Worse for the Wear, but Getting Better

(Destin, FL) - When I agreed to this trip, it was abstract. My daughter, a senior in high school, asked if we could take a group of friends to the beach for spring break. "Sure!" we said without hesitation.
How do you get 14 girls between the ages of 15 and 19 to the Florida panhandle from northwest Louisiana? It is not easy, my friend.
We had a great big convoy. To borrow from the song and say it was a beautiful sight is a reach. I can assure you of this: from my perspective, it was loud. I drew the honor of driving the van which contained a set of the youngest travelers, the ones who fairly can still be called girls. Abstract became reality quickly.
They were well behaved and respectful, but they're girls. Girls who are excited about going to the beach. Girls who are excited about being away from their parents, out of school and with a large group of friends. Girls cooped up in a van for eleven hours, enjoying sugary snacks along the way.
I compelled one of the oldest travelers, someone I know particularly well, to travel with me in the van. The idea was for her to be a navigator, co-pilot and communicator with her younger counterparts. She may have had the best intentions, but the result wasn't exactly what I had hoped for.
Note the traveling time: eleven hours. It wasn't supposed to take that long. Moments after my wife, driving another vehicle, said something about us making remarkable time, we ran into a massive traffic jam just west of Mobile, Alabama. Our route takes us through a tunnel that runs under Mobile Bay, and something (presumably an accident) closed a lane in the tunnel. The stack-up cost us at least an hour.
By the time we arrived at our condominium, the girls were like caged animals, wound up with cupcakes and anticipation. When we finally made it to the beach, I said, "Don't worry about unloading the car, girls. Just go see what it looks like.".
They exploded from the van, screeching and running wildly toward the sand and the surf.
We got here just in time to see the sunset. If the first couple of hours are any indication of the week ahead, this should be a trip they will remember.
Me, too.

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Back on the Radio

Morning commuters in north Louisiana were compellled to switch their radios off with prejudice this morning due to the phantom appearence of a fill-in sportscaster.
The day started before sunrise. I was asked to prepare morning drive sportscasts on the local "greatest hits of all time" (formerly oldies) station. The regular sportscaster, a man with whom I worked closely for many years, was out of town. So, I showed up and occasionally spoke into the microphone.
I had to write sportscasts and present them formally. It was the first time I had done it this way in about seven years. All of the broadcasting work I've done since I left the business full-time has been extemporaneous in nature, either a talk show or play-by-play or sideline reporting. So, to write copy was a skill from my somewhat distant past. It was alarmingly easy.
My goal, as always, was to not embarrass the morning drive team, the radio station or myself. Objective achieved, I think.
This was really a thrill for me. I was on the air live with local broadcasting legends Larry Ryan and "Mr. Weather," while filling in for Al Legrand.
In my youth, before there was such a thing as FM radio, these guys were broadcasting kings in our town. On the way to school, this was the radio team on in our cars. We would talk about what they talked about.
I've worked in the same market with Mr. Ryan, on and off, for more than 30 years. This was the first time I've shared airtime with him. It was an honor. Later this month, I will have the privilege of doing so for a full week.
Get the coffee pot ready.

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The Trip of Dubious Purpose

(Houston)- So, why exactly did my wife and I travel to Houston? Our daughter and one of her closest friends went to see a John Mayer concert. They had great seats!
Based on their reactions, they had a wonderful time. My daughter summed it up by saying, "I mean I have no words. Maybe awesome. As in inspiring awe. Because that's all I can say."
The tickets were a Christmas gift from Mom and Dad, so it's good to know the plan worked out well. There were two (2) tickets to the show for them. So, of course we went to Houston, too. In a separate car. Why? Still not sure.
The girls are 18 and they wanted to be on their own. Who can blame them? When I was 18, I jumped on an airplane and went to Cancun. I would also routinely drive back and forth to Baton Rouge to visit friends and go to football games. Of course, that was in the 70's and I was not a young woman and things are just different these days.
So, mom was perfectly willing to let them fly free. But she had to be nearby. So, off they drove with us trailing by a couple of hours. What did we accomplish? Still not sure.
We went to dinner with the lifelong best friend and his wife, who live in Houston. It's always a pleasure to see them, so there's that.
We were actually back at our hotel before Mayer started his show. We had to stay close. The arena was three blocks away, so we took adantage of a beautiful evening and just walked around downtown.
Ultimately, we went back to the hotel and watched Saturday Night Live. We could not go to sleep until the girls were safely back at the hotel. They were in the same place we were, but on a different floor. On their own but easily reachable, just like the journey.
We enjoyed an excellent Mexican brunch at a place downtown called Guadalajara del Centro, which may have been the highlight of the trip for me; although it certainly didn't inspire awe.
This is not much of a story, which pretty much sums up the weekend. I'm glad the ladies had fun. I'm glad mom was able to get a good night's sleep.

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So Long, Sport

(Haughton, LA) - One of the great male influences of my youth has left us. My Uncle Dewey, my mother's younger brother, passsed away this morning at his Haughton home.
He and his sons are the reason I am a sports fan. I saw a major league baseball game for the first time when I tagged along with them in 1966 on a trip to see "The Eighth Wonder of the World," the new dome they had built in Houston. The Astros played the Mets. I don't remember who won, but I remember the "exploding scoreboard" in all its wonder.
I distinctly recall learning the rules of football while spending weekends at his house, as he patiently explained to me what "first and ten" means. We would sit around in his den and watch the Indianapolis 500 and he seemed like the smartest man in the world when it came to auto racing. Of course, he didn't let on that the race was on tape delay and he had heard about the results earlier in the day on the radio.
As I was visiting him in his last days, he recalled with great humor the trip to Houston. Apparently, I was fretting because we were running late. He said he told me that we might be a little late, but everything would be okay. He remembered 6-year-old me responding, "But if we don't see the first pitch, we don't see the whole game." I laughed when he told me that and said "Well, it was true then and it's true now." At least our relationship was consistent.
He taught me to love the Dallas Cowboys and the LSU Tigers. His indifference toward the New Orleans Saints was legendary, so there is significant irony in the idea that the last Super Bowl he watched was the Saints' first.
He was the last immediate connection I had to my mother. My cousins tell me in his final days, he spoke of her often. He loved his big sister and thought she was a wonderful woman. The last time I spoke with him, he reiterated that to me.
Avuncular to the end, he called me by childhood nicknames as recently as two weeks ago. It saddens me to think no one else will address me in those ways again. I lived a lot of my younger life in his house and in his company. I'm grateful for the time and attention he and my aunt and cousins gave me. There was a lot of laughter in that house. In his eight decades, he experienced his share of sadness, too. On this day, it is best to recall all the happiness.
There has been joy and adventure in my life centered around sports and truly it all can be traced back to his influence in my life. If I were to sum up my perception of my uncle in one word, it would be easy: "Fun."
The world is a little less fun today because he is gone. I hope somewhere he and my mother are having a good laugh.

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Mental Pause

Confessions of a middle-aged man continue...
I'm old enough to remember what a controversial and groundbreaking show "All in the Family" was. I distinctly remember the lead character, Archie Bunker, being upset about his wife Edith's mid-life issues. He told her she needed to go the the "groinocologist" about her "mental pause." Maybe it stands out for me because I endured life with my mother as she went through what she called "the change o' life." My mom was country to the core, God bless her, and she surely considered it entirely too presumptuous to use a fancy word like "menopause."
Fast forward a decade or so. In our informal pre-marital discussions, I advised my then bride-to-be that I reserved the right, when the time came for her, to move out for a while.
It's here!
Hey, I'm not going anywhere. I'm the luckiest man alive.
My wife always has been and continues to be the nicest human I have ever known. Still...
She's been under a tremendous amount of stress about this. Her beloved groinocolgist tragically passed away a few weeks ago, and she's enduring her own change o' life without him. She had her first appointment with the new doc last week, and our suspicions are confirmed.
My mother, during her "time," would leave the room as herself and emerge minutes later as some kind of Mrs. Hyde, ornery and hateful (her kind of words). There was no predicting when it would come. You just had to duck and cover when it came in like a tornado.
I've told my wife she's more like a Katy Perry song. She's hot then she's cold. She's yes then she's no. She's in then she's out. She's up then she's down. You get the picture. She will alternately sweat then shiver. For a good long while, she will be her usual affable self (more than one person has called her "Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm), then she will start to brood a little, become distracted.
Aside from the physical symptoms, there is a bit of a "mental pause." Her distraction manifests itself in little ways. For instance, she will use the wrong word, then catch herself. She's as smart as she is nice, so this is a source of frustration for her. Ever self-aware, she refuses to allow herself to get into a downward spiral. Or, if she does, she refuses to let anyone see it.
One of the smartest things I've ever done: I bought a window-unit air conditioner and put it in the window by her side of the bed. It has a remote control and she can turn the arctic blast on any time she needs it. It works out well, too. Her furnace of a body blocks the icy wind so that it doesn't really affect me.
Even if this, um, period of her life actually bugged me, I would take age-old advice from Archie, anyway. I'd stifle it.

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Get Into The Groove

I have now been accused of having a mid-life crisis. Why? Because two weekends in a row, my bride and I found ourselves "out on the town," in actual night clubs where dancing broke out.
The truth is, we are on a secret mission with regard to one particular band, but since it's a secret that story will wait for another day.
Despite the pseudo-businesslike nature of our excursions, we actually had fun. Last night, we stumbled into an "80's night" party and it was a kick in the pants. Considering we met, fell in love and got married in the 80's,the music and the evening were evocative of a wonderful time in our lives. For a few minutes, I could close my eyes and be 25 years old again (When I suppose I avoided a quarter-life crisis).
And yes, for the second time in six days, we danced in public. Truly, we don't get out much and we are certainly not into the club scene. So, we were a little surprised at the number of people we actually knew at the one venue we visited. A few of these folks were actual friends who know well our fuddy-duddy natures. I have to be honest, I've enjoyed seeing surprise register on the faces of those people who have never seen us on a dance floor. On both occasions, people starting snapping photos with their iPhones and we were sent multimedia messages with the images and captions like "Gotcha!"
I'm glad we were so entertaining. We had a good time and we might just do something like this again soon. It IS mid-life. If you don't live it now, the chance will be gone forever. I suppose the theme for this newfound philosophy of "getting out there" can be summed up by one of the songs the band played on 80's night: "Don't Stop 'Til You Get Enough."

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Dancin' Fool

A couple of decades ago, I went to a party where everyone except me was drinking. I watched people dance. Then, I declared to my wife, "If I look anything like that when I'm drinking and dancing, I'm not dancing any more." I've pretty much stuck to that, except for the obilgatory slow dance at a wedding or other such event.
Last night, we got all dressed up and went to an awards ceremony at a downtown venue. A project I led last year was nominated and we had an inkling it might do well. So, being cool and all, we went diva on everybody.
With the possible exception of the moment my name was mentioned in conjunction with the project actually winning(!), the event was, shall we say, slow-paced.
So, I took to drinking rum and Coke.
Our group found a way to extricate itself from the proceedings with reasonable discretion, then made a decision to go find some live music. As it happened, someone we know who fronts a band was performing nearby. So, emboldened by my friend Captain Morgan, off we went.
Our friend the singer is very persuasive. From her spotlight, she demanded time and again that we dance. And so we did. I fast-danced to a Prince song. This was unheard of, a monumental event. There are photos, but I refuse to share them. Instead, there is a grainy cell phone photo of my wife putting me in a death grip during a slow dance. It was like she couldn't believe what she was seeing: me, dancing with her in public. She wanted to hang onto the moment with everything she had! And she should, because it might be a couple more decades before something like this happens again.
Or, who knows? It could happen again Friday night. You only live once. I guess you can dance.

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It Was Twenty Years Ago Today

My son is twenty years old today. Let that sink in a moment.
He was a gorgeous kid with bright blue eyes and fine blonde hair. He struggled as a baby, hospitalized nine times before he was two years old. He had dibilitating asthma that at times required round-the-clock breathing treatments. There was at least one moment when I feared for his life.
He persevered and now we can legitimately say he's a man. My father pronounced him so on this occasion, saying "I wondered for a lot of years if I would live to see him as a man. I guess I made it."
Twenty. It seems so much different from nineteen. We watch him mostly from afar these days. He will come around when he needs groceries, but he lives his own life. Work and school, plus his long-time love interest, eat up his time.
To celebrate this day, he joined his immediate family for dinner at his favorite restaurant. His mother and I were there, along with his sister, my father and my wife's mother. He read his cards, opened his gifts, had his dinner and thanked everyone. Then, he politely moved on. He was having people over to his place, a little low-key birthday party. That's the way he likes it, I guess.
So, Happy Birthday, My Man. Come see us if you need something.

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Sneaux Day!

It Snowed! My Daughter, like so many others, was a little kid again for most of the morning.In other parts of the country, this kind of snowfall is a non-event, but here: it's the kind of thing you get up early to see and celebrate, because it only happens about once a decade.
This was such a treat and people were cramming in slow-related activities as best they could. Time and again, I heard of the "Holy Trinity" of rare snowfall: Snowball fights, snow angles and snowmen.
As snowfalls go, this one was almost perfect. Most of it fell overnight, limiting disruption and accidents on the roads, while allowing us to wake up to a winter wonderland. Flurries continued throughout the morning before giving way to the occasional break in the clouds.
By mid-day, temperatures were well above freezing, which meant that most of the fluffy blanket melted away. While schools were closed, roads were mostly passable. So, this was a pleasant event for almost everyone.
Certainly, there are exceptions. The Best Dog Ever needed her nose for news to relentlessly search for the morning paper. She had to dig it out of the snow. She didn't appear to like it very much, but she accomplished her mission.
An invigorating snow day is good for the spirits every once in a while. There was excitement around town as people swapped their snow stories.
There was no school today, even at the university level. Most young people didn't hang around the house. Friends gathered and turned the weather into an all-morning party. Maybe it won't be another ten years before something like this happens again. It's uplifting, just for a little while, to just go outside and play! Couldn't we all use a few more days like that?

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Dat Sky Was Friendly Today

(Somewhere up in the air) - A 767 filled with Saints fans the day after their beloved team won the Super Bowl is a happy place. The faithful were wearing their black and gold gear, sporting smiles as wide as Lake Pontchartrain and still carrying signs.All corners of the state were represented. In addition to my seatmates from Monroe, I spoke to folks from Lafayette, Lake Charles, Shreveport, Hammond, Houma, Ruston and Pickering. Certainly the City of New Orleans filled its share of seats. Saints cornerback Malcolm Jenkins was in first class, happily signing autographs. New Orleans Mayor Ray Nagin was leading "Who Dat?" cheers in coach. It was a party in the sky!
Despite all this star power, God help me, for a few moments I became the center of attention.You see, I am still suffering the emotional scars of having my roll-aboard taken from me and lost by the airline on the trip to Miami. This time, I made sure to board as early as I was allowed and stashed my precious bag into one of the overhead bins. People came along after me and put their things in there,too. After everyone was seated, I noticed the flight attendant couldn't close the door to the compartment. My bag was the obstruction. She said, "We will need to check this. It won't fit." I said, "Hold on a minute. This is the bag I always travel with. Trust me. It fits." She said, "Give it a try. I'll give you a couple of minutes."
I started shoving the bag back into the bin, then a wheel would pop out or a handle would snag. After a couple of minutes of wriggling it around, I snapped the door shut and it latched! To my shock and amazement, the people around me on the plane broke into a round of applause. They're ready to celebrate anything, it seems.
I turned and saw smiling eyes staring at me. Literally everyone in my view was wearing some kind of Saints paraphernalia. So, as the clapping subsided, I just raised my arms and said, "Who Dat?" In unison, they shouted back, "Who Dat!"
Caught up in the moment, I responded "Who Dat say dat bag won't fit?"
I got my laugh and took my seat.
I had hoped to bury myself in my book for a quiet trip home, but it was not to be. I was surrounded by chatter about the game. People are living it over and over again, and who can blame them? It's like they have to ask themselves time and again if their lifelong dreams of a Super Bowl championship have really come true.
True Dat, Who Dat.

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True Believers Rewarded. Saints Win!

(Miami) – For all the Saints who on this earth do dwell, there is unbridled joy. Nothing this side of The Rapture itself could elicit such euphoria. The New Orleans Saints are Super Bowl champions.
The team, in existence since 1967, rewarded its long-suffering fans with redemption and reward. Grown men wept with joy following the Saints’ tremendous come-from-behind 31-17 victory over the Indianapolis Colts.
What a transcendent event for New Orleans. Less than five years ago, the city itself was left for dead following Hurricane Katrina’s devastating landfall and the resulting floods. Now, instead of rancid water clogging the city’s consciousness, there is the freshness of life anew. The Saints are champions and they are carrying a region on their shoulders.
Cornerback Tracy Porter, who sealed the victory with a 74-yard 4th quarter interception for a touchdown, was reduced to understatement, saying simply “Words can’t describe what this means for New Orleans. I am a Louisiana native, and this is real big.”
Louisiana football fans have kept the faith for more than forty years, wandering in an emotional wasteland, hoping for someone to lead them to this Promised Land. Head Coach Sean Payton and quarterback Drew Brees were up to the challenge, never losing faith in their abilities or the determination of those who supported them along the way.
Since September, Saints’ faithful have discussed “destiny” in a way only true believers can. If any fan base ever deserved a championship, it’s this one. Louisiana, so often derided for corruption in politics and socioeconomic shortcomings, is the home of the best football team in America, the Super Bowl Champions.
Professions of faith are coming from unlikely sources, like Saints tight end Jeremy Shockey, who said he had been praying “all day and all night” for this outcome.
The true impact of all this will not be realized for some time, but Louisianans have to believe. The Saints, an enduring symbol of futility for more than four decades, have emerged from the muck of mediocrity. Louisiana can do more than persevere, it can excel. If the Saints can do it, anyone can. Yes, a football team can inspire greatness, particularly this one. So much of New Orleans’ identity has been tied to the Saints: The “Who Dat?” cheer emerged from the unique accent that makes so many Crescent City natives instantly identifiable. During those losing seasons, all those losing seasons, fans mockingly hid their identities by covering their heads with paper bags. A city that is famous for its ability to host a party while turning a blind eye to rampant debauchery, in the view of some, was appropriately represented by a perennial loser.
Now, deliverance is at hand. The Saints are redefined. The jubilation in the streets, businesses and homes all across the region is just beginning to resonate. Faith, belief, joy; Success, happiness, hope: all ideals modeled for us by saints throughout history. Finally, maybe the football team in New Orleans is appropriately named.
Now, resplendent in victory, the Saints rightfully claim a title, one that our state hasn’t earned until now: Champions.
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Photo credits: US Presswire/Jeff Hanisch,Getty Images/Jed Jacobsohn, Associated Press/ Chuck Burton and Mark J. Terrell, and of course, Darrell Rebouche:

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The Super Bowl is Here

(Miami) - Game on.
The Saints won the toss. Ran three plays and punted. Drew Brees overthrew a wide open receiver. The Colts got a field goal with their first possession.
The Colts fans are in full voice as Peyton Manning leads the team to scores on its first two possessions. The touchdown resulted from the longest drive in Super Bowl history: 96 yards on eleven plays. 10-0 Indianapolis at the end of the first quarter.
The Saints kept the ball out of Manning's hands with a long, time-consuming drive. They were stopped at the goal line on fourth down, forced the Colts to punt and got another field goal on the last play of the half. 10-6 going to the locker rooms.
Halftime: The Who!
I've now seen U2, Paul McCartney and The Who at Super Bowls. This is indescribable. I knew every word to every song.
Colts get the ball to start the second half...
No they don't! The Saints pulled off a successful on-side kick and marched down the field for their first-ever Super Bowl touchdown. The honor goes to running back Pierre Thomas. Saints got the ball, the momentum and the lead, 13-10.
Of course this meant the Saints had to actually kick the ball to the Colts. Peyton Manning marched his team right down the field and answered with a touchdown, regaining the lead, 17-13. They scored right in front of the largest collection of their fans in the stadium. For the first time possibly ever, the people in blue are louder than those in black and gold...
The Saints responded with another field goal and the third quarter ended with the Colts leading, 17-16.
The Saints marched 51 yards in nine plays followed a missed Colts field goal attempt. Drew Brees connected with Jeremy Shockey for a touchdown. A two-point conversion gives the Saints a seven-point fourth-quarter lead!
Then, Tracy Porter picked off a Peyton manning pass and was off to ther races! A 74-yard interception return for a touchdown gave New Orleans a 31-17 lead.
And the Colts would not score again. The Saints are the best team in pro football, The Super Bowl champions. This lights the fuse on a celebration that likely will be unlike anything football fans have seen.

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Who Dat Fraid O' Dem Automatic Weapons?

(Miami) - How crazy are these people? Ear-splitting "Who Dat?" chants are now filling the concourses. Security forces, replete with body armor and automatic weapons, were surrounded by Saints fans and bullied into submission. The people WOULD NOT LEAVE THEM ALONE until at least one of them responded with a "Who Dat?" of his own. The guy with the gun meekly muttered a "Who Dat?" and he was met with a raucous ovation. Then, the crowd moved on.
It's Carnival season, and a Black and Gold version of Mardi Gras is spreading across the place. People are simply taking leave of their senses. I ran into my boy Jay from Bossier City. This man is a highly-respected surgeon, but this week, he's simply a fan.
From his seat, he can stare right into the CBS Sports broadcast position. He's thrilled to be here.
Meantime, the teams are coming onto the field for pregame warm-ups and Colts fans are finding their voice. "Let's Go, Colts!" is their chant. Somehow, it's missing a a little character.
Now, let me take these beads off and get ready for the Super Bowl.

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