Hate?

Today, I want to ask some questions spurred by a number of recent incidents, most notably the Ohio State loss at Wisconsin last weekend.

While this post does contain some content about football, it is not a football post.

Here’s what it is about...
*note - all you’s, we’s, they’s, & such are intended to be non-specific except where otherwise designated.

Why do we have to hate each other just because we are different?

Why do we have to show scorn for others who are not in our party, not on our team, not of the same sexual orientation, not fans of the same team, not our race, not our age, not our demographic in general?

What the hell is wrong with us?

If my team loses to another team, why are you, (folks in Michigan) laughing at our misery?

If we have a rivalry, why do you wish, (folks from both Ohio and Michigan) that the other team loses every single game including the one against your team?

Having been both a Wolverine and a Buckeye I can honestly say I think shirts that say “Ann Arbor is a whore.” or “F*** Michigan” are incredibly funny during rivalry week. But I wonder, (folks in Ohio) why those shirts were on sale during the Indiana game?

No, it is not the week before!

The 2006 game that matched undefeated teams for the first time in forever was one of the best I’ve ever watched. I can’t imagine it would have been remotely the same if one or the other of the two teams had losing records or had not won even one game.

Bo and Woody were friends for 51 weeks out of the year folks. Woody was Bo’s mentor. Heck, Bo coached at Ohio State before he went to Michigan. Jim Tressel himself called Bo a Buckeye when Bo passed away.

You’re gonna argue with “The Vest?”

I found myself a few weeks ago spouting that Sparty, (Michigan State) is evil because that’s what we said when I lived in Michigan. But, the more I thought about it... Well, I really like Mark Dantonio, (MSU head coach) and Le’Veon Bell, (MSU running back) is from Reynoldsburg, Ohio and they’re really just a bunch of kids playing a game.

Evil?

Get some perspective Jimmer!

I root for my team. You root for your’s. We don’t have to root against each other.

If I express a point of view in the comments section of the newspaper that differs from yours why does that make me a flaming idiot? or an ignorant dolt? or “fill in your insult of choice here?”

Why would you hate me because of who I choose to share my life with? Does my sexual orientation really matter to you?

Are all teenagers idiots? Are all old people grumpy? Are all rich people elitists? Are all poor people lazy? Are all “West-Siders” criminals? What about “Detroiters?”

Get the picture?

It's Not About the Games. It's About the People

Tough Saturday for this Detroit sports fan.

The Red Wings lost the Stanley Cup to Pittsburgh last night.

The city of Detroit has decided to tear down the rest of Tiger Stadium because no funds could be raised to save it.

Ouch!

Some athletes who make more money than I will ever dream of lost a trophy. An old stadium, in a city I don't even live in, that hasn't been used with any regularity in 10 years is being torn down.

And I'm having a tough day...?

Does that sound funny to anybody besides me? Why do I care? Why is my gut being torn apart? Why did I cry like an 8 year old little boy last night? What did I really lose? Why do I have so much invested in games?

In reality, I don't.

I love the old ball park because I remember all the good times I had there as a boy. I remember spending time with my Dad. Running around getting player autographs, and a special moment with Ernie Harwell legendary Tiger broadcaster as he walked from the field where he had been talking to the players and coaches to a little boy who couldn't have been more thrilled to meet him and have him sign my program. I remember feeling so much happiness when my hero, Lance Parrish hit a home run when we had driven all the way from Lima, Ohio to watch a game. I remember that I brought my best friend to that game. I remember taking my wife and daughters to games there including the third to the last game of the season in 1999 when the stadium closed.

You'll notice that's the only time I mentioned the stadium in that entire paragraph.

Similarly, while you'll hear me talk about the Wings and how they played I am more likely to talk about the games I attended in Detroit as a child, stories about my Dad and I watching the Wings win the Cup in 1997, and the games I've attended in Columbus as an adult, very often with my family.

I have friends across the United States and in the Virgin Islands (Right Ang?) who I have never met in person. We get together and chat in our online lounge during almost every game - kinda like an online living room.

I have a friend at the library that I talk to about hockey all the time. I have teammates who are very much like my family who I wouldn't know but for hockey.

Not a puck or a stick or a goalie mask mention in any of the above.

I might be upset that the Red Wings lost, and I might mourn the demolition of an historic landmark, but I assure you my friends I'm maintaining perspective.

While the game brings us together, the relationships are what really matter.

You see my true investment is in people.

I Love Hockey and the D - part one.

I love hockey. Ever since I laced on a pair of skates I've been addicted to the ice, well okay, there was a bit of a learning curve.

You know how some Dad's throw their kid in a lake and say; "swim?" My Dad left me in the middle of the rink at open skate, with the Zamboni coming out to resurface and said; "See you at the door."

Believe it or not, I will forever be grateful.

Know how big that Zamboni looks to a seven year old? Baby I skated, and now.

When I was a kid I went to the rink every day for two straight winters. It was such a routine, that my Mom came home once and asked me why I wasn't at the rink? Did she forget to give me skating money? What was wrong?

Um, Mom - I was grounded. (She gave me the 50 cents I needed and sent me on my way. Thanks Mom. Btw, does anything cost 50 cents anymore?)

My Dad took me to my first game. The Detroit Red Wings vs. The Colorado Rockies at Olympia Stadium in Detroit - 1976. I've told this story before. This is a poster I got at the game? Yep, I still have it hanging in my office. Once ravaged by thumbtacks and scotch tape, it was saved by my fabulous wife, matted and framed. I think that my last "little boy look" probably came the day I asked her if she might salvage it because I didn't want it to "just hang in the garage," and she made it look authentic, and old school, a tribute to my favorite sport, and the place I consider my hometown.

I have other memorabilia from the D of course. These are pennants from my first Tiger game in 1976 (Orange), and from the last two games we went to before they closed Tiger Stadium in 1999.

As every true Detroit native must, I also have the obligatory Lion's paraphernalia - fitting that it's a trash can I suppose. (Oh Dear Lions, please don't draft another QB until you have someone who can protect him.) The Bucket isn't from Detroit, but is a commemorative ice bucket from Superbowl XL which was played in Detroit, purchased at my local Kroger on sale for five dollars.

We have been to Ford Field though. After a friend asked me to go with him to Heinz Field in Pittsburgh the season that it opened, I immediately put an inaugural season trip to Ford Field on our agenda. So my ladies and I ventured forth, and of course came home with a prize. Well okay, the girls got stuffed "Roary" Lions, Netter got a cool Lions Santa ornament, and I got this very cool football.

I continue to root for the Tigers, and Lions, even the Pistons to this day, but the cancellation of a season in 1994, more than 50 years of what might best be described as mediocrity and probably more accurately as pitiful gridiron performance, and my inability to recognize anything basketball like in today's NBA leaves me with one true love, one sport that is pure, one sport that owns my heart. My doctor thinks it sounds funny, but I always find peace on the ice. I feel at home. I feel free. I feel like I belong.

Enter the Detroit Red Wings. For 33 years now, I've followed their fortunes. Sometimes I lost track as we moved around. Not a lot of hockey coverage in Lima, Ohio and we didn't have the Internet in 1979. Even during the eighties in Columbus there wasn't a ton of hockey coverage. Still I got everything I could from the local paper, and whenever we visited the D during the season, the Free Press and I were fast friends.

As the ESPN network grew, and the Columbus Chill came to my new hometown, I was able to once again fully embrace my love affair with the game I think defines me. I started playing again in 1997, and only a year later the NHL announced that Columbus, that's right Columbus, Ohio was being awarded an NHL franchise - later named The Blue Jackets. (I still think the Chill is a cooler name.)

Friends who knew me asked if, when the Blue Jackets began to play I would renounce my allegiance to the Red Wings, and become a fan of the CBJ.

What?!?!!!? Throw away what was then more than 20 years, of heartache, and failure followed by sweet success and two straight Stanley Cups to root for an upstart franchise full of castoffs from other teams, and begin the struggle again? Are you kidding me?

As my friend Juice would say H - E double hockey sticks - NO! Not on your life.

I said then, and I still say today actually I will always root for the Blue Jackets to do well, but I'm not about to root for them to beat my Red Wings.

Some may know of my struggle to deal with being a Michigan fan, and my eventual conversion to being a Buckeye, and suspect that one day I will change my mind in this situation as well.

Let me assure you that will not happen. I became a full fledged Buckeye for a number of reasons - all detailed here, but as much as I am passionate about The Ohio State University now, I am that much more passionate about the Red Wings.

Yet, somehow these Blue Jackets, the CBJ have found a soft spot in my heart, and I find myself watching their games with a similar passion to when I'm watching the Wings, and they are "the local team," and without even planning on it, I've become a fan and I am really rooting for them to do well.

But do I want them to beat my Red Wings? Would the inconceivable really happen?

I'll tell you next time.

Jimmer's Tattoo

Thank you to everyone who voted in my tattoo poll. Since the winning answer is, "Well, what kinda tattoo?" - I thought I'd tell you. (You knew I would.)

Of course there's a story, but you knew that too, eh?

When I was a sophomore in high school my family moved to Central Ohio and I began attending Bishop Ready (aka - Ready) High School. It was a tight-knit school and I felt very much like an outsider at first.

I was fortunate enough to find a new friend who had attended St. Stephen the Martyr school before attending Ready. By observing my friend, his family and others at Ready I learned that St. Stephen was, and still is, a tight community with very loyal parishioners. I didn't realize how loyal until I was in the locker room before baseball practice in the Spring of 1984.

I was getting dressed trying, as most boys do in the locker room, to look down, avert my eyes, avoid attention, etc.... when I noticed a senior who had a tattoo on his calf. It was a panther and it was very, very cool. I really wanted to know about that tattoo, but I mean this was a senior right? And he was huge! In eighth grade I had towered over everybody at my massive height of 5' 7." But by my sophomore year I was quickly becoming the short fella you all know now. (Okay round and short these days, but you get the picture.) Still, I had to know.

I summoned all my courage, looked up, and said, "Um, excuse me Jeff, but that is a really cool tattoo." I followed that with something like, "Um, tell me about it," or "where did you get it?" Jeff seemed to turn around really slowly and he just sort of scowled at me. I was scared to death. All of a sudden Jeff broke into a big grin and said, "that's my St. Stephen's Panther. Do you like it?" You could see that he was so proud of the fact that not only was it a cool tattoo, but that it showed his loyalty to St. Stephen. I quickly repeated my admiration for the tattoo and Jeff left the locker room. I stood in awe and thanked God the hulking senior not only didn't kill me, but actually took the time to talk to me and share his tattoo. I almost felt welcome. (I don't think I ever really did fit in at Ready, but that's another story for another day.)

I knew then and there that I wanted a tattoo. I wanted it to be on my calf, and it had to stand for something unique, something pretty darned important.

That was almost 25 years ago. I just haven't been able to find anything that was "that important." Or as Netter said to me, "I think you should have a tattoo, but it has to be perfect."

What could make better sense? It has to be perfect. So, what could be perfect?

I've been trying to figure that out for 25 years.

Let's see - My parish? I've lived in too many to count. My school? I've attended 9 or 10. How about an "M?" I grew up a Michigan fan. Um, I graduated from Ohio State, and the truth is I'm probably more a Buckeye now than ever. Okay so then a block "O?" Yeah, me and a million other people. Something to do with The MJB Foundation, a shooting star perhaps? Well, that is a good idea, but while I am devoted to the foundation and Meghan Joy's legacy I don't want my daughters to feel I put one of them before the other. Wait, maybe I'm onto something there. Hmmm... Hold that thought.

There is also one place I've always identified with - "The D" - as in Detroit, Michigan. I was born in Michigan and lived there for most of my younger life. At one time we lived 10 minutes or so from The Olympia where the Red Wings played before there ever was a Joe Louis Arena. I've rooted for the Wings, and the Tigers, and the Lions, (well mostly the Lions, but come on - they're the Lions) and yes, even the Pistons for as long as I can remember. If people ask me where I'm from, I tell them I'm from "the D."

So, I thought about it and I decided I wanted an Olde English D like the one the Tigers wear on their hats. But, Netter pointed out that while it is a unique looking D, it is also the first letter of my youngest daughter's name. There would be a lot of explaining. "Jimmer, why do you only have a tattoo for D and not K or M?" As I said, I don't want my daughters to feel I put one of them before the other.

Alright, so then how about a Red Wings tattoo. I mean I'm pretty passionate about the Red Wings. You should hear me during a game. The kids run. The dog cowers. The neighbors close their windows. Netter - well Netter laughs at me, but you get the picture. Really though, the Winged Wheel in and of itself is not a unique tattoo.

So, how about incorporating something about the D with something about my girls? That's what I need to do. That's also where I'm stuck.

I'm hoping my nephew can help me with this. He's a tattoo artist by trade. I sent him a text this weekend: "Can you do a tattoo for me?"

His reply: "is this uncle jim?"

I guess I must have surprised him. I don't know that I've told many the entire tattoo story or that more than a few people knew that I want one. Still, I really, really do.

But it has to be perfect.

Learn & Play @ CML Thing#10 Image Generators

While this is a post for CML's Learn&Play, I guarantee non CML folk will want to see this. That's right - of all the "generators" I played around with I just couldn't resist the Read poster. I've been trying to find something to do with this picture for more than 20 years. It's a good fit - don't you think. Generate your own here.

This whole exercise also reminded me of the last time I used an image generator, again some 20 years ago at King's Island that cost an arm and a leg.

I think it was worth it. What do you think?

Good times, good times...

I also spent some time on The Generator Blog. To me this would be a nice site to visit on a rainy day, after you had completed every chore, washed your hair twice, walked the dog six miles, and had absolutely nothing else to do. Don't misunderstand. I'm not saying it's a bad thing to do. It's just not my thing to do. Alright I admit it. I was very disappointed that the link to get my porn star name didn't work.

I did find one link there I had some fun with - an acronym creator, i.e. a handy tool to have when you need a technical explanation during the course of your customer service day - just kidding. I plugged in a few examples. Jimmer stands for Joint Interchangeable Micro-Mail Equipment Router. James stands for Journaling Array Modular Expansion Storage. My favorite though is created from the first initials of my family member's names Joined Architecture Known Mail Disk.

I spent a few minutes at Letter James, and I had already spent some time at FD Toys as part of the flickr exercise.

Whew - that was a lot of playing wasn't it?

Two Pieces of Chicken and a Pound of Rice

There's a lot going on this week. I "starred" in my first video. Brian's Bail Bonds Hockey started our season. (Sorry I wasn't there guys.) You may have heard there is a big game on this Saturday. Tomorrow marks the seventh anniversary of perhaps the most tragic event in history for all Americans.

And Jimmer is still plowing away at his to do list, trying to shut it all out and make sense of the big pile on his desk that has been there for what seems like an eternity. The list goes something like this.

1. Two years ago we started a migration from Mac to PC. (Hey, it's just cheaper.) I'm still trying to finish the Quicken conversion. (Quicken recommends against migrating data between platforms. I completely agree.)

2. The budget befuddlement - another post for another day.

3. The "projects." We all have 'em.

4. The resume'. Not going into a lot of detail in this forum at this time.

5. Finally, and perhaps most important - The MJB Foundation.

Yes, as summer turns to fall I am STILL trying to put a capper on the work I need to do for our foundation each year. Today, as a way of saving time I am combining blog posts with email, and web postings to get that project wrapped up.

This was a different year for the foundation. For the first time in 14 years we had significant rainfall for Golf for Joy. Our numbers swung wildly from 74 to 49 golfers, and I didn't play. No I didn't. I had the great good fortune of having my appendix out the Tuesday before the tournament. (The truth is I would have played, but my mother-in-law made the doctor tell me I couldn't. Shhh... Don't tell her I told you.)

Fortunately, in spite of all of that we still had a great time raising money for a good cause. The difference between last year and this was less than $200.

BUT - I think next year we can do even better. To that end, we are revamping, revising, and revisiting. Everything is up for discussion. And we need some help...

We are restructuring our board and adding members. I need two, maybe even three individuals who can help. We have some paperwork that needs to be done, a survey that needs to be designed, and some time that needs to be invested.

If you're interested in becoming a part of The MJB Foundation please let me know.

Two pieces of chicken and a pound of rice?

Might be today's lunch.

"Coach B"

Call me sexist, old fashioned whatever you'd like, but when my wife and I were blessed with daughters who are definitely my princesses - well I never thought I would end up being a coach. I mean, I don't know anything about dancing, or cheerleading, or drill team, or... you get the picture.

Well I was wrong. (Yes again - go figure.) When my oldest was 7 she decided she wanted to play baseball in the local coach pitch league which prompted my youngest to want to play t-ball. Who knew? Alright I thought, - we'll watch them play for a year, be as supportive as possible, and assure them at the end of the summer that it's okay if they don't want to play anymore. I told myself I would just stay on the sideline, not be too pushy, you know one of "those parents." Then K's coach decided he could not coach. The team was left abandoned. "Do it Jim. You know you want to," I heard from more than one parent - and they were right. So, I got down on one knee and called the team together - "Hi gang," I said "I'm 'Coach B.'"

-I will forever be grateful for the privilege.

I coached in the coach pitch league for two years, both as a head coach and as an assistant for t-ball. I loved that it was a teaching league. We were in the field with the kids teaching them the game. It was incredible. I could write a book, (To be honest I have one started, though I haven't worked on it in years.) especially about that first year. But that was only the first chapter for "Coach B."

When the girls were done with baseball - I didn't know what might come next. K started volleyball the next fall. I knew she hoped I could help out with that. Eagerly she came to me and said "Daddy, I'm playing volleyball this year. Can you help?" I reached back as far as I could, looked down at my daughter, and gave her this sage advice -

"Don't spill your beer."

Huh?!?

To me, volleyball was a backyard, family gathering, beach, at the pub game, usually played with beer in hand. I didn't know anything about "real volleyball." I explained this to K. She was cool with that. We moved on. Right about then I figured my time as "Coach B" had come to an end.

Basketball season started.
Now I hadn't played much organized basketball but I had coached one year in a rec league in my early 20's. Of course that ended with me getting thrown out of the gym. It's another story, I was perfectly justified, and I would do it again. Still, I didn't really think I was qualified anymore to be a "head basketball coach." As it turned out, I didn't need to be. Another Dad had the job already. When he asked for help at the team meeting - well I was drawn. I'm just fascinated with the game. I wanted to help, and you know be involved with my daughter. I showed up at the gym - Scott asked me to jump in and I became an assistant - which it turns out I liked even better.

I was the assistant for softball too, (Thanks Matt) and many of "my girls" played on those teams as well.

Yes, "my girls." For those five years, and even still today instead of 3 daughters I sometimes had, or have as many as 10 or 11. I love them all.

As it turns out, for "Coach B," (and later sometimes "Mr. B,") coaching isn't about X's and O's. It's about - well I'm not gonna sit here and blow my own horn...

Today's entry was inspired by this story from one of Annette's co-workers. Believe me, it's worth the read... Go on, I'll wait.

I told you.

Last year, I had some idle time on my hands. My girls had all grown up. Then D's coach asked me to help. Since D has a mean jumper that I love to watch up close and personal - I jumped at the chance.

Who am I kidding I just love coaching. The girls have two years left. Who knows? Maybe then I'll have even more daughters.

I feel so lucky to be "Coach B."

Thanks Girls!