A lesson learned

Tonight, my wife and I will go to a wake for a fellow named John Welch. He passed away Tuesday at the ripe old age of 94. I got to know John only about 20 years ago and didn't know him nearly as well as many others who will be there tonight. But I thought the world of him. You see, good people -- even if they are casual friends -- stick with you forever. They teach you things by their actions as well as their words.

Several years ago, John and I were part of a foursome in a golf tournament. Riding with John was a young, excitable son of a friend of mine who was 18 or 19 years old. Jason is a good athlete but that doesn't mean he is a good golfer. At the time, he had a bit of a temper. We were plodding along, having a wonderful time hitting mediocre to awful shots on a beautiful day.

Jason hit a bad shot and, as golfers occasionally do, tossed his club in anger. As they were riding down the fairway in their cart, John said quietly, "You know, Jason, some guys get uncomfortable playing with guys who throw their clubs. It takes the fun out of the game for them."

About 10 minutes later, Jason sidled over to where my partner and I were standing. he looked like he had been caught stealing an entire jar of cookies. "I think I offended him," he whispered. "I feel terrible."

Nothing more was ever said on the subject and it was one of the most enjoyable afternoons I ever spent on a golf course.

For the rest of the afternoon, the young man hit shots no worse (or better) than before but didn't toss a single club. Jason, who is a terrific, decent human being, later faced hell on earth in Iraq as a Marine and lived to tell about it. He is a tough, hardnosed fellow who I want on my side if I ever get in a fight.

On that afternoon, however, an older man he had never met before brought him to his knees with a lesson that I suspect that has never been forgotten.

And this is what friends of all ages are for.

Feeling Snookered

Last night, John Edwards was in St. Paul to speak at a rally at a local carpenters hall. Although he was not my first choice for president, I have always liked his style. My wife was an early and enthusiastic backer of the guy.

So I went along to watch and keep her company. Although he got there late, he gave a rousing 20-minute speech that had his supporters ready to go for next week's caucuses.

12 hours later, word came down he was thinking of dropping out of the race. This afternoon, he just did that.

We've been had.

Just last night, here was Edwards extolling us to keep up the good fight and telling us what he will do when he is in the White House. Today, he admitted he had already called Mrs. Clinton and Sen. Obama and told them he was dropping out. He said he almost changed his mind when he saw the 1,000 or so folks going nuts for him and highfiving him all over the place.

I find this hard to believe.

Eventually, it comes down to one candidate from each party. And the losers do have to console their supporters. But I can't rationalize what happened here last night. Edwards got his supporters -- like my wife -- fired up for Tuesday -- and then dropped them without warning the next day. It's like finding out your dream date will go to the prom with you. You buy a new suit or get a new dress and get a nice haircut. And then you get the word they have changed their mind because the quarterback or homecoming queen said yes at the last second.

Edwards wasn't my first pick but I am bummed anyway. I was just starting to believe that some politicians -- even some I disagree with -- really do shoot straight. I respected the guy -- and that is hard to do with a lot of politicians. However, I feel worse for my wife and the 1,000 others who were there last night -- and had their feelings toyed with. My office mate Jim (who has worked in statewide political campaigns) says this is SOP and I shouldn't be upset by this.

I say that's bull. I know these type of dishonest guys are out there in the business world. But politicians are supposed to be better than that. As a glass half-full guy by nature, I hate feeling this way. I think Edwards owes everybody who came out last night to see him here a big apology. Am I alone in this view?

Thanks, Dr. C

Joe Connors died Sunday in Minneapolis. He was 93 years old and probably was more than ready to leave us. He was done teaching us lessons.

To those of us at St. Thomas in the 1960s, 70s and 80s, he was Dr. Connors -- the imperious English professor who demanded -- and got -- much more from us than we knew we were capable of. (I suspect, however, he wouldn't like that I ended the previous sentence with a preposition.)

Dr. Connors' English classes were fascinating because he never talked down to you. Instead he talked at you. When you met with him in his office, he would listen to your complaints and then suggest working together to solve the problem. I once wrote a book review of Turgenev's Fathers and Sons, considered one of the best books of the 19th century.

I thought the book was boring and said so in my review. Dr. Connors invited me to his office to discuss my paper. "I suppose it never occurred to you that at some point in your life, you may have to do a boring task," he started out. "You are perfectly within your rights to find the book boring. But that isn't what I asked you to write about. I asked for a review of the book's story. You have 24 hours to do it. Thanks for dropping by." End of meeting.

I turned in my review the next day and got one of my few A's ever on a paper. "I may disagree with your premise here," Dr. Connors wrote on the paper. "But you backed it up with some proof. That's all I ask of a reviewer."

Good teachers get students to look and think ahead. Dr. Connors did more than drill the need for good writing into our heads. He insisted we consider the consequences of what we write. "You can't say you were misquoted or misunderstood when it is on paper. Think before you write something down," he told us one day.

Many years after I left school, I ran into Dr. Connors on a golf course. I asked him why he had been so hard on me and other journalism majors who were in his class. "I knew where your passions were so I never minded our little disagreements. It wasn't my job to be your friend. You wanted to make it your career and it was my job to get you ready for it," he smiled. "A lot of those other guys were there because they had to be. I gave them the respect they gave me."

I don't remember if I ever thanked him for pushing so hard. Well, better late than never.

The difference in college divisions

Since I have already dipped my toe into a discussion about the difference between D-I and D-III athleties, I have decided to dive in headfirst and get it over with. Here is a link to the text of a letter Rich Rodriguez recently sent to the athletic director at West Virginia.

http://www.detroitnews.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20080125/SPORTS0201/801250436/1004/SPORTS

In case you don't know how Rodriguez is, he is the former WVU coach who recently took over at Michigan. I am told he is an excellent coach. But that is not the point here.

The letter reads like something you would expect to find when a CEO of a major company leaves and hires a $500 an hour lawyer to finish the deal. If coaches are going to parse language this much regarding contracts and agreements, then is it any surprise that many of the athletes coached by these guys do the same thing?

College is supposed to be an educational experience that prepares a person for future life. The above letter can be contracted to these simple sentences: "I want to leave West Virginia to coach at Michigan. I don't owe the school and the players I recruited there a damn thing. And, by the way, if I leave Michigan two years from now for a job in the NFL or at another college, I will tell people in Ann Arbor the same thing. If you don't like it, sue me."

I guess this is providing a form of education because this stuff does happen in the real world. But if your boss (and the coach of a team is, after all, the boss) says the rules don't necessarily apply to him (her), then a player can reasonably decide the same can (or will be eventually) be true for them. With that kind of logic being applied, is it any wonder a player thinks he can beat up his girlfriend and simply move on or think a DWI can be quashed because the guy led the country in scoring?

This rarely happens at the D-III level because schools simply don't allow it. D-III school presidents have to answer to their alumni, who are frequently titans of business. Many of them want their athletic teams to win championships but academics still come first. Unfortunately, many D-I schools operate under the idea once uttered by a president of the U of Oklahoma: "I want this school to be something the football team would be proud of."

As my friend Steph pointed out, there are many good D-I coaches and athletes who do good things and are also good people. The more you read about situations like Rodriguez's, the more you are impressed with these people.

I Stand (Partially) Rebuked

Well, you have to love the immediacy of the web. My friend The Steph put a quick comment below my most recent screed, noting that there are several D-I athletes who do good things and are quality people. She's right, of course, and it should have been duly noted.

True, it only takes a few knuckleheads to spoil it for everybody. But it seems to me there are more and more of them now than in days of yore. Perhaps this is because there are more venues for reporting and more people watching for this sort of stuff to occur.

The main point of the note was (and still is) the majority of NCAA athletes compete away from the glare of television lights. The level of play (plus the quality of people playing and coaching it) doesn't get the credit it deserves. A Bobby Knight type of coach -- the guy who constantly berates players, media and officials -- can't survive at the D-III level. The players are too smart to take such abuse and would tell him they have better things to do with their time.

Yes, the good people in D-I athletics deserve to be noted more. For example, the other day, Tubby Smith, the U of Minnesota men's BB coach, recently spent a couple of hours filling lunch orders at a local taco place. I didn't get the reason why but he was doing it with a smile for everyone. Bully for him.

Youth Sports Lesson, Part III

In addition to working high school games, I do the public address for U of St. Thomas, a D-III school in St. Paul. The other night, they played their archrival St. John's in basketball. Both teams are pretty good but the Tommies wore them down and won by 13 points -- about the proper margin of victory.

But here's the important point. If you had walked into the gym five minutes after the game was over, you might not have known who won. There were lots of handshakes, including two guys who looked like they were going to come to blows 15 minutes before. The winners reminded the losers they owed them a drink this summer and the losers reminded the winners there is a rematch in four weeks in St. Cloud.

It is events like these that restore my faith in man -- and the power of athletics in general. While the game was being played, it was as intense as anything you have ever seen. Players barked at each other and coaches snapped at officials. But when the game ends, it's over and you move on. Maybe it is because they have to get up to go to class the next day. Maybe it is because they ride buses on snowy roads all winter -- and that keep you humble. Or maybe it is because the coaches at this level are also teachers.

There are hundreds of such rivalries all over the country. For every spoiled D-I athlete that gets arrested in a bar fight or beats up his girlfriend, remember they are outnumbered greatly by the D-II and D-III athletes. They may be a Silent Majority but they are also a loud force. You see, that is where many of the future coaches come from. One hopes that when they become coaches, they remember these moments.

Youth Sports Lesson, Part II

I do a lot of public address work around town. Among my duties are some high school hockey games at the nearby Coliseum. The other night, an incident happened that still puzzles me. I don't know what to make of it and am hoping somebody in the blogsphere can explain it to me.

Here's the story:

Breck is a rather exclusive school just west of the Twin Cities. It costs about 20 thousand a year to attend. They are generally very good in boys' hockey. They were playing the St. Paul Saints, which is a team made up of players from four schools. Most of them, however, attend St. Bernard's, an inner city St. Paul catholic high school. The Saints are generally average in hockey. They play hard and a little choppy at times but don't give refs a bad time.

The other night, the Saints were on their game and Breck definitely was not. Saints led 3-2 midway in the third period when the Breck captain got a checking from behind penalty. That's a stiff call -- two minute minor and a mandatory ten minute misconduct. Referee assigns the penalty and tells the Breck coach to send over a second player to serve the minor. Coach doesn't do it -- wants to discuss the penalty. Referee goes back a second time and says "Let's go. Send a player." Coach again refuses. Referee goes back a third time and ask again. Coach shakes his head, still wants to discuss the play. Referee says okay, now you have a bench penalty for delay of game. You can send me two guys.

At this point, coach sighs and send over two guys. Saints score on the power play and the game, in essence, is over. By the way, it was the first time they had beaten Breck in 11 years.

After the game, teams shake hands and Breck coach tells referee, "You disrespected me." Ref looks up and says, "Disrespected you? Did ou think I was really going to go over there and let you roar about a penalty in front of your bench. All you had to do was send a guy over. You could have said anything you wanted next time I was skating by."

To my way of thinking, the Breck coach (who I think is a very nice guy) hurt his team dearly in a game that could really come back to haunt them at year's end. He so much wanted to give the referee hell for a penalty he didn't like that he forgot a basic tenet -- the game comes first.

In a JV game last year between the same schools, Breck trailed after two periods and dropped a line from the varsity in for the final period. The line scored three goals to put them ahead and went back to the lockerroom.

So I am wondering: Is this school a bit too competitive or am I being a fuddyduddy here? Can somebody in the blogosphere help me on this one?

Being young is no excuse for being stupid

Here in our little midwest corner of the world we have a raging controversy going on over internet photos. No, not the latest ones from Britney Spears. These have to do with a local high school that recently gave 13 students a two-week vacation from extracurricular activities. Their crime was appearing in photos on a Facebook site with alcohol in their hand. Several of the miscreants, their parents and their lawyers screamed loud and long about invasion of privacy issues, etc.

The administrators at the high school basically snickered and reminded the youth they had signed a sheet of paper saying they would not engage in such behavior. Under the rules, if they smoke or drink alcohol, they get a two-week suspension for the first offense. Repeat offenders get more. And, in this case, possession is the law.

I write a twice-a-month column for a neighborhood paper. For the current column, I talked to a series of local high school athletic directors on this subject. All (except one who didn't want to talk about it) were shaking their heads at the stupidity of kids who thought nobody would ever notice their pictures on the internet. The youth seemed blissfully unaware that if a presidential candidate sneezes, it's on You Tube five minutes later.

"I can't tell you how many dumb things I did as a kid," one told me. "But do you think I went home and advertised it?" Just because we didn't get caught didn't mean we weren't stupid.

In this case, the athletes complained they were being treated unfairly and singled out. The school noted they didn't have as good a hammer to use over the non-athletes. The best they could do was let the parents know via a letter and hope mumsy and daddy will handle it properly.

All of which reminded me of a story Red Jones, an old American League umpire, once told at a banquet I attended. Seems Mr. Jones was getting heat from a bench during a game. Eventually, he heard enough and sent the entire bench to the showers. The last guy out was Wally Moses, a quiet fellow. "Red, honest, I never said a word to you," Moses said. Jones didn't doubt this for a second but said, "Wally, it's like a raid on a cathouse. The good go with the bad. So off you go."

Working together on home repairs: a true test of how well you can get along

There are many different things that can test a relationship -- marital or otherwise. The obvious ones include money, sex, and being away for long periods due to work (or, sadly these days, a military requirement). To that list, let me a new entry: attempting to work on a house together.

We have a 63-year old house that badly needed some updating. In addition to a paint job, the downstairs had to be torn apart and put back together. Several months into the project, I now know why you never see this situation on TV: there isn't a lot of humor involved here.

The first part of this project -- the dining room -- went well. I helped moved tables and bookcases to the living room and left because of work conflicts. Lynne painted the whole room in two days. When everything dried, table and cases went back. Piece of cake.

The living room, however, offered a different challenge. No work conflicts this time so we decided to split up the load. Lynne did the stuff she is very good at -- the ceiling and the small areas near the floor. It requires a fine, soft, small hand and she does that sort of thing very well.

My job was to do the large walls. As I started in on the first wall, I became aware of a pair of eyes watching me with mild disapproval.

"Why are you doing it that way?" she said, referring to my horizontal, broad brush approach.

"It's easier and I like doing it that way," I replied, unaware this was not the desired answer.

Lynne went back to her area but observed, "It might work better if you took the V (or maybe it was W -- some letter like that) approach but do it however you want."

I think this is code for "You have no idea what you are doing but you are going to do it anyway. Maybe it will work out."

A few minutes later, I felt the eyes again.

"Are you going to paint that area, too?" she asked, pointing to a smaller wall that had not been touched yet.

"In a minute, dear. Let me finish this."

I believe her reply was "Hrrmph."

Shortly thereafter she developed a serious sneezing attack. This probably occurred because of her allergy problems but I am not ruling out the possibility that my painting style contributed to it.

Anybody that ever had something like this can guess what happened next: after the sneezing finally stops (it can go on for up to a half-hour or so), you are so exhausted you need to take a nap. Lynne did so and the paint job went along a helluva lot smoother. By the time she woke up, the task was complete. Lynne said the walls looked good. Huzzah.

One fine afternoon a few weeks later, we headed downstairs to "help" the guy working on the basement. After an adventure in placing insulation near the ceiling (my first question was: "Do we glue it up there?" Rookie mistake.), the time had come to use some tools to drill holes for some steel stuff that needed to go up.

Our guy showed me how to use the gun that somehow balanced a screw on it before it got drilled through a tiny hole to keep said steel stuff attached to the ceiling. It is a delicate procedure. Since my touch is more along the lines of Gene Wilder's non-shooting hand in "Blazing Saddles", this didn't go so well. Lynne watched patiently for about 10 minutes before suggesting she might be better equipped to handle this part of the operation. It my turn to hrrmph but she was correct. It also explains why the only chainsaw I am empowered to use at home is a toy one that is actually a sound effect.

I took up the task of actually drilling the holes in advance of her arrival with whatever that gun is actually called. It's all about knowing your correct role ... even if you don't know the name of the tool you are using.

At any rate, the job is now about half-done and we have managed to not to kill each other ... yet. There is, however, half a basement and two rooms to go so we are not of the woods. It's been a while but I don't remember discussions about these kind of situations in my pre-marriage classes. Perhaps there can be addendum to the next curriculum.

My neighbor came up with an even more ingenious solution to this dilemma. She and her husband recently repainted their house and I asked how it went. "I did one entire floor alone and he did the other," she told me. "Worked wonderfully." Hmmm. Wonder if Dr. Phil knows about this.

There's No Business Like it

Attention, night owls! I have been tapped to make a guest appearance on WCCO-AM (830 in the Twin Cities and beyond) on Dark Star's show this Wednesday, January 9. It is in the prestigious 11:30 p.m. (CST) time slot. I suspect we'll blow Art Bell's ratings right out of the water. With the writers' strike still going, nobody is going to be watching TV, either.

The subject du jour, I suspect, will be hockey and perhaps some arena/stadium talk.

What a blog is all about ... and what it isn't

When I decided to start this blog, I sent an email to several friends that I had started this blog. Many of them were kind enough to send a note back saying they will be reading. But one old pal Will sent me a note with a harsh reminder.

Will observed the problem with blogs is everybody opines when (in his view) what is needed is some sharp reporting on issues not always covered in the mainstream media.

He's right, of course. There are so many issues that need to get serious coverage by the media that get overlooked. If you watched cable the past two days, the news was basically two items:

1) The political results in Iowa and what might happen next week in New Hampshire.

2) Britney Spears

In both cases, there has been a lot of punditry and speculation. Some of it is informed but most of it was just rough guesses. My only experience with New Hampshire was a brief trip to the largest liquor store I have ever seen. I have spent a little more time in Iowa on business over the years but can't tell you much about the people there. But you, good reader, and I knew as much as the suits that were reporting from there.

The Spears case is a sad one and deserves thoughts at another time. Who the hell really knows just what this girl has been doing and why she ended up in the hospital. But Will's point is pertinent here: there has been little indepth reporting on what is causing Spears' problems and how they can be solved. No, the pictures have been of her husband canoodling with some bimbo on New Year's Eve and a few shots of Spears getting wheeled into the hospital. Nowhere in this reporting has been this observation: There are two very young kids who are badly in need of parental guidance and love and aren't getting it. Just what is going to happen to them and how are they going to have any chance of living a normal life? I suspect this is the kind of reporting Will is looking for.

There is hope on the reporting horizon. In today's Star Tribune, there is a front page story about the straining economy pushing up the jobless rate. It's indepth and offers good information. Inside is a terrific story about the director of the Smithsonian Museum in Washington spending $48,000 of museum funds to commission a portrait of himself. We need to know more of that kind of stuff and less about Britney.

In the Pioneer Press, there is a story about two Minnesota state workers (who have since been fired) who apparently snooped around driver's records without permission. Again, here is where Will's thesis gets a test: we don't know the names of these miscreants or just what the hell they were up to. But we need to find out everything. We paid these folks' salaries. Sorry, political Brit fans, this kind of information is more important.

Unfortunately, this is not the kind of stuff you will normally find in blogs such as this. Hopefully, what you will find is something to give you pause. If you're interested in the subject du jour, it may make you want to find out more. There will also be times where all I intend to do is attempt to amuse you with a tale of life in the Midwest. Your comments will tell me if I am on the right path.

The indepth reporting will have to be left to somebody else. There is some good work being done but we must push for more of it. Then people like me can spend time writing about the important things like why dogs do phantom pees and the problems involved when a happily married couple tries to paint a house together. But that's for another blog.

Now what?

I promise not to go political very often. But the events of Thursday night in Iowa can't be ignored.

It strikes me that Huckabee and Obama's wins are a direct shot at the status quo. The old guard of both parties don't want these two to be battling in November. By next week, when the New Hampshire primary is done, they could be back in the pack.

And I understand this is merely little Iowa speaking -- just one small voice in the wilderness.

But there is a wind of change blowing across the land. Like him or not, the current president was a product of the same old political system that has produced so many others.

These two guys don't fit any specific political mold. And, if one is to believe what they read on websites, don't fit a lot of people's molds.

Instead of clarifying the issue, it looks more complicated to me tonight.

Why do this?

All writers think they have something to say. So it is here. Although I do a lot of writing in my business (see the Villager newspaper or my latest column on www.arenadigest.com.) , the notes here will come from areas not always covered in my professional life.

They may be about Pete, the dog who runs our household or Polar Bear, the cat who thinks he runs the household.

They may be about my wonderful wife, Lynne, who co-runs the household or myself who co-thinks he runs the household.

They may be about friends, both current and past.

They may be about relatives, both current and past.

They may be about jobs, both current and past as well as the employers.

I find I have learned from all of the above. Some of the things I learned make me laugh. Some make me cry. Some make me mad. Some make me sigh.

Such is life.

But I digress.

Welcomes are supposed to be short and to the point. So, thanks for dropping in. Some of you were invited and some of you stumbled into this for no particular reason. As long as the hits keep on coming ...

One of my New Year's Resolutions I haven't broken yet is to get this blog up and running. I am no tekkie so it may take a while to add the necessary stuff to make this a must-see spot on your computer horizon. For now, please accept this as a first effort. Hopefully, a sensible one, too.