Okay, while other people (the fine folks at Yahoo Sports have done a good job of this) discuss the human interest stories of Turin, from Scandinavian National Pride in hockey to retiring speedskaters to drunk downhill skiiers to fussy ice skaters, I prefer to look at the cold hard results of the medal count. After all, the Olympics is a competition where there are winners, losers, and results, and I like analyzing results, so here goes.
In order to simplify the task, I will look at some nations that performed well in the Olympics and some nations that did not perform so well. I will also try to make some regional comparisons so that we can look at the Euro-American Winter games, I mean, the Winter Olympics.
Winners:
United States:
Okay, so many people are going to be disappointed with 25 medals, which is 9 fewer than we won in Salt Lake City 4 years ago. But it is good to remember that even without hosting the Olympics and having an unfriendly crowd, we still managed to get our second highest medal total ever, that is, in the entire 80 year history of the Winter Olympics. That is huge. It proves that the US can compete in winter sports (where we are not exactly a global power) against other nations. Hopefully we can build on this in the future. If our skiing team had met expectations we could have won the medal count race with Germany. As it is, we have done better than most would have expected. We dominated the snowboarding medals and even got a bronze in curling. Sweet.
Sweeden:
Sweeden's 14 medals give it a record high amount in its history, and included a gold medal in hockey as well as 7 gold medals over all. Sweeden managed to be successful in cross country, curling, and the biathalon as well. Sweeden managed to do itself proud, and had some head-to-head victories against Norway, a generally much more heralded neighbor.
Finland:
Finland's 9 medals are a huge haul for the small nation, which did not have any gold medals but managed strong performances in hockey and ski jumping (where it got 2 silver medals). To put it in persepctive, Finland got alomst as many medals as China, which is a lot bigger. That's something to be proud of, for the Finns.
Let's Hear It For The Small Nations of Eastern Europe:
Estonia got 3 golds medals (!) in this year's Olympics, all in Cross Country. The Czech Republic got four medals, including a gold and two silver. Croatia ended up with a gold and two silver for three total medals, all in alpine skiing. Poland ended up with a silver and a bronze. The Ukraine got two bronze medals. Belarus got a silver medal, as did Bulgaria and Slovakia. Even little Latvia ended up with a bronze medal. While these nations did not end up with a lot of medals, any medal in these nations is something to celebrate. These nations managed to upstage larger rivals in some events, and even with minimal funding ended up getting solid results. This will hopefully bolster their attempts to compete on a global stage in the future.
Losers:
Non-north American English Speaking Nations:
Other than the US (25 medals) and Canada (24 medals), English speaking nations did not fare well in this Olympics. Australia managed only two medals and Great Britain managed only 1, even losing in curling to the United States in the bronze medal men's game (ouch). While Australia picked up only its second Winter Olympics gold ever, Great Britain's pitiful performance was a major diappointment.
Italy:
Okay, the host nations are expected to threaten for the leadership of the medal count at the Olympics, and Italy only managed 11 medals. Obviously, the home team is disappointed with throwing away their best chance for Olympic dominance. People failed to show up for marquee events, there was a major doping scandal, and no one other than the Poles enjoyed the food. All in all, the Italians did a poor job all around. Shame.
Norway:
Okay, in most nations 19 medals would be a success, but the Norwegians are used to dominating these games, and that did not happen. Norway ended up with only 2 gold medals, fewer than Estonia (see above). That has to hurt. One wonders what Norway did wrong to even fail in those events, like cross country and the biathalon, where it traditionally excels. Something is rotten indeed in the state of Norway.
Regional Comparison in Medal Count:
Europe: 21 nations (Germany, Austria, Russia, Norway, Sweeden, Switzerland, Italy, France, the Netherlands, Finland, Czech Republic, Estonia, Croatia, Poland, the Ukraine, Belarus, Bulgaria, Great Britain, Slovakia, Latvia), 178 medals (60 gold, 58 silver, 60 bronze). Verdict: Very impressive.
North America: 2 nations (US, Canada), 49 medals (16 gold, 19 silver, 14 bronze). Verdict: Not too shabby.
Asia/Australia: 4 nations (China, South Korea, Australia, Japan), 25 medals (10 gold, 7 silver, 8 bronze). Verdict: Eh.
The rest of the world: Zero, zip, nada.
Sunday, February 26, 2006
Thursday, February 23, 2006
A Thousand Shades of Gray
Leo Tolstoy, in the famous introduction to War and Peace, stated that every happy family is happy in the same way, but every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way. If you listen to sappy love songs, they all tend to sound the same, with the same cliches and expressions. Happiness is certainly more pleasant than unhappiness, but it is not very deep. We do not think very much, or reflect very much, when we are happy. We just bask in the glow of our happiness, oblivious to anything that could threaten us, and hoping that these joyful moments of bliss could last forever. In my experience, they don't (perhaps you are more fortunate than I am in that regard). As someone who is not particularly happy a lot of the time (it is amazing how few people realize that, I do a lot of reflection, most of it rather unpleasant. I am happy when I am around others, talking and sharing stories. I am not happy alone, where my only comfort is my mind (and that is small comfort--the mind truly is a terrible thing, to spoof the NAACP slogan).
In these bleak days, it has become somewhat evident to me that within my family there is a wide variety of ways that people deal with grief. There are a variety of strategies that different family members use to try to escape/overcome/dull the suffering. Without naming names (except for my own, because I am generally someone who has little to hide, and who is vastly more harsh on myself than I am on others, as difficult as that may be to fathom), I will attempt to discuss the various ways in which my family is attempting to cope.
One way to cope with grief that most of my family is doing in one way or another is keeping busy enough that we don't think about the loss all that much. There's nothing like keeping your body and mind occupied through various means (some of them, like work and writing, productive, other ones (like playing computer games) are more escapist in nature). But this is one area in which most of my family has kept themselves from too much time to think. That is not to say that profound meditation/prayer has not occurred, it's just that it has tended to be uniformly sad, and quite frankly, not the most pleasant sort of thing. Even writing blog entries like this is difficult to me, because it means I have to think about what words to say about what the loss of my father means to myself and others, and that means I have to reflect upon the loss itself (which, although it may be helpful, is certainly depressing). It is much easier to escape, to busy the mind and shut off the suffering, and make one's heart a stone as much as possible.
Medication of the grief is another way in which my family is dealing with the loss. However, this is a much rarer solution, largely because many of us (myself included) do not drink all that often, although the use of antidepressants (not by me, though) also applies to some extent as medicating the grief. Here, sadly, fits a tragic tale that occurred when my grandfather Albright died. My uncle David never recovered from the death of my grandfather (to lung cancer, as he was a smoker) and drank often to medicate his grief. Four years later, depressed and despondent, he shot himself in the head, commiting suicide. Needless to say, I have taken the example to heart and have sought to avoid any substance which would treat only the symptoms of grief while exaggerting the despondency.
Another way in which I have (and perhaps others of my family have as well) sought to deal with the grief is by getting out of the house and trying to find company with others. I have not been so successful with the second goal as with the first, but when I am frustrated and annoyed, I don't like to be at home. I don't find much comfort for my difficulties there. I have some friends around, but not all that many (and very few my age, and even fewer who are my age that would be able to relate). Nonetheless, talking to others (even though the words they say--and the words I say for that matter--are not terribly helpful) is a good way to try to express the rather ambivalent feelings I have (then again, my feelings about just about everything are ambivalent, which is one reason I tend to avoid talking about feelings).
At any rate, there are many ways in which people deal with sorrow, some of these more helpful than others. Did I say that I tend to be even more crabby, cranky, and irritable when I am sad than normal (and I'm a rather crabby person most of the time anyway, but that's another story for another time)? Perhaps that is a bit obvious (though, again, people do not seem to understand or relate to me very well, especially when things are going poorly). Again, many members of my family have a good brave face (myself included), but that doesn't mean we do not suffer. It just means that the suffering is a bit beneath the surface. After all, some of us (again, myself included) do not trust other people very easily. We have reason not to, and that makes it difficult to let the barriers down, especially when we are not feeling our best. That may not be right, but that's the way it is, and we must deal with what is, not what we would wish to be.
In these bleak days, it has become somewhat evident to me that within my family there is a wide variety of ways that people deal with grief. There are a variety of strategies that different family members use to try to escape/overcome/dull the suffering. Without naming names (except for my own, because I am generally someone who has little to hide, and who is vastly more harsh on myself than I am on others, as difficult as that may be to fathom), I will attempt to discuss the various ways in which my family is attempting to cope.
One way to cope with grief that most of my family is doing in one way or another is keeping busy enough that we don't think about the loss all that much. There's nothing like keeping your body and mind occupied through various means (some of them, like work and writing, productive, other ones (like playing computer games) are more escapist in nature). But this is one area in which most of my family has kept themselves from too much time to think. That is not to say that profound meditation/prayer has not occurred, it's just that it has tended to be uniformly sad, and quite frankly, not the most pleasant sort of thing. Even writing blog entries like this is difficult to me, because it means I have to think about what words to say about what the loss of my father means to myself and others, and that means I have to reflect upon the loss itself (which, although it may be helpful, is certainly depressing). It is much easier to escape, to busy the mind and shut off the suffering, and make one's heart a stone as much as possible.
Medication of the grief is another way in which my family is dealing with the loss. However, this is a much rarer solution, largely because many of us (myself included) do not drink all that often, although the use of antidepressants (not by me, though) also applies to some extent as medicating the grief. Here, sadly, fits a tragic tale that occurred when my grandfather Albright died. My uncle David never recovered from the death of my grandfather (to lung cancer, as he was a smoker) and drank often to medicate his grief. Four years later, depressed and despondent, he shot himself in the head, commiting suicide. Needless to say, I have taken the example to heart and have sought to avoid any substance which would treat only the symptoms of grief while exaggerting the despondency.
Another way in which I have (and perhaps others of my family have as well) sought to deal with the grief is by getting out of the house and trying to find company with others. I have not been so successful with the second goal as with the first, but when I am frustrated and annoyed, I don't like to be at home. I don't find much comfort for my difficulties there. I have some friends around, but not all that many (and very few my age, and even fewer who are my age that would be able to relate). Nonetheless, talking to others (even though the words they say--and the words I say for that matter--are not terribly helpful) is a good way to try to express the rather ambivalent feelings I have (then again, my feelings about just about everything are ambivalent, which is one reason I tend to avoid talking about feelings).
At any rate, there are many ways in which people deal with sorrow, some of these more helpful than others. Did I say that I tend to be even more crabby, cranky, and irritable when I am sad than normal (and I'm a rather crabby person most of the time anyway, but that's another story for another time)? Perhaps that is a bit obvious (though, again, people do not seem to understand or relate to me very well, especially when things are going poorly). Again, many members of my family have a good brave face (myself included), but that doesn't mean we do not suffer. It just means that the suffering is a bit beneath the surface. After all, some of us (again, myself included) do not trust other people very easily. We have reason not to, and that makes it difficult to let the barriers down, especially when we are not feeling our best. That may not be right, but that's the way it is, and we must deal with what is, not what we would wish to be.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
In The House Of Mourning
When a loved one dies, as my father died last Wednesday at the age of 59, one often wonders what one could have done differently had one known how little time was left. Especially as was the case with my father, where neither my brother or I had the chance to say goodbye, there is a lot of unfinished business remaining for the living when someone has died. While I am in no shape at this particular time to detail many of the stories that could be said of him, I thought it would be useful, even at this time, to take some looks at what life is like of one who, like myself, is in the house of mourning. There are many others right now who are grieving the loss of loved ones as well, including a few friends of mine. Grief is an intensely personal matter, and it is difficult to determine if my experiences are like theirs. At the very least, though, talking about something means that it is no longer festering inside.
Reconciliation
My brother moved from Pennsylvania in the summer of 2001 after graduating from high school and never reconciled with our father. He had a difficult relationship with my father, and always thought (as we all did) that there would be plenty of time to make up, when it hurt a little less, when the wounds had healed. And often, in those intervening years, my father sought to reconcile with my brother. But time ran out, and it never came to pass. Instead, my brother and I cried while sitting in the funeral home swapping stories about our father with the open casket nearby and fellow mourners all around. As guilty as both my brother and I feel, my brother feels it worse. My father and I kept in close contact for many years, almost every week, and I visited on occasion (if not enough--there is never enough time). However, those five years my brother and father were estranged were the last five years of life my father had. That is a lot to live with.
Unfinished Business
Humans are creatures of drama. I do not mean this in the hissy fit or manipulative sort of way (though that can be the case as well), but in the sense that we like closure, and dislike when something ends without a farewell, without a fitting closing. After my father's stroke, I was able to communicate with him through my grandmother, who would relay messages back and forth, telling me my father's condition (gradually improving until the end) and telling my father what was going on with me. Still, even though I was aware my father was in rather poor health, he was gradually improving, so there was no goodbye. I said farewell to my father only after he had already gone, with my hand on his coffin, eyes closed, saying farewell. There was nothing more, at that point, I could do. Anything I could have done was in the past, and was closed off irrevocably.
Stories of the End
Of course, when a loved one has died, especially when one is not able to be at the bedside in the final days and hours, it is important to be able to visualize the scene, in order to give one some sort of peace. While at the funeral home, stories were told about how my father dealt with the nurses who cared for him around the clock. Since one nurse had cold hands, my father nicknamed her Frosty. Another nurse was hot, so my father called her Jalapeño. It was like my father to name things. My family is always naming things. He did his physical therapy willingly, seeking to recover as much function as he could after the stroke. He never wanted to be an invalid, and he couldn't stand anyone else taking care of him. He was always the one who had to take care of everyone else, do what needed to be done, no matter the cost. Such a cruel end inactivity and paralysis is to one whose greatest gifts were activity and physical strength.
What Remains For the Living
Only my grandmother remains in the old family farm, which for over 200 years has been farmed by my family line. Those days, to me at least, seem at an end. My uncle (by marriage) and my cousin (both of whom work full time at the state prison) still live in the area but are unable to devote full time to farming. Farming is a bad business anyway, with high costs for equipment and feed and low prices for farm commodities, be they milk, grain, alfalfa sprouts (a favorite item in the diets of deer and my own salads), or beef. My grandmother, at almost 83, is far too old to take care of a farm on her own. It looks like that part of my family history is rapidly closing as well, without seeming remedy. Whatever I may be, I am no farmer, and so it appears likely that the beautiful hills and creeks on what I affectionately call Miller's Crossroads (after my family) will soon be home to half a million dollar homes inhabited by suburbanites who care little for the history behind the farm. Nor would they care that I would walk down Nathan's creek (yes, it was named after me) and sit on hillsides by an old coal mine shaft and write nature poetry. Nor would they care that my family has been farming these hills since before the United States was independent from Britain. All of that history will be paved under driveways with perfectly manicured lawns inhabited by people with no sense of history and oppressive mortgages that keep them from buying furniture.
Closing Thoughts
I will probably be reflecting often in the coming weeks and months, and years, about the life of my father. Such reflection is natural and proper, even if it does make me very sad. My father always said that he would die young, and always careful to remind us about his life insurance policy. I know I never wanted to hear it. But he was right, a painful truth that is true for many members of my family (including myself). We specialize in speaking of bitter truths that no one wants to hear. My father died young, like all of his siblings. Those who have little time on this earth must accomplish what they wish without the ability to rely upon seniority or those other ways in which the mediocre rise through out-surviving the great. No, those who are set on this earth with but a little time to do their deeds must do what needs to be done at all times, because one never knows how much time is left to accomplish one's life work. And that is something I feel no less strongly than my father did.
Reconciliation
My brother moved from Pennsylvania in the summer of 2001 after graduating from high school and never reconciled with our father. He had a difficult relationship with my father, and always thought (as we all did) that there would be plenty of time to make up, when it hurt a little less, when the wounds had healed. And often, in those intervening years, my father sought to reconcile with my brother. But time ran out, and it never came to pass. Instead, my brother and I cried while sitting in the funeral home swapping stories about our father with the open casket nearby and fellow mourners all around. As guilty as both my brother and I feel, my brother feels it worse. My father and I kept in close contact for many years, almost every week, and I visited on occasion (if not enough--there is never enough time). However, those five years my brother and father were estranged were the last five years of life my father had. That is a lot to live with.
Unfinished Business
Humans are creatures of drama. I do not mean this in the hissy fit or manipulative sort of way (though that can be the case as well), but in the sense that we like closure, and dislike when something ends without a farewell, without a fitting closing. After my father's stroke, I was able to communicate with him through my grandmother, who would relay messages back and forth, telling me my father's condition (gradually improving until the end) and telling my father what was going on with me. Still, even though I was aware my father was in rather poor health, he was gradually improving, so there was no goodbye. I said farewell to my father only after he had already gone, with my hand on his coffin, eyes closed, saying farewell. There was nothing more, at that point, I could do. Anything I could have done was in the past, and was closed off irrevocably.
Stories of the End
Of course, when a loved one has died, especially when one is not able to be at the bedside in the final days and hours, it is important to be able to visualize the scene, in order to give one some sort of peace. While at the funeral home, stories were told about how my father dealt with the nurses who cared for him around the clock. Since one nurse had cold hands, my father nicknamed her Frosty. Another nurse was hot, so my father called her Jalapeño. It was like my father to name things. My family is always naming things. He did his physical therapy willingly, seeking to recover as much function as he could after the stroke. He never wanted to be an invalid, and he couldn't stand anyone else taking care of him. He was always the one who had to take care of everyone else, do what needed to be done, no matter the cost. Such a cruel end inactivity and paralysis is to one whose greatest gifts were activity and physical strength.
What Remains For the Living
Only my grandmother remains in the old family farm, which for over 200 years has been farmed by my family line. Those days, to me at least, seem at an end. My uncle (by marriage) and my cousin (both of whom work full time at the state prison) still live in the area but are unable to devote full time to farming. Farming is a bad business anyway, with high costs for equipment and feed and low prices for farm commodities, be they milk, grain, alfalfa sprouts (a favorite item in the diets of deer and my own salads), or beef. My grandmother, at almost 83, is far too old to take care of a farm on her own. It looks like that part of my family history is rapidly closing as well, without seeming remedy. Whatever I may be, I am no farmer, and so it appears likely that the beautiful hills and creeks on what I affectionately call Miller's Crossroads (after my family) will soon be home to half a million dollar homes inhabited by suburbanites who care little for the history behind the farm. Nor would they care that I would walk down Nathan's creek (yes, it was named after me) and sit on hillsides by an old coal mine shaft and write nature poetry. Nor would they care that my family has been farming these hills since before the United States was independent from Britain. All of that history will be paved under driveways with perfectly manicured lawns inhabited by people with no sense of history and oppressive mortgages that keep them from buying furniture.
Closing Thoughts
I will probably be reflecting often in the coming weeks and months, and years, about the life of my father. Such reflection is natural and proper, even if it does make me very sad. My father always said that he would die young, and always careful to remind us about his life insurance policy. I know I never wanted to hear it. But he was right, a painful truth that is true for many members of my family (including myself). We specialize in speaking of bitter truths that no one wants to hear. My father died young, like all of his siblings. Those who have little time on this earth must accomplish what they wish without the ability to rely upon seniority or those other ways in which the mediocre rise through out-surviving the great. No, those who are set on this earth with but a little time to do their deeds must do what needs to be done at all times, because one never knows how much time is left to accomplish one's life work. And that is something I feel no less strongly than my father did.
Tuesday, February 14, 2006
Hunting....
It's been a bad week to be a hunter. According to the Ludington Daily News, some small newspaper in Michigan, a 64 year old hunger was shot when his hunting buddy mistaked an elbow for a squirrel. This sort of accident reminds us that old people should not be allowed to shoot guns if they are too senile to shoot them correctly. (The same would apply to old people driving slowly and doing anything else that requires acute mental power and quickness). Apparently the old man was treated and released, as the friend was using only a .17 caliber rifle. How a camofloged elbow could be mistaken for a squirrel is beyond me. Maybe the friend just needed his eyeglass prescription updated. The police are investigating, as they should.
Then, of course, there is the famous, or infamous, case of Chaney's trigger finger. While hunting with some acquiantances, the hunting party flushed out a covey of quails, apparently (according to the Yahoo! News article). While one of the party was walking to collect the quails (and without waving his hand to show everyone where he was), Chaney flushed another covey of quails and sprayed shotgun shells in the direction of his hunting buddy, hitting him in the face, neck, and chest. Ouch. Remind me never to go hunting with the Vice President. It's not like I'd ever get invited to, anyway. Chaney forgot the number one rule of hunting, which even someone like myself (I'm no hunter) knows: always know what you're shooting at. It's a good rule in other areas besides hunting, though it is harder to apply there.
When I went to Pennsylania this past weekend for my father's funeral, I was reminded that my family farm has a "No Hunting" sign on it. My father was not a fan of hunters. It was not that he was squeamish about death--as a farmer it was not uncommon for cattle to be slaughtered--but it was that he saw the nobility of the deer and the lack of nobility of the hunters and their tactics. I remember once, as a teenager visiting my father in the summer, that as we were returning in the evening from an outing (watching a movie, probably), we saw a hunter in our farm, trespassing, and hunting out of season. The hunter was using a spotter to try to freeze the deer in place to make them an easy shot. The practice is illegal, but common.
My father (and I agree with him on this point) did not consider this to be in fair sport. A hunter using wicked means to get an easy kill (and then, no doubt, brag about his prowess to his friends and talk himself up as a great and brave hunter) struck my father, and I (even at that age) as quite unjust. This is not to say that all hunters behave thusly (for those hunters who wait for hours and hours freezing in tree stands in forests, rather than farms, waiting for a deer to come within range, I respect the dedication, though it would be quite boring to me personally, not being able to keep silent or still for very long without extreme difficulty), but that my conception of hunting was formed by experience in hunters behaving poorly. My conception of many things was formed in that way--which is unfortunate but nonetheless my experience.
I am glad that my father insisted our 130 farm was a refuge for animals (except for groundhogs--whose holes destroyed farm equipment with alarming regularity), with special care taken to dogs, cats, cows, horses, hawks, and deer. I am also glad that he chased off the hunter from our land, even though the hunter was much more heavily armed than we were. If people do not stand up themselves for what is right, then they will see nothing but wrong committed against them. This is especially the case where people are careless and wicked with deadly weapons.
Then, of course, there is the famous, or infamous, case of Chaney's trigger finger. While hunting with some acquiantances, the hunting party flushed out a covey of quails, apparently (according to the Yahoo! News article). While one of the party was walking to collect the quails (and without waving his hand to show everyone where he was), Chaney flushed another covey of quails and sprayed shotgun shells in the direction of his hunting buddy, hitting him in the face, neck, and chest. Ouch. Remind me never to go hunting with the Vice President. It's not like I'd ever get invited to, anyway. Chaney forgot the number one rule of hunting, which even someone like myself (I'm no hunter) knows: always know what you're shooting at. It's a good rule in other areas besides hunting, though it is harder to apply there.
When I went to Pennsylania this past weekend for my father's funeral, I was reminded that my family farm has a "No Hunting" sign on it. My father was not a fan of hunters. It was not that he was squeamish about death--as a farmer it was not uncommon for cattle to be slaughtered--but it was that he saw the nobility of the deer and the lack of nobility of the hunters and their tactics. I remember once, as a teenager visiting my father in the summer, that as we were returning in the evening from an outing (watching a movie, probably), we saw a hunter in our farm, trespassing, and hunting out of season. The hunter was using a spotter to try to freeze the deer in place to make them an easy shot. The practice is illegal, but common.
My father (and I agree with him on this point) did not consider this to be in fair sport. A hunter using wicked means to get an easy kill (and then, no doubt, brag about his prowess to his friends and talk himself up as a great and brave hunter) struck my father, and I (even at that age) as quite unjust. This is not to say that all hunters behave thusly (for those hunters who wait for hours and hours freezing in tree stands in forests, rather than farms, waiting for a deer to come within range, I respect the dedication, though it would be quite boring to me personally, not being able to keep silent or still for very long without extreme difficulty), but that my conception of hunting was formed by experience in hunters behaving poorly. My conception of many things was formed in that way--which is unfortunate but nonetheless my experience.
I am glad that my father insisted our 130 farm was a refuge for animals (except for groundhogs--whose holes destroyed farm equipment with alarming regularity), with special care taken to dogs, cats, cows, horses, hawks, and deer. I am also glad that he chased off the hunter from our land, even though the hunter was much more heavily armed than we were. If people do not stand up themselves for what is right, then they will see nothing but wrong committed against them. This is especially the case where people are careless and wicked with deadly weapons.
Monday, February 06, 2006
Better Lucky Than Good
Sometimes it is better to be lucky than good. The Super Bowl last night is a good example of such an occurrence. I have been a lifelong Pittsburgh Steelers fan (and there is little chance of that changing anytime soon), but to be honest, neither team played very well last night. This game could have been an absolute rout if either team had played well, and would have been a high-scoring thriller if both teams had played well. As it was, both teams played poorly overall, but Pittsburgh just had more big plays and fewer mistakes. And in the end, that is what won it. So, in this particular space I would like to comment on my observations of the game.
Hands Made Of Putty:
While neither quarterback was perfect, both quarterbacks did a decent job. Ben Roethlisberger passed a lot better than a hideous 22.9 rating would suggest. Both quarterbacks passed on the mark except for a couple of errant tosses. However, the receivers on both teams were dropping passes left and right, up and down, sideways and diagonal. It didn't matter if the passes were screen passes, first down passes, or would-be touchdown passes, but neither set of receivers could get a glove on the passes on a consistent basis. Hines Ward was a deserving MVP, but that is because he was simply able to get his gloves on two deep passes. That's all it took to be an MVP in this game. Jerramy Stevens, the trash-talking Seattle TE, caught a touchdown pass (on a somewhat questionable pick pattern) but dropped at least 3 other gift-wrapped passes. It's not like either secondary was doing well, the receivers on both teams just couldn't hang on to the ball.
Trick Plays:
Pittsburgh's offensive output was greatly enhanced by a couple of trick plays that really caught Seattle off guard. The Antwaan Randle El to Hines Ward flea flicker pass had been done earlier in the year (against Cleveland) for a TD, but apparently some Seattle DB's didn't study their tape well enough, because it worked for a TD again in the Super Bowl. Roethlisberger's canny scrambles (including the TD run that gave Pittsburgh a surprising halftime lead) and his long 3rd down pass to Ward that set up the touchdown run kept Pittsburgh's offense on the field and were critical in victory. That Cowher had enough faith in his players to use such trickery in the Super Bowl speaks highly of his credentials.
You're Killing Me Smalls:
On the other hand, Seattle just killed themselves with mistakes: a push-off for offensive pass interference that negates a touchdown pass, a holding penalty that negates a 1st and goal, a (questionable) clipping penalty that adds 15 yards to an interception return, and poor clock management and field awareness that ruined any chance at a last-second comeback. These sort of mistakes will come back to haunt Seattle as they replay the game over and over in their minds. This is not to say that Pittsburgh didn't make mistakes. The underthrown pass that led to the longest INT return in Super Bowl history comes to mind, as does two false start penalties on the opening drive, probably due to jitters. But Pittsburgh made fewer mistakes than Seattle, and on this day, it was enough.
Not So Special Teams Play:
Neither team had great special teams, but Pittsburgh's special teams were average and not poor, and that made a lot of difference. In 3 straight punts where Seattle could have pinned Pittsburgh deep in their own territory, Seattle punter Todd Rouen kicked touchbacks. While Chris Gardocki had one touchback himself, he did manage to down a punt on the two yard line, which was the best special teams play of the whole game. Seattle kicker Josh Brown was 1 for 3, and though two of the field goals were really long (50 and 54 yards--both missed), his team was depending on his long leg to cover for their penalties, and not finishing those drives was critical. So while we should give him a pass, those misses did change the complexion of the game considerably.
We're Going to Disney World Baby:
In the final analysis, though, the Steelers did what they had to do to win (without playing dirty and chippy like the Seahawks did). Bettis (aka "The Bus") will retire a Super Bowl champion, and looks strong as a first-ballot Hall of Famer. Cowher has now shed his label as a "can't win the big one" coach (here's hoping Tony Dungy wins one as well someday), and has to enter consideration in the Hall of Fame as one of the winningest coaches of all time. Roethlisberger has become the youngest QB to ever win the Super Bowl, even though he probably feels pretty rotten about his game. Willie Parker has outran his North Carolina ghosts with the longest run in Super Bowl history (76 yards and the game-winning TD). Dan Rooney and all of us who are Pittsburgh fans get one for the thumb. So, even if the game was less than beautiful and both teams were rather shaky, a lucky win is still a win, and it feels a lot better winning than it does losing. So, cheers to Pittsburgh.
Hands Made Of Putty:
While neither quarterback was perfect, both quarterbacks did a decent job. Ben Roethlisberger passed a lot better than a hideous 22.9 rating would suggest. Both quarterbacks passed on the mark except for a couple of errant tosses. However, the receivers on both teams were dropping passes left and right, up and down, sideways and diagonal. It didn't matter if the passes were screen passes, first down passes, or would-be touchdown passes, but neither set of receivers could get a glove on the passes on a consistent basis. Hines Ward was a deserving MVP, but that is because he was simply able to get his gloves on two deep passes. That's all it took to be an MVP in this game. Jerramy Stevens, the trash-talking Seattle TE, caught a touchdown pass (on a somewhat questionable pick pattern) but dropped at least 3 other gift-wrapped passes. It's not like either secondary was doing well, the receivers on both teams just couldn't hang on to the ball.
Trick Plays:
Pittsburgh's offensive output was greatly enhanced by a couple of trick plays that really caught Seattle off guard. The Antwaan Randle El to Hines Ward flea flicker pass had been done earlier in the year (against Cleveland) for a TD, but apparently some Seattle DB's didn't study their tape well enough, because it worked for a TD again in the Super Bowl. Roethlisberger's canny scrambles (including the TD run that gave Pittsburgh a surprising halftime lead) and his long 3rd down pass to Ward that set up the touchdown run kept Pittsburgh's offense on the field and were critical in victory. That Cowher had enough faith in his players to use such trickery in the Super Bowl speaks highly of his credentials.
You're Killing Me Smalls:
On the other hand, Seattle just killed themselves with mistakes: a push-off for offensive pass interference that negates a touchdown pass, a holding penalty that negates a 1st and goal, a (questionable) clipping penalty that adds 15 yards to an interception return, and poor clock management and field awareness that ruined any chance at a last-second comeback. These sort of mistakes will come back to haunt Seattle as they replay the game over and over in their minds. This is not to say that Pittsburgh didn't make mistakes. The underthrown pass that led to the longest INT return in Super Bowl history comes to mind, as does two false start penalties on the opening drive, probably due to jitters. But Pittsburgh made fewer mistakes than Seattle, and on this day, it was enough.
Not So Special Teams Play:
Neither team had great special teams, but Pittsburgh's special teams were average and not poor, and that made a lot of difference. In 3 straight punts where Seattle could have pinned Pittsburgh deep in their own territory, Seattle punter Todd Rouen kicked touchbacks. While Chris Gardocki had one touchback himself, he did manage to down a punt on the two yard line, which was the best special teams play of the whole game. Seattle kicker Josh Brown was 1 for 3, and though two of the field goals were really long (50 and 54 yards--both missed), his team was depending on his long leg to cover for their penalties, and not finishing those drives was critical. So while we should give him a pass, those misses did change the complexion of the game considerably.
We're Going to Disney World Baby:
In the final analysis, though, the Steelers did what they had to do to win (without playing dirty and chippy like the Seahawks did). Bettis (aka "The Bus") will retire a Super Bowl champion, and looks strong as a first-ballot Hall of Famer. Cowher has now shed his label as a "can't win the big one" coach (here's hoping Tony Dungy wins one as well someday), and has to enter consideration in the Hall of Fame as one of the winningest coaches of all time. Roethlisberger has become the youngest QB to ever win the Super Bowl, even though he probably feels pretty rotten about his game. Willie Parker has outran his North Carolina ghosts with the longest run in Super Bowl history (76 yards and the game-winning TD). Dan Rooney and all of us who are Pittsburgh fans get one for the thumb. So, even if the game was less than beautiful and both teams were rather shaky, a lucky win is still a win, and it feels a lot better winning than it does losing. So, cheers to Pittsburgh.
Friday, February 03, 2006
A Notice To My Readers
It has come to my attention that people have taken offense about some of my posts. Given the fact that there are vew few comments to my blog (and by comments, I mean very few people who send me their comments themselves, and not the comments that people make to others about what I write, which is more properly called gossip or slander), it is difficult for me to determine the precise nature of my audience. I only know my audience when they speak to me directly in some fashion. During the time I have written this blog I have had to deal with a few issues, and have generally been successful at doing so once I was able to explain myself and once those who were troubled or bothered by what I said were able to explain themselves.
I am a person of rather strong and public opinions, and there are times where the fierceness of my words can lead to a different perception than is intended. Despite the fact that I am a busy person, though, I am generally quick to respond to requests for explanation or clarification. I cannot answer your objections, though, if you do not come to me personally and privately about them. If you have comments to make (or even corrections, if you think I have made a mistake on a point of fact), there is a comment option at the bottom of the entry. All comments go to my personal e-mail inbox, and as long as you are not a spambot, and I'm sure most of those with objections would not be spambots (because most spambots always have nice things to say about entries and want you to help them advertise real estate, or Nigerian bank accounts, or something else that is equally bogus). And assuming you have something real to say, I will allow the comment, reply to it, and life goes on.
I would like to close this particular message by quoting what is on the top of my blog whenever it is read: "This blog, hopefully, will contain brief and humorous bits from my day-to-day life, with a minimum of philosophizing (though probably a lot of dry and ironic humor)." While I am a mostly serious person, this blog is intended to have at least a slight amount of humor about various matters. For example, 18 year old mayors, the blogging habits of pigeons (see previous entry), and so forth. What is stated here usually has at least some sort of an ironic bend to it (not always, however, funny).
I respect my (wide) audience well enough to open up about various subjects, even though I don't know all of the readers here personally (and some of those I know personally, I do not know very well). I enjoy giving my opinion (sometimes, perhaps a bit too much), and I enjoy hearing the thoughts and opinions of others. If you wish to express something about me, please give me the respect I give to you and discuss those thoughts and opinions directly to me. I don't bite, I promise.
I am a person of rather strong and public opinions, and there are times where the fierceness of my words can lead to a different perception than is intended. Despite the fact that I am a busy person, though, I am generally quick to respond to requests for explanation or clarification. I cannot answer your objections, though, if you do not come to me personally and privately about them. If you have comments to make (or even corrections, if you think I have made a mistake on a point of fact), there is a comment option at the bottom of the entry. All comments go to my personal e-mail inbox, and as long as you are not a spambot, and I'm sure most of those with objections would not be spambots (because most spambots always have nice things to say about entries and want you to help them advertise real estate, or Nigerian bank accounts, or something else that is equally bogus). And assuming you have something real to say, I will allow the comment, reply to it, and life goes on.
I would like to close this particular message by quoting what is on the top of my blog whenever it is read: "This blog, hopefully, will contain brief and humorous bits from my day-to-day life, with a minimum of philosophizing (though probably a lot of dry and ironic humor)." While I am a mostly serious person, this blog is intended to have at least a slight amount of humor about various matters. For example, 18 year old mayors, the blogging habits of pigeons (see previous entry), and so forth. What is stated here usually has at least some sort of an ironic bend to it (not always, however, funny).
I respect my (wide) audience well enough to open up about various subjects, even though I don't know all of the readers here personally (and some of those I know personally, I do not know very well). I enjoy giving my opinion (sometimes, perhaps a bit too much), and I enjoy hearing the thoughts and opinions of others. If you wish to express something about me, please give me the respect I give to you and discuss those thoughts and opinions directly to me. I don't bite, I promise.
What do pigeon bloggers rant about?
http://www.bloggersblog.com/cgi-bin/bloggersblog.pl?bblog=201063
Yes, California is now having pigeon bloggers with cell phones on their back texting (automatically, we hope) the air quality in various cities. You know the world has gone to pot when pigeons have blogs. I mean, if a pigeon can have a blog, just about anyone can. I heard about the story first on my drive to work this morning. Thinking about the story further made me wonder what pigeon bloggers rant about.
I mean, I know what I like to rant about (and, apparently, everyone else does too--when I went on the UCG Young Adult Cruise this weekend a random minister I had never met, and some people I didn't know from here in Florida had read my blog, and commented on it). But what do pigeon bloggers rant about? Do they crow about the high quality of cars in a given interchange, discuss their favorite statues, give each other tips on which parks to visit where the bread crumbs are the tastiest? What sort of things make pigeons unhappy? Do they stress out over runins with glass windows, or complain about that one time they got hit by lightning, or talk about their friends and relatives long gone?
I am, of course, being somewhat facetious (that is, jocular, or mocking). Still, for those who wish to hear the opinions and judgments of a rather dirty bird, you can go to http://www.parasitelab.net/netlab.php. This site will (soon, we hope) have the bird blog uploaded. I can't wait to hear what those birds have to say. For those who want to hear what I have to say, you know where to find me, but of course, you already knew that.
Yes, California is now having pigeon bloggers with cell phones on their back texting (automatically, we hope) the air quality in various cities. You know the world has gone to pot when pigeons have blogs. I mean, if a pigeon can have a blog, just about anyone can. I heard about the story first on my drive to work this morning. Thinking about the story further made me wonder what pigeon bloggers rant about.
I mean, I know what I like to rant about (and, apparently, everyone else does too--when I went on the UCG Young Adult Cruise this weekend a random minister I had never met, and some people I didn't know from here in Florida had read my blog, and commented on it). But what do pigeon bloggers rant about? Do they crow about the high quality of cars in a given interchange, discuss their favorite statues, give each other tips on which parks to visit where the bread crumbs are the tastiest? What sort of things make pigeons unhappy? Do they stress out over runins with glass windows, or complain about that one time they got hit by lightning, or talk about their friends and relatives long gone?
I am, of course, being somewhat facetious (that is, jocular, or mocking). Still, for those who wish to hear the opinions and judgments of a rather dirty bird, you can go to http://www.parasitelab.net/netlab.php. This site will (soon, we hope) have the bird blog uploaded. I can't wait to hear what those birds have to say. For those who want to hear what I have to say, you know where to find me, but of course, you already knew that.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
If a brother sins against you...
Occasionally I use this blog as a platform for ranting about my own shortcomings and those of others. Usually, of course, I am vastly harsher on myself than on others, but often it is necessary to point out less than flattering qualities in other people for their own good (and I am sure that those who point out my less than flattering qualities agree as well).
Matthew 18:15-17 states: "If your brother sins against you, go and tell him his fault between you and him alone. If he listens to you, you have won over your brother. If he does not listen to you, take one or two others along with you, so that every fact may be established on the testimony of two or three witnesses. If he refuses to listen to them, tell the church, then treat him as you would a Gentile or tax collector."
Now, it is fairly clear and obvious what these verses mean. While putting them into practice is somewhat difficult (for me, as well as for you, no doubt), what they say is quite direct and straightforward. If someone says or does something that offends you, you have the responsibility to go to them. Some of us, like myself, are not very difficult to find. I generally am quick to answer my e-mails (perhaps too quick on occasion), and I even answer the phone. You can even, if you really want to, speak to me in person. I am generally accommodating to requests for explanation and clarification, when those are necessary. In other words, I am not a difficult person to go to if you have a problem (though I tend to be a bit prickly when it comes to criticism, a quality I am sure I am not alone in). I am a bit annoyed, to be honest, when people tell me unflattering things to my face. That said, though, I am vastly more annoyed when people do it behind my back. The Bible condemns that sort of behavior most strenously, and states that those who practice such behavior will not enter the Kingdom of God. Do you want to enter the Kingdom of God? I know I do.
Now, if you do not get a satisfactory answer from me (or anyone else) concerning your complaints, your next responsibility is to find a couple of brethren who are moderate and somewhat patient and then go to the person again, with impartial witnesses to determine the attitude of the brother or sister who offended you. This is not the opportunity to go find some friends and gang up on someone, but rather a request for honest mediation of a problem. I don't know of very many people who have done this in their complaints with me (there are few who do the first step, and few times in my life where some conversation has not resolved the basic issues to at least an agree to disagree level), but perhaps they should if they do not receive satisfaction in personal conversation. I am someone who speaks many works, and must be occasionally reminded that not everyone shares my bluntness and candor, or my oftentimes extreme views stated rather matter-of-factly as if they were obvious truths (at least they are obvious to me)...
It is only after personal conversation has failed and the person is unwilling to accept mediation with impartial mediators that someone should go to the church about an issue. Most people (you know who you are), however, take this as the first step, and never even bother to go to their brother at all. The Church at Corinth did it, and was upbraided (that is, corrected) for it. Now, I am sure I am not the person best suited to give such rather correctional messages (I try to avoid them, because I am all too aware of how often I fall short of the standards of perfection, and wish to avoid both the appearance and the reality of hypocrisy), but someone ought to.
Let me be blunt, much of the time I rant about people who are already dead and cannot defend themselves. People tell me all sorts of nasty things about Abraham Lincoln, who happens to be my favorite president and a personal role model of mine (though I am certainly willing to see his flaws and faults), all because they are pro-Southern and have very harsh views as to the president that lawfully and properly removed them of their illegetimate property. However, they consider it no small thing to insult someone who was a president of the United States. Likewise, people around me are often saying the most savage things about former president Clinton and his wife, commenting on their sexual lives (in sometimes unseemly detail and content) and considering them people of no moral principles whatsoever (and, to be honest, I do not view them very highly either, though some do based on political ideology). Again, these were people who God placed (for whatever reason, these matters are mysterious to me) in authority over us, and people feel no compunction about speaking wickedly about them.
However, many of these same people express the most wondrous stock and horror over fond leaders of their own being questioned. None of us are above questioning (again, I know I'm not, and I don't assume that others have much less that needs correction than I do), whether dead or alive. Those whose legacy extends far beyond their own lives merit the most questioning. That is because the legacy of their deeds lives on after they are gone, and that legacy itself may be the sources of many problems, besides many blessings. If we cannot see fault where fault lies in others, we are not judging as we ought. God is merciful, though, and for that we must all be thankful. If God was not forgiving, none of us would have a chance to enter His family. I truly wish that God has or will forgive those whom I criticize, for I know how strongly I ask for God's forgiveness for my own sins, which are legion. That said, before we can be forgiven, we must realize what we need to be forgiven of. It is for this reason that criticism can be a moral course of behavior, because people are often blind to their own sins, and often justify them. I only say this because I know myself well enough. We need to face up to what we are before we can become what God wants us to be. None of us are there yet, and we all have much work to do. That work, though, should be done in a way that is candid, open, and honest. And trust me, if I have a personal problem with you, I will not hesitate to bring it up to you myself. Don't say you weren't warned.
Matthew 18:15-17 states: "If your brother sins against you, go and tell him his fault between you and him alone. If he listens to you, you have won over your brother. If he does not listen to you, take one or two others along with you, so that every fact may be established on the testimony of two or three witnesses. If he refuses to listen to them, tell the church, then treat him as you would a Gentile or tax collector."
Now, it is fairly clear and obvious what these verses mean. While putting them into practice is somewhat difficult (for me, as well as for you, no doubt), what they say is quite direct and straightforward. If someone says or does something that offends you, you have the responsibility to go to them. Some of us, like myself, are not very difficult to find. I generally am quick to answer my e-mails (perhaps too quick on occasion), and I even answer the phone. You can even, if you really want to, speak to me in person. I am generally accommodating to requests for explanation and clarification, when those are necessary. In other words, I am not a difficult person to go to if you have a problem (though I tend to be a bit prickly when it comes to criticism, a quality I am sure I am not alone in). I am a bit annoyed, to be honest, when people tell me unflattering things to my face. That said, though, I am vastly more annoyed when people do it behind my back. The Bible condemns that sort of behavior most strenously, and states that those who practice such behavior will not enter the Kingdom of God. Do you want to enter the Kingdom of God? I know I do.
Now, if you do not get a satisfactory answer from me (or anyone else) concerning your complaints, your next responsibility is to find a couple of brethren who are moderate and somewhat patient and then go to the person again, with impartial witnesses to determine the attitude of the brother or sister who offended you. This is not the opportunity to go find some friends and gang up on someone, but rather a request for honest mediation of a problem. I don't know of very many people who have done this in their complaints with me (there are few who do the first step, and few times in my life where some conversation has not resolved the basic issues to at least an agree to disagree level), but perhaps they should if they do not receive satisfaction in personal conversation. I am someone who speaks many works, and must be occasionally reminded that not everyone shares my bluntness and candor, or my oftentimes extreme views stated rather matter-of-factly as if they were obvious truths (at least they are obvious to me)...
It is only after personal conversation has failed and the person is unwilling to accept mediation with impartial mediators that someone should go to the church about an issue. Most people (you know who you are), however, take this as the first step, and never even bother to go to their brother at all. The Church at Corinth did it, and was upbraided (that is, corrected) for it. Now, I am sure I am not the person best suited to give such rather correctional messages (I try to avoid them, because I am all too aware of how often I fall short of the standards of perfection, and wish to avoid both the appearance and the reality of hypocrisy), but someone ought to.
Let me be blunt, much of the time I rant about people who are already dead and cannot defend themselves. People tell me all sorts of nasty things about Abraham Lincoln, who happens to be my favorite president and a personal role model of mine (though I am certainly willing to see his flaws and faults), all because they are pro-Southern and have very harsh views as to the president that lawfully and properly removed them of their illegetimate property. However, they consider it no small thing to insult someone who was a president of the United States. Likewise, people around me are often saying the most savage things about former president Clinton and his wife, commenting on their sexual lives (in sometimes unseemly detail and content) and considering them people of no moral principles whatsoever (and, to be honest, I do not view them very highly either, though some do based on political ideology). Again, these were people who God placed (for whatever reason, these matters are mysterious to me) in authority over us, and people feel no compunction about speaking wickedly about them.
However, many of these same people express the most wondrous stock and horror over fond leaders of their own being questioned. None of us are above questioning (again, I know I'm not, and I don't assume that others have much less that needs correction than I do), whether dead or alive. Those whose legacy extends far beyond their own lives merit the most questioning. That is because the legacy of their deeds lives on after they are gone, and that legacy itself may be the sources of many problems, besides many blessings. If we cannot see fault where fault lies in others, we are not judging as we ought. God is merciful, though, and for that we must all be thankful. If God was not forgiving, none of us would have a chance to enter His family. I truly wish that God has or will forgive those whom I criticize, for I know how strongly I ask for God's forgiveness for my own sins, which are legion. That said, before we can be forgiven, we must realize what we need to be forgiven of. It is for this reason that criticism can be a moral course of behavior, because people are often blind to their own sins, and often justify them. I only say this because I know myself well enough. We need to face up to what we are before we can become what God wants us to be. None of us are there yet, and we all have much work to do. That work, though, should be done in a way that is candid, open, and honest. And trust me, if I have a personal problem with you, I will not hesitate to bring it up to you myself. Don't say you weren't warned.
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