iThink this is an amazing iDea: as part of his bathroom remodeling project, a man transformed a normal, run-of-the-mill shower into the iShower. Apple should look iNto marketing it iMmediately.
(Assuming Cisco doesn’t own that iProduct, that is.)
Author Archives
News
Last week, Tuesday Morning Quarterback dealt with Nick Saban’s departure from the Miami Dolphins; he noted that Saban called his coaches and emailed his players with the news. I emailed him with Lloyd Carr’s story of Bo Schembechler’s refusing a lucrative offer from Texas A&M because he didn’t want to have to tell the players he was leaving; TMQ used it in this week’s reader feedback column.
Speaking of Little Nicky, Burrill Strong of Chelsea, Mich. writes, “Concerning Saban’s using e-mail to inform his players that he was leaving, I thought of a story Lloyd Carr told at the memorial service for Bo Schembechler. Carr was talking about the time Bo received a lucrative offer from Texas A&M, and asked his assistants what they thought. His staff’s response was divided; some believed he should take the money. With a tear in his eye and with his voice cracking, Bo said, ‘Yes, but you don’t have to tell those players that you’re leaving.’ That, I think, is an example of great character in a coach.” Little Nicky solved the problem by refusing to look his players in the eye and tell them. Miami Dolphins: You just unloaded a coach who lacks character, and eventually this will be seen as a huge break for the Dolphins franchise. Replace the weasel with the genuine article — a Shula.
And, so there will be a free reference after the ESPN.com link requires payment, I’ve captured a screenshot.
Photo of the Variable Time Period, vol. 58
Ice Is Workin’ It, vol. 1 (16 January 2007).
A clothesline just chills after an icy weekend in Chelsea. An ice storm Sunday night and Monday morning brought down trees and power lines, leaving thousands without power. First of a series.
Oh my Lloyd
Ronald Bellamy’s Underachieving All-Stars is an eloquent blog focused on Michigan football. It is not the typical litany of game analyses and recruiting rumors; it is, primarily, the innermost emotions and thoughts of a passionate fan.
Yesterday — appropriately, a Sunday — he posted an intriguing entry pondering the religion of sports. I don’t know that he and I share beliefs, but his comments are thought-provoking and thus worth reading.
I had never taken much time to consider something like this before. Too many communion wafers, too much Sunday school, too many prayers, maybe. But something happened after the Title Game that made me wonder. The game had been over for a few hours, and someone on an Ohio State fan forum had written, “please god, let Ginn and Gonzalez come back.†That is precisely the way it was written – the names of the two players appropriately capitalized, while the man who he pleaded with was irreverently lumped together with other gods, gods as if by profession, whose duty it is to right the wrongs in our sacred pastime. In this case, in the case of college football, it was Ginn and Gonzalez who were divine; the anonymous god was simply the man handing out rosary beads from a kiosk.
Remotely amusing
Like any other modern vehicle, my car has a handy remote that allows me to lock or unlock my car, or to open the trunk. And, of course, with one press of a button, it allows me to totally freak out my car. The button says “Panic,” and considering the car’s reaction, I suppose it’s accurate; I’m just not sure what sort of black magic automakers use to induce panic in so many automobiles.
Anyway, the other day, I was on my way home from work — in fact, I was close to pulling into my driveway — and without warning, my car went into a panic. I was still driving down the road, but my car was making noise like it was a newly-deputized police car: lights flashing, horn honking, driver shocked and bewildered. Wherever the emergency was, I hoped my car would take us there — I was mystified and, apparently, just along for the ride. (Roughly translated, I believe my car was saying something like: “HOLY HAND GRENADE, THE WORLD IS EXPLODING, GET THEE TO A NUNNERY!”)
A few seconds later, after I finished being surprised, I realized that I had managed to trap my handy remote between my knee and the steering column, and that had caused my car to lose its cool. I pressed that magical red button, and my car immediately returned to its normal emotionless state.
But now I know my car is just one button away from another emotional meltdown. Perhaps I should look into counseling for my car. Or medication.
(Oddly enough, a few weeks earlier, I managed to pop my trunk while I was driving. That was a real accomplishment: the button must be pressed twice to open the trunk. Fortunately, I was on a city street, so it was easy to stop and close the trunk.)
Photo of the Variable Time Period, vol. 57
Wishing and hoping and praying (12 January 2007).
Dexter’s Johnny Benjamin attempts an awkward shot against Ann Arbor Pioneer. The shot was good, but the Dreadnaughts shot 27.6 percent and lost the game 48-35.
Proportion thing
Recently, I attended a Chelsea basketball game. The Bulldogs fell behind early, but they made a late comeback and fell just short of winning the game. It was a fun finish.
Sadly, the opposing coach was a bit less fun. Throughout the game, he had no qualms about being vocally negative, both toward the officials and toward his own players. At one point, when his team was whistled for a foul on a Chelsea shot shortly after no fouls were called during a physical sequence on the other end of the court, he informed the officials of the depth of their poor judgment. After he expressed his opinion to the officials, he made one comment, ostensibly to himself but audible to many in the vicinity: “Only in Chelsea.”  That was all too representative of his general attitude and behavior.
I have failed to mention an important detail: it wasn’t a varsity game; it wasn’t a JV game; it wasn’t even a freshman game. In fact, it was an eighth grade boys basketball game.
Is that really what eighth-grade boys should see in their coach?
Burninating the Southeastern Conference
Last week, I photographed a Dexter High School hockey game. As I was waiting for the game to begin, I noticed Dexter’s logo on the arena wall. Dexter’s mascot is the Dreadnought, so, logically, their logo is a cartoony ship.
Both my father and I noticed two curiosities in the logo: first, it seems to be sinking; second, the placement of the arms is odd. (I likened it to a person having one arm in its normal location and the other on his hip.)
Later, others viewed that photo of the Dexter logo, and one person made an observation I couldn’t believe I’d missed.
Over on the fun Homestar Runner site, there is a popular feature called Strongbad Emails. One of the emails features Trogdor, a dragon drawn by Strongbad, and one of the site’s most popular characters.
Upon viewing the Dexter logo, that observant person noted that the muscular arms on Trogdor look very much like those on the Dexter logo.
In light of that similarity, I think it’s time Dexter changed its mascot. Make some noise for the Dexter Burninators!
Bonus curiosity:
The logo features the proper historical spelling — Dreadnoughts — but as demonstrated by the local newspaper, Dexter’s sports teams are now called the Dreadnaughts.
Photo of the Variable Time Period, vol. 56
View to a check (06 January 2007).
The Dexter bench watches the action during the Dreadnaughts’ game against St. Francis Cabrini. Cabrini won 5-4.
Like a school on break
Nick Saban recently left the Miami Dolphins for the head coaching job at Alabama. To inform his staff and his players of his departure, he didn’t meet with them personally; he made a speakerphone call to his staff members, and he sent an email to his players.
In contrast, consider Bo Schembechler. At Bo’s memorial service at Michigan Stadium, Lloyd Carr spoke of the time Bo received a very lucrative offer from Texas A&M; the Aggies wanted him badly enough that they offered to make him the highest-paid coach in the country. He met with his assistants and asked each for his opinion on the offer. After a somewhat divided response from his staff, Bo looked at them and, with a tear in his eye and a cracking voice, said, “Yes, but you don’t have to tell those players you’re leaving.”