The Defense Will Not Rest

To paraphrase Ron Burgundy - I'm not sure you're aware of this but my Father is kind of a big deal.  For the last thirty-five years my Dad has been a quasi-celebrity in Northern Maine.  "Amongst the whole sixty-thousand people that live out there on the edge of the world?" You ask mockingly. I nod and avoid punching you.  I'm back to punching by the way.  I figure when your Father is slowly passing away you've got a pretty solid excuse.  Not that I ever really left punching.  I'm a huge fan of solving problems with violence.  Not with guns, knives or explosives mind you and never with a family member, loved one or friend but a good old fashioned fist-fight with a stranger in a bar/traffic/the mall never hurt anybody.  Okay, the guy getting hit in the face was probably hurt, I'm talking long term damage.  I see know that this last paragraph kind of jumped the tracks, let's start over.

For those of you that don't know, my Dad has been one of the preeminent criminal defense attorneys in Maine for the last three decades.  He's been making an argument his entire adult life.  His Go To Trial Over Anything mentality made him notorious amongst DA's and famous amongst Criminals.  Some of his more commonly referenced quotes are:

"Not prepared for a DUI trial?  Let me tell you something, somewhere right now a guy is getting drunk and is going to try to drive home.  I'm already ready for that trial!"

"You're damn right I put you on trial as a bad mother and the reason your son committed the crime because guess what - you're a horrible mother!" 

"Why did I call him a beady-eyed pedophile?  Because he's been convicted of having sex with children and his eyes are too close together."

And my personal favorite.  "Lady, I'm the smartest person you're ever gonna meet."

In many ways his love of the good fight crossed over into his personal life.  Not that he's taken any family members to court - that I am aware of.  It's that there was always an argument in my house.  I'm not talking about in a screaming and yelling sense (most of the time), you just had to be able to Defend Your Point.  You had to be able to make your case the same way he did.  Only problem was nobody can out argue my Old Man (and if you did you were probably sent to your room, unless he needed somebody to come change the channel then all was forgiven).  It's the reason why I can be such a colossal prick at times and my Sister is capable of being a total pain in the ass.  Even my Mom (the Saint of the family) would admit she's far less likely to hold her tongue on a topic now then before she met her husband.  As my Dad likes to say, they didn't raise any victims. 

Today was a good day with my Dad.  He was far more coherent.  As it turns out far more coherent equals far more argumentative.  That's okay though.  We were happy to have him participate in the conversations even if his positions crossed well beyond the ridiculous.  This morning, the Old Man argued with a doctor over his oxygen count.  It's important to mention here that my Father, as smart as he is, has ZERO medical training.  Until his oxygen levels became an issue I'd bet he didn't have a clue as to what a proper oxygen levels was.  Today he debated it like an expert on the topic.  He argued with us as to what day it was - not so expertly but to the entertainment of us all in the room.  He argued over the Sox/Yankees game.  No one disagreed with him on this point but doggonit did he argue.  We loved it.  We joyfully engaged in each silly one.  More than anything we were thrilled to know he was still fighting. 

Jim Croce was Right

My Father, the selfish, cancer riddled bastard, is in the hospital.  On Sunday afternoon he slipped and fell on the garage steps.  It didn't seem like much but when we had trouble getting him back up we called the EMTs.  Once he was on the gurney the decision was made to take him to the hospital and get him checked out for saftey's sake.  He seemed fine.  He said he had no additional pain and based on how he was bossing everyone around he appeared to be his usual pugnacious self. 

I only stayed at the hospital for a little while because my Dad was doing well and as my Sister pointed out chemo takes a toll on an immune system so a germ factory like a hospital is no place to be.  Personally, I think this was her attempt to get me out of there and convince the Old Man in his weakened state to write me out of the will.  I wasn't worried, my Mother was there and I'm clearly her favorite (she doesn't even try to hide it), I knew she had my back.  Also, you'd need to have some kind of money or property to have a will, my Father has gone to great lengths to have neither.

Last night I spent the night at the hopital with him until I was nodding off in a wooden chair so uncomfortable it could have been used in the Spanish Inquisition.  The hospital was still a germ factory but my Father's condition had not improved.  It had worsened and I did not want to be waiting at home for an emergency call to rush in.  His oxygen levels were low and he was getting a blood transfusion.  On the plus side my Sister had gone home around nine so I got my chance to work my way back into the non-existent inheritance.  You here that Sis!  That 1990 red, white and blue Honda Prelude (that has trouble going into park) is all mine!

But here is why I call my Father selfish.  I don't know how much longer the Old Man has and I haven't had time enough to do all the stuff I planned on doing with him.  I've never been able to surprise him with a classic car.  A trip to Canton or Cooperstown.  A chance to share in my eventual success.  A chance to hold his eventual grandchildren.  If I'd have known that the time I had left with him was so precious I wouldn't have wasted so damn much of it.  If he'd had bothered to just tell me, maybe I could have made things happen a lot sooner.  If at anytime over the last nine years of him fighting off his cancer - with what seemed like the strength of thousands - he'd said "I don't know how much longer I can do this."  Well, I don't know what I would have done but I feel like I would have done something.  

So for now, we wait for some kind of real life Dr. House (I've never seen the show but from the looks of the previews he's a pretty fair doctor and if I'd referenced Quincy or Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman he'd either be undergoing an autopsy or having leeches stuck to his chest) to stride through the door and tell us he's got it all figured out.  Until that happens, we pray.

Just like this one, only older, slower and without the professional paint job.

The Powers that Be and Don't Be

Hurricane Irene has finally struck the House of Jules.  Power has been out for a little over an hour now and after rummaging through a dozen or so drawers looking for candles (my parents have long lived by the old saying hope for the best, fight through the worst and plan for none of it) I am typing this by candle light, computer battery and a verizon hotspot.  Part of me wishes this blog posting was by inkwell, quill and parchment but since my handwriting looks like that of a moderately trained gorilla I'll settle for my keypad and the whimsical feelings of ye olde timey communication. 

Having recently made my way through half of David McCulluogh's John Adams I couldn't help but wish I had on a long nightdress and stocking cap while walking around the house in the dark.  It's a great book, an amazing mini-series and if you are a fan of the freedoms that we used to have in this country it's pretty inspiring.  I hope you'll excuse me if I throw in some colonial times lingo here and there. 

Whither to this morrow... kidding, kidding.  Not even sure what that means really. 

The other thing I was thinking about while I was stumbling around in the dark is how many bad horror movies begin like this.  A sickly but classically handsome man at home alone in the middle of a storm.  The power suddenly goes out.  He thinks its the storm not realizing that a deranged serial killer just escaped from the nearby mental institute.  While I type this someone could be creeping up behind me.  I could be in grave danger and not aaggghhh... gkghjyrmvlhy.

I'm fine.  The candles are burning, I'm still wickedly charming and I've still got perfectly curable Hodgkin's Lymphoma that I've managed to get way too much attention and sympathy over.  All is right in the world. 

Beware of the Shadow Warrior

If growing up in the eighties taught me anything it's that Ninjas are real and you never know when they will strike.  Remember The Master Ninja staring Lee Van Cleef and a young, poorly facially manicured Demi Moore (don't worry, nobody else does either.  But check out those eyebrows!)?  Master Ninja [VHS]  As a boy I was always diligently on the lookout for poison darts and throwing stars that could appear seemingly out of nowhere.  As you can imagine I was a very nervy boy and had to constantly explain why my hands were up in a defensive posture.  Although I am not extensively trained in the martial arts I have seen all five American Ninja movies (watch them in order or you may have trouble following the intricate storyline) so I feel preeeetty well versed in the matter. 

I bring this up because thanks to my recent surgery I am feeling unprepared for the first time since I was eight-years-old for a possible Ninja attack.  Over the last two days I've had trouble standing up quickly and karate chopping the air, diving behind pieces of furniture and adopting the crane pose.  I know the last one is from Karate Kid but come on, that's a kick ass movie right?  Just last night I couldn't manage to hold up a book with my left hand while in bed - how am I to avoid possible decapitation when I can't even hold up a book?  What am I doing wasting my time reading anyway?

I am taking great risk with this posting.  Once the Ninjas know you are at your weakest that's when they are most likely to strike.  I am hoping for a speedy recovery but in the mean time I will take in a double feature of Gymkata and The Octagon to look for tips.  

   

 

Would Vegas Make Odds on This?

I had surgery today.  That Picc Line that had dangled from my arm for the last month and infiltrated my formerly enjoyable Football Dreams is gone and a Port-a-cath in my chest has taken its place.  For the record I had the Picc Line taken out on Tuesday (which lead to the founding of Raft City) but I didn't want to mention it here for fear of jinxing the Port-a-cath procedure. 

I had been warned that if it turned out the glands in my chest were still too swollen for the Port then I would have to go back to the Picc.  A doubly whammy of sorts - unsuccessful surgery plus another insertion of the infernal Picc Line.  As every Police Officer that has ever warned me in the past knows, warnings mean nothing to me.  I figured pull it and be damned.  I got to live a solid 48 hours like a regular, properly hygienic, person and not a cat in fear of the water.  Now we're back to sutures and dressings and having to avoid getting wet - but only for a day or so and not a whole damn month.  Once the stitches heal I can shower and go swimming and chase tennis balls again.

I realized something while laying on the gurney waiting to be wheeled into surgery - I am a bizarrely competitive person.  Once they had hooked me up to the EKG, the IV and all the rest I found myself laying there with nothing to do but stare at my monitors.  So I started competing with my body.  I began laying odds on myself, creating over/unders on my diastolic, systolic and beats per minute.  I got so competitive that I started cheering against my own heart as I somehow managed to bring my numbers down.  A nurse asked me if anything was wrong - I told her "Nothing's wrong, I'm winning."  She responded that she too thought Charlie Sheen was hysterical. 

That comment brought an end to my game.  Plus they pumped some kind of anesthesia into my veins and I began to get loopy.  Once I came to after surgery I tried to re-start the game with my body but I was too doped up to keep track of each previous set of numbers.  I do remember my lowest pre-surgery numbers.  112/62 and 68 bpm.  I thought that was pretty impressive considering the whole "white coat" symptom you're supposed to suffer from in those situations.  I challenge anyone to go have surgery (necessary or un-necessary, I don't care) and beat that.  Go on, I dare you.

Fair and Balanced Football

In the interest of full disclosure I want to state that I am a life long Steelers fan.  I can assure you that this will in no way influence my AFC preview.  I merely wanted you to be aware in advance but I promise that it will not be reflected in my predictions.  You have my word. 

Additionally, in the continuing effort to please my female readers (are you feeling pleasured?) I will pepper this posting with mildly sexist (overtly sexist) images and links for your viewing.  And if you could grab me a beer while I talk to the guys that'd be great, honey. 

AFC EAST

NEW ENGLAND - 6-10 - Bill Belichik's a genius, Tom Brady's the greatest quarterback since Jesus refused to handle pig skin on the Sabbath, blah, blah, Fuckin blah.  I am sick to death of the constant hj's handed out to this team.  This year I predict Brady admits he's actually a eunuch and Belichick is caught trolling for Tranny hookers. 

NEW YORK - 5-11 - Mark Sanchez is easily the dumbest starting quarterback in the NFL.  Would you even trust him to figure out a proper tip without offering to lend a hand on the math. 

BUFFALO - 4-12 - I feel so bad for the people of Buffalo.  Not because of the Bills fortunes but because I've been to Buffalo. 

MIAMI - 2-14 - Hey Dolphin fans, remember all those years when Miami was one of the best teams in football and a perennial Super Bowl contender?  Hang on to those memories.

Hey Girls, for those pesky chores,

AFC SOUTH

INDIANAPOLIS - 5-11 - All I can picture is Payton Manning trying to take snaps while wearing one of those neck brace halos.  This image makes me smile.

JACKSONVILLE - 4-12 - It's tough for me to say anything bad about such a lame city, a team that has never been important and a fan base so apathetic.  I look forward to the Los Angeles Jaguars in 2012.

HOUSTON - 3-13 - Fourth in population.  First in dangerous neighborhoods.  I used to love to hate the old Oilers.  The new Texans don't matter to me.  I still can't tell if they matter to Gary Kubiak.

TENNESSEE - 2-14 - Won't the Titans be pissed when they wind up in the middle of the Andrew Luck sweepstakes after wasting a first round pick on Jake Locker.  The only thing that will make this better is when Chris Johnson blows out an ACL after signing his eventual cap killing contract.

Ladies, when running errands for your man,

AFC NORTH

PITTSBURGH - 16-0 - This team is loaded.  Great coaching, amazing defense, the best quarterback (both as a player and as a person) in football, loaded at every position plus it's been reported that they have an extremely handsome fanbase. 

CINCINNATI - 3-13 - As long as Mike Brown owns the Bengals they will always be my second favorite team in the league because they happily hand over two victories a year to The Burgh.

CLEVELAND - 2-14 - I went drinking in Cleveland once and I couldn't believe how ugly everyone that lived there was.  U-G-L-Y you ain't got no alibi. 

BALTIMORE - 0-16 - Besides the Packers this is the biggest bunch of cheaters in the league.  It's fitting that a team of criminals and convicts resides in a town of thugs.  Here's to Hurricane Irene touching down at M&T Bank Stadium over the weekend.

He works so hard all day so let's not forget dinner,

AFC WEST

SAN DIEGO - 5-11 - I love Norv Turner!  I loved him when he crushed the Washington Redskins as a franchise.  I loved him when he ruined a competitive Raiders team and I love him now for decimating a talented Chargers team.  I vote Norv as next coach of the Patriots following Belichick's hooker arrest.

KANSAS CITY - 4-12 - As much as I loath the Patriots I do find it hysterical that they saddled the Chief with such a mediocre quarterback.  How long before Ricky Stanzi is taking snaps, week 7, week 8?

OAKLAND - 3-13 - Al Davis is my favorite owner in all of sports.  I know he's not the best owner.  I didn't say that.  He's just my favorite.  Jerry Jones is second.  Any time a guy that's probably battling dementia makes all the calls on coaches and players you know you're in for a good time.

DENVER - 1-15 - Tim Tebow not being an NFL caliber quarterback is the greatest story in sports.  Isn't his game essentially the same as Charlie Ward's?  Does Tebow run the point, is there a chance he could move onto the NBA?  I was thrilled when the Bronco's took him in the first round last year.  It cemented Josh McDaniels future career as a mid-level assistant.     

He appreciates all you do and you deserve a break sometimes too,

Of course he got that for you and not him.  Stop being so selfish.

PLAYOFFS

NFC CHAMPIONSHIP - ATLANTA v NEW ORLEANS

AFC CHAMPIONSHIP - SAN DIEGO v PITTSBURGH

SUPER BOWL - PITTSBURGH v NEW ORLEANS

SEVEN TIME SUPER BOWL CHAMPIONS - THE PITTSBURGH STEELERS

Incorporated August 24th, 2011

I had a busy day yesterday.  While I should have been pouring over players and stats from the AFC  for my AFC Preview I was sitting in a leaky rubber floatation device, on a lake, tending to a campfire and having a few PBR's in a can.  Okay, it wasn't that busy of a day.  But I did manage to found a city in between Pabst Blue Ribbons (they don't hand out the Blue Ribbons to just anybody).  I should say co-founded.  SugarDust (that was the blog handle he chose) is also a co-founder.  We call it Raft City.  Population 2.

There isn't much for bi-laws at Raft City other then you have to float on a raft.  Preferably one scavenged from the piles of abandoned rafts in the woods nearby.  Seriously, it was as if we had come across an Ancient Indian Rubber Raft Burial Ground.  No fancy pants rafts are allowed at Raft City.  If you've got a shiny new store bought raft - you ain't welcome.  

Acceptable Raft



High Falootin' Raft

Unemployment is preferred in any Raft City applicant.  If you want to sit around in a raft on the lake all day you can't have some kind of "job" dragging you down.  We will consider Fully Employed applicants but only if it appears your "job" situation will improve in the coming months.  We're betting that sucking down beers at Raft City during the middle of the week can help propel that along. 

To take the Raft City oath you must recite the words to Bob Seger's Against The Wind.  Or at least hum a few bars and agree with the co-founders that Bob Seger Rules!  Also, at your induction ceremony you must provide the co-founders with packages of polish sausages and cold beer or promise to bring some next time you visit.  We take a man at his word in Raft City.

  Huge Fan of Raft City

This may all sound like the ravings of a madman but I swear I have never been more clear headed.  I guess when you make it to Raft City you'll understand.  Don't forget the polish sausages and cold beer.

Raft City - where every man sits on a raft and every raft is slowly sinking.