Heck of a Macho Weekend

It really doesn't get much better guy-wise than my Friday-Sunday run: two poker games, two football games, one cigar--with thanks to Mr. Luda for the Perdomo Patriarch that tied it all together.

The personal aspect of blogging came through big time after enjoying a steak & baked tater dinner and watching 'Casino Royale' after finishing Friday nights cigar, and whether you count watching the Denver-Chicago game and Daniel Craig stick it to the bad guy as super-macho sporty, the thoughts for the weekend came down to decisions and results.

Bottom line, my Hold 'em game Friday finished about like Bond's did before his re-buy; apologies for any confusion my use of a picture that is obviously from a winning situation might cause, its really just for effect. I actually invested my all in on a king high-four card flush, and when a $1000 bet (honest Mom, it was chips, not real cash!) didn't scare anyone out before the river, I wound up watching about three hours of poker before my ride was ready to leave. That's about what I spent on both the movie-football game Sunday and at the Panthers game Saturday vs. the Ravens, and while my rationalization is that I'd played the percentages and lost with honor (all I'd *really* needed was another king...), I'd be willing to bet *most* of the people who saw that game would have rather had a shot at the $7500 in the pot Friday or watched the Bond flick too.

Granted, the Panthers were a little under-manned going in (see 'four-flushed' situation above), and it *was* just an exhibition game, but until they scored early in the 4th quarter, there wasn't much to recommend about their effort offensively, and the defense made Ravens QB Joe Flacco look like a young Brett Favre, as he threw the ball to open targets all evening: 23-28 for about 250 yards through three quarters. Sitting upstairs you just knew how things were going to go, sort of like watching 'Casino Royale' the second or third time.

When I threw two greenies in and people didn't toss their cards, how could they have been staying with 1) a pair of jacks under and 2) an (also) busted flush pair of nines? The reality is they were *probably* thinking I was betting from position rather than actually having the goods, and that turned out fine for them. They apparently weren't worried about anything really big happening, even if I would have knocked both of them out and been a big chip leader--perhaps they assumed they'd previously seen everything I might try to pull on them. While it was only preseason, Coach Fox's "let's see if we can get our running game operating right" plan seemed like exactly the same deal for Baltimore. His decision was less about results (like maybe play the starters three quarters and generate some fan satisfaction with a win, they are now 0-3) and more about playing the hand. As a coach he has pushed the notion that less mistakes than the other guys wins ball games, and that worked out to a 12-4 record last year, even if we all know how things went after that.

Like myself and "the other guys" in that movie, everybody probably wins some hands along the way, and rookie running back Mike Goodsen had a nice run early on and decent stats overall for Carolina. It was a nice evening for a game, but even with a 17-13 final count, there really wasn't any doubt how things were going to turn out, just like it wouldn't be much of a movie if Bond didn't come back and win.

Like my game and Sunday night, Saturday's game was mostly three hours of "just watching", and I'm really not going to start dogging the Panthers based on a preseason loss. In the Big Picture, getting to a game definitely contributed to a well-rounded guy weekend. Of course, it might have been a *real* (daaammmmmn straight!) great weekend if that cigar had signaled two more victories and a lot less "just watching."

CARE ABOUT LOUSY FREE THROW SHOOTING

If you're the wife or girlfriend of a muscle-head, surfer or biker of any strain, genuine geek-consumer of electronics or (chortle) a soccer player, you'll be spared the dramatic evaluation "I sucked, again" regarding that deeply personal male concern called lousy free throw shooting. It's not going to break any Guy Codes to possibly clue you ladies about this smaller than the bedroom (but potentially related) stroke problem either. In fact, you might consider this info relative to 'Five Minute Great Abs!' because you'll feel show-offy smooth and quietly better, reacting with understated coolness while providing support the guy won't question.

"It just felt weird coming off my hand" is an evaluation that obviously means Mr. Gym Rat is feeling vulnerable. Ladies, when we're riding the testosterone train, returning triumphant and wanting to regale everyone about dynamic drives and rainbow jumpers, all you have to do is accept the three-beer kisses and sweaty manliness and nod. Hopefully your poor shooter isn't a REAL whiner when things aren't going so good.

Bottom line, we hoopsters, and I certainly include myself here, believe free throw shooting is elementally linked to a Universal Cookie Jar-type reward system. Do well at the charity stripe, somehow earn, no *deserve* goodies, from successful dates to free football tickets to new jobs. While I haven't actually had that new job offer drop into the equation after recently re-discovering effective shooting techniques during a just-sneakers-and-shorts-lets-get-this-right-again session, that doesn't mean I don't feel its due me.

Fifteen feet, up and in is the simple reality. Especially with any 'small white guard' tag attached, making free throws was integral to playing during all formative years. Those extra points are supposedly gravy, playing with house money, a piece of cake, punishing opponents for hacking the wrong guy. All kidding aside, foul shooting is a legitimate point of pride and extremely fair way of judging oneself 'better'--its really not JUST foul shooting.

Free throw stooting is at a premium in '21', Rochester, and often while picking teams--miss early and obviously you don't play. I got traded to the light shirt team for missing Monday night, I've had nights where I sat out three times. In '21', scoring a couple each turn, or (sweetness!) nailing eight consecutive shots to close another player out, means they get fewer chances to beat you. 'Rochester' features everyone-for-themselves play, where making baskets allows up to three unguarded foul shots. 7-8-9 extra points from there means less whacking heads with four other dudes for your scores. Miss your '21-plus-one' finale though, you go back to 15. Its safe to say that everybody has missed a couple at clutch time, and negative consequences usually follow. Do it a lot, it gets you pissed at yourself.

Truthfully, few guys are actually snake bite 80% shooters, not even me. I bust on Shaq, but I also cheer when he rips nine straight; Syracuse as a team traditionally sucks, and I have no use for that at all. FYI ladies--Joining your man in "I shoulda beat those guys twice BUT..." pity parties contributes less than a three-chardonnay lunch, and while reading this affords insight to YOU, neither you or his Momma can make foul shots for Sweet Cheeks.

Three things can be helpful in the overall scheme of things. First, anyone can ask just how lousy lousy was and listen; venting is gender neutral. Gym Rat lost some tight Rochesters again, or had to sit out a couple? Uhh-huh babe, or sorry to hear that bro is all you need to say, no problem keeping an eye on that new LOST episode or the EWT match either. Offering to shag misses for half an hour is exceptional, and guys, if your lady does this for you, let her know its Angel Face time. Its worth a beer when your bud does it, whatever she wants if she closes the lap top and works with you.

Should anyone know a guy with a blacksmith's touch though, here's a solid fix-it suggestion. The fact is, most high percentage shooters come to a check or stopping point before their release. Its less about rhythm or three bounces, more about flex the knees, bring the ball to eye or above head level and hold a moment, follow through motion with arms and fingertips vs. toss and stop immediately.

Just my little contribution to making this a better world.
Glenn S.

Back on Course is More Than About Golf

While my first blog involved golfing, you can anticipate my including a wide range of sports in this blogging. I'm grateful for the opportunity to be back on course in that respect, because after several years as a feature writer for ITS SPORTS! in Tampa, FL and then occasional pieces like a pre-season preview of the Charlotte Hornets basketball team (before they left town), I'd let that part go, focusing on business writing and, of course, my Great American Novel.



There's a discipline to writing, the need to get things done in a concrete way, and the only way to accomplish that is rapping things out on a keyboard, the more often the better. Having read a few blogs over the years, my goal is to have relevant and readable thoughts vs. ramblings, more like a "real columnist" we traditionally read in the newspaper. I chose 'Baseline Shorks' as the title, not because of the baseball, basketball, or tennis connotation, but for the analytical meaning. 'Baseline' means "the actual or assumed situation or state of affairs used as a starting point in comparison or project exercises." Whatever the topic, you'll see a definite beginning point; yesterday I was going for a decent golf story arising from the negatives of a dead car stay-cation, and 'Shorks' is just the nickname I've always had.


With that in mind, I'll be taking various circumstances and putting my fairly personal stamp on them. At some point I might actually get into the nets (I was a collegiate hockey goalie) to let a Charlotte Checker, like maybe Chubby the mascot, take some shots at me. While I'm not expecting to be Hemingway about conveying exactly every gritty detail, I believe you'll get a taste of what goes on inside the mask and physically if I get that chance. I *do* know a three finger long piece of my left bicep is gone from taking a puck there way back in college. The rising slap shot, by a teammate in warmups! that caught me at the *very top* of that relatively flimsy chest protector--before anyone considered throat protectors--thats one of those moments you don't forget easily.


I'll be doing analysis of high school and college sports for sure, because especially with HS sports, there is a 'baseline' to be described there. I might not be able to tell you where former Independence HS and Florida QB Chris Leak is today, but checking in with that powerhouse program (7 consecutive 4A championships before losing in 2008 title game) might just reveal what it takes to be part of the very best. I'm sort of a hoops junkie, and while I can't reasonably expect to share in Duke's Cameron Craziness because I'm in the Carolinas, I promise you'll know whats coming with local and national darling Davidson now that Mr. Curry is in the NBA, about Charlotte/UNCC as it attempts to return from a disappointing season, maybe even Winthrop's and Johnson C. Smith's programs.


Carolina weather provides a plethora of outdoor opportunities as well, so I'll expect to discuss cycling, tennis, rugby, white water rafting (even if its an event vs. true sport), my still wonderful jump shot, and even skeet shooting. I'm looking forward to the sharing, and I hope to hear back from you along the way.


Glenn S.

Rule #1 About Vacations: Be Flexible

Yesterday morning I was finishing up nine holes of golf about the time I should have been watching the post parade and getting ready to invest in some fine horseflesh at Saratoga Racetrack in upstate New York. "Be flexible" is a terrific rule to remember about vacations, and that's especially true when your car dies 200 miles into a road trip.


While the $25 investment at The Divide couldn't possibly have paid off as well as my brother Dave's boxing an Appaloosa named 'Awesome Maria' (his daughter's name), it satisfied certain post-new-water-pump-I-never-even-used budget criteria. 'Bullitt' was a silver '96 Taurus that logged just under 162K miles and didn't really owe me anything at this point, but I guess being partially responsible for this article's inspiration still counts on the plus side.



This was only my second time golfing all year (sacrilege!), so I was obviously just knocking the rust off playing nine. Padrick Harrington's recent troubles with PGA officials on the subject notwithstanding, time isn't a hard core factor in golf, at least not with my "grip it and rip it" John Daly style. No twenty-three wig-wagging Sergio here! That said, and being determined to get SOME golf in during a week off, I was still cognizant about getting my rental from Roanoke to Charlotte-Douglas Airport by 2:15 or start facing late fees, so I skipped around a foursome that teed off just before me.



While I took extra time looking for balls sprayed left and right the first couple holes before settling down, and I admit rushing some shots like Pad did because its really poor etiquette for a single to hold up a foursome, this was my vacation, so I played two balls on many shots, rationalizing that accurate scoring was less a factor than enjoyment. And really, from stroke one I anticipated writing something profound about playing golf under a gorgeously sunny Carolina blue sky as compensation for a dead car and lost horse betting opportunities. I became concerned with a qualitative experience versus quantifying it if you get my drift, and its just a little tougher to do that while worrying about 7s or 'snowmen' on your scorecard.



Without doing the stroke-by-stroke, an analysis that I'm certain is what causes non-playing wives or girlfriends to HATE their man's golfing, it wouldn't be much of a column without describing some high points, right?



I didn't hit three good shots in a row (relatively speaking) until the 477 yard 5th, but despite that empowered feeling I get when my 5-wood is rolling and a good wedge that put me in position for a birdie, three-putting kills ANY amount of good shots. Having the line means *crap* when you hit it weak. I think "you miss 100% of putts that don't make it to the hole" is a truism; "Does your boyfriend play golf too?" always stings, even if you're saying it to yourself.



I didn't actually powder my drive on #6, but the GPS showed only 55 to the pin, and a 242 yard ball that hangs against brilliant blue gives you a feeling in the crotch that ALL golfers will empathize with. The 139 yard 7th was over water, but it provided a second chance to attempt the 7-iron I'd tugged slightly left on #3. I put one on, then hit a *nice* pitch from just off the green with my other ball to within six feet, a straight putt I nailed for a legit par.



At that point I felt the golf gods smiling on my quick nine. Being an athletic 5'10" and 195 lbs., nailing drives of 271 on #8 and 260 on the ninth were still the schizzle, because such pokes are infrequent for me--cue Tim the Toolman's ape-like grunts of joy. That last drive also started the ESPN commentator in my brain, distracting me into distributing wedges short-right-long, followed by two swipes with my putter from just outside the fringe that weren't close to overcoming the greens right tilt. My 16-17 foot come-backer dropped sweetly though, bringing the belief that IF I wasn't time squeezed about returning that rental, playing 18 would've gone pretty damn well.



'Jim Bob' and Rusty graciously allowed me to play along on the first hole I'd skipped, and after cranking a drive inside 100 yards and dropping a 9-iron on the green, there was an opportunity to tag an honest-to-God birdie on the day. I've always said anybody can read putts better than me, and putting less pace on that slight downhill putt with Jim Bob's "try it about 3 inches to the left" advice might've allowed it to curl in. Instead, I wound up with a three-putt bogey that blew the ending to a really good story.



Still, I enjoyed a great steak dinner and finished a car-less evening off with the contemplative smoking of a terrific La Gloria Cubana robusto, just like I would have at brother Dave's if I'd made it to Saratoga. Bottom line, as long as you've got a golf story to tell, it can't be all that bad a day.



As for flexibility, manaña is soon enough to worry about that transportation thing.