In the Headlights

Say It Isn't So, Mikey

A sad day for NASCAR.

NASCAR driver Michael Waltrip has been find 100 championship points this season, and his crew chief and his competition director were fired.  In addition, his wife, Buffy who is owner of Waltrip's car was fined 100 points.

Waltrip left Dale Earnhardt Jr.'s racing stable last year to start his own team.  I'll bet Dale Jr.'s glad that happened.

I've always sort of seen Waltrip as the Carl Naughton Jr. to Earnhardt's Ricky Bobby.

But more than that, my husband was a NASCAR fan and used to watch the post race recap, which frequently featured Michael Waltrip.  I thought he was the perfect ambassador--he's witty, articulate and self-effacing, with an endearing wry grin.

He had a great career going, which will now forever be tarnished by this.  Perhaps everyone in racing cheats and adds jet-fuel-like substances to boost their car's performance.  Like steroids in other sports, others may do it, but when you get caught, you pay a stiff penalty.  Michael Waltrip should have been above cheating, even if he was just getting his racing stable going.  He had a lot to lose, though...so far to fall.

I wish he'd come out and say he wasn't involved.  He hasn't though.  He half apologizes and says he'll get to the bottom of it.  He feels bad about what his nine-year-old daughter must think if she believes he cheated. He pussyfoots around without saying he didn't know about it, and to me, that means that he did.  He's waffling. He uses the passive voice "I don't understand what happened, how it happened..."  Things happened, Michael. 

He is the captain of that particular ship, and as such, he takes responsibility.  I'd be much happier if he just didn't  know and is taking responsibility, than if he knew and was involved, and is taking responsibility.

Good thing he isn't going to be impeached.  Of course, he could be.  It depends on which definition of impeached you use.  And what the meaning of "is" is, today.

[Image from Speed TV]

Gambling with Gators

I was talking with my friend Kathi today.  She and her husband like to scuba dive, and went to Manatee Springs to dive with the manatees.  Apparently the manatees were all hanging out where the springs and the river came together, a murky area, and they wouldn't let them dive, giving some excuse about people fishing in that area, and there being a risk of getting stuck with a hook.

She thought it might be more because of gators in the river.  Then she said something really interesting.  She said she'd feel safe around gators if she were diving, because they don't attack under water:  they can't open their mouths, or they drown.

I'd heard of gators grabbing prey then dragging it underwater to drown it, but not of actual underwater attacks.  I've tried searching it, and while I don't see stories of underwater attacks, I don't see why they couldn't take place.

The Alligator Fact Sheet says "like a submarine preparing to dive, alligators also close hatches:  a semitransparent membrane or third eyelid called a nictating membrane covers eyes; folds of skin close over the ears; muscles contract sealing the nostrils shut; and throat closes tight, enabling it to open its mouth and catch and hold its prey  underwater without drowning."

According to The Gator Hole, "alligators have a specialized valve in their throat called a glottis that enables the gator to capture its prey underwater.  However, in order to swallow its food and thus keep itself from drowning, an alligator must lift its head out of the water."

Another factoid:  gators bite with 2,125 pounds of pressure compared with 940 pounds for a lion. This was measured by University of Florida researcher and (by my standards, anyway) madman Kent Vliet, who enjoys wrestling with them and watching them mate.  Fascinating person.

Don't press your luck, Kathi.

[Illustration from American Alligator]

Why Can't You Behave...

There are bad jokes and bad jocks.  They are not necessarily exclusive.

Here's the evidence for anyone who ever thought sports figures were good role models. 

Bob Reno's Bad Jocks has been sniffing out athletic bad behavior since 2003.

He monitors high school coach scandals, drunken zamboni drivers, naked cheerleaders, football players, deer hunters, and dart throwers on steroids.  No one is safe.

The archives let you visit back to 2003, but the site itself also links to misbehaving animals and celebrities (Britney and Paris acting like...well, you know.)

Bob Reno was interviewed on All Things Considered on NPR.  He was inspired to start his web site by the antics of Tonya Harding and Darryl Strawberry.  Today, he tries to pick up obscure stories as well as the stuff covered by the major media.

[Why Can't You Behave, lyrics by Cole Porter from "Kiss Me, Kate."]

Limits of Tolerance

When Zinedine Zidane got a red card in Sunday's World Cup Final after head-butting Italian Marco Materazzi, there was a collective gasp, followed by speculation about what Materazzi could possibly have said to get him to jeopardize the most important game in his career and the way history views him.  It must have been egregious and outrageous. Hideous and unspeakable.  But what was it?

Both players have spoken to the press, effectively saying nothing.  Both talked about what had not been said, skirting around the issue.  Some media even employed lip readers to try to determine what had been said, with no success.

I can't imagine what might have been said, but I do speculate that planning session in sports often involve thinking of ways to take out key opposition players, by fouling or even hurting them.  And taunting opponents is as old as mankind, in war or in sports.  I always thought the taunting was a kind of spontaneous harrassment between individuals.  But obviously it can make as big a difference in outcomes as taking out a player any other way.

And in sports, players are usually in a state of heightened rage, amped up by fellow players and coaches and the excitement of the game, and their own testosterone levels (in men's sports, anyway.  I can't remember the last time I saw a woman chasing an opponent around a court or field with mayhem on her mind.)

So I wonder if groups of players, officially or unofficially, sit around and discuss what they can say that will cause an opposing player to become unglued.

Do they research one another's pasts?  Seduce each other's wives and mothers, just to have a wounding barb to use at a crucial moment,  to make a crucial difference in a critical game?  One wonders.  And did Materazzi sit down to a glass of chiani with teammates later and say "well, that one worked" (only in Italian), and start plotting a similar strategy against an upcoming opponent.

Two Teams Enter the Arena...

I just watched the final game of the World Cup.  It was riveting.  It was exciting.  It was disappointing.

French striker Thierry Henry went down in the first few minutes, and for a while it looked as if he might have sustained a concussion.  He was able to return a few minutes later and played like a demon.

Each team scored in the first 12 minutes, and the rest of the game was a series of near misses, and close call injuries.

At one point, French captain Zinedine Zidane was down, and it looked like he had injured his shoulder.  Some cold numbing spray on it allowed him to remain in the game.  Would that the injury had taken him out of the game.

The game ended in a tie, 1 to 1, so that two 15-minute overtime periods had to be played.

Zinedine Zidane, aka Zizou,is 34 years old.  Known as "The Old Man", the charismatic star had come out of retirement to lead the French team in the World Cup.  Widely lionized, it was expected that win or lose, his career would close in a blaze of glory. Instead, it will be remembered for an ugly, violent act that is the last of his career.

All that ended in minute 110 when the teams were walking down the field.  I don't remember why the ball wasn't in play, maybe a player was down.  But out of the clear blue, Zidane turned around and head-butted Italian player Marco Materazzi in the chest, knocking him down.

A hushed silence descended.  Apparently, Referree Horacio Elizondo, who had been all over the action in this game, didn't see it happen.  However, the Italian goalie, Gianluigi Buffon created a stir, and the ref conferred with his assistants.  When he returned to the field, he presented Zidane with a red card.  He was ousted from the game with ten minutes to go in the World Cup Final, which might have ended differently had he not acted so rashly.

No one scored in the last ten minutes, so the game was resolved in one-on-one (kicker vs. goalie) penalty kicks. 

The Italians got all their penalty kicks in.  On the french side, David Trezeguet, the second kicker drove the ball straight toward the goal, where it deflected of the crossbar.  If the Italians had missed a kick and the French had gotten the rest of theirs the kicks would have continued.

No one knows if Zidane might have scored in the final ten minutes, or if he, a famed penalty kicker might have kicked in place of Trezeguet.  Or if morale on both sides might have been different leading to a different outcome.

What no one knows is why Zidane, previously cool and collected would have put a black mark on an otherwise glorious career in this fashion.

No Joy in Mudville

Team USA at the World Cup is in fourth place in group standings, after tying Italy in yesterday's  match, the worst soccer match I've ever watched.

To Recap:  We lost to the Czech Republic, 4-0.  They then lost to Ghana 2-0.  The Czech Republic's loss meant that even if the USA lost to Italy, we would remain in competition.

We did not play well against the Czech Republic.  We did play well against Italy in a game that was flawed by egregiously bad calls by a referee, resulting in three red cards and elimination of one goal point.

In the first half, Italian Daniele De Rossi threw an elbow to American Bryan McBride's face which wound up requiring three stitches.  McBride, who already has titanium plates in his head, was out for only minutes to stanch the bleeding, then returned to the fray.  De Rossi received the first red card of the game, meaning he had to leave play and could not be replaced, so that Italy had ten men on the field to USA's 11.

The first half was also noteworthy for a first goal for Italy, and a second goal for the USA, which was shot into our net by Italian Cristian Zaccardo who was trying to deflect the ball from the goal.  USA player Pablo Mastroeni received a red card in the first half for what was ostensibly a late tackle, leaving both teams entering the second half with ten men.

Two minutes after the start of the second half, legendary USA player Eddie Pope received a hotly contested second yellow card, which is the equivalent of a red card.  One more player off the field for team USA--the rest of the game was played with a ten-man Italian team, vs. a nine-man USA team.

A late goal by DaMarcus Beasley which gave the US a 2-1 lead was negated by the officials because a US player apparently blocked the goalie during the play.

The USA team played a great game and likely would have won instead of tying, but for the inept officiating.  There was a lot of discussion of the officiating of Uruguayan referee Jorge Larrionda who has been embattled for his calls in the past.

For more about this game, go here.

Next World Cup USA game:  USA vs. Ghana Thursday at 0955 AM.

[Illustrations of US Goalie Kasey Keller, and USA fans from Voice of America]

Woohoo, Boohoo

I'm starting to get World Cup fever.  It's been building up, but so far I haven't seen any games.  I do watch some during the regular season as my folks are big fans, so if I'm visiting and there's a game on, we watch it.

So I made a point of turning on the TV today to watch the first U.S. game in the World Cup.  Everything I've read indicates that the U.S. team is a strong one.

Imagine my chagrin, then when 6'8" forward Jan  Koller of the Czech Republic slipped a goal under the nose of the great Eddie Pope.  And my horror when the Czech Republic scored a again in minute 36 with a 40 yarder by Tomas Rosicki.  Koller was sidelined by a what looked like a hamstring injury in the first half.  He's a formidable player.  Hopefully his injury won't keep him out for the rest of the Cup.  Koller injured  ligaments in his left knee last September in a match, and spent four months in rehab.

In the 76th minute, Rosicki kicked a second goal, just as the U.S. team looked like they might be garnering some mojo.  No such head of steam appeared, as the Czechs kicked our butts 3-0. 

We have until Saturday to rub salve (or salt) in our wounds.  We play Italy at 2:30 PM.  Woohoo.

[Air currents around soccer ball travelling at 40 miles-per-hour via Fluent]

Skiing by the Seat of Your Pants

Having a blast in Salt Lake City with Shawn.  The first evening here, we were pretty tired (I did catch my 0618 flight, which would have been 0418 SLC time.  Good thing I am used to being sleep deprived.)  So all we accomplished the first day was unpacking in our lovely room, exploring the hotel, having a snack, then attending a reception for Shawn's Hospital Association meeting. 

We did notice early on the incredible dryness of the air here.  I first noticed that my face felt dry and sunburned, then we noticed our hands were incredibly dry.  We attributed all this to the flight, and hydrated madly, but it didn't help, and by now, day 3, we know we have to slather on lotion just to keep from looking like The Mummy (OK, I speak for myself here).  Also my hair has taken on a life of its own and requires a lot of gunk to keep from looking like baby duck feathers.

Our sitting room.

 

Sleeping quarters.

Notice the garden tub, marble floors and luxurious amenities.

That's Shawn in the mirror, with my elbow.  I have some other shots of her, like in the airport at Dallas/Ft. Worth.  She was mostly covering her face with her purse in those shots.  I'd have published them, but...well, she has some of me.  Stalemate.

Yesterday, Shawn had meetings all day, so I decided it was time to take my first ski lesson.  I took the Trax (streetcar) then bus, up to Alta.  Breathtakingly beautiful.  I hate to break it to you, but I didn't take my camera, because I was sure I would fall and break it.  Portentious sentiment, as what I did best all day was fall.

I was told that the beginners ski class would be as good a way to start as a private lesson. So I bought my ticket, and went and rented boots, skis and poles.  The boots are something else.  Just getting into them was difficult.  I have very high arches and have a hard time getting into boots (you should see me struggling with cowboy boots), and in fact, I love the way boots look, but about the only ones I can get into (and out of) are lace-ups.  In college, I remember having a pair of Capezio mid-thigh vinyl boots that I wore with mini-skirts.  I have managed to erase all memory of getting in and out of them.  Back then, fashion must have been more important to me than it is now.

So I struggled into the ski boots.  Then practiced walking around a bit.  You can't move your ankles, which makes it a new way of walking.  While practicing, I noticed that it felt I had something in my left boot.  I partially opened it, and didn't see anything.  Snugged it back up with all those clamps, same sensation.  So I took the darned boot off, and realized I had an ankle bracelet on.  I can imagine what hamburger my ankle would have looked like by the end of the day if I had left it on.

(BTW, I bought a lovely ankle bracelet, and it broke the second time I wore it.  It was, you see, delicate.  Now I wear a 16" neck chain wrapped twice around the ankle.  I like the way it looks and when I need a short neck chain, I have it for that too.  Maybe take some photos after we get our pedicures tomorrow...)

Anyway, I stomped around in the boots for about a half-hour, trying to balance skis and poles at the same time.

Got to the class.  There were five of us.  Doug was our ever patient instructor.  We started with basics like putting on the downhill ski first, and doing so perpendicular to the slope.  Then we did some shallow slopes and learned to stop.  This was not a strong suit of mine.  Apparently I pulled in my knees when I should just have been bringing the tips of the skis together.  And I angled the skis off the plane of the snow.  Another no-no.

I wiped out early, giving my tailbone a good smack.  Then, we were going down a slope, and I found myself, in spite of my instructions to my legs and skis, heading right for the tow rope.  Now I had been watching experienced skiiers duck under these.  I hadn't had that class on that maneuver yet, and envisioned garrotting myself on the rope.  So, as a lesser-of-two-evils maneuver, I hit the ground.  OK.  Later, I fell to keep from running over a classmate who was moving slowly ahead of me.  So one of my problems was that I couldn't stop at will.  I kept falling down to keep something worse from happening.  And once I fell, getting me back up wasn't pretty.

Then when Doug showed us the tow rope, I fell down twice because I didn't keep my skis parallel.

Bottom line:  I am not sitting here in a cast.  My tail is still sore, the rest of me is OK, and I'm pretty sure I didn't fracture my coccyx.  In fact, I'm not even bruised back there.  But I am grateful that at no time when I became a pile of limbs and skis, did I hear a loud snap.

Back at the hotel, I took a long hot bath.  Normally, I am a morning shower girl, but I thought a hot soak migh temper the soreness awaiting me.

Shawn and I went out last night for a lovely Italian dinner.  She has the souvenir menu, so I'll let her tell you about that.  It was great, except I kept complaining about my butt being sore.

So the first thing this morning, I opened my eyes and said:  "You know, it would have been much better if I had taken a private lesson.  Maybe I'll go back up and try that." The truth is, I feel good.  My muscles aren't sore, and my tail bone is much better. But then I thought--this would be my last day to practice (tomorrow is Spa day--more on that later)  and I'd surely forget it before I ever have a chance to ski again.  And I had this feeling I was tempting fate.  I tried at least a half-dozen times to hurt myself.  The next one might be the one I dislocated someting or broke something. And if I fell on my butt again, the recovery might not be quite so fast.

One thing for sure, I proved I don't have osteoporosis.

So instead, I think I'll just take my camera around the neighborhood and try to get you some good photos.  Sort of like Joan does. 

Tonight, we go to Park City for a wagon ride and dinner and drinks at a lodge.  More on that later, too. 

And lest you think we forgot:  Happy St. Patrick's Day!

With a Name Like That, He's Got to Be Good!

Woohoo!!

Just watched the U.S. Men's Soccer team beat Norway five to nothing! (Sorry, Rarity and Scholiast. Really.)

Taylor Twellman scored a hat trick!  He made three goals of the five!  And he's cute to boot! (sorry about all the !'s.  I'm excited.  Sue me.)

That's five goals in three games for Twellman, who now looks like he has a shot to  make the U.S. team going to Berlin in June for the World Cup. (note to self:  go to that someday.)

The World Cup starts June 9.  The first U.S. game will be June 12 against the Czech Republic.  Then they play Italy and Ghana.

For the first time ever, all 64 games will be shown in high definition on ESPN or ESPN 2.

Be there.

Woohoo!