I forgot a title. Eff it.

1. Jay-Z is the absolute coolest man on earth. After seeing him Friday, there is no doubt in my mind that is has become fact. Zack Morris could probably give him a run for this money, but I'm just not sure "Friends Forever" creates the same energy that "99 Problems" does.

2. John Mayer's new album "Battle Studies" released today. It's very good. I've been listening for over a week now (he leaked it on the radio last Monday) and am impressed with where he went with the album, but only blown away by a couple tracks. He's playing an album release show in NYC tonight and it's being shown live on Fuse, so I'm very excited to both see a John Mayer show and hear the live versions of the new tracks.

3. Boyz II Men also released a new album today. It's a series of cover songs dealing with love and from what I heard it sounds very good. Their "Open Arms" (Journey) cover is spectacular.

4. Boyz II Men and John Mayer are probably the only two artists that I actually buy the physical cd when it comes out. I think I've missed one Boyz II Men album (Throwback) but I have almost everything else they've ever released. I think it shows a certain sense of dedication when you buy the physical cd. It says, "I'm only going to look at that cd case right after I buy it, but I'm willing to make room for it for the next 27 years. I'm willing to do that for you."

5. The Colts v. Patriots game on Sunday was probably the most exciting football game I've seen since the Colts v. Bucs game in 2003 (Colts won in OT after being down 35-14 with 4 minutes left). I'm probably biased since the Colts won both of those games, but I think most would agree these two games are two of the best comebacks of all-time. And any time Bill Belichick can look like even more of a tool in his cut-off hoodie, I'm for it.

6. I need to take more time to blog. It seems like I start, stop, and delete more posts than those that actually are published. I read 10 or 12 blogs regularly and enjoy reading them, so why shouldn't I try to provide that same enjoyment to others? And I'm sure I'm overwhelmingly more entertaining than the blogs I read, so it's almost a disservice to the world if I don't blog.

7. Spellcheck is telling me I spelled "Boyz" incorrectly. What do they know?

8. Eight is enough for today. I'm gone.

9. P.S. Go check out "Edge of Desire" by Mayer on YouTube. I'd say it's his finest album song yet. Then buy the album.

A Game for All America - by Ernie Harwell

Baseball is President Eisenhower tossing out the first ball of the season; and a pudgy schoolboy playing catch with his dad on a Mississippi farm. Its the big league pitcher who sins in night clubs. And the Hollywood singer who pitches to the Giants in spring training.

A tall, thin old man waving a scorecard from his dugout -- that's baseball. So is the big, fat guy with a bulbous nose running out one of his 714 home runs with mincing steps.

It's America, this baseball. A re-issued newsreel of boyhood dreams. Dreams lost somewhere between boy and man. It's the Bronx cheer and the Baltimore farewell. The left-field screen in Boston, the right-field dump at Nashville's Sulphur Dell, the open stands in San Francisco, the dusty, wind-swept diamond at Albuquerque. And a rock home plate and a chicken wire backstop -- anywhere.

There's a man in Mobile who remembers a triple he saw Honus Wagner hit in Pittsburgh 46 years ago. That's baseball. So is the scout reporting that a 16-year-old sandlot pitcher in Cheyenne is the new "Walter Johnson."

It's a wizened little man shouting insults from the safety of his bleacher seat. And a big, smiling first baseman playfully tousling the hair of a youngster outside the players' gate.

Baseball is a spirited race of man against man, reflex against reflex. A game of inches. Every skill is measured. Every heroic, every failing is, seen and cheered -- or booed. And then becomes a statistic. In baseball, democracy shines its clearest. Here the only race that matters is the race to the bag. The creed is the rule book. Color is something to distinguish one team's uniform from another.

Baseball is Sir Alexander Fleming, discoverer of penicillin, asking his Brooklyn hosts to explain Dodger signals. It's player Moe Berg speaking seven languages and working crossword puzzles in Sanskrit. It's a scramble in the box seats for a foul -- and a $125 suit ruined. A man barking into a hot microphone about a cool beer, that's baseball. So is the sportswriter telling a .383 hitter how to stride, and a 20-victory pitcher trying to write his impressions of the World Series.

Baseball is a ballet without music. Drama without words. A carnival without kewpie dolls.
A housewife in California couldn't tell you the color of her husband's eyes, but she knows that Yogi Berra is hitting .337, has brown eyes and used to love to eat bananas with mustard. That's baseball. So is the bright sanctity of Cooperstown's Hall of Fame. And the former big leaguer who is playing out the string in a Class B loop.

Baseball is continuity. Pitch to pitch. Inning to inning. Game to game. Series to series. Season to season. It's rain, rain, rain splattering on a puddled tarpaulin as thousands sit in damp disappointment. And the click of typewriters and telegraph keys in the press box -- like so many awakened crickets. Baseball is a cocky batboy. The old-timer whose batting average increases every time he tells it. A lady celebrating a home team rally by mauling her husband with a rolled-up scorecard.

Baseball is the cool, clear eyes of Rogers Hornsby, the flashing spikes of Ty Cobb, an overaged pixie named Rabbit Maranville, and Jackie Robinson testifying before a Congressional hearing.
Baseball? It's just a game -- as simple as a ball and a bat. Yet, as complex as the American spirit it symbolizes. It's a sport, business -- and sometimes even religion.

Baseball is Tradition in flannel knickerbockers. And Chagrin in being picked off base. It is Dignity in the blue serge of an umpire running the game by rule of thumb. It is Humor, holding its sides when an errant puppy eludes two groundskeepers and the fastest outfielder. And Pathos, dragging itself off the field after being knocked from the box.

Nicknames are baseball. Names like Zeke and Pie and Kiki and Home Run and Cracker and Dizzy and Dazzy.

Baseball is a sweaty, steaming dressing room where hopes and feelings are as naked as the men themselves. It's a dugout with spike-scarred flooring. And shadows across an empty ballpark. It's the endless list of names in box scores, abbreviated almost beyond recognition.

The holdout is baseball, too. He wants 55 grand or he won't turn a muscle. But, it's also the youngster who hitch-hikes from South Dakota to Florida just for a tryout.

Arguments, Casey at the Bat, old cigarette cards, photographs, Take Me Out to the Ball Game -- all of them are baseball.

Baseball is a rookie -- his experience no bigger than the lump in his throat -- trying to begin fulfillment of a dream. It's a veteran, too -- a tired old man of 35, hoping his aching muscles can drag him through another sweltering August and September.

For nine innings, baseball is the story of David and Goliath, of Samson, Cinderella, Paul Bunyan, Homer's Iliad and the Count of Monte Cristo.

Willie Mays making a brilliant World Series catch. And then going home to Harlem to play stick-ball in the street with his teen-age pals -- that's baseball.

And so is the husky voice of a doomed Lou Gehrig saying, "I consider myself the luckiest man on the face of this earth."

Baseball is cigar smoke, hot-roasted peanuts, The Sporting News, winter trades, "Down in Front," and the "Seventh-Inning Stretch." Sore arms, broken bats, a no-hitter, and the strains of the Star-Spangled Banner.

Baseball is a highly paid Brooklyn catcher telling the nation's business leaders: "You have to be a man to be a big leaguer, but you have to have a lot of little boy in you, too."

This is a game for America, this baseball!

Never will we forget...

I've spent all day today reading Twitter and Facebook, seeing everyone remember, and also never forget, the events of September 11, 2001. Being able to have access to celebrities and influentials on Twitter has provided a new light on those who we often forget are human. Being able to see that Bill Simmons (my favorite sports writer) had the same emotions on the days following 9/11 and used the same outlets to help ease his pain is very comforting. Being able to share with him, and hundreds of thousands of others, videos of David Letterman's and Jon Stewart's opening monologues from their first shows back helps ease the pain that still lingers eight years later.

Being able to interact with friends and see their memories, 140 characters at a time, is also great. Seeing the pride that still builds in those from New York and the love that still lingers from those who have visited is amazing. Being able to ask one another where they were on that day, what they remember, and what they'll never forget is something we might not have been able to do just a handful of years ago.

As a child, and still to this day, I can hear my Dad telling us about when he first found out that JFK had been killed. One of his classmates had left school during lunch to buy thread for a sewing class and found out. I've heard that story at least fifty times in the course of my life. It used to drive me crazy because it seemed like he told the same people the same story over and over.

I realized today that it doesn't drive me crazy anymore. I'm sure I'll tell my children every year on September 11 where I was, what I was wearing, what my thoughts were, and what I did the rest of the day. I think I wrote about it several years ago in my former blog on MySpace, but I haven't shared in a few years. Here is my story...

I was a freshman in college in 2001. The 11th of September fell on a Tuesday, so I had World History at 9:30am and Psychology at 2:00pm. These were two classes I almost never skipped, so sleeping through my alarm until 9:25 was odd for me. I woke up angry at myself since I slept too late to get ready and make it to class, but also ready to enjoy my free time for the next four and one half hours. I put on my middle school Peer Modeling Team (Every 8th grade guy wants a shirt that says PMT in huge letters across the back) and black basketball shorts, brushed my teeth, and went downstairs.

I turned on the television and tuned into ESPN for what I thought would be my first daily dose of Sportscenter. The scene I immediately saw was the New York harbor with a huge smoke trail rising from the buildings. The breaking news headline read something about two planes crashing into the tower. Moments later, the first tower collapsed. I didn't stop watching TV until I went to class at 2:00.

Class only lasted a few minutes, I don't know why I even went, and I drove to my grandma's house since my aunt was in town. We continued to watch the news reports with new video surfacing as the day progressed. We still didn't know what had happened yet, so we discussed what the possible scenario might be. From that point on, my memory is fuzzy.

My first memory of beginning to feel better about the situation at hand is watching the St. Louis Cardinals game on baseball's first day back after the 11th. Jack Buck read a poem which he had written and then, crippled from a stroke, with tears in his eyes, he muttered the words, "Should we be here? Yes." I can still hear him say those words to this day. They will forever comfort me.

Slowly, but surely, our country began to heal. Our television shows returned, our sports teams returned to action, and our lives became normal again. I wish there wasn't a day each year where we were reminded of those who lose their lives so innocently, but I'm so grateful there is a day for us to always remember them, as well. It doesn't seem like eight years ago to me, mostly because life flies by quicker than we realize, but also because that day alone seemingly last eight years.

Always we remember,
B

Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things.

It has almost become a tradition of sorts, an unofficial tradition. On September 11th, I read the blog post that John Mayer wrote just days after the tragedy occurred in New York on that memorable day in 2001. I read it and feel a sense of power and pride. I read it and almost feel a sense of arrogance because I am a United States citizen.

I shouldn't have those feelings, regardless what the circumstances have brought upon my country or my personal being. I try to show loving kindness through all of my thoughts and actions, but sadly that is not the reality of who I am. I try to believe that no man or woman is greater than any other, yet I constantly catch myself judging others for their actions and believing that my way of doing things is better.

In the days following September 11th, we were a country united under an umbrella of fear, hostility, sadness, liberty, and an unknown future. We understood that we truly, and always have and forever will, had more in common than that which divides us. We raised our country's flag in honor of those we lost and those who work to protect our rights and freedoms.

Where have those days gone?

I write this on September 10th with a sense of sadness for the country I live in and its people. We have become so consumed in our own lives, beliefs, opinions, and possessions that we refuse to listen to the world around us. I don't have the answers to fixing the big problems we face, but I hope I am able to do my best where I can. I hope I am able to help my fellow countrymen if they should need it.

I hope...

And no good thing ever dies,
B

In His Words: Part 3

I've been thinking a lot over the past several weeks about what I continue to work with youth. I wasn't questioning my reasons because I am looking for a reason to stop, I just wanted a good reason. Having not found a reason that sounded reverent enough for my liking, I soon found my reasons in the words of an unlikely source, Allen Iverson:

[He] was talking about people acknowledging me for things I do; I don’t need people to praise me for that. I don’t need people to praise me for that. You know, God know what I do and the person that I do it for, they know, and that’s the only thing that matters. I ain’t trying to win no popularity contest. When you somebody popular, you gotta have tough skin cause you never gonna be perfect to everybody. You never gonna be able to satisfy everybody. All you supposed to concentrate on is the people that love you and care about you. I think it brings joy out of people to knock people down. Don’t nobody care about what AI does for the community. The story is when AI does something that they think is wrong. That’s the big story. That’s the story everybody want to read. And as bad as it is, that’s the way it is. It’s an evil world. I just want kids, and adults, to just learn from my experience and know that it don’t matter what you do, how good you do, how many peoples lives you touch, how many good things you do, you know, people still gonna still throw shots at you. And it’s something you gotta take. You gotta learn how to have thick skin and I’d be lying if I said those things didn’t hurt, cause they still hurt. I’m 34 years old. People been throwing shots at me since the first time I went to jail and it never stopped. I never got used to it, but I’m just better now. It don’t hurt as much, but it still hurt. But those guys being up there and knowing that I had an impact on their life and they can say that I had an impact on their life: that’s everything to me. And not just one person that I touched, it was two. And hopefully I can continue to touch more lives.

Amen.

Video of this moving speech can be seen here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zYmObmEY6cY

Tear me apart

A friend of mine posted a note on Facebook today that she actually wrote. It wasn't a quiz or a forwarded survey, it was a handful of thoughtful, caring paragraphs. It also happened to be about baseball and her love for the game. It was very well written and a breath of fresh air amongst the filler that has become Facebook.

I'm recovering from a sinus infection that has put me down for better than a week now. I went to Youth Fellowship last night and tossed the frisbee around with some of the kids. I had no idea how tired I still was until I got out there. Other than one trip to the grocery and two days at work, it was the first thing I'd done besides lay on the couch since last Friday. I'll be glad when my lingering cough goes away.

Nitro Circus is my new "favorite" tv show. It's kind of America's Funniest Home Videos meets Thrills & Spills meets Jackass, only better. It's hard to comprehend the talent in the group on that show with their actions, but it's there. If you haven't seen it, I recommend it. And thankfully Comcast as it OnDemand free (in HD no less) so I can avoid the ignorant MTV commercials. Thankfully now that Making the Band 4 has come to an end, my MTV intake will be minute.

Let's make a note that the Moles' family had an original America's Funniest Home Videos towel featuring cartoon characters of some of the funniest original clips. Our grandpa got it for us and I'd guess it caused a fight or three around the house.

My sister returns home in two months from her almost-year-long stint in East Asia. Jeff and I both got a couple days off work after the weekend she gets back, which also happens to be Father's Day weekend, and we're both very excited to see her and also spend time with the entire family for a few days. The five of us haven't been together since a couple weeks before she left in September. It will be nice to have everyone in the same room again during those short three or four days. As you get older, you depend less on your family in many ways, but depend on them even more in ways you never knew you would while growing up.

Before I moved to Nashville, I worked 10ish-5ish five days a week and could take off almost whenever I wanted. Leaving at 3 a few afternoons a week was normal during our slow season. Being on hourly pay, this was not conducive to my bank account, but to my lazy-self it was the best thing ever. Having now put in a year working too many hours a week in retail and now almost six months at a desk job, I continually work for the weekend. I am so grateful to have a position that allows me to work 37 hours a week and get time off when I need it. Finding this job during the midst of an economical crisis is probably more of a blessing than I realize.

I am completely sucked into the NBA playoffs. I have watched at least part of almost every game that has been on cable thus far, partly because I was sick and did nothing but watch tv for a week and partly because the game is so great right now. I don't know if this kind of stat has ever been looked at, but without any knowledge of previous years playoffs point guard classes, I'd make the argument that this year's class is the best of all time. Chauncey Billups, Tony Parker, Aaron Brooks, Steve Blake, Jason Kidd, Chris Paul, Deron Williams, Mo Williams, Rajon Rondo, Rafer Alston (should be Jameer Nelson), Mike Bibby, Mario Chalmers, Derrick Rose, Andre Miller, Derek Fisher, and Rodney Stuckey would have to be the most complete point guard lineup ever to grace the NBA playoffs. And keep in mind Steve Nash, who's great but overrated, didn't make the playoffs.

Besides the point guards, you've still got Kobe, LeBron, D-Wade, Superman, Jesus Shuttlesworth, Paul Pierce, Carlos Boozer, Tim Duncan, Yao, Brandon Roy, David West, Dirk, Ben Gordon, Joe Johnson, Andre Iguodala, and Rip Hamilton gracing the court.

You're not impressed that I could name every starting playoff point guard, but I am. I've said it many times and I'll say it again, the NBA is the best it's been since Jordan, Bird, and Magic. Take advantage of the opportunity before you to watch these guys. Kobe, LeBron, Dwight Howard, Tim Duncan, Chris Paul, and D-Wade will go down as some of the greatest players to ever play the game. And of those seven, Duncan is the old man of the group at 33 years old (Howard and Paul are only 23, LeBron is only 24).

One last NBA note: Jeff asked yesterday when the playoffs end because he's already sick of watching. Hopefully the middle of June isn't too far away for him. I guess he'll just have to countdown to Sarah getting home while I countdown to a championship.

I should get back to work now. I think I'm going to the Sounds (AAA Brewers affiliate) game tonight with some friends. My Iowa Cubs are in town. I'll feel kinda bad rooting against the home team until I see my boys in blue take the field.

Tear me apart?

Tear me apart 'cause this is the start of a new beginning

Open my eyes and cut through the lies that I tell myself

-Jon Hainstock "Tear Me Apart"

Today, I'm just a little bit cooler than you.

I'm 26 today.  That sounds old as crap to me.  Not because it is, but because I'm closer to 30 than I am to 20.  30 sounds light years away yet it will be here before I realize it.

I turn 26 with a great love for the life I live and for the people I am so fortunate to share it with.  I turn 26 with a heavy heart; a heart that aches for the family of a 22 year old I have never met, nor did I know his name until Wednesday night.  I turn 26 with a sense of pride in the way I have been taught and have chosen to lead my life.  I turn 26 knowing that I will have hundreds, if not thousands, of Facebook notifications when I check tomorrow morning.

That'd be the best present ever.  A little red flag at the bottom of my Facebook home page with tiny white numbers reading, "724."

I hope all of you who read this are doing well.  I hope you are all in good spirits and good health.  I am truly blessed and I thank you for sharing your lives with me; it means the world to me.  Thank you and good night.

Happy Birthday to me,

B