The Beautiful Sex

I have never slept with a woman
That didn't deserve to be made love to
Through me.

The few that are in my past
I loved at the moment of entry
Not one regret
Nor one mistake.

I am glad to have never been selfish with my love.
They, these women,
Were all beautiful, joyful, dear and necessary.

I would take back none of it
And lovingly remember all of it.

Open Heart, Clear Mind

The best part
Of getting sane and sober
Is being there
For the people in my life who matter most
As they were there for me.

Like my Mom
Who needs me now
As I needed her
For all those many long years
Of misfortune and heartache/heartbreak
I lived without living.

She smiles and
Laughs more
Than ever
(Because of me?)

It is a pleasure to be a good son
A help not a hindrance
To the woman whom I love the most.

She deserves better than was possible in my sickness
And now I'm ready to deliver.

Holding Out Hope

Do I have any money?
Maybe a little bit. A couple of grand in the bank. Tens of thousands of unpaid bills on hold.

Do I want money?
Yes

Will I do anything for money?
No way

Do I have anything against the accumulation of money?
No I do not. It's just not for me. I've tried that route before and failed/got bored

(What would you do for a buck? A bucket of bucks?)

====================

I want to write a memoir of my life
I think it could be good

==================

I want to meet a woman with a brain who would continually surprise me
(A tall task, maybe hopeless given my circumstances
Because who wants to date an overeducated struggling artist in his mid 40s?)

I want a child
(That is hopeless)

I would make a great father and husband
(That I know without a doubt)

Because

Kids respond to me
I love them all so very much
I have never cheated
I love women in all their shapes and personalities and ages

=============

What I'm trying to say is that I want what I want right now.
Or sometime in the near future.
(Something tells me that won't happen)

More Links...

The NCAA Vault of classic basketball games from the tourney.

===============

This is awesome stuff that would have cost much money to buy on DVD through sports memorabilia collectors just a few years back.

The oldest game listed is Indiana v Michigan in 1976 in The Championship Game: IU won and is the last undefeated college men's team, and one of the greatest NCAA ballclubs ever assembled. (Yes, Bob Knight is a legendary coach for many reason despite all his mistakes and ego).

I could spend a weekend watching all this stuff, bringing back awesome memories of fantastic games from my past fandom.

Scary People

Story from today's Portland Press Herald about someone who lives in my building (Loring House) who send letters to Governor Lepage threatening to kill him.

=============

The article by the always excellent writer David Hench quotes the would be assassin as writing, "What good is government if words have no meaning?", a direct quote from Jared Lee Loughner, the troubled young man who tried to kill Representative Giffords in Arizona in January and murdered eight people. Strange.

Does that mean that the Portland man is a copycat?

=============

This world will break your heart from time to time.

Cool Site

Meinmyplace.com

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Photos of attractive young women in their own apartments by an anonymous photographer. As mentioned in this month's "Esquire."

To All The Meter Maids In Downtown Portland

...who work so hard to write all those tickets.

=============================

(sung to The Beatles "Ticket To Ride")

=============================

I think I'm gonna be sad,
I think it's today, yeah.
The man that's driving me mad
Is never going away.

He's got a ticket to wri-ite,
He's got a ticket to wr-i-ite,
He's got a ticket to write,
And he don't care.

He said that screwing with me
Ain't bringing him down yeah.
He would always be free
When I was around.

He's got a ticket to wri-ite,
He's got a ticket to wri-i-ite,
He's got a ticket to write,
And he don't care.

I don't know why he writin' so fast,
He ought to think twice,
He ought to do right by me.
Before he gets to saying goodbye,
He ought to think twice,
He ought to do right by me.

I think I'm gonna be sad,
I think it's today yeah.
The man that's driving me mad
Ain't going away, yeah.

Ah, he's got a ticket to wri-ite,
He's got a ticket to wr-i-ite,
He's got a ticket to write,
And he don't care.

I don't know why he writin' so fast,
He ought to think twice,
He ought to do right by me.
Before he gets to saying goodbye,
He ought to think twice,
He ought to do right by me.

He said that screwing with me,
Wasn't bringing him down, yeah.
He would always be free
When I was around.

Ah, he's got a ticket to wri-ite,
He's got a ticket to wr-i-ite,
He's got a ticket to write,
And he don't care.

The meter maid don't care, he don't care.
The meter maid don't care,

(Fading)

He truly don't care, he don't care.

Sunday's Game Notes

--- Harrison Barnes is an absolute ball stopper.

And that ain't a good thing. Carolina will be better off offensively next year once Barnes departs for the draft, as long as Zeller and Henson stay (no sure thing) and their recruits succeed. Barnes offensive game is basically "give me the ball, let me try to score on a jumper or drive, then if I can't, let me give it back to you." A ball stopper.

Carolina may have gotten a 2 seed out of this season, but I have a feeling that next year they could be a 1. Notre Dame's players soared without Harangody dominating the offense and I expect the same thing out of Roy Williams' team in '11-'12.


--- The wild shot by Washington's Overton at the end of the UNC vs Washington game showed that these are, after all, kids.

And kids make mistakes. Overton didn't know how much time was left on the game clock, so he threw up a horrible shot from halfcourt. Man, what did the coach tell him in the huddle? And do players even listen to their coaches at the end of games?

For all their physical talent, these are just 18 to 22 year old young men. I know when I was in college I was a shadow of the man I am now at 44, and would not want to be judged on the actions I undertook way back when. Overton will have to live with the fact, just like Gilbert Brown of Pitt, that he cost his team a shot at victory because he didn't know the clock and/or score, making a basic thinking error. Hopefully the fan bases of the schools involved will be kind to the young men.


--- I am thinking that the reason that Duke kids don't typically have great NBA careers is that their talent is maxed out already by Coach K and his staff, probably by their junior year.

JJ Redick was already as good as he was going to get by the time he graduated. Same with most Duke players. Only Elton Brand comes to mind when I think of good Duke pros in the last ten years, and he left after two years. Is it possible that the coaching at Duke is so good that players cannot get any better at the next level, unlike players from most programs? Seems entirely likely.


---Jared Sullinger is a beast and a winner.

He may not be the first pick in the upcoming draft, but this kid plays to win. He looks like he's having a ton of fun right now and that he enjoys his teammates, who, for the most part, are upperclassmen. Ohio State looked great over the weekend and is clearly the favorite. Enjoy Sullinger now, since he may get drafted by some crappy NBA team in June, and might not be heard from again.


--- Every good white player is not all heart and intangibles, and every good black player is not a great runner and jumper.

I'm sick and tired of hearing about Ben Hansbrough's "heart" and "intangibles." Last night the play by play announcer for the Notre Dame wipeout by Florida State went on and on about this crap. His name is Spero Deds, and he is, apparently and surprisingly, hispanic. At least he looked of hispanic origin when shown next to his color man during timeouts. Wow. I've had to listen to Dick Vitale spout this nonsense for thirty years. It's total crap. There are just as many hard working black dudes in college and the NBA as white guys. Look at Ray Allen: he gets to Celtics games hours early to work on his shot.

Note to announcers and media: stop judging players by the color of their skin. It takes a lot of work and dedication to become a Division 1 athlete, and it's not just white guys who put in the time required. So please stop declaring every white boy who scores a bucket to be "all heart." You embarrass yourself.


--- How about the 2 1/2 point shot?

I've been thinking about this a lot since the end of the Pitt game: How is it fair that a shot from 21 feet away is worth 150% of a layup, since getting a layup has been the object of the game of basketball since Dr. Naismith invented it? Maybe, instead of giving 3 points for a long one, it could be worth 2.5? This might be worth trying in a YMCA league game. The team with the most points wins the game, but you don't get that one third advantage for long shots, only a one fourth edge. Sounds strange, and I don't know that scoreboard could handle fractions or percentages, but I think it's worth a try.

Saturday's Games

Just three things of note from the Butler upset...

1) I've had it with the 3 point shot ruining the college game.

In the Butler win over 1 seed Pitt, the Panthers outshot Butler 56% to 46%, outscored them from the line 12 to 11, outrebounded them 30 to 21, and had more assists (20 to 11). Pittsburgh outplayed Butler in every way except one: the Bulldogs made 12 of 27 from the 3 point line to Pitt's 6 of 11. It makes no sense to this basketball purist that a shot from the top of the key, for example, is worth 150% of a layup. I was always taught that the best shot in basketball was a layup and that the object of the sport was to work for the best shot on offense and prevent easy ones on defense. With the advent of the 3 point shot, especially so with the too-close line in college and high school, that strategy doesn't work. Endless jacking of 3s is mindless and boring. Give me back low post play and the elbow jumper.

2) How does a player not know the score of a 3rd Round NCAA game with a couple of seconds left in the second half?

Gilbert Brown fouled with a couple of ticks left in the game, with the score tied and Butler 80 feet from the cup. What the hell was he thinking? I'll tell you what he was thinking: "We're down one and I need to foul to put them on the line." The dude didn't know what the score was: it was tied. Shit, his teammates must want to strangle him in that locker room. What a sad end to a great season for Pitt. Gotta know the score, though. That's on Brown completely.

3) I've had it with listening to announcers who don't know what's going on.

All afternoon I've been listening to Pandora and watching my two TVs, enjoying both while concentrating on the ball games. With about a minute left in the Butler game I turned up the sound on the television. And the announcers fucked up the end of the game! They kept claiming that McGee fouled Howard when it was Gilbert Brown. Several times they told their audience that McGee was the culprit. How could they not have been paying enough attention to know the difference between a 6 foot 6 dark skinned guy and a 6 foot 10 inch mulatto? They look completely different! Bad, bad job by the announcing crew, led by the always terrible Dan Bonner. Unforgivable. I'll keep the sound down for the rest of the tournament (and on into the Red Sox season, as their announcers are equally as bad.)

Portland Author Caitlin Shetterly's "Made For You and Me"

Amazon listing

============

This is a terrific, readable book.

============

Indianapolis Clown

I don't know what it would be like
To have someone depending on me
What do I know of suffering, of hunger, of other's desperation
Their fears, and sorrow for a life
Not lived with joy, not made worthwhile.

I have not suffered enough
To think and feel for others
As I would want
They cry and I stare back blankly.

As I finish reading, I notice the old pennant on my wall
"Indianapolis Clowns"
A Negro League ball team
Peopled with young black men seventy years ago
Whose fathers and grandpas were slaves, dying
Too young, too sick, too poor.

They all lived righteous lives
And made something of themselves
That history loves.
If so
So can I
And Caitlin.

Some Notes on Friday's Games

Not much action yesterday, as the games were mostly humdrum, especially when compared to the excitement of Thursday afternoon. Anyway...


--- There is something definitely amiss with Villanova's chemistry.
There is more talent on that roster today than on the Final Four team from a few years back, yet they have underachieved for two years now. Could it be that main man Cory Fischer doesn't play with much passion? Not having any inside info, I can only guess that the team is rudderless. Maybe if Fischer leaves to go pro it will be addition by subtraction, sort of like Notre Dame without Harangody, because there are a lot of good players at 'Nova.

--- Memphis losing to Arizona
Derrick Williams solidified his status as a top 5 pick in the the NBA Draft, but I wonder if he is really an undersized 4 at the next level? He is a talented kid and looks like a worker, but he plays more like a pure power forward and looks to be only about 6 foot 8, which is a bit small for elite status at the next level.

Will Barton of Memphis was very, very highly thought of in high school, but today he still has the body of a 15 year old. This would appear to be a case of a kid not putting in the work in the weight room. The dude looks frail, but has a great frame. Best thing he can do is come back, but he might get drafted on skill alone if he leaves Memphis.

--- Ohio State looked sensational
The Buckeyes are the top overall seed, yet no one is talking about them as the favorites. One thing is clear to me, though: OSU has more draftable players than anyone else, which is usually a sign of a Final Four caliber team. The Buckeyes are very similar to their 06 team that reached the Championship Game in that they have freshman at the 1, wing, and 5 spots. I can easily see Ohio State winning it all. They showed no stage fright on Friday.

--- Speaking of draftable players, does Pitt have anyone who is even remotely considered a first round pick?
I penciled in the Panthers to get to Monday Night, but am rethinking it. Kansas and Duke both have multiple NBA players, but Pitt might have none.

--- Syracuse over Indiana State
The 'Cuse might be preseason Number One next season if all eligible players come back and (AND) Fab Melo spends a summer getting his body in college basketball Division 1 shape. They have a great recruiting class coming in, and if everyone stays put (not likely) they will have one of the best and deepest rosters in recent college history in '11-'12.

--- There will be at least one Cinderella in the Sweet 16 guaranteed: The winner of Morehead State and Richmond Saturday.

Rethink Fitness

The 'Pent staff have been spending a lot of their down time in the gym for the last two years now, and we've asked around the office for advice those staffers would give fellow fatties trying to tone up. Here goes:


--- Women should do a TON of squats.
There's nothing sexier than a woman with a toned and tight lower body and behind. It's really hot. It seems that a lot of gals think they'll bulk up too much if they lift "heavy" weights, but that is untrue. Almost no one in the gym has to worry about being too muscular. Instead, we would advise all women, of any age, to get on the Smith or Hack Squat machine and do two hard sets of squats. It really pays off.

--- Traps are underdeveloped on most men.
You work your traps by doing shrugs and upright rows. Anyone with a thick neck and trapezius muscles looks badass. End of story.

--- Don't even bother working arms for the first six months to a year.
If you're like us and carrying too much weight, it's impossible to get developed arms. It just won't happen. The only way to do it is get that body fat percentage down (the staff in Apartment 404 still has a long ways to go). In addition, every time a person grasps a dumbbell or barbell they work their forearms, biceps and triceps. For that reason I would tell all but the most seasoned fitness enthusiasts to not even bother with curls and tricep work. It's a waste of time.

--- Work hard for brief periods of time.
Our staff saw a guy this morning do a set on a weight machine, get off, walk away, and let out a big yawn. It was noon. If you're wasting your time at the gym, we guess that's your business, but man, there's better things to do. We here at The 'Pent actually like working hard at World Gym, so we can't imagine being so bored that we'd yawn during a workout. Thas whack. And 15 to 20 minutes of weights (about 8 sets) is fine for most people a couple of times a week, as long as the effort is there.

--- Our favorite lifting exercises:
1) Farmer's Walk -- This is awesome for every single muscle in the body. Just grab a dumbbell in either hand and walk around for 30 seconds. Make sure you're working hard and that by the time you're done with your walk you can barely walk another step. It'll pay off.

2) Upright Row -- Whether on barbell, dumbbells, or cables, this is a great exercise for the entire upper body. We get a kick out of the Bench Press Club at our gym: guys with massive chests, tiny little legs, and nothing else doing ten sets of bench. Sure' they're a lot stronger than we are, but can they touch their toes? What do they look like?

3) Dumbbell Shrugs -- This one is hard because you need to do a full range of motion for it to be effective. Start by trying to touch your shoulders to your ears, then lowering the dumbbells as low as you can, so that you can't lower them any more without bending over. This is one great exercise for all upper body muscles.

--- Cardio for Everyone
We can't stand it either. We all have flat feet, so running makes us sore, but cardio is key for everyone. Half an hour is fine a couple of times a week.


That's it for the advice. Shit, we hate giving advice. We'd rather give an opinion than pretend we know what we're talking about. About anything.

Notes on Early Games

--- The new TV format is outstanding. Great to have the freedom of watching any of the four ongoing games the first two days of the tournament. I know that in offices around the country, folks are still watching one lone game on their computer, but they'll be in heaven tonight as they switch around.

--- Pitt is in real danger of becoming the Atlanta Braves of the NCAA Tournament. Pitt displays little emotion each Selection Sunday when their location is announced and I feel like maybe this lack of obvious concern/pride hurts them in the one and done nature of the NCAA's. I picked Pitt to get to the Championship Game this year and spent the first half of their game this afternoon against a bad UNC-Asheville squad kicking myself. They just don't look like a Final Four team, especially offensively. And it was curious to see Heat President Pat Riley watching the Panthers, as Pitt has no obvious NBA players. Guess he's waiting for Kemba Walker's game tonight.

--- The game I paid the most attention to was Morehead State vs. Louisville. A terrific contest that came down to the last few seconds. If Louisville's center from last year, Samuels, hadn't done an unwise thing and declared for the NBA Draft, Rick Pitino might have one of the best teams in the country. As it is, they're headed home. The 'Ville had no big men besides an undersized Jennings to contend with Morehead State's rebounding beast, Kenneth Faried, who absolutely killed the Cardinals on the glass at both ends. Though Faried was a disaster when M State was running their offense through him in the high post, I still think he has plenty of Rodman-type ability. Morehead had three guys who can really play and two white dudes who stunk, but they hit enough 3s in the second half to win the game. And great no call by the referees on the last shot by Louisville; it was a definite shot block and no foul, regardless of what the announcers inexplicably claimed live.

--- Great to see Butler senior stalwart Matt Howard win the game against Old Dominion on the buzzer beater. If he had shot that follow just an inch lower off the glass it would have rolled out, but the man put enough english on it to get the ball to crawl in at the clock ticked down to zero. Great job.

--- The University of Kentucky unis are simply dreadful. The tops are too tight and the "Kentucky" is too small. Just brutal. Back in the early 80s I thought that UK had the baddest uniforms in the game. Not so anymore. Can someone please help John Calipari out with this?

--- The Mid American Conference is in a major basketball rut. The conference champ, Akron, is a 15 seed. Compare that to the Patriot League winner Bucknell, a 14. Wow. The league that gave the NBA Ron Harper, Dan Majerle, Earl Boykins, Gary Trent, and Chris Kaman is just not getting the three star recruits anymore. What gives?

The Artist's Life: There Is No Fiction

(There. I called myself an artist. Take that, world.)

We live this shit, we don't just pull it out of thin air. You think I can make up a story like "That Hurt Never Heals?" It comes from deep down inside.

There is no work of art that doesn't come from a place of the artist's life. You think my favorite writers (Bukowski, William Goldman, and Dave Eggers) make this shit up? They live it. And for a writer, it winds up on the page in one form or another.

But it has to start with real life. I can't understand the writers who spend all day holed up in their writing places, punching at the keyboard. If I didn't live outside The 'Pent, I wouldn't be alive on the page.

There really is no fiction.

That Hurt Never Heals

Eleven years ago I fell in love with my boss.
She blew us away in her interview: lively and lovely, energetic and athletic, kind and compassionate.
We all knew she was the one,
The one question (only I had) was
Why was she still a secretary at her last job?
We were both thirty three.

I was a good worker, better by far than the others without really trying.
She thanked me one day, and I started to feel we were special together.
I remember she wore a little white dress one summer day, her tan and fine
And I was gone.

She organized a bowling trip for us
And brought her ten year old daughter with.
What a kid, mature beyond her years, talked with Mom like they were equals.
And I was further gone, beyond repair.

When she confided in me (she could trust me) that
She was unsafe at home
With her husband
And his guns
I knew what I had to do.
Bought a baseball bat one night after she whispered into the phone, "I'm scared."
And was gonna make mayhem for her.
Driving past their house in South Portland, I was insane with anger
And frightened.

She decided to move out of her abusive home
And asked me (ME) to help her pack and transfer the stuff to an apartment just down the street.
She could have asked anyone at work, there were other males
But I was the one.

The night she moved in to the new place I gave her one of my Mom's prints
Of the Souhegan River, where I played as a boy back in Amherst.
She cried.
With delight?

No.

That next day I got an email from her:
"No more contact with you, Joe."
Devastation, confusion, pain, and heartsick love.
She could have asked anyone, but chose me.

I quit. Got rehired. Got fired.
Disaster.

--------------

I see her now and again, though not for months now.
And know
I'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Thank You

Many years ago I spanked a young man in my care, while on a job, for acting up and out at me.
And was rightfully fired for it.
Ever since I have been distrusting of certain folks, the type I used to want to work with when I couldn't find another job.
These people largely need certain types of special care but,
Truly, are as different from each other
As you and I are,
Which I try to remember
But most times fail to.

Three weeks back I was in a Coffee By Design (drinking my usual Diet Coke) when a man loudly came in to the store.
He was nonverbal, grunting, and to my eyes, scary and offputting, as he shuffled into his place in line.
I couldn't look at him directly.
His presence in the store disrupted my routines completely, and I felt that old shame, related to
Not being able to handle an awkward situation better,
Like the compassionate man I had always strove to be would have.
The customer somehow got his coffee, left, and jumped back in the passenger's side of the moving van he had arrived in.
My ordeal was over, seemingly.
But the self hatred remained.

Today, at the supermarket, I noticed a middle aged man who has been bagging groceries and corralling carraiges at my local store for the entire six years I've been a customer there.
He is friendly and funny, wise and cheerful, and happy, I'm sure to be out and working. He has given me more good moments than he'll ever know, as he bags my goodies in an efficient and delightfully joyous method that makes me think, "His is a good life. A life more than worth living, but a life worth celebrating."

I do not know his name, but every time I see his face at the store I know I am in good hands.

Sick of the Sameness of Being

The closets never change their colors.
The walls don't move
The way I want them to
That phone rings, a call I don't want to answer.

My life is the same, always for this long, long while.
Sick of it all, just tired of all of it
For the best I can do is lame, sad, pathetic
In those eyes.

I don't like where this is heading to,
Has been of, and to, for a long time.
Why can't I have what I want?
My sickness is just around the corner.
I await it.

Forward Scared

I get pleasure from viewing your face, up close.
What else do you have for me?
If you knew my story you'd surely get a chuckle
From the ridiculousness of it all.

I'm worried, not of old age or dying alone, but more so
Scared of rejection, this time and again soon.
And also of not being rejected, but doing the rejecting myself.

You don't want me? I hear you.
Who else is like me around here?
No one can be, or would want to bear that burden.

My choice is to try again
Though knowing what might happen (will happen) gives me pause
Because it almost certainly will do me in, for a long while, again and again.

Some Basketball Thoughts

1) Harrison Barnes of Carolina may have scored 40 today, but he remains more Tim Thomas/Bob MacAdoo type than a true superstar. The reason is that he doesn't make anyone else better. Barnes does not work well with his teammates offensively. Sure, the guy made a ton of jumpers, but Carolina struggled and had to go to overtime to pull out the win over an overmatched opponent.

2) Championship Week is almost as much fun for me as any of the NCAA Tournament weeks. The reason is the plethora of celebrations. Watching the coach and players at BU going crazy with the school's first Big Dance ticket in nine years was terrific. They surely won't be celebrating and carousing next week when they get slaughtered by a #1 or #2 seed. The conference tournaments are pure joy, though. Great stuff for this hoops junkie.

3) This might be the best team Notre Dame has ever had. They made a Final Four way back in 1978 and had some incredibly talented players go through South Bend in that 70s/early 80s era with Coach Digger, but never really played to their ability. This year's team might have zero NBA players on it, but I can see them winning six games and potentially winning it all. I'm not saying they will, just that they can. I can also see the Domers, with their heavy reliance on perimeter shooting, going out next Saturday or Sunday in the second round against a good 7 or 8 seed. Congratulations are in order, to be certain, to Coach Mike Brey for getting the max out of the Irish.

4) Not that anyone cares about my opinion on the matter, but this Miami U. alum would like it if Coach Charlie Coles rode off into the sunset. The Miami program has become mediocre, having not won 20 games since the Sweet Sixteen team in 1999. The school can and should expect more out of the program than .500 records year after year. Thanks for some great memories, Coach Charlie, but it's time to go.

5) Nolan Smith's toe injury for Duke is very reminiscent of Jayson Williams ankle sprain in the ACC Tournament in 2001. It looked to me that, when Williams went down, Duke's season was over. But the Blue Devils won the National Championship that year, and Williams played well. Can Smith, the lifeblood of a terrific Coach K squad, do the same in 2011? That remains the same. The timing of the injuries is eerily similar.

Announcer-Less Basketball

Usually, I watch sports with the sound turned off on the TV. I don't need some knuckleheaded play by play man to tell me what is going on: I can tell for myself.

Many years ago, NBC presented a Jets-Dolphins game from the Orange Bowl with no announcers. Just the crowd noise and PA announcer. It was an experiment that went nowhere and got little positive response. I would love it if that option were to reappear. It seems to be that I am probably not alone in hoping to recreate the in person experience of attending a sporting event; having just the sounds of the game come into my living room here in The 'Pent.

How the commercials that pay for the broadcast would work into the formula, I have no idea. But to me, announcer-less basketball is the way to go.

The NCAA Bubble and Job Security

According to ESPN's Bracketology, Virginia Tech is one of the last teams in to The Big Dance, as it stands on Friday afternoon. Finally the Hokies may squeak into the tourney after years of complaining about how they got screwed out of an at large bid.

But the truth of the matter is that Coach Seth Greenberg and his athletic director could have rectified the matter years ago by having a tougher nonconference schedule. The reason they don't do that is that they want very badly to continue to work at V-Tech, and they know that no school president is going to fire a coach/AD who wins 20 games a year. Greenberg has been very happy for years now, scheduling creampuffs, winning 20 games, and going to the NIT, all the while publicly bitching about the unfairness of his situation.

---------------

The message from the NCAA Tournament Committee is simple: teams that play tough schedules are rewarded.

The message from Virginia Tech's athletic department heads is just as simple: We won't lose our jobs if we win enough games and stir up enough controversy about how the selection committee screwed us again.

Come on, Virginia Tech. Get a better schedule.

It'll probably never happen, though.

No One To Talk To

The word freak is here
Just as you thought
To master and man
What he thinks is right, now
And the future, too.

I am him and it
For the past times, as well as the future mistakes and errors
That will put me in my grave.
It's your fault, not mine
I try to think softly, unbearably.
You did this to me. knowingly
Laughingly
And I will not forget.

The word freak is here.

Settling Down

I will not settle when I choose to spend time
With a friend or a woman. Because
No one is better than you most always.
When you talk incessantly about your little life and your little problems
I turn away and tune you out
For good.

Trust has to be earned from this Joe.
I do not like those who ask too much too soon,
They are wrong; selfish bullies to be scorned, then avoided.

Forgive me please for my inadaquateness as I take stock of yours.
Do you know I see right through you (too)?
To the wife beater, the abuser within.
Long ago is not forgotten by me, never lost on me
And won't be.
If you've not forgotten neither have they and she.
And all the rest.

I take care of me the best I know how,
The only way I know how to.
You are lucky if I let you forgive me.

(Ac)counting Days

I used to be a CPA. I picked accounting as my major in college because Dad was one and I really didn't have any idea what I truly wanted to do with my life. It seemed to make sense that if that asshole could make a good living crunching numbers then I could, too. Did I know what accounting and bookkeeping was? Not in the slightest. The only jobs I had ever had prior to declaring my major were mowing lawns and one summer spent as a fry cook at our local Weathervane, a fried seafood joint about three miles from the family home in Amherst, New Hampshire. No, I didn't know that working as an accountant was like trying to get a 100% on an eight hour math test, each and every day after mind numbing day. I was to find out that fall.

My first experience with having a real job in the field was telling. I had received a letter in the spring of my senior year at Miami University from the firm that hired me, congratulating me on being selected and telling me the date I was to start, which was, I read quickly, in the late summer. Since I knew that working for a living sounded like a bad idea, and doubly so for me since I had begun to hear the rumors of how "dorky" and "nerdy" accountants were from classmates, I quickly filed away the letter, hoping that that first day would never come.

The summer spent living at my parents home was a slow one, hot and humid in the strange way New England summers are in contrast to the brutal winter months. I read, played a little basketball (badly) at Hampshire Hills (the health club in Milford my family had belonged to for many years), and hoped that the day I would have to wear a suit and tie could possibly be less painful that my imaginings.

The weeks flew by. My father did not believe in air conditioning, so the house on Thistle Drive in Amherst was sweltering when the temperature rose above 85 outside, as it did for much of the summer of '88. I felt the walls of my room, in which I spent much of my free time reading, closing in on me. Somehow (and this remains unbelievable to me even today) I mentally transposed the date of my first day at Newton and DiBenedetto from September 15th to August 15th. Almost as punishment for what I knew was going to be a failure, I had shorted myself a month of summer vacation. The day before I believed I was to start I called the office up and asked what time they wanted me in the next day. The receptionist seemed bewildered. "Who is this?" I told her of my hire and that I was to start the next day. She put me on hold and went off in search of answers. Minutes passed. Maybe I had been fired before I even started.

She returned to the line. "Joe? You're starting next month. Not this month. Thirty days from now." I had misread the letter, shortening my time of leisure unknowingly by a month. What a fool. I quickly regained my senses and tried, badly, to fool the secretary in to another conversation so that she, as she surely would, would NOT hang up the phone and burst out laughing at my stupidity and immaturity. It was a hell of a way to start a career.

Father

Dead eight years now and still guiding my life and patterns,
I want to think and know how you thought and knew.
Yet you were unknowable to us.
A great mind, partner at 35, four children, lovely wife
But so unhappy
And mean.

We kids loved you but feared you more.
We knew not to make a sound
On the days when beer was your God.
How could we, when young, understand things that even today befuddle me.

You chose to beat her
You chose to threaten to kill me
You chose to think your children wastes.
You could have done so much more with life than the ultimate resultings.

Dead eight years now.
I remember your wasted, fallow body and oversize head
Lying in that hospital bed in Manchester in the spring of 03
Screaming at Mom to not let
Your brother see you die.
As scary still to me at 90 pounds as you were when full blooded and healthy.

I loved you as a boy, worshiped you even.
What choice did I have as a child? You were my Dad.
Small kindnesses you performed (sometimes).
Maybe that was all that was possible.

Mom wants my compassion for you to override the anger and disgust I feel, along with the rest.
For your childhood was so, so awfully hard and barren.
But I cannot know what it was like for you
I only remember what you were like with us.

Basketball Thoughts

1) Harrison Barnes badly needs another year of college --

This guy is not a smooth, instinctive basketball player. Not yet anyway. Besides having a body NOT built for the game with his short arms and heavy build, this guy seems to have made up his mind before he receives a pass whether or not he's going to shoot. A player needs to be unpredictable and Barnes doesn't seem to have any clue yet about passing and teamwork. Sure, he shot the ball well last night versus Duke, and he has good game off the dribble, but another year of learning how to play with talented teammates would do him well. Having prepped in the high school basketball wasteland of Iowa, he does not know how to play within a team structure yet, imo. But he'll almost certainly be a top five pick when he inevitably comes out this spring. For shame.

2) Duke is my pick to win it all --

If Coach K can win it with the group he had last year he has a great chance to win it with this team. Subtract the bangers up front from last year's squad, but add the Plumlees and give the electrifying Nolan Smith added responsibility and Duke is at least as good as last season's champs. Coach K is, incredibly, still the best coach in the country even into his 60s. The Blue Devils are just so solid in all aspects and can play at any pace. Last night's loss at Carolina may be a blessing in disguise: losses at the end of the regular season and into the conference tournaments tend to make sure the players listen to their coaches. Duke can easily win six in The Big Dance.

3) Getting to a game early is where it's at --

I love the pageantry, the orchestration of all the stuff that goes on prior to tipoff. Everyone is optimistic, everyone is undefeated. The players go through their warmup drills thinking that "tonight is the night for me to be special." The scorekeepers and officials all greet each other like long lost friends. I don't get the same feeling prior to a hockey or baseball game. Football games are basically wars fought with shoulder pads so pregame is more or a sense of doom than anything in that sport as most folks know there is great potential for serious injury (or should know anyway). I simply adore getting to a hoops game 40 minutes prior to game time and drinking it all in.

4) And leaving early is classless, in any and every case --

This is Portland, Maine. Population 70k. With two highways and a handful of main roads. How is it that every time I go to a Seadogs, Pirates, or Red Claws game, to say nothing of high school games, there are scores of folks who leave before the game is over. Maybe I take this too serious, but I will never understand the people who go to a game and don't care who wins. That's why they're playing the freaking game, people! Leaving in the sixth inning or with four minutes left in the fourth quarter will never cease to amaze me. What's so special about getting home anyway? Here in The 'Pent the cat is fed and has water: she doesn't care if I get back twenty minutes earlier. There's really nothing special going on here usually, so I feel free to stay and get my money's worth.

5) Kenneth Faried of Morehead State is NASTY! --

This dude's a good bet to be a lottery pick. Great basketball body, with arms that go on forever, big frame, and looks a legit 6 10. Man, does this guy play hard. Morehead State was, thankfully, finally on TV for their conference tournament and Faried looked sensational. He doesn't look good from the line, where he might cost his team a point of two a night (which is a lot) because of his poor release, but you can't have everything. I get the sense, reading an article in Sports Illustrated on Faried and his family, that there is lot of financial and emotional pressure on this young man to make it big. That could pay off in that he just might take his career seriously. I believe Faried, in the right situation (meaning good team, well run, that needs rebounds and not a post up player) can absolutely THRIVE in The Association.

I Want My Writing To Be Accessible To And By All

I want anyone who reads to read my stuff and say, "Yeah, I can relate, I get where this dude is coming from."

A lot of times I'll write something for this blog, go over it, then delete half the words before posting it. Especially the commas (I LOVE commas the first time through). I try to simplify and get to the heart of the matter.

A big vocabulary (which I surely do not have) does a writer absolutely no good if no one reads their stuff, if no one has access to it.

Accessability is what I want. Readability. I remember being forced to read Shakespeare in high school and hating it. To this day I do not read stuff that doesn't read, for me, quickly and effortlessly. That's the goal for this blogger.

The 'Pent Is Going To The 'Nap

Five long years ago, when our long dead grandfather started this blog in March of 2006, our second post concerned an upcoming trip to Indianapolis to see the men's college basketball Final Four, to be played in, as it will always be referred to by us, The Hoosierdome. We had a great time there, met some old dudes who had played in the historic Kentucky v Texas Western game forty years prior, in 1966, and saw three intensely played but lopsided games: Florida won the first of their back to back titles with easy wins over George Mason and UCLA, who had torched LSU (and the future Celtic Glen Davis) in the semis.

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Well, we're going back to The 'Nap!

This time for the women's Final Four, to be played on April 3rd and 5th in Conseco Fieldhouse.

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We're crossing our fingers, hoping against hope to meet Coach Kim Mulkey of Baylor, the goddess of women's hoops in our eyes, though we expect she'll be plenty busy trying to beat Coach Geno and UConn, should they both, as expected, make it to Indy. It should be a fun experience for The 'Pent staff and family members attending.

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And just to add...

Women's basketball is played by the competitors with every bit of passion and drama as men's. The girls of Leavitt high school, competing against the Eastern Maine champs Nokomis last night at the Cumberland County Civic Center here in Portland, showed just as much heart and grit and fire as any boys team I've seen play. And their smiles were as wide as any team that's ever won a championship when they cut down the nets following their Class B state title. You can't tell me that future Black Bear Courtney Anderson and potential Big East type recruit Kristen Anderson, playing for their mom, don't make for some pleasing b-ball to any true fan of the game. They and their team put on a terrific show Friday night, one I wouldn't have missed for anything. Congrats to Coach Tammy Anderson and the entire team.

(And most of those girls are back next year.....So LOOK OUT Class B!!)

Having Compassion for Charlie Sheen

He is an alcoholic and drug abuser. He is pathetic. He looks like shit. And he is the biggest entertainment story in the country right now.

I take no part in the Charlie Sheen-fest on TV and in the magazines. It's all so sad and sordid, so seemy. The man is falling apart before our eyes, but he is still generating revenue for a lot of people with his self destruction.

When I think of Sheen, I think of Elvis and MJ. Dead too soon because they were addicts too powerful to be told "no." When you have hundreds of millions of dollars in the bank, as has been said, you ARE GOD. No one can say anything to you that you don't want to hear.

Charlie Sheen may well be dead in a year. Or he could bounce back and get another hit show. No one knows how this is going to play out. But I know that Sheen is no different than the addicts and drunks I spend a good chunk of my week with. He is no different from me, who had to get in trouble with the police for the first time in my life in order to take a good look at my life and where I was headed.

It's all very sad, but none of us, no matter how powerful, are immune to life's foibles.

Yaz and My Father

My Father, dead eight years now almost to the day,
Was Boston to the core.
He loved Bill Russell and Bill Monbouquette like they were blood
And getting him to remember out loud how he and his buddies
Snuck into the Garden as kids in the 40s and 50s
Was the easiest thing I could do as a boy.

But I was terrified of my Dad.
His seemingly nonsensical, alcohol fueled, temper tantrums
Directed at Mom or one of us
Left me wondering when bad thing were going to happen in the house in Amherst.
Never "if" but "when."

He could always talk sports, though.
I was the only one of his four children who loved them like he did.
The others were too smart for that, apparently.

And Carl Yastrzemski was the second god of all Boston sports gods.
(Right behind Teddy Fucking Ballgame, of course)
The little, broad shouldered, son of a Long Island potato farmer
Gave everything he had with every swing, every game
And everyone in New England loved him for it.
Never a champion, loser of two World Series, but still the hero to all real Sox fans.
He played until he couldn't play anymore; he loved it so.

In the fall of 1983, times were as bad as they'd get in our family.
My Dad had stopped drinking but not beating up Mom,
Had not stopped screaming in anger at all of us, at any of us
When the mood struck him.
For what?, I never knew.

Dad had scored two tickets to Yaz' last game, to be played at Fenway October 2, 1983
And we were going, no questions to be asked by me.
But that morning, on what I remember to be a sunny, warm, early fall day
I decided I wasn't going,
I didn't want anyone looking at me because in my heart I knew how truly funny looking I was,
Awkward and strange to others eyes. They could tell something was wrong with my face, my limbs, my walk.
And sitting with thirty thousand pairs of eyes laughing at me was too overwhelming.
Dad was disgusted when I told him "I can't go."
But he wouldn't drag me, wouldn't force me.
(Why didn't he go by himself? At the time I did not know.)

So we didn't get to see Yaz' last game, one of the greatest days in Boston sports history,
With the Captain going one for three,
Being taken out of left and replaced with the hulking Jim Rice in the last inning.
And circling the field, touching thousands of fans following the final out.
I had tears in my eyes, watching on the 13 inch set up in my room, a birthday present the year prior from Dad.
The day was so beautiful, so historic.
Even a seventeen year old sixty miles away from the old ballpark knew that.

My Dad never asked me to another game at his beloved Fenway or Garden.
He was sober but not sober.
So pissed all the time despite not drinking
Still putting his hands on Mom.

Today, I have a framed picture of Yaz' tipping his cap to the Boston crowd.
I like to think it was taken on his last day but can't be sure.

We could have been there and had memories to suck on, to bath in.
But, appropriately, didn't attend.

Lovely Is

I look around, from my seat in the middle,
At the faces all turned towards the front of the room
Wondering what they may be thinking:
About how this is all bullshit?
Maybe about how they can't wait for the meeting to be over?
Sometimes I think like that, too.

They fascinate me
The dirty ones, the smelly ones, the beat-up ones
The lovely ones.

No one gets here because life is going smoothly
In fact quite the opposite
Suicide is always on our minds when we get to that first meeting.
Always.

Yet there is beauty in the struggle
If they only knew
What I know sometimes.
It can be done. One day at a time.
Maybe one hour at a time.

And the lovely ones make me wonder
Why they are so self destructive.
I could hold them and show them how special they are
If they'd let me.
Yeah, I could tenderly show them what is what
And how a man should act towards them.
But they never let me in. Not yet at least
Sometimes because of time constraints
(We have our rules)
But mostly because they're scared
Not of me but of the world in general.

I'm not scary, they might see
If they give me a chance.
Yes, they all mean so much to me
Especially the lovely ones.

Boston College Football and Basketball: I Used To Care

Growing up in Mass and Southern NH in the late 70s and early 80s, Boston College sports was the fifth professional franchise in the area. Memories of Doug Flutie's Hail Mary and Michael Adams dribbling through the legs of that Depaul defender will drift into my mind from time to time even today. I lived and died with BC sports. My heart was broken when, in 1984, with my ear pressed to the radio speaker, Pearl Washington threw one in from halfcourt against the Eagles. And when Nashua's Skip Barry fumbled the ball away against Memphis State in the regionals in 1985, likely preventing what would have been an all Big East Final Four, I was crushed. Painful but memorable.

Today I just don't care about the school. It comes down to the BC administration's decision to join the ACC eight years ago, leaving the Big East Conference, of which BC was a charter member. Who in New England cares about Virginia Tech and Clemson and Florida State and North Carolina State? I sure don't. BC belongs in the Big East, not the ACC, which plays on fields seemingly a world away.

What's done is done, but the move to the Atlantic Coast Conference has destroyed this former Eagle fan's passion. Last night, down in Blacksburg, the men's basketball team, fighting for an at large berth in the NCAAs, beat up a Virginia Tech team coming off one of the biggest win's in Hokie history, and I didn't watch a minute of it. I watched the Kentucky game instead. Unthinkable twenty years ago.