It’s time for the poem, ready or not, The year was a shambles, not even a pot. Christmas letters are bright, happy things to report, They paint so rosy, me thinks they distort. No bright shiny picture will come from us, Most things that happened just made us cuss. Carole’s high school reunion, RAJA in Fort Worth, Cancel the good times, cancel the mirth. But still we traveled, that’s for sure, We made numerous trips to Baltimore. Trips to Johns Hopkins were running us ragged, Facing serious surgery had our nerves jagged. A pancreatic tumor had riveted our attention, Carole was brave, fighting through the tension. The Whipple surgery was hard, the recovery was slow, The reports were great, leaving Carole aglow. Both Becky and Missy took turns as caring nurse, Giving Jack some relief from the care-giving curse. Jack stumbled and fumbled with meals and the sink, Washing whites and reds together, turns everything pink. We lost both our Moms; they both went to Heaven, Blanche was 95, Mary was 97. They were such a delight, so much to remember, Both here in October and gone in November. We’re thankful for the memories, to those we still clutch, But not hearing their voices, we miss that so much. One thing did go right, which led to big smiles, Nine and a half weeks after surgery, we cruised the British Isles. Carole got great help at every step of the way, We still struggled with patches, but what the hay. It was a golf theme cruise that was for Jack Playing Ireland and Scotland, yakety yak. Playing in the wind and the rain could make it a gasper, But the guest pro on the cruise was Billy Casper. Losing the election made us want to scream, But at least it was consistent with this year’s theme. Our garage ceiling collapsed, when a storm was in the air, But at least that’s the kind of damage we can repair! Of the children and grandchildren, I’m here to report, It’s been an OK year, nothing much to exhort. I’ll go out on a limb; I’ll even get bolder, In the best of ways, we’re all a year older. The year just rolled by, it was somewhat a sleeper, But I suspect it’s a prelude, for next year, a keeper. Thanksgiving in Roanoke, with Paul and Sandy, The turkey was great, everything was dandy. But on Friday, with little Jack, Jack was kicking a ball, The skills are long gone, he took quite a fall. Skinned both hands, knee and elbow, shoulder and head, The asphalt had won, and Jack, he just bled. Jack says he’s alright, but just the same, If he were a pro, he’d have to sit for a game. So we’ll say goodbye to the year that brought us pain, We survived the worst, and were still reasonably sane. It was a tough year and it kept us guessing, But the successful operation was truly a blessing. So our spirits will rise and with time all will cleanse, Most important to us is family and friends. So have a wonderful Christmas and be of good cheer, We love you all, have a Happy New Year. Merry Christmas and a
This was not a great year as you will see in the poem below. But, we are coming out on the other end and that’s great. Enjoy!
2012 – A Year to Forget
Happy New Year!
Jack & Carole
Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com
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Fall When You’re Young; Don’t Try It When You’re Old
David Feherty, an unpredictable and sometimes outrageous commentator on golf, was interviewing the guest Hall of Fame basketball player, Bill Russell. Feherty has his own half hour show on the Golf Channel and interviewed a wide variety of famous athletes. Russell spoke of the close relationship he had with his Boston Celtic’s coach, Red Auerbach.
When Red was close to death, Russell went to see him for the last time. As Bill Russell was about to leave, Red called him back to the bed and whispered to him, “When you get old, don’t fall.” When Russell told Feherty, they both chuckled. They acted like, here we were, hoping for something prophetic and all we got was the musing of an old man.
Well, I’m not so sure it wasn’t great advice. Remember, Auerbach was the man who said “Records are made to be broken.” He’s quotable. You just have to be there. None of us believes we are there yet. In fact, those of us who consider ourselves athletic, think we will never get there. But about ten years ago, I was playing third base in an old timers soft ball game and the throw from the outfield was low. As it went by me, I realized that I could no longer bend over to get it. When you have been doing things like that all your life, and then, you can’t, it’s a real shock. I mentally made some lame excuse and moved on.
Part of being an athlete is knowing how to fall. It’s nothing you are taught or trained to do. It’s just inherent. But it is important. Sheep dogs know how to herd sheep and athletes know how to fall. A few years back, when I was 70, I was jogging along and I slipped on some ice. We are not here to discuss dumb decisions I have made, like jogging on an icy day. We are here to discuss the art of falling. And what an art. I slipped, then tumbled and rolled and came up in good shape. A few scratches, but overall quite proud of myself for still being among those who know how to fall. Ah yes, Jack be nimble, Jack be quick.
I’m a few years older now and for Thanksgiving, Carole and I drove from the DC area down to Roanoke, Virginia to spend the holiday with our son, Paul, his wife, Sandy and their two sons, Josh and Jack (PJ3). Thanksgiving lived up to its name and to top off a perfect day, the Redskins beat the Cowboys. It is really heart warming to watch Jerry Jones at such moments.
Friday was a kick-back day. Lots of football on TV and no one had to go to work.. I saw my 13-year-old grandson, Jack, kicking a soccer ball to himself in the cul-de-sac below the house. They live on Reed Mountain, so everything is up or down. I announced that I was going to kick the ball around with Jack and headed down the driveway. I didn’t last five minutes. About the third time he kicked the ball to me, it bounced higher than I thought it would and smacked me on the forehead. It just missed my glasses and I was pleased I hadn’t broken or cut anything. Then, I noticed my footwork wasn’t any good. I decided to stay away from my bicycle kick. I wasn’t even going to try my tricycle kick.
So we just kicked it back and forth at about 20 yards. Pretty mild stuff. Then the ball got away from me and started to roll down the street. I started to move quickly to catch it – and that was it. I don’t know what happened, but I do know I was falling. Completely out of control. I skinned both hands, my knee, my elbow, my shoulder and banged my head. The pants and sweater I was wearing were later rejected by Goodwill!
I’ve thought a lot about the fall. First, I didn’t break anything. Paul said at my age, I should be thankful. Second, as I was falling, I was turning to the right to reduce the damage. I think 20 years ago, I would have made pretty much the same move, but my head would not have smacked into the asphalt. Third, I should have let the ball roll down the hill. Next time I will. I will be older and wiser.
Writted by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com
Vote Early, Vote Often
Well, I did vote early. I voted today, the 19th of October. I don’t plan on voting often. And I am still alive, so I won’t be voting in Chicago. This is the first time I have voted by absentee ballot. That means, I voted before the third debate. Maybe I should have given Obama one more chance. Maybe he won’t be lethargic and out of it, like he was in the first debate. Or, as smug, arrogant and aggressive as he was in the second debate. I don’t expect he can get moderators in two successive debates to bail him out.
I can’t think of anything he could do in the third debate to change my mind. He could admit than he lied when he claimed he said, in the Rose Garden, that our ambassador was killed in an act of terror. But that would make him an acknowledged liar, rather than a deceitful liar. And then, the spin meisters came out and said, “yes, he called it an act of terror.” I need to move on because this subject has me frothing at the mouth.
After all, isn’t it really all about the economy? We have a President that stated what he was going to accomplish and has miserably failed – for four years. He was going to bring unemployment down to 5% and he didn’t bring it down at all. He was going to cut the debt in half. But, he added a trillion dollars to our national debt each year he has been in the White House. Hope and Change. What a joke. I’m frothing again. I think the only Hope is for a Change.
I know that some people believe that the Republicans in Congress went out of their way to keep Obama from succeeding. First, let me say that the Congress of the United States is a true embarrassment – both Republicans and Democrats. But Obama had a complete Democrat majority his first two years (half the time he was in the White House) and had nothing to show for it, except Obamacare. The entire time of his administration, he never passed a budget. You can say that that is Congress’ fault, but I say if we had a president who was a leader, we would have had a budget. Does anybody doubt that Mitt Romney will have a budget his first year?
If you hire someone who has no qualifications or understanding of the job, you get what you deserve. That is what we got with Obama. Nice looking, articulate (with a teleprompter) and likeable, but unqualified. The guy who told the press he had visited 57 states (Can you imagine how the press would had played that up if Dan Quayle had said that?). The leader of the free world who bowed to a Saudi King and then had his spin meisters say he didn’t do it.
I have finally come around to Hope and Change. Our only Hope is to fire Obama and Change to someone who can get the economy going. I believe Mitt Romney can do it. He worked with a Democrat legislature in Massachusetts. He put a struggling Olympics into the black and I want to give him a chance to do something good for our struggling country. We desperately need it.
Never has a president accomplished so little in helping the economy and piled on so much debt. I would like to say, “But maybe I’m wrong.” But the facts won’t let me.
Obama said, “If I don’t get this thing done in three years, I’ll be a one term president.” Well alright then.
Written be PJ Rice at ricequips.com
Gun Control – What to Do – Woe is Me
Whenever something horrible happens, like the inexplicable senseless shootings in Aurora, Colorado, Congress postures, holds hearings and does nothing. I decided I really needed to write on this subject, but then I realized that I am woefully ignorant of what laws are on the books. Maybe I will figure some of them out before I finish this. I do, however, have strong feelings about gun control. I am satisfied that the NRA would consider me unamerican and the Brady gun control gang would think I am an idiot.
I spent 28 years in the Army and have never owned a gun. I think guns are beautiful. I just have no use for them in my house. I have qualified with both pistols and rifles. I’ve disassembled them, cleaned them, and reassembled them. That’s part of being a soldier. I guess the bottom line is that I have never lived in a place where I felt threatened. If I lived in an area where the safety of my family was an issue, I would damn well betcha get a permit for a gun and purchase something that would put a big hole in an assailant. I hope that never happens.
I strongly believe in keeping guns out of the hands of criminals. Tacking a lot of years on to the sentence of a person who uses a gun in the commission of a crime should have some deterrent effect.
We also need to keep weapons out of the hands of crazy people. But crazy people can, on occasion, act normal and that’s probably what they do when they are purchasing a fire arm. I have no problem with background checks. Who cares if it take three days or five days. It serves a legitimate purpose.
I am not an outdoorsman, whatever that means. But I respect their right to hunt, fish, drink beer and tell wild tales. But, certain weapons are not for hunting. I don’t think Bubba is going to take an AK-47 out to shoot squirrels. We need to figure out a way to restrict military weapons. I don’t believe the NRA will accept any restrictions. Something about a slippery slope. Well, that’s where I depart. I would prohibit automatic weapons and military semi-automatic weapons. I would also limit the number of rounds a magazine can hold. You don’t need 100 rounds to shoot Bambi.
This is a great country. When Mizzou plays Kansas and I am frothing at the mouth, I have to back away and remember we are all Americans. I got sidetracked there, but what I want to say is the country is too diversified to have the same gun control laws in Wyoming and New York City. I think states, and, in some cases, cities should set their own standards for gun control laws. I doubt if Wyoming has many restrictions and I am sure that New York City has quite a few. That makes sense. If you don’t think it makes sense read no further. I can’t help you.
I’m not a big gun control advocate, but I don’t believe the Government is staying up late at night trying to figure out how to take away our guns. If I am wrong, then the Government will have to issue me one before they can take it away from me.
In 1978, Tom Daschel was elected for the first time to the House of Representatives. He won a contested election by 139 votes in a recount. He brought his family to DC and then rented a house next to ours in West Springfield. We were neighbors for one year before I was reassigned to Fort Riley, Kansas. I never discussed politics with Tom. I did one snowy day push his car out of a snow bank. I have often wondered if this would have been a better country if I had left him there. I did, however, have a chat over the back fence with his wife, Laurie. She was taking me step by step through the Democratic agenda. All of a sudden it dawned on me that in South Dakota, Tom couldn’t have been in favor of gun control. I asked Laurie what Tom’s position was on the right to bear arms. She told me that Tom was in favor of the right to arm bears! I gave up.
Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com
Carole’s Successful Bout with Pancreatic Cancer
When certain things happen in your life, your previous priorities go out the window. In early June, we were to fly down to Fort Worth, Texas, for the annual reunion of the Retired Army Judge Advocates. We had been to 22 reunions in a row. Canceled! In the middle of June, we were heading back home to Carole’s high school reunion. Canceled! None of that seemed important.
On the 29th of May, 2012, Carole went in for a somewhat routing CAT scan of her lungs and GI tract. We were subsequently notified that a small nodule was discovered on her pancreas. A small nodule on her pancreas. That’s an attention getter. Carole’s younger brother, Bob, had died of pancreatic cancer. We were now on a roller coaster racing up and down. Two days later, Carole’s GI doctor, Dr. McBride, had set up an MRI for that day. He then called us later that night to let us know that there was a small tumor and it needed to be addressed.
He told us that a Dr. John L. Cameron at Johns Hopkins Hospital was probably the best at the type of surgery that Carole would need. He didn’t think he could get Dr. Cameron to handle Carole’s case, but if he could get Carole into the Johns Hopkins system, then Dr. Cameron would be in some oversight roll. Dr. McBride told us he would call Dr. Cameron’s office the next day and see what he could do.
In the two days between the CAT scan and the MRI, I had been searching the internet on pancreatic cancer surgery. Any number of times, I would end up on a Johns Hopkins website. I knew of Dr. Cameron before Dr. McBride mentioned his name. I also had heard of the Whipple Procedure operation. They call it the Whipple Procedure after a doctor who improved the procedure and because no one could pronounce a pancreaticoduodenectomy!
Dr. McBride called us very excited the next morning (June 1). Dr. Cameron had agreed to take Carole on as a patient. We were equally excited. The roller coster was climbing again. That same day, we contacted Bonnie, Dr. Cameron’s administrative assistant and set up an appointment at Johns Hopkins with Dr. Cameron for Wednesday, June 6. That date was our 53d wedding anniversary, but we were right where we needed to be.
On that Wednesday, we made our first trip to Johns Hopkins. I plugged the address into my car navigation system and it took us on a very strange route to the Outpatient Clinic. Then, after taking us on this circuitous route, it dropped us off two blocks North of our destination; an area where you would not want to have car trouble late at night. I had previously studied maps of the area and got us to our destination.
Dr. Cameron was everything we hoped for and he explained to Carole that she had an Islet Cell tumor (pancreatic neuroendocrine tumor) near the head of the pancreas (on the Uncinate – Hey, look it up, I ain’t teaching no course here) and it needed to come out. She needed a Whipple Procedure operation. We were to call Bonnie and set up a date for the operation. Dr. Cameron also said that if we wanted to go to the reunion we should go. We had already decided not to go, but it pleased us that he believed that we could go to the reunion and still have time for a successful operation.
Carole and Bonnie set up the operation for Monday, June 18, within three weeks of when we found the tumor. Carole had to get pulmonary and cardiology clearance for the operation. Fortunately, she recently had a clearance from her Pulmonologist and her cardiologist had recently given her an EKG and an eco cardiogram. The only remaining test she needed for the clearance was a stress test. With the great help of her cardiologist, Dr. Stoebner, at DeWitt Hospital, Fort Belvoir, the nuclear stress test was set up for Tuesday, June 12. This would give us a chance to send the results up to Johns Hopkins before the Friday, June 15 pre-operation meeting.
Early Tuesday morning, we went to DeWitt Hospital and Carole’s nuclear stress test went smoothly. In the afternoon, however, we received a dreaded phone call that the result had shown something that might be blockage. They would need to perform a heart cathorization to determine the extent of the blockage. AND, if the blockage were over 50%, they would have to put a stent in. AND, if they put in a stent, she couldn’t have surgery for 30 days! The roller coaster was racing down hill and completely out of control.
So the next morning at 7:00 AM, we were back at DeWitt waiting for Carole’s next procedure. The heart catherization showed no blockage! All the doctors at DeWitt were exceedingly helpful. We were back on track.
The Friday pre-operation meeting went smoothly. We used that trip to Baltimore to set up housing for me for the while that Carole was in the hospital. Johns Hopkins has a family residence called Hackerman-Patz located right across the street from the Weinberg Building where Carole would have her surgery. In fact, the two buildings are connected by a sky walk. The morning of the operation, I put Carole in a wheel chair and we used the sky walk to travel to the surgery reception center.
She had to be there at 5:00 AM. The processing took about forty-five minutes and eventually they took Carole back for her preparation. They brought me in a few minutes before they would wheel her into surgery. I kissed her and told her that if she had bought me any golf clubs as a surprise birthday present, this was the time to tell me where she had hidden them.
Johns Hopkins has a policy of keeping the family of the patient informed as to the status of the operation. I was informed that the operation began at 8:20. Dr. Cameron had told us that the operation would take approximately five and a half hours. Every two hours, someone would contact me and tell me that the operation was proceeding well. That was appreciated. After five hours, at 1:20 PM, Dr. Cameron found me and told me that Carole had done well and that I could see her at about 4:00. It was closer to 5:00 and she looked like she had just lost a heavy weight fight. Her eyes were puffy, plus, she had a ventilator coming out of her mouth and a drainage tube coming out of her nose. I felt so sorry for her. I came back later and the ventilator was gone.
The next morning, the nose drainage tube was gone. This was progress at the most basic level. She spent two days in the intensive care unit and during that time, they had her up and walking around the ward. Dr. Cameron and his entourage visited Carole twice a day for the nine days she was hospitalized. On Friday, June 22, Dr. Cameron mentioned on the way out, “Oh yes, your lab reports all came back negative and there will be no need for further treatment.” No need for chemotherapy, no need for radiation, no need for nothing! Now, all we had to do was survive the operation. An operation where all kinds of things were removed (part of the pancreas, the duodenum, part of the intestines, the gallbladder, some lymph glands, some of the bile ducts and a portion of her stomach) and then what was left was resectioned back together. Now do you understand nine days in the hospital? Do you also understand why we were gleeful when we found out that Dr. Cameron, the best in the business, had agreed to operate on Carole? Humpty Dumpty could have used Dr. Cameron.
We came home on Tuesday, June 26, and I became Dr. Mom. It makes me appreciate women when I have to do the routine things they do every day. I was and still am exhausted. Carole came home with one drainage tube which I dutifully emptied three to four times a day, c
arefully recording the number of milliliter in the collection bulb and the color of the substance. I came up with some new descriptive colors, like “strong tea” and “grapefruit juice.”
Every Friday, we trek up to Baltimore to get Carole checked out. On Friday, July 6, they took Carole off of her pain medication. That was easy for them. They said no more Oxycodone and have a safe trip home. The pain came back in spades. I can’t believe how the codeine had masked Carole’s pain. I believe it now. Then, we had a little accident when the drainage tube fell out. Oops! It had pretty much run it course, but I felt pretty foolish calling up Bonnie and saying, “Oops.”
Last Friday, Dr. Devi, Dr Cameron’s assistant removed the last of the red, inch and a half long retention sutures. For the last week, they had been doing more bad that good and we are now trying to recover the skin that was rubbed off. So no bikini for Carole. No great loss. Her not wearing a bikini has long surpassed Cal Ripkin’s consecutive game record. The problem is only a nuisance and not a threat. And, because they felt sorry for the discomfort caused, they gave her a few more happy pills.
By the time I get this published, both of our daughters, Becky and Missy, will have visited and helped out. Life is starting to return to normal. Things that everyone takes for granted are starting to happen, like Carole rolling from her one side to the other in bed. We feel like we still have a mile to go and we are doing it an inch at a time. But, we are definitely moving, and what is known as a silent killer was discovered in time and removed. Removing the tumor was a five star event. Now, we are starting to focus on a Crystal Cruise of the British Isles in late August!
Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com
Books May Be a Window, But Some Are Painted Black
My first clue should have been that this 800-page book only cost a buck. Wow, what a bargain. It was about English history in the 1600’s and I thought that might be interesting. The cover said it was a national best seller. I should have asked myself which nation. I guarantee it wasn’t on this side of the pond.
The book was entitled, “Cromwell, The Lord Protector.” I knew during the 1600’s, the king had been overthrown and that England had been ruled without a monarch. This book would give me the incite I wanted.
Let me say that I have a policy that once I start reading a book, I finish it. And I’ve read some pretty deadly books. Until this Cromwell book, I can only remember refusing to read to conclusion once. It was a situation where I went to the window, opened it and screamed, “I’m as mad as hell and I’m not going to take it anymore.” The book was Ludlum’s Borne Ultimatum. I read Borne’s Identity and Supremacy. But in Ultimatum, the master villain kept escaping all the way across Europe. Then, somewhere in Poland or Russia, the good guys had him surrounded in a warehouse with no possibility of escape. And for the 27th repetitious time, he escaped. So, I went to the window. Don’t tell me how it ends. I may go to the movie.
I didn’t read books in high school and only that which was required in college. In high school, being a good student, I was interviewed to compete for a book award. Three teachers sat as an evaluation committee and inquired as to what books I had recently read. I told them I hadn’t read any books because I was too busy and that outside reading wasn’t necessary. When I reflect back on that meeting, I am amazed that I have gotten as far as I have in life. Can you imagine me telling a book evaluation committee that reading books isn’t necessary? Oh, I didn’t win the book award. But my experience leads me to conclude that there might be hope for some of those idiotic seventeen year old’s out there.
The Cromwell book was published in 1973. That’s close to 40 years ago, but, hey, Cromwell lived 400 years ago; so 40 years seemed to me contemporary. I expected the book to have 17th century quotes that were difficult to read and understand. Back then, no one said they had been “disrespected.” But their idea of mischief was a whole lot worse than what we think of as mischief today. Difficult quotes I expected, but the author’s style of writing put her back in the 1600’s and it was just too tedious.
I did learn that back in that period everything revolved around religion. Their idea of a mixed marriage would be a Presbyterian marrying an Episcopalian. Of course, the way marriages were arranged, such a dastardly thing couldn’t happen. I am satisfied that more people have been killed to further religious ideals than any other reason.
So, after 300 tedious pages, I decided to go to Wikipedia and find out what became of Charles I. They lopped his head off. In that period, that was real mischief. I feel that I am a better person for struggling through the 300 pages. I am completely convinced that putting the book down was good for my emotional well being. Let’s face it, I guess I am more of a Louis L’Amour guy.
Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com
The Day I Set Vietnam On Fire
I didn’t go to Vietnam until late in the war. Oh, that’s right, it wasn’t a war, it was a conflict. The military didn’t have jurisdiction over accompanying civilians because it wasn’t a war. I’ll say this, it was a hell of a conflict.
I almost went to Vietnam in 1965. I was assigned to III Corps and Fort Hood, Texas. A secret message came down to Fort Hood directing that a corps headquarters be constituted and sent to Vietnam. I had just stepped forward to go Regular Army so I figured I was a lock to go. As it turned out, I was on orders to go to the Language School in Monterey, California. That secret message directed Fort Hood not to take anybody who was on orders for a school. So my JAG friends left without me. The Corps SJA, Colonel Joe Sullivan, was part of the corps headquarters arriving in Vietnam. As Colonel Sullivan got off the plane, he was advised that they had not requested a JAG full colonel. That’s the Army we know and love. After wandering around for 60 days without a job, Colonel Sullivan convinced the powers that be that he was a fifth wheel at the headquarters and was shipped back to Fort Hood.
I ended up going to the language school (studying German) and then having a three-year assignment in Germany; and, also, spending a year at Northwestern University before I was shipped to Vietnam. I know it doesn’t sound like the Army we know and love to actually have someone study German and then be assigned to Germany. The Army we know and love made up for it by sending me to Northwestern to get a Masters Degree in criminal law and then, never giving me another criminal law assignment.
I finally arrived in Vietnam in July 1970. I spent my birthday at the 90th Replacement Battalion. Their singular goal was to make life so miserable for new arrivals that they would jump at the chance to join their new units. They were very good at their job. They had a detachment that cut wood all night long using ban saws. What seemed strange to me is that the saws were silent during the daytime. By the end of three days, I was delighted to climb on a chopper and join the 1st Cav SJA Office at Phouc Vihn.
I think Phuoc Vihn was about 40 to 50 miles north of Saigon. We called our outer permitter the “Green Line.” It was three and a half miles long. Inside the wire was the provincial capitol, a large air field and the Cav headquarters. Sometime prior to my arrival, Viet Cong snuck onto our base and did some damage. We remedied this by leveling everything outside the wire for a quarter of a mile and erecting ball park lights all along the Green Line (pointing out). No more sneak attacks.
The VC had no problem finding us and would fire a rocket or a few mortars or RPGs at us each night. We eventually caught the sneaky group and took out our vengeance. The JAG Office and our quarters (hooches) were not in danger. We were located quite a distance from the air field, headquarters and provincial capitol. In fact, we were located down close to the Green Line, surrounded by defoliated rubber trees. Periodically, during a storm, a rubber tree would fall over. But, they weren’t very big and no one was hurt.
About six or seven months into my tour, we were instructed to do a “Spring Cleaning” around our area. Being the Deputy SJA, I was tagged to run the clean up. I had about 12 captains and about 15 enlisted men. But, the area we had covered about five acres. Our office, the courtroom and our hooches were in pretty good shape, but we had a large wooded area that was a complete mess. We had been instructed to clean out undergrowth. In the wooded area, the undergrowth was everywhere.
Then it came to me. We could burn the wooded area and be done in no time. I walked around it to make sure the fire would not spread. Between the roads and fields, we seemed to have natural boundaries to retain the fire. I checked the wind to ensure it would burn in the direction we planned. I was really proud of my idea.
We started three or four fires on one edge and the fire took off. It burned much more rapidly than I thought. The next thing I remember is it appeared the fire was totally out of control. And the noise. The roar of the fire was deafening. I could see branches on fire flying higher and higher, taking on a life of their own. I was scared to death. I saw my military career slipping through my fingers. I had been a prosecutor and a defense counsel in trials. Now, I feared I would be an accused. I would be charged with unmitigated stupidity!
After what seemed like hours, but was probably thirty minutes, things started to settle down. The deafening roar was gone. I began regular breathing again. The self-generated crises had passed. To this day, I have always wondered why no one outside of our JAG office reacted to the fire. We didn’t see the fire marshal or an MP or a concerned operations guy. No one.
By the evening, everything had returned to normal, whatever that means in Vietnam. And, I guess I missed my 15 minutes of fame.
Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com
Thanks Bubba – You Da Man!
My golf game has improved. It is not my imagination. The numbers don’t lie. And, I owe it all to Bubba. That’s right, Bubba Watson is my hero.
First of all, there is something about the name Bubba. Only in America. The name conjures up images for all of us. Years back, when I heard there was a golfer on the pro circuit named Bubba, I was amused. I guess that tells you what type of image it conjured up for me. I wondered if when he bent over to address the ball, his butt crack showed. He had to be somehow related to John Daly. After all, like Daly, he does have his own line of clothes (“Bubba Golf” -what else?).
I couldn’t wait to see what Bubba looked like. I couldn’t wait to see him play. Then, I saw he was swinging from the wrong side. But how can you not pull for a guy named Bubba. It also turned out that he was a nice guy. Bubba “Nice Guy” Watson. And, can he hit the ball! His longest drive on the PGA tour was 416 yards. I can’t hit the ball that far after I have hit it twice. Bubba is leading the pro circuit with a driving average over 305 yards. He generates a ball speed of 194 miles per hour. Bubba is faster that a speeding bullet and more powerful than a locomotive. That’s right, Bubba is Superman!
And, he didn’t just win the Masters; it was the way he won it. Bubba is a magician with his clubs. He probably has a boomerang shot where the ball comes back to him. This saves on retrieving practice balls. Anyway, as many of you know, he executed one of his impossible shots to win the Masters. Deep in the woods on the second playoff hole, from 164 yards away, he put 40 yards of hook on his 52 degree gap wedge shot to put the ball on to the green. The rest was history.
So, how has Bubba helped my game. He hits left handed, I hit right. He drives over 300 yards. I’m happy when I get it out there 175 yards. He’s 6′ 3″, I’m 5′ 7″. I had been serving as a Army JAG officer for 16 years before Bubba was born. But, when I am going through my pre-shot routine, the last thing I say to myself is, “What would Bubba do with this shot?” That thought is so ridiculous that it causes me to smile and relax. When I smile and relax, the tension disappears. Without the tension the swing is smoother and just better. The ball has a greater chance of going where I intended it to go (and it also goes farther).
Thanks Bubba.
Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com
Frank, Frank Who?
Coach Frank Haith of the University of Missouri was selected by the Associated Press as the 2011-12 college basketball Coach of the Year. Even though I thought he deserved it, I was totally surprised. Why? Because he wasn’t even selected as the Big 12 Coach of the Year.
I don’t know who selected the Big 12 Coach of the Year, but whoever it was, they had a tie between Coach Self from KU and Coach Hoiberg from Iowa State. I suspect Coach Haith ranked fairly high among those schools who were leaving the Big 12 to join other conferences. Would I accuse the Big 12 of considering that fact in making their decision? If I denied it, it would sound as hokey as the selection of Hoiberg and Self. So you can certainly see why I was surprised that some coach who wasn’t good enough to be the Big 12 Coach of the Year would be the AP Coach of the Year for the entire nation.
Now, I’m not happy that MIZZOU is leaving the Big 12. After Nebraska left, I thought we had a pretty decent bunch of schools. But, it is all about money and I, quite frankly, am clueless. I have heard that Texas and Oklahoma were getting the lion share of the TV revenue and that is why Nebraska, Colorado and now, Texas A&M and MIZZOU have departed. If someone knows the truth of the matter, I would love to hear from them.
I wasn’t real excited when Frank Haith was selected to be the basketball coach. He came from Miami where in seven years he had a record of 43 & 69 in conference play. Miami was being looked at by the NCAA. I think Miami (“The U”) is always being looked at for NCAA violations. I think the NCAA has a desk devoted to the University of Miami (“The U Desk”). Anyway, who was this Frank and how would he fit in? Well, with only seven scholarship players and only one starter over 6’6″, the team went 30 and 5 and was ranked third in the nation at the end of the regular season.
I think we’ll keep Frank.
Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com
Bracketoology – Is It an Art or a Science?
March Madness! You bet. What a great time for college basketball. And each year, the TV coverage gets better. This year, every game was on TV. Even in earlier years when the games were only on CBS, they made sure they would switch over and catch the exciting ending of every game. My son, Paul, even schedules his vacation days so he catches every minute of the fantastic first week. So what went wrong for me? I hope you have a few minutes.
First, I generally don’t get into a pool. I hate losing. About the only exciting thing for me is filling out the brackets. After that, everything goes down hill. My main frustration is that I am terribly conflicted. It is my general rule that if I don’t have a dog in the fight, I pull for the underdog (My dog/dog rule). However, when I filled out my brackets, I usually picked the favorite to win. So there I am cheering against myself. This has nothing to do with the glass being half empty. It’s a zero sum game and if I win, I lose.
But this year, a friend of mine was running a sophisticated pool and I did have a dog in the fight. So I went against my better judgement and jumped into the pool. Splash. I even recorded a couple hours of ESPN bracketing. I’ll never do that again. I got more out of the commercials. Would it surprise you that Digger Phelps likes Notre Dame’s chances? Dick Vitale liked everybody, baby. Geez.
VCU was one of my underdog favorites. I liked their coach and they did well last year. But, in doing my “research,” I discovered that a lot of “experts” liked Wichita State to go deep. Wichita State was a five seed and VCU was a 12. I had never seen Wichita State play, but all the buzz got me excited. So I scratched out VCU (who, of course, won) and went with Wichita State to not only beat VCU, but also Indiana. If I picked stock the same way I picked my brackets, I’d be broke. In fact, during the dot.com era, that’s how I did pick my stocks and I lost my shirt. Some of the stocks I invested in can now only be found in time capsules.
Of course, my alma mater, MIZZOU, was a two seed and picked to go far in the tournament. I have previously written about what a great team they are and what fun the are to watch (see Fun Ball – MIZZOU B-ball). They lost in the first round to Norfolk State. State could do no wrong and we just couldn’t find that spark. That was my personal disaster and dropped a shroud over the entire tournament. I looked at Kansas and said to myself, “We beat them.” I looked at Baylor playing in the Elite Eight and said, “We beat them THREE times.” It would have been so much fun to see how MIZZOU would have done against a Michigan State or a Louisville. But it was not to be. It is easier to say, “Get over it,” than to do it.
My friend, Chet, who is running the bracket pool is so prolific. He sends out a report after every day’s play. Charts, lists, diagrams, he does it all. And so almost every day, I am reminded that I didn’t know and don’t know what I am doing. Enough!
President Obama picked MIZZOU to be in the final four. Maybe that is what jinxed it. Having that guy on your side has got to be trouble. But with all the help he got, I suspect he did better than I did. In fact, I did so poorly in my predictions that a number of high level Republicans have approached me and requested that I predict that Obama will be re-elected.
Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com