgKkGl58NGb7SfKizNw-IMECgsPrw6Cb35wdE4Q_S3Xnzwl6vE_JnqXTmZXTEa4we2QzvuyTXCV-QtNjRVaDoE3Gqcog_L1ZZFCB3jz0K1sXBEf7ocl1_lxr/s400/Skyline.jpg" /></span></a></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I spent the first month or so looking at soul-less tract apartments in the suburbs that were within ten or fifteen minutes of work…but they were all pretty expensive, I still had cable and utilities to account for, and I was looking at $10-12k to furnish them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You couldn’t walk to bars or restaurants, your neighbors were all twenty-somethings just starting out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just couldn’t embrace it.</span></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Of course the thought of living in downtown Chicago was just as absurd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How could I afford that?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What about parking?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Never happen.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUTmP2KFxVbsCjOwlTMGQE_xkxnlSGce8XbekpopI95loBsCF5MbKOW3a7YDrsh-R8QpFoc8IQfDcj4g7uQbQFyFPEi4wh5FRsenL29J6TazxZFpm_o0XLgvxjt1aGzYzQWJg4GCzaF0Gj/s1600/Balcony+cloudless+morning.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 223px; height: 166px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675327892318292626" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUTmP2KFxVbsCjOwlTMGQE_xkxnlSGce8XbekpopI95loBsCF5MbKOW3a7YDrsh-R8QpFoc8IQfDcj4g7uQbQFyFPEi4wh5FRsenL29J6TazxZFpm_o0XLgvxjt1aGzYzQWJg4GCzaF0Gj/s400/Balcony+cloudless+morning.jpg" /></span></a></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;">But then one night sitting in my hotel suite in Oak Brook I was just stumbling around on Apartments.com and up pops this great little two bedroom, furnished, in the south loop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The price was so ridiculously cheap that I didn’t even look at it for three weeks—there must be something wrong with the building, I thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it had literally everything but sheets and towels, included all utilities and extraneous costs, looked great in the pictures, and had a really appealing location…so one week when I was staying downtown for a conference, I went on a Saturday to take a look.<br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeGjh4mJjmXu90DqcMwamn3gwa_m8QX3XlUyRIotZWYuHsJSKBzgjk2dvvPp1k7S-yWKFGRiCYupC1yITceXENUY_ktoIT7ZmlbywLFYG2f97bCDElXR6nWExqCftEfkclm-6PYP8e_pHR/s1600/Inside+Aptmt.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 221px; height: 166px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675327080478501154" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeGjh4mJjmXu90DqcMwamn3gwa_m8QX3XlUyRIotZWYuHsJSKBzgjk2dvvPp1k7S-yWKFGRiCYupC1yITceXENUY_ktoIT7ZmlbywLFYG2f97bCDElXR6nWExqCftEfkclm-6PYP8e_pHR/s400/Inside+Aptmt.jpg" /></span></a></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">My first clue was as soon as I walked in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes it had granite countertops and marble bathrooms and was charming, yes it was decorated very much in my style, yes it was on the twelfth floor with a balcony, and yes it had indoor parking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But there, sitting on the counter, was an Indiana University Kelley School of Business decorative plate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s where my daughter was going to school, and my son wanted to attend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s where my future landlord had gone as well. Turned out he was a year younger than me and we’d grown up about 40 miles apart in northern Indiana.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bill ended up being a really great guy and a terrific landlord.</span></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Cue the lightning bolt and cut to the sun streaming in the sliding glass door.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcLshTNBeFT1jYOZDX1M9xK91iJ2RoFyQuTzFgy6RRLiUTySDnP_CZLlWJC56seWnSqfv-i7PvpTQEnci8W5AbD_bf3Ba67BJaeaVL_X0J9N7ukb0ZUPoveAu-QyPWJLFL_YiM9O2-0ar_/s1600/Balcony+Fog.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 139px; height: 190px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675328458779663026" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcLshTNBeFT1jYOZDX1M9xK91iJ2RoFyQuTzFgy6RRLiUTySDnP_CZLlWJC56seWnSqfv-i7PvpTQEnci8W5AbD_bf3Ba67BJaeaVL_X0J9N7ukb0ZUPoveAu-QyPWJLFL_YiM9O2-0ar_/s400/Balcony+Fog.jpg" /></span></a></p><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">It was over before it began.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to have it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We signed all the paperwork and I moved in three weeks later.</span></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">What’s happened in the ensuing two years can only be called an epiphany.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Turns out I’m a city dweller…for a guy who grew up on a farm and put himself through school raising feeder pigs, mowing yards and detailing cars, who knew? But I love everything about it: the restaurants and bars, the museums, the symphony, the theater, the lakefront.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Taking the train to the north side for a game; sometimes just to have a drink at Murphy’s while a game is going on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even the sirens at night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s a vibrant life and style that I have absolutely embraced, and I am going to miss it immensely.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDKh0jeDQ0AsHf2-fdYS74gyg5BYcbbRaMLP2OkbI_sMDtKT1Alob5VAm6gD4Aev3yuUDIuLSmnZffCPBpw8Xk881Pg2PrTINN4mcxc5rjgp1D0a_Kj26vrj86BB_Y3MzAPYqZrwPfIz_k/s1600/lakefront.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 253px; height: 157px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675332099270672242" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDKh0jeDQ0AsHf2-fdYS74gyg5BYcbbRaMLP2OkbI_sMDtKT1Alob5VAm6gD4Aev3yuUDIuLSmnZffCPBpw8Xk881Pg2PrTINN4mcxc5rjgp1D0a_Kj26vrj86BB_Y3MzAPYqZrwPfIz_k/s400/lakefront.jpg" /></span></a></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">The best mornings include walking to the Lake Michigan shorefront, and either working up a sweat or just sitting on a bench listening to seagulls and watching people jog by while I sipped coffee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My favorite workout is doing a three and a half mile lap around Grant Park; starting by going to the waterfront and walking it’s length to the north, and then circling back and coming down Michigan Avenue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Doing that before work is akin to the warm up laps before a race: here is your soul in the sun coming up over the water, and here is the traffic and bustle and pace of the world as you come back into the city…it‘s like building up your revs for a running start.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvtVfnADoGrJ1vevoELqYhXR9JhBbyFwuzfjlNLyt4iWFXB_2SF_XvvZI18vGfey_UXBZubRw1cNVy-_bGIx3JVILTBqkFhwRgvgVkAX-zqqCPD9iJAkQe_mtA2byQ-bUl_jzBDyjnRfOX/s1600/Danes+guys+bean.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 259px; height: 195px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675335162263614098" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvtVfnADoGrJ1vevoELqYhXR9JhBbyFwuzfjlNLyt4iWFXB_2SF_XvvZI18vGfey_UXBZubRw1cNVy-_bGIx3JVILTBqkFhwRgvgVkAX-zqqCPD9iJAkQe_mtA2byQ-bUl_jzBDyjnRfOX/s400/Danes+guys+bean.jpg" /></span></a></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">In the summers, the Chicago Symphony runs through their weekend show every Wednesday evening in the Millenium Park shell, and you can go for free.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So if I could get home in time, I’d throw a bottle of wine in a bag with a glass, some kind of picnic food and a blanket, and walk the eight or ten blocks to sit on the grass in the park and listen to one of the great musical ensembles in the world perform a master work.</span></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">All by myself.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEiRIkWFRTDoFk7MHw-zfUz5x3YwIFZKlCaMW6Z5eibfm_aOsfd8H6lwl9VLwueOEdpNVHGXLkF201Uvs1HmVIbvGvsa05rCopHw3S8QiERplUjVYPI_dg1Bn3V-HKhN9wRL0_yj6bht7q/s1600/Concert+Night.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 247px; height: 192px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675329643548794834" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEiRIkWFRTDoFk7MHw-zfUz5x3YwIFZKlCaMW6Z5eibfm_aOsfd8H6lwl9VLwueOEdpNVHGXLkF201Uvs1HmVIbvGvsa05rCopHw3S8QiERplUjVYPI_dg1Bn3V-HKhN9wRL0_yj6bht7q/s400/Concert+Night.jpg" /></span></a></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">That might be the most interesting thing I’ve discovered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Living in the midst of all these people and energy and pace is one of the most comfortable places in the world to be by yourself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Rather than intimidating, everyone is friendly; I think because we’re all in this together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People talk on the elevators, say hi on the street.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Waitresses will stop and talk to you routinely.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not because they’re hitting on you or interested in a big tip; it’s because we’re all living in the city and it’s like being in a great private club.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve had people I meet at the dry cleaner or café or in the lobby invite me over for coffee or drinks after a brief conversation.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6hD_Kkv3jYwmm80Lzq_EZJjvbbum15con947KQd6DhvupIJ6bCqciP-IwkHxSmSKfReP195v5R8itRCF-SdhgZuDCtaDYVoXLRdqWtz_VQF2QIu_0VFZQ_1I0l_tEVN1byrRwIRFgeHet/s1600/MaRTY+AT+wRIGLEY.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 238px; height: 207px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675333094665721586" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6hD_Kkv3jYwmm80Lzq_EZJjvbbum15con947KQd6DhvupIJ6bCqciP-IwkHxSmSKfReP195v5R8itRCF-SdhgZuDCtaDYVoXLRdqWtz_VQF2QIu_0VFZQ_1I0l_tEVN1byrRwIRFgeHet/s400/MaRTY+AT+wRIGLEY.jpg" /></span></a></p><span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">My doorman Ken routinely harasses me when I wear my Cardinals gear for a game at Wrigley.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course he also donned a Cardinals hat, and called me to come to the desk to pick up a fictitious package the Monday morning after we won the World Series so he could both satisfy a bet and offer his respects and laugh with me about my team’s success.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A Cubs fan no less!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Gn8SkZIh1Z0aHHaA2urNd2nbPmSndtf1T1IqLxJxiwpySI8v3phzPQX9nTw3En0An8nG8Ubju1ChKC7qhm2He6eOjlYazDDz5Tryj2lyRlbeYT5JDwTsrCX9iRgeexlA8Tle2dzF2vrW/s1600/Wrigley+Sunset.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 247px; height: 184px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675333556885920306" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Gn8SkZIh1Z0aHHaA2urNd2nbPmSndtf1T1IqLxJxiwpySI8v3phzPQX9nTw3En0An8nG8Ubju1ChKC7qhm2He6eOjlYazDDz5Tryj2lyRlbeYT5JDwTsrCX9iRgeexlA8Tle2dzF2vrW/s400/Wrigley+Sunset.jpg" /></span></a></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I use to hate eating alone when I traveled on business.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d rather sit in my room then venture out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But with my experience in the city it’s become an anticipated pleasure, because you’re going to meet someone and make a friend, or at the very least just enjoy a great time with your service staff.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinszBBMaTyJFs5o-4eCxZnunv3N7zbydxpXr9v34jaL5-qLzvZAkpkH2XbSoJCcp_OzpNaYe9TUgtKwc60g2WqvQoOBewR6qrilCft-uLtZQSRtXJNgIwARp6Aeeq8sMIzC0-OeE6iOLX4/s1600/Balc+T+Storm.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 222px; height: 166px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675336886480858930" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinszBBMaTyJFs5o-4eCxZnunv3N7zbydxpXr9v34jaL5-qLzvZAkpkH2XbSoJCcp_OzpNaYe9TUgtKwc60g2WqvQoOBewR6qrilCft-uLtZQSRtXJNgIwARp6Aeeq8sMIzC0-OeE6iOLX4/s400/Balc+T+Storm.jpg" /></span></a></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">The memories could make up encyclopedic volumes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Walking two blocks to the Firehouse for a steak; drinks watching a gorgeous post-storm sunset from the rooftop; countless games and concerts and walks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Talking to neighbors’ dogs in the park or elevator.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My pals who waited on me at Flo’s and Wabash Tap and Little Branch and the Dry Cleaner. The entire young, friendly, and eminently tattooed staff at Whole Foods.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia_ZzFdpzb_wff4n0U8LTqWl9LEWM_OQAveY0SVRgzWkUiF61Osb4uwhjyipHsFsshFKZT8wYYdiBmWNrS1pbDK1lu4TxAQNfgINNJ58Wsq-VL6pYiEw6OkJFIopTJWZxquhSMhCGEPDhh/s1600/aLEX+n+Kelly.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 167px; height: 183px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675334125819853634" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia_ZzFdpzb_wff4n0U8LTqWl9LEWM_OQAveY0SVRgzWkUiF61Osb4uwhjyipHsFsshFKZT8wYYdiBmWNrS1pbDK1lu4TxAQNfgINNJ58Wsq-VL6pYiEw6OkJFIopTJWZxquhSMhCGEPDhh/s400/aLEX+n+Kelly.jpg" /></span></a></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">The view looking back on the city from the Planetarium peninsula, bathed in a fresh early morning dew as the sun first put light on it. Calm, crisp fall Sunday’s when I could open the balcony door and hear the Soldier Field stadium announcer call out every Bears first down, following the roar of the crowd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Knowing that someone from the Sox just went yard because I could hear the fireworks exploding twenty blocks away.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUMO2XsE97Ef0WnDRXbkpcqKLqIlraap28u6n4RQWuCmn-S3ddxBpnEDAkJh0K2P9609yxKPlDfE2uVnlQ0H-N8GRlE2f9C4z7QdBD_3EXCfkUaN9BxqMSPQiuRNRI96jfvdDURJuZkwNo/s1600/balcony+Morning.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 222px; height: 166px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675334494045162930" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUMO2XsE97Ef0WnDRXbkpcqKLqIlraap28u6n4RQWuCmn-S3ddxBpnEDAkJh0K2P9609yxKPlDfE2uVnlQ0H-N8GRlE2f9C4z7QdBD_3EXCfkUaN9BxqMSPQiuRNRI96jfvdDURJuZkwNo/s400/balcony+Morning.jpg" /></span></a></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-family:arial;">The concerts alone would get their own book.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> </span><span style="font-family:arial;">Kiss at the UC on my first weekend in town. Paul McCartney at Wrigley.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> </span><span style="font-family:arial;">Coldplay at Lollapalooza with the lighted night cityscape as a stage backdrop. Ray Lamontagne and Brandi Carlile at the Millenium Park shell. Two Chicago Blues festivals. Joe Bonamassa and Chelsea Handler at the Chicago theater. U2 and Bon Jovi at Soldier Field on hot summer nights.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> </span><span style="font-family:arial;">And evenings without number at Reggie’s or Kingston Mines or Buddy Guy’s listening to every kind of act under the sun, but mostly just smoking hot Chicago blues.</span><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnID0Fl8X7nseI567s4_WjyS99yNGqrOBKGzGlW7I8GCBdIW0mS0isHk3c2Sgv0Ywf95qB2-A5cN1cW6w6OhTdVueoDE3Aq9XIKfd6MO12Pw6pK4JqXSzEJVtHiLn5ZxXRGGmy1v6honjZ/s1600/photo.JPG"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 161px; height: 214px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675333781008068930" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnID0Fl8X7nseI567s4_WjyS99yNGqrOBKGzGlW7I8GCBdIW0mS0isHk3c2Sgv0Ywf95qB2-A5cN1cW6w6OhTdVueoDE3Aq9XIKfd6MO12Pw6pK4JqXSzEJVtHiLn5ZxXRGGmy1v6honjZ/s400/photo.JPG" /></span></a></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">So it’s with a thankful but heavy heart that I finish packing up my little apartment this week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The two bedrooms did exactly what I hoped: they provided a place for my kids and my friends to come and share in the pleasures of the city with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love having guests and entertaining, and that has been a real treat here. From birthday visits from Scott Kline and Greg Miller, to the closeness I re-established with “cousin” Hack on his frequent weekends to the city (he and wife Sue still own the two best visits: the impromptu weekend during my first Chicago Blues Festival, and later that summer when they blew into town for my surprise “50<sup>th</sup> Birthday Party” that was two plus months after my birthday), to Newly and Cooper and Davey Wilson and the weekends when Alex or Dane would pile in with two or three of their friends, to being able to share it with my good friends the Ryans when they needed to be close to the University of Chicago hospital.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Half a dozen impromptu “cocktail parties” when people visiting town on business would come over to sit on the balcony.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Amazing times and recollections, every single one.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Qwc9eGHkOD09ZW7gVGdhmCrswKC_umtl2xtfIcTFzgbpBPN5CI-JTEKJ3BBrcOEbbjhWUbU8YUcKMJwaK1zkLm6S0ZIqPtYebutO4hPyEqPRtJt5a_I0s99uBRBUjDMBzKOFIAG4npD6/s1600/Hoov+Cigar+Balcony.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 249px; height: 193px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675334749476969330" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Qwc9eGHkOD09ZW7gVGdhmCrswKC_umtl2xtfIcTFzgbpBPN5CI-JTEKJ3BBrcOEbbjhWUbU8YUcKMJwaK1zkLm6S0ZIqPtYebutO4hPyEqPRtJt5a_I0s99uBRBUjDMBzKOFIAG4npD6/s400/Hoov+Cigar+Balcony.jpg" /></span></a></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Speaking of the balcony, that’s been a magical place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s become my do-it-yourself version of a therapist’s couch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sipping wine on a glossy summer night; puffing a cigar in one of Chicago’s numerous snow storms; coffee on a beautiful Saturday morning or watching a weeknight thunderstorm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The many pictures you’ve all come to enjoy and comment on in my Facebook posts.</span></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibE8LArDyXEzOF3ekwDiDwzx_mA_c7lfkc6t_rOxo3g8ucKgH2bI2Oj6Q8HFYcvVthihXHcd6uA7FX0ufZpAZtf2I0GAYiFYFUUMT0P8FLTz7VTtjmZTKTjjZheewV5Bnq18wd4nSZLIhyphenhyphen/s1600/Balc+Blizz.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 222px; height: 166px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675338039630732338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibE8LArDyXEzOF3ekwDiDwzx_mA_c7lfkc6t_rOxo3g8ucKgH2bI2Oj6Q8HFYcvVthihXHcd6uA7FX0ufZpAZtf2I0GAYiFYFUUMT0P8FLTz7VTtjmZTKTjjZheewV5Bnq18wd4nSZLIhyphenhyphen/s400/Balc+Blizz.jpg" /></span></a></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">I was never much on a Florida retirement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe Arizona or California; nice weather and less humidity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even Colorado.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But that’s all smoke from a distant fire now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My second home is going to be a downtown apartment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most likely Chicago, but could be DC too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not cutout for tee times and beaches—though the occasional long weekend or ten day respite is nice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m a concert, ball game, dinner and theater, New York Times-on-Saturday-morning-with-coffee kind of guy.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhCP-ntjb3oxlncmF4GGDYUbiOHbs4QEVzA74Y0d8MQx8R41moWfbXEo7adc1Gryd_Xzb4DnFbFaD3jDpRAtDV0G7piZutMnrRlJJ52y1RIunBolULiiRZgVSw5L0e39ew2hdh5_0q8zot/s1600/Balcony+Sun+Storm.jpg"><span style="font-size:130%;"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 221px; height: 166px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675335452502094482" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhCP-ntjb3oxlncmF4GGDYUbiOHbs4QEVzA74Y0d8MQx8R41moWfbXEo7adc1Gryd_Xzb4DnFbFaD3jDpRAtDV0G7piZutMnrRlJJ52y1RIunBolULiiRZgVSw5L0e39ew2hdh5_0q8zot/s400/Balcony+Sun+Storm.jpg" /></span></a></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">So while I’m not going to the city, but rather am leaving, I can assure you that I have it on my mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The country sure is pretty, but I’m going to leave it all behind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>‘Cause when I hit that inner city, child, I’m walking on a cloud. </span></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span></p><span style="font-size:130%;"> </span><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Turns out I’m a fool for the city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>;-)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5h27RIruxtZmsGWaKXXmHqtd5pUSXKckzJZlFsS8K5tJ06T9STHahzLhM4PjVgvR-eZnGd7-SNowHnxwOM5uvUc95AxGqJ30szFipI_bSRwkYSalmlsM485UtRN6vGLRhMmW7LMjrpCcQ/s1600/Balcony+gorgeous+night.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 222px; height: 166px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675335659645223362" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5h27RIruxtZmsGWaKXXmHqtd5pUSXKckzJZlFsS8K5tJ06T9STHahzLhM4PjVgvR-eZnGd7-SNowHnxwOM5uvUc95AxGqJ30szFipI_bSRwkYSalmlsM485UtRN6vGLRhMmW7LMjrpCcQ/s400/Balcony+gorgeous+night.jpg" /></a></p><p class="MsoNormal">(And yes, I took all of these photos myself on my iPhone--the obvious exceptions being the two that I appear in)</p>Greg Hooverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00268286257051964998noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4990917746447852116.post-59779201905773705012011-07-12T11:26:00.000-07:002011-07-12T12:25:45.896-07:00Of Spacewalks, and Debt, and Near Death at the Home Run Derby<div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">I have to confess that as I start this particular piece, I really don’t know where I’m going with it.<br /><br />It started in response to my cousin Hack noting on Facebook that today is the last American space walk in the foreseeable future; coming as it does on the final mission of our space shuttle program. That lit a spark in me to talk about American genius and spirit, and how we’ve pretty much squandered both as we’ve pissed away being the greatest country in the world for the last sixty or so years.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></div></span><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628548658235032418" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 398px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEQyloWG3RB1rJhOJPjPEWTf_9rlLluft_K0AEQyk_5wQziUEKH-Bzzid2FpI_yPICWzyDBaHvW56U5EVSuAO7N8RPtUrd0LU956crfFGVemk8CYUt8XpUu3RlNOSzA0R2zE1mBdJQwp9J/s400/Spacewalk.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-family:arial;">I wanted to espouse the greatness that was America when I was a kid growing up. The spirit that made us all stare in silent wonder at our television sets on that July night 42 years ago and watch a fuzzy picture of Neil Armstrong setting foot on the moon. Muscle cars and industrialism and jets and space and wonder and awe and just being winners!<br /><br />I think I wanted to challenge us to get that back...<br /><br />And then right in the middle of that, I saw my friend Dean Jackson’s FB post about the idiot at the MLB home run derby last night, who almost died trying to catch his THIRD ball of the contest. Think I’m over-reacting? Check out the perch this moron was on just before attempting the catch…</span><br /><br /><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628548389168442594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7mJzF2o90kLDnzE3PSxZv2c-OZdaglZeAFLvFfDTcP-Dykf_OAQStOROmN_pZ_MiyBk0Vg4YBx2zn_ql4T0a9mVT-cZ5ao6TJXu78Hd1APS-EYQx6WiJSgKdlWWmLgiDyDN3AtMezwbhq/s400/fan_almost_falls_from_chase_field_stands_at_home_run_derby.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-family:arial;"> So let me make clear: I’m drawing a line between this lunacy and the hero firefighter who died last week while reaching for a ball in front of his six year old son. I may be wrong, but I see multiple empty beer cups in the above shot. This is not smart behavior. Ever.<br /><br />Ok, so the country that was great enough to put a man on the moon is also capable of producing whackjobs that are willing to stand on a small metal table twenty five feet in the air and dive for baseballs in a scenario where only a week before a man lost his life. Not that it would make it worthwhile, but these aren't Derek Jeter's 3000th hit or Somebody Else's Milestone Home Run ball. This ball is one of 95 home runs hit in THIS contest. The guy had already caught two, about two thirds of the way through the event.<br /><br />Inspiring.<br /><br />And of course in the midst of all this we have a congress arguing over making it legal for us to be $14 trillion in debt…which is nearly $130,000 for EVERY American taxpayer.<br /><br />Want to blow your mind? Check out this website: <a href="http://www.usdebtclock.org/">http://www.usdebtclock.org/</a><br /><br />And so we come full circle to why we can’t afford the space program. Because we’re a country that’s made up of people willing to go $14 trillion in debt, and risk our lives to catch baseballs from a made-up sideshow carnival contest, but we can’t comprehend the vision or wisdom or attitude and spirit that it takes to explore new worlds and expand our boundaries.<br /><br />Call me nuts, I liked us better 50 years ago.</span> </div><br /><div></div><br /><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628543127943370610" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 435px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 306px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsK6Tr3HL7wWhXj-90h4V80pbBeGXfJgGCv68yiiFph4dmJz6VE3t6dMay33ONj3D9e8Lj2JUFDbHzPDMpVUtuqiy8miWkAuvic5XRT9uYKuzPIcLTkZeAzDIsxknSiirxPgevhKcm_lzR/s400/beaver-hugh-beaumont-ward-cleaver-barbara-bilingsley-june-590jn102010.jpg" border="0" /></div>Greg Hooverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00268286257051964998noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4990917746447852116.post-19738568733520490682011-03-18T17:02:00.000-07:002011-03-21T14:15:01.912-07:00The Best Dog...Ever<span style="font-family:arial;">I’m a confirmed dog guy, for as long as I can remember. I’ve had some great cats that left indelible impressions on me—I once found a litter hidden in our barn after the mother had been hit by a car, and raised the three kittens from the age of eight days—but I’m a dog guy.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvk7TfGtzgXQG5Oc_LS5paHaAJRO4NxnZMyGp-5HToyMjpWjGLio1Kd6SUryQ9JekbNjM830Hhe5G0MYIea7zAgSImqKulQOHBqCHdPTSyUJERF8FHGj0wPPGWKnNLGzC2vKnpZdwUP7zI/s1600/Penske+Tan.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585575194811540738" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 286px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 211px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvk7TfGtzgXQG5Oc_LS5paHaAJRO4NxnZMyGp-5HToyMjpWjGLio1Kd6SUryQ9JekbNjM830Hhe5G0MYIea7zAgSImqKulQOHBqCHdPTSyUJERF8FHGj0wPPGWKnNLGzC2vKnpZdwUP7zI/s320/Penske+Tan.bmp" border="0" /></a>From our hunting beagle Soxy, to Taffy the Cocker Spaniel, to the German Shepherd named Casey that practically raised me (let a little air out of the football and he would actually play as the sixth guy to even out three-on-three teams, seriously…of course it had to be touch instead of tackle), to the first dog we had with our kids—a female boxer named Bud—I can honestly say that I’ve been blessed with some of the best dog relationships a human can have.<br /><br />Bud was our transition dog. Less than two years after we were married, and before kids, we were a young working couple, and we both wanted a dog. I lobbied hard for a lab, but my wife Jenny had always had boxers in their family…so she won out. And I was quickly won over to the breed. Gentle, playful, short hair, great with kids. I became a fan for life. </span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><div><div><br />So we started the search, and through a friend found a family that had a boxer about to give birth to registered pups. We actually went and visited them, played with the mother, and plunked down a deposit. The day <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4vNYpJRDiRo_vvRBjHxq5o3DcvYHTHv-uZCC9GFAXV3NRStuoOburL_ab_D8ffCH_Ti0IxSl62iIV_hFIcbIcXn0CRlJaR0HFw5Ovi4LfYJie_T1-RXw2UOSB2ASVpFX_AgLYvAbSJGpg/s1600/Penske+Scarf"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585575758016863298" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 292px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 246px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4vNYpJRDiRo_vvRBjHxq5o3DcvYHTHv-uZCC9GFAXV3NRStuoOburL_ab_D8ffCH_Ti0IxSl62iIV_hFIcbIcXn0CRlJaR0HFw5Ovi4LfYJie_T1-RXw2UOSB2ASVpFX_AgLYvAbSJGpg/s320/Penske+Scarf" border="0" /></a>Bud was born (Veteran’s Day 1986), we went and picked her out, held her when she was less than 12 hours old, and went back numerous times to play with her before bringing her home at six weeks old. In an ironic twist, though we lived more than fifty miles away from my home town and had gotten Bud locally, we later found out her father lived less than a half mile down the road from my mom and childhood home, and we actually went to see him too a year or so later. We’re weird about dog connections like that.<br /><br />Bud was a terrific dog and will always be our first kid. She started getting sick in the fall of 1997 with a brain tumor and we had to put her to sleep in the spring of 1998. I’d done that before, but this day I cried worse than either of my parent’s funerals. I couldn’t begin to describe the grief.<br /><br />But this post isn’t about Bud…it’s about her follow-up dog, Penske.<br /><br />We were going to let some time pass, as you always say when you let go of a dog. But it was less than a week later when there was an ad from the St Louis Post Dispatch circled and sitting on the table when I got home from work. "Boxers, $300, in Maryland Heights" and a phone number. No, I said. We’re going to wait. But after hours of begging and pleading (Dane was only 5, so I think it was mostly Alex and her mom, but I could be wrong), I finally agreed to just go look.<br /><br />Right.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKD6sw22g1Yi_XKnj6V1Fb7D5Y6ebOc3CP-AzgmbpblplMo-2ZKOnxufGB69yDaJW4ib7JKrcDGBc7P_RdQfrFIt5tP2hlFbyseWHzaCvKzbG2xlT9MWjfayBtCCSxSekUTtCc6LVVQ-UE/s1600/Penske+Baby2.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585576609978434018" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 268px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 215px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKD6sw22g1Yi_XKnj6V1Fb7D5Y6ebOc3CP-AzgmbpblplMo-2ZKOnxufGB69yDaJW4ib7JKrcDGBc7P_RdQfrFIt5tP2hlFbyseWHzaCvKzbG2xlT9MWjfayBtCCSxSekUTtCc6LVVQ-UE/s320/Penske+Baby2.jpg" border="0" /></a>We were ushered into the family’s back yard, and there were the parents with their little herd of pups—eleven or twelve of them as I remember. They were frolicking around, and we asked about a female. There were only two, they said, “Here’s one—not really the color you want—where’s the other one…?” And as if on cue the little girl blasted out of a hole in the deck and raced at Alex and Dane, bounding straight into our lives. We were sunk. 30 minutes later Penske was a Hoover and stumbling around her new house in Chesterfield.<br /><br />Yes, her name was Penske. We’re racers in the Hoover household; open wheel racers. And Penske was named for one of my hero’s and the King of Indy, Roger Penske. It was close…she was almost Lola or Enzo. But it was my turn to pick, and none of us really liked Cosworth either. Penske came home with us the Wednesday night after the Indy 500 of 1998 (Eddie Cheever in the Rachel’s Potato Chips Special), and the day before I left for the weekend to race in the Skip Barber Series at Indianapolis Raceway Park. Penske was a most appropriate name in her youth and for most of her life—she raced everywhere; up and down the stairs, around the yard. Sometimes she would actually sprint all-out in huge circles, doing four or five laps of the back yard as fast as she could run, before loping out to a trot like she’d just won the Saturday night feature at some fairground dirt track. </div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguuGFV1SjH8KXA_7umI8oAQ8zjmt213wOrfxPPVLNdv4gTXAU3PlkkpcKqi7NVWkHkXehTqWEpDQLy0YcaLaUDyF1e-NyZxIoguWka0FE-e6-Y6dHAeotuz4p3QyopYysZFu9o35DnIGgJ/s1600/Penske+Baby.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585577676742767122" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 267px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 249px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguuGFV1SjH8KXA_7umI8oAQ8zjmt213wOrfxPPVLNdv4gTXAU3PlkkpcKqi7NVWkHkXehTqWEpDQLy0YcaLaUDyF1e-NyZxIoguWka0FE-e6-Y6dHAeotuz4p3QyopYysZFu9o35DnIGgJ/s320/Penske+Baby.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />The weird connection with Penske was that her birthday was the same as Alex’s: April 14. So every year they’d each put on a hat, eat cake, and celebrate together. We have some great pictures from those parties.<br /><br />A lot of people will tell you that their dog thinks they’re a person, but I always said that Penske thought we were all dogs. The way she played, how she reacted to us. I’m still to this day convinced that we were Penske’s pets.<br /><br />I have a lot of indelible images of Penske: there’s the picture I can’t find of she and I laying on the sofa when she’s about a year old. Or rather, Penske laying on me. I’m stretched out reading a book, and Penske is sprawled out lengthwise and flat on top of me…her head under my chin and her feet stretched out almost to my ankles. I wish I could find it to post it here. I'm sorry that cell phones with cameras didn't come sooner, because you would have incredible pictures of Penske accompanying this piece. We have some hilarious shots of her and the kids--I'm particularly thinking of one where she is licking Dane's face when he's about six--but they're all on film and paper. The ones here, while good, are from the last couple of years and really don't capture her vigor...this was more what we referred to as her "reclining and napping" phase... :-)<br /><br />One of my favorite memories is of her racing up the stairs of our home at about three months of age, barely able to do it because she was so small, and blasting (yes, I used "blasting" again; she did a lot of blasting in those days) across the landing and hall like a bullet to launch herself onto our bed, hammering her head into whatever part of your body she hit first and then just burrowing in there, like you were a gaggle of puppies and she was trying to snuggle up.<br /><br />She would also crawl under the bed; at least until she did it one day and was too big to get out; I had to lift up the entire King bed so she could stand up, shake her head, and look at me like she was saying "Well I guess THOSE days are over..." Or she'd lay with her head stuck into dark corners, like the intersection of the couch and loveseat. Until she was about five, her favorite thing was to lay down by you, and jam her head behind your back and hips. </div><div></div><div><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2IeCrM4g5IW5BnXJG2SGHP3jqjuf9UfFN3WR4D_HhTim71EZWEB82YSRcTzNPMBlb1sD3jjcr1ol5B6FLrFh3azmL2ZLyRI0Jg4SjQf3EmWXZHqa78tfm-PXLM1IErqgAYMj1bY1y_QeK/s1600/Penske+Hug.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585578096275534002" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2IeCrM4g5IW5BnXJG2SGHP3jqjuf9UfFN3WR4D_HhTim71EZWEB82YSRcTzNPMBlb1sD3jjcr1ol5B6FLrFh3azmL2ZLyRI0Jg4SjQf3EmWXZHqa78tfm-PXLM1IErqgAYMj1bY1y_QeK/s320/Penske+Hug.bmp" border="0" /></a>Penske always slept with us, and she would dream vividly and in full action, muffled barks and legs churning as she chased some imaginary rabbit. She would look up at you once in awhile and her upper lip would be stuck to her teeth, making her look like she was trying to do a canine impersonation of Elvis. As you'll also note in one of these pictures, she loved "hanging off" of things--the edge of a stair step, the end of the couch.<br /><br />When I would get down on the floor, she’d wrestle with me round and round, snarling like it was the end of the world…but stopping just short when it got too rough. Inevitably it would end up with me facedown, her pinning me across the back, and pretending to bite my ears as she growled and licked my neck. All the while her stub of a tale going a million miles a minute.<br /><br />She ate a bottle of prescription steroids when she was about three, and the vet warned that might take some time off her life at the end…but her physicals were always top notch, and she was really in great shape until the last three months. Her worst infirmity was being deaf as a stone over about the last year…which was an endless source of amusement to both our family and Penske. There must be something special about a dog waking up to find you nuzzling her face, surprised at your touch or that you’re even that close and she didn’t know…because her eyes light up and her tale wiggles non-stop.<br /><br />This storytelling could go on for hours. Penske is the best dog I’ve ever known, and she had her own special communication with each member of our family. She and I would “hug” standing up…I’d bend over and put my arm around her neck, and she would put her face up to mine, nuzzle, and just kind of smile as she leaned into me and wiggled her tail. We’d stand like that for as long as I could bend over, which wasn’t nearly as long as I’d like in the last couple of years.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgygmOLyRlbQ-PyxsNmZIbWFFOU4SHNEPxURneYZyBrWMfTWZn-RStDzpj6kaYihfgHCGdu5OXlP2NwgRg0pY6ZgcLk6wGgNvlb4Mk0X2WW-V_YqmqUdTdDD9LrWMfw5nsWKoS_Dn8pibRM/s1600/Penske.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585578526606699298" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgygmOLyRlbQ-PyxsNmZIbWFFOU4SHNEPxURneYZyBrWMfTWZn-RStDzpj6kaYihfgHCGdu5OXlP2NwgRg0pY6ZgcLk6wGgNvlb4Mk0X2WW-V_YqmqUdTdDD9LrWMfw5nsWKoS_Dn8pibRM/s320/Penske.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />I share all of this with you because we put Penske to sleep this afternoon (Friday , March 18th); a month before she and Alex would have shared birthdays 13 and 22, respectively. I had hoped to get back to Evansville the night before, but a last minute work situation and numerous calls and commitments kept that from happening. Since I wasn’t there to help with the 4:30 appointment at the vet, and Jenny was going to have to do it alone, her neighbor Sheila went with her. Alex was in Florida, me in Chicago, and Dane was unreachable at some after school activity. The two ladies from the vet’s office were there too, bawling their eyes out—which we’re told is not normal. Penske was routinely touted as the office’s favorite patient, and she received much special treatment when she went there, whether for boarding or an appointment.<br /><br />So, I’m sitting here tonight thinking of the best dog I’ve ever known in a very long and distinguished list of contenders; and I’m crying like a baby. Today would have been an extremely difficult and tense day at work under normal circumstances, and with this hanging out there I was a wreck all day. It’s the kind of day that I would have come home and just sat on the couch with Penske. When she had her head on my knee, I didn’t need a drink to smooth out the troubles of the world; and I knew I was loved, unconditionally and always. Tonight would have been a prime Penske night.<br /><br />So godspeed Penske; aka Snoop, Penske Lee, Princess, the Queen, Penny, Racer Dog, Penners, and Penskerella. Dogs are a gift and a blessing; and you were an overachiever in that and every other regard. Thirteen years wasn’t nearly enough, but it was more than we deserved from a dog like you. We love you old girl, and we all miss you terribly already…</div><br /><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585578930483813410" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCrXTnVzpJiUWwAnolo4ulFdgiO7xhc08gWH7XaQbzkRyCyNoJbYRhRzdTFn2N3Jtvw5G-EEokCuyfE6khimYXK5DKXFFxE15f3QOUq-qzcRs4N0biosWR01679kIPXatcavdH0qOloUr4/s320/Penske+Snooze.bmp" border="0" /><br /><div></span></div></div>Greg Hooverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00268286257051964998noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4990917746447852116.post-63403445686049852882011-01-26T09:06:00.000-08:002011-01-26T11:49:59.739-08:00And the Oscar for Average Goes To....!!!<span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I love movies, always have. It started when I was a kid, I’m sure, with those magical evenings of my Mom taking me to see “The Sound of Music” or the encore showings of “Gone With the Wind” on the huge screens in ornate theaters with high-brow names like The Embassy in Ft. Wayne, or the Friday night that my Dad took we to Warsaw to the Lake Theater to see Steve McQueen star in my all time favorite racing movie, “LeMans.” The smell of hot buttered popcorn, an ice cold fountain coke, and the frosty chill of a large air conditioned space on a humid summer night in Indiana. My childhood hero racing a Porsche 917 on a screen over a hundred feet wide and forty feet high right before my very eyes.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566547878717890850" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 136px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 228px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuXxtgWLIGntXeqrqfiBjKt07QgTVciZJZTxK7TTB09SFNDQ8KO1eITHLjIfcHzr1ECkWCDBav4nntFPF1mSL6NCKNj7meb_TJ_ntN-SOnoCpIZeVZpM7oA3vL_KSIOTfpyEWU4l1RhAdW/s320/LeMans-McQuee.jpg" border="0" /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Of course, I loved the products just as much as the experience. My shelves are filled with as many classic DVD’s of movies as they are with books, and I have tons of them. From local live theater to the boards of Broadway, I love all things theatrical and how they magically tell us a story. I even have a dusty Best Actor trophy tucked away in a box somewhere from one of my six or seven high school performances.<br /><br />But my favorite was always the movies. Call it my love of 50’s California, the pretty women, the fast cars, or just the huge stars and dreams of riches and glamour…I loved the movies!</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566548174959418050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 230px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpMBz8sgb-o4onHFioFZePS5DZFHQxSUeJ51YcrKQeN7qhByGkZwwbodSFJEIJQPIiiqAj8t3ArwZvu1ZOh2guR7KE036J1Qnb0sDZyHbYoplSHQJZf5CjNnURNry01oqy13g4QaSVr1Vg/s320/sound-of-music-photo1.jpg" border="0" /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And just like everything else, that began to change somewhere along the way. Video and then DVD made it easier to rent a show than to get a sitter or drag your kids to the theater, and soon enough so did ten dollar ticket prices. The lack of great stories didn’t help.<br /><br />But there were still pockets. I’m a sucker for anything Brad Pitt, Harrison Ford or Jeff Bridges are in. And just like when I was a ten year old boy, I still harbor my actress crushes: Elizabeth Banks, Sandra Bullock and Charlize Theron; the last two even before they won their Oscars.</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> </span><br /><br /><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566550579356046258" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 234px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNG75ipNU2GcatQHwcm9YbKPut0oyAyL17F_B6EchVfMc1Exkxv4ew53QHyE-fTRQvuWYACk32I-nMDgOa4Ai6Zike9NvDb7-6Z62P4eIFAFe0YYPJkS8w3UCVMkceqqUKEoRgOO1WKAC0/s320/Seabiscuit_movie_poster.jpg" border="0" /><br />Yet overall, the movies became something that I did once a year with the family on Christmas Day after we’d opened our presents.<br /><br />Now, if I can pause for a moment here, I should offer a disclaimer. If you read any of my stuff at all, you know that I have a tendency to rant a bit about our modern ethos. I miss those old timey virtues and values: hard work, discipline, overcoming challenge. And I’ve talked about that in seemingly every example of venue from sports to academics to our country’s leaders. I’m tired of how soft we’re getting and what that’s doing to the quality of our product in these various areas. </span><span style="font-family:arial;">So if you don’t like that particular attitude, now would be a good time to change channels or to go to the figurative kitchen for an imaginary snack. Because this is going to be more of the same… </span><br /><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566551385309394098" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSnEslE6mpxC_PZAtfFxf_Rf3Mz6QidEXDABA6GSD8W2AjxDaUAwaGtOMxECNrNgZL9emvRbTP0tRvE675SEnOUQqpaZLge6NUeg38_xuGFKY_ogL6EH-Gl25Iuunj2tU20Oha0v6qGPt2/s320/Meet+Joe+Black.jpg" border="0" /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />I realized yesterday that the Academy now nominates ten movies for their “Best Picture” Oscar. Apparently they did this last year as well, but my malaise when it comes to Hollywood these days prevented me from noticing. And this strikes me as incredibly ironic: at a time when Hollywood’s product is as mediocre as it’s ever been, when the industry is under fire from all forms of media and entertainment competition, NOW is when they choose to “dumb down” their standards and give every moviemaking kid a ribbon. </span></p><span style="font-family:arial;"><p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566549206812090322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2dUqGy2dFGEpJj89m4av19PG6Exa6XqDX5w2BcsQLd6GGKKWHMOQF3cwPa9_YjG2DYbkzIWc3dPAAh9jaX8X9KIzmWzoSIsn70FF2jLauEetL4mbXDHiGA0JsMzWHjPXEj3LSHytmJEbq/s320/rocky-1.jpg" border="0" /> </p><p><br />They’ve made Hollywood pass/fail.<br /><br />They’ve turned the Oscars into a multiple choice test with more than one right answer.<br /><br />They’ve erased “first” place from moviemaking’s most famous award, and instead stamped “participant” across Oscar’s chest.<br /><br />Do they think that in naming ten movies instead of five they’ve increased my interest? They haven’t; my eyes glazed over when I got to the fifth nominee and realized there were five more. </span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">Are they doing it to increase sales? Do they think that in having five MORE movies that can shout “Nominated for BEST PICTURE!!!” in their ads and posters that more people will come out to see them? I doubt that will work. </p></span><p><br /></p><span style="font-family:arial;"><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566548750382982370" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 213px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEio0rZYRt0-PwGJV6mheYnym7H70CyGAyAiX-7E_nb2T_qkq6SuIvSCQWzcYf9_Apu7yxD0njy_5zT1RhffisVmeqbCledFRabORccmquj_Hn7k1yXTf7njtM1jNuvXQCnoZ607y3dMZRIn/s320/1500-1251gone-with-the-wind-posters11.jpg" border="0" /><br /></span></p><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Or have they just gone the route of all those other brain addled governing bodies?<br /><br />You know—like the ones that ruined one of the greatest sporting events of all time by moving Indiana to a class basketball system for their high school state tournament. Now there are more "BASKETBALL STATE CHAMPS!!!" signs littering the city limits of Indiana towns then there are corn stalks west of Kokomo, and much less excitement and interest. Back in the day, Indiana would jam up to 30,000-plus fans into the Hoosier Dome to watch one winner take all championship game; now, fans from the eight or ten schools playing (see, I don't even know how many CLASSES they have now) traipse in and out in shifts...less than four or five thousand for any one game. Dude, our SECTIONAL (the first round of Indiana's high school tournament)</span><span style="font-family:arial;"> use to draw 3,000 for games between six little schools! <p><br /></p><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566562155979944226" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAS9_iezLKDWrIHvdRicIXJbqDNFxjUNfZI-MnxqIK0e65QkSVCglt_ttchwCvYBUbLk7SRmi8GhHES3aHAOpUHelvyD7Lv9GCIIcd6lvdgOvUykXk3umMyT_pDeHZXZ3A7R4AmNSjQJv5/s320/Hoosiers+poster.jpg" border="0" /></p><p>Or the stroke of genius that puts HALF of the National Hockey League into their post season--which can now potentially add nearly 30% more games to a season--and allow someone like the Minnesota North Stars of 1991 to qualify for the playoffs and go to the Stanley Cup Finals; beating the teams with the two best records in hockey over the course of an 80 game season, and where if they'd won the actual NHL championship, they'd have finished with a record one game below .500--a Stanley Cup champion with a losing record. </span></p><span style="font-family:arial;">Or the brilliance that WON'T give us an NCAA football playoff for Division 1 (or the championship division, or the BCS division, or the big shots division, or whatever the hell they call it now) but WILL give us bowl games that stretch for a month—and ten days into the new year—and give virtually everyone who goes .500 the chance to play in a bowl. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the pinnacle of college football excellence: Florida International (6-6) vs. Toledo (8-4) in the Little Caesar's Bowl in that tropical football landscape of Detroit.</span><br /><br /><p><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566553916729523266" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 217px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWAbL42pu3eS69Z_BzmOKWoUfCWND88jhOMhxDbQHe0VK4ALBvJEoT-scSXY5MSOYj0xk9n2TuHArP6_w6NisDJGcqY7I9Ki0qylFV_y2YV2CZKBn1WgLmOjYhrZCiqiKe2tXH3fC9MA0H/s320/rudy-movie-poster-1020189503.jpg" border="0" /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">Ah yes, excellence rewarded at the lowest common denominator. Each a winner and none outsanding.<br /><br />Well congratulations Oscar. Because now instead of rewarding a true genius in your genre three or even four times…you’ll anoint some wild-card winning entry that shouldn’t have even been there. The good ol’ “I want to see someone DIFFERENT win it…” school of thought.<br /><br />How charming. </span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></p><br /><p><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566548370283658034" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3X2AZzRIFYs8vQbwUQPiZ1bBoeNHnxCBQIromFWOCtEl1eoQMD6dB8-3MikyOPn0c_8DZql9K9VDSKjpEYcEGuZmx5pcPynZzwEOBF-MefoJTlNjjDMitnXmEOElyvjo0tIEWZP0oG8gQ/s320/The-Godfather-Poster.jpg" border="0" /><br />Well count me out. I haven’t watched you for years, and this just closes it. I’m going back to my season-long anthologies of Dexter, Spartacus, and Weeds. Yes, TV productions. Pat yourself on the back Academy, you’ve disenchanted another lifelong fan. </span></p><p><span style="font-family:arial;">And in what may be one of the truly great cinematic twists of all time, the Academy Award for Being Average goes to…THE PLAIN BLAND MANILA ENVELOPE PLEASE...the Academy!</span><br /></p><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5566547562106544594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 234px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMbLdJ0nEcPs4s5H0pT2bsZcCevSyfHPMsdNzzIXwe_VaMS7k-7JXW9gB4woa0ZSOOTc-JfId7Fmwzb9lWksRNZM8-8_o6q_OcvGe73fNPoNxrtpIhb_QEsYT_mkq9QyOpNaKjcBgtqk1Y/s320/oscar-statue.jpg" border="0" />Greg Hooverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00268286257051964998noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4990917746447852116.post-1776804944891030932011-01-12T05:32:00.000-08:002011-01-12T12:19:12.134-08:00Ancient Aliens<span style="font-family:arial;">Ok, if you know me at all, you know that I'm a pretty open minded person. From personal morays to haircuts and tatoos to religion...I'm extremely tolerant and inquisitive, and am open to many other ideas or beliefs aside from my own.</span><br /><br /><br /><div><div><div><div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">And I've always had an interest in space and all things flight related. I grew up a child in the 60's, buidling model rockets and jets and idolizing the astronauts. Back when school was put on hold and all classes walked to the lunch room in the middle of the morning in straight lines to watch a rocket launch or space walk on a solitary TV in stunned and awed silence with mouths agape. My dad was a pilot, and I became one too, primarily because of the wonder that all of that instilled in me.</span> </div><div><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561323479080197026" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 301px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVKX8giqSpUDUweIKoRWAbGOpJUajm2zEHIq_lI_8m6aHoj3Tg0HAdurOoC8FdRFC2hLTLzOXT3VwSCv8qB0Saf1OmxCWCujUofOXH0kBUwJCFQ3b1qNpc-KbYpOeHnYZp9jbsRCF1emQB/s320/spaceship-apollo-1.jpg" border="0" /> </div><div> </div><div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">So it's natural from that combination of characteristics to make the small leap to my belief that there's other life in the galaxy. I mean, literally millions of stars--each one representing the same thing that our sun does--and you're going to tell me there's NO ONE else out there? I don't believe it, even if it's just math. If we're one in a million, that means there's at least another ten or twenty of us out there. At least.</span> </div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">But I'm not one of these people who necessarily believes that other aliens are super beings. Why wouldn't they be just like us? Trying to get to the next planet in their system, maybe hang out on their moon for awhile? </span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">Still, the case can be made that they are, and it's quite interesting. If you ever watch those shows on The History Channel, I think the series is called "Ancient Aliens", there are some pretty convincing pieces of evidence that are hard to explain away. How do you explain the Nazca Lines? </span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561328016125925522" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK368y54mueWrIrdhemWsR6msnj5os7lUnnI_AVkDJPLbu3evoBC0lY2d0j5uhZ9ryojipSAxRkmq5xvLe2dko1Gn_PaCDBXQbA-3R-mdG_lapTXnlvFQwR9g2effTO5k8XzgjfgMi4rt1/s320/hummingbird_colibri.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">These amazingly geometric and scale accurate designs are visually impressive, especially when seen at the optimal level of 20 or 25,000 feet...in the air, like from a plane. Now, I'm not amazed that an ancient culture in Peru could drag dirt and rocks around to make cave-like heiroglyphs on the ground; and I'm not amazed that they could make them on such a large scale. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">I am, however, somewhat stunned that you could make them so size appropriate and geometrically correct for viewers from five miles up in the air...especially in 500 AD. I mean, forget that they're even geometrically correct at that level...WHY BUILD THEM THAT WAY IN THE FIRST PLACE IF NO ONE CAN GET TO 25,000 FEET TO SEE THEM????? AND HOW DO YOU KNOW THEY'RE RIGHT????</span><br /></div><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561323851673909874" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 288px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 181px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNBF1dsrF1YfxQjLS6XFzahZosnmaSeJPrvzyqGnZE2hbiCQVUqAvsyfwgz_rFbio1IMt_qIHpea4I-22xmeh-g1EJfV4Sl698k6GzCcbjpthWTxCZdtcjHwRjY2Jnvrj13S7ahSihtdma/s320/alien-beings.jpg" border="0" /><br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG7D4A0cufAxtV61YT3dovcWvCUf-5dgigRlpluaNrdDKJAuJEqM1bKL20Xpoh1qWgAJ2ZLM9c4hcu-fWkLwm-QugK4Bp2VJVhnQMk-90mDXwS5sEYCpNUu76lXo97T1djDFmOLJSMCtz2/s1600/alien-beings.jpg"></a>Or the fact that cave drawings and ancient mythology is all so parallel...in cultures that were thousands of miles and continents apart.</span><br /></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">Or that people lived in the South Pacific on islands literally thousands of miles from other islands, with their only mode of transportation being a dugout canoe. And their culture showed up on those other islands thousands of miles away.</span> </div><div></div><div></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">Many interesting facts.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">But you have to admit that some of these shows and the leaps they make are pretty astounding. Their logic is not always sound. Alien Expert: "How would these cultures thousands of miles away have EXACTLY (exact being a loose term for these "experts") the same drawings?! I think the answer is clear; ancient aliens." </span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561327253966889490" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 285px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii8EvsL1x1KsRF9hpIVz62uaKbqMhrPJnm-3l4jpPpwVBN4QAWfkC8L023jFgxE447dyDGwiCzwFT8nzo2q5uptG8nq6eRgctigpjPrIraYzFsLb01Y3iQnVw3X434qgVOHUy-2xVcmv_Y/s320/alien-head.jpg" border="0" /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;">Well, not necessarily there Nostradomus. People in like times, of the same species, evolving on the same planet...isn't it possible they'd think and act and talk about similar things? Do we find it odd that birds in Asia and birds in North America (taking on the slow, deep, low voice of the mysterious Ancient Alien expert announcer here) "would hunt bugs and food in EXACTLY THE SAME WAY...even though they've never seen those other birds continents away who hunt in EXACTLY THE SAME WAY...?" Of course not. They're birds and that's how they hunt for food. </span><br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">Isn't it possible that the things that inspired these people to draw in the first place would have evolved similarly to the race of beings? Hence inspiring similar drawings in similar yet distant races? Or heck, maybe they just sealed up a jar with their drawings in it, and threw it in the ocean as a sacrifice to their God...who washed it up on a shore somewhere else ("Look!!! It's a message from God...or ALIENS from a distant land!!!") and then those people drew the same designs on their own wall?</span> </div><div> </div><div> </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div></div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561327447564322946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzi9IxEcUjoliurnIcYGuSJVLk48vL4_zgkasPIm7at3lP_4IkPwZIqloYvj9gyJOMzSsNDxBREopyfnreOzXDBRYAOnLat3a92reP4_E24WkNAiTW6l5XQggfrKvHanFnM_cnKhEarrll/s320/stonehenge-wallpaper-1.jpg" border="0" /> </div><div> </div><div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">But all of that not withstanding...there's still the mystery of Stonehenge and the ancient pyramids. How did those rocks weighing literally thousands of pounds get pulled up to the very top of that pyramid in Giza? How is it that pyramids in Egypt have exactly the same heighth and angles as pyramids in South America? How did Stonehenge get lined up just so? As the mysterious voice says haltingly on the show..."Is Stonehenge a celestial GPS for visitors from another time and space?"</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">Well, here's where you've got me. Let's assume for a minute that these other aliens from distant galaxies ARE flying to earth and watching us. They'd have to be an advanced race right? I mean they traversed literally hundreds of millions of miles, maybe BILLIONS of miles, to get here...because that's how far other galaxies are. I mean, we're pretty advanced, and it takes us five years to get to the next planet. So these little gray men either live a hell of a long time, or they've figured out how to get billions of miles in pretty short order. Either way, health care or time travel, pretty advanced.</span> </div><div><br /></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">So we've got these advanced thinking people from billions of miles away who are using some form of time travel or worm holes or just supercalifragilisticexpialidocious fuel to get them here in a nano-jiffy. They've mastered space-age (literally) metals and physics and all of this stuff...</span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">...and they need to line up rocks to figure out where to land? </span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">They need to build a giant ancient sundial to know what time it is and when the next eclipse is? </span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span> </div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">Seriously?</span> </div><div><br /></div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">Yeah. That's probably why that dude on Ancient Aliens has hair that looks like Heat Miser...</span> </div><div><br /> </div><br /><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5561308953895105970" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 280px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiySdGYBYIqCJrt135MAHDB-YlAT3OHLsbguHEyw9OHsyBLRSn5PvSsmr-hcQFO9PWzEGGqPyyDFbEAfT8-GV2g06rqACCL9m5UU9wO8IjFg3bkX7wbusnLWysYYZ24hpNk34_fkilJnrSM/s320/giorgio-a-tsoukalos.jpg" border="0" /></span></div></div></div></div></div><br /><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>Greg Hooverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00268286257051964998noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4990917746447852116.post-3503067975175694472010-07-09T06:08:00.000-07:002011-01-27T08:33:23.263-08:00Do Do Lebron-bron, Do Do Lebron<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwHrrFz6TTaoT86o8AsmbfIaUEk8rO21b372eDYP2reLdUFHdWOUhINLIh9MjAUcSc_q6wT2l5L4YD-nxx-446XkwWs8LO5EWc-E_UzWGn2-LLv0dwQXYPgBx2Tn5IjZZ7ReGbTUEs-Ofj/s1600/lebron_575.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491904515716162658" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 214px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwHrrFz6TTaoT86o8AsmbfIaUEk8rO21b372eDYP2reLdUFHdWOUhINLIh9MjAUcSc_q6wT2l5L4YD-nxx-446XkwWs8LO5EWc-E_UzWGn2-LLv0dwQXYPgBx2Tn5IjZZ7ReGbTUEs-Ofj/s320/lebron_575.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">This whole Lebron James saga is very interesting to me. Such emotion, such visceral reaction. Geez, the guy made a career decision already. Let it go.<br /><br />First, two caveats: 1) everyone knows how I feel about today’s mercenary professional athletes, and their general lack of sportsmanship, or in many cases, class; and B) other than following the fortunes of my nephew as he pursues his NBA career dream, I generally could care less about the league, but that said…<br /><br />I am sick of everyone skewering this guy over his decision; and it’s only been twelve hours! He chose to go somewhere else, for whatever reason. It obviously wasn’t money—staying in Cleveland was worth $30 million more to him over five years. Maybe it was opportunity? Maybe it was realizing all that he could be? Maybe it was just that it’s a really screwed up organization and he didn’t want to be a part of it any more?<br /><br />Has anyone out there ever switched jobs? Left a town, place and people you really loved because it was just "over" there? I did; just a year ago this week. Trust me, it ain’t easy. But I had to do it, regardless of what everyone thought. It wasn’t about money; it was about opportunity and potential. There were a lot of circumstances that most people didn’t realize, and I did what I had to do. People were shocked, angry, confused. But they weren’t in my shoes and they didn’t know all of the facts. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /></div></span><span style="font-family:arial;"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://fakehustle.files.wordpress.com/2009/01/lebron-james.jpg" border="0" /><br />Sound familiar? Less than two months after lambasting the greatest player—maybe ever—in the NBA for NOT winning a title; everyone in Cleveland is surprised that Lebron has left. Well maybe Lebron didn’t have what he needed to fulfill their dream or his for that matter? Maybe it’s deeper than you think.<br /><br />As an aside, take a gander at this link:<br /></span><br /><a href="http://www.nba.com/cavaliers/news/gilbert_letter_100708.html"><span style="font-family:arial;">http://www.nba.com/cavaliers/news/gilbert_letter_100708.html</span></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />This is an actual letter that the owner of the Cavs posted on their official site just minutes after Lebron’s decision. Classless? Crass? Childish? Amateurish? This public letter makes today's professional athletes and their mercenary approach look like Cary Grant in 1955, wearing a tuxedo and sipping a chilly martini with Ingrid Bergman at his side. </span><br /><br /><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491915555570634322" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh_R3SaWJFC1b_1g5eyWkFSP7Q_CH-1kdWSn-GHIYuilG5GZ6Y8TiCBe2ardF5kRu6N2xDczjQcgs0urir3pXirT_YHq3zUjPyGLUObN-eRaeBYrQgfME5zqhtUvzb8Cnew9RWOgyNxRJP/s320/LeBron+jam+1.jpg" border="0" /><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Think about this: in the last three months this owner has fired an NBA Coach of the Year who—along with the help of one particularly great player—had turned an NBA laughing stock into one of the top three or four teams in the league; had his very successful GM who is highly regarded in the league resign; been turned down by Tom Izzo—who would have doubled his salary to coach the Cavs; and now been rejected by a local boy made good who’d have made a third MORE money to stay. </span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Hellooooo!!! Seems to me the problem might not be Lebron…maybe it’s this owner, vying for the title “Al Davis of the NBA”?<br /></div></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">And enough already about narcissism and ego. I haven’t seen Lebron on ESPN pimping his case. I’ve seen fans rallying in four major cities and TV coverage and news updates and “Lebron Watch” and hourly reports for weeks. He didn’t ask for this or produce any of it; and every time I’ve seen him asked I’ve seen him respond “I’m considering the options and will make an announcement when I’ve decided.” He was making a decision. Is it narcissistic that he held a press conference? Everyone does when they make a decision like this. ESPN’s the one that covered it in primetime. How many people watched? Why is that Lebron’s fault? Keep in mind, this is probably one of the four or five most recognizable people on the planet. Narcissism as an adjective in this scenario is about 4000 mileposts back.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491915561849878066" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 258px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjshuD8PmHabH8OCuPAaIhC1XaJB7RE-TX_VkLSTSGQp2X53WzrIX0ndm4iSOA2sCuyAgqrOlKFLFo3qwbd9tF5DNM5-JWcMy5AswoITwgZy4bPLxER76wbqrgFUMWYlVo18QndXvOOb2Ug/s320/lebron+jam+3.jpg" border="0" /><br />Here’s what I know: this kid (yeah, he’s 25) came to the NBA at the age of 18, and starting with day one, he’s averaged 28 points and 7 assists per game. From his first game in this league at the age of 18. He’s very good. He gave his hometown a shot, and it didn’t work out. Did they do everything they could to support him? Well, they did sign an aging and over the hill Shaquille O’Neal this year to help bring Lebron and Cleveland their title. Wow. Underwhelming.<br /><br />I feel bad for Cleveland. But just like when the Browns left—which completely sucked by the way—maybe everything they could have done to keep them wasn’t. All Art Modell wanted was the same kind of stadium/deal that every other team in the league was getting. He was losing money. And after he left, the city got together and made that happen for their “next” franchise. You like the tradition and history and team so much, why not get that done before they leave? </span></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;"></span></div><div></div><div></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;"></span></div><div><span style="font-family:arial;">You want Lebron to stay and win you a title, well maybe your owner needs to stop being a jackass and work on doing the things that would have made Lebron stay in the first place. Even with today’s athletes, it very often isn’t all about money. My longtime favorites the St. Louis Cardinals prove that on a regular basis. The Cavs have not only NOT done everything they could have, they really put on a pretty pathetic attempt.<br /><br />So, while I’m the last guy to sing the praises of today’s professional athlete, I’m also an objective realist. We’ve all created this landscape; these guys are the ones that are playing in it. Sometimes we get exactly what we deserve.<br /><br />Good luck Lebron. Tough call, and I wish you all the best.</span><br /><br /></div><div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491904866502284338" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2i1tbp38010bN4jJjjB96UqzHnPMNE2xdgaZGm1PBXJ_AXlPP3eGxlbrYE_785X3kOfjcTOyO5cDQLIQK6HnZLXUSftLf6eLOgL8bUe9DP41G40edmNiGO3Mfkhv4HxnM8tw_Q0wTwFz6/s320/Lebron+final.jpg" border="0" /></div>Greg Hooverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00268286257051964998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4990917746447852116.post-86403034843473036232010-06-27T20:10:00.000-07:002010-07-13T06:14:52.193-07:00June 27, 2010: Happy Birthday...to ME!!! :-)<div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi46pn5Tl9NWGRf37JYcehspzKX_26yAa410i0ny1A5jMSaY4BalksgpEDB2Q2tQ3X8s0iYwoLM4I2TEA4tibI2iJW3_K8_SIL0ecDLNlNLIrousv8dHVxPp_Rai051y_IUQ0p_Ai6C6WRe/s1600/Roadtrip08-Queen+Creek.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487660609881817666" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 212px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 281px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi46pn5Tl9NWGRf37JYcehspzKX_26yAa410i0ny1A5jMSaY4BalksgpEDB2Q2tQ3X8s0iYwoLM4I2TEA4tibI2iJW3_K8_SIL0ecDLNlNLIrousv8dHVxPp_Rai051y_IUQ0p_Ai6C6WRe/s320/Roadtrip08-Queen+Creek.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">What an amazing day and weekend this has been, and in the spirit of my dear departed mother, an upcoming week as well. Let me explain.<br /><br />First off, I turned 50 today. Pretty much by myself in Chicago, save a visit by dear and long-time friend Scott Kline for brunch this morning. And you know what? Other than all the thoughts you have about grand parties with myriad friends in attendance and the whole ball of wax, it’s been very cool. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><br />Here’s the deal. Most of you know; but if you don’t, I was adopted at birth. And God gave me such a gift for a family—both my mom and dad’s sides—that it just never even occurred to me as a big deal. I was IN those families. And I’ve never looked for my “birth” parents. Have no interest to. I’ve got my family. Big win. :-)<br /><br />But when my mom and dad (Eleanor and Bob “RT” Hoover) picked me up, they didn’t exactly get all they’d bargained for. Eleanor couldn’t have kids, hence the adoption. And they get me, and find out I’m allergic to pretty much everything here. I basically lived off soy milk for the first six months. Initially they were told that I’d be lucky to make it a year. And then when we got past that, the doc said I’d probably be lucky to make 50 due to “developmental issues” in my respiratory system.<br /><br />And damn if he wasn’t right; at least about the respiratory part. Asthma, myriad allergies, coughing fits throughout the night that many times sent us to the emergency room. It’s why we moved to California in 1967. My dad, who worked for Bendix, volunteered for an assignment to the brake segment of the Lockheed C-5 project, taking us to California for two years hoping the climate would improve my condition. Alas, it wasn’t as good for me as promised, so two years later, missing family and friends, we moved back to Indiana. </div><p align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRA4QtBn3u0m5M7tkjL7XsXiXmDcQ0Affnss7V7l-W7Jci1iSZ9YqLmHQc5fNaX0bThE-cCOaB9V1iCKZ2rJMkAQX29qRpCsj7VfZR059k0oTdjAF3GJfH24pQQxx1pJ3IL_srkgQEV2n-/s1600/Dover+pitstop.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487659769179480962" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 422px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 328px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRA4QtBn3u0m5M7tkjL7XsXiXmDcQ0Affnss7V7l-W7Jci1iSZ9YqLmHQc5fNaX0bThE-cCOaB9V1iCKZ2rJMkAQX29qRpCsj7VfZR059k0oTdjAF3GJfH24pQQxx1pJ3IL_srkgQEV2n-/s320/Dover+pitstop.jpg" border="0" /></a></p><p align="left">But the thing is, in my mind, I was only ever going to live to 50. I kidded about it. People would start to say, “When you’re older…” and I’d cut them off…”Nah, I’m not livin’ past 50…” Gallows humor to help my mind with what I KNEW.<br /><br />Then, in March of 1972, my dad dies of a heart attack, three months before his 51st birthday. It was his fourth since the age of 39. Today, he’d have a double bypass and live for another 30 years. Back then, he checked out in the spring of my sixth grade year. And just proved to me that living to fifty was pretty much it.<br /><br />So, here I am. A kid who loved athletics and often couldn’t participate, and who wasn’t supposed to make it to today. Ha. I was always such a kidder. Who knew I’d ignore THAT? LoL<br /><br />Along the way, my Mom use to celebrate my birthdays like there was no tomorrow…literally a week long gig. Family dinners, friends, surprises. She’d send cakes to work with me at my summer jobs! No one day birthdays in OUR house…<br /><br />So I’ve always lived with a “do it, do it now, and enjoy it” attitude. I get a lot of grief on Facebook for all of the fun stuff I post. Most people don’t know that if I’m on a business trip…I’ll stay two extra days to get the work done, and see and do everything there is in that town; I’ll work seventy hour weeks, and never pass up a friend or business relationship passing through that wants to have dinner. Fourteen hour days on six hours sleep. Six hours driving and 400 miles round trip to watch your son swim for three minutes or to see a two hour concert with your daughter. I never let it pass me by, work OR personal.<br /><br />You see, in my mind, I only had fifty years. </span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLvtJCs1agBFgCIxiJr_wbO4U7rGBhA92w_ZYgoXcx1M290JbBhHzANCf6q4MOwWkeFwv3bN_Q0ig_gurbeqyPwNGy4seZU2Wm5CfbIbnP989J-Xa1KhEdEEV504e5GXYUxFz553Te1Ufl/s1600/Hoovs+Mexican+Girls.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493377223401045298" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 290px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLvtJCs1agBFgCIxiJr_wbO4U7rGBhA92w_ZYgoXcx1M290JbBhHzANCf6q4MOwWkeFwv3bN_Q0ig_gurbeqyPwNGy4seZU2Wm5CfbIbnP989J-Xa1KhEdEEV504e5GXYUxFz553Te1Ufl/s320/Hoovs+Mexican+Girls.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">So yesterday, as I sat at my son’s swim meet in Indianapolis with my daughter at my side, I couldn’t help but laugh at the irony. It was the last day before I turned 50. And my death wish and death sentence has led me to the most amazing life I could have imagined. Never say no! "Wow, yeah, I’ll be the campaign manager for Congressman Bud Hillis’ (IN-5) re-election effort" in 1984. Fuel an Indycar for my friend and boss Robby McGehee in 1999? Is this a trick question?! World Series, Stanley Cup, F-1, Moto GP. See it all pal; you just never know...<br /><br />Coast to coast on a motorcycle (five times), pilot’s license, racing license, guitar lessons, job changes…as someone who once reported to me asked: “Dude, is this resume for real???” Yup. I wasn’t going to miss a lick.<br /><br />So, here we are…day one of the life I wasn’t supposed to live. And you know what? I’ve been accused of being a glass half full guy, so, in that vein I think of it this way: it’s free baseball folks! </span><span style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />If you aren’t a baseball fan, this will mean nothing to you…but you hard core baseball fans will remember a phrase that Mike Shannon, Cardinals third baseman and later broadcaster, often used. Mike’s a little nuts. (to wit, on a broadcast in Miami: “Boy, I wish you folks back in St Louis could SEE this fabulous full moon tonight!”) But whenever a game would go into extra innings, Mike would almost SHOUT into the mic, “Weeeellllll, ol’ Abner’s done it again folks! (referring to the creator of the game, Abner Doubleday) It’s FREE BASEBALL! More than you paid for or had any good reason to expect!!! You only paid for nine innings, and you're gettin' more!” It was bonus time. Found money. What you hadn’t expected but love having.<br /><br />So tonight, I’m opening a bottle of Chateau Lafitte Rothschild from the early 80’s that I bought in 2003 and paid $400 for THEN. It wasn’t to be opened before 2007; and I intended it for tonight. I thought it would be some great cookout or party for all my nearby friends. That’s how you celebrate 50 right? Open this fabulous bottle of wine on the great occasion and party with dozens of your closest friends! <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih2mnxYx-ck0JZzrjf90jRSyo3oqq-7yQw3eq9IkEBKBCY25OyZoF_uPo9UwnnvMAthyz8yKM_-EPqXQfe-zHlg-nh3byU3JzdHadzQg0W1KcfQH_QfTq0xGk-whunozxL5Y5TYbV_R-AD/s1600/Hoov+n+Howie.BMP"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493377551084440418" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 282px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih2mnxYx-ck0JZzrjf90jRSyo3oqq-7yQw3eq9IkEBKBCY25OyZoF_uPo9UwnnvMAthyz8yKM_-EPqXQfe-zHlg-nh3byU3JzdHadzQg0W1KcfQH_QfTq0xGk-whunozxL5Y5TYbV_R-AD/s320/Hoov+n+Howie.BMP" border="0" /></a>Well, that’s not how I’m doing it tonight. I’m going to have a martini, extra dry with Tito’s vodka and blue cheese stuffed olives. I’m going to broil a dry aged NY Strip. (Yeah, on this birthday I am in Chicago without what is almost like my right arm at this stage of my life—a good charcoal grill) I’m going to sauté some mushrooms and onions, blanch some asparagus, and bake a potato to fill with butter, sour cream, chives, and grated parmesan. And I’m going to sit by myself and savor this ridiculous bottle of wine.<br /><br />Because it’s free baseball folks!!! More than we ever thought we’d get or had any reason to expect!!! And based on the FIRST nine innings? Well, this is going to be a GREAT game.<br /><br />So, thank you. To my friends, near and far. Those of you whom I’ve seen frequently like my very-best-friend-in-the-whole-wide-world Andy Knoop and the Beaver Dam Blues Band Men’s Club, and those of you whom I haven’t seen in thirty two years but have found recently on Facebook. To those of you whom I saw today (Scott—thank you for making the effort to get together!) to those I’ll never see again on this plane (Bazoo and Tom Dunnuck—miss you boys).<br /><br />To my families—the one I never knew, and the one I had no reason to deserve or get. Cousins, brother, aunts and uncles.<br /><br />To Atlas and what wasn’t, but could have been and I always thought would be; and to Bekins for believing it still is and what is yet to come.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVo7iC16-xc6rj3VjgF-kbbeKqnwlfkuhfYCOM-Eurir4ao5o7Y-3dlIS9-kmw7cZfsm9R7jlnSVZa123XJjZGfIaQGtR9ZoEl9J5cPjq-Gohuf5-Sd5wfWvONflS2Z1CnG0T9eglILPg2/s1600/DadJam2.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5487661380448159634" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 243px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 195px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVo7iC16-xc6rj3VjgF-kbbeKqnwlfkuhfYCOM-Eurir4ao5o7Y-3dlIS9-kmw7cZfsm9R7jlnSVZa123XJjZGfIaQGtR9ZoEl9J5cPjq-Gohuf5-Sd5wfWvONflS2Z1CnG0T9eglILPg2/s320/DadJam2.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />And to the best in-laws and kids a guy could ever deserve. Jenny for all we went through; Alex and Dane for all that you remind me is possible.<br /><br />Yup, the glass is always half full. But not for long, this Romeo and Juliet Churchill is calling me to fill it up… ;-p <br /><br />Thanks everyone; I'm blessed and lucky to know each and every one of you. What a great life</p></span><br /><div><span style="font-family:arial;">Happy birthday to all of us!!!</span><br /><br /></div><div><span style="font-family:Arial;">POSTSCRIPT: Given all of the private comments I've gotten I should add this--I do NOT have a chronic condition and my death is NOT imminent. Doctors treating me back in the early sixties just thought that the issues related to my symptoms would shorten my life span, and at the time they guessed fifty. I might be dead next week, and I might live to be 100...BUT ANY OF US COULD! That's kind of the point... ;-)</span></div></div>Greg Hooverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00268286257051964998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4990917746447852116.post-59120267835386151172010-02-16T09:41:00.000-08:002010-02-16T09:44:31.410-08:00<span style="font-family:arial;">Ok, so after much wringing of hands, and trying to work out the details (do I cut and paste? Do I copy? What about the comments and pictures???) I've decided that the best thing is to just attach my former blog here--and in my favorites to the right as well. So here you have it--my original blog, The First Amendment--in all of its profound, yet now uneditable, glory.</span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><a href="http://thefirstamendment-hoov.blogspot.com/2008/12/happy-new-year-happy-old-year.html"><span style="font-family:arial;">http://thefirstamendment-hoov.blogspot.com/2008/12/happy-new-year-happy-old-year.html</span></a><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;">I'll be writing more new stuff soon, but for now, enjoy the Best of Hoov, First Amendment style...LoL</span>Greg Hooverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00268286257051964998noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4990917746447852116.post-19769250582337045792010-02-16T06:25:00.000-08:002010-02-16T06:26:42.887-08:00Weird<span style="font-family:arial;">I had this blog last year...then I changed jobs, addresses, et al...and for whatever reason it won't let me log in anymore. Soooo, this is an attempt to recreate all of that back there, back over here...should be interesting.</span>Greg Hooverhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00268286257051964998noreply@blogger.com0