IsThere A Prize For The Three Stupidest College Football Players?

If these guys are guilty and they did what they've been accused of, they would win, hands down (or hands up, in this case). Have they blown great futures in football and potential NFL earnings? Probably not. They probably didn't have great futures. They're just three thugs who've been masquerading as students on a university campus that currently requires a 26 on the ACT for admittance. Yes, they're big strappin' boys, each of whom has been given a great opportunity to succeed based solely on his physical talent, not on his mental prowess. But, using good judgement? Making good choices? Those weren't part of this deal.
And speaking of DEALS...THREE THINGS I'd be willing to bet on:
1. Drugs were the motivation for the attempted armed robbery.
2. These boys didn't just start down the wrong path when they came to college. They were already on it before they got there.
3. They couldn't score a 26 on the ACT if it hair-lipped Jesus.
Furthermore, they don't get their kicks running through the T in Neyland Stadium in front of a hundred thousand cheering fans. They get their kicks in other ways.

"They were just young and restless and bored
Living by the sword
And they'd steal away every chance they could
To the backroom, the alley, the trusty woods." ..."Night Moves" Bob Seger

Update: And speaking of Jesus, at least one of the three "players" decided to walk with him instead of the devil, for a while at least. From what I've read, it's touched more than a few people's hearts. Maybe he ain't so dumb after all.

The Squeaky Wheel

I was shopping at Target earlier this afternoon, and though I had stopped in for tennis balls, I had to make the obligatory cruise through women's clothes, more specifically, the clearance racks. Now most of that shit is just that - shit - stuff left over from past seasons that they are pretty much stuck with, so they've marked it down to embarrassment for one last push out the door. But if you're willing to look, (and if I've parked my car, gotten out and walked in, then I'm willing to look) you might find a real steal. Today I found a jacket that caught my interest. Solid brown, so it could go with a lot. My size. Nice style. I slipped it on. It fit like it had been expecting me. I looked at the price. Stop right there! It was only marked down to half price? (Originally $60, now $30) As much as I liked it, I knew I couldn't settle for only half off. I strolled on over to the dressing room attendant and began the negotiation process.
"It was on the 75% off rack," was all I said as I handed the jacket to her.
She examined it and noted, "Yeah, it's an Isaac and we don't even carry Isaac anymore."
I was likin' what I was hearin'. She punched in some numbers and didn't seem to get the answer she wanted, so she promptly called a manager over. I didn't even have to open my mouth. The dressing room attendant instantly became my agent and as such, she did all the talking. She got the manager to knock another 50% off the sale price, bringing the jacket down to $15, which was right where I thought it should be, so I happily threw my new bargain into my shopping cart, thanked them both (though it was really my agent who deserved the credit) and headed for...now what was it I came in here...oh yeah, tennis balls.

Batter, Batter, Batter!

Sure, I came in at the last minute as a Phillies' fan, but once I did, I didn't want to be on the losing side of the thing. Just because I haven't watched one game all season doesn't mean I can't get involved in the Series. And my reason for picking the Phillies? Why, their name, of course...so close to my own.
Being a Johnny-come-lately fan takes me back to 1982. I was with child (you gotta love that expression) and it was getting closer and closer to my due date (October 19th). The World Series started and since I had nothing else to do...or nothing else that I could do, I began watching it from the first pitch. I really got into it, pulling for St. Louis like I was a kid from the ol' neighborhood. After a couple of games I knew all the Cards by name and most of the Brewers, as well. It was an exciting Series that year. Going into the fifth game on October 19th, the teams were tied, 2 games apiece. I was primed and ready for the game that day. Then my water broke and not only did I miss that game, I never watched another moment of that Series. St. Louis went on to win in the 7th, but I only know that because I googled it. My interest in baseball was as discarded as my after-birth, and would not re-emerge until 1991, when Ron came into my life and he was one with the Atlanta Braves. So I learned those players' names and watched a lotta games and a couple of World Series before that wave rolled out to sea. I don't think Ron has been all that interested in any team since then, so therefore, neither have I. Not that we don't still like the Braves, we do, but Chipper Jones is the only player that I can name. And we've haven't been to Atlanta to watch a game since before they moved to Turner Field, which was in 1997 (another googled fact).
You can pretty much take it to the bank that I won't be a Phillies' fan any longer than this year's Series. And the way it's looking, this is shaping up to be like a sleezy one-night stand.

The Trial

There he stood in his newly acquired wire-rim glasses, button down and v-neck, listening to the jury foreman read the verdicts of some 40 charges. He hardly blinked as he heard the word GUILTY repeated over and over and over. His court-appointed lawyers put on masks of disappointment. The prosecution kept their faces as expressionless as possible. Their celebration will no doubt come later. The victims' families received the verdicts in silent dignity, save for an occasional fist pump from Cowboy. The defendant's family...well there didn't seem to be any.
But come tomorrow, as part of the process, the members of Davidson's family who could be talked into taking part in the IMPACT STATEMENT segment of the trial, will one by one get up on the witness stand and tell the jury why their cousin/brother/nephew's life should be spared. Likewise, Channon Christian's family and Christopher Newsom's family will take the witness stand to beg the jury, who already decided that Lemarcus Davidson with forethought and malice did kill their children, should die as well. Anything less than the death penalty won't satisfy the Christian's or the Newsom's. The pain must be unbearable for them.
Think of it this way: To lose a child to cancer is a tragedy, but you would still want a cure for cancer to be discovered even after your child's death, so that other parents would not have to suffer as you did. I think what these parents are saying is this: "Don't let the monster who murdered our innocent children live because he is the cancer of society and there is a cure for this kind of cancer. Kill the bastard."

True Colors

I was watching a movie in the wee hours this morning, 'cause that's what I do when I'm awake at some ungodly time, due largely to the fact that my hours are discombobulated and I can't seem to get them back to normal (whatever that is). As my grandmother would say, "I go to bed and get up with the chickens." It's hell.
Anyhoo, back to the movie. I have no idea what the name of it was or really, what it was about. But I did watch for a while, and one of the characters was a psychiatrist...an older man. He was conversing (or conversating, as my niece would say...is that even a word?) with a young man, a friend as it were, and he was giving him advice on love, or more specifically, who not to marry. I only remember one cautionary sentence. "Never marry a woman who doesn't like dogs." I guess he was insinuating that a woman who doesn't like dogs would be heartless and cruel. Okay. Fair enough. I like dogs. I don't love dogs. My family thinks I loathe dogs, and that is just not true. I've never gotten terribly attached to one, I admit, but that's not to say that I couldn't. I just haven't. Yes, we have Fred, a once cute, scruffy little mutt, who is now beyond scruffy. He's old and his back is all lumpy, and he has a big red protrusion of some sort jutting out near his eye. And while I never officially bonded with Fred, I do care about him. I know his time on earth is drawing to a close, and I know I'll miss how he serenades me with his snores while I read the paper and drink coffee every morning. And back when he could still hear what I was saying, he did mind pretty well, which is why he was ever allowed in the house in the first place. And just yesterday I was looking at his nasty corroded water dish, thinking that I might actually replace it. Doesn't that show how damned dog-friendly I am?
Luckily for Fred, he has one devoted owner who loves him unconditionally, warts and all. He is Ron's dog. I dread the day he takes his last noisy breath. And sadly, I don't think that day is too far off. Ron will be broken-hearted. Fred is his buddy. His sidekick. His companion. He'll be lost without him. Christ. Will we have to get another damned stinky dog?

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

Looking through some old pictures last night, I found one of Ron taken back in the day, and just for the fun of it, I thought I'd post it and one taken recently.

Yes, he shaved off the mustache, and yes, he trimmed up his hair , but the most telling (and important) thing is that at some point along the way, he started wearing clothes. We can all be grateful for that.

Definitely Changed Horses In The Middle Of The Stream

Actual text between me and PhillyTwo:

Her: Effin' fleas
Me: Fleas not welcome over here.
Her: How many r in house of reps?
Me: Not sure. Have they exterminated lately?