something smells familiar


it's kind of hard to believe that it's been over eight months since i've given the braves more than a passing thought here on HACAM. over eight months and, wow, a lot has changed.

as i packed "my" braves away for a long fall and even longer winter, i remembered how so much national attention was placed on them in the spring of 2008. jayson stark of espn had anointed them the team to beat. ken rosenthal of fox was in the boat with him. it was becoming borderline trendy to talk about how much you liked the look and feel of last year's group. and it all made sense until they started playing actual games. pitchers' arms started falling off early. the braves "next dale murphy", jeff francoeur, fell into a deep coma and it will take the first month of 2009 to know if he's been awakened from his slumber. chipper, naturally, got hurt some. more pitchers' arms fell off. they traded tex at the deadline and that was it. dead and buried. there were sixty games left last year when i raised the white flag. it was the most painful thing i had experienced in my life as a sports fan since, gosh, probably the 2007 braves season. the braves kill me every year. get it? i hate the braves.

this year, they have gone from being the team to beat to being lucky to being some national airbag's (i am looking at you, orestes destrada) nl sleeper. 60 percent of the rotation is new this april. derek lowe? javy vazquez? kenshin kawakami? really? alright. i guess i'll take middle of your thirties innings-eaters this year over the over-forties that are bound to break down of last year. tex, of course, is now a yankee. i made fun of casey kotchman last year. i am going to try and embrace him now. another ex-laa angel is in left part-time. mcann stopped eating cheeseburgers and looks like a baseball player now instead of a beer-league softball pitcher. chipper sucked it up for the us in the wbc, but he's still chipper. the old adage with him has not changed. if he plays 140-145 games, the braves will win 85 of those games. they come up with 7-10 more after that, they win the wild card. it could happen, right? it could if gonzalez and sori and moylan are all really healthy. and that's a big if. it's a weird feeling, but a familiar one. the underdog suit always fit the braves better. the defending champs are in the division. that bodes well for atlanta.

that and their "new hope" in centerfield. does anyone remember andruw jones as a 19-year old? he and i are about the same age and he came along about the same time i was beginning my new life as an adult fan, not just a kid who wished he could be his favorite player in the backyard. he splashed onto the scene in 1996 and immediately joined chipper as the obvious foundations to the braves future. he could hit. he could throw. he could cover more ground with more grace than any outfielder that i had seen and been able to appreciate. he had a great arm. and sure enough, for ten years, he made braves fans happy that "we" had him and somebody else didn't.

well, i teased him a few posts back, but the braves' permanent replacement to andruw in center made the team and will be starting tomorrow night. jordan schafer, andruw without the krispy kreme gut, got one guy he was competing with traded and sent the other to triple-a. he's the same guy that braves vets, reportedly, hated last spring because he showed up at the park with his chest stuck out, walking with a "player" strut and pretty much acting like he owned the place even though he had accomplished nothing at the highest level. he followed that favorable first impression up by getting suspended for 50 minor league games last season after testing positive for hgh. after missing almost half his year, he came back and finished up his 2008 minor league campaign strong but under the radar. close that chapter. everything i've read about his 2009 spring camp experience has been totally different. he still knows he's good. but he's been humble. he's been productive and, maybe most importantly, he's gotten the vets on his side. up until the last week of the spring, he was batting around .400 and went from a guy that would probably be called up sometime later in the year to the guy in center, beginning day one. incredible.

if i haven't made my feelings obvious enough, i love jordan schafer. no, i am in love with jordan schafer. for many of the same reasons i fell in love with julio jones. for one, his talent is so immense that i will enjoy watching his every move, every at-bat that i can, every time he glides towards a fly ball and wish that i ever could have been that good. he is just a rookie. and he will struggle. if you watch enough baseball, though, you know when you are watching a guy that has it. and he has it. for two, he represents to the braves what julio represented, not with his signing, but with his arrival on that first day of practice, when he, as a "rookie", was undoubtedly the best player with the most talent on alabama's football team. schafer is like that now. because of chipper's advanced baseball age, schafer is already the most talented guy there. and the braves can stand up and try to raise themselves to that standard like the tide did last fall. or they cannot. if they do, though, and he has anything close to a "rookie of the year" season, the braves will be back in the postseason. mark it down.

what's that? optimism?

yeah, i guess it kind of is. after losing out on peavy during the offseason, i really had been hum-drum about the atlanta braves, version 2009. jordan schafer changed all that for me. now, i can't wait for them to break my heart all over again.

i hate you, braves.

and i mean that in the best way possible.

the end of the world
(part two)
(("supporting caste"))


"...there will be no revisions to the script made on behalf of a supporting cast(e)."

in many of propagandhi's cuts, there is a good bit of predeterminism hurled as insult at those that govern society and are responsible for the big idea of "religion". all of it is justified i suppose if you base it upon their own personal experiences and biases. i know that i don't agree with it all, but it makes me think nonetheless.

there are think-tank bands, bands that are more interested in the message of their music even if it compromises the quality of their songwriting (see: christian radio). and there are genre/pop bands, bands that, no matter their style, are much more interested in "writing a good song". there may still be a message attached, but it's secondary to the structure, the hook and the melody. nothing inherently wrong with either way a band chooses to evolve, but in the fifteen years or so that i've given serious listen and attention to music, the bands that can bridge the gap between the two and not be impossible to enjoy i could probably count on one hand. as you can probably guess, my own opinion marks propagandhi as one of those exceptions. terribly talented musicians. can write viciously hook-y, fast songs, all the while never losing sight of what it is that they are trying to "say". sometimes they are pointed. sometimes political. sometimes sarcastic. all the time awesome. today's entry to this twelve-part series would most likely consider itself a little of all.

if you were a band, what kind would you be? if you were writing a song, would you start with the lyrics? or the hook?

i feel like i probably run into more "lyrics" people than i do "hook" people, and there is nothing wrong with that. getting out the message that is "you" is important. though, the unfortunate part about your message can rear it's head when it's not necessarily "your" message, but something that you've learned, adopted, copied, pasted, molded then photoshopped into some variation on a theme. what's that oscar wilde quote that rebecca has on her blog? "most people are other people. their thoughts are someone else's opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation." i wonder if he had religion on his mind when that thought came to him.

we are approaching the time of year when i, often, feel most uncomfortable with my faith. easter. moreso than any other part of the year, i feel like we elbow out most honest discourse in favor of a very simple, yet intoxicatingly complex, question. do you choose to believe with "us"? or do you not? he is risen. or he hasn't. "we" are all surrounded by congregations that most likely dwarf those of any other sunday on the calendar. we are reinforced with sheer numbers that the faith by which we subscribe is not a lonely or dwindling effort, but one that "hey! look at all of the new and old" faces believe in too. it's a glorious day. and a haunting one all at the same time. for even with our sanctuaries full, there are those outside of the walls approaching the "special" day just as they would any other day called sunday. there will be those in the pews that will not be celebrating, but be enveloped in doubt and concern that if it's "this way" or the highway, i might as well jump in my car.

i am sad that i will be away from huffman on easter morning. i married into a tradition that travels our family to georgia, to a small church that feels like a "real" church only because i've romanticized it to be that. but i am glad too. personal drama, deception and misinformation will play no role in my worship experience. the baggage that i have made myself such a part of within our congregation will have to wait on me 'til the next week when the crowd isn't so big. when the "message" doesn't feel so black and white. and two hours away from here, i can sit and appreciate all of my doubts and all of my concerns for what they are without the fear of someone noticing.

it seems we find ourselves in a place where our church has no problem getting "our message" (it's DIA, right?) out. but, to me, it feels like we are struggling to be more than just a variation on a theme.

maybe i am wrong.

or maybe we should try writing the song first.

the end of the world
(part one)
(("night letters"))


"your mind constantly returns to a place that's not so fucking cold...
but on fire with war."

it's not out of the ordinary while i am laying in my bed at night with my eyes open or sitting in front of the computer in the office at the store or resting comfortably on the couch watching tv that my mind starts to wander.

in my bed at night, the nightdream starts with an intruder making his way up the stairs. my senses flash to alert status, eyes fully open now, staring at the fan and listening closely, hoping that the noise was just the cats frolicking about, keeping themselves busy until the sun comes up and it's time for them to go to sleep. it's not the cats. it's footsteps. the intruder pauses at the top of stairs, making his mind up as to which room he will enter first, sizing up the potential competition in each. he chooses. poorly. i am awake and out of my bed at this point. i am waiting for the biggest, baddest motherscratcher with the biggest and baddest gun on the planet to enter my room. i am not scared. i do not breathe heavily. i merely wait. as he enters, he is not so big, nor is he so bad. he is probably just desperate. but his desperation pointed him in the wrong direction on this night. he gently opens the door and glances around. i allow him to proceed through the darkness two steps further. i destroy his face with a baseball bat. game over.

i stir back into reality.

at the store, the daydreams are like a running loop. a memory that ceases to exist. i fade for a few seconds into monotony, it's product a haze. my eyes lose focus as if i were trying to make out the hidden image on a magic-eye picture. i remember running to the back room, picking up my pace when he tells me to. i remember being angry at the command. i've already seen his stature. i am not afraid of him. i am afraid of the gun that he wields. a gun i've only seen in pictures before. i don't yet even know what it's called. that will take a police officer watching the security tape with me. we make it to the back room and i turn off the alarm that, in all god's honest truth, i believe is the alarm that is screeching loudly enough for the surrounding neighborhood to hear and wonder what is going on. it's the wrong alarm. the masked man is no longer masked. i turn. i see his eyes. he, too, is desperate. but now, an anger boils within. he thinks i've tricked him. i haven't. i just made a mistake. he presses the gun to my head. i tell him it's the other alarm. he shouts at me to go turn it off. i listen to the gun once more. and i run. i see the image from the security tape in my head. he stays behind to open the back door. i run down towards what i see in front of me is an open door. but i don't run out. not this time. i notice he is not behind me. i hear him come out of the back room. i duck behind a floorstack. i hear him trotting down the aisle. he sees the open door as i did. as he nears my hiding place, i hear him sigh, "goddamit". he passes me. i am now in control. i tackle the smaller man from behind. wrestle away the gun. stand. point it at him...

i stir back to reality.

on my couch, the dream is much like the first. this time i am alone. watching sports. entirely content. i've just finished my rocky training montage. i feel good. the adrenaline is still in my veins. i've just taken my music out of my ears. the last song i played is the same last song i've played since march 10. it is propagandhi. it is "night letters". and i am wishing for a fight. whomever happens to be the last person i've thought ill about knocks on the door. they are wishing for the same. i open the door. i smile.

i stir back to reality.

the same reality where i may not be so brave or foolish. or i may. we would have to see. but it's the same reality that very often feels cold, overwhelming and alone even when i am surrounded with friends and family and many good things that should serve to take my mind away from places on fire with war.

others' reality may not be so lucky.

i don't like my daymares or my deathdreams any more now than i did several years ago when i didn't know how to control them, when they would cause me to panic and lose my breath. my head swimming and swirling around uncontrollably is not a feeling i would wish on anyone.

now, though, i've learned to refocus and funnel those negative thoughts into their own compartment, one to which i, only, have the key. i can get in when i want. i can get out when i want. "night letters" serves perfectly as the soundtrack to this one compartment of my life.

i am glad that i don't have to live there.

but i sure love this fucking song.

follow me on twitter


ok. i've decided on a different approach to this topic. i am not going to attack it, because, for one, i don't understand it.

there are countless things/vices in this world that i don't have a personal experience with and yet still may frown upon. i've never done serious drugs. don't understand the addiction. don't condone the use, but i am not going to bash it here because i don't have the first-hand wherewithall to draw from and give me a more than subjective feel for it. same with cigarettes. people smoke. are addicted to it. i don't understand it. never been there or done that. so, i am not going to rail on them or you here. what's the point? i would just come across as ignorant. the whole twitter phenomenon can be filed under this personal category for me. it may seem like these are somewhat drastic or dramatic comparisons to draw in relation to "tweeting", but they all conjure up about the same ire within in me currently, so throw stones if you'd like. pretty good chance i'd just catch them anyway. you do throw like a girl. moving on.

on the other hand, there are things that i feel compelled to whine about here like church or sports because i feel like i have a pretty good handle on how they should be done well. i, alone, may not be able to create with any consistency the perfect worship service, but i know what one feels like, can see it if it's in front of me and i know what kind of work it takes to make it happen. same with sports. i suck at them for the most part now, but i am aware of the dedication, physically and mentally, that it takes to perform at a relatively high level and i feel like i am not being a total jerkface when i am commenting about them.

which brings me to my point. and maybe to a discussion that will serve the greater good. that point being i don't get twitter.

in an appearance on the daily show about a month ago, nbc news anchor brian williams said this about "tweets", challenging them for only "having subject matter which refers to the condition of the author in any given instant." (thanks, wikipedia) he went on to say that he didn't feel like his life was interesting enough, in any given moment, to publish in twitter format.

i think i have similar issues. i get the idea of them as a social networking tool. those that choose to "follow" someone's tweets will have access to or insight into a life of a friend or celebrity or whomever that they otherwise would not have. it's a busy world we all make for ourselves. i get the feeling or want to be connected even as we are running around making ourselves feel useful. i get that part of it. i do.

i think the part of it i don't get are the inherent limitations that come along with the 140 character limit. there is only so much one can say in 140 characters. maybe that's part of the fun or the art. most observations i've made, though, seem to be that it tends towards the narcissistic.

who, ultimately, are you tweeting for? yourself? your followers? both at the same time?

do your followers really care if you are having coffee and watching a bum nag passers-by? should they? what does you tweeting say about you? what does it say about those that care? i don't know. i need help.

"i am going to get my hair done."

"man, spaceballs is a really funny movie."

"i play in the nba and need to play harder in the second half. my coach yells so."

"back from a long day at work. too lazy to call you. have a good night."

"i am thinking of you all. every single one of you. aren't you thinking of me?" (to which the "followers", of course, would reply, "hell to the yes! i was just thinking of you too!" to which the original twitterer could then reply by going to sleep with a greater sense of self-worth.)

who knows. maybe i just don't want to "get it". in the same way i don't want to get updating your status on facebook. who cares? who is it for? who is worried?

listen, i am about as impersonal as they come. i am an introvert. the more covert or private my social interactions can be, the better. but this thing, this twitter, strikes even me as either shallow or lazy.

i could be wrong, and i'd love to hear from some twitterers to get your take.

as for now? "follow me on twitter".

sorry. probably not.

all those that are heartbroken raise their hands, please.

anyone?

resignation sets in


well, it's settled. i am not going to repeat and win my ncaa pool this year. analyzing my bracket, it kind of surprises me, even today, that i only made three real reaches this year. and by reaches, i mean true gamble picks that would separate my bracket away from the mainstream "hey, look. i've got all the one and two seeds in my elite eight!" brackets. everyone picks a first-round upset or five. they only cost you 10 points anyway. so, those don't count as reaches unless you've got a fifteen over a two or a sixteen over a one.

my three reaches were these:

arizona st. over syracuse, through to the sweet sixteen - i had zona st. losing to oklahoma in the next round, so this wasn't a huge reach, but i was picking against the hottest team in the country and everyone's new favorite player, jonny flynn (i admit it. i like him too.). i had seen zona st. four or five times this year and every game i saw, james harden was the freaking man. heads and shoulders better than any other player on the floor, including their home win over ucla. boy, what a bust he turned out to be. turns out i put too much stake into the ucla game, because turns out ucla sucks. they got destroyed yesterday. zona st. and harden got wiped out in the first game today. 1-8 shooting in the first round. 2-10 today. awesome. thanks for showing up, james. maybe he was already thinking about the nba draft. i have no idea. anyway, first reach...fail.

wake forest to the final four - well, shit. the only true upset of the first round comes at the expense of my sleeper pick of the tournament. saw bits and pieces of several wake games this year and was severely impressed each time. they beat carolina. beat duke. had all the makings of a very good and balanced basketball team, brimming with at least three (maybe four) guys that'll play in the nba. they were young, sure, but so is every good team in college basketball these days. something weird happened down the stretch to them, though, and i just didn't want to believe it. i think i read they went 7-6 in their final thirteen games. not terrible, but not a team that was going to win four straight through good teams and make the final four. bad choice on my end. i got bit. two fails.

oklahoma to win it all - no, picking a two seed to win it isn't going to melt anyone's brains, but when only 4.4 percent of the country (according to espn's bracket tally) is holding hands with me, i'll chalk that up as a solid reach. carolina has serious flaws as a team even if lawson looked good yesterday. louisville will not hit their threes during at least one game this tournament. they better hope the other team is off too. pitt doesn't score easily enough for my taste. and uconn? i've never really felt uconn this year, even though they've been the most impressive team of the first two rounds. when making my picks, i could totally see this being a carmelo in 2003 situation. blake griffin, best college player on the planet, would take his team on his very broad and athletic shoulders through the rest of the good-but-not-great field. freshman willie warren would be his gerry mcnamara-esque second fiddle. and the supporting cast would fill whatever role blake griffin needed them to on their way to cutting down the nets. this still could happen, but syracuse, version 2009, still looks like the hottest team in the country as of this morning. carolina looks worthy of a one seed again. then likely pitt in the semifinal? then louisville or uconn in the final? yikes. four top ten teams, four straight wins? i just don't believe it can happen anymore. it took all of three days for my confidence to be crushed.

so, i concede defeat and i will golf clap some bracket that has north carolina winning it all, stepping over me and all others to claim victory. from this point forward, i will root for good games the rest of the way. pathetic wisconsin/xavier does not apply, hence the time stamp on this post.

from this point forward, i put on my cap and prepare for the braves to destroy my soul. wbc semi tonight. two more weeks of spring training and rooting for my new man-crush, jordan schafer, to win atlanta's centerfield job. softball in nine days. it's baseball season, folks.

who needs brackets, right?

25-7


good enough for alone in second after the first round. not bad.

hey, are you excited about that arizona/cleveland st. game tomorrow? mmm. gotta love "cinderella" games where a twelve or thirteen seed is going to make the sweet sixteen no matter what. it's not that i hate these schools or the players that play for them. what i will hate is hearing their personal stories all next week leading up to the next slate of games. how far they've come. how many teddy bears they sleep with at night. someone will have a blind mother. it's inevitable.

whatever. anybody in my pool knows the real reason i am bitter this morning is because i lost my first final four team to the aforementioned cleveland st. vikings. i can't enjoy outpicking twenty-five other brackets because of the pesky little "points possible remaining" column that will serve as a constant reminder that my name is bound to start tripping down the list.

dammit.

i hate when i can't see the trees for the forest.

grrrr...


internet on. internet off. internet on. internet off. internet on. internet off.

i get it. we've been spoiled. for the most part, we haven't experienced the terrible difficulties that some have getting consistent access to the world wide whatever.

the last few days, we've had it.

it thwarted what may have been a fun two or three part series on my off day that now feels dated in my head. it may come back. it may not.

basketball consumes me now. and will for the next three days.

maybe then, my war on twitter will begin.

either that, or i start to detail the end of the world.

neither will be exciting. both will be necessary.

church went well sunday. all of it. kind of unbelievable, right?

so...who ya got?


it's selection sunday. can you feel the excitement? no? then that means one of two things. one, you already can feel that this is a sports post and you've tuned me out. or two, you are like me, an alabama fan. the basketball team sent you swirling down the toilet bowl of apathy long ago and you've rarely even realized that college basketball is being played. i get it. i am with you.

but you don't have to be a college basketball fan to fill out a bracket. hell, you don't even have to like sports. you just do it because everyone in your office is doing it. you'll watch a little espn tonight or check out the team capsules online sometime tomorrow so you, too, can become an "expert" like the rest of us, and dammit, you are ready to roll!

so, the question that you have to start with is an easy one. "who ya got?" who is going to win the whole kit 'n caboodle? did you ever understand why, psychologically, it was easier to complete a maze when you were a kid if you started from the endpoint? yeah, me either. but the same retarded logic can be applied to filling out a ncaa bracket too. if you are sure of who you think (based on your own, biased, absolutely arbitrary criteria) the best team in the land is, you can start with them and work your way backwards. that's six games you don't even have to think about! what a prize!!! the rest of the pieces really, then, become to feel insignificant. because you know how your adventure is going to end, the journey there isn't nearly as overwhelming. so, "who ya got?"

what do you mean, "i don't know?"

i will be honest. i am in the same boat. "everyone's" preseason favorite, north carolina, is wildly overrated without their point guard, ty lawson, and they are still mildly overrated with him. they will not win this year. i promise you. sorry, amy. that means you aren't going to win our pool before we even start. it's sad. it's also true.

to make matters worse, espn smashed me in the face with this incredible and intimidating stat yesterday morning. not since 1968 (1968!!!) has a team lost their first game of their conference tournament and then gone on to win the ncaa's. what??? really??? they followed that up by reminding us that history, then, has already ruled out uconn, oklahoma, pitt and last year's champs, kansas. son of a bitch. out of those four, i could have legitimately seen myself picking two of them to cut down the nets. not now. not this year. what? you're going to mess with forty years worth of failure and think that your picking this or this or this or that team can break the streak? fine. you aren't going to win your pool either.

so, what now? and why so much emphasis on who wins the whole thing? don't the other 62 games matter?

not usually. i don't have the scientific data to back this up, but i can tell you from my own ten-plus years of experience with filling out brackets that i have never (never!!!) been in a pool that had been wrapped up before the three final four games were played. and usually, unless the top two or three teams in your pool all have picked the same champ, the final will be the deciding factor in who does or doesn't take away your money and/or bragging rights. having the champ right is that important. it seems easy, sure. out of the 64 teams that make the dance, there are only ever between 6 and 10 teams that have a legitimate shot of winning the last six games of their season. some years, the number is closer to between 2 and 4.

oh yeah. not to fry your brain, but this year is the exception to that rule too. i would not be surprised at all if a crazy hot 4 or 5 seed, think maybe a syracuse that is already dripping with momentum, or an arizona state, who will always have the most nba ready player on the floor no matter who they are matching up with. it probably won't happen. but this year? it could. i'm just saying.

"so, who ya got?"

don't be so impatient. that's coming. i do want to tell you that you are all cordially invited to play in our annual "friends of HUMC" pool. i'll post the link here later tonight after i've created it. no money is necessary. just thick skin, not a terribly high amount of pride nor false hopes of actually winning. who do i have? OKLA-FREAKING-HOMA!

but, you said history had already ruled them out?

fuck history. i've got nothing for it. those that dwell on history are doomed to repeat it. that's how the saying goes, right?

right?

...

whatever. best player in the country. best freshman in the country. weird looking brother. weirder looking mom. sounds like a recipe for success if you ask me. go sooners!

good luck with your bracket. come play with us!

just remember, nobody knows anything.

except me.

(update: here is the link. feel free to pass it on. the group name is "Friends of HUMC". password is "huffman". have fun!)

two months in


we'll take a break from the "hannah and caroline and me" theme today and touch base on the church. it's been a while, not for a lack of things going on necessarily, but more for my own wait and see approach to the new year.

new committees are just now taking shape. persons rotate off at the end of every year while new personalities are helping to shift the direction of how each and every one of our committees choose to do their business. for those bodies that have seen changes in chairperson, it will probably take another couple of months and meetings for them to fully grasp what it is that they want to accomplish. things move slowly in a church. or they can. patience is not my greatest asset.

i will say this. being way more plugged in since the turn of the new year has given me a brighter perspective on where the church stands and is. i am sharing tables with people that all care for our huffman united methodist church. the depth to which they care is not really for me to judge. all are voicing their opinion and their perspective in their own ways. while most of the committees i serve have only met once, it would be unfair for me to draw incomplete conclusions just yet. all, individually, will hope to serve a greater purpose, whatever that ends up being.

what will that end up being?

change is afoot. you can feel it. there is a nervous energy (or, maybe it's just me) in all of the meetings i've participated in. the church, herself, is becoming more and more aware of how dire the financial situation is. as more information, bits and pieces at a time, is published for all to see, it will begin to sink in that significant changes will have to be made, across the board, in a unified effort to cut costs and responsibly distribute our resources in ways that we've never (and by never, i mean the last fifteen years) really paid much attention to. ministries will have to be cut, not in spite of the ministries themselves or the massive good they have done in the past, but because our available income and manpower will have to be reallocated to fewer and more focused ministries. we are not strong enough in our current situation that it is good enough to be able to see our fellow members separated, each, by 100 yards across the valley. we must now be close enough to holds hands. sure, our reach will not be as wide, but we will still have reach. we still have many hands.

it's a fascinating time, really, but, admittedly, also a stressful one. people are torn between the memories of our past and how we have "always" operated and the reality of where we are now. young people are torn between wanting the inherent perks of larger and more healthy congregations and the want to remain in some semblance of the church they have called home for years. others, not necessarily just our young people, are falling out of like with the idea of church on the whole, or at least the way our church has perpetuated that idea. others are tired. they don't want to talk anymore. "talking never changes anything." true, but only if you aren't having honest conversation. empty, mindless, pleasantry-filled talk never changes anything. you are right about that.

so, where are we?

stuck somewhere between hopeful and honest, not a bad place to be, but not the end of the journey either. i will admit, i am there too. i am happy to feel as if i've been a rational and honest voice thus far in my meetings this year. when i get home, though, i wish i didn't have to think quite so hard about it. it was much easier when things just "happened". it's funny. i do feel, at times, that there are some that think i am adversarial for the sheer sake of being difficult. that i think my ideas are the only ideas worth listening to. a pretty silly notion, but i do have to be aware that's it's there. who am i, anyway, that thinks that i can be a part of the solution to this problem that we have yet to fully nail down?

well, i guess i am whomever you want me to be as long at it helps you sleep better at night. dedicated and determined thorn in the side of emotion or rascally, relatively young whippersnapper full of cuss words and vinegar. it doesn't matter to me.

i'll hold hands with you either way.

two months in, we've still got a long way to go. we'll get more specific sooner rather than later.

hannah and caroline and me
(part twenty-five)


has it really been almost three years?

son of a gun. i guess it has. funny. looking back on that post from april of 2006, i mourned that there was no flag football at east lake park like there was when i was a kid. i wasn't sure when that had come to an end, but i was certain that i would never see it again. today, we went back to see the ducks. this time, caroline making her first visit to the small lake that i spent many a summer morning along it's banks trying to fish with my brother and mom's dad. i didn't catch many fish. i hated fishing. but i fished and touched worms and nicked myself with fishing hooks anyway. there were life-lessons to be found amongst the blood and the squirmy fish bait. i didn't know it then. hell, i am not sure what the lessons were even now. but i was there. and there was always flag football. this morning, when we pulled up into the parking lot, what did we see? at least four different flag football teams stretching it out and getting ready to share the east lake football field. how about that? what's old was new again. either that, or i just came on the wrong day in 2006.

huffman, roebuck, east lake...what a disaster those areas are now as compared to when i was a kid. everything seems so run down and out of date. east lake park, itself, is a shell of it's former self. the community building around the pool that is now the shepherd center looks like a bomb shelter from the outside. the pool beside it has not been cleaned out in years. the track around the park is in three years worse shape than the last time we visited. still no open concession stand. there is still people-traffic in and around the park, but, for the first day of 2009 that felt like spring, it felt deserted. after we finished at the park, we took a right to find sarah's first alabama house. tucked right next to east lake united methodist, i imagined our car as ricky baker from boyz N the hood rolling in slow motion down a dead end alley. i felt uncomfortable and unwanted by every pair of eyes that i made eye contact with. i'll tell myself that i was just being paranoid. i am smart enough to know better, though.

as we headed back towards huffman, we detoured past my grandparent's old house next to don hawkins park. damn, i could have sworn that house was bigger. the yard definitely had to be bigger. oh, the adventures i had in that backyard. swinging on and off of the poles that held up the laundry lines. hiding so that the enemy could not find me behind the shed. it was a world unto it's own. and today i saw that it was about 100 square yards. oh well.

we got into huffman and back on the parkway. once we passed wal-mart, i tried to notice how many retail buildings were left vacant or had transformed themselves into something skeevy or exploitative. i would put the conservative figure at 30 percent. it was probably higher, though.

starbucks closed yesterday. another one down, joseph. another one down. not that it was an institution from my youth, but it was a company sticking their neck out into a community that is becoming a parody of itself. maybe they should have known better. maybe their vetting process was flawed. whatever the case, i hear mcdonald's cafe is excellent.

we headed on towards cici's down center point parkway. funeral with hip-hop hearse outside of the worship center. does a hearse really need rims? someone passed from this world and i bet a bunch of people are sad about it. all i can focus on is the rims on the hearse. closed business here. decaying homequarter's warehouse there. terrific looking sign drawing attention to the 85 percent empty strip mall that used to contain the old wal-mart. great looking sign, though. empty guthries. leveled bama six movie theatre.

we ate at cici's. too bad walker's wasn't open for business yet. headed back towards the library. drove past a really nice new park on polly reed road. i hear it was funded by housing and urban development. i don't mind my tax dollars going for something like that. i wonder why my tax dollars can't be poured back into my community.

why is everything closing? why is everything so old?

is this really a ghetto? is it going to be? what is a ghetto, really?

brian mccann just hit a home run for the usa...

"portion of a city in which members of a minority group live especially because of social, legal, or economic pressure."

that sounds about right. east lake is there now. you don't choose to move into a ghetto. nobody chooses to move into east lake these days.

huffman, at least the outer edges, isn't there yet, but it could be in five years. nah. between five and ten.

center point, at least the outer edges close to pinson and chalkville, has ten to fifteen years left unless something changes.

and unless something changes, we won't be bothering to make trips down memory lane through my and sarah's old neighborhoods because someone will have burned them to the ground.

usa just left the bases loaded in the seventh...

why is my church dying? because people are getting out while the getting is good. "we tried." "we did everything we could." "we knocked on doors." "they just wouldn't come."

they just wouldn't come.

it's all their fault.

when i was a kid, the ducks at east lake park didn't recognize plastic bags that contained bread. if you wanted to incorporate feeding the ducks into your east lake park experience, you went to the ducks. three years ago, the ducks didn't recognize the bags either.

today, at least one of them did. at least one of those ducks recognized the bag and told his friends. ducks were knocking down the baby, baby girl to get to that bread. nipping at our pants, hissing at us like it might be their last meal for days, even the ducks are pissed.

they can see the writing on the wall. probably see it better than we can.

no one chooses to move to the ghetto.

hannah and caroline and me

(part twenty-four)

nothing quippy or smart-ass to say about these couple of pictures.

for someone my age, this morning couldn't help but conjure up memories and images from the winter storm of '92. the one that even the weatherpersons couldn't not see it coming. the one where brian woods and i intentionally packed our bags for several days in the hopes that we would be trapped at charles pate's house. the one where our wishes came true. the one where we never got sick of the snow. we played, trekked, tortured charles' sister and never realized it was really cold inside the house with no power because it was always a lot more warm than it was outside. every time there is a hint of snow, i think back to those three wonderful days. i think about charles and brian and wonder if they remember it as fondly as i do.

for as little as i pay attention to the weather nowadays, this morning kind of snuck up on me. folks at the store were talking about it friday, but, at the time, there were severe thunderstorms everywhere and it was 65 degrees outside. i didn't think much of it.

waking up this morning to the glare that can only be caused by snow accumulated on the ground, hannah and caroline found their first "winter storm of '92" experience. we didn't spend a ton of time outside this morning, mostly because i am about as ill-equipped, clothes-wise, for winter weather as they come and i was freezing from the moment we opened the door. but, we endured long enough for hannah to run around, get a feel for it all, throw some snow at her parents and make a few snow angels. caroline did what caroline does...stay out of hannah's way, but she had some fun too.

i'll take this morning over baby-girls barfighting every day of the week and twice on snowy sundays.

hannah and caroline and me

(part twenty-three)

what does this picture say?

caroline: "here hannah. can i help you with what you are working on? how about a pen? do you need this pen?"

hannah: "no, thank you, caroline. you are a sweetheart for asking, but, at this moment, i am perfectly content with life and have everything a kind-hearted five year-old could ever need."

caroline: "are you sure, dear sister? please let me get this pen for you. i can even press the top so that it will ring out a fabulous track from high school muscal 2. it will bring music to your ears just like you bring music to my life every time we share a most peaceful moment just like this one that mommy just caught on camera. "

hannah: "no, but because you've been so nice to me this evening, i will let you play with every one of my toys in the bath tonight. i will not swipe any from your grasp. and i will lean back and enjoy what a wonder it is to have a younger sister to share my tub and my days with. i love you, caroline."

caroline: "i love you too, hannah. kisses. "

bull.

shit.

i don't know how much of a surprise it would be to any of you that have children if i told you that immediately after this cute photo was taken, hannah stole the pen back out of caroline's wee, baby hands because "that's mine, caroline!" and stabbed her younger sister in the neck. there was blood. there was screaming. there was gnashing of teeth. caroline proceeded to crane-kick hannah's front two teeth out. hannah then responded with the five point palm exploding heart technique, masterfully executed on the sweet baby, baby girl. caroline, resigned to her fate and at the same time impressed with her sister's skill, slowly took her bib off, wiped with it away the blood now slowly dripping from her sweet baby, baby girl lips, tugged on her mommy's pants-leg, gave her the sign for milk and fell to the floor, her spirit leaving this battleground that is our kitchen forever.

(and...scene!)

hannah: "well played, caroline."

caroline: "you don't think i oversold it?"

hannah: "definitely not. it was brilliant."

caroline: "you are too kind."

so, maybe the karate kid/kill bill death duel didn't really happen, but it feels like some degree of it happens almost every night. and i think that's why we haven't had a "hannah and caroline and me" installment in over a month and a half. they make me too tired. they make me too frustrated. they piss me off all the time. and they don't listen (nevermind the fact that caroline probably can't hear. hannah doesn't have that excuse.). ever. "hannah, do this." "hannah, do that." "hannah, stop pulling your sister's eyes out." "hannah, upstairs." "hannah, no!" "caroline, no!" "caroline, please stop crying." "caroline, that's your sister's." "caroline, don't go up the stairs."

sarah, can we please put them to bed? send them to your mom's house? bus them to aunt joan? something?

and then hannah drops this nugget on me after i picked her up today. i told her that her sister had to go to the doctor this afternoon, because she didn't need to be sick when she went to get her tubes put in her ears next week.

"daddy, i love my sister. i hope they fix her ears."

"they will, baby." "they will."

you had to hear the tone of her voice, really, but she could not have been any more sincere or caring if we were bribing her with the lie that hannah montana, herself, would be babysitting her this weekend. it wasn't provoked. it wasn't premeditated. it was unconditional and beautiful and further evidence that i am a complete dick most of the time in the way i handle the interactions of a five and a one-and-a-half year-old when they are both tired from long days at school.

dammit.

i love you, girls.

no, really.

funny or sad


imagine, in spite of surrounding yourself with all sorts of greatness, in spite of being in and around one of the most popular rock bands of a generation, you are known in the minds of most adults my age for one super-blunder. imagine throwing a big, heavy bass way up in the air during the mtv music video awards in 1992. you've thrown and caught your bass too many times to count, but this time you miss. imagine it hits you in the forehead, knocking you silly. you would say in interviews after the fact that you were fine, just playing when you stumbled off-stage and into infamy. imagine all of the shows you played, records you created and lives you changed, you with your band and your influence, but all anyone remembers is that time when you let your bass smash your face. you've just imagined my memory of krist novoselic.

i laid on the couch this afternoon watching a horribly frustrating documentary on kurt cobain. for over an hour i waited to see the face responsible for the interviews that i was hearing cuts and pastes from, but all i received were images from cobain's past, towns he lived in, people he may have passed on the street. maybe i was missing the point. maybe it was more arty than i was in the mood for. maybe all i wanted was to see cobain talking. but since i couldn't see him, my mind wandered through my own memories of the band and the way it had influenced me during my middle and high school years. maybe that was the director's point. if so, screw him. i hated his movie.

i do love the contradiction in metaphor that novoselic always was for fans of the band. it didn't help matters that he always wore kind of a dumb look on his face, let cobain do most of the talking in band interviews, loped around the stage like he was only into playing about half the set. the one time i saw nirvana in person, i found myself amazed at how little fun the bassist seemed to be having. i remember my friends and i talking about it afterwards. then again, we were young and our expectations were that this life that this band was living was the ultimate. who wouldn't want to tour the country, tour the world, and play music every night? well, come to find out, as a unit, nirvana didn't more than they did. as people, they got along and understood themselves and their sum to be greater than their personality quirks and conflicts. they made great music with hooks to spare and found themselves in the rare air of pop-culture immortality. and together, they will always be remembered for what they were. a band whose fame transcended even their way-better-than-average talent, just so happened to be in the right place at the right time, and fell predictably into the cautionary tale category.

singularly, they were much less interesting. and singularly, they are annoying. cobain's backstory never really did it for me. the tale of hardship and angst and life on the outskirts rang all too familiar, but the fact that he gave up on it all completely lost me. dave grohl found his own voice, i guess, tried his hardest and continues to find fame with his very lame rock band. i attempted to like foo fighters. i really did. i just couldn't. i just can't. they're too much "i've heard every one of these songs before" and the only time i find them entertaining is when they are playing some stadium-massive charity event and, for schtick's sake, grohl climbs behind the kit and bangs away at his drums. out of the three, nowadays, i find novoselic's story the most intriguing, only because it is the most tragic in my opinion.

one fuck-up. one moment in time. one time he threw a bass up in the air and missed it. one time, as far as i know, it hit him on the head. and because of that one time, he's forever labeled as a goof. not worth our time. not worth our attention. no longer immortal. for once and for all, just like us.

when things like his "moment" go down and when they happen to the people that find their way into our life or conscious, you find yourself into one of two groups. the first? the group, like sixteen year-old me in 1992, that laughs, points fingers and completely dismisses the rest of his or her life as a joke at worst, at best not credible. the other? the group capable of empathy, realizing that we are all a joke at our worst and at our best, we are not very credible.

sitting here sixteen years later, i want to believe that most of the time i am in that second group. i caution my staff all the time to look at the context and not the clue. see the bigger picture. the customer isn't an asshole, he or she is just having a bad day.

laying on the couch today, i was reminded otherwise. during my most instinctive moments, i think i am still very much in the first group. i still think of that bass hitting his head and laughing. i still remember that time you talked about me and you didn't know what the shit you were talking about . i still dwell on that time i thought you forgot about me. and most of what you say to me must fight it's way through a very defensive filter before i let you back in.

this is something i'll keep working on.

"when i've got the music, i've got a place to go"


i think the most nervous part about this past sunday wasn't the delivery of the announcements or the psalter reading or the prayer or the gospel lesson. while all of those things and my doing them well would contribute to each and every worshiper's experience, it wasn't the execution of those things that would lead to most of my pre-game nausea. not this time. there was a time in my life, not so long ago, that i felt like i was pretty in-tune with the Big Fella and his grand plan. every lesson, every talk, every conversation felt like something that He would approve of in some form or fashion, even if it took a little rationalizing convincing from my end. sure, i would be awash with the butterflies and the migraines that i spoke of last week, but i could almost count on the wonderful release of that tension as soon as i got started with whatever song i would play or whatever message that i would deliver.

chris perry, andy, kiker, others and i have all talked at length about the enormity of being an active spokesperson for, you know, god. we've all talked about the pressure we have felt right before the curtain goes up, acknowledging that something we say may butterfly-effect a person in any number of directions, some good and some bad relative to their relationship with the creator we subscribe to. it was never something that i felt like i was selling, per se, but more representing. here's what i believe in. here's how it's changed my life for the better in my opinion. here are some steps that may be helpful to your own journey. take it with a grain of salt if you'd like. as long as you'd take it, please. there is nothing that i can do in front of any one person that will convince them that my convictions are worth hearing. all i can do is hope that i don't completely turn them off to my opinion being an option for them too. and therein lies the crux. the central point was never the delivery or the after-effects. it was what happened in the meantime, meantime being defined differently to every one i've ever encountered.

for instance, you may not think that the new propagandhi record dropping in three weeks is worth planning your life around. you'd be wrong. you might not think that music should be played loudly. you'd be wrong. you might not think that music should be about any more than love or bruce springsteen or the love of bruce springsteen. you'd be wrong. you might not think that music should challenge you. you'd be wrong. you might not think that propagandhi could change your life. you'd be wrong. but you'd at least think that wasting your time reading my retarded opinions regarding some stupid punk rock band elicited your own thoughts and feelings on the matter, right?

right. so, when i used to work (or got paid for it) for god, i got to the point where i felt like the release of every ounce of nervous energy in my body right before i spoke for Him was His way of saying, "go get 'em, tiger. (or something else supportive that kirsten dunst may say to spiderman)" it didn't always get rid of the migraine, but it did make me feel like i was on the right page. the enormity of the moment had paid off. i was doing what i was supposed to do.

but a lot of time had and has passed since i got paid for god work. the pre-game jitters were still there. that part felt familiar. in the time that had passed, though, i had cussed a lot. spit a lot. yelled a lot. fought a lot. poked a lot. antagonized here enough to warrant two separate comments from two separate senior pastors of humc. made a lot of errors at shortstop. missed a lot of open three-pointers. taken heroes off of my appointment television watch list. with all of these things and more working against me, who knew if god were even paying attention anymore.

and then it happened. i stepped up from my seat in front of the church, introduced myself and i felt the tension go away. just like in the old days. it was smooth sailing from that point forth, save one freudian slip. who wouldn't want to attend a "spaghetti summer". i know i would!

there are all sorts of explanations as to why i felt good and confident and sure that i was speaking for someone other than myself sunday. it could have been the routine of it all, like riding a bike. it could have been gerry's sweater. it could have been all the smiling faces that i could make eye contact with. i am certainly willing to acknowledge any number of scientific and/or psychological reasons exist that would explain my peaceful, easy feeling standing in front of my church a few mornings ago.

i choose to believe it was something spiritual.

i choose to believe it was god.

and i thank Him for being there with me.

the world comes to an end on march 10th, 2009
(hug your loved ones now)


first person to comment and tell me what the hell i am talking about gets a free breakfast, lunch or dinner (of their choosing) the next time i see them and have a chance to pay for your meal.

i will die a happy man.

a pastoral prayer


something will be lost without the delivery i guess, but i liked the thought of posting my "coming back out" to the church here for posterity. keep in mind, if you would, that this isn't really a post. it's more a cut and paste. to that end, you'll have to look past all the capital letters too. i don't have the energy to go through and HACAM-ize the whole thing.

Dear Heavenly Father,

If I didn’t know any better, I would say that I didn’t deserve so much of Your attention.

My life is filled not so much with vices, but many things that have taken much of my time away from You. I love softball. And basketball. And Alabama football. I have television shows that are much higher on my priority list than Bible study. And no matter how incredible and enveloping Lost is, how much it may or may not remind me of You, it’s not the same, is it? Maybe those things are vices.

My life is filled with worry, anger and borderline hate, all bad and unhealthy emotions that on a conscious level, I am completely aware of how detrimental they are to me and my relationship with You. Subconsciously, they gnaw away at me anyway. I’ve become accomplished at using these things as motivating factors in my life, but I don’t know if they are motivating me towards good or bad. Maybe that’s for another prayer. My life is filled with worry and anger and I clutch them like they are my security blanket.

My life is filled with unresolved conflict. Conflict that has been much easier over the last who knows how many years to avoid rather than confront face to face. What makes this matter worse is that most of the conflict that keeps me up at night is with my family, my friends and my church, all of whom would benefit every bit as much as me if we could sit down and tell each other how much we love the other. For this to happen, one or both of us would have to admit that we were wrong. That, Father, is easier said than done. And so, my life is also filled with unresolved conflict and, on most days, I would have it no other way.

If I didn’t know any better, I would say that I didn’t deserve so much of Your attention.

Thanks to this church, I know better.

Father, I imagine that my skewed priorities, my unhealthy emotions and my unresolved conflict share similar stories with everyone is this holy room this morning.

What a beautiful thing a community of faith is! Countless experiences, just like ours, that we can learn from and be strong because of...together. In our Sunday school classes, we use our time-tested and Jesus-approved relationships to understand how we can better walk with You...together. In worship, we lift our voices in the best way we know how to tell You thank you for not giving up on us, at the same time acknowledging our need to know more about the way You work...together. In our mid-week studies, we admit that we are not all Biblical scholars, but are enthusiastic in our journey to learn more from scripture and from each other...together. In our outreach ministries, we own Your challenge for us to take our faith and share it with the world, no matter how anxious it makes us. We do this...together. And when we are apart, in our homes, in our jobs, in our daily lives, we are better examples of You because of the time that we spend...together.

Thanks to this church, I grow and am growing in my understanding of how blessed I am to deserve your attention.

Father, I thank you for Huffman United Methodist Church. I thank you for everyone that is here worshipping with us today. I thank you for the history that we share, the tradition that we have forged and the future we have in front of us.

We are not a voice that has forgotten how to sing. Depending on the day, we may be singing different hymns, but we are still singing.

I thank you, Father, for our church health team. The first step in solving a problem is admitting there is a problem. Our church health team has identified that, to regain our potential, we must all be singing the same hymn, moving forward together.

I thank you, Father, for our Rev. Denson and his introduction to us over these last few weeks of the Natural Church Development idea and ideals, introducing to us that before a church can grow again, we must remember what it feels like to be healthy again. Please be with Chris today as he brings us Your word. Let us be open to the idea of being transformed in your spirit, and let us be open to how we can take that message with us as we leave this place.

For those that need our prayers today, Father, we pray for them. We pray for our church. And we give thanks to every person, place or thing that has brought us together in this place at this time on this day.

We love you, Father. As one body, as one church, as a community of faith that leans on You and each other ever day, we offer the following...

Our father, who art in Heaven...
...forever.

Amen

thank you to everyone that has said such nice things to me since sunday. it felt good and right being back up there. i hope to be invited again soon.

"would a liar bring mini-mounds bars!!!"
/ throws mini-mounds bars at unsuspecting audience


if you haven't seen the office from last thursday, well, you should go to nbc.com and watch it. it was a nice back to normal after the wackiness (also very funny) of the post-super bowl episode. now a few days removed from watching it last week, i favor the episode even more than i did at the time. the scene from which the quote above is ripped was one of three or four times that i laughed out loud during the show (jim and dwight as party-planning committee co-heads was equally hilarious), but the scene resonates on a different emotional level to me this morning.

not surprisingly, i have been giving a lot of thought to this coming sunday morning. i am serving as liturgist during worship and it will mark the first time in, gosh, almost four years that i have stood in front of huffman's congregation as a member of a worship leading team. it's hard to believe so much time has passed. and it's hard to believe how much has changed.

a thousand things are scurrying through my mind as the day approaches. i am having to remind myself to calm down. i am having to remind myself that no one will really care about my being up there if i do the job right (the offensive lineman theory. if you do your job, no one will ever know who you are.). it's not like i am preaching. i am only filling a role that must be filled every week. welcome the congregation. read the psalter. do a prayer. smile. shake hands. throw mini-mounds bars at people as they are leaving in the hopes that they'll like the tragically flawed guy that probably stumbled over the epistle reading. right?

it's so silly to put so much weight into such a small thing, but i am doing it anyway. since i last stood in front of the congregation, this blog was born, and on it, i've been quite critical at times of how our worship leaders have handled their business. that being said, there was always somewhere in the back of my mind that i knew i'd be back up in the front, putting my own self and my own "performance" out there for anyone and everyone to judge as worthy or not. and here's the deal. i cannot freaking wait. not to be a part of the "show", but to be a part of something that i don't know if everyone that reads scripture or offers an intercessory prayer on behalf of someone else fully understands the magnitude of. and what, exactly, is the magnitude of it? well, it may just be the most important thing you ever do in your life. no pressure, right?

now, truly, if pastors and lay folks alike ever gave this idea true thought before worship began, there would likely be vomit all over sanctuaries everywhere. wrapping your head around the notion of being god's voice during a worship service is, as marty mcfly would most eloquently state, heavy. i've been sarcastic about the "report card" that churches grade themselves by over the last several weeks. enough examples of claimed professions of faith or rising or declining numbers have been brought up in and around meetings i've been a part of that i am beyond irked. no answers have i been offered to my rhetorical question of, "who, exactly, is keeping score?". thus, i'll move forward assuming no one really knows. and if that is the case, then all any god-fearing god-lover can hope for is to plant seeds, right? plant seeds in a way that show a life built in relationship with a god that loves us more than we can comprehend to be an attractive thing and not a necessary thing. let's face it, people. there are many on this earth that are not currently living their life with salvation from eternal separation from god as a goal. hell, it may not even be an afterthought at this point. so, what for them? scare them with stories of that separation not only being lonely, but one of torture and flames and devils? fuck that. that's not my bag.

my bag is understanding that i am only one human being, blessed with an idea that a relationship with god makes my relationship with you better. and i take that relationship very seriously. going a step further and leading you or anyone in a worship experience bent towards pleasing and building a healthier relationship with that god? christ. i don't feel very deserving of that request. my experience and my ability to read makes me cut out for the job, but for many years i have understood the magnitude of it. and the weight will, more than likely, give me a migraine the likes of which i haven't felt since chris perry and i left huntsville.

if "getting it", if feeling like i know how important everything that happens sunday morning in worship is, whether it's me up there or someone else, if that's a bad thing, then i don't want to be right.

i can't wait for the opportunity. and i can't wait for the headache.

if i am tucked into the corner of the cry room prior to the service, though, don't worry. i am just working some stuff out. i'll be fine.

i'll clean up the throw-up after the service.

second verse, same as the first
(part two)


well, that happened.

kind of a weird day if you were like me and following the national signing day action most of yesterday. during the morning hours, the headlines were made by all sorts of schools not named alabama. ole miss, tennessee and lsu around lunchtime when they officially signed the nation's consensus top recruit in reuben randle. heck, even auburn made a splash, stealing away a longtime lsu wide receiver commit when, rumor has it, said wide receiver fell victim to a little second-fiddle syndrome and skipped town along with one other high profile, almost-lsu wide receiver that just so happened to land in tuscaloosa. the afternoon, though, went to alabama as the two biggest southeast fish left in the sea donned, each, their own respective alabama caps and rang in the new year the same way julio and his boys rang in 2008, with a mythical recruiting national title.

the most interesting part of national signing day to me, as i've gotten older, is the point/counterpoint that you hear all day. the point? national signing day should be a national holiday, recognizing that these classes are the lifeblood and the future of every college football program. the counterpoint? these seventeen year-olds don't deserve all of this attention and all of this hype when 98 percent of them are still months away from officially enrolling in their college of choice.

personally, i don't understand the counterpoint at all. what do you mean, "they don't deserve the attention."? if you are a college football fan at all, these are the names you will be cheering for come august! look no further than alabama's recently concluded dream season. just take a look at alabama's class of 2008. now count the names of those pesky seventeen year-olds (this time last year) that made significant on-field contributions for the tide later on in the same calendar year. i count seven or eight, and that comes nowhere close to the number that at least made it into a game and played some role, if even a minor one, in alabama running off an undefeated regular season.

now look at the class of 2009. if you can get past all the stars by the player's names, you'll see at least five or six, maybe more, that will figure seriously in the depth chart come this fall. you may not like the idea of high school athletes being treated as kings for a day, but again, in my mind, they deserve it. they will make or break my heart, as an alabama fan, soon enough. once they put on the crimson and white and once they screw up, all of a sudden i and the rest of alabama nation will curse their name as quickly as we championed it yesterday. so what? give them their day in front of a group of reporters and family and friends, all there to wish them well and see them on to the "next level". let them celebrate. let them rejoice. let them soak in what it feels like to be wanted and loved. soon enough, their college coaches will wake them from that dream.

the only point i will cede to those that argue that the fame and the hype surrounding some of the higher profile athletes is too much too soon is this. if seventeen isn't too young, what is? in ten years, will i be subscribing to some online recruiting site that is tracking the best and the most talented eighth graders? will i worry about which high school is recruiting them because some high schools have better relationships with the coaches at alabama? probably not, but it's a valid argument. but, when it comes to the attention placed onto high school seniors, let's face it, that ship has sailed. for better or for worse, these young men who have the talent to play football or basketball are about to make these universities buckets full of cash. they are about to make my and my friends' saturdays better, because their presence gives me the hope that my team is going to win. and the only thing they will get for that tangible and compensatory harvest is a free education. not a bad deal, mind you, but considering where some of these universities would be without the windfall of money that is brought to them by these "undeserving" seventeen year-olds that, as they mature, cbs, epsn, abc and others can market and manipulate into more and more massive and ridiculous television contracts, it's mere pennies.

so, please spare me the mock outrage and join with me in celebrating what we already know. these seniors, these seventeen year-olds are about to make our life a better place. hell, yesterday gave me mythical bragging rights over every male that shares my table at church on wednesday nights for another year. my life is already better.

congratulations, guys. and roll tide.

i hear nick saban doesn't expect much from his players and that his practices are really easy. no worries.

see you in atlanta in about eight months. virginia tech hits harder than pinson valley high school. have fun. i'll be cheering for you.

or yelling at you.

second verse, same as the first?


if you don't count 2006, when nick saban was riding in on the coattails of mike shula's recruiting efforts prior to his being asked to leave, wednesday, february 4th will mark the culmination of saban's second full and honest recruiting class at alabama. it's interesting how much has changed in those twelve months regarding the expectations i have of this new and just as important group of high school seniors.

it's not that i haven't been paying attention. it's not that i don't hope that reuben randle decides to come to tuscaloosa and leave his home state behind (which, hindsight proves, is about as likely as julio leaving his own state and his own mom last year was). it's not that i am not nervous about all this last-minute flirting trent richardson and dre kirkpatrick are doing even though one's been a verbal for nine months and the other most "experts" have him coming as a lock. these guys and this class is just as important to bama's continuing rise and eventual excellence as last year's was. it's just...different. you can only really fall in love once. same can be said for laying the foundation of a house. you can remodel and repaint and move the furniture around all you want, but it's still the same house, built on the the same slab of concrete. last year, after years of negligence and arrogance, the recruiting class of 2008 poured the foundation on the new house of the new, nick saban alabama era.

i don't want to take anything for granted. i am not counting any chickens prematurely. i just believe that nick saban is doing his due diligence and taking care of what he needs to. i will not be disappointed destroyed if one of the high profile fish get away wednesday. and on the other hand, it will not make my life if randle puts on a houndstooth cap in the same way it did when julio made it official this time last year. it matters. it's just...different.

speaking of foundations, i know andre smith leaving hurts. it hurts bad. anyone remember tyler love, though? i do. if he doesn't work out? d.j. fluker is already coming to town. remember that name. he'll likely follow andre as a first round pick in about four years. we already have our "star" at quarterback. if he doesn't work out, maybe mcelroy can steer the ship for a while. we'll just have to see.

that's it's a given that most "experts" have bama bringing in a top five class this year where last year was such a shocker says all you need to know about this year being...different.

i am still on edge. i am nervous. i am going to be leaning on kiker to bring me updates all day wednesday like he did for me last year. and i am looking forward to walking into church wednesday night with a big smile on my face, finding a bama fan's hand to shake and sitting down feeling like "we" just beat tennessee again.

you can only really fall in love once though.

everything else is just...different.