UFC Me

We have made it to the most boring part of the year. There are the remnants of the College Baseball World Series and as soon as Louisville is eliminated (unless they win) so will be all my interest in baseball for the rest of the season. I’ll take that back. You might catch me watching the Reds play when Homer Bailey is pitching. On Saturday, Brandon dutifully reminded me of how many days until the college football season begins. He said we were 76 days from the first of September. That, of course, was Saturday at Buffalo Wild Wings.

Buffalo Wild Wings was the same as always, yet, different. Excuse me while I elaborate.

I am used to the different types of crowds that congregate there for different sporting events. With UK basketball games, there is a sea of blue with a common cause. For college football, there is a vast array of colors determined by the television schedule. Good luck finding Waldo that day. For NFL games, there is the same array of colors, yet there is more trash-talking going on between the patrons. All of which makes me laugh. No one, unless you are sitting at my table, can guess who I am cheering for. NFL apparel is just too ugly for me to wear. I think they were the lone sponsor of Zubaz pants.

BW3’s has a slightly different feel when they are showing the UFC pay-per-views. There is occasional cheering when the pace of the fight gets heavy, but most of the time it is pretty quiet. There is zero—and I mean zero—trash-talking. Ever watch UFC? These guys aren’t always ripped, i.e. Chuck Liddell. Who knows who is an amateur mixed martial artist? Someone may take your trash-talking and shove it where you sit.

Brandon likes to point out that the sport requires no athletic ability. I retorted with the question of the last time you got in a fight or wrestled with someone (Joel, I swear we were tied 2-2) how did you feel after 45 seconds. Extremely winded? Seeing stars? A little dizzy? These guys fight for three 5-minute rounds. No way do I know anyone who could handle that without immense training. Don’t worry. He also considered Lance Armstrong to be a non-athelete.

Anyway, the UFC fights were crap. Pretty boring fights, except for the Clay Guida/Tyson Griffin fight. Imagine Scott Stapp from Creed fighting a younger, clean-cut, Ken Shamrock. Not a fight, I would say, but in the words of Captain Teneille on Most Extreme Elimination, “Well you’re wrong!” Really, though, the whole thing sucked. The main event between Okami and Franklin ended in a bogus decision for the American, Franklin, after the most boring fight ever. If two counter-strikers are billed together, skip it. They are both just sitting there waiting for the other to throw a punch. Snooze fest.

“Look man, I gotta go!” --Donny Baker

The Weekend? Already?

Not expecting a two-fer, huh? Two in one week? What a privilege has been given to you? I like to keep you on your toes. Again we have found ourselves facing the weekend with an awkward stare. All week long, wishing and, in some cases, praying for that day to come, yet, we are asking ourselves, “What am I going to do now?” Beer? Always a viable option.

I don’t know if the ‘Pond faithful have heard the bad news coming from UK’s campus today. Apparently, UK’s injury-prone big man, Jared Carter, has re-injured his shoulder and is awaiting test results to determine the severity of the injury. To me this feels like salt poured in the open wound left by Randolph Morris. So, we are now looking at starting freshman, Pat Patterson, and still green, sophomore, Perry Stevenson, to control the inside? Someone, please give me some better options.

San Antonio kept it real. A four game sweep of Cleveland and viola, new NBA champs. A lot of people don’t like the Spurs because of their boring style of play. It almost seems like James Naismith is their coach. I guess he sort of is. Gregg Popovitch and James Naismith, inventor of the game of basketball, went to grade school together. Not really, that was a joke, but both coached basketball at the University of Kansas at some point in their careers. Popovitch and his old school style of play, ha ha, get it? Not funny? Moving on, then.

I honestly can’t understand how a team like Cleveland even made it to the NBA Finals. For the life of me, I cannot remember the last time a team with one marquee player lead a team to the finals. Refreshers, please? How did this team beat the talent packed Pistons in the semifinals? A few will disagree, but the officiating in the series with Detroit was horrendous with most of the bad calls going on way. “Do you believe?” In bull honkery, now I do. I still am sticking to the notion that David Stern decided since LeBron James was the league’s most exciting and franchise-able player, that he would get the Cavs to the Finals and, once there, would be on their own. (In my best Yoda voice) “Fell like the Empire, they did.”

I had called Dad the day after Cleveland beat out Detroit in the semifinals. I asked him who he thought would win the championship. His reply:

“Whoever the NBA wants to win.”

The bottom line from your Daddy!

I honestly like to watch LeBron James. I would consider myself a fan of his. I’m not a fan of the Cavs, just James’. I didn’t even like Cleveland when Tim Couch played for the Browns. Cleveland may rock, but it is not my song. Anyways, in the finals, James just wasn’t clutch when the great ones need to be great. He kept a turnover average that would have made UK’s Ramel Bradley look like All-SEC first team material. He’s just not “King” James material, yet. He’s getting better, though. He has a lot to take away from this four-game sweep--a great learning experience.

Our company golf scramble is tomorrow. I have been assigned to a drinking team with a golfing problem. It might be a long day. I just hope I make it to B-Dubs in time to watch the UFC 72 pay-per-view at 3 p.m. Who you got? Franklin or Okami? My money is on Yushin Okami. Check it.
P.S. Les, I haven’t heard any rumors about a contract for a Perdue/UK basketball series.

I'm Still Going To Win

“You woke up this morning the world turned upside down,
Thing's ain't been the same since the Blues walked into town.
But you're one in a million you've got that shotgun shine.
Born under a bad sign, with a blue moon in your eyes....

When you woke up this morning, when you woke up this morning,
When you woke up this morning, you got yourself a gun.”

--“Woke Up This Morning” Written and performed by A3


Ah, the end of the Sopranos. Everyone on the internet is complaining that the ending wasn’t really and ending due to the open endedness (Is that even a word? I didn’t think so.) in the final scene. Tony, Carmela, and A.J. were sitting in the restaurant waiting for Meadow to arrive. There were several ominous moments of foreshadowing flipping by in the last two minutes…scruffy looking guidos sitting at the bar of the diner, slow motion eye shifting, and undetermined blank facial expressions. The door opens and the screen goes black with Journey’s Steve Perry singing “Don’t stop believing’….Don’t stop...” The music stopped on a nickel.

“Why not a dime?” you ask. That’s because I don’t have Uncle Corrado Junior Soprano’s stash of loot.

For me, the final episode flew by. It seems like it was only minutes into the opening and Beth said it’s nine thirty-seven, what it going to happen. I wished it could have gone on into infinity. For the last six or so years of my life, the Sopranos have meant to me a wind-down of sort for my weekends. I jump in the back of a white Escalade and I take a drive down the New Jersey Turnpike with Tony Soprano in the opening credits. I grab the remote to my home theater system and turn up (no, “crank” is the correct verbage) the subwoofer so I can feel the bass in the theme song. The cats scoot upstairs quickly to escape the noise. As I watch, I can almost smell the smoke coming off of Tony’s cigar and the breeze coming in the windows. It takes me away from the unavoidable Monday morning just a night’s sleep away. I know my Monday morning isn’t as dangerous or as perilous at the reality I am settling into, but at nine on a Sunday evening, I take that chance.

I was at peace with the ending. I am not sure of the mood of all the other viewers, but I wanted Tony to win. I always wanted Tony to win. When he killed one of his captain's, Ralphie Cifaretto, when he killed his nephew, Christopher Moltisanti, when he killed his cousin, Tony Blundetto…no matter what dirt he got on him, I wanted him to come out clean. Joel and I always joke around about us getting punked out or screwed over by something, but we always say, “I am still going to win.” In my books, Tony was still going to win. All the bad actions over the seasons had to have recourse in his life and, obviously, in this series finale. Had to. Luckily for me, there was an option the writer/director, David Chase, gave the viewers. I think the silent blank screen was for your imagination to continue where the cameras left off. Everyone like myself who wanted to see Tony win, imagined it was Meadow coming through the diner’s doors to join her family with a big smile on her face. For those wanting to see Tony receive his comeuppance, the blank screen was to imagine the New York guys coming through the doors with guns blazing. I don’t think the ending could have been any better. I will miss you Sopranos. Salud.

Noticed the long delay in the entry of this post, did you? I have been super-busy with everything. Work has been a steamroller. I have had resurgence in my passion for golf. Horse racing is almost at a peak right now. And, I have had a lot of extracurricular events going on during the weekends, i.e. visiting with family and friends…not that I am apologizing to you for me having a life and not fulfilling your “Island Pond-jones-ing”. I’ve just been busy, almost to the point where I have so much to say that I don’t want to say anything. But, I wouldn’t do you like that, now would I?

What about the Belmont Stakes? Rags to Riches was phenomenal. I am smelling the Horse of the Year Eclipse Award here. Maybe, Filly/Mare of the Year Eclipse at the least. Five wins in six races and four of them Grade I's. Forget about it.

As I was calling in my bets to my Redstone Bodog bookie, Sam, I had talked myself out of betting on the Belmont Stakes. Big mistake. I looked down at what bets I had considered for the race card. I had written down in the corner of the scratch piece of paper for the eleventh race at Belmont a three-horse tri-box with the three names in this order: Rags To Riches, Curlin, and Tiago. Now, I couldn’t see anyone in this race beating Curlin. He is a magnificent colt, but there was something about this filly, the lone filly, that I really admired.

When the race started I figured out exactly what that was, her maturity. She stumbled moderately out of the gate (click through the photos on her NTRA bio page to see a pic of the stumble). Instead of a hurried, choppy gate to catch back up to her normal stalking position at the clubhouse turn, she made low, long reaches with her front legs taking her time to correct herself. Maturity. She ran three to four wide around the majority of the mile and half, not saving herself any distance. When the field came to the stretch and I saw her accelerating on the outside, I knew this horse would be in the hunt. Neck and neck she steamed down the stretch with Curlin. Moments later she edged ahead. Curlin, a ferocious stretch runner in the least, fought back for the lead. Eye to eye, again, they ran. Rags To Riches decided in the final yards, “This is ladies night and the feelings right.” And the rest will be history. Not since a filly named Tanya in 1905 had another filly won the Belmont Stakes. This race so much reminded me of the final race of Seabiscuit’s career in the Santa Anita Handicap with his win over Kayak II. Almost brought a tear to my eye.

Is it college football season, yet? I can’t wait until the first UK home game. It will be a blast, my first year as a UK football season ticket holder. I went to enough UK football games last year to almost be considered a season ticket holder, but this year I will have my own seats. Every time I hang out with Brandon, he dutifully tells me how many days are left until the season opens. Goodtimes. Dre Day every day this fall, right, DK?

Enough for now. You guys take care. Let me hear from you.