Just now, as I was attempting to change the battery in my daughter's favorite toy, I realized that Hasbro or Mattel or any of the other hundreds of toy companies should be placed in charge of national security. I also think they should revise the directions for changing the batteries in the singing Elmo book to as follows:
Step 1- Locate screwdriver so tiny that it must only exist in the imaginary world in which my daughter plays.
Step 2- Find batteries so small that if swallowed they would choke only Thumbellina.
Step 3- Try to fit impossibly small screwdriver into impossibly small screw and attempt to carefully twist out the screw without losing it for eternity somewhere on the kitchen floor.
Step 4- Insert new batteries without same dilemma occuring as in step 3.
Step 5- Do all of this with toddler tugging on your leg crying desperately for her favorite book.
Step 6- Relish child's joy. The smile on her adorable face when she discovers that after three weeks her favorite toy is again working because mommy finally remembered to buy AAA batteries makes steps 1-5 worth every minute! What a blessing.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Looking for a Hero
You asked the question, and on Saturday, Auburn supplied the answer. Can a true freshman, inexperienced quarterback bring Auburn back from the brink and salvage what has become a disappointing start to the 2007 season? It seems that would be a resounding, NO! Well, there you have it. The next question is, "Now what?"
When Kodi Burns entered the game in the second quarter, his play seemed to ignite a small fire under what looks like a lukewarm Tiger offense. Could it be possible that this young man is the answer? Thirty short minutes and a turnover later, Auburn fans received another cold dose of reality. This team is in trouble. Despite a wealth of talent, it looks like Auburn's offense has a dearth of cohesiveness. Sure, defense can win ballgames, and Auburn's defense is playing strong despite offensive woes. But, without any offensive oomph, Auburn is left with a loss to one of the worst teams in the SEC.
Many fans are wondering why Tuberville didn't allow Cox to take us to the red zone in the last minutes of play and then reinsert Burns to finish the job. While Cox's knowledge of the playbook might be an advantage, his inability to get past the 20 yard line is certainly a disadvantage that Burns might have overcome. I am not a coach nor a sports writer, so I choose not to second guess coaching decisions, but I am afraid that is what will be coming next. Do I hear tom toms in the background beating a familiar tune?
When fans are left shaking their heads and wringing their hands, it is usually the coach who bears the brunt of the frustration. In this case, it is ridiculous to assume that Tuberville has suddenly lost his ability to coach, so slow down Auburn fans. Remember who has won an SEC championship, taken you to an undefeated season, and still has one of the highest overall winning percentages in the NCAA. All teams experience slumps, downturns, moments of adversity. One down season does not a disaster make. I remember a down season, not too long ago, when a struggling Auburn team "shocked the world" and Spurrier with a surprising victory over Florida. Don't underestimate Tommy's ability to turn things around. Before you hop on a plane to Lousiville or Atlanta, let's give it a few more weeks before we start the call for Tuberville's head.
When Kodi Burns entered the game in the second quarter, his play seemed to ignite a small fire under what looks like a lukewarm Tiger offense. Could it be possible that this young man is the answer? Thirty short minutes and a turnover later, Auburn fans received another cold dose of reality. This team is in trouble. Despite a wealth of talent, it looks like Auburn's offense has a dearth of cohesiveness. Sure, defense can win ballgames, and Auburn's defense is playing strong despite offensive woes. But, without any offensive oomph, Auburn is left with a loss to one of the worst teams in the SEC.
Many fans are wondering why Tuberville didn't allow Cox to take us to the red zone in the last minutes of play and then reinsert Burns to finish the job. While Cox's knowledge of the playbook might be an advantage, his inability to get past the 20 yard line is certainly a disadvantage that Burns might have overcome. I am not a coach nor a sports writer, so I choose not to second guess coaching decisions, but I am afraid that is what will be coming next. Do I hear tom toms in the background beating a familiar tune?
When fans are left shaking their heads and wringing their hands, it is usually the coach who bears the brunt of the frustration. In this case, it is ridiculous to assume that Tuberville has suddenly lost his ability to coach, so slow down Auburn fans. Remember who has won an SEC championship, taken you to an undefeated season, and still has one of the highest overall winning percentages in the NCAA. All teams experience slumps, downturns, moments of adversity. One down season does not a disaster make. I remember a down season, not too long ago, when a struggling Auburn team "shocked the world" and Spurrier with a surprising victory over Florida. Don't underestimate Tommy's ability to turn things around. Before you hop on a plane to Lousiville or Atlanta, let's give it a few more weeks before we start the call for Tuberville's head.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Offensively Woeful
Last week, while many decided to remain calm, I hit the panic button. Something about Auburn's unimpressive victory over Kansas State left me feeling uneasy and pessimistic. In a brief moment of optimism, though, I looked to my husband on Saturday, as Nova circled Jordan Hare, and said, "You know, I really think that upsets are the sexy pick of the week. I really don't think Auburn has anything to worry about tonight." By the end of the first quarter, I was in the kitchen, frantically searching for Rolaids.
Brandon Cox's careless play, Al Borges's uncreative offense, where do I begin? While I realize that USF beat West Virginia last year, Louisville the year before, those are Big East teams, not an SEC powerhouse. Auburn should have out run, outscored, and outperformed a team that has only been in existence for ten years. That being said, I don't know that USF beat Auburn as much as Auburn beat itself.
Each time Auburn's offense, namely Mario Fanin, began to show signs of life, the next predictable play sequence put the ball back into a struggling quarterback's hands. Watching Fanin, I was almost reminded of another running back whose career was catapulted by a night of similar offensive struggles, but unlike Kenny Irons, Fanin never managed to break out. When Auburn's quarterbacks have struggled, they have always been able to find their running game, but that does not seem to be a possibility this season.
While many are calling for the benching of Brandon Cox, though, I think the problem is greater than the quarterback. I don't believe that Cox is suddenly suffering from a lack of talent or ability; his mistakes seem as much mental as they do an ineptness of execution. Perhaps the loss of Brad Lester has affected the team's psyche more than we as fans, media, etc. realize. If Borges built his offense around the experience and leadership of Cox and Lester then of course, the team would struggle with the loss of one of those key players. Watching Cox fall apart on Saturday was much like witnessing a golfer suddenly losing his swing or a closer suddenly losing his ability to find the strike zone. That loss of mental focus can destroy an athlete.
Maybe my worries are premature and Cox will recapture his focus and Borges will recapture his offense. I hope so. Of course, the real reason Auburn lost this weekend could be as simple as the fact that I forgot to fly my Auburn garden flag. I'll be sure to put it out this Saturday, and we'll see what happens.
Brandon Cox's careless play, Al Borges's uncreative offense, where do I begin? While I realize that USF beat West Virginia last year, Louisville the year before, those are Big East teams, not an SEC powerhouse. Auburn should have out run, outscored, and outperformed a team that has only been in existence for ten years. That being said, I don't know that USF beat Auburn as much as Auburn beat itself.
Each time Auburn's offense, namely Mario Fanin, began to show signs of life, the next predictable play sequence put the ball back into a struggling quarterback's hands. Watching Fanin, I was almost reminded of another running back whose career was catapulted by a night of similar offensive struggles, but unlike Kenny Irons, Fanin never managed to break out. When Auburn's quarterbacks have struggled, they have always been able to find their running game, but that does not seem to be a possibility this season.
While many are calling for the benching of Brandon Cox, though, I think the problem is greater than the quarterback. I don't believe that Cox is suddenly suffering from a lack of talent or ability; his mistakes seem as much mental as they do an ineptness of execution. Perhaps the loss of Brad Lester has affected the team's psyche more than we as fans, media, etc. realize. If Borges built his offense around the experience and leadership of Cox and Lester then of course, the team would struggle with the loss of one of those key players. Watching Cox fall apart on Saturday was much like witnessing a golfer suddenly losing his swing or a closer suddenly losing his ability to find the strike zone. That loss of mental focus can destroy an athlete.
Maybe my worries are premature and Cox will recapture his focus and Borges will recapture his offense. I hope so. Of course, the real reason Auburn lost this weekend could be as simple as the fact that I forgot to fly my Auburn garden flag. I'll be sure to put it out this Saturday, and we'll see what happens.
I Am Mommy; Hear Me Roar
After forty-five minutes of asking, pleading, coaxing, yes, even begging, A to take a nap, I finally give up. So, at four in the afternoon, I am seized by a momentary loss of sensibilities and decide instead to take my hungry, un-napped child to the grocery store. I thought nap time had been a struggle; little did I know, the produce section is where the real battle was to begin, an epic battle of wills.
Of course, on the way into the store, I might have casually mentioned to A that she should not be surprised if we happened to stroll by the cookie counter and find that mommy's free cookie card has decided to jump out of her wallet. In my mind, I am fantasizing about how the cookie will insure her angelic behavior and get us out of the store unscathed. In reality, I walk into the grocery and choose the one buggy with the strap that refuses to buckle.
In the split second it takes A to realize that mommy is struggling with said buckle, she is standing in the front of the cart demanding to get out and walk. "No, A," I coax. "Mommy really needs you to sit nicely in the cart and help her find the pearl onions." (Whatever those are??) She begins to scream like I've just taken away her favorite toy then proceeds to kick her legs so that it is impossible to strap her into the cart. "A," I whisper with urgency. Finally, I manage, without having to earn my engineering degree, to get the buckle fastened, and we are off. Score one point for mommy.
Meanwhile, A is still screaming. People are beginning to stare. I am pushing the cart, smiling, as though nothing is wrong. People are now looking at me like "do you not hear her screaming?" "No," my smile says, and if I do hear her, I refuse to acknowledge it. It is part of the battle plan. Never show fear. I can only imagine how we must appear: smiling mommy, humming, looking at her list, pushing adorable, blonde, screaming banshee. "A," I say, using my trump card, "if you stop screaming, mommy will get you that cookie." I did promise the cookie after all, but how do I explain to the clerk why I am buying a treat for my daughter who is in the throes of misbehavior?
A gets choked from screaming and begins to cough. An elderly lady in the frozen foods aisle glares at me with a look that says, "how could you? That poor girl is choking." Swayed by the pressure, I almost give in and pick her up out of the cart, but if I do then from now on, I must give in to her demands. The precedent will have been set, so I choose to stand strong. Instead I pat her on the back and in the moment of silence, pretend the cart is a car. "Vrooom," I shout, while pushing the cart around the store. Finally, a laugh from the peanut gallery! Point number two for mommy.
A's tear stained grimace is now a giggle as we rush from aisle to aisle finishing up my list (yes, I am still pretending to be a car). Our last stop is the cookie counter, where my once screaming baby is now a beaming angel. I give her the cookie and find a near-empty check-out line.
"She sure was letting you have it," says the clerk as I unload the cart.
"Oh, that wasn't my baby," I say.
"She looks like the little girl that was kicking and screaming when you were putting her in the cart."
"Not my girl," I say, while watching her wave sweetly to the check-out clerk. I let the clerk stare a moment before finally fessing up.
"Look at her, now, though." A is sitting strapped into her buggy, perfectly content.
I walk out of the grocery store, making sure that I have put on my sunglasses and began to dig in my purse for a baseball cap. I steal a bite of cookie from A and give her a high five in celebration of my victory. Next battle, car seat!
Of course, on the way into the store, I might have casually mentioned to A that she should not be surprised if we happened to stroll by the cookie counter and find that mommy's free cookie card has decided to jump out of her wallet. In my mind, I am fantasizing about how the cookie will insure her angelic behavior and get us out of the store unscathed. In reality, I walk into the grocery and choose the one buggy with the strap that refuses to buckle.
In the split second it takes A to realize that mommy is struggling with said buckle, she is standing in the front of the cart demanding to get out and walk. "No, A," I coax. "Mommy really needs you to sit nicely in the cart and help her find the pearl onions." (Whatever those are??) She begins to scream like I've just taken away her favorite toy then proceeds to kick her legs so that it is impossible to strap her into the cart. "A," I whisper with urgency. Finally, I manage, without having to earn my engineering degree, to get the buckle fastened, and we are off. Score one point for mommy.
Meanwhile, A is still screaming. People are beginning to stare. I am pushing the cart, smiling, as though nothing is wrong. People are now looking at me like "do you not hear her screaming?" "No," my smile says, and if I do hear her, I refuse to acknowledge it. It is part of the battle plan. Never show fear. I can only imagine how we must appear: smiling mommy, humming, looking at her list, pushing adorable, blonde, screaming banshee. "A," I say, using my trump card, "if you stop screaming, mommy will get you that cookie." I did promise the cookie after all, but how do I explain to the clerk why I am buying a treat for my daughter who is in the throes of misbehavior?
A gets choked from screaming and begins to cough. An elderly lady in the frozen foods aisle glares at me with a look that says, "how could you? That poor girl is choking." Swayed by the pressure, I almost give in and pick her up out of the cart, but if I do then from now on, I must give in to her demands. The precedent will have been set, so I choose to stand strong. Instead I pat her on the back and in the moment of silence, pretend the cart is a car. "Vrooom," I shout, while pushing the cart around the store. Finally, a laugh from the peanut gallery! Point number two for mommy.
A's tear stained grimace is now a giggle as we rush from aisle to aisle finishing up my list (yes, I am still pretending to be a car). Our last stop is the cookie counter, where my once screaming baby is now a beaming angel. I give her the cookie and find a near-empty check-out line.
"She sure was letting you have it," says the clerk as I unload the cart.
"Oh, that wasn't my baby," I say.
"She looks like the little girl that was kicking and screaming when you were putting her in the cart."
"Not my girl," I say, while watching her wave sweetly to the check-out clerk. I let the clerk stare a moment before finally fessing up.
"Look at her, now, though." A is sitting strapped into her buggy, perfectly content.
I walk out of the grocery store, making sure that I have put on my sunglasses and began to dig in my purse for a baseball cap. I steal a bite of cookie from A and give her a high five in celebration of my victory. Next battle, car seat!
Thursday, September 6, 2007
A Hair Raising Revelation
A and I leave the park early and unexpectedly.
Our afternoon certainly begins like a normal trip to the park. Thirty seconds on the swing. Thirty seconds off the swing. Thirty seconds back on the swing. Off to the slide mom!
I chase behind A to the platforms leading up to the toddler slide and watch her gingerly climb from one level to the next, refusing my hand but stopping every few seconds, looking over her shoulder just to make sure that mom is still within reach. She is an adorable mixture of certainty and insecurity. A finally reaches the top, stands proudly, sits back down then scoots to the edge, just where the platform meets the slide.
“Go on,” I say. “It’s okay.”
A reaches for my hand. “Do you want mommy to hold your hand?” I ask.
“Yesh,” she says. I hold her hand, just barely, as she gleefully allows gravity to pull her forward. Spotting a loose pacifier, albeit attached to the shirt a little boy awkwardly toddling toward the swings, A jumps down in pursuit. She takes the boy’s pacy and shoves it into his mouth. For some reason she can’t stand to see an unattended pacifier. He looks on in shock as A rushes back to the slide.
“She is so cute,” the boy’s mother says. “How old is she?”
“Thank you, she’s eighteen months” I reply, while thinking smugly, I know, she really is the cutest thing ever.
I chat briefly with the mom and look over to find A running up to a little red-headed girl about her age. I chase after her, admonishing her not to grab the little girl’s pacifier, secretly hoping she has found a new friend thus a new mommy friend for me. To my horror “the cutest thing ever” has just grabbed a handful of red hair. My first impulse is to walk in the other direction. “Whose baby is that?” I’d ask the other moms. Instead, I rush to A, shouting, “No,” “Stop,” anything that I think might capture her attention.
I plead with A to let go of the girl’s hair, but some demonic force has overtaken her body. I half expect her head to start spinning. By now the little girl is beginning to wail, which means every other mother in the park is looking in our direction, nodding their heads, with that look that says, “my, my, some women just can’t control their kids.” Others, though not as many, cast reassuring glances of pity, a fellowship of “I’ve been there.”
I look to the mother and say “I am so sorry,” while A’s grip just tightens. The harder we try to pry her fingers, the harder she pulls, and the louder little red yells. Suddenly, I swat my little girl’s hand. I don’t swat flies, much less children, but in my desperation I pop her. A, stunned, releases the hair. Actually, I think the hair just gave up and fell out into A’s hand. I scoop up my daughter, yelling over my shoulder how sorry I am to the girl’s mother. Somehow I don’t think this is the right time to ask if she’d like to get coffee or exchange numbers. I really don’t know what else to do or say, so I scold A loudly enough for all to hear on the way out, hoping my gesture makes me look like I have some capability as a mother.
When I get to the car, I strap A into her seat, apologizing for spatting her and asking her over and over, “What in the world got into you?” She just says, “Boo” and covers her face with both hands.
“This is no time to play,” I snap then I begin to cry. I crank the car and just sit there crying, watching the little red-headed girl do the same. A continues to play peek-a-boo, unaware that she has just mauled another child and made her mommy cry.
Why I am I crying? Perhaps I am crying because I know what that mother will never learn about my daughter, that despite A’s short-lived stint as the hair-pulling monster, she is the most loving child I’ve ever known. A knows exactly the right moment for puckering her lips, murmuring “mmmmm,” and leaning in for a kiss, eliciting a smile from her grumpy mommy. To that mom, though, she will always be the little girl that gave her daughter a permanent bald spot.
Perhaps I am crying because I am feeling guilty that all the parenting books I bought on discipline are being used to stabilize a wobbly table leg. If I had cracked open, just one, I am sure it would have fallen open to the chapter on hair pulling and demon-possession, or maybe the chapter on pride being the downfall of parents.
Or perhaps I am really crying because I learned today in a very public way that my little girl has a mind of her own, and despite my best efforts, I cannot control her. Sure, I can coerce her into following my will, but I want to teach her love and respect. A will periodically make poor decisions in life, and there is nothing I can really do to prevent that. The dog will fall victim to a bad hair cut. She will leave a ring of teeth marks on her cousin’s arms and a dent in the front bumper of her dad’s car. My job as her mother isn’t to control her; it is to shape her and help her grow into a woman of character. Recognizing that I have no idea how to do this makes me feel more vulnerable and inadequate as a mother than ever before.
I dry my tears, say a small prayer for wisdom, remove A from her car seat, and walk cautiously over to the red-haired girl’s mother. Fortunately, she doesn’t turn and run when being approached by the red-eyed, mascara stained loon with the manic daughter. “I am so sorry. I just want you to know that.” She does look a little skittish but manages to nod and smile. I smile and return to the car and call my husband to relay the story. He says he’ll notify the WWF about training camp.
That night, I watch A play in the tub, her toddler tummy bulging, her blue eyes sparkling. She is still everything a mom dreams of, and I know that she isn’t mean-spirited; she just wanted to see what would happen if she pulled the girl’s hair. At least that is what the parenting book I thumbed through during naptime said. I pull her from the tub, wrapping her in a towel. A wraps her arms around my neck and sighs, “Mama.” I hug her tightly and for the second time today, I cry.
Our afternoon certainly begins like a normal trip to the park. Thirty seconds on the swing. Thirty seconds off the swing. Thirty seconds back on the swing. Off to the slide mom!
I chase behind A to the platforms leading up to the toddler slide and watch her gingerly climb from one level to the next, refusing my hand but stopping every few seconds, looking over her shoulder just to make sure that mom is still within reach. She is an adorable mixture of certainty and insecurity. A finally reaches the top, stands proudly, sits back down then scoots to the edge, just where the platform meets the slide.
“Go on,” I say. “It’s okay.”
A reaches for my hand. “Do you want mommy to hold your hand?” I ask.
“Yesh,” she says. I hold her hand, just barely, as she gleefully allows gravity to pull her forward. Spotting a loose pacifier, albeit attached to the shirt a little boy awkwardly toddling toward the swings, A jumps down in pursuit. She takes the boy’s pacy and shoves it into his mouth. For some reason she can’t stand to see an unattended pacifier. He looks on in shock as A rushes back to the slide.
“She is so cute,” the boy’s mother says. “How old is she?”
“Thank you, she’s eighteen months” I reply, while thinking smugly, I know, she really is the cutest thing ever.
I chat briefly with the mom and look over to find A running up to a little red-headed girl about her age. I chase after her, admonishing her not to grab the little girl’s pacifier, secretly hoping she has found a new friend thus a new mommy friend for me. To my horror “the cutest thing ever” has just grabbed a handful of red hair. My first impulse is to walk in the other direction. “Whose baby is that?” I’d ask the other moms. Instead, I rush to A, shouting, “No,” “Stop,” anything that I think might capture her attention.
I plead with A to let go of the girl’s hair, but some demonic force has overtaken her body. I half expect her head to start spinning. By now the little girl is beginning to wail, which means every other mother in the park is looking in our direction, nodding their heads, with that look that says, “my, my, some women just can’t control their kids.” Others, though not as many, cast reassuring glances of pity, a fellowship of “I’ve been there.”
I look to the mother and say “I am so sorry,” while A’s grip just tightens. The harder we try to pry her fingers, the harder she pulls, and the louder little red yells. Suddenly, I swat my little girl’s hand. I don’t swat flies, much less children, but in my desperation I pop her. A, stunned, releases the hair. Actually, I think the hair just gave up and fell out into A’s hand. I scoop up my daughter, yelling over my shoulder how sorry I am to the girl’s mother. Somehow I don’t think this is the right time to ask if she’d like to get coffee or exchange numbers. I really don’t know what else to do or say, so I scold A loudly enough for all to hear on the way out, hoping my gesture makes me look like I have some capability as a mother.
When I get to the car, I strap A into her seat, apologizing for spatting her and asking her over and over, “What in the world got into you?” She just says, “Boo” and covers her face with both hands.
“This is no time to play,” I snap then I begin to cry. I crank the car and just sit there crying, watching the little red-headed girl do the same. A continues to play peek-a-boo, unaware that she has just mauled another child and made her mommy cry.
Why I am I crying? Perhaps I am crying because I know what that mother will never learn about my daughter, that despite A’s short-lived stint as the hair-pulling monster, she is the most loving child I’ve ever known. A knows exactly the right moment for puckering her lips, murmuring “mmmmm,” and leaning in for a kiss, eliciting a smile from her grumpy mommy. To that mom, though, she will always be the little girl that gave her daughter a permanent bald spot.
Perhaps I am crying because I am feeling guilty that all the parenting books I bought on discipline are being used to stabilize a wobbly table leg. If I had cracked open, just one, I am sure it would have fallen open to the chapter on hair pulling and demon-possession, or maybe the chapter on pride being the downfall of parents.
Or perhaps I am really crying because I learned today in a very public way that my little girl has a mind of her own, and despite my best efforts, I cannot control her. Sure, I can coerce her into following my will, but I want to teach her love and respect. A will periodically make poor decisions in life, and there is nothing I can really do to prevent that. The dog will fall victim to a bad hair cut. She will leave a ring of teeth marks on her cousin’s arms and a dent in the front bumper of her dad’s car. My job as her mother isn’t to control her; it is to shape her and help her grow into a woman of character. Recognizing that I have no idea how to do this makes me feel more vulnerable and inadequate as a mother than ever before.
I dry my tears, say a small prayer for wisdom, remove A from her car seat, and walk cautiously over to the red-haired girl’s mother. Fortunately, she doesn’t turn and run when being approached by the red-eyed, mascara stained loon with the manic daughter. “I am so sorry. I just want you to know that.” She does look a little skittish but manages to nod and smile. I smile and return to the car and call my husband to relay the story. He says he’ll notify the WWF about training camp.
That night, I watch A play in the tub, her toddler tummy bulging, her blue eyes sparkling. She is still everything a mom dreams of, and I know that she isn’t mean-spirited; she just wanted to see what would happen if she pulled the girl’s hair. At least that is what the parenting book I thumbed through during naptime said. I pull her from the tub, wrapping her in a towel. A wraps her arms around my neck and sighs, “Mama.” I hug her tightly and for the second time today, I cry.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
You're Kidding: Rant from a Monday Morning Quarterback
Saturday afternoon, I tuned my ears northward to hear the bloodcurdling howls of despair flooding across the wind from Ann Arbor. Four short quarters into football season and already shouts of hope and joy had turned into groans of despair as the number 5 team in the country had been upset, not by a normal Division I-A whipping boy, no this was a I-AA cream puff.
My joy at upset in the Big 10, the toppling of a media darling, was short-lived because shortly after Appalachian State's victory, I tuned my ears southeastward to the Plains, where barely audible was even the faintest sign of a heartbeat. Once again, Auburn sputtered getting out of the starting gate (recall USC and Georiga Tech). Actually the engine choked and died, yet the Tigers managed to find the right gear, quite literally in the nick of time. Despite having Kansas State hand them the football game on a silver platter of penalties, Auburn struggled mightily to find any offense. (It seems frustration brings out the cliches.)
The most important position on the Tiger's football team? Apparently, it, for yet another season, is the field goal kicker. It is hard to outscore your opponent when you are chipping away three points at a time. Unless the field goal pointage is doubled, Auburn's offense could be headed for trouble. Maybe it just took us a while to warm up and the last two minutes of the game are indicative of the coming season....maybe?!
(Quick aside: Please raise your hand if you, who were watching the Auburn/Kansas State game on ESPN, cared very deeply about the no-hitter being thrown by Busmolz, or Buchholz, or what was it again? I really do love baseball, could not be prouder for any young man who pitches a no-hitter on his second time out in the majors. BUT I doubt very seriously those of us who were on the edge of our seats, praying for a fourth quarter comeback were very interested in having our game interrupted to watch, not only the final out of the ORIOLES vs. RED SOX game, but also the ten minute celebration following. Just letting you know ESPN, those of us not in the northeastern corner of the country, which is most of us, think baseball season ended Saturday. Especially since my Braves will apparently be doing a repeat of last year's play-off no-show.)
All right, where was I? Tennessee, oh Tennessee. How could you? How could you? I know you were probably a little frightened by the Berkley hippies hanging from the trees (there really were people hanging from trees, if you missed it), but that pesky PAC-10 beat you, and already the ranting and gloating, has begun. John Kincaid, on his Sunday radio show, kicked it off early when he said, those SEC zealots. Must I even go on or do you know what is coming next? When we said put up or shut up, the PAC-10 put up. Will you take your shut up juice diet or regular?
Kincaid said basically that a conference cannot be judged by one really good football team in that conference. The conferences are made up of individual teams that have no effect on the other teams successes or failures. We, zealots, have this misled notion that because Tennessee, Florida, etc. does well that it reflects nicely on the conference. We did that John? Is it the fans who create a graphic for your broadcast during bowl games that keeps a tally of the conferences'
wins and losses, thus determining the success of that conference and its teams? Is it the fans who sit at the sports desk comparing conferences week in and week out, highlighting the strong teams from that conference as evidence for their point? The road to the BCS is traveled heavily through the conference.
Finally, what do yesterday's ups and downs, surprises and disappointments mean? Frankly, that pre-season polls are pointless. Maybe Michigan is the fifth best team in the country still, and they struggled a bit, but we'll never know. They'll drop out of the conversation. Notre Dame, overrated, as always. Kansas State was probably underrated (not excusing Auburn's miserable play). When it comes down to it, we can't know what teams hit a groove over the summer, what losses of old players will do to the dynamic of a team, or any of those intangibles. Every opening day, good teams stumble and good teams emerge. We just make sure that, this season, USC, Michigan, Texas, and LSU get a head start. It is a pity Michigan can't gain momentum and be the team to beat in the playoffs. But I'll save my playoff rant for another day.
My joy at upset in the Big 10, the toppling of a media darling, was short-lived because shortly after Appalachian State's victory, I tuned my ears southeastward to the Plains, where barely audible was even the faintest sign of a heartbeat. Once again, Auburn sputtered getting out of the starting gate (recall USC and Georiga Tech). Actually the engine choked and died, yet the Tigers managed to find the right gear, quite literally in the nick of time. Despite having Kansas State hand them the football game on a silver platter of penalties, Auburn struggled mightily to find any offense. (It seems frustration brings out the cliches.)
The most important position on the Tiger's football team? Apparently, it, for yet another season, is the field goal kicker. It is hard to outscore your opponent when you are chipping away three points at a time. Unless the field goal pointage is doubled, Auburn's offense could be headed for trouble. Maybe it just took us a while to warm up and the last two minutes of the game are indicative of the coming season....maybe?!
(Quick aside: Please raise your hand if you, who were watching the Auburn/Kansas State game on ESPN, cared very deeply about the no-hitter being thrown by Busmolz, or Buchholz, or what was it again? I really do love baseball, could not be prouder for any young man who pitches a no-hitter on his second time out in the majors. BUT I doubt very seriously those of us who were on the edge of our seats, praying for a fourth quarter comeback were very interested in having our game interrupted to watch, not only the final out of the ORIOLES vs. RED SOX game, but also the ten minute celebration following. Just letting you know ESPN, those of us not in the northeastern corner of the country, which is most of us, think baseball season ended Saturday. Especially since my Braves will apparently be doing a repeat of last year's play-off no-show.)
All right, where was I? Tennessee, oh Tennessee. How could you? How could you? I know you were probably a little frightened by the Berkley hippies hanging from the trees (there really were people hanging from trees, if you missed it), but that pesky PAC-10 beat you, and already the ranting and gloating, has begun. John Kincaid, on his Sunday radio show, kicked it off early when he said, those SEC zealots. Must I even go on or do you know what is coming next? When we said put up or shut up, the PAC-10 put up. Will you take your shut up juice diet or regular?
Kincaid said basically that a conference cannot be judged by one really good football team in that conference. The conferences are made up of individual teams that have no effect on the other teams successes or failures. We, zealots, have this misled notion that because Tennessee, Florida, etc. does well that it reflects nicely on the conference. We did that John? Is it the fans who create a graphic for your broadcast during bowl games that keeps a tally of the conferences'
wins and losses, thus determining the success of that conference and its teams? Is it the fans who sit at the sports desk comparing conferences week in and week out, highlighting the strong teams from that conference as evidence for their point? The road to the BCS is traveled heavily through the conference.
Finally, what do yesterday's ups and downs, surprises and disappointments mean? Frankly, that pre-season polls are pointless. Maybe Michigan is the fifth best team in the country still, and they struggled a bit, but we'll never know. They'll drop out of the conversation. Notre Dame, overrated, as always. Kansas State was probably underrated (not excusing Auburn's miserable play). When it comes down to it, we can't know what teams hit a groove over the summer, what losses of old players will do to the dynamic of a team, or any of those intangibles. Every opening day, good teams stumble and good teams emerge. We just make sure that, this season, USC, Michigan, Texas, and LSU get a head start. It is a pity Michigan can't gain momentum and be the team to beat in the playoffs. But I'll save my playoff rant for another day.
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