Former Chief Justice Earl Warren reportedly once said, "I always turn to the sports page first. The sports page records people's accomplishments; the front page nothing but man's failures."
Well, in the past few days:
-- Dallas Cowboys wide receiver Terrell Owens admitted to spitting at an opponent
-- Chicago Bears defensive tackle Tank Johnson was arrested on misdemeanor weapons charges. It was his third arrest in 18 months.
-- Detroit Lions assistant coach Joe Cullen was arrested for drunken driving and for nude driving.
And it wasn't just football ...
-- Ten players overall from the Denver Nuggets and New York Knicks were ejected for brawling in a game at Madison Square Garden.
It makes me wonder where would Earl Warren turn to first in his morning newspapers if he were alive today. The birth notices?
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Tancredo's right about (parts of) Miami
Rep. Tom Tancredo (R-Colo.) recently came under fire after referring to Miami as a Third World country.
While Tancredo's words can't be applied to the entire city of Miami, they do adequately describe parts of it.
I certainly felt like I was in a foreign country while in the Miami area last month.
I had driven down to pick up a friend who was staying at the posh Doral Country Club. Rather than initially turning into the Doral grounds, I passed the main entrance and decided to get gas for my car.
About a mile past Doral, I pulled into a gas station. I used the self-service, credit-card option to purchase gas, and then figured it was a good time for me to play Lotto.
I entered the gas station's convenience store, and heard the man behind the counter speaking Spanish to a customer he was helping. I figured the customer didn't speak or understand English.
That may or may not be true. But when I reached the counter and handed the man my Lotto card, I learned the store's employee did not speak or understand English, either!
He motioned with his hand and said something in Spanish. When I said, "Hablas ingles?" he said, "No."
I quickly realized others in the store were speaking Spanish, too. Was this Cuba, South America or the United States?
I walked out, eager to return to the U.S., -- or to leave the Twilight Zone, whichever best applied.
While Tancredo's words can't be applied to the entire city of Miami, they do adequately describe parts of it.
I certainly felt like I was in a foreign country while in the Miami area last month.
I had driven down to pick up a friend who was staying at the posh Doral Country Club. Rather than initially turning into the Doral grounds, I passed the main entrance and decided to get gas for my car.
About a mile past Doral, I pulled into a gas station. I used the self-service, credit-card option to purchase gas, and then figured it was a good time for me to play Lotto.
I entered the gas station's convenience store, and heard the man behind the counter speaking Spanish to a customer he was helping. I figured the customer didn't speak or understand English.
That may or may not be true. But when I reached the counter and handed the man my Lotto card, I learned the store's employee did not speak or understand English, either!
He motioned with his hand and said something in Spanish. When I said, "Hablas ingles?" he said, "No."
I quickly realized others in the store were speaking Spanish, too. Was this Cuba, South America or the United States?
I walked out, eager to return to the U.S., -- or to leave the Twilight Zone, whichever best applied.
Monday, December 11, 2006
New York City blackout
Ever wake up with your heart in your throat? In a cold sweat? A severe panic?
If you have, odds are the reaction was due to a nightmare.
But in my case, the cause was very real.
It was a frigid Saturday night in December of '93. Little more than two months earlier, I had lost my job -- a job I was good at and enjoyed immensely.
Despite putting on a brave front daily, I was depressed and taking an antidepressant to cope.
I had been invited to a Christmas party in New York City. I remember a few friends being there, but I can't even remember whose party it was.
I had fun and got drunk -- very drunk. I was so drunk I had the balls to ask a girl if she needed a ride to her place uptown. She accepted my "offer," and she reciprocated by driving. Of course, she did so because she valued her life -- though she apparently didn't value mine because she sent me on my way.
Despite it being between 3-4 a.m., I headed to midtown for a morning-cap. Drove right past a bar that was among my regular hangouts. As I went by, the bartender was outside lowering the awning. I didn't stop, and made it to the corner. Red light. Green light. I turned left ... and next thing I know, I was on an exit ramp somewhere in Northern New Jersey.
New Jersey???
I had blacked out!
BLACKED OUT!
I always thought blacking out meant passing out -- not so. When I got hold of my senses, I was driving ... make that sliding ... on an exit ramp. There was sleet storm, and the roads were lethal. That probably was a good thing, because there were no cars to collide with. Nobody in his or her right mind and/or sober, would be driving at this hour.
I then drove the 35 minutes or so to my house, praying all the way there. When I got home, collapsed on the couch.
When I awoke a few hours later, I was scared, embarrassed and regretful like I had never been before or since. I went out to check my car for damage and blood. When I found neither, I started to get teary-eyed.
I shouldn't have driven. I deserved to have been arrested. I could have died.
I never will forget that night -- which is a good thing.
If you have, odds are the reaction was due to a nightmare.
But in my case, the cause was very real.
It was a frigid Saturday night in December of '93. Little more than two months earlier, I had lost my job -- a job I was good at and enjoyed immensely.
Despite putting on a brave front daily, I was depressed and taking an antidepressant to cope.
I had been invited to a Christmas party in New York City. I remember a few friends being there, but I can't even remember whose party it was.
I had fun and got drunk -- very drunk. I was so drunk I had the balls to ask a girl if she needed a ride to her place uptown. She accepted my "offer," and she reciprocated by driving. Of course, she did so because she valued her life -- though she apparently didn't value mine because she sent me on my way.
Despite it being between 3-4 a.m., I headed to midtown for a morning-cap. Drove right past a bar that was among my regular hangouts. As I went by, the bartender was outside lowering the awning. I didn't stop, and made it to the corner. Red light. Green light. I turned left ... and next thing I know, I was on an exit ramp somewhere in Northern New Jersey.
New Jersey???
I had blacked out!
BLACKED OUT!
I always thought blacking out meant passing out -- not so. When I got hold of my senses, I was driving ... make that sliding ... on an exit ramp. There was sleet storm, and the roads were lethal. That probably was a good thing, because there were no cars to collide with. Nobody in his or her right mind and/or sober, would be driving at this hour.
I then drove the 35 minutes or so to my house, praying all the way there. When I got home, collapsed on the couch.
When I awoke a few hours later, I was scared, embarrassed and regretful like I had never been before or since. I went out to check my car for damage and blood. When I found neither, I started to get teary-eyed.
I shouldn't have driven. I deserved to have been arrested. I could have died.
I never will forget that night -- which is a good thing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)