Today I was at mile 10 of an 18 mile training run when I stopped running and starting sobbing. Allow me to tell you from first-hand experience, this activity tends to garner stares from concerned passers-by, yet none concerned enough to stop.
I'll back up. I am training for a marathon, just five short weeks away. No big deal. It is hard to have a conversation without finding that the person with whom your speaking is running or knows someone who is running. But for me this is the fourth try to run a full marathon, a dream since my teenage years! Count 'em: four. My first attempt ended in a bout with pneumonia two weeks prior to the marathon. Needless to say, I did not lace up the sneakers for that marathon. Year two: Welcome back, pneumonia. It came a little earlier this time, so I did manage the half-marathon. The third time would surely be the charm, not so. A stress fracture turned into a break turned into three months of no running, which turned into a pregnancy with nine months of no running.
What are you doing during training you might be wondering? The first two years, I did not heed the warning to rest post-long run and not get around germy crowds. When you teach school, germy crowds are hard to avoid. The third year, I ignored the nagging pain in my ankle until it began to sear.
This time, though, attempt number four, I am older, wiser, and well, wiser. I started increasing my mileage weeks before my training program began, I cross-trained twice a week, I rested at least once a week, and I listened to my body this time. If I hurt, I took an extra day of rest. No sniffles, no aches, nothing, until the 16-mile training run on Christmas eve. This is when the trouble began.
I noticed a slight pain in my knee at the end of the run, so I took a few days off. When I resumed running, no more pain. Then on Saturday, I decided it would be okay to go ahead and attempt my 18-miler. Mile ten is when the pain became unbearable, so I did what any good runner would do, I called my husband to see what he would do. Secretly, I was hoping he would say, keep going and see what happens. He didn't. Instead, he and A picked me up at mile 12 and drove me, freezing, crying, and aching back to my car.
And here I sit, trying to figure out what to do next, while trying to maintain my optimism and sense of humor. Clearly, anyone who has attempted four separate tries at a marathon, including all those months of grueling training, has a sense-of-humor, but I'll be honest, it's waning. I think my strategy is to see what my orthopedic doctor has to say. The last time I visited my orthopedist, he laughed when I cried at the diagnosis that I would not be running 26.2 miles. Clearly, he had never trained for and not run three marathons. If anything, I'm tenacious. I now have a new doctor who I hope will be more sensitive. Until the appointment, I guess I'll just have to wait and see....
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Baseball Blues
It began with a strike, where even the most ardent baseball fans lamented, "I'll never watch again." Yet, two sluggers gave us a glimmer of hope with a season-long chase that brought baseball back from the grave dug by the hands of its own players. Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa, it seemed, had saved baseball, convincing even the most hard-line skeptics to come back into the fold. Whispers of steroid abuse surfaced but were quickly hushed by the resurgence and economic gain sure to follow. Fast forward to today and the Mitchell report, where we learned, surprise, surprise, that abuse of illegal performance enhancing drugs is indeed widespread and has been since the epic home run battle of 1998. It seems baseball's virtuous witch hunt has reached its climax, now what?
Since the release of the report, I have been grappling with my own feelings and observations about the findings. I've struggled to decide if I care, if it even matters, and I think I've come to the conclusion that this report has saddened me. The Mitchell report reflects a troubling trend in society which is our ever-decreasing lack of good moral and ethical judgment. I'm sad because baseball, because professional sports, lacks character. Sports are what normally help to mold character, discipline individuals, force us to strive for the best, and long for that sense of immortality that comes with breaking records or heck, even earning a finisher's medal in a marathon. Yet, yesterday we realized that our national past time has come to represent a decline in basic character.
I am sad that players, who have abused illegal performance enhancing drugs, have so little character that they have taken up the mantra, "deny, deny, lie, lie," so long and with so much tenacity that somewhere along the way they have convinced themselves that what they tell is truth. I am sick of athletes telling us that they have no idea what they're injecting into their bodies, their main source of income. "Gee, Bob, I had no idea what was in the needle. You can't be suggesting that it is actually my responsibility to monitor what goes in my own body, can you?" Like that is supposed to make it all better. "Oh, I see. Well, we can't hold that against you, now can we, Mr. Baseball?"
At least Marion Jones, for whatever reason, perhaps a conscience that finally caught up with her, had the gumption to stand before us and say (paraphrased), "I'm guilty, and I'm sorry. I take the blame." (On judgment day, perhaps she can stand before the throne and look her Savior in the eye.) I am appalled that these athletes can not only look sports fans in the eye and lie, but that they can lie to their own children. Everybody is doing it, and somehow that makes it right. Shame on you athletes for sacrificing integrity, morality, and character for material gain, for greed. Of course, that is your own problem, or is it?
Senator Mitchell spent much of his speech expressing concern for the youth in this nation who look up to those players. While I have no idea how widespread teenage steroid abuse is, I am saddened that we, as parents, have come to the point that we allow our children to idolize mere human athletes to the point that those children will consider using illegal drugs to enhance their game so they can be just like their idols. Where are the coaches, trainers, PARENTS? Are we not sitting down with our own children to discuss who their heroes are and why? Are we not willing to say, "Well, you know Junior, most athletes aren't using and there is a big price to pay for those who are. If not now, sometime." Remember Ken Caminiti? Are we not teaching our children the benefits of hardwork for hardwork's sake, not monetary gain? When our children begin to use drugs for sports enhancement, shame on us for pointing our fingers to professional athletes when as parents, coaches, teachers, and trainers, we're the ones who dropped the ball somewhere.
I am also saddened that we have laws in this country that we fail to enforce. I KNOW that baseball did not have a policy in play. Say it with me, shame on you baseball! But, the law of this land does state that steroids are a controlled substance and much like narcotics, etc., can't be sold in the back of a gym. So, where is the law in all of this? Mr. Mitchell clearly pointed out in his press conference that the Justice Department does not prosecute users, they focus their efforts on those who sell. What is the point of having the law on the books, then, Mr. Mitchell? It seems that the lesson in this all is: do it, just don't get caught, and if you do, lie, but then we really can't do anything anyway, so why bother. And, I realize that nothing will be done.
Finally, I am saddened by Commissioner Bud Selig. His lack of concern, his lack of effort to stand up to the union, to the owners, to anyone really is appalling. His apparent apathy and lack of action and leadership have helped to propel this scandal to a level that will forever mar the integrity of baseball. He's quietly turned a blind eye to the problem his entire decade-long tenure. Now, baseball finally has a drug policy, but it took all of this for that to even be considered. Shame on you, shame on you, Mr. Selig, you should resign. Perhaps we can place an asterisk next to your name when we look back on this time in baseball history.
What does all of this mean for baseball, for sports? I don't really know. I'd like to think that as Americans we wake up and demand more from our "heroes." I really hope it wakes us up to examine our own ethics and character and allows us to reexamine the values we pass on to the next generation. I know it does not mean that players who used will be prosecuted now, and I don't think they should. This mess is the making of many, not just the players. From henceforth, though, three strikes and you are forever banned from the game. That's what I'd like to see. It won't happen, though. Now we can sit back and wait for the lawsuits, the name calling, the denials......and maybe one day, one day, we can just play ball and know that it's real.
Since the release of the report, I have been grappling with my own feelings and observations about the findings. I've struggled to decide if I care, if it even matters, and I think I've come to the conclusion that this report has saddened me. The Mitchell report reflects a troubling trend in society which is our ever-decreasing lack of good moral and ethical judgment. I'm sad because baseball, because professional sports, lacks character. Sports are what normally help to mold character, discipline individuals, force us to strive for the best, and long for that sense of immortality that comes with breaking records or heck, even earning a finisher's medal in a marathon. Yet, yesterday we realized that our national past time has come to represent a decline in basic character.
I am sad that players, who have abused illegal performance enhancing drugs, have so little character that they have taken up the mantra, "deny, deny, lie, lie," so long and with so much tenacity that somewhere along the way they have convinced themselves that what they tell is truth. I am sick of athletes telling us that they have no idea what they're injecting into their bodies, their main source of income. "Gee, Bob, I had no idea what was in the needle. You can't be suggesting that it is actually my responsibility to monitor what goes in my own body, can you?" Like that is supposed to make it all better. "Oh, I see. Well, we can't hold that against you, now can we, Mr. Baseball?"
At least Marion Jones, for whatever reason, perhaps a conscience that finally caught up with her, had the gumption to stand before us and say (paraphrased), "I'm guilty, and I'm sorry. I take the blame." (On judgment day, perhaps she can stand before the throne and look her Savior in the eye.) I am appalled that these athletes can not only look sports fans in the eye and lie, but that they can lie to their own children. Everybody is doing it, and somehow that makes it right. Shame on you athletes for sacrificing integrity, morality, and character for material gain, for greed. Of course, that is your own problem, or is it?
Senator Mitchell spent much of his speech expressing concern for the youth in this nation who look up to those players. While I have no idea how widespread teenage steroid abuse is, I am saddened that we, as parents, have come to the point that we allow our children to idolize mere human athletes to the point that those children will consider using illegal drugs to enhance their game so they can be just like their idols. Where are the coaches, trainers, PARENTS? Are we not sitting down with our own children to discuss who their heroes are and why? Are we not willing to say, "Well, you know Junior, most athletes aren't using and there is a big price to pay for those who are. If not now, sometime." Remember Ken Caminiti? Are we not teaching our children the benefits of hardwork for hardwork's sake, not monetary gain? When our children begin to use drugs for sports enhancement, shame on us for pointing our fingers to professional athletes when as parents, coaches, teachers, and trainers, we're the ones who dropped the ball somewhere.
I am also saddened that we have laws in this country that we fail to enforce. I KNOW that baseball did not have a policy in play. Say it with me, shame on you baseball! But, the law of this land does state that steroids are a controlled substance and much like narcotics, etc., can't be sold in the back of a gym. So, where is the law in all of this? Mr. Mitchell clearly pointed out in his press conference that the Justice Department does not prosecute users, they focus their efforts on those who sell. What is the point of having the law on the books, then, Mr. Mitchell? It seems that the lesson in this all is: do it, just don't get caught, and if you do, lie, but then we really can't do anything anyway, so why bother. And, I realize that nothing will be done.
Finally, I am saddened by Commissioner Bud Selig. His lack of concern, his lack of effort to stand up to the union, to the owners, to anyone really is appalling. His apparent apathy and lack of action and leadership have helped to propel this scandal to a level that will forever mar the integrity of baseball. He's quietly turned a blind eye to the problem his entire decade-long tenure. Now, baseball finally has a drug policy, but it took all of this for that to even be considered. Shame on you, shame on you, Mr. Selig, you should resign. Perhaps we can place an asterisk next to your name when we look back on this time in baseball history.
What does all of this mean for baseball, for sports? I don't really know. I'd like to think that as Americans we wake up and demand more from our "heroes." I really hope it wakes us up to examine our own ethics and character and allows us to reexamine the values we pass on to the next generation. I know it does not mean that players who used will be prosecuted now, and I don't think they should. This mess is the making of many, not just the players. From henceforth, though, three strikes and you are forever banned from the game. That's what I'd like to see. It won't happen, though. Now we can sit back and wait for the lawsuits, the name calling, the denials......and maybe one day, one day, we can just play ball and know that it's real.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
The Doorknob Incident
Two seconds. That's it. I turned my back for two seconds and mischief ensues.
"Stand right here, Pumpkin. Mommy will be right back; I am going to go get my t-shirt."
I walk the three feet from the hallway to the bedroom, grab my t-shirt, and turn around just in time to hear the door slam. Panicked cries soon follow.
"A, what's wrong?" I run to the bathroom door, turn the knob to find it locked. "A! You've locked the door!"
She wails and beats frantically on the door. I hear my keys jingle. Apparently, she grabbed my keys from the purse and was going to try them out on the door. Doing what all good, calm moms would do, I run downstairs, grab the phone and call my husband.
"Hey," I say urgently.
"Can I call you back?"
"Sure, but A's locked herself in the bathroom, and I don't know what to do."
I hang up the phone and jiggle the doorknob. "Turn the thing in the middle, Punky."
"Mama!"
"Hold on, I'll be right back."
I run downstairs, praying all the way that I remembered to shut the closet door. I can just picture A covered head-to-toe in baby shampoo and lotion. I grab a flat-head screwdriver and run back up the stairs.
"Mommy's back, pumpkin." I say trying to console here, while I begin to disassemble the doorknob. The phone rings.
"Hello?"
"Honey, what are you doing?" T asks.
"I am taking apart the doorknob."
"Hold on," says Mr. Sensible. "Is there a hole in the center of the knob?"
"Yes. I've almost got the screws out, though."
"All you have to do is take a coat hanger, stick it in the hole, and turn. The door will unlock."
"Oh," I say. This from the woman who just the night before fell flat on her rear trying to take off her jeans and socks at the same time. "I've got it. It opened."
Anna runs into my arms and we embrace like long lost pals. "Are you all right?"
She hugs me and hands over my keys. Thankfully, the closet door is still shut, and the only thing covered are A's teary cheeks.
"Hey," I say to T. "Thank you. We're okay." I hang up the phone and start putting the doorknob back together. At least I now know how to unlock a door with no key!
All I can say is God bless my poor husband:)
"Stand right here, Pumpkin. Mommy will be right back; I am going to go get my t-shirt."
I walk the three feet from the hallway to the bedroom, grab my t-shirt, and turn around just in time to hear the door slam. Panicked cries soon follow.
"A, what's wrong?" I run to the bathroom door, turn the knob to find it locked. "A! You've locked the door!"
She wails and beats frantically on the door. I hear my keys jingle. Apparently, she grabbed my keys from the purse and was going to try them out on the door. Doing what all good, calm moms would do, I run downstairs, grab the phone and call my husband.
"Hey," I say urgently.
"Can I call you back?"
"Sure, but A's locked herself in the bathroom, and I don't know what to do."
I hang up the phone and jiggle the doorknob. "Turn the thing in the middle, Punky."
"Mama!"
"Hold on, I'll be right back."
I run downstairs, praying all the way that I remembered to shut the closet door. I can just picture A covered head-to-toe in baby shampoo and lotion. I grab a flat-head screwdriver and run back up the stairs.
"Mommy's back, pumpkin." I say trying to console here, while I begin to disassemble the doorknob. The phone rings.
"Hello?"
"Honey, what are you doing?" T asks.
"I am taking apart the doorknob."
"Hold on," says Mr. Sensible. "Is there a hole in the center of the knob?"
"Yes. I've almost got the screws out, though."
"All you have to do is take a coat hanger, stick it in the hole, and turn. The door will unlock."
"Oh," I say. This from the woman who just the night before fell flat on her rear trying to take off her jeans and socks at the same time. "I've got it. It opened."
Anna runs into my arms and we embrace like long lost pals. "Are you all right?"
She hugs me and hands over my keys. Thankfully, the closet door is still shut, and the only thing covered are A's teary cheeks.
"Hey," I say to T. "Thank you. We're okay." I hang up the phone and start putting the doorknob back together. At least I now know how to unlock a door with no key!
All I can say is God bless my poor husband:)
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Christmas Shopping Day 1
I decided to take A to the mall and try and do a little Christmas shopping this morning. As well as possible, I tried to maximize the potential for success, meaning I left in plenty of time to shop before naptime. Sure, it's early, but since my sweet girl gives me about one hour per outing, I decided I'd better get a head start.
Since it's Wednesday, the mall was not very crowded. (Part of our plan to avoid the mall on the weekends, so that shortens our shopping season even more.) We were even the only two in line at Chick-fil-A, where we picked up a bite and headed to the carousel to eat. A was in a great mood, so my own spirits were high. I even began to hum Christmas carols. Then we entered our first store, where singing quickly turned into bah humbugs.
Did you know that parents are expected to pay $49.50 for sweaters for children? They must because that is how much they cost, and this particular store has been in business for quite a while. This was apparently no place for toddlers either because my stroller kept getting jammed in between the racks, knocking off hundreds of tightly packed sweaters. Maybe it wasn't hundreds, but you get the idea. I must have been making quite a mess because the sales lady was circling me like a vulture. After about one half-hour of staring at the same wall of sweaters , I decided to leave and head to a department store, where I had a coupon.
A, apparently, got the mixed message that we were leaving to go home because as soon as we entered Belk, she began to whine, loudly. Don't get me wrong, I am not blaming my daughter, who is rapidly approaching age two. I , too, would have no desire to sit strapped in a stroller while my mom stares at the same sweater for over thirty minutes trying to decide if it is the right gift for a three-year-old. I, too, would rather be at home reading or playing. If I would not have been carted out in a white-jacket, I would have probably been whining and kicking right beside her, shouting, "But I don't know what to get anyone.....waaa..."but as an adult, I try to behave like one as much as possible.
About this time, a mother and her two Stepford children walked by. You know the kids: narry a hair out of place, dressed to the nines without so much as a crumb on their pristine white collars, bow centered perfectly in their freshly combed hair, holding their mother's hand, silent and smiling. The mother leans over to A, who is wearing a turqouise t-shirt, stained with the mustard sauce she used for dipping her nuggets, pink pants, and she's barefoot. Her hair is matted a little on one side with oatmeal from breakfast, and her nose, which has been running, has a nice crust forming just at the top of her lip. (In my defense, she was wearing shoes when we left the house, and I wiped her nose right after lunch.)
"You must be getting tired," the mom coos to A. "Ooh, it looks like it is somebody's naptime." (I am quickly losing the desire to behave like an adult.) She continues, "Does your mommy have you out past naptime?" Meanwhile, her children stand motionless and silent, while A begins to kick her feet, shaking the stroller.
"We're just trying to fit in some Christmas shopping before it sneaks up on us." I say through a forced smile. I really want to snap, "I know she is tired, I know, I know, I know, but I have to get started on my shopping, and unfortunately, she has to come along for the ride every now and then."
"Poor girl, you'll get your nap soon. I'm sure your mom is almost done." Does she think she is helping the situation? The lady walks off, and A who was enjoying the attention, begins to whine with even more gusto. I lean over the stroller, "Hey pumpkin, I am sorry mommy's ignoring you. We'll leave soon." Feeling like everyone is staring at the "bad mom," I quickly make my purchase and head to the car, so my pumpkin can go home for her nap. I'm so flustered that I forget about my coupon, which is only good for the one day.
A quiets down and seems to enjoy the stroller ride back to the car. My sweet girl is asleep before we even pull into our driveway. I stop the car and look back at A, who has just turned her head. Her mouth is open wide and her hair is sticking straight out where she's been sleeping on it. I giggle quietly, ease her out of the car, and walk slowly inside to her crib. Two hours of shopping, an exhausted daughter, and I can only mark one name off my list. Oh well, only 26 more to go!
Disclaimer: I do love giving to others, and I love this time of year. Few things give me greater pleasure than giving to those I truly love. I just don't like the act of shopping. The result, not so much the actual mall part. I prefer the baking, decorating, and spending time with family, enjoying each other's company!
Since it's Wednesday, the mall was not very crowded. (Part of our plan to avoid the mall on the weekends, so that shortens our shopping season even more.) We were even the only two in line at Chick-fil-A, where we picked up a bite and headed to the carousel to eat. A was in a great mood, so my own spirits were high. I even began to hum Christmas carols. Then we entered our first store, where singing quickly turned into bah humbugs.
Did you know that parents are expected to pay $49.50 for sweaters for children? They must because that is how much they cost, and this particular store has been in business for quite a while. This was apparently no place for toddlers either because my stroller kept getting jammed in between the racks, knocking off hundreds of tightly packed sweaters. Maybe it wasn't hundreds, but you get the idea. I must have been making quite a mess because the sales lady was circling me like a vulture. After about one half-hour of staring at the same wall of sweaters , I decided to leave and head to a department store, where I had a coupon.
A, apparently, got the mixed message that we were leaving to go home because as soon as we entered Belk, she began to whine, loudly. Don't get me wrong, I am not blaming my daughter, who is rapidly approaching age two. I , too, would have no desire to sit strapped in a stroller while my mom stares at the same sweater for over thirty minutes trying to decide if it is the right gift for a three-year-old. I, too, would rather be at home reading or playing. If I would not have been carted out in a white-jacket, I would have probably been whining and kicking right beside her, shouting, "But I don't know what to get anyone.....waaa..."but as an adult, I try to behave like one as much as possible.
About this time, a mother and her two Stepford children walked by. You know the kids: narry a hair out of place, dressed to the nines without so much as a crumb on their pristine white collars, bow centered perfectly in their freshly combed hair, holding their mother's hand, silent and smiling. The mother leans over to A, who is wearing a turqouise t-shirt, stained with the mustard sauce she used for dipping her nuggets, pink pants, and she's barefoot. Her hair is matted a little on one side with oatmeal from breakfast, and her nose, which has been running, has a nice crust forming just at the top of her lip. (In my defense, she was wearing shoes when we left the house, and I wiped her nose right after lunch.)
"You must be getting tired," the mom coos to A. "Ooh, it looks like it is somebody's naptime." (I am quickly losing the desire to behave like an adult.) She continues, "Does your mommy have you out past naptime?" Meanwhile, her children stand motionless and silent, while A begins to kick her feet, shaking the stroller.
"We're just trying to fit in some Christmas shopping before it sneaks up on us." I say through a forced smile. I really want to snap, "I know she is tired, I know, I know, I know, but I have to get started on my shopping, and unfortunately, she has to come along for the ride every now and then."
"Poor girl, you'll get your nap soon. I'm sure your mom is almost done." Does she think she is helping the situation? The lady walks off, and A who was enjoying the attention, begins to whine with even more gusto. I lean over the stroller, "Hey pumpkin, I am sorry mommy's ignoring you. We'll leave soon." Feeling like everyone is staring at the "bad mom," I quickly make my purchase and head to the car, so my pumpkin can go home for her nap. I'm so flustered that I forget about my coupon, which is only good for the one day.
A quiets down and seems to enjoy the stroller ride back to the car. My sweet girl is asleep before we even pull into our driveway. I stop the car and look back at A, who has just turned her head. Her mouth is open wide and her hair is sticking straight out where she's been sleeping on it. I giggle quietly, ease her out of the car, and walk slowly inside to her crib. Two hours of shopping, an exhausted daughter, and I can only mark one name off my list. Oh well, only 26 more to go!
Disclaimer: I do love giving to others, and I love this time of year. Few things give me greater pleasure than giving to those I truly love. I just don't like the act of shopping. The result, not so much the actual mall part. I prefer the baking, decorating, and spending time with family, enjoying each other's company!
Thursday, November 8, 2007
It's Early, Real Early
Fortunately, college basketball has a playoff. Kentucky, you can breathe a sigh of relief, or can you? While parity is certainly not a novelty in college basketball, I doubt it has reached the level where Gardner-Webb should be stunning the 20th ranked team in the nation. The loss certainly stunned me, a fan who has waited with baited, yet eager breath to see just what the Cats new head coach is capable of. It didn't look like much last night.
A game that normally would be overlooked because we're still in the thick of football season is grabbing the media spotlight, mainly because of a new unknown factor in Rupp, head coach, Billy Gillispie. When Tubby Smith won a national championship after taking the reigns from Rick Pitino, I had high hopes for the future of Kentucky basketball. This from a girl who cried, boo-hooed, actually, when Christian Laetner stripped the game winning shot to take away the title from the Cats during the Duke dynasty. "We've got our man," I thought. That man would coach well but not good enough for Wildcat fans who wanted a return to the Rupp era. He just didn't recruit the type of talent needed to produce Final Four teams, year in and year out. (Yet, in the era of play one year, go pro, who can blame him?)
Bring in Gillispie. A new coach, a new era. I still have high hopes for Kentucky and Gillispie. I am sure last night was just a fluke. Even Izzo lost to a Division II team this week. Ohio State, too, fell to a team that most of us won't remember unless they show up in our brackets. This could say several things. The players didn't show up mentally, or they just weren't ready to play, or because it was exhibition against cupcakes maybe they just didn't care. Whatever it says, I think my husband said it best when he quipped, "It doesn't count anyway does it?" Ahh, the beauty of college basketball, finish the season strong and who knows where you'll go!
A game that normally would be overlooked because we're still in the thick of football season is grabbing the media spotlight, mainly because of a new unknown factor in Rupp, head coach, Billy Gillispie. When Tubby Smith won a national championship after taking the reigns from Rick Pitino, I had high hopes for the future of Kentucky basketball. This from a girl who cried, boo-hooed, actually, when Christian Laetner stripped the game winning shot to take away the title from the Cats during the Duke dynasty. "We've got our man," I thought. That man would coach well but not good enough for Wildcat fans who wanted a return to the Rupp era. He just didn't recruit the type of talent needed to produce Final Four teams, year in and year out. (Yet, in the era of play one year, go pro, who can blame him?)
Bring in Gillispie. A new coach, a new era. I still have high hopes for Kentucky and Gillispie. I am sure last night was just a fluke. Even Izzo lost to a Division II team this week. Ohio State, too, fell to a team that most of us won't remember unless they show up in our brackets. This could say several things. The players didn't show up mentally, or they just weren't ready to play, or because it was exhibition against cupcakes maybe they just didn't care. Whatever it says, I think my husband said it best when he quipped, "It doesn't count anyway does it?" Ahh, the beauty of college basketball, finish the season strong and who knows where you'll go!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)