The Romance Post, part 1 of....1?

I have recently been charged with the challenge--in an attempt to drive or readership (and/or writership) by appealing to a wider audience--to post a blog about Romance. This is funny/sad/terrifying/insulting probably for a wide variety of reasons. The utmost of which must be the irony that, as someone who blogs in my spare time (read: blogger), how much could I really know on the subject?

Well...as it turns out...shockingly...very little.

But not to be discouraged! I firmly believe that nobody else really does either (except for perhaps old, wise people, but chances are they are not doing any blogging any time soon, so you are sort of stuck with me). Someone has either been in a lot of relationships, which means they failed a lot and clearly cannot be trusted, or they have been in very few relationships and therefore have no credible experience. Face it, no one can really be an expert on the subject of romance/love. (Yes I realize all I did to give myself credibility is destroy the credibility of any dissension, but that is what politicians always do, and they are getting voted for, so I figure it works.)

As it turns out, I always have some experience writing on the subject. My first ever piece of writing out of high school was actually an entrance essay to the University of Georgia addressing the simple question, "What is Love?" (The other choice was something about the impact of Martin Luther King, Jr. that really restricted my ability to MAKE UP WHATEVER I WANTED TO SAY.) I proceeded to use about 500 words describing my love for the Atlanta Braves and Cleveland Browns and a few other events/inanimate objects. At the time I was convinced my idea was SO original SO refreshing and clever that I would already be thrown on the Dean's List just for existing (my 2.8 high school GPA be damned). As fate would have it, I was denied admission to UGA very quickly.

I am actually less of a writer and more of an observational humorist. I write (often cynical) stories about things I see during the course of the day. Again, I hold out hope that this gives me an advantage as, having worked at a Quizno's for two years, I have direct knowledge of a wide realm of love/happiness and loneliness/sadness. As a sandwich shop employee, you quickly learn to loathe not only the uselessly in love couples who can't take their tongue out of each other's mouths long enough to order but also the callously depressed and lonely looking and sounding people planning to eat their bitterness away with a large Mesquite Chicken with extra Ranch.

(More irony: The reason I know the ends of the spectrum so well is probably because I inhabited both at some point or another while employed at Quizno's. I only got the job there because my girlfriend would insist on eating there at least four times of week, so I pleaded with the manager to employee me so I could get some of my money so I could continue to keep her happy by feeding her endless bowls of Broccoli Cheese soup. This delicate life cycle sustained itself only momentarily.

It certainly made things interesting post-break-up as I went from receiving bacon and eggs from my ex-girlfriend in bed to making her a small Turkey-Bacon-Guacamole on her lunch break. My only sweet vindication was going super light on the bacon AND guacamole and still continuing to charge her full price...ha!

Ok, I didn't charge her full price, but I still held incredible satisfaction knowing she was sitting, eating quietly yearning for a more full flavor of bacon and guacamole!)

At any rate, I will attempt to avoid making this series of posts too self-deprecating and auto-biographical. Although, not talking about myself usually proves pretty challenging.

To be continued...

The one where we lament over Tiger's tragedy

When the dust settles and the facts of the incident become clear to all, the impact of December 2009 in the world of sports culture will be unable to be understated. Only Jordan had such an impact on sports from such a young age. And even he didn’t find worldwide success as quickly as Tiger did.

In 1996 Tiger was a boy challenging men in the most grueling golfing event of the year. How many times in life do we say, "That kid will be the greatest ever," and it's actually true? Nearly never, but with Tiger it was.

In the midst of steroids and Vick and Kobe and Phelps’ bong...we had Tiger. Even Lance Armstrong faced accusations and a broken household.

He won with class and without controversy. Quite simply, he was (is?) the best.

Was it a lie? Did he let us down? Was the pressure we placed on him fair? He always owned Sunday, and was seemingly never rattled. But was he really striving under the pressure, or just simply keeping from cracking? Did we let him down? He didn’t ask to be our sports savior, were we really offered anything more than the best he could do on the course?

He never cheated the game. This wasn’t Rose’s or Jordan’s gambling. There will be no investigation by the PGA or the FBI. It speaks to how we held Tiger, that he is being so indicted for not a legal issue, but a moral one. Who knows how many women he slept with or how many will come forward? It isn’t important now; once that number hit more than one it was all over. Now each one still matters, is still significant, but they matter less and less.

But should we fans be surprised? The notion of a hero striving for perfection and falling just short is one that is as old as human history. Aristotle coined the term hamartia, referring to the tragic flaw of Grecian heroes. There was always one imperfection, no matter how small or discrete, that would prevent a hero from being anything more than just one of us…from being human.

Perhaps that is what it boiled down to. We were all just shocked that it turned out Tiger Woods was as human as the rest of us. He does stupid shit that he probably knows he shouldn’t. He does things without thinking about consequence. These things are natural and integral part of the human experience.

The next chapter of this saga remains largely unseen. Woods has made his path to greatness even that much difficult. He must continue to chase history under an even larger magnifying glass than before. The fans will be relentless. Everyone will be watching and waiting to see—just as on nearly every summer Sunday afternoon—whether Tiger will persevere and overcome or will he crumble and fail as he rarely does.

The men on the other side of the radio.

It's something all sports fans will deal with in their lives. Their favorite sportscaster will retire, or worse, pass on. Often times a radio or TV announcer can become more to a fan than the actual team. The reasons for this are simple: players change, coaches change, management changes, stadiums and even team colors and logos will change, but often times the voice telling the stories of a favorite team will remain the same.

For Cubs fans nation wide, Harry Caray was the most integral part of the hard-luck team.

It is like a continuous book-on-tape with the same narrator. Football fans will spend every fall weekend afternoon tuned in to hear the tales of battle of their favorite team. Baseball fans, probably the passionate about their announcers, will have every day of summer and more narrated by a familiar voice (162 days is nearly a half a year). Even basketball and hockey fans will invite their long time friends on the TV or radio to their home over 80 times a year.

For a life long Atlanta sports fan, the intimacy of the fan/sportscaster relationship is at the forefront of my mind this week. It was one week ago last year that long time Braves announcer Skip Caray died before he could join the team for a West coast road trip. For the first 23+ years of my life, my family had invited a man into our home, car and living room 162 times a year. Next to my immediate family or close friends, I knew no voice better.

Later that year Skip's long time partner Pete Van Wieren announced his retirement. Shortly thereafter, voice of the Dogs Larry Munson decided to call it quits as well. It was as if the door to the past, my childhood even, wasn't being closed...it was slammed. I still recall falling asleep to Steve Holman calling the Hawks as Mookie Blalock would dump it into Mutombo down low, and now have to wonder how much longer he can go?

Munson decided to light a cigar on his stellar career last fall.

Phillies fans mourned the passing of Harry Kalas nationally and I could understand what they were going through. Every team in every market will have to go through it eventually, it is just something the sports fan cannot avoid.

It is a Catch-22, really. We loathe new voices and amatuers who don't know how to tell us the story of the game how we know it is supposed to be told. But we also dread the day that the voice we have become so accustomed to must move on, whether it be by choice or act of God.

Who are some of your favorite/memorable sportscaster and their stories?