Red Bled Green

The Basketball Jesus was my teacher; but Red was painting on the wall that everyone admired.

Here's a good column on him.

And, he'd have been excited about this year's team. We've got a good team. For the first time in a long time.

And God Said: "It's Good!"

Is football the Lord's game? I argue it is not. But I also contend, baseball, is not the Lord's game. Instead, I opine (GRE word) soccer to be the game of the Heavens.

It's called the Beautiful Game for a reason. And a thing of beauty is a joy forever. I take forever to mean eternally and thus, soccer is God's favorite game.

Second on the list: Baseball. To borrow from a friend in college: Baseball is the only game you can fall asleep on the porch to for 20 minutes, wake up and realize you haven't missed a thing. And we all know God rested on the 7th day...probably on a porch somewhere listening to the ball game.

Third on the list: Football. If only because of the title of this post.

The thing of it is: I think God used to like hockey, I really do. He had a thing for walking on water you know. But with the new rules, it's just not the same. And I don't think he like Darts very much either....but cornhole...well, we'll see.

These Hands Are Ambidextrous, I Know

So I'm watching the World Series last night and, though I'm outwardly pulling for the Cards -- and I am Grandpa -- I'm secretly wishing nothing but the best for the Tigers. More so after last night. Turns out starting pitcher Nate Robertson has a very unusual trait (and no, for those of you who watched the game, it doesn't involve flipping a bat off the floor into your hands -- I swear, the way the announcers teased it you would've thought Brandon Inge was about to solve the mystery of Cold Fusion).

Nate Robertson throws left but bats right.

In my life, I've only known of three people to do such a thing. Myself. My father. Rickey Henderson. And my entire life I've always, ALWAYS been asked while playing softball or baseball: "Aren't you going to bat from the left?" or "Don't you throw lefty? Why are you batting righty?"

I'm not saying it's been traumatic or anything -- in fact, I probably have increased dexterity -- more than the average person even. You see I do just about everything with my right hand as the dominate hand, except throw and shoot and dribble a basketball.

The thing of it is: Perhaps the announcers could've have pointed this out. Not so much. Instead, Tim McCarver (who've I've already told you is a drunk version of Captain Obvious) pretty much said the following: "Robertson certainly throws left and bats right, and that's not a baseball in his hand right now, that's a bat, and he's batting from the right side of the plate."

O Felix Culpa

Basically, this means: Fortunate Crime or Fortunate Fall.

For all you non-Red Sox Fans, this week marks the two-year anniversary of the Red Sox winning the World Series. What a joyous, immeasurable moment and month October 2004 was. And this phrase aply describes the feeling of Red Sox Nation, and, really, is the only tenet a true sports fan must accept.

That for the true fan, you must be willing endure some sort of suffering -- some incantation of "The Drive"; of a "Buckner"; or an "Aaron Boone".

Thus, O Felix Culpa: a victory cannot be as momentously sweet if there is no sort of heinous fall -- Fortunate Fall. That the loss of innocence I incurred in '86 and '03 and even '04 was a good thing because of how much greater and sweeter the victory would be.

Without going into the sordid history of the Red Sox, I think my point is clear: I am thankful for Pesky, the Reds, Buckner and Boone. Because without those dark nights of my soul they gave me, the victory would not have been nearly as worth it. And was it ever worth it.

The phrase has import this year with the '06 Tigers and the '03 Tigers. Not that I'm rooting for the Tigers -- Grandpa and me, we're pulling for the Cards.

The thing of it is: hopefully, it also will have import on my Fantasy Football team this year. How else can I explain my 1-6 start.

Just So You Know

This link was sent to me by a good friend. It's called The Church You Know. And I gotta tell you, it's funny. It's a little acerbic...maybe a little too much. Based on the the NBC The More You Know PSA's, it looks at 5 or 6 issues pressing upon the Church in the form of similar, video PSA's.

(It's not on par with The Office spoofs, however)

You might not like it. The Mrs. didn't. The humor's not always clear...or even nice it seems. But it's thought provoking, I think.

I recommend the "Attendance" and "WWJD". Let me know if you give a crap after you watch it.

The Lake House

So when this blog was started, I said I do movie reviews. I've only done one. And I've seen dozens of movies since that one. Well, I watched one yesterday. The Lake House. An excellent film -- based on a Korean movie from 2000.

Without ruining the plot -- and really because it can't quite be explained, nor should it be, it just needs to be accepted as it is -- I won't get into the storyline at all. But it's sci-fi romance. It's Frequency meets Sleepless in Seattle. And it deserves your time.

I will use the movie to stand on a soapbox. It was a lachrymose (GRE word!) movie -- even for me -- a guy. And I'm not usually one for maudlin (another GRE word) entertainment -- and much of today's entertainment is. This wasn't. This was well-written; this was well-acted; this was well-directed. And it reflected what love is.

Guys: you can enjoy a chick flick without feeling emasculated. It doesn't infringe upon what makes you a "man". There's more than just beer and football in the world. And if my wife can freely sit (and by free I mean the libertarian definition of human freedom) on a Sunday afternoon and watch football with me without turning into that Dairy Queen commercial, then I have that same right. Not in "you scratch my back I'll scratch yours" stereotypical sort of way, but that things in life don't have to be demographic specific like they want you to believe.

Anyway, the movie was great. I started to cry a little by the end. Maybe that makes me a girl. Maybe it doesn't make me a man.

The thing of it is: I do feel pretty today. Oh, so pretty. Wonder why that is?

A Christian And A Comedian

Watching Studio 60 this past week, heard a particularly engaging quote: "So you became a Christian and a comedian at the same time?" In the context of the show, it was a particulary astute observation.

It got me thinking about another quote: Joy is the gigantic secret of the Christian. I've always maintained that God has a sense of humor (and no, not just because he made the Platypus. But seriously, it is pretty funny looking). And what if, when you become a Christian, you also become a comedian?

Much of the debate of Christianity's rationality revolves around questions like the problem of evil. And those questions are all well and good and have their place in discussion and questions of its validity. But sometimes I think it casts a rather ominous shadow around Christianity. You see humor and joy and laughter is what Christianity's all about. Those characteristics echo deeper in us than any suffering and any pains. They have to.

I've always felt Christ had a sense of humor, a sense of joy. Look at the Road to Emmaeus; look at the Feeding of the 5,000; heck, when Jesus appears in the Upper Room -- he had to know he was going to scare the crap out of the disciples and there's nothing funnier than a scare or fright that turns out to be a good thing.

Maybe this sounds like the last two pages of Orthodoxy. So be it. But in being a Christian you have the supreme responsibility to bring joy to others and I read this as: to make people laugh.

The thing of it is: Whether or not that means you're actually funny is another question entirely.

The BabyMoon

So the wife and I just got back from our weeknight away. We headed up to Amish Country for a night at a castle. Yup. A castle. I've attached some pictures of Landoll's Mohican Castle so you can believe me . Our room was outstanding and just being together was wonderful. It was the first time since our honeymoon 4 1/2 years ago that we took some vacation time where we didn't go see family or friends.

Now the buzz word for this trip is a BabyMoon. Much like a honeymoon, except you take it before the baby comes, so it's not really like a honeymoon. Whatever it is called these days, it will be remembered by us as a lovely weekend.

The thing of it is: The Miller Suite, where we stayed, provided courtesy bathrobes. I tried one on -- because I've been accused of being an anti-robe-ite -- and hated it. I reiterate: they're stupid, useless pieces of fabric that offer us nothing in the way of making our lives better.

On Life Imitating Art

Every now and then you come across horrible stories. Like today's on the shooting in Florida. And this one mirrors a story I've recently read. Not verbatim. But there are enough coincidences.

The story I'm reminded of is by Flannery O'Connor, a 1950s southern writer known for some rather dark tales (of note: the link I've provided classifies O'Connor as Southern Gothic. Is there a Gothic for each of the four cardinal directions? Or does it eventually break into states, like Idaho Gothic? This is why I need an MFA, to answer these questions). If you haven't read her, I recommend the selected readings on the right -- excellent work. She's a bit of a paradox, but very interesting.

Anyway, the story I'm referencing here is: A Good Man is Hard to Find. Rather outstanding, I must say; in light of the news, rather scary.

The thing of it is: does life imitate art or is it the other way around? It's the age-old question pondered by the pre-Socratic, and, alas, has no answer. Also an age-old question with no answer: Where's Waldo?

Bathrobes

Apologies to Jerry Seinfield, but what's the deal with bathrobes? I don't get it. Perhaps for the woman, it is necessary. Modesty is an issue. But for the guy? No excuse.

Not only are they some type of oddly made coat, in that it comes down to your knees, but there are 3/4 sleeves. Seriously, guys, 3/4 sleeves? And, really, how difficult is it in the morning to get out of bed and throw sweatpants on, or yesterday's jeans (you'll be wearing them to work anyway) or a sweatshirt? It takes the same amount the time. You are invariably warmer and it serves the same purpose -- whatever that is. And it's more comfortable. How, you ask? For starters, you don't have 3/4 sleeves. Also, and this is important, you don't look like a fool.

It's about time we did away with bathrobes. It's a stupid, antediluvian (can you tell I'm taking the GRE soon?) concept.

A Piece Of The Problem

So I'm currently taking a graduate class in the problem of evil. Let's just by me electing to fully share these thoughts -- knowing my audience and my incoherent thoughts -- I am keeping you all from experiencing pain and suffering.

However, sparked by a recent post on this blog from an old friend, my memory has been jogged. Seems I've always had a fascination with the subject material I am now paying (or work is paying) to learn more about. About 10 years ago now I wrote a short drama for a church service. Composed on a Saturday afternoon in the fall with nothing else to do (we don't like college football in my family -- it's stupid). The main objective of the script was to startle the Sunday morning congregation. That consisted of my brother standing up and chucking a piece of fruit at my head while I was reading from Galatians, on, well, obviously, the fruits of the spirit.

From there the dialogue and ideas are very rough, but basically, it was the theodicy of a 17-year-old. I'm not tooting my own horn here, but I must admit the insight, as rough as it was, was interesting though sophomoric. Not saying I could write anything as lucid as it these days -- my mind clouded by the likes of John Hick, Alvin Plantinga and others, which would invariably lead to the lack of clarity in the drama should I re-write. Here's the link if you want to read it; scroll to the bottom and note this isn't the original version at all -- it's been adapted many, many times for the good of all. By the way, it's called: Peace of Fruit. You like that don't you.

The thing of it is: We completely scared the Sunday morning congregation. Our church was prone to drunks and the like wandering into the service and yelling. About three men in the brass band behind me leapt to their feet only to see it was the pastor's son doing the yelling. And, also, being the exceptional athlete I am, I caught the fruit.

Questions For Dad

So the little one has past the 17 week mark. The Mrs. has started to feel the baby move. Apparently, our child doesn't like seat belts very much. Also, this means that the baby has the ability to hear the two of us. An idea and realization that is not lost on me. But I wonder if the baby has any questions for us. I suppose the situation is similar to my Questions For God...questions that baby would want answered when it gets here. Of course, I don't expect such questions to be as erudite (there's a GRE word) as mine were. Still, they may have their merit.

Based on the fact that the Mrs. is usually eating a pickle or two during Seinfield re-runs at 11:30, one question could be: What's the deal with the pickles?

Since I watch a lot of baseball -- especially in October -- another question may revolve around why Tim McCarver is such a buffoon. Although, I was really hoping FOX would bring back Scooter this year to explain what a curveball is to my unborn child who may be the only person who doesn't know what it is. But, alas.

Perhaps a third question would allow me to answer a question I have. Since I golf quite a good deal, I would not be surprised if, somewhere in the womb, lies the answer to my slice.

But amending that Questions For God post, I'm sure once the baby gets here those questions would disappear in an instant (and that's too bad because I could really use the golf advice, it's killing me), much like it will when we get to heaven (though I think that BlowPop question might nag me on into eternity). There'll be too much else to take in. Too much else to try and grasp. I know I have a lot of questions for the baby (and there's a pickle question in there). Questions I know will disappear in that instant.