We're Talking T-Ball

Today should have been Lincoln's last game of his first t-ball season, but a fever has left him on the DL.  So, here are a few shots from our first foray into kid's sports!

Waiting to run the bases at his first practice--t-ball was a real learning and growth experience for Lincoln.  He had to take direction from non-parentals--which was sometimes rough.

The batting helmet is as big as he is!

Heading home after his first at-bat in a game--everyone rounds the bases in 4/5 t-ball!

Giving the ball a whack!

High-fiving the coach after fielding the ball!  I started putting him in bright orange shorts so I would know which little boy was mine!

Touching home base--we had a very fun season--I am sad we are missing the finale, but I'm already looking forward to next year!

Cutie Pie Thursday: Future Soccer Star

Warm weather, how we love thee.

Cutie Pie Thursday: March Madness Begins!

"Shoot the basketball!"

"Slam Dunk!"

The first two captions are actual phrases of the wee hoopster, but on the occasion of this stunt dunk gone awry, he didn't have much to say. I didn't see exactly what happened, whether Woody was trying to do a windmill dunk that didn't quite work, or if Lincoln tried to dunk Woody. My money's on the latter.

Super Bowl: Go Colts!

What is going on? Why is mama so manic? What is on her head? She just said it was Super Bowl Sunday, but I'm not sure what that means. She also keeps yelling "Go, Colts!"

I'm not sure about this hat. And what is Indianapolis? And who are the Colts? Mama says they are the best football team, with the coolest quarterback, some guy named Peyton Manning, whom she said she tried to name me after, and the best rookie coach, and all sorts of great players, and that I need to root for them too.

See, you can't even see me in this hat. Maybe I'm too little to root for the Colts.

But I'm ready if they lose the game.

The Peril of Sports: A Cautionary Tale

Mr. Cool and I have been watching a lot of sports. Labor and nursing, at least in our case, have led to a great deal of TV watching, and the world of golf and tennis majors have served as some of the best background. The French Open (tennis), US Open (golf), and Wimbledon (tennis) have entertained us over the last month plus. It's been a good time, with lots of good competition, but there has been a drawback.

Mr. Cool has decided that he would like to play more golf and tennis. I'm all for exercising, and the inspiration of Tiger and Roger is great. However, to play these sports, you need equipment. Luckily, Mr. Cool owns tennis rackets, if he can ever claim them from his brother, and tennis balls are relatively cheap. We even have a nice tennis court about five minutes away from our house. Golf, on the other hand, is not cheap. The equipment and greens fees could set you back quite a bit. For now, he seems okay with merely researching and looking at golf clubs, and postponing his dream until he has the time to search out used clubs of a recent vintage.

I'm just worried about this winter, when the 2010 Winter Olympics (in Vancouver!) may inspire him to take up luge, bobsled, or the biathlon.

Bracketball

Birds do it, bees do it, even President Obama does it--it's that bracket time of year again. While I didn't get to use a giant bracket emblazoned with the presidential seal, I too was able to fill out my bracket this year for the 2009 NCAA Men's Basketball Championship, the March Madness of lore.

Both the President and I took Syracuse past Oklahoma, a bit of an upset. As a nearly lifelong Dukie, however, I can never pick UNC to win it all, even if that's the wise choice. This year, I'm just participating in a small-time betting organization with my bracket--Mr. Cool, his younger brother and I are all in it for a $10 Target gift card.

So who are your picks? What sort of betting are you doing with your bracket? And, if you're at work, are you seriously considering either streaming the games to your computer or putting them on the TV? (Maybe that's just me--perhaps I shouldn't reveal that my HS has large screen TVs in every room with cable, or at least CBS.)

Obscure Sports Quarterly: Watch it on the Ocho!

Well, it's that time again - another peak into what makes Mr. Cool tick. Disc Golf is often considered a "sport" for pot heads, slackers, hippies, college kids, and youth pastors. I have been two of those things in my life (shouldn't be too hard to figure out which), but am no longer either. As a professional, of some kind, I should have moved on to an adult sport - like golf or squash. However, I have chosen to spend what little free time I give towards walking in the park to stay true to my disk golf roots. It is a simple game, throw a hard plastic disc (not a Frisbee) from the tee box towards the basket. Get a disc in the basket in as few strokes as possible.

Like real golf, your love of the sport is not defined by your ability (as I'm just an average player), but by your acquiring of equipment. I've got 5 drivers, 3 approach discs, and 2 putters, and a professional grade disc carrier bag. That doesn't account for at least a dozen discs I've lost in trees, ponds, and jungles over the years. All discs, past or present, I would like to mention are sanctioned by the USDGA. That's right, the United States Disc Golf Association - we're official people. I've been throwing discs since 1991, and haven't looked back since. I throw disc with friends from work and friends from life. I've logged thousands of holes with the man who conducted my wedding and consider a mentor, and just finished 18 holes with my little brother. It definitely counts as an obscure sport, but it is addictive, fun, and my doctor considers it exercise (sucker)!

It's Over the Counter in the D.R.

I used to love baseball. My first ever sports memory is watching the 1986 World Series in the basement with my dad. Upstairs, my mom had a women's Bible study. As you might have heard, Bill Buckner let a ground ball go through his legs and the (freakin') Mets took the (my) Red Sox to a 7th Game. Where they (the freakin' (and no, I didn't use that language at my tender age) Mets) won. I stomped upstairs and informed my mom and the Bible study ladies that the Mets had won. They thought I was cute. I was just angry. At least, that's the way I remember it.

I had baseball cards, baseball hats, saw Royals and Rockies games, and eagerly awaited spring training and the start of the baseball season. Then I met Mr. Cool. Mr. Cool is not terribly fond of baseball, other than playing softball. He is a football man, tried and true and dyed in the wool. So, I started watching football. Like any sports-lovin' gal with a semi-addictive personality, I grew quite fond. I still draw the line at more than three games in a day, but I do like football. I found myself drifting farther and farther away from baseball.

Then, the steroid rumours turned into accusations and truths. My relationship with baseball was severed. Could I admit that I had rooted for Barry Bonds when he was a young Pittsburgh Pirate slugger? Could I admit that I had a letter published in our college newspaper defending the glory of the McGuire/Sosa home run chase? Could I admit to creasing my Jose Canseco rookie card out of an impassioned hatred? (Well, yes. I still have no problems with shredding that piece of cardboard.) Like so many other baseball fans, I feel betrayed.

Steroids leave you betrayed in a way that other sporting scandals don't. Sure, George Brett may have had pine tar on his bat, but so what? Tar on the bat and spit on the ball don't carry the same cheater's weight that illegal, body-altering drugs do. So now it's A-Rod. I never liked A-Rod. He was too showy, too overpaid, too craptastic in the playoffs. But he was good. Naturally good. Now we find it might be due to some substance that used to be over the counter in the Dominican Republic.

So, do I say farewell to baseball? Will I pick up the love only in occasional years when the Rockies make unbelievable playoff runs? Maybe. Am I hopelessly devoted to the pigskin? Good lord, no. March Madness is just around the corner. The one love that never fades for a girl who grew up on Wyoming 1-A basketball and Hoosiers is the game of basketball. I can hardly wait to fill in my bracket. And I won't take any performance-enhancing drugs before I do.

A Day of Mourning

Darn you, San Diego!
Once again, you snuck up on my Colties!
Darn you!
I grind my teeth and kick my water bottle in your general direction.

Darn you, end of Christmas Break!
Once again, you snuck up on me!
Darn you!
I grade frantically and grumpily prepare for school in your general direction!

I hope everyone had a delightful break--I will be back with tales of Christmas, yarny gift goodness, current projects, pregnancy updates, and so much more--once my first semester grades are entered, my classroom cleaned, and lessons planned for last week--it's 2009!

Evil Amanda

You might not know this, but I am a die-hard Indianapolis Colts fan. "Wait!" you shout, "You live in Colorado! Aren't you supposed to root for the Broncos?"

"A-ha!" I reply, "I was born and raised in Wyoming, so aside from my beloved University of Wyoming Cowboys, I'm a free agent."

So, the Colts. I love 'em dearly, the whole organization, and a part of me would move to Indianapolis just to be around like-minded fans. I have the jersey of a Colts player who shares my last name that my dear brotha-in-law The Coach gave me. I grew so angry at the start of their Super Bowl that I had to go sit in another room to cool off. (Devin Hester ran back the opening kick-off for a TD, if you've forgotten.) I managed to come back and enjoy the victory, however.

Anyway, the Colties (as I call 'em), had a bit a bad start against those Bears yesterday, but I feel confident Peyton will get his groove back and we'll be stormin' through the AFC again.

And then, yesterday, the best news for a Colts fan--Tom Brady is out for the season. A gleeful Evil Amanda pumped her fist in joy at the computer screen. I'm predicting it now, especially based on the Chargers start, Colts Super Bowl XLIII champs!

Teachlete

I started an idea at Matt's blog, and then, under the influence of Stuff Christians Like, I am here to propose an idea:

The Teachlete

High school teachers start to lose some zing in their thirties. Technology and pop culture fade further away, and they begin the terrible refrain, "When I was in school no one behaved like this." Suddenly, you find yourself, in your 7th year of teaching, twice the age of your freshmen students. (No, that's not me! I'm only 23. Okay, that's a lie. It is me. This coming year, my freshmen will have been born in 1994-95, the year I was a freshman in high school. This seems wrong.) Now, under our current system, this teacher will have at least twenty more years of teaching ahead of them.

Now, another sector of our culture has a much earlier retirement. I'm talking about sports. This is a fond soapbox of mine, the fact that professional athletes burn out on their careers much faster than teachers. In fact, a favorite of mine, Peyton Manning (Go Colts!), at age 32, already rouses speculation at how much longer he will play quarterback. Brett Farve, only nine years older than, well, our hypothetical teacher, played for a very long time, and just retired. No athlete wants to be in his or her late 40s, competing with early twenty-somethings for playing time.

So here' s my idea--why should athletes be the only segment of the population to exploit their youth and enjoy their age? Youthful high school teachers possess the energy and enthusiasm we aging teachers lack, but our experience should garner us larger salaries. If we make it to 40, we should be venerated, give big press conferences to announce our retirement, and have our room numbers retired. Then, we take our large accumulated wealth and retire to our vacation homes. We could put our names on teacher-supply stores, do ads for rulers and textbooks, and show up at new-teacher orientation to discuss what we did wrong and how to avoid it. With our early retirement free-time, we could finally write that novel/play/textbook, stick to an exercise schedule, travel to all the countries we taught about, and inspire youth to teach.

Perhaps you've noticed the flaw in my plan--salaries. While athletes accumulate enough dough to leave the field/court/ice at the age of 35, teachers do not. Sigh. I only hope I'm still hip enough to teach the kids of my current students.

The Hot Saw

I have an enormous amount of grading to do today, and I'm settling in with my Greek Myth & The Odyssey Reading Journals. Mr. Cool has the TV on ESPN's Timbersports. I am oddly mesmerized. The sight of quite large Aussies, Kiwis, and Americans standing astride logs while swinging axes is a bit distracting.

Pictures to Arrive Next Week of the Secret Knitting, & Branding Traditions!

Da-da-da, Da-da-da

Some of you might have had a tune pop into your head while reading the title of this post, and some of might be thinking this will be an article on the Dada art movement.

Nope. No such luck, my artiste pals. This is a post on the fabulous, addictive ESPN Sports Center. Yes, the iconic da-da-da signals a witty and fun whip through the previous day in sports. I watch mine between 4-6 in the morning, and my day is improved when I can catch the Top Ten Plays, in all their glory. Even better, a morning when John Anderson (my current favorite anchor) gets off a few zingers. Today's best? Steve Levy (his co-anchor), referred to him as Captain Geography. "I have a cape," replied Anderson. I laughed all the way to my toothbrush.

See, I love sports. My particular favorites are basketball and baseball, but I will watch just about anything. Mr. Cool has managed to get me mildly addicted to football in our years of marriage, and listening to Barry Melrose's deluxe Canadian accent (eh?) will make me care about hockey. To be honest, the only highlight I will avoid is anything to do with Nascar. (I'm paying $3.50/gallon, and there's a sport wasting gas?! Please tell me I'm not the only one who hates that.) Sports Center is my morning news, full of dunks, passes, drafts, jaw-dropping catches, witty hockey one-liners, and Bengals jail reports. (Sorry, cheap shot.)

Of course, if I see anything in the great side-menu that informs you what's next that concerns my favorite teams, (Colts, Celtics, Spurs, UWYO), I will postpone my shower. Nothing is more fun to watch while on the treadmill than other athletic feats. Sports Center anchors are erudite and fast-thinkers, starting off the day with a bunch of clever comments on the world of sports.

So, this morning, thanks to Sports Center, I can wish good luck to the Spurs (you can come back!), best wishes to the Celtics (only Ohio thinks the Cavs will win--show 'em who's boss!), a snide snicker to Ken Griffey, Jr. (robbed of 598, hee, hee), and a warning to John Anderson about superheroes wearing capes. See you tomorrow morning!