That was this afternoon, this beautiful, clear, cool afternoon. Not a cloud in the sky, high of 55. Have we discussed how this is March?
Tonight I got a call from Stephen, at around 8:30. He was in town and invited me to his parents’ place to shoot a little pool. So we retired to the basement, my old college friend and his wife, whom I also know from college, and his father. Brooke and Stephen’s two kids were asleep upstairs. We were down among personalized photos of Reagan and antique gas station epherma and Rotary Club paraphernalia and played doubles. Brooke and Stephen won the first game. His dad and I won the next two. We played a game of cutthroat and I won that, too.
But this was the shot of the night. Mr. W. dropped the two in the corner pocket without the 13 even noticing.
Always such a reserved gentleman, it seems he was something of a pool shark in his younger days. You’d never expect it to know him.
As we played Stephen regaled us with impersonations and tales of his in-laws. Before we played he told one of those “Well, I’m old enough now, dad, you can’t do anything about this” story. Stephen is a lawyer, so he used the old statute of limitations line, which made it sound so important, particularly opposite the silly story he told. It involved mud and a lot of walking, like more than a few stories of youth in the South.
So I look at us. I think of all of our other friends, some who came up in conversation tonight and others who didn’t. How did we all get here, sitting over a pesky three ball I can’t knock down, in a life grand as all this?
Life gives you interesting questions on a Thursday night, doesn’t it?
The bird seed was left on the back porch, one of those “Let me put this down and deal with something pressing and I’ll get back to it” decisions. After a short time it was forgotten. At some point after that the squirrels and the chipmunks found it. The squirrels bit nice holes into the bag.
We noticed because Allie noticed:
We’ve learned, over the years, that the little meeping noise cats make is because they are frustrated. “I want IT.” Allie makes that noise when she sees wildlife in her yard. She also twitches up a bit. She’d really love to go outside and catch the thing, whatever it is she sees. But this cat is not a hunter. And even if she had enough speed to keep up with the other creature — bird, squirrel or chipmunk — she’d have no idea what to do about it.
A mouse, in a story so embarrassing a cat would beg you not to tell it, once scared her away.
She is fierce, this cat. Which is why, I suppose, I have a long scratch on the back of my hand right now. One of the few times she’s ever really done that. I choose not to interpret it as “You didn’t let me catch the thing, so you’ll do as a substitute.”
In baseball today Keegan Thompson pitched seven innings for Auburn. He allowed no runs and only two hits in collecting the win 4-1 over Mercer.
She is wrong. This wasn’t Thompson’s second win of the year. It was his third:
Actually I have no idea what she was talking about. But she held that position for a long time, so it must have been important.
A cutie at the park:
With one out in the ninth, Mercer had three runners on and the tying run at the plate. A ground ball to first sent center fielder Sasha Lagarde to the plate. The umpire said Lagarde slid in under this tag to score.
Auburn’s manager, Sunny Golloway, disagreed. He had a discussion about the best pizza toppings with the umpire. The plate ump decided he’d learned all he needed to know about the local fare. Golloway still had some things on his mind, so he circled back and brought up the best places around to get wings:
The umpire, not being a wing man, threw Golloway out of the game. Not everyone dips in ranch, Sunny. But the big emotional outburst — “How can you not like celery and carrots!?” gave struggling closer Terrance Dedrick the opportunity to regain his composure and he shut the Bears down from there.
Things to read … because some things are more important than a beautiful afternoon at the park. (Or so we’re told.)
I met Lance Cpl. Kyle Carpenter three years ago. It was a unique and humbling experience. Now, it seems, he’s getting the Medal of Honor. When you read his story, the instantaneous decision of a Marine of 21, which I thumbnailed in the first link, you’ll understand the common experience people get when they meet him, and why he’s up for the nation’s highest military distinction.
At Clay County Christian Academy, they call their favorite player “Codyman.” They have blue T-shirts with “Down syndrome awareness” surrounding a Superman logo on front. The logo has “C” instead of an “S,” and the back of the shirts says what Codyman fans feel about No. 12, Cody Morris: “Codyman, sort of like Superman (only cooler).”
Morris had his time to play in most every game this season, called “Cody Time.” It was that final minute when the sophomore took the court in the same uniform with his friends and teammates, and they made sure he got chances to shoot the ball.
And make no mistake. Morris can shoot.
I do enjoy those stories.
Finally: Chris Hemsworth. Liam Hemsworth. Meryl Streep. And Tom Hanks in The Bitman Begins:
In a way, this is actually a small culmination of the post-modern, highly social, remix era. The thing is somewhat funny on its face, but to maximize the video you have to understand several layers of nuance and references. Everyone probably has some basis for reference tough. The “Charlie bit my finger” clip now has more than 675 million YouTube views, so maybe you don’t need subtext.
I’ve pretty much avoided, thanks to the holidays, much of the championship game hype. Who needs that anyway? Florida State and Auburn, tomorrow, in the Rose Bowl for all the cookies.
The thing about the football bowl system is that it gives you time to dream and fret and be exposed to endless amounts of hype. It also lets you reflect. I wrote most of the list below at about this time in 2011, the last time Auburn was set to play for a national championship. It was to be their first appearance since 1957. There are people in Jordan-Hare Stadium who waited all that time to watch their beloved team achieve that kind of success. And now we’re going to see them try again for the second time in four years, which is remarkable.
Football is an important part of the culture here, but Auburn is not a football team. Auburn is a community, a history, and sharing in a common experience. Auburn’s biggest dream is realizing her potential and Auburn’s greatest potential has always been her people.
And we’ve got a lot of people.
I want Auburn to win for:
A teacher – One of my favorite high school teachers, an Auburn grad. A girl – She was a big part of the reason I chose to apply to Auburn. Mr. Ethridge – Who gave me my scholarship. He died in 2009. Dean William Alverson – He helped raise that scholarship money and was my academic adviser. He retired just a few years ago. My roommate – He and his family, all Auburn people, and all nicer to me than they had to be during my first two years at Auburn. He’s going to Pasadena, and no, I’m not jealous. Chadd – A friend of more than 15 years, he gave me my start on air, was always full of advice, helped me build an incredible professional foundation. He’s never asked for a thing in return. For Jim and Rod and Andy and Bill and Paul – Auburn athletics wouldn’t sound the same without them. For an old man – I sat next to him during the 2004 season. He said simply, “I went to school here when it was API.” He was impressed by that perfect season, and I’m sure he’s amazed by this season, too. For my wife – She was undeclared until I brought her to her first game but she’s been an Auburn woman ever since. Now she teaches at Auburn and is the director of the public relations program. For the family in Section 52 – They adopted us and let them sit in their section for years. They remember the Barfield years. For the Browns – Another strong, proud, kind Auburn family that have been indescribably good to us over the years. For Shug and Doug and Pat and Terry and Tommy and Gene and Gus – And for all of their coaches and players and staffers, the people fans really mean when saying “We won.”
New additions to the list:
For the Hallmarks – Adam sat through last year and celebrated through this year. He’ll watch this BCS game shivering in some pub in Alaska, on his way to his new duty station. For the tailgating crew – War Drunj Eagle. For The War Eagle Reader – which loves like no other. War Eagle forever.
Mostly, I want this team to win for this team. We’ve seen great years, and this has by far been one of the best and most entertaining in many respects.
I wrote this, one of the few good football things I’ve written, before the 2011 BCS game, when everything those guys played for seemed to be more about everyone else. Now, I’m eager to celebrate a great season — I’ve said for the last three games, that we were going into the stadium to congratulate a team for a great performance this season — for the guys actually in the blue and orange.
Much has been written about this team turning around last year’s 3-9 effort. Less has been said about what these guys have gone through. Some of them are national champions. Some have two SEC championships. They’ve also changed head coaches. Some are playing for their third position coach. Some of them have lost parents. Others have had children. They’ve lost teammates. They’ve battled cancer. They’ve stuck together and demanded so much of themselves.
And still Heisman finalist Tre Mason told reporters: “We owed them that. Putting them through last year, we owed them a season like this.”
But, no, this is about them. They’ve succeeded beyond the wildest expectations of everyone but themselves. They’ve always believed.
