“A little neglect may breed mischief: For the want of a nail, the shoe was lost; for want of the shoe, the horse was lost; for want of a horse, the rider was lost;” and for want of the rider, the battle was lost. That’s just a little something I thought up while I was sitting here. And, if you believe that I have some beach-front property in Grandview Plaza that I’m trying to sell.
No, that was written back in the 1700’s by a man named Ibid (I never understood why he always italicized his name). But the point old Ibid was making back then is still valid today. Those little things that we do add up and are important.
Let me give you some examples. How difficult is it to check the oil in a vehicle? How difficult is it to make sure your property is locked up before you check out for the evening? How difficult is it to treat the men and women around you with respect [back when I wrote this, there was no such verb as disrespected!].
You say, “Hey, those are easy.” How about this? How difficult is it to sew on a button or cut off some loose threads? Are you getting the picture? Most of the things we do in the Army are one step at a time. All you’ve got to do is give it your best and you succeed and so does your unit.
When a sharp unit marches by the reviewing stand, there are no standout stars. It’s every soldier giving that little extra to make the unit look good. And it pays off.
Do me a favor. Don’t walk by any trash on this post. Pick it up and throw it away. There are so many trash containers on Fort Riley that the next time you see some trash play this little game. Pick it up and then, without moving, look around. I guarantee you will see a trash container. If you don’t, then you get to keep the trash!
Speaking of trash, we don’t need to talk any trash. You know all kinds of animals make strange noises when they are trying to attract the opposite sex. But there are noises and there are noises. And, some of the trash that some of you guys are coming out with is only going to attract the military police.
It’s a crime here at Fort Riley to use indecent, insulting or obscene language to a female. How difficult is it to treat the women around here with respect? Here we go with those little things again. “Little strokes fell great oaks.” Ibid.
Written by PJ Rice (with the help of Ibid) at www.ricequips.com
Protecting Our Borders
No, you can’t blame this one on sequestration. It happened when there were plenty of Keystone cops running around the airport. In fact, if there had been fewer security guards, the operation might have been more efficient.
The whole thing started last year when a good friend of mine, a retired Marine colonel, was diagnosed with prostate cancer. I have read that one out of every six guys will eventually end up with prostate cancer. The odds are no better than Russian Roulette. Well the good news, if there is any, is that the ways of treating prostate cancer keep getting better
I have another close friend (I’m at the age where if you have six friends—) who when diagnosed, decided to use fiducial marker seeds to clearly identify where the radiation should be concentrated. The seeds are about the size of grains of rice and are gold. Well, his procedure was completely successful with practically no side effects. He told me the other day that if he dies first, his wife wants the gold seeds!
My Marine buddy’s procedure was different. It’s called brachytheropy. Yes, there was implanting of seeds. But, these seeds had radiation in them. So the seeds could be planted close to or even in the tumor. The only disadvantage in this procedure is that your wife doesn’t get any gold when you kick the bucket.
I have no way of comparing the two procedures. I am clearly not qualified and I hope I don’t have to make a decision in the future. I can say that both of my friends are doing exceedingly well.
Every year, my Marine buddy takes his wife and goes to Mexico for a couple of weeks. They meet family and friends down there and he gets in a number of rounds of golf. This year was no exception and a good time was had by all, until they tried to get home.
While passing in front of an immigration agent at the George Bush Intercontinental Airport in Houston, the agent’s radiation monitor alerted. He was immediately arrested for trying to sneak radioactive material into our country. I was personally pleased to find out we do have a system in place for identifying radioactive material coming into this country. So he was thrown into the “tank” with a number of unwashed suspected illegal visitors from Central America. That was the best part of the exercise.
The fun began when the security agents tried to locate the source of the radioactivity (clearly there was the possibility of a dirty bomb). I was advised that at least three agents spent an hour scanning his groin with a half-a-dozen radiation meters. Some didn’t work, some perhaps worked. The problem was that the results needed to be inputted into a computer to get the results needed. This required some knowledge and competence. Shouldn’t he have had a letter from his doctor explaining all of this? He did! But the agents weren’t interested. They had to follow their procedures. And, of course, anyone devious enough to hide radioactive material in his prostate, wouldn’t have any trouble getting a bogus letter from a doctor.
My friend began to realize that if the folly continued, he was going to miss his connecting flight. Let me politely say that he has a way of letting people know when he is unhappy. And, he was becoming very unhappy. The immigration agents decided to take him down to Customs. Customs also deals with these issues. Again he was zapped and questioned. The Customs agent wanted to know if he had a letter from his doctor. Duh.
The Customs agent bought the letter and gave him the green light. Now all he had to do was get through security and find his gate. By the time they passed through security, their flight had almost completed boarding. He commandeered an overloaded curtesy cart and they made it to the gate with two minutes to spare. He told me that for next years trip, he is going to purchase some lead skivvies.
Writted by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com
Smile, Unless You Have Something to Hide
Life is just a series of mistakes. Some big, some small. Some you recover from, some not so well. How many times have you said, “I should have done this or that. I should have said this or that.” As you get older, you recover from mistakes better. Sometimes you even do or say this or that, and sometimes things get better (and, sometimes worse).
When I was a kid, I had a nice smile. There wasn’t much orthodontic work back then. I don’t think we knew what an orthodontist was (someone who watched birds), but my teeth lined up fairly well. I also had dimples, so I loved to smile. When I was 11, I got into an argument with a kid at the movies on 40th and Waverly. We went outside allegedly to fight. One of my buddies told me that the other guy was too smart to fight me. After we got outside and while I was waiting to see what was going to happen, he punched me right in the mouth. I became furious and beat the hell out of him. But my upper left front tooth was really loose and very painful. That bit about the victors and the spoils is overrated.
The nerve of the tooth was dead. It quit hurting, but over a period of time it started getting darker. I ended up going to a dentist and having a root canal. That was supposed to keep the tooth from getting darker and it probably did. But I still had a dull tooth right in the middle of my smile.
I went through high school, undergraduate school and law school with a shaded tooth. Under our present school system, I am sure there would have been a counselor to discuss my shaded tooth and self-esteem issues.
When I got in the military, I received free dental care. At Fort Hood, Texas, I had a dental corps lieutenant colonel examining me. He said, “Rice, you have a dark tooth and your eyes are too close together. I said, “Colonel, it’s a good thing you are in the Army, because on the outside, with your bedside manner, you would go hungry.” He said he couldn’t do anything about my eyes, but he could bleach my tooth. And he did! So for the next ten years, I had reasonably normal looking teeth.
Five tours later, I was teaching on the JAG School faculty on the grounds of the University of Virginia. Mr. Jefferson called it the grounds and not the campus, so saying campus identifies you quickly as an outsider and, even worse, perhaps a Yankee. My only concern is whether “grounds” should be capitalized?!
One of my neighbors was a dentist at UVA and after examining my mouth, he decided that he might be able to make enough money out of my mouth to go into private practice. I ended up with more caps than a toy six shooter. He also decided that he should cap my troublesome front tooth.
The cap he put on my front tooth was too white. It wasn’t as white as a Chiclet. More like a four-day-old Chiclet. We all knew it was way too white, me, the doc and his assistant. I think this should be covered by the hippocratic oath. I should have spoken up. I should have said, “This is unacceptable.” But, I felt like he was doing me a favor. He had convinced someone down at Fort Lee to pay for it. He was just getting his business started. Blah, blah, blah. Anyway, by not speaking up, I wore that headlight for the next twenty years.
Twenty some-odd years later, in the 1990s, I disposed of my four-day-old Chiclet once and for all and replaced it with perfectly normal, perfectly natural bridge. They are now using my tooth at the Cape Henry Lighthouse at the mouth of the Chesapeake (from one mouth to another).
So there you have it. Lots of little mistakes. I shouldn’t have let that bastard sucker punch me. I shouldn’t have let my neighbor, the dentist, stick that Chiclet in my mouth. I shoulda, shoulda, shoulda. Here it is, 20 years later and I think I need a counselor.
Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com
The Earth – The Fragile Onion?
The earth is getting warmer, it’s clearly getting older,
I could turn off my seat warmer, but, damn, it’s getting colder.
I want to do the right thing, I agree with what they say,
I’m opposed to burning rivers, and I want to save the Bay.
They want my gas powered car, even though I always car-pooled,
They tell me electric’s cleaner, they think they’ve got me fooled.
Where does electricity come from? What generates it all?
There’s probably a smokestack involved, it’s not just a plug in the wall.
We’ve had earthquakes, hurricanes and tornados as long as the earth was around,
But now we blame them on global warming. Is such thinking really sound?
Global warming has become passe, I know that that sounds strange,
But to assume a broader posture, they call it climate change.
I’ve been watching the temps in my burg and the city,
It’s cooler in my burg, and not quite so gritty.
Let’s pull the cities down, that will eliminate some heat,
We’ll mention breaking eggs and omelettes and won’t even miss a beat.
Pulling cities down might sound unorthodox,
But it’s forward, liberal thinking, thinking outside the box.
I grew up in East St. Louis, a tough industrial town,
Our air was full of soot, we wore it like a crown.
Stockyards to the North, Monsanto to the South,
Stinky, stinky winds, well shut my mouth.
But we all survived, some of us moved away,
The town has gotten worse, but that’s for another day.
I think the earth will survive, it’s taken our best shot,
It survives India and China, and gray air you can swat.
It’s not such a fragile onion, it’s withstood the test of time,
We may kill each other, but the earth dusts off the grime.
So here’s to the not-so-fragile onion, here’s our salute,
You’re going to make it baby, and we truly give a hoot!
Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com
Walmart’s Done Good
I heard on the radio, a few days back, that Walmart would be hiring 100,000 military veterans over the next five years. The broadcast stated that as long as the soldier wasn’t dishonorably discharged, Walmart would hire him or her. A dim light came on in my dim brain and I thought, “That can’t be right.”
Not every bad actor in the military has a Dishonorable Discharge. So I checked on the internet and found I was right. Walmart is going to hire 100,000 military veterans over the next five years who have received an Honorable Discharge. Big difference. In between the Honorable and Dishonorable are other types of discharges and I would doubt that Walmart would want some of these characters. The names change through the years, but the nature of the individuals stays the same.
The least offensive of the inbetweeners is the General Discharge (under honorable conditions). This is the guy with two left feet. He’s trying, but he just can’t hack it. He is a disaster and it is best that he and the military go separate ways.
Back when you couldn’t be a homosexual in the military, we discharged them with General Discharges. When we went to “don’t ask, don’t tell,” if they told, they got a General Discharge. Now that it is OK to be gay in the military, I guess it’s Honorable. An old sarge told me that he was in when it was illegal, then, he went through “don’t ask, don’t tell. Now that it is OK, he has decided to retire, before Obama makes it mandatory.
The next category is the “Other Than Honorable” Discharge. Sounds a lot like not honorable or dishonorable. But it doesn’t mean dishonorable, it means other than honorable. I hope you’re confused. You should be. The funny thing is we used to call it an “Undesirable Discharge,” but somebody decided that sounded bad (it’s supposed to be bad!). So let me say this as succinctly as I can. Undesirable sounds worse that “Other Than Honorable,” which is not honorable, but not dishonorable. Well, we got that taken care of. Anyway, Walmart is not going to take any of these turkeys.
The General and Other Than Honorable Discharges are administrative in nature. That means someone may get one without going to trial. A trial by courts-martial may result in a Bad Conduct Discharge or a Dishonorable Discharge. Definitely not Walmart material. However, they are still eligible to be Walmart customers.
I thought I went to my first Walmart in 1958, when I was a student in Columbia, Missouri. The store was downtown, not too far from campus. The thing that got me excited was that everything had two prices on it. It had the retail price and the Walmart price. I could see what a great deal I was getting. I was young. This whole experience is so vivid in my mind. I figured that the store might have been one of Sam’s early ones. So I looked up Walmart history. The first Walmart store was in 1962 and the first store outside of Arkansas was 1968. So, that ruins my fond memory.
There’s a lot of people out there who don’t like Walmart. The big box store. “It killed the quaint little stores.” I loved the little stores in the downtown area; the hardware, the office supply store and the delicatessen. I’m sorry they went the same way of Kodak film. But people will go where they can get the widest selection at the best price. Home Depot will never be as romantic as that old downtown hardware store, but we need to get over it. Walmart isn’t just a big box store; it’s a very, very successful discount and grocery store. It’s the largest grocery store chain in the country. If someone else were selling better bananas cheaper, people would go elsewhere.
So, I tip my hat to Walmart. Doing something for military veterans in good. Giving them a job is great. Just one more reason the GI should strive to get an Honorable Discharge
Witten by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com
Golf Academy VII, The Sequel
If golf came in a carton, there would be a warning on the outside. I have been a serious golfer all my life. As soon as a young kid takes a swing and the ball jumps off the club and takes flight, going higher, faster and farther then ever before, the poor kid is hooked. It may have been his twelfth attempt and the first time the ball actually got airborne, but it doesn’t matter. So being a serious golfer doesn’t necessarily make one a good golfer and I have spent most of my life being a duffer.
I decided if I were going to use the word duffer, I ought to look it up. I did and in Australia it means a cattle rustler. If I go back to Australia, I won’t mention that I am a duffer. The dictionary also said that a duffer is an incompetent, ineffectual or clumsy person. Well, for most of my golfing life, I have been definitely ineffectual (clumsy for sure; incompetent at times).
I envy those people who pick up a golf club and immediately swing it with poise and grace. In my hands, it was like a medieval weapon. Oh, I was serious alright. Muscles tight. Ripping big chunks out of the golf course. Hitting just enough good shots to bring me back (does that sound familiar?). One of the things that has saved me money is the present quality of the balls. Now, when I lift my head and cut into the ball, it no longer smiles at me.
About ten years ago, at the age of 64, I attended a three-day golf school at the World Golf Village in St Augustine, Florida. It was a good thing it was three days, because the first two days were a disaster. They had lots of teaching equipment. Nothing seemed to help me. The instructor refused to let me try a club with a hinge in the shaft. He was afraid I would hurt myself.
On the third day, as a last gasp, he put a velcro strap around my chest, which was attached to a bungee cord that was attached to the end of the handle of a 6 iron. He told me to hit the ball while keeping the bungee cord taunt. I failed to keep it taunt on the backswing. Then I kept it taunt on the backswing, but not on the downswing. I began to understand why he didn’t want me messing around with the hinged club. I explained to him that if I kept the cord taunt, I would hit the ground about six inches behind the ball. Then, we had a discussion as to who was the instructor and who was the student. So, keeping my bungee cord taunt, I swung back and through and SHAZAM, I hit the ball. I was like a kid with a new toy. Most of all, I knew there was hope.
Next month, I am heading down to the David Leadbetter Golf Academy (LGA) at Championgate, Orlando, Florida, for a two-day retreat. The neat thing about the retreat is they let me pick the two days. I was there in 2009 and 2011 and my golf instructor each time was Andrew Park. Andrew is from Johannesburg, South Africa. Since my last retreat, he has assisted Andy Zhang to become the youngest competitor in the 2012 US Open. He also coached Sandra Gal, who won the KIA Classic and Sun Young Yeo who won the Kraft Nabisco Major.
About three months ago, I was informed by Leadbetter Golf Academy that Andrew was no longer there and asked me to select another instructor. I asked where Andrew went and, of course, they said they didn’t know. That’s the standard answer. He had vanished! If I wanted to continue lessons with Andrew, I would have to find him myself. Well, I selected an Irishman named Sean Hogan (no relation to Ben) from Dublin. I told them he would be fine, but I didn’t want to hear any crap about the Ryder Cup. Hey, I’m the one who’s paying. Two weeks ago, I received an email from Brittany, my LGA pen pal. It appears that Sean will not be in Florida when I am scheduled for my lesson. So I gave in and responded to Brittany telling her that Sean could jerk me around about the Ryder Cup if he wanted. No dice. Other instructors were offered to me and I selected Bob Lohr. Believe me, any of the guys are over qualified to teach me.
Just three days ago, I received another email from Brittany. I thought, “On no, Bob Lohr has bailed on me.” But it turned out to be just general distribution information that they sent of everybody. It congratulated Na Yeon Choi for winning a ladies tournament in Naples, Florida. She is, of course, coached by an LGA instructor. AND, it welcomed back “instructor Andrew Park to the LGA team after a brief sabbatical.” They told me they didn’t know where he was and now it turns out he was on a “brief sabbatical.”
I went online and found out that in 2012, there was a website entitled Andrew Park Golf Academy. I guess that’s where he was when no one could find him. I called Brittany and asked her if I could have Andrew as my instructor. She advised me that he was booked up on one of my days and out of town on the other. It seems to me that if he didn’t want to instruct me there were easier ways to get out of it than disappearing for six months.
I think Bob Lohr is going to work out fine because he’s a good old American boy. That solves some problems. If Andrew were to be my instructor again, we would be studying Earnie Els swing ad nauseam. If Sean were my instructor – Ryder Cup, Ryder Cup! I wonder if Bob like country music?
Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com
The NFL’s Dumb Instant Replay Rule
Dumb, dumb, dumb. I guess I wouldn’t be so upset with the NFL if it weren’t that college football has handled the instant replay issue so well. The college system isn’t perfect, but it gets to the correct result, correcting egregious mistakes, and does it quickly.
The NFL is always learning. This year they learned that helmet to helmet hits resulting in concussions, and cheapo replacement officials were not good for the game. Hopefully, they will learn that the purpose of instant replay should be to obtain the correct result. It should not be driven by some arcane system made up of red flags, time outs, and hooded monitors.
For years, the NFL had no instant replay system for fear that it would slow up the game. It’s better to be wrong than go over their allotted TV time. Then, they came up with the red flag system where the coach could challenge a call two or three times a game, by throwing a red flag on the field. This, of course, has to be done before the next play. If the coach throws the flag and no one sees it (it has happened), it’s just like the tree that falls in the forest and no one hears it. Neither makes any noise.
The challenging coach loses a time out if he loses a challenge. If he has used all of his time outs in a particular half, then he can’t challenge. So in the first half of the Green Bay game against Minnesota last week, Green Bay was out of time outs. Minnesota was credited with a completed pass, but the replay showed clearly that the ball hit the ground. It was obvious to all. But the play was not in the last two minutes of the half (where there are booth replays) and since Green Bay had no time outs left, they could not challenge. They still had another challenge, but would have to wait till the second half, when they had a new batch of time outs.
In the NFL, all challenges are decided by the referee on the field. The red flag is thrown. The referee goes over to the sidelines and talks to the challenging coach. Then the referee announces to the crowd what every one already knows. Then the ref goes over to the “Field Level Monitor” – the hooded thing-a-ma-jig. The NFL rules state that he can only spend 60 seconds under the hood. This was to speed up the game. But no time limit was set for how long he may chat with the “replay official” in the “replay booth” before he goes under the hood or after he comes back out. The whole think is like Kabuki Theatre. Eventually, the referee will announce whether the play stands or is reversed. If the play stands, the challenging team loses a time out.
On Thanksgiving Day, the Houston Texans were in Detroit. On one play, the officials determined that the Texans had scored a touchdown. In fact, the runner’s knee and elbow were on the ground before he scored. Detroit’s coach Jim Schwartz, threw his red flag. Ah, but wait! Scoring plays are automatically reviewed. Schwartz should not have thrown his silly red flag. That constituted a 15 yard unsportsmanlike conduct penalty. AND, teams who are penalized are not permitted the benefit of a challenge review. Thus, the touchdown counted even though the runner was clearly down before the score.
I’m sorry, but I thought the idea of replay was to get the thing right. The rule is “indisputable video evidence.” If there is indisputable video evidence that the call on the field was wrong, then it is reversed. If it can’t be positively decided the tie goes to the runner. No, no. That’s a different game. If it can’t be decided, the play stands as called on the field.
I think almost all challenges are ruled on correctly and it is amazing how many times the real (not rental) officials on the field get it right. But my complaint is, should a horrible call stand just because the coach doesn’t have another challenge? Or, even worse, he has a challenge, but no time outs? Should a team be poorly treated because the officials have made so many bad calls that all the team’s challenges are exhausted?
That can’t happen in college ball. There are a lot more reviews and they do it in less time. No Kabuki Theatre. The NFL needs to adopt the college review procedures. I know, I know. When pigs fly. Did I really say that?
Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com
Fiscal Cliff Climbing
I don’t think I am going to say anything that everybody doesn’t already know. But, it will just make me feel better to vent. Here goes. This is no way to run a government. Letting all the important decisions wait until the very last minute and then slapping something together. Things cobbled together in such a fashion are really poorly done.
I fault both sides. Each side trying their damnedest to get the better of the other side. Isn’t anybody interested in what’s best for our country? Let me add a new word to the equation that hasn’t been heard for a while – compromise. That’s how things get done. “But it’s the principle of the thing.” “No new taxes, no new taxes.” I love it. Where’s Dr. Phil when we need him?
I’m afraid I know what’s going to happen and it’s the same old same old. Kick the can down the road. Congress will submit some stop gap measure that will move the problem farther out into the future. Then, they will all accuse the other side of being the blame. Geeze.
I don’t subscribe to the theory that all congressmen are idiots. I think Weiner was a pretty bright guy. It just happened that his moral compass was pointed toward Antarctica. First bright, then annoying, then gone. I liked the gone part the best! Others are brilliant, but have no common sense. Some are truly the real deal, but when they get together, they suffer from group think. I saw it at GM – GM think, and I saw it in the Army – Army think. I can define it, but I’ll just give you an example.
Just prior to my arrival in Germany in 1983, we had an armored division commanding general holding meetings throughout the division telling everyone how they should conduct themselves if called as a witness in a drug case. Clearly command influence. Clearly illegal. But the commander was a two star and everyone was backing him. Hey, drugs were a big problem and the rank and file needed to know what he thought. Then, way down the road, the Court of Military Appeals threw out many of the convictions because of the general’s command influence. The general was relieved of his command and a message (back channel) went out to the senior leadership of the Army explaining the general’s misconduct. Army think uniformly flipped. Every senior officer I talked to condemned the general for what he had done. Army think had done a 180. Yesterday, the general was a dedicated officer who had been misunderstood. Today, he was a loose cannon.
In Congress, even the real deals suffer from group think when their fellow congressmen are in lock step and they have little choice. No one wants to be a contrarian. That would cause them to stand out and get bad exposure. They could lose their job. My, my, my.
I worked for a general by the name of Larry Williams who was a legend in the JAG Corps. We called him Big Daddy and I wrote a poem in honor of his 75th birthday that you can find filed under “Military Daze.” With great imagination, I entitled it “Big Daddy’s Seventy-Fifth.” He had served under General Creighton Abrams many years before. General Williams used to quote General Abrams who said, “It’s amazing what can be accomplished if you do not care who gets the credit.” I looked up the quote on the internet and it was attributed to Harry Truman. But, I guess if they meant what they said, they wouldn’t care to whom it was attributed.
I am convinced that “Fiscal Cliff” problem could be solved quickly if nobody cared who got the credit. My experience tells me that when things truly get desperate, they’ll be solved. I also believe in the Easter Bunny.
I sure hope I finish and get this thing published before they solve the problem. Being late would be a real bummer. My article would be irrelevant before it was published and I couldn’t take credit for solving the problem. Then, I would have to go to Plan B.
Written by PJ Rice at www.ricequips.com
2012 – A Year to Forget
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
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