Of course it's relevant!

I have been asked several times why I believe the study of the American Civil War is really relevant to Americans today. The questioners usually emphasize that the war happened 150 years ago and like to challenge my idea that history can teach us if we listen.

It would be easy to lean on the old (and accurate) lecture about the importance of learning from the past. That’s what I was told when I was a kid and it is as true now as it was when my parents recited that same lecture to me. There are lessons to be learned from the study of history.

Every grade school student has to study history sooner or later, but nobody ever seems to learn from it.

But, and here I return to the original premise of the blog, I have a very personal reason for studying the Civil War. The reasoning is so flawless that I am amazed that nobody else has thought of this before.

The reasoning here is a wad of stunning simplicity: Had the Civil War concluded differently in any way than the way it did, I would not have been born.

We will not debate here whether a SpeedyLee-less world would be a bad thing or not, although I am sure you can understand that my point of view is clear on the matter.

All of us have 16 great, great grandparents. Of the 16, eight must be great, great grandfathers. Check your biology books. You’ll see it’s true. You’ll also see that, without any one of your eight great, great grandfathers, you wouldn’t be here. That’s bad news because I’d hate to lose your readership.

Statistics in hand, we now turn to genealogy. Of my eight great, great grandfathers, three served in the military during the Civil War. All three survived the war, though two suffered severe wounds.

Further, one of my parents was born in the Deep South, a former Confederate state. For a variety of reasons that are unimportant here, it is reasonable to assume that my parents would not have met if the Confederate states had won independence from the Union.

I would challenge anyone that doubts the value of the continued study of the Civil War to do a simple self test: Check into your own family history. Discover whether you have an ancestor that fought in the Civil War. How might your family tree have changed with a different ending to the war?

And when you finish with all that, ask yourself if the study of the American Civil War is relevant today.

Thanks for reading.

The quickest way I know to start an argument is...

Kobe Bryant wouldn’t even make the starting lineup of my all-time Los Angeles Lakers team. He’s a great player, sure, and I suspect he’ll be elected into the pro basketball hall of fame as soon as he’s eligible. But my all-time Lakers team has two guys ahead of Bryant who made every player around them better.

The Lakers franchise has had a lot of championship teams and great players make champions. But the greatest Laker of them all never took the court for the club, yet went decades without missing a game. Chick Hearn, the play-by-play man, was the best there ever was at what he did. Hearn introduced the game to Los Angeles and explained it to generations of listeners. Simply a great communicator.

There is a statue of Hearn at the Staples Center. How many announcers get statues? That’s what he meant to the franchise. He’s gone now but I still miss the sound of his voice during basketball season. The Lakers will never sound the same to me. Heck, the game will never sound the same.

My point guard? No question about it, Magic Johnson. Best basketball player I ever saw, regardless of position. He lifted the players around him, made them better. They had to be alert when Magic had the ball because you never knew when the next sensational pass might be coming your way. The first time I saw him in person was during his rookie year. The Lakers were playing the Clippers when the Clippers still played in San Diego. I remember a fast breaking, one-handed push pass from half court. Johnson hit a streaking teammate for a layup and I had to admit the hype surrounding Magic might have been accurate.

The off guard on this mythical team is Jerry West. No room for argument here. Great defensive player, great clutch performer. Great scorer. West was so good, the NBA emblem is designed after him.

Elgin Baylor makes this team as the three spot, the small forward. I had a hard time with this spot because I wanted to put James Worthy here. But Baylor gets the nod.

The big forward is a tough spot to choose. I thought about cheating and dropping George Mikan’s name in this spot. Mikan is a Hall of Famer, a center when the Lakers won championships as the Minneapolis Lakers. He was such a tremendous player that I suspect he’d have been an outstanding power forward had he played in the current era. But I couldn’t cheat, so I had to go with a very different kind of player.

My power forward is Kurt Rambis. For hustle, selflessness and grit you can’t beat Rambis. Fans loved him. On this team, scoring is not an issue. Rambis would help with rebounding and attitude.

The post spot was the toughest call on the team. Most of the best postmen of all time have played for the Lakers and my favorite is Wilt Chamberlain. But, much as I liked watching Wilt play, I can’t choose him over Kareem Abdul Jabbar. Jabbar is the greatest scorer in the history of the game, played well on defense and rebounded efficiently. On top of that, when he played with Magic, Jabbar was simply brilliant at firing up the fast break with outlet passes.

So I’d start Johnson, West, Baylor, Rambis and Jabbar. The bench players are below:

Guards: Kobe Bryant, Derek Fisher, Gail Goodrich

Forwards: James Worthy, Jamal Wilks, Michael Cooper

Center: Chamberlain, Mikan

I’d want Pat Riley to be the coach, with all due respect to Phil Jackson. Riley’s offense would work best with the team I have listed here.

West would be the general manager. Jerry Buss would be the owner. And Chick Hearn would call the play-by-play.

It starts with a 'T', and it rhymes with bubble

            I have a special talent for getting myself in trouble.

No applause, please.

Take, for example, the small matter of family birthdays. I have been out of town on my wife’s birthday for the last 11 years. The kids are grown and gone so, except for our dog and our cat (the terrorist), my wife has been home, alone on her last 11 birthdays. There were six years, run consecutively, when I wasn’t home for either kid’s birthday.

My own birthday? Not lately.

My mother recently celebrated her 80^th birthday. I called from half a continent away to wish her well. I live an hour’s drive from Mom, but I wasn’t even in the same time zone on her birthday this year.

So you can readily ascertain that, when it comes to getting in trouble, I have a head start on all of you. At dawn on any given day, I’m pretty much already in trouble.

I have learned to live with guilt. I’m in trouble, it’s my fault, I know it, and I know I need to do something in order to get out of the dog house. Even when I am not in any specific trouble, I work under the assumption that I am or soon will be on my way to the principal’s office.

Again.

Guilt is a powerful motivator. Let us examine, as evidence, my annual absence at the time of my wife’s birthday. My absence is work-related because I work for Goodyear Racing and I have to work at an NHRA drag race over the same weekend every year. Amy’s birthday is right around that time and I am simply never home that weekend. Can’t be.

Now, my wife Amy is one of the great people on this planet. She deserves better than to be alone on her birthday. I know it and I try to be proactive. We celebrate her birthday before I leave town. I always try to find a nice gift, something she wants, and take her out for a nice dinner.

The last two years, I have sent emails with photos (2010) and videos (2011) of people at the races wishing her a happy birthday. I’m in deep, deep trouble next year because I’m out of new ideas.

            Amy and I have been married for 25 years and I have to say that I’m the happiest guy you’ll meet. I’m a lucky man. I constantly pay attention to how lucky I am. Otherwise, I’d be in more trouble than usual.

            Thanks for reading. I’ll try to stay out of trouble for a while.

The Big Three and Me

There are three men whom I look up to, not counting my Dad. Dad is in his own league in that regard.

But the others are not men I know, just men I look up to. I guess they’re my heroes. I’ve read about them, watched them in person when I’ve been able to and generally tried to appreciate what has made them stand out in their field. What has made them succeed in situations where others failed.

The three legends of whom I write are John Wayne, Paul ‘Bear’ Bryant and A.J. Foyt Jr. Wayne, aka The Duke, is Hollywood’s greatest actor. Bryant is the greatest football coach of all time. And A.J. is the greatest race driver the world has yet produced.

Not too long ago I was wrestling with an important matter, something of serious concern to me. This deal was of such monstrous import that I still get mad when I think about it. And, as hard as I tried, I failed to find a solution to my problem.

Well, I have a copy of a drawing of The Duke in costume as Rooster Cogburn hanging above my desk and, glancing at it, I asked out loud, “What would The Duke do?” The answer came quickly: The Duke would fire a straight right, drop the guy who was causing me such mental anguish, and continue about his business.

Okay, can’t do that.

The Bear was next, but he was no help either. Coach Bryant simply wasn’t fool enough to get himself into such a box.

That left A.J. Well, A.J. wouldn’t be against dropping the guy with a straight right (see The Duke above), but he’d more likely blow the guy’s doors off going into Turn 1 and flip the guy off while he was doing so. Then Foyt would go on to win the race and cuss the guy out during the winner’s interview.

But the question here is what The Big Three have in common and it’s probably more than you realize.

Two of the three played college football (Bear and The Duke) and I believe A.J. played high school ball. All three had strong family backgrounds and they were born in approximately the same central region of the country (Duke in Iowa, Bear in Arkansas and A.J. in Texas). All three are self-made. All lived with their successes on the national stage (except Duke, who lived with his on the national sound set) and did the same with their failures.

And all three had strong personalities that seemed to say that they knew where they were headed and, “You can walk with me, you can follow behind me or you can get the heck out of my way.”

Now go back to the problem I was wrestling with before I glanced at the framed sketch of The Duke on the wall. With all this iconic imagery for guidance, I made my decision and did what all rugged individualists do in times of stress: I called my sister. She’s a lawyer.

Thanks for reading!!

The Hall of Fame gets a classy guy

Marshall Faulk will be inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame this weekend, a richly deserved honor for one of the chief architects of the legendary Rams offense called The Greatest Show on Turf. It was a great day for all Rams fans when Faulk and his teammates beat the Titans and won the Super Bowl all those years ago.

But there is something else about Faulk that not everyone knows. More important, even, than all his yards, touchdowns and honors: He’s a classy guy.

Faulk is involved in charity work where he grew up in New Orleans, in San Diego where he starred at San Diego State University and in St. Louis, where he played for the Rams. You can read about that in many of the media reports that appear this weekend surrounding the Hall of Fame ceremonies in Canton, Ohio.

You’ll probably read or hear that Faulk was a great teammate. Here’s a story about that.

Faulk was a human highlight reel for San Diego State. A magical player in a program that needed one, Faulk was generating a lot of attention. Rightfully so, he was tremendous. He led the nation in rushing twice.

But Faulk and the other Aztecs were in deep trouble in their September 18, 1993 game against Air Force in Colorado. With 12 minutes, 40 seconds remaining, the Aztecs trailed 31-14 when their starting quarterback went down with a broken leg. The game was broadcast regionally by ABC TV and everyone watching figured the game was over.

Aztecs coach Al Luginbill had no choice but to turn to backup passer Tim Gutierrez. It turned out to be a good choice because the Aztecs won.

Gutierrez connected on 13 of 21 passes, good for 217 yards and two touchdowns. Not bad stats for less than one quarter of play. Gutierrez also led the team to a field goal and handed off to Faulk for another score as the Aztecs stunned Air Force 38-31.

Gutierrez started the next week and threw for 375 yards and four touchdowns as San Diego State hammered Minnesota. The Aztecs finished the season with a 6-6 record, which sounds weird, given all the firepower they had. Gutierrez figured to be the starting quarterback the following season, which he was.

But this is about Marshall Faulk. Faulk was given most of the offensive awards at the Aztecs’ team banquet after the 1993 season, including the Best Offensive Back Trophy. But at the banquet, in front of the coaches and his teammates, Marshall Faulk handed his Best Offensive Back Trophy to Tim Gutierrez and told the quarterback that he, not Faulk, had earned the award.

A classy move by a classy guy.

And now I’ll try to show some class by thanking you for reading.

The best quarterback you never heard of

If you are a football fan, sit back and read this little story. It’s about the way life works and, maybe, the way life doesn’t work sometimes. It’s about making lemonade out of lemons and it’s about the vague paths of chance.

Be careful. It’s also about banging your head against a wall as you ask yourself, “Why? Why? Why?”

The year was 1994. The National Football League held its annual draft of college football players, looking for the next great crop of NFL stars. The draft was limited to seven rounds and there were 222 selections made. Among those drafted very early was future Hall of Famer Marshall Faulk of (ahem) San Diego State University. Faulk was selected by the Indianapolis Colts and finished his career with the St. Louis Rams, where he was on a Super Bowl championship team.

Each year, NFL teams spend a bundle on analyzing college players. They send out scouts to watch players and the scouts look at endless hours of video. Finally, the league holds a dog and pony show named the NFL Combine each year as the top draft candidates are brought to one location (lately it’s been in Indianapolis) for scouts and coaches from every team to observe. The draft is not an exact science and sometimes players with tremendous potential slip through the cracks.

In 1994, quarterbacks slipped through some darn wide cracks. If you figure the Grand Canyon is kinda wide.

To be sure, a few quarterbacks drafted that year had very fine NFL careers. Heath Shuler, Trent Dilfer and Gus Frerotte were drafted in ’94. So were Perry Klein, Doug Nussmeier, Jim Miller, Jay Walker, Steve Mathews and Glenn Foley.

Know who wasn’t drafted that year? Kurt Warner, a future NFL MVP and Super Bowl champ with Faulk and the Rams. Another really outstanding future NFL quarterback who got less credit than he deserved, Jeff Garcia, was not drafted. Also among the quarterbacks not drafted by an NFL team in 1994 was one Anthony Calvillo of Utah State.

So who is Anthony Calvillo? Well, let me tell you, they know the guy up in Canada. As of this writing, Calvillo has become the all-time leader in touchdown passes in the Canadian Football League with 396. Now in his 18^th season, Calvillo has thrown 10 scoring passes and completed passes for 1,129 yards in the first four games of this season. He does not appear to be slowing down much. He is on pace to become the CFL’s all time leader in passing yards this year. He has played on Grey Cup winners (the CFL title game is the Grey Cup) and, generally, has had a heckuva career. Make that a great career.

There is a Canadian football hall of fame and he’ll be in it someday. He should be inducted into the Pro Football Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio, but the HoF voters there sometimes skip over a guy like Calvillo.

That is what the scouts did in 1994. They missed Calvillo. How did the scouts miss Calvillo all those years ago? Who knows? He stands an inch over six feet in height, so the scouts might have judged him to be too short. He played junior college ball here in California before playing at Utah State, but his numbers as a college junior and senior should have gotten him some notice. He played in a minor bowl game as a senior, so the scouts had a chance to see him. Utah State did not get much attention back in the 90s, but neither did Idaho and that’s where Nussmeier played.

The scouts worked overtime that year, as they always do. They didn’t miss Howard’s Walker or C.W. Post’s Klein, that’s for sure. Foley, of Boston College, was the 208^th player selected by NFL teams in 1994. All told, nine quarterbacks were drafted by NFL clubs in 1994, all judged to be better prospects than Anthony Calvillo, Kurt Warner or Jeff Garcia.

Garcia made the move to the CFL where he played well enough to earn a chance with the NFL’s San Francisco 49ers. He eventually played for several NFL teams. Warner was in some NFL pre-season camps, played in the Arena league and then in NFL Europe before he finally got a chance with the Rams.

Calvillo has outlasted every quarterback drafted by NFL teams in ’94, not to mention Garcia and Warner. Calvillo will pretty much own the passing pages of the CFL record book when he finally quits playing. He’s probably the best quarterback you’ve never heard of. But don’t feel bad. After all, he wasn’t even drafted.

Thanks for reading.

Puffball The Terrible

We have a cat, a savage attack cat, named Puffball. Darn cat should be working for the Red Cross because he generates plenty of blood, most of it from my legs or arms. He doesn’t drink the blood he spills, so he’s no vampire. This cat just loves to puncture skin.

I’ve saved this cat’s life four times in the 16 years we’ve had him. I’ll get into that in a moment but it is important to note that the individuals who initially begged us to keep this cat, our kids, no longer live here. Thus my wife and I are stuck with a feline terrorist, while the cat’s sponsors are free to gallivant around the country without concerns.

Funny how things turn out.

Look into the eyes of a skin-shredder.

I was working away from home for a few months back in 1993 when I was notified that my wife and kids had found a kitten in or near our backyard. They took it in, cleaned it with anti-flea soap and began nursing it toward good health. I got hit with the traditional, “Can we keep it,” barrage and, feeling guilty about being so far from home for extended periods, I weakened and said, “Okay.” We already had pets, but somehow we ended up keeping another one. We registered the cat with the city, took him to the vet and generally treated him very well. This was his life-saving experience #1.

My long-distance working situation ended about five months later and I came home to discover the new cat had a game it liked to play. He’d sit on the hidden side of a doorway at the end of a hall and suddenly attack the lower extremity of any human passing through the portal into the middle room of the house. He'd bite and scratch until said human found a way to detach himself or herself from the attacking beast. This frequently resulted in spilled blood, torn stockings, ruined socks and ripped pants. A few times I attempted to clear my path by throwing a cat toy through the door, hoping for a distraction that would clear the way for a safe passage. No chance. This cat was after human flesh.

I wanted to get rid of the cat. My scars never had time to heal before the next attack by our so-called domesticated pet. I was concerned about extended loss of blood. I was afraid to go to the beach for fear of attracting every shark within thousands of miles, whether I went in the water or not. Every moment spent ambulating from one spot to another in the house was an invitation to a new vicious attack and another bloodletting.

I confronted my wife with the need to rid ourselves of this criminally insane cat. “My socks and pants have blood stains,” I gripped. My wife is a loving wife. She cares for me when I am sick. Heck, I was on crutches when we started dating. When our children were growing up, she mothered with extraordinary love and wisdom. So, when I firmly explained that Puffball The Terrible had to go, my wife sweetly said, “Go ahead if you want to. But you have to tell the kids.”

This was life-saving experience #2 for the cat.

Time passed and blood flowed. Our son graduated from high school in 2000 and bolted for the comparative safety of life in the United States Air Force. A little more than a year later, our nation was at war. Sean spent five years on active duty and three more in the Air Force National Guard. He spent time in Korea and Iraq and never got a scratch. I wish I could say the same.

Finally, the bleeding reached the point where my wife and daughter agreed something had to be done and the cat became an outside cat. We put him in the garage at night to protect the general public. Our wounds began to heal and this decision was life-saving experience #3 for Puffball.

We rented the same house for a dozen years before the homeowner decided to sell the place. That meant we had to move. The new landlord would not allow cats in the house, which I took to be my salvation from the reign of terror I’d lived with all those years. Even as an outdoor cat, Puffball could inflict damage. Walking to the car had become a challenge.

Unfortunately, Puffball still had Amy and Regan in his corner. He lives in the garage today, usually sleeping on top of my beloved Mustang convertible. This was life-saving experience #4 for Puffball.

We discovered the house we moved to had rats in the walls and we hoped Puffball might catch a few in the garage, given his tendency toward ambush. No such luck. Puffball will happily attack any passing human, but has no hard feeling toward rats. Or gophers.

So there it is. I’ve saved that cat’s life four times now and here’s what really bothers me: In all that time, Puffball has never once thanked me.

But I’ll thank you: Thanks for reading.