No Rugby, No Taunting, No Bitchin' About BCS Bids

I've got a bunch of thoughts going, and while my initial one this past misty and cool Saturday morning was just how perfect it would have been to watch (participation is not really an option) some ruggers put a lick on each other, my opinion about potential Bowl Championship Series bids is not going to change between now and the beginning of January, so I'll lay it out there now.

If you are a team like Univ. of South Florida (which put a beating on Florida State in Tallahasee), Utah, or Boise State, and you've previously complained about not getting the proper respect for your program when major bowl bids (meaning Orange, Sugar, Fiesta, Rose) went out, this is your year to put up or shut up.

After last weeks dynamic games, and at the risk of trivializing what our troops in Afghanistan and Iraq face far too often, a couple bombs went off in college football Saturday, and LOTS of teams now have an opportunity that might not have existed before. Read the comments of ANY pollster, and outside of the top three of Florida-Alabama-Texas, its a total crap shoot about where one places teams moving up or down the ladder. Boise State is at #5, and they now control their own fate--no crying if you lose and voters think you were lucky to get considered. Now North Carolina, that's another story--I have to believe the 2 points received after a disheartening (but not out of character) 24-7 loss to Georgia Tech put them at 3-1 were from a local writer. For the record, and relative to last weeks comment about my USF-grad brother, he can't stop telling people how WE beat Bowden's Boys...

Taunting is something that gets called periodically at both the professional and collegiate level, and while I'm usually willing to let some 19-year old put on the dog a little after an electrifying run or game-breaking play against a special team before 90,000 or similar circumstances, there was an incident here is Charlotte recently that showed how such examples often get copied. Near the end of what was a hard-fought game between Providence Day and Concord First Assembly on Sept. 18, CFA intercepted a Providence pass and ran in it for the sealing TD. At the end of the run, the player essentially showed the ball to a chasing opponent, who punched him in the back and precipitated a bench clearing brawl; Thursday the NC Independent Schools Athletic Association suspended both coaches (the highly regarded Bruce Hardin of Providence, former Carolina Panther safety Mike Minter of First Assembly) from this past week's game.

The rationale was that *someone* had to be held accountable, and the ideals of sportsmanship had to be upheld. I offer a split opinion, and I look to the Oregon-Boise St. brawl that started the current college season for obvious similarities. The Oregon player who sucker-punched the Boise player was suspended for the year, a harsh but realistic punishment under the circumstances. This HS game though, well, there was an article in the Charlotte Observer about how the Providence Day players apologized to their coach at their Saturday morning meeting because they recognized how their actions reflected on him, and while I didn't see anything from Mike Minter about punishing the original taunter, I believe justice was done over a heat-of-the-moment incident. Suspending the coaches, I guess its legitimate, but I am seldom in favor of putting the blame on anyone but the specific parties, meaning those two players whose actions began things.

As for rugby, it wouldn't have made a difference if I'd had the day off because the top local group, Charlotte Rugby Club (see www.charlotterugby.com ) was in Washington, DC, where the First and Second XV both registered victories. I do have exceptionally fond memories of being a Schenectady Red and having at it in weather like Saturday's in the Upstate (NY) Rugby Union. I played for 12 seasons, beginning on the wing and ending my career as a flyhalf (most would equate it with quarterback, though scrumhalfs might argue), but watching while quaffing a few will hopefully be a possibility in the near future.

Coincidentially, that aspect of my athletic career ended in the Fall of 1986. I lacked what might be called a 'good foot' as a flyhalf; most can thump a long punt in their sleep. Having been *starved* for ball at the wing (and even after moving to outside center) for years because of constantly kicking flyhalfs however, I promised my 'B' side backs that we would be running the ball religiously and letting other teams worry about tackling us. It worked well--we were 5-1-1 before my final injury (and may I warn any/all readers to *NEVER* get into a discussion about injuries with a rugger. Not going to belabor the point, just don't!)

I guess the other team figured out I wasn't going to cause them any strategic problems by kicking, because late in the first half, as I turned to spin the ball out, I saw ALL the opposing backs already across the imaginary line behind their teams scrum and charging hard at those I intended to pass to. Like a good option QB I kept the ball and cut into the area away from those otherwise occupied forwards and...I swear I could hear something like that "ahhh-ah-ahh!' chorus of angels you always get in the movies when something religiously special is happening. I know the sun was shining brighter and the grass was *definitely* greener as I took off into territory almost totally without others. It was probably 40 yards to the goalline, and about 5 yards out the fullback finally arrived, but I planted on my left, let him flail past me, then, having locked out a troublesome knee (I was using an inadequate neophrene sleeve) backward, I hobbled the remaining distance and planted the ball between the posts, scoring to end my career.

Limping to the sidelines, I told someone to go in, my knee was finished. "Quit being such a pussy Shorks," came the reply, "there's only like 15 seconds left in the half." If you've ever participated, you know the attitude.

It should be noted that Charlotte fields three sides (the 3rd XV are called the Socialites and play essentially 'friendlies') and while their First XV is designated a Super League team since 2006, they have added youth, high school and U-19s into their organization this year.

Ahhh, rugby memories! The Knickerbockers (Albany, NY) were essentially a Super League team in the Northeast, and my Reds nemesis. I still have a championship hat from the 1981 Upstate Tournament where we beat them in a 'B' side match in the semi-finals, shutting them out until the final play of the game, when one of our players punched a Knick who was holding him, right in front of a referee.

Here's the point for anyone who gets into a situation like those Providence players:
You always play hard, and as angry as the Providence team might have been about the taunting, my team had lost 13 STRAIGHT TIMES to the Knicks--can you imagine how we would have felt if we hadn't won that game on the second overtime penalty kick? No great memory of two entire days of outstanding defense in that tournament, that swaggering knowledge of having done the deed that carries on for *years*. We knew that getting a try or even a couple penalty kick points meant we'd win because our guys (and yes, some "rugby whores", guys we gave jerseys to and became Reds for the day) were absolutely STIFFING people. All that would have become nothing, because baby, if you get ejected or suspended, you ain't in the game at all!

Glenn S.

Just Like the Old Days

I'm going to a sports bar to watch this Sunday's NFL games, but that's not *exactly* what I mean about the old days. It's also not about Panther QB Jake Delhomme's unreasonably poor performance as the hometown guys coughed up *SEVEN* turnovers while getting thumped in their home opener by the Eagles, looking like an expansion team instead of 12-4 division champs.

"The old days" is about watching college football until my eyes are ready to bleed, and even if I had to work Saturday afternoon, multiple pre- and post-game highlights shows filled me in on all the extraordinary events. Thankfully I don't have to get up and change the channel like in the OLD old days, but from the stunningly great Boise St.-Fresno St. slugfest in 100 degree heat Friday night through the straight-ahead comments by Georgia's Joe Cox after throwing five TDs in a 52-41 win over Arkansas (and yes, watching Auburn's 'D' hold off West-by-God Virginia), I was a happy camper. Cox, who announcers mentioned never lost a game in high school, is a local Charlotte product, part of that Independence juggernaut that won 7 state titles in a row, and while he is going to be compared to recently departed #1 overall NFL pick Matt Stafford, I'd bet its going to continue being a favorable comparison. For a guy who couldn't have gotten a lot of 'mike time' as a collegiate QB, Cox is an exceptionally polished performer there as well, no umms and ya' knows at all.

If you saw the Fresno-Boise game Friday night, or the enthusiasm of an absolutely drenched crowd that stayed for the Auburn-WV game despite a torrential downpour and PA announcements about lightening and staying "at your own risk", THAT is what's most charming about the collegiate game. While a lot of those players will only fulfill themselves at this level, they are busting it for glory while they can.

I can't immediately recall the players, but one RB for Fresno scored three times on 60 yard-plus runs, and a Boise back had HUGE runs on consecutive possessions, one off a simple check off pass that he took 70-plus, outrunning the angles the defense tried to use, the second something that looked like a practice run against the scout team--nobody around him coming back to the right until waaay late on a 65-yarder. That the Fresno QB took some *sick* hits, one on a scramble where you KNEW that the defender who crunched him but stayed down was feeling it too, another where the defensive end *launched* himself over a blocker and crash landed on the shoulders of that Bulldog quarterback, thats worth watching. The announcers mentioned that 'launching' deal would have drawn a fine in the NFL, but the wow! factor is what I appreciate, and having several games going, every one of them hard-core action and roaring "those are our boys!"crowds, thats better than the NFL any old day.

Notre Dame *finally* beating Michigan State in South Bend after 6 losses in a row? You're darn right about being happy for your players Charlie Weis, and just maybe the alumni will get off your back for a week because of it. USC losing, AGAIN, to a Pac-10 opponent on the road? I loved Pete Carroll's classy analysis about being glad for a former assistant because victories like that mean a lot to rebuilding programs, "but I hate that it happened" because it will turn the Trojans season into a real scramble, thats goooood stuff. Texas Tech and Texas going at it after the ohmygod! finale of last year? Three cheers for Colt McCoy for sure, but doesn't it amaze you that those Tech receivers never seem to drop passes that are frequently stuck into some incredibly tight spaces? Florida's Tim Tebow going without a TD pass for the first time in 31 games, but messing with Tennessee's mouthy Lane Kifflin (wasn't that Tim putting him in a headlock?) before the game and, helmet off and sincere as heck, telling the 'Gators around him how things were going to go from some point in the game forward, that's what is sooo good about watching college football.

My brother Mike cheers for the Univ. of South Florida, which has come a very long way since it began a Division I program, because they didn't even have football when he graduated in 1981. He still pastes a USF logo on his truck and talks in terms of 'we' when conversing about the Bulls, as in, "We play Miami and Florida St. this year, and we play Florida next year." He about lost it two years ago when USF made it to #2 in the country (actually, they were undefeated through middle of their schedule and LOTS of major teams got beat when *they* got to #2), even bought the special pay for view package in order to watch them play Rutgers, who beat them fairly handily. They've lost every time he's seen them actually, including a bowl game vs. NC State here in Charlotte--I wonder if he'd stop watching them for the good of the program...

I missed calling my Uncle Frank about the Gators-Vols game, something I did every year until he died two years ago. He wasn't always confident about Florida winning, having been disappointed for many years when the team would climb high in the polls and then blow up, and of course, Tennessee had Peyton Manning for several of those years. That game meant something to me though; even if I didn't always send a Christmas card, I knew Uncle Frank was going to be watching, and even a few minutes on the phone meant we were connected.

That's the biggest difference between watching college ball and whatever I see watching the Panthers this afternoon--you root for the institution and The Boys who are currently there because those team colors are painted on your heart. Uncle Frank was Orange & Blue all the way through, and I'm thankful to have one of his bobble-head Gators watching me write. Of course I'll cheer for the local guys wherever I wind up today, but next week I will again watch late college games as long as I can keep my eyes open.

Glenn S.

Umpiring Softball was Muuuuch Easier

Without belaboring the Serena Williams situation TOO much, because I believe she is starting on the right path to having this judged as "one of those things that sometimes happens", I'd like to put a few situations I ran into as a softball umpire out there for consideration.

There are four or five particularly relevant moments that come to mind, and up front, arc or slow-pitch softball is MILES away from hard-core NBA, NFL or even tennis tournament umpiring. When you do leagues, you *almost* become friends with the players; the greatest compliment I ever got was the player who said, "I hate the way you call the high strike, but you call it the same all the time." That's essentially what both umpires and refs of any station should be shooting for, because there is NO doubt that players will always want to question your basic fairness if you deviate slightly either direction for or against us or them. You see an NBA ref that seems to be explaining things with a coach while watching a free throw, well, sometimes you have to invest some explanation time vs. just saying, "I made the call."

The most profound and closest-to-the-Serena type moment involved 'Mongito' in Tampa, FL. After having been called out by the plate umpire on a ball barely above dirt level, he pounded his bat on the ground leaving the batters box and half-shouted, "Jesus!" in frustration. That ump, a *very* straight-laced and religious person, immediately ejected him from the game for swearing, a fact Mongito's teammates let him know about just as immediately, and all HELL broke loose. I seem to recall at least three players restraining their 5'0" captain, but then the ump declared the game OVER and I *knew* the shit had hit the fan.

For the sake of accuracy, Mongito's team was Hispanic, and I was thankful that my buddy Ivan was able to explain that yes, the furious Mongito could put up $50 to protest the team's forfeit, but I really couldn't say anything about what the other ump had done.

Example two is simple: one of the players used the N-word while complaining about his ejection by my fellow 'blue'. The runner came around third on a hit to center, the throw was great even if the catcher moved a little up the line, and when the runner plowed into him, the ejection was automatic--the rule is you *have* to slide. The fact that one team was all black mattered less than the all-white team having only nine players; the rule was you couldn't play with eight, so the ejection ended the game. The fact I was holding back a guy who was VERY thick in the chest and ready to go with the player over his use of that particular word is the opposite situation of the Serena case: the large, angry, black person happened to be the umpire. The point is, you see someone with that kind of fire in their eyes, you have every reason to be afraid.

Situation #3--Long fly ball, actually out of bounds (but no fence) is caught in left field, and runner at second tags and goes. The throw to third hits a light pole and *richocets* into center field. Not knowing the ground rules, I call time and go find the complex supervisor, who tells me its runners advance ONE BASE. Wearing topsiders and a tank top, I'd fill in for the game during a tournament with a pretty decent competitive reputation. Whether it was the informal attire vs. my usual 3-patch blue shirt, shorts and cleats that failed to engender respect, I don't know, but even after explaining the ground rules, that team, and one female in particular, kept after that call constantly for was seemed like forever. Finally I took a couple steps towards their dugout and said, "I hear ONE MORE WORD about it from *anyone* and SHE goes!" Amazing the power you feel being right, and they didn't test me.

The final situation, home team down by one in the sixth. Base umpire calls first batter out when he's safe, the second, an obvious make-up, safe when he's soooo out, which causes the entire infield to jump on him. He calls time, asks if he blew it that bad, to which I saw Oh yeah! His only out is to ask for my help by saying he was blocked on the call, something that should NEVER happen on a play at first. I call the runner out, they get a run anyway. Bottom of next inning, batter hits a towering fly to right field, where the outfielder is playing him like he is King Kong. While he runs in and takes the ball on a short hop and pegs it to second, the batter never gives up, slides into second with a bang-bang play. The other ump, who'd drifted towards the outfield on the fly ball, turns around AND SHRUGS HIS SHOULDERS! He didn't have a call on the play. I saw it, call the runner out, he goes as ballistic as Serena, uses the right (or wrong) combination of words and I toss him.

I don't know why the foot fault call couldn't have been reviewed. The technology was certainly available for any other service or line call, and while I personally feel Serena wasn't going to beat Clijster's that night in any case, if she could say, "You've got to be F--king KIDDING me! Put that crappy call on the Jumbotron!" like McEnroe would have, things *might* not have escalated to the point they did.

As an umpire we had a saying: "The only guy you can count on out there is the one dressed like you." While it was a brutal time to make a call like that lines judge did, the chair umpire HAD to back her, especially in light of the frightening spectacle Serena screaming like that provided. You might say, like I did about Mongito and his team being bounced, "Hoooooo-ly SHIT!" at which side you have to stick with. Truthfully, I've turned to other people at tennis tournaments and said, "What game is she watching?" and at the end of the whole affair, you can see why they put instant replay into football and yes, instituted the 'Mac-Cam' in tennis. Two looks at the instant replay could have spared everyone a lot of grief.

And for sure, umpiring softball is definitely easier, even when I did a medium-pitch league and called like 10 walks on this one pitcher who kept complaining about my strike zone, and then I found out he was freaking *blind* in one of HIS eyes...

Glenn S.

Opposite Ends of the Spectrum

Unbelievable as it was to see, Serena Williams *did* do and say all those outrageously bad things that ended her US Open match with Kim Clijsters, and nothing about it being a terrible foot fault call or the subsequent penalty point that ended things can overcome my dismay about the situation. For someone who is almost always a rock mentally and physically to go off in as public a display as Serena did is kind of unthinkable, close to that moment that Woody Hayes belted a Clemson football player for intercepting a pass that sealed a loss for Ohio State many years ago.

That long ago event is still stuck in my memory banks, and I have a feeling Serena's abusive acts are going to stay with me quite a while too. Soooo out of character, because the Williams sisters have done an exceptional job of being quality competitors and people. While its obvious they are Afro-American ladies, that does zero to change my opinions about them as athletes, which is all about positives--they achieve the level of game that made Chris Evert or Martina or Steffi great in the minds of those who care about tennis. Whether you give their father credit for putting steel into them that allowed extreme calm or awareness so they wouldn't be overtly controversial, resulting in careers relatively free of finger pointing, they've weathered some career ups and downs. At one point it seemed they would totally dominate the sport with their speed and power, but they've always been diplomatic at all points. That Serena was obtuse and somewhat evasive during the post match press conference, I am just flat out stunned about the whole affair.

That the unranked and inspired Clijsters will be playing in the finals is a boon to all actually. You can't see her slugging away, doing those incredible full splits to get to balls impossibly deep in a corner (ask Venus Wiliams) and not think she would be a terrific champion. Coming back to the level she's attained after retiring and having children, that is an exceptional feat. Kudos to 17 year old Melanie Oudin for her run during the tournament too, you expect to see more of her in the future.

The other end of the spectrum from Serena came from Michigan's freshman QB Tate Forcier, who had a terrific game and wound up throwing the winning TD pass against Notre Dame with 11 seconds to go. When they stuck a microphone in front of him immediately after that 38-34 barnburner, he was thrilled about everything, but said he hadn't been at all nervous, even with 105,000 people hanging on every play. He even calmly assessed Notre Dame coach Charlie Weis' throwing two incomplete passes so Michigan got the ball back on a punt and allowed time for their last successful drive with, "those (two) time outs came in handy," a straight up observation that 1000 sports pundits will question Weis about for quite a while into the future.

Really people, let's admit that its muuuuch easier to hide whatever might be going on inside your helmet or guts when there are 85 other guys milling around, when you can sit on the sidelines and work things out regarding your specific role in a TEAM operation vs. being sweatily alone. Forcier was of 23-33 for 240 yards and a couple TDs, plus he ran for 70 yards, including 31 for a TD on a QB keeper after faking the jock off a Notre Dame player, but he didn't have to try covering Notre Dame's wide outs, who had a great afternoon in their own right. If you're up against the wall with someone who represents a human backboard, is taking your best shots and feeding them to you time after time, the immediacy of not knowing how the heck you do enough things 'righter' can certainly put you on edge.

If you've ever had a "friendly" game of *anything* go truly sour because your opponent pulled something noxious, perhaps having some 6'3" dipshit slam a spike into your girlfriend's face in a backyard BBQ volleyball match, maybe you can understand the difference. I would certainly have a HUGE problem with having a foot fault called at that point in a match, but I'd like to think as a professional that I could do better than lose an important match by threatening a lines judge. McEnroe might be the standard bearer for such personal pyrotechnics--I mentioned in my previous blog about seing him hold up a Seniors tour game for almost ten minutes while asking the umpire to overrule a service call--but he seemed to be able to channel that aggression remarkably well afterwards.

We cheer those youngsters (Matt Barkley of USC was similarly calm during an amazing 14-play, 84 yard, almost 6 1/2 minutes final drive against Ohio State, but with a shower of "Praise Gods!" and "It was amazings!" for the microphones afterwards) who produce in the clutch. We'll see if Forcier and Barkley are as gracious when they lose several close games and some fans question their size or mental capacity or whatever. Right now, I expect Serena will do some public apologizing for her actions; she'll look at the tapes of her press conference and admit her answers were lousy compared to the gravity of what she'd done. She didn't have any leeway for recovery from that meltdown, and while its easy to be an armchair quarterback and ask what Weis was doing throwing passes vs. running the clock out, she was 100% responsible, and I expect she'll work on fixing this blast to her reputation.

Glenn S.

Wall-banging Tennis and Breezeplay Championships

Inspired by some great tennis at the US Open (sorry again Andy R.) I got out my antique Prince Titanium Longbody and whacked a half hour worth of tennis balls against a good section of wall down the street. It sure is comforting to know I can still put serves where I want to and crank a two-handed backhand with that good topspin, and just maybe I'll try hitting with a real person in the near future. Tennis, like cycling, is a life sport I really enjoy, even if its by myself.

One thing for sure, I expect the gentlemen who will be strutting what they still have during the Breezeplay Championships at The Palisades Sept. 24-27 will be a little more worth catching in person. Pete Sampras will be attending this year, and as a volunteer I've had an excellent time watching a lot of good tennis at this seniors event, tucked away on the border of North-South Carolina near Lake Wylie and a decent chunk of driving from Charlotte. My Good Time judging criteria is "Would I pay for this if I wasn't working?" and yes, despite the somewhat inconvenient location, the Tim Wilkinson Signature Sports Complex has provided terrific socializing and entertaining clay court tennis. The crowds don't seem to have been deterred by the distance, even when there was that ghastly gas crunch and rain year three, and thats all Jim Currier, who organized this Outback supported seniors tour, could ask for.

While its not the intensity of a US Open or Wimbledon, this tournament provides an intimate showcase for why people still like to attend live events, even if there's no instant replay and the bathrooms are in a trailer (a very nice trailer though). Stadium seating makes every seat (approx. 3000) a good one, allowing for player interaction with the crowd and each other to be heard and enjoyed. Anyone who saw John McEnroe hold up proceedings over a bad service call knows these guys aren't just going through the motions either. I drove Mac's long time agent from the airport the first year, and he said Mr. McEnroe still cares about things being done right; if you saw John, shirt tail out and still wearing long pants, hitting serves to Djocovic on Labor Day, you get the idea he still stays sharp. On that particular service point, John was rightfully insistent that, after the umpire finally agreed a ball mark was long, it shouldn't be "play the point over" (Mac had blocked the ball into the net, expecting a long call), it should be 2nd serve. Yes, the man cares.

Two particular moments about volunteering there really bring the focus in sharp. Driving an ailing but game Aaron Krickstein back to the hotel, I got both an analysis of my game ("If you hit your strokes with depth and consistency like you say, have a pretty strong serve and move it around, you're probably a 4.0; being able to hit 12-15 in a row, that might be the difference from being a 3.5") and the chance to ask a real sportswriters question I'd had for about 20 years.

"This young man, should he some day be at Centre Court at Wimbledon, will never have as much pressure on him as he's facing right now," was a TV commentator's acutely honest assessment of a seemingly out of control situation, a Davis Cup match with drumming and blood-curdling screaming between points being a central and significant fact. When I asked Aaron about it, he just nodded and said, "Paraguay, 1987."

"Brutal situation" was the believable introduction to Krickstein's recollection. "There's no doubt those guys were cheating like hell during the entire tie. Don't get me wrong, they played some good tennis, like (a player) who was ranked like #156 and played his ASS off, and Jaime Yzaga was tough on clay, but it was an unreal atmosphere. Lots of s**t was going on, judges were calling foot faults like nothing you've seen, and the Swedish officiating crew sure wasn't going to do anything about protesting calls.

"Jimmy Arias had lost his reverse singles earlier, so it was 2-2, mine would be the Davis Cup deciding match. I knew we were in trouble early on when one of my shots goes wide and a line judge jumped in the air yelling HOORAY! There are like six Americans in the stands, including my Dad and the trainer, and EVERY POINT the place goes physically nuts." His bottom line memory: "It wasn't actually the worst thing in the world to have lost and gotten out of there, safely on the bus, and back to our hotel." Listening to the pride he has in his tennis school business-family life, then hearing straight-up how one particularly intense semi-shared situation actually felt for a top-caliber athlete, that's an unpaid benefit to helping out on interesting events.

The second moment came as an usher. After catching a terrific overtime match with Serge Brugerra and Jim Currier, I saw Pat Cash (who is scheduled to play this year too) and McEnroe play a superb match, primarily because, after getting waxed in the first set, Cash started chasing down everything thrown at him, serving well, being a pro who cared about his play-reputation.

I'd seated a girl-brother down close, 2nd row behind Cash's bench, because nobody had come for the seats through the earlier match, so why not give impressionable youngsters the best possible experience, right? At the end of his second set comeback, after chasing McEnroe's shot cross-court and running out of bounds, Cash grabs a headband from his bag and throws it right at the girl's face. She instinctively ducked, the guy behind her got a high quality souvenir, but post-match they were thankful, personally thrilled with the near miss. That, the two guys who wanted to give me a $5 handshake (I declined) after putting them in the first section instead of the packed bleachers so they got an A-1 view of that Brugerra-Currier match, and talking to the young family in the first row of those bleachers, the little girl staying calm if tired through a late match while the boy scored a signed ball from Cash, those are quality moments. Such experiences cost nothing and are the central reason I'll continue volunteering for this tournament.

So far, InsideOut Sports and Entertainment (Currier's organization) has slugged nothing but winners here in Charlotte, and while I may have wasted Krickstein's analysis by not getting into a league where I could work on that consistency, I *do* have an intro with an on-line date who is a tennis instructor, so just maybe I can give up pounding that wall soon.

Glenn S.

MS Ride Still a Challenge, but...

The North Carolina version of the National Multiple Sclerosis biking-for-fundraising event is now called the BB&T Tour to Tanglewood, and while I wish everyone a safe and successful ($1.2 million is the goal) ride up there in the Triad-Piedmont the weekend of Sept. 26-27, I won't be participating.

It's not about trying to get $400 in contributions from friends, family, co-workers during trying economic times or that maybe I can't push my 52-year old body like I used to. Nope, simple fact is, the challenge is gone, and whether I should be willing to put my healthy self in service to others might be a legitimate question. Legit but no, sorry, I want the fun and challenge I remember when this ride was was called the MS 150 Bike to the Beach.

I've done that ride four times, and in 2006, after busting it pretty well (avg. 21mph) while drafting a couple tandem riders, I was having one of those joyous gatherings the MS 150 put on for lunch when an ambulance went back down the course, and everyone wondered how bad some rider had gotten hurt. It turned out a girl (my apologies for not remembering her name--it turned out her family actually attended the same church as me) was killed, the only fatality the ride had ever sustained. While the family told everyone concerned that she wouldn't have wanted to cause the event any problems, things changed beginning the next year. When it became two-75 mile loops around Myrtle Beach vs. the glory of riding alllll the way across the state, and I'd have to foot the expenses of driving across the state and two days in a hotel because I couldn't just get up early and drive to the starting line, that kind of took the romance out of it. Pardon me for saying this, but it seemed to have become JUST about the money.

Personally, starting the ride in Rockingham and ending Day One in Florence--although that last year it was a memorable stop in Darlington--wading into the ocean briefly, having a deserved couple cold ones at the end before napping on a bus ride back (bikes were shipped in moving vans), then finishing a contemplative drive back to Charlotte as the sun set, was a great weekend. I felt I'd achieved something, and it was kind of secondary that I'd also benefitted those who were less physically fortunate by doing the fundraising.

That last year was special, including the fact that the team I'd done some Sunday morning training with (the Mojos, who provided a *great* spread of food and beverages, including escargot and petite chocolate desserts!) won both People's Choice and Judges Award for best jersey, and *I* was the ONLY team rider around to accept because everyone else left for the hotel. There was actually the purity of "slapping the wall" in semi-sympatico with those NASCAR drivers because they let us ride around the track at the end. Finding out the local high school wasn't an option for sleeping accomodations was an unkind surprise, one that multiplied when, despite what they told us about having diligently *attempted* to kill the fire ants in the nearby camping area, those ants were still pretty active, even if not swarming. I eventually got about two hours sleep by moving to the tarmac and sacking out under one of the massage tents, thankful for the breeze of two large fans, the heck with those up-real-late guys still guzzling at the beer truck and watching the Tennessee game. It was 88 miles the second day, and I felt great almost all the way because its *supposed* to be a challenge, and I'd done the training to deserve it being easier.

Riding across the state with several thousand people, checking out who I might vote as 'Best Buns', that was cool stuff. That there had been tens of thousands of riders and doubtless MILLIONS of miles riden before that unfortunate fatality was a testament to the state and local police and authorities who did everything possible to make the ride safe. Everyone cheerfully said, "Thank you sir!" as we passed cops, and talked amiably with all the volunteers that go into making such an operation work smoothly. Somehow going on a 90 mile-two day loop, even with options to take additional side loops to turn the ride into a 'century' (100 miler) doesn't seem to measure up. Maybe I'm the only guy that feels the thrill should be part of it, I dunno.

It might not be the greatest analogy, but while hitting a bucket of range balls yesterday, I sliced a 7-iron like I was Kevin Costner in 'Tin Cup' and zapped one of those ever-present geese right in the head. It went down flapping, all the other geese came crowding around to see what was wrong with 'Freddie' as I named the unfortunate one. At the turn I mentioned the conking to the snack bar lady and she said, "Oh, he's fine. He's blind in one eye, but he's eating and swimming no problem." While I might beg to differ about how being half-blind and "just fine" equate, I *know* those geese will still be on the range tomorrow, and I'm not giving up golf either. The point is, stuff happens, and maybe the event is safer now on a shorter, better controlled course. I just won't be there.

Glenn S.

"Eagle Eye Fleegle" I'm Not

Periodically I try to test myself with something different sporting-wise. When I was turning forty I swam 100 yards against the national breaststroke champ just to see how close things might turn out (not that close). Earlier this year I took advantage of my brother's invitation to go skeet shooting, and while Heminway probably would have spit in disgust, I admit being fairly pleased with the results and encouragement I received from my nephews at dinner afterwards. I know my nephews Ian and Ryan certainly deserve any "Eagle Eye" monikers better than I, but hey, they shoot a LOT.

Qualifying things just a little, skeet has a semi-circular concrete pad with five stations and 'birds' come out of 'high' or 'low' houses to either side. The trickiest shots are when they come out together from opposite sides of course, but the speed (about 40 mph) and location are always consistent. Last month I got to test my skills at Rocky Creek in Richburg, SC, and this time it was sporting clays, a very big difference--a total of 12 stations with a muuuch wider range of situations. Those situations include 'rabbits' (targets that roll along the ground), 'report pairs', where the trapper releases the B target after hearing a first shot, and TRUE pairs meaning they come out together, do what you can about them before they land or get too far away. There are considerations like wind and background coloration that enter in as well, and that is an obvious difference between trained/young eyes and novice/definitely old eyes; I didn't even bother wasting shells shooting at a wooded station where, even after watching my nephew Ryan and brother Steve, I had no clue about the targets until I heard them land.

My biggest flaw isn't that I shoot left-eye, although that required borrowing a Baretta over-under so I didn't have shell casings eject across the front of my face. "You have to get on it sooner Uncle Glenn" Ryan offered after the first time; "Remember to move the barrel some to distribute the shot, its not a rifle!" Ian added, but some habits aren't easy to overcome. The safety factor, because this IS real lead, is easier to gain because you get made aware of every time you don't follow the rules, so you remember to 'break' the gun to carry it and don't turn towards people even if you're sure there's no live ammunition in the barrel.

Feeling good about an 'official' 39/100 was aided by the fact I powdered 4 of 6 'extra' ones at the final station when I used the shells I didn't use earlier. That I was so proud about knocking off 7/10 on the first station wasn't diminished when Steve smiled and said, "Yeah, you get a long time to see them, coming from across the field and then left-to-right, and its designed to get your confidence up early." I only got shut out (0/10) on one station, but if thats like putting a couple into the water and taking a drop en route to a snowman in golf, I've been there, done that.

As for those "eagle eye" nephews, if I wasn't overly impressed with Ryan when we shot because he 'only' had a 54, he proved that everyone can just have a bad day. He's got quite a reputation as a 'Rookie' shooter already, and he shot 73/72 on consecutive days while his 3-man team (So. Carolina champs) had a 387 at the World Shooting & Recreation Complex in Sparta, IL, good enough for 3rd place, just off second at 391. Ian, who is in the Sr. Advanced category, shot 83/87, with his team's 513/600 putting them 6th of 52 (first was 560).

I don't know that I'll ever get the opportunity to shoot at anything live, or that I'd want to put the effort into trying. A wildebeest or lion on safari? Fugidaboutit! although a camera might be a 'killer' shoot of another kind. I've heard an awful lot of stories about guys carefully waiting through cold and boring days to get a shot at a deer, turkeys are supposed to be WAY too smart for a guy like me to get, and ducks/geese, where you sit in a blind or field and if they see your face they just wheel away, thats not as fulfilling as even an hour worth of jump shooting in my book.

As a personal challenge though, I'm definitely for getting on the course again. At least I now have a 'baseline' score to judge things against.

Glenn S.