Its Uggs or the Chefs. A Raider Fan's View of a Not So Super Sunday

 

Sometimes these posts get a little light and sometimes I aim to make people smile.  This is not one of those posts.  You see, last Sunday both the Kansas City Chiefs and Tom Brady were able to make it to next week’s Super Bowl. 

Sure, to some of you this is a fairly innocuous situation.  Those who aren’t particularly bothered by this aren’t fans of the Las Vegas Raiders. 

You see, as a Raiders fan, there is no good option for the Super Bowl.  First of all, there are the hated Chefs making their second consecutive appearance in the big game.  In the Raiders division, there are probably no bigger rivals.  Unfortunately, for the last, two decades-ish, The Raiders have been less than equal competition.  Last season, watching the Chefs raise the Lombardi trophy, was akin to watching your kid sitting the bench while the opponent hits a game winning home run.  It was stomach turning. 

Kansas City not only broke a decades long drought of Super Bowl squalor, they also look primed to do the same thing over and over again.  They have the best quarterback in the league, perhaps the best tight end and a ton of playmakers on offense.  It’s terrible.

Their opponent is the Tampa Bay Buccaneers.  I am able to ignore the fact that the last time the Raiders were in the Super Bowl it was against them and I can dismiss the throttling the Raiders took. 

The bigger issue is the quarterback of the Bucs.  In the off season the Buccaneers added Michigan alum and all-around dung heap Tom Brady.  Speaking on a personal level, years ago Tom Brady replaced The New York Yankees and intestinal flu as things that turn my gut.   

You see, January 19^th, 2002 Tom Brady was the quarterback of the New England Patriots.  He was nothing remarkable at the time.  The legend of Tom Brady should have started a season later as the Raiders seemed to have knocked Tommy Uggs out of the playoffs.  Late in that game at Foxboro Field Charles Woodson stripped Brady of the ball assuring the Raiders of a win.  But as the celebrating started, something awful happened.  Something so terrible that it was clear that the football gods had conspired against the Silver and Black.  The officials got together searching for a way to take the game from the Raiders.  They uncovered a little-known statute called the “Tuck Rule”.  The rule basically states that any time the Raiders come close to any modicum of success the officials are required to yell “Tuck You, Raiders” then take a win away from them. Tom Brady went on to win the Super Bowl, the Raiders went on to a few decades of obscurity.

Of note, I had tickets to that Super Bowl assuming the Raiders went.

The lesson here girls?  Probably not a great one.  Let’s try, if you aren’t cheatin’ you aren’t tryin’?  Nah, probably a bad lesson.  How about this.  “Sometimes you’re going to lose no matter what you do.”  I can live with that one.  Be it on the soccer field or on your bike or in the classroom, despite your best efforts things are bound to go against you sometimes.  You may fall on your bike or play a team you just can’t beat.  You will be in a no-win situation here and there.  I guess that’ll have to be the lesson.

Yeah, the Chiefs will win, or Tom Brady will win, and the world will keep on spinning, I guess. In the meantime, we can hope that there is a problem with the stadium’s plumbing and the game has to be cancelled.  A boy can dream.

Uh Oh, Someone Left Some Ceiling On The Floor

 There are times where this blog is tough to write, where ideas don’t pour out or the subject matter is a little difficult.

Today is not one of those days.

Yesterday morning I had a planned run with my wife and some friends.  My middle decided to tag along and we headed off to the Colorado/ Wyoming border for some windy, high altitude running.  I was reluctant.  I hadn’t been training due to a hamstring injury I endured playing, wait for it, kickball!  My God I’m getting old. 

Needless to say, running at eight thousand feet, undertrained and less than motivated was not a recipe for success.  I was nervously drinking coffee and driving north.  Macy had fallen asleep in the back seat and Adrienne sat quiet, nervous as she hasn’t been trail running either.  The car was unusually quiet.  I was considering the fact that I hadn’t taken my allergy medication and that a few ibuprofens may have made my back feel a little better for the run.  Did I mention that I am getting old?

I reached down for my coffee and noticed Adrienne is a weird position.  Her phone was in her lap and she was looking at the roof, crying. I’m an idiot for not immediately knowing what had happened.

“It’s over.” Adrienne said, “They called Pennsylvania.”

I knew instantly what she was saying.  This wasn’t a “trash the current administration” thing.  It wasn’t a “Go Biden” thing.  Those tears were tears of joy because a ceiling has been broken.  A glass one that she thought was going to get broken four years ago.

She woke up Macy and told her what had happened.  Kamala Harris had won the Vice Presidency.  The first woman to hold the spot.  A woman of color.  A black woman.  An Asian woman.  It shines a light for many people across this nation.  In my car, for my wife and daughter, it was the ‘woman’ part that really struck home. 

Adrienne called my other two daughters, who didn’t get the news firsthand as they did not want to get out of bed to run(decisions have consequences).  She was beaming.  The looming run had all but been forgotten.   We parked and met our friends, who were having a similar morning.  We talked gleefully in a way that I don’t often do before a run like that.  My wife made a friend at the bathroom of a woman who was also grinning from ear to ear. 

I kept that joy in my heart for the first quarter of a mile until I saw exactly what kind of run I had gotten myself into.  Side note: Jon, you are a bad friend and I should not let myself get talked into your ideas.  See you next weekend.

 

The lesson here girls?  This is a big one.  You can do anything you want in life.  The last election left us all licking our wounds a little.  I remember you three questioning why our country would elect someone who seemed “mean” and wouldn’t vote for a woman.  I remember trying to explain that wasn’t really what happened, not totally believing it myself.  I remember my sister saying that our country would never elect a woman for national office. 

Those conversations are over.  An overdue, two hundred-year-old wrong has been righted a bit.  A woman is in the White House, at least in the West Wing.  So, to those who begrudge the election, I get it, we all want our team to win, but for a moment, just a moment, think of the women around you.  Think of the people of color.  Let them have their moment in the sun. 

So, to my wife and daughters, to my mom and my mother in law, to Lisa and Aunt Rosemary.  Today is a good day.  There are plenty of struggles in this country, to be sure, and plenty of work to do.  For one weekend, we should set that aside and celebrate the election and what it means to so many marginalized people. 

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to lie on the couch and ice my legs.  I’m not getting any younger.

 

A Calm Within The Storm (with and assist from beer and football)

 Election Day was a few days ago.  There still isn’t a result.  Like so many Americans, my family has been locked to their televisions and Twitter accounts like there was a pandemic keeping us home.

No matter what side of the political spectrum you fall on, people feel like the outcome of this election will shape this country for decades to come.  Perhaps those people are right.  In a moment of introspection yesterday morning, I had a bit of an epiphany, that and a ringing hangover, but let’s keep focused on the epiphany. 

Here it is.  I can’t change anything. 

That’s it. 

No amount of nerves and Twitter scrolling will change whatever outcome is headed our way.  Full stop.

That’s not to say that I don’t care who wins.  I absolutely do.  I am someone who believes that the decision made this week could affect my kids twenty years from now.  I’m sick of the craziness of the last four years.  But none of that will affect the outcome. 

I work from home and usually have the news on in the background, which is the worst brand of ambient noise, but yesterday I listened to music all day.  It was delightful. My wife and I went out for a beer with a lovely couple last night.  We sat for a couple of hours talking about running, and football, and kids, and work.  What we didn’t talk about was the election.

There are bigger things at play to be sure, but I now realize that it doesn’t have to overtake my life.  Its freeing.  Today I listened to music from all over the world while I worked.  I never tuned into the election.  Tonight, I intend to watch football and hang out with my kids with full knowledge that the country is on fire in more ways than one. 

I’m hoping that I wake up in the morning and its, at least for the most part, over.  I’m hoping we as a country learn to agree to disagree better.  I’m hoping that there is a return to dialogue and decorum. I’m praying for normalcy.  Finally, I am hoping that my wife gets to tell my girls that a woman is the Vice President of the United States. 

The lesson here girls?  Pretty simple, actually.  Its important to stand up for what you believe in.  Its important to fight the good fight.  Its also important to know what you can and cannot control.  I don’t think it’s a secret that I am not a supporter of the current administration.  Girls, you know exactly how I feel about it.  But sitting around wringing my hands and cursing at the television won’t change anything.  The fact is that there is a bigger picture to me.  Since you girls have been walking the earth there have been three women on major presidential tickets.  I’d just as soon as not have them go 0 for 3 in those elections. 

So, girls, America is ready to have a woman run it.  If not now, soon.  And if not soon, then maybe one of you will have to do it.  Now, excuse me, I need to generate another stinging hangover so I can keep this chipper outlook.

So, It Just Comes in Threes, Right?

Macy had a week.  She had an absolutely craptastic, shit-fest of a week.  It was one of those weeks that through ten-year-old eyes feels like being knocked down and then kicked and kicked. 

Macy found out that one of her best friends was moving out of state.  It was really weighing on her.  She tried to keep a stiff upper lip, but truth be told, this friend encapsulated what Macy thinks of as ‘cool’.   

I remember kids like her when I was young.  A kid that always knew what was cool before the rest of us.  They were the ones that pushed boundaries.  It was like they had a special report on ‘hip’ that I was never privy to. 

Macy’s friend shaved the side of her head and always had a different hue hinted in her blonde locks.  She is a paddleboarder, a skateboarder and was among the first in her grade to have a cell phone.  Macy couldn’t help but look up to her and I think got a little star-struck when her admiration was returned.  They were a good pair.  I get why Macy was upset.

That week, Macy also had soccer tryouts.  It wasn’t merely a formality, but it was close.  Macy’s team was very good, and I could hardly see the league disbanding them.  The Rapids had informed us that they were trying to limit tryouts due to Covid, but we were later informed that, in fact, all three of our girls needed to tryout for their individual teams.  Avery, my eldest had the first tryout.  She struggled.  In an unfortunate turn of events, due to scheduling, all three girls had to sit and wait for the others to complete their tryouts. Avery was in near tears when her tryout was over.  I didn’t think it went as bad as she did, but I didn’t love her odds either. 

Then it was Darby’s turn.  More often than not, my youngest didn’t seem to realize that soccer is a competition.  I assumed that she would A) not make a competitive team or B) care.  She had a fair tryout and then immediately left the field to play with her puppy without a thought of making a team.

Macy went last.  Her tryout was about an hour.  In the spirit of transparency, she was slow to start.  After the first five or ten minutes, old Macy came out and I was very comfortable with her performance.  I worried about Avery and Darby, but Macy?  Not so much.

Best laid plans of mice and men.

Avery would find out that night that she had, in fact, made the team she wanted to make as had a few of her close friends.  She was overjoyed and proud of herself.  We were told that it may be up to 48 hours before we heard results, so we were thrilled to get early notification.

Darby and Macy would have to wait….and wait….and wait.  They waited long enough that the other local organization’s tryouts came and went.  No coincidence, me thinks.  The evening after the other organization’s tryouts we got a phone call.  Darby had made her team.  Macy had not. 

We were floored.  Someone somewhere had made a mistake.  Macy had long thought that her coach had a problem with her.  I dreaded to think that the ten-year-old may have been right.  The exponential problem was that one of her best friends was moving and many of her other friends were on the team she was just cut from. 

The next day was a morose one around our house.  Macy was trying to get a hold of her friend before she moved but for a few days she was sent straight to voicemail.  My suspicion is that they already moved.  We tried to keep her spirits up, but she decided to take a nap. 

She was only upstairs for a couple of minutes before she came down, her hands cupped holding something.  Her tears were fresh. 

What she held was her hamster.  I don’t know why, but the little guy had passed away sometime that morning.  Ham Solo was a good hamster, short of the fact that he picked the worst week possible to shed his mortal coil.

The look that was on Macy’s face was one I’ve never seen in one of my kids.  It was resignation.  It was helplessness.  She was upset to find out that her friend was moving.  She was crushed to find out that she hadn’t made her soccer team.  The hamster left her defeated.  She asked if we could go for a car ride. 

We took a ride around a mountain lake a few miles from our house.  She said that she was feeling something she hadn’t felt before.  That she felt like she was waiting for the next thing to happen.  Like something was stepping on her not letting her catch her breath.

I understood. For a ten-year-old, that’s a lot to deal with. 

There is a lesson here, girlies.  Yeah, it was a bad week.  It was.  By hook or by crook the world conspired against Macy.  She had no control over her friend moving or her hamster dying, and truth be told, I don’t think she had a ton of control over soccer either.  It’s how you deal with it, and Macy dealt with it great. 

My wife was able to talk to someone at the Arsenal soccer office and got her a one-on-one tryout.  She killed it. The coach was floored by her performance.  He said that he couldn’t believe that the Rapids would have let her go.  She wound up making a team a level up than the one she was discarded from.  She let us know that she would use this season to get better.  She would make her old team next time around.  She may, she may not, but I love her pulling herself up and saying so.

We also got her a new hamster as well.  Derp Vader isn’t quite the pet that Ham Solo was but he’s working on it. 

A Bump in the Night

It's Five o'clock in the morning.  I'm not someone that is fanatical about sleep but I don't love being up this early on a Saturday when it isn't called for either.  I was awakened by the sound of a sliding glass door opening.  I grabbed my dog, Otto, and investigated.  We searched in the obvious places, behind doors, in closets, then the less obvious ones, like showers and in the garage and then ridiculous ones, like the freezer and kitchen cabinets.  We found nothing.  The fact that I had to wake Otto up to investigate should have been a dead giveaway, but having kids has given my already overactive imagination a steroid injection.  Thanks kids.  I'll file that panic button that kids give you as "another thing your parents don't tell you about as they are begging you to have grandkids for them".  

Truth be told, if there had been a break-in it wouldn't be the first we've had here.  Back when we were the parents of  less children I was awoken by my wife whispering there was someone in the house.  Come to find out, there was two intruders in our house that night.  I was able to chase them off but not before they stole a car, some video games and my wedding ring among other things.  Something else was stolen though, something I was unaware until this morning that I even had in the first place, my peace of mind.

Without realizing it, most people have had their "fight or flight" tested over and over and mentally have a checklist of where they perform well.  For example, I know if my wife and I come up on a car accident, the victim would much rather have my wife be the first on the scene and have me go for coffee.  I don't know why, but my wife thrives in that arena, me, not so much.  I happen to know, however, there are areas where I keep a clearer head than she does.  If we have a house fire, it turns out that my wife doesn't keep nearly as level a head as she does at car accidents.  I don't know why, but the apple fell pretty far from the firefighter tree she sprouted from.  

In that, I know that there was a time when I didn't panic when someone broke into our house.  I dealt with it, talked to the police for a while and went back to sleep.  Which brings me to this morning.  Why am I sitting here writing a blog post and not back in bed?  Is it because by sense of calm was broken by the people who broke into my home a few years ago?  Is it because the stakes went up as I had more kids?  Is it because I have gotten old and need less sleep?  I think the answers are: 'yes', 'yes' and 'maybe a little'.  

Without knowing it, my children have given me many a sleepless night.  Without kids, the break in wouldn't have scared me.  Neither would the house fire, or traffic, or walking through a mall, or nail polish, or the ingredients of chicken nuggets.  What would never have bothered me before now has me writing  blog posts at 5:00 in the morning.   

The point of the story is twofold.  To my mom, I'm sorry for all of the times I did stupid shit.  There are plenty of those times, the ones you knew about and the lions share that you didn't.  I had no idea the numbers of hours of sleep it must have cost you.  I guess that explains why you didn't let me know about those sleepless nights when I had kids.  Touché, I'll consider us even.  To my daughters; Daddy panics now.  He never did before you were born.  The balding, the grey hair, it's all on you guys.  But here's the thing, I wouldn't trade a grey hair on my head to have it any different.  That being said, just know daddy panics now.  So when you are considering sneaking out, daddy panics.  When riding your bike, daddy panics.  When you're climbing trees or playing with scissors or staying at a friend's house, daddy panics.  As you and I get older I can't see it getting any better so file daddy's panic in the back of your head for decision making purposes.  So when you think to yourself, "should I get that tattoo?" or "I think I can get to the store and back before daddy notices I'm even gone" or "I bet I can (fill in the blank)" remember your old man, and his receding hair line, and have mercy on the poor guy.