IT'S ALL ABOUT FOCUS

In the middle of my backswing in golf, I've been known to have problems with focus. Such thoughts as, "I wonder if the Cardinals won today" or " When's the last time it rained?" As Willy Loman said in Death of a Salesman, "I have such thoughts."
So in yesterday's blog I revealed I'm not competitive. Today--I'm not focused. Just maybe those two go together.

THE CYCLOPS OR WHEN MONKEYS FLY

I don't know how it will go,
This love of, should I call it mine
Or ours? Show me a sign.
But maybe you did
And preoccupied, I missed it.
You, the third base coach
While, I the hitter ignored your gestures.
I focused on the wrong things
Not the time
And blamed you
For being apathetic.
I didn't even call, "Time Out,"

To try to get it straight

To try to concentrate

On where we were headed

And what my responsiblities were.

I know there's no "i" in team

But there's no "I" in we

In our case.

And, yes, it's my loss

As I left you

Alone (in a box or boxed in)

Trying to tell me what to do

And my mind was somewhere else.

APPRENTICE----NOT

Actually in last night's final Apprentice, Rebecca looked more like Jaclyn Smith than Brook Shields (pictured here), but what an ending.

For those who have a life rather than watch the Donald's show, Rebecca and Randall came down to the wire in the battle to be Trump's apprentice. Rebecca was aewsome. At 23, she had chultzpah, brass, intestinal fortitude of someone much more experienced, although as a 15-year old she raised $750,000 for a non-profit cause. She was practically flawless for 13-weeks in the competition,even overcoming a broken ankle while participating in a prize winning segment of the show. She was playing hockey with some of the New York Rangers when it happened. Anyway(s) she was top of the line.

Then there was Randall, a Rhodes scholar with 5 colleege degrees including a PhD from MIT. Quality, oh yeah. Everyone loved Randall and wanted him on their team. At age 30, he had already headed million dollar corporation(s) he started with his college buds. An African-American, he would be a good edition to the multi-faceted Trump Org. Then he blew it.

Oh, he won. He will be the apprentice. But Mr. Trump gave him a chance to select Rebecca as an additional apprentice. One would work on a huge casino in Atlantic City--Randall's choice, while Rebecca would work on a New Jersey site on the Hudson. And Randall said no because "The show was called The Apprentice, not The Apprenti." And so Rebecca was shut out. The same woman he had worked closely and well with, the same one he had eaten many meals with, seemingly a bud. Then BOOM!

I have never seen anyone quite so selfish and competitive. I really lost a lot of respect for him. He made her look terrible. But she was tough, and earned even more of my respect.

Granted I had logged a few Thursday evening hours watching this show. But I chose to write about it because it made me examine my lack of competiveness. I could never had done that. It reminded me of a friend of mine who had two young boys. He loved playing ball with them. But even when they were 4 or 5, he'd never let them win against him. "When they're good enough to beat me, then they will." He moved away so I don't know how they turned out. Maybe that's what happened to Randall growing. (no misprint: I just couldn't add up to growing, because he hasn't.)

NO MORE ROCKIES

How can they even consider another Rocky movie? How old is Sly anyway? Remember Burgess Merideth in the original movie? I think he was younger then than Stallone is now.

It would be like a cast member from The Sopranos killing somebody or something. Just too far fetched. Like having a couple of former Survivors come back for another run at it or something. Or how about another Apprentice? Featuring an ex-con to do the hiring and firing.

When Rocky's having trouble and he needs to yell, "Adrien," will he even remember her name? What's the movie gonna be called "Rock of Ages?"

It would be like an old coach resigning a week after he pilots his team to the Super Bowl Championship to un-retire and coach a cross state rival. For 4 more years. Nobody would believe it.

It would be like a hall of fame Illinois high school basketball coach leaving and coaching at an area university, then leaving the university and going back to coach at another area high school. And his replacement taking the teams to the ncaa tournament two years in a row, once to the sweet sixteen. How about this--he then leaves for a cross state team who also goes to two ncaas, once losing in the championship game. Nope--that's just too crazy.

It wouldn't work in obscure sports either like bicycling. A guy could win a big race maybe once or twice in his life, okay three times. But only if he was really healthy. Never more than 4 or 5 or 6 or 7. It's just implausible.

So Rock, do us a favor. Don't answer that bell, stay down for the count. Because we know it couldn't happen again. Could it?

HE USED TO BE NATHANIEL

Three weeks ago in Tempe, AZ, former Mt.Vernon Ram/SIU Saluki/LA Laker/Phoenix Sun, Nate Hawthorne passed away from a massive heart attack at age 54. I'm pretty sure he's in the MTV Hall of Fame. He should be if he isn't.

Nate was one of my shouldofs. I'll explain later. When I first met Nathaniel Hawthorne, as he was called back in 1960, I laughed at his name. I knew the author simply because of the card game Authors, kind of a gin rummy kind of game where you build suits. And right here on my Little League team was this guy who said his name was Nathaniel Hawthorne.

He was a good size kid with some baby fat or flab on him. And that may not be right. He had kind of a round face, but not really. He was hard to describe. He wasn't muscular at all, but he was strong. Most of the time he looked like he wasn't giving his all, his best effort. He looked like he played in spurts. But you know what? That was because he was so smooth. There was never any wasted effort, and he was the first I ever noticed that about.

He had the million dollar smile that was like Mona Lisa's. Or Scott Gill's. What the heck are they thinking? It's like they're in on some inside joke that only they understand.

The last time I saw Nate, except on tv during that 1976 championship run of the Suns vs the Celtics in that famous famous triple overtime game, was at the old Washington School just off South Tenth Street. I was in junior college, still on the campus of MTV High, and we were playing a pick up game there. It was at that time the YMCA. Nate was on the other team and he was just superior.

I had come down twice on a fast break (imagine that to begin with) and stopped and popped a couple of 18-footers. He said,"It looks like somebody's been practicing," gave me that Nate smile and proceded to take over the game. If I scored another bucket I don't remember it.

And back to the shouldofs. I knew Nate was in the area. Bob Brown had told me before I moved out here. I shouldof (should have) looked him up. I did try to hook up with a high school buddy of mine Danny "Hoobie" Hester when I first moved here. We played phone tag for two weeks till I guess we thought we really didn't need to get together. Another shouldof. Those happen.

But I'll long remember Nate and some of the classic high school games against Les Taylor of Carbondale. They billed them Nate the Great vs. Les the Best. I have another Nate story that I could never write on a blog, but when you see me ask about it. It's one you'll never forget.

HEY HEY WE'RE THE MONKEES

Man, my wife hates articles like this. You know about the old days. She says she's glad I have a sense for the past, but I'm never sure if she's serious. But I was a history minor in college, so I guess it comes naturally.

When I came acoss this old television channel guide on the Monkees, it brought back a big time memory for me.

When I was growing up, we lived in a real neighborhood with mostly stay at home moms, plus plenty of kids in the neighborhood. One time I counted something like 51 kids who lived within playing distance who played at least some kind of ball with us over the years. Two blocks south, two blocks north, two blocks west and one block east were our boundaries. There were also a few side streets, but you get the idea. Remember, I'm a Baby Boomer, and we had the numbers. We still may be the largest graduating class in MtV's history at 395. Not senior class--this was our 1966 graduating class. Hey, almost time for another reunion. How many? 30? Already? Oh, yeah 40. Wow.

Back to the Monkees. Before Monday Night Football (talk about history) there was The Monkees. And at 7:00 on Monday nights, there would be a big crowd jamming in our living room in front of the only color tv set in the 'hood. Man, that was an honor. And guys and girls would sit in silence and watch Peter and Davey and the other Monkees perform.

They weren't the best. We knew the show wasn't great, but we bonded over The Last Train to Clarksville and Daydream Believer and all the other forgettable Monkee songs. And I'm glad we did. The Monkees made it seem ok just to be average. As long as you were having fun.

PRESSED BY THE BENCH

I feel like the old Westener in the buckboard after yesterday's football in the MVRL. First I was mad at myself for not claiming the patsies defense. It was one of those rare Sundays when I could get in on the early action. What I mean is, I'm never around to make last minute changes because I'm sitting in the Church House listening to my golfing buddy Pastor Rob deliver his message. But Hud had dropped the easteners before church time, so I could have had 'em, but I chose not to.
After Wes got 'em I was mad at Hud. What's he doing making changes when he's not in the playoffs. But hey, why be mad at him? It's the rule. So then I was mad at Ryan P. How come it's a rule? When I'm out of the playoffs, almost an annual thing, I do as Derek suggested and get on with baseball. Who's thinking about the MVRL then?
Then I got mad at the Rams. How can any qb not score against that lousy outfit larry marmie put together? But that's brad johnson for you. It's almost enough to make me root for the bears. Naw.
Then I'm mad at the Cowboys. How does julius jones suck it up again this week? And how does drew bledsoe find life after 3-4 weeks in the tank? So let's see, I played the wrong qb and rb from the cowboys and the vikes. Yikes!
Then I'm mad at Fitz. How can you not score inside the red zone 8 out of 9 times? And never throw a td pass to Torry Holt? Ditto Eli and Toomer.
Then I go beserk when chris stinking chambers goes nuts against the chargers and drops 22 points on me. Chris stinking chambers and the stinking dolphins!
At this point, it's Wes and his Pressers 85 and the Good Guys 45.
I feel like the guy in the picture. I sigh. I shut off the computer and take a nap by the hot tub. Season over.
No 2nd rounder
No extra draft picks
No game next week.
Wounded by Wes.
But I'll be back. Just like Eric, and Hud and Troy and Al, and Mark and Ryan F. and Scott. And next year the Burrowing Owls will be hot. I'll be pulling the trigger.

PRESSED BY THE BENCH

I feel like the old Westener in the buckboard after yesterday's football in the MVRL. First I was mad at myself for not claiming the patsies defense. It was one of those rare Sundays when I could get in on the early action. What I mean is, I'm never around to make last minute changes because I'm sitting in the Church House listening to my golfing buddy Pastor Rob deliver his message. But Hud had dropped the easteners before church time, so I could have had 'em, but I chose not to.
After Wes got 'em I was mad at Hud. What's he doing making changes when he's not in the playoffs. But hey, why be mad at him? It's the rule. So then I was mad at Ryan P. How come it's a rule? When I'm out of the playoffs, almost an annual thing, I do as Derek suggested and get on with baseball. Who's thinking about the MVRL then?
Then I got mad at the Rams. How can any qb not score against that lousy outfit larry marmie put together? But that's brad johnson for you. It's almost enough to make me root for the bears. Naw.
Then I'm mad at the Cowboys. How does julius jones suck it up again this week? And how does drew bledsoe find life after 3-4 weeks in the tank? So let's see, I played the wrong qb and rb from the cowboys and the vikes. Yikes!

WAS THERE EVER ANYPLACE COLDER

Than in the scene in Dr. Zhivago where Julie Christie and Omar Shariff are holed up in the Russian palace? Amidst all that snow and isolation. In the middle of nowhere. Without any heat in the house. And snow that has fallen through the roof.

What a great romantic movie. Rod Steiger was so mean as Christie's former lover/rapist. It was long but when they played Lara's Theme, that haunting "Somewhere my Love," well, it just kinda made you want to be there even in the cold in Bolshevik Russia.

Of course when men heard the song, they thought of Julie C., and women thought of Omar S. I still watch the movie when I get a chance.

Others I at least watch a little of include "The Seven Year Itch," "No Time for Sergeants," "American Graffiti," "Sandlot" (especially the scene where Squints plays like he's drowning to get a mouth to mouth from the lifeguard) "Field of Dreams," "Shallow Hal," "To Kill a Mockingbird," "A Man and a Woman," and about a dozen more I'm forgetting. Like "Out of Sight," when Clooney is trying to seduce Jennifer Lopez at the restaurant with snow falling outside.

Of course the list must include George Lucas, Hitchcock, and anything with Dustin Hoffman in it. Or Goldie Hawn. Or early Paul Newman. Or some Jack Nicholson.

Of course, I'm forgetting a bunch of other actors and actresses (that's rather dated now). But one thing I think I'ver never forgotten at a movie was the popcorn.

AMERICAN DREAMS

Man I loved that show last season. Sunday nights is just not the same.

In case you never saw it, it took place in Philadelphia in 1964. It was a family focused show about three main characters, Meg, a dancer on the American Bandstand tv show with Dick Clark. Her mother was a stay at home who wanted to be more cosmopolitan. The father, the owner of a tv and appliance store was a hard nosed guy struggling with societal issues and a family slowly becoming disconnected. J.J., the star athlete in high school was injured in a game and went to Viet Nam where he left his pregnant bride. He got shot up there, but came home. His little brother and sister were good, too. One of my favorites was Roxanne, Meg's co-Bandstand buddy who was wild and funny.

Two other things that really made the show. First, the old music they played with actual footage from the early days of Bandstand weren't all the old overplayed songs. If I never hear I Heard it Through the Grapevine, it'll be too soon. And second, they had today's stars dress up like the old ones and interspersed their image in color with the real Connie Francis clip from Bandstand in black and white. It was prretty cool to see how Lee Ann Rimes could look like Brenda Lee. Now that's a great, although granted overplayed oldie (not for me, though) "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree."

Anyway, it was a great show, a little sappy, but overall for tv today a gem.