Orange and Blue (Really, Really Blue)

While there is still hope for my Browns to find a decent new coach in the off season, all hope is lost for my Auburn Tigers. Talk about a blue Christmas for us.

Our esteemed athletic director Jay Jacobs (the man who built the Olympic-size swimming pool a foot too short so Auburn can't host any events in the sport in which we hold the most national titles) and our dear old meddlesome asshole booster Bobby Lowder have given us a new coach. Gene Chizik, a man who managed to make Iowa State worse in his two years there, ending with a 5-19 record as a head coach.

Now, in fairness, Chizik was Auburn's defensive coordinator during the 2004 undefeated season. But he was also the defensive coordinator in the previous 3-9 season. He left Auburn and went to Texas where he also was defensive coordinator on an undefeated regular season. I don't discount his knowledge of defense. However, both Auburn and Texas continued to thrive after Chizik's departures, while Iowa State got worse the second he arrived. It begs the question: how much of the success at Auburn and Texas should Chizik be credited with? Or should most of the credit go to the head coach and the rest of the coaching staff as well as Chizik? And does being pretty good on the defensive side of things make you a head coach? Ask Romeo Crennel.

The most disturbing and disappointing thing about our coaching search is that our leaders passed over Turner Gil, for whom the Auburn Family was salivating. The rumor is that it was partially because Gil, a black man, is married to a white woman. If there is any truth to that rumor--and many sources close to Jacobs and the Board of Trustees believe there is--then how can one in good conscience continue to support the program? Even if Jacobs worried that some backward members of the fanbase might not like it, a university is supposed to be above such things. It is supposed to bring enlightenment and broaden the culture. It is supposed to be a community leader. And from my view, in reading fan forums and listening to sports radio, the majority of the fanbase was screaming for Gil, didn't care about his or his wife's race, and never even mentioned Chizik. I'll withhold judgment because there is yet no proof, but should anyone reveal that racial issues were part of the reasoning behind this ridiculous hire, I will turn Tide faster than you can say "Hail Saban."

And speaking of Saban, his arrival in this state caused an immediate and catastrophic change in the demeanor of Auburn. Here we were, having beaten Bama five straight and on the way to the sixth, and having an undefeated season under our belts with a real argument for a national championship, and yet our leaders panicked. How else can you explain the ousting of a coach who averaged 9 wins a year during his tenure at Auburn and the hiring of a man who has to this point been a failure as a head coach? Jacobs will insist that Tommy Tuberville resigned, but then explain why Tommy got a $5.1 million payoff? Jacobs is either a liar or an idiot. Neither is good.

I'll be blunt. I don't like Gene Chizik. I listened to his press conference Monday when he was introduced as coach, hoping that my initial reaction of shock and dispair would be changed to one of hope and happiness. It did not happen. I have never heard such rambling arrogance from a coach before, not to mention that he used the phrase, "at the end of the day," about a dozen times. Well, Gene, at the end of the damn day that kind of swagger is best worn by people who have proven they can do the job of head coach. You haven't.

I predict that Gene Chizik will last no longer than two years at Auburn. My Tigers will be playing musical coaches for the next decade, and there will not be a Saban to pull us up and turn us a around. Thank you Jay Jacobs and Bobby Lowder. Your influences on the Auburn program can not end soon enough.

Being Brown

I couldn't have picked a better two years to become a Browns fan. I've learned so much, not just about the team's history and the NFL in general, but I've actually scraped the tip of the iceberg on what it's like to be a fan of this team.

2007 was my first season as a fan. It was great! We were 10-6 when nobody thought we'd win more than four. Young players had breakout years. Old players showed they still had the goods to compete. I followed every play as best I could, which is pretty hard in Alabama where the Browns were almost never shown in my television market. I relied on horrible bootleg video streams and the NFL Gamecenter graphics on NFL.com. When I was lucky, a game would be replayed on NFL Network and I'd get to see it after the fact. But it was all good. It filled me with hope for this season.

Longtime fans told me not to get excited, but I did anyway. They warned me I was destined for a fall, but I didn't listen. They knew, but I'm new. So I got more and more excited as the 2008 season approached.

But I wasn't the only one. The NFL was hopeful too. I was overjoyed when it was announced that the Browns would have FIVE nationally-televised, prime time games this season, including three regular season games on Monday Night Football. This was going to be a great year. We could win the AFC North. Everyone said it was possible and a few brave souls even predicted it outright. And we'd definitely make the playoffs.

With only three games left this year, playoff hopes long dead, and the organization in a dramatic shambles from top to bottom, we'll be lucky for real this time to win more than four. Our coach and maybe even our GM will be fired when the season mercifully comes to an end. Players who thrilled me last year and disappointed me this year may be traded, making way for new guys who may or may not produce. There is an awful lot of uncertainty in the air in Cleveland, and the sign on the door is about to say, "closed until next year."

It leaves me asking, "WTF happened? How did I get involved in this?" Well, that's neither here nor there. I am involved now. I've caught the Next Year Virus, a highly communicable disease spread by other fans who have been sticking it out with this team for decades. But it's OK. There are worse things to be sick with, and the treatment for this illness is actually pretty sweet. You get a dose of Free Agency, followed by seven rounds of Draft, a little physical therapy in the spring, and then you'll be fully renewed come August.

So I'm closing the door on this season. Not all the way. I'll peek through the crack to see if we pull out a win over Cinci, and peek again at the inevitable train wreck that will be the season finale in Pittsburgh. Oh, who am I kidding? I'll watch every second of this week's Monday night game and hope for an improbable victory. I'm fully contaminated at this point, readying myself for years and years of manic-depressive fandom. Others have survived it, and I can too.

Speaking of Connected

Not to diminish tangible, physical things, I had an interesting experience the other day resulting from an eBay transaction.

I ordered a pashmina shawl. Silk and wool blend in the loveliest shades of pink and lavender, it was a great deal for about $18 including shipping. It came from India, naturally. Just to make note, it was far better than the pictures suggested, with scattered beading and tiny jingling bells on the fringe. And so soft! But that wasn't the cool part.

The mail carrier brought my package to the door because I had to sign for it. It was in a large, white envelope which looked slightly unusual and when I touched it I knew why. It was linen. The envelope itself was linen. Upon close examination, it had been stitched together by hand, and the corners tacked with wax for extra durability. If you click the picture you can see it in more detail.

I sat on the sofa looking at it, and just became amazed. Someone I don't even know took time to create it so meticulously. My little purchase of less than $20 warranted this care. I felt a strange connection to this unknown person because I was holding in my hands something that had been created just for me by their hands.

Practically speaking, I know that it was a business transaction and the envelope was merely the way that seller packages his goods. It probably didn't give them a second thought. But for me, that extra work and care made an otherwise ordinary purchase into something more like a gift. It was a very interesting surprise.

Connected

We aren't connected to people the way we once were. Electronic communication via email, cell phones, text messages and the like keep us seconds away from contact with each other, yet often over vast distances. It also opens us to the possibility of new friends we would never have met otherwise.

Some people haven't yet embraced this phenomenon. They think it's downright weird to have friends you have never met person-to-person. They distinguish between "internet friends" and "real friends." I have come to make no distinction in value. Just this week an "internet friend" helped me begin solving a problem that not a single one of my "real friends" had the experience or empathy to address. If I didn't value that connection I would have missed out on his gift, and I am very grateful that I did not.

It's actually very old fashioned. In the days before planes, trains and automobiles, many a great and enduring friendship was conducted primarily through letters. Couples would court, fall in love, become betrothed, often before ever laying eyes on each other. It wasn't considered strange then because there wasn't a more efficient option. Just because there are options now does not diminish the power of written words to forge true connections with others. To limit the value of a friend merely due to lack of a physical presence is to limit the capacity of the heart and mind. If what we think and how we feel are the true essence of who we are as people, and those things can be experienced by whatever means available, the ability to split a plate of nachos becomes entirely inconsequential.

My White Christmas

About a year ago the day after Christmas my mother rang the house and said, "Your father is at Lowe's and he's found a sale. He wants to know if you would like a white Christmas tree."

She had to ask? I'm the person with pink flamingos in the yard and season-appropriate window clings on the car. I am the Queen of Tacky. Of course I wanted a white Christmas tree. Maybe she was asking rhetorically. In any event, the tree was purchased. Regular price was $48, and I think he gave six bucks for it. A true bargain.

The fact is, I like unorthodox Christmas decorations. The orange and black of my beloved pagan Halloween is being manhandled by red and green in the stores by mid-October these days. Enough!

Before anyone gasps, I did put up a perfectly ordinary green Christmas tree too, but it is hardly worth mentioning compared to the gloriousness of my white tree! Just look at it, shimmering in blue ornaments! I may forsake green trees altogether.

If only they made pink plastic Christmas trees. Then I'd really be in business.

Following...what?

Lo and behold, I click onto my blog and discover that I have followers. Three of 'em! That's one follower for every week that has passed since I last wrote anything.

I am shamed. The very idea, that there are people kind enough to declare themselves a follower, which is a very thoughtful affirmation for me, and yet I give them nothing.

This will not stand. I promise no brilliance, as I have been experiencing a distinct lack of inspiration and some writer's block, but I will forge ahead bravely. We'll see how it turns out.

Scooter and Mommy Watch Football (And Do Homework)

My son doesn't care for sports. I don't usually inflict it on him, but since the television has been on the blink in my room, sometimes he has to suffer. And since his mother chose to be fan of a football team that is not in the local television market and can only been seen by purchasing NFL Sunday Ticket (not gonna happen) or when they appear in a nationally-televised prime time game, he has no choice but to suffer on those nights. Such was the case this week when the Browns took on the Bills on Monday Night Football.

There was compromise, of course. I cooked his favorite supper in advance, and endured a screening of Kung Fu Panda, all with the understanding that when the game started Scooter would do his homework while Mommy watched ball. Win/win all around. The game plan was simple: Between snaps, I'd help with the homework. So wearing my jersey and football in hand, we began watching the Browns while working on our pronouns and antecedents and then math.

Those who saw the game know how it went. The Browns were up early, and then sat on the verge of blowing a 13-point lead in the fourth quarter for the third straight game, an NFL record for suckage. The evening went something like this:

"Tackle somebody you worthless idiot! Arrgh!" (Deep breath.) "OK, where are we? To whom does 'he' refer? Raul or Tomas? It isn't clear."

"So it's A."

"Correct." (Looking at TV...) "DO ANY OF YOU KNOW HOW TO TACKLE?!? And will you just shut up, Kornheiser!"

"We're still winning, Mommy."

"I know, baby, but this is the Browns. We will find a way to lose."

As the game progressed I gave up sitting altogether and stood in front of the television attempting to choke the life out of my Official PeeWee League NFL football. But I was still doing my duty as a parent.

"So what is the formula for the circumference of a circle?"

"Pi times the diameter?"

"Yes. No...no, no no!" and Buffalo took the lead. I sat down and closed my eyes. At this point, Scooter began to pray. I told him that God didn't concern Himself with such matters as football, but he insisted. Then we finished the last math problem and waited helplessly for the outcome. For the second week in a row, Phil Dawson kicked his career-long field goal (56 yards this time) to give the Browns the lead. I squealed. Scooter jumped up and gave me a hug. "We're gonna win!" he said.

Alas, I had to explain to him, that we had just completed a 28-yard drive in only about 45 seconds, passing into a constant blitz, instead of letting Jerome Harrison grind out a couple first downs for us and use up some clock. That meant the Bills had all day--1:44--to score, and probably would, because our defense sucks wind by half time, and they sure do in the fourth quarter. The game wasn't over yet. We had to wait for the Bills to go wide right on a 47-yard field goal attempt before we could finally rejoice.

And we did! We jumped up and down. We did the football bugaloo. We had a good night.

Cinematic Plagiarism!

OK, I watched The Strangers a couple weeks ago, and tonight I watched Ils, a French film with the English title Them. The premise of both of these films, without getting into spoilers yet, is that a couple in an isolated home are terrorized by anonymous strangers. Although IMDB FAQs say that The Strangers (2008) was NOT a remake of Ils (2006) and was written two years before the release of Ils, I cannot buy this. They are the same film. WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD.

Most of the tension in both is created by sounds. The antagonists are masked in TS and hooded in Ils. In Ils, the TV keeps coming back on. In TS, it's the record player. And while TS is longer and has a bit more superflous plot to it, you have to account for the fact that it is an Amerian film with a well-known actress (Liv Tyler), and we demand a longer running time than the 77-minute French film. Both claim to be inspired by true events, but one rings more true than the other. The DVD of TS says that the true event which inspired the film is: "based on a real event that occured during director Brian Bertino's childhood in which a stranger came to his home in the middle of the night asking several times for a person who did not exist. The following day, his family was informed by police that several houses had been ransacked and burglarized the previous night by an unknown assailant." I can see that inspiring a creative mind to a scary story. What if you were mangled rather than burgled? The fabricated ending of Ils says the couple was murdered by young teenagers just having a game basically. A Variety review at the time of the film's release says the "true event" which inspired the film was the murder of an Austrian couple by young teenagers in their isolated vacation home, though it fails to cite a source. Still, Variety is a reputable publication. I would tend to think that statement was fact-checked. And even if it isn't true, so what? TS is still a ripoff IMHMFO.

Though skepticism or cynicism are not my natural tendencies, this really pisses me off. I had no idea that the plot of Ils was the same as TS by reading the DVD box, but it was evident it was the same story very quickly. If I believe the Bertino story of the stranger knocking, I still can't see how he could use that as inspiration and write the basically identical screenplay and claim it is original. And how would a couple of young screenwriters in France know of some young screenwriter in Texas's screenplay to rip it off in time to have a completed and released film two years in advance? And how can we even know if it was written two years before? Because he says so? It doesn't wash. Probability and common sense say it was the other way around. The people who made The Ring gave no pretense that it wasn't a remake of a popular Japanese film, and it was well received. I don't know why this one would pretend, and I just can't buy it. I do realize that very little in the horror genre hasn't been regurgitated a million times, but c'mon. It's the same fucking movie.

If you care to watch either of these films, I recommend them for people who like scary. Both do the job of creating tension very well. But if you only want to watch one, guess which one I suggest? Ils dispenses with the final minutes of gore that TS cheapens itself with just a bit. It's not a ripoff that claims it isn't. And foreign films with subtitles make you feel worldly and sophisticated.

Game Balls

By my count, this photo contains 44 gigantic balls. That's enough for 11 offensive starters and 11 defensive starters. We actually have some spares, since guys like Jamal Lewis, Josh Cribbs, Brady Quinn and Shaun Rogers seem to have their sets intact. For the rest...grab a pair.

Lewis and Cribbs made public comments over the past week about the Browns' loss to Denver, in which a substantial lead was squandered in the fourth quarter for the second week in a row. They called out unnamed fellow players for ego, and said others simply quit. This was clearly a challenge to teammates to bring their best game for all four quarters, in spite of the rocky season, the quarterback change and the prospects of playoffs all but completely gone.

The first Brown to respond to those comments was Coach Romeo Crennel. RAC, clearly displaying the most glaring lack of a man-sack in the entire organization, said,

"It seems like the word 'quit' has taken a life of its own and grown a little bit bigger, and now the Browns are quitters and the coach has lost control of the team and there's division in the locker room, and that's not the case," Crennel said. "These guys are going to play and play together. Whether we play good enough remains to be seen."

Crennel also said that he talked to Lewis and Cribbs, and that they basically recanted their accusations. For his part, Lewis doesn't seem to be backing down at all.

"Everybody wondered, 'Who you talking about, who you talking about?' It doesn't matter. I will address it. I address everybody, that's just the type of person I am," Lewis said. "I don't bite my tongue and I just tell it like it is. At the same time, I talk to everybody and just try to keep everybody on the same page."

The collapse of the Browns this year can be put on lack of balls at every level, and Jamal is right. Phil Savage didn't have the balls to answer staph infection questions, so he let Kellen Winslow endure nasty rumors for 10 days about an "undisclosed illness." Neither Savage nor RAC had the balls to start Quinn sooner. Owner Randy Lerner didn't have the balls to take control of his foundering organization until Staphgate and yet another divisional loss. Braylon Edwards doesn't have the balls to confront the media and his own demons regarding his league-leading drops.

Grow a pair, gentlemen. This is professional football.

Pick-me-up

I was feeling a little glum this week, so I got a new lipstick. It's pink. It made me smile.

A new lipstick is one of my stand-by items for a glum week. Cheap earrings are good too, and since I like to write, a new, really cool ink pen is also a winner. Sometimes it's serious enough that a haircut is in order.

It's pretty typical for women to do this sort of thing, and my choices are very typical too. You look a little different or you have a fresh notebook and good pen, so everything is new again. Perspective. It's a cheap psychological trick, but it's usually effective.

I wondered what men do, or if they do the same thing, so naturally I consulted a few men I know and the Browns forum. I asked, "What do you treat yourself to when you're feeling sad that always makes you feel better?" I got a half dozen responses that were either "hookers" or "beer" or both.

While beer is probably a legit answer for many, one good response was "something for my 1989 Bonneville." That makes sense. It's stereotypical but true that guys love their cars, and fresh Armor All on the tires is probably a guy's equivalent to fresh gloss on the lips.

Another great answer was playing a round of golf. "I like being able to distill all my problems into getting a ball into a hole in the most efficient way possible." This one makes a lot of sense. Golf requires focus and concentration, and in the end, provides a sense of accomplishment. Too bad I don't play. Seems like good therapy.

Change We Can Believe In?

Yeah, yeah...we elected a president this week. But that is not the only momentous change of interest to me. The Cleveland Browns have benched starting quarterback Derek Anderson and Brady Quinn will start this week against Denver.

Now the stadium will echo with the cheers of "Bra-dy! Bra-dy!" for a new reason. They got their wish. Gunslinger out, matinee idol in. So now what? It's fine to be pretty, and God knows he is, but what can he really do as a starting quarterback? Just like with presidents, starting quarterbacks are subject to close scrutiny, blind support or utter hatred. The fact Quinn went to Notre Dame is enough reason for half the country to hate him. Oh well. He'll survive.

The change does come on a short week. After playing Sunday, the Browns turn around quickly to play Denver on Thursday. This gives Quinn essentially one full day of practice and one walk-through day to prepare with the rest of the offense. Some have criticized making this big change on a short week, but receiver Braylon Edwards made a good observation. The timing doesn't really allow the team to waste energy on the whys and wherefores of the change. There's a game Thursday and that's that. I'm very excited to see what happens!

Full of faith as ever, I anticipate a good game from all. Browns 34, Broncos 13.

Yes We Can?

So it will be President Barack Obama.

Although the landslide victory was predicted and expected, it still seems fantastic. My country elected a black man as president. I knew that would happen one day, but the suddenness of Obama's acceptance as a candidate and now as a president-elect is stunning to me. It gives me a good feeling that the fact of his race was rendered to interesting rather than impeding.

So now what? Can he deliver on the Hope he so eloquently promised during his campaign? He should have no obstacles for a considerable length of time. His party also owns the House and Senate, so the Obama agenda should begin being ushered in quickly, and we will see if it bears fruit.

Whether a person voted for Obama or not is now inconsequential. He will be the president. A good American must hope that he will actually be a good leader, and that the policies he drives and the bills he signs into law will be more good than bad and make our country stronger rather than weaker. The level of bile and hatred directed at George W. Bush should not remain the status quo, only now from the other side. People said Bush divided our country, but that isn't true. A president is only one man. We divided ourselves, and it isn't healthy.

So here we go. Let's see what happens.

Pull My Finger

It is said that potty humor is the oldest form of humor because everyone does it. This is true. Unless you're female. We just don't talk about such things.

But we should! Men get to have all the fun. A guy can walk into a room and, with no preface or segue of any kind, announce something like, "I just dropped a deuce he size of a gopher."

His mates will then respond in many predictable ways. There will be congratulations, a polite golf clap, an empathetic "been there, done that." Someone will offer him a beer. And all will be well. No one will be offended. Men somehow fully grasp the idea that, yes, shit happens. And so do farts.

But let's say a woman walks into her Jane Austin Study Club meeting and, with no preface or segue of any kind, announces, "I just dropped a deuce he size of a gopher." Can you imagine the results? Gasps of horror. Chastisement. It's possible that an extremely elderly member of the group, whose "I shouldn't say that" switch has long been broken, might inquire about the consistency and recommend a good doctor. But our friend would not be invited back. Her children would be labeled "undesirable," and the JASC meeting will be mysteriously relocated to an undisclosed venue.

It's yet another thing that separates the sexes and yet another weakness of the female. It is great source of amusement to me that if any male, be he three years old or 73, can fart and trap you under the covers with it, that will be the funniest thing that happened today.

Riverboat Gambler

That's how I feel, Tommy. I just fling out my arms and say, WTF? How is it that Auburn was undefeated in 2004 and now four years later, we suck like a crack ho during Fleet Week? Right now we should have a team full of quality juniors and seniors recruited off that undefeated season. Instead, we don't know who our quarterback is, our "championship-caliber" defense isn't so much, and our heralded Spread Offense is the biggest joke in the NCAA. We were a ranked team at the beginning of the season, and now 8 games in, we have fallen off the radar.

Tuberville's "Riverboat Gambler" nickname was established when he was at Mississippi, where he was known for aggressive play calling and taking chances. And he's managed to play strategy and luck very effectively while at Auburn. He survived JetGate in 2003, and turned the next season into a huge pot that bought him a new contract and new respect. And he keeps on beating Bama.

But he made a mistake. By hiring Tony Franklin and going to the Spread, he bought deeply into a pot but he wouldn't go all in. And now he's stuck. Half his stack is gone now, and he's on tilt. Auburn will not beat Alabama this year, and those sweet memories of 2004 and "The Thumb" will fade. Tommy is up the river.

BUT, he still has an ace in the hole. It's called a buyout clause and it's worth about $5 million. Tommy's recent protestations that he's been an Auburn man for 10 years and hopes to be an Auburn man for another 10 is just his way of saying, "If you want me gone you'll have to pay me."

I don't blame him. The atmosphere at Auburn must be toxic since the JetGate scandal, and I'm sure he feels under appreciated. However, you don't gamble the future of a program to play out a one-on-one with Bobby Lowder or the Board of Trustees. Sometimes the right thing to do is to fold. We'll have to see how this hand plays out.

FREE KELLEN!

In Kellen's Corner

As if the Browns weren't in enough trouble and weren't embarrassing enough already, now general manager Phil Savage has suspended tight end Kellen Winslow Jr. for a game. Why? Because Kellen said he wasn't treated with care during a recent illness. On first blush, that may seem a whiny little comment coming from a big ol' football player, but once the truth came out, it was clear to me that Kellen was not only not treated with care, but was used and exploited so the Browns front office could save face.

If you aren't aware, Kellen got sick a while back. So sick he had to miss practice and a game, and he had to stay in the hospital several days. When asked about his illness, the Browns organization said they would not disclose it because it was "personal." Personal? Whatever could that mean?

Profootballtalk.com writer Mike Florio reported that a "league source" said Kellen was suffering from swollen testicles. That was reported on Oct. 10. For the next nine days, rumors ran rampant. Swollen testicles? Wow, K2 must have an STD, been screwing around on his wife, etc. All the while, the Browns said nothing and neither did Kellen while the swollen testicles talk flourished. Finally, on Oct. 19, Kellen broke silence and revealed that he had been treated for a staph infection. Why the secrecy? Perhaps because so many Browns players have had seasons and careers cut short in recent years due to staph infections. The Browns would surely take heat over yet another of their star players being sidelined with staph AGAIN.

Kellen also complained that Savage never called him while in the hospital, and expressed feelings of ill treatment. So Savage suspended him for a game, saying the comments brought "unjustified negative attention" to the organization. Unjustified?

Phil Savage, who benefitted from Kellen's silence? Certainly not him, with all the nasty rumors flying. Who benefitted were Savage, Coach Romeo Crennel and owner Randy Lerner. Had Kellen kept his mouth shut, they would have been saved the embarrassment of having to discuss staph infections yet again, and who cares if Kellen had to endure wild gossip about infidelity and venereal disease?

Phil Savage should be ashamed of this suspension. I already thought the Browns were behaving gutlessly by allowing Romeo to coach us into the ground, but this is a far worse example of management and leadership. And crassness. And of exactly what Kellen said: treating somebody like a piece of meat. Shame, shame.

Romeo

"If you have a team that needs to develop a winning attitude, then it's really important that you win. I'd say we're a young team. We're also young as far as winning goes because we haven't done a whole lot of it around here."

"The other thing is, I'd like for us to look decent. It seems that the consensus is that we were decent in the Jets game, even though we lost that one. I'd like to look decent against the Bears and go from there."

"I'm trying to figure that out myself."

"If I could figure that out I'd probably be a better coach."

Good Derek/Bad Derek

It doesn't really matter at this point whether Brady Quinn is good or not; should he be tapped to lead the Browns next week or any week this season it is already too late. Even as optimistic as I can be I know that the season is lost. The Browns are 2-4 now, and will finish third at best in the AFC North. There will be no division title, as so many expected. There will be no wildcard shot at the playoffs. We're done.

Coach Romeo Crennel and general manager Phil Savage stuck with DA, who clearly earned his chance to be the starting quarterback last season. Or blew his chance, depending on what games you review. They stuck with him through three poor performances this season, and three quarters of another poor performance against Cincinnati before a flash of "decent" offense helped the Browns beat a horrible team who was without its starting quarterback. Hooray.

The Giants game, you ask? Yes. It was fantastic. It was the best and most complete game of football I have seen the Browns play since I have followed them. Everyone did well, including Derek. We took down the defending Super Bowl champs and dealt them their first loss of the year. And then we went to Washington and sucked it up again.

How can DA go 18-of-29 with a passer rating of 121 on Monday and then go 14-of-37 with a passer rating of 57.9 on Sunday? Many theories...

The "good" DA can be very good, but the "bad" DA is horrible and shows up too often. I'd take a mediocre DA who was neither great nor awful and could be counted on week to week. Or just sit him and put in "the other guy." At this point, what difference would it make?

Wyatt Graff

So a bunch of us are posting in the Browns forum, lamenting the horrible state of our team, and landofcleve announces he's going to go paint. Paint what? I ask. One of these amazing things. Turns out landofcleve is Wyatt Graff, an artist now living in Savannah, and he creates these wonderful abstracts.

I find these pieces fascinating. You can see more by clicking the title of this entry. Wyatt creates them with a special enamel paint on multiple layers of Plexiglass, housed in a wood frame. You can reorder the layers, resulting in thousands of possible pictures. I'm stunned by the genius of it! It isn't just a painting; it's an interactive sculpture.

I told Wyatt that the paintings evoke many ideas: confetti, a garden in bloom, falling leaves, balloons, rain, and even crowds of people. Turns out I'm semi-brilliant too. He said crowds were his initial thought and inspiration for these unique designs. And it makes so much sense, given the shifting and changeability these pieces of art allow. The comings and goings. The distinct and the combined. The individual and the group.

Creating is good. I admire people who do it. I create a little. I write and sometimes I even paint very bad paintings. When you see the work of someone who really does it right, one can be tempted to envy, but I find more often that it inspires. And Wyatt has inspired me this week! It doesn't hurt that he's a nice guy in a forum populated by a lot of assholes. Smart guy too. He was an Academic All American in golf while at the Savannah College of Art and Design, and sported a 3.97 GPA. Pretty inspiring all around.

Wyatt is working on some new pieces for an upcoming show. I'll update when I learn more.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

October is the best month. Autumn arrives and stirs a crispness into the air. Football is in full swing. Everywhere you turn there is a county fair or a traveling carnival. It's the first chance to wear that snuggly sweater I've been missing since March. And it means Halloween is near.

I realize that, in the eyes of many, saying Halloween is my favorite holiday (followed closely by St. Patrick's Day) is some sort of blasphemy. Everyone is supposed to love Christmas above all things. Well, too bad. I find Christmas to be entirely too stressful, filled with compulsory visits with relatives you barely know and like even less, or manic shopping trips for gifts that cost too much and are still not up to standard. Humbug.

Halloween is full of fun and magick and mischief. It's the one day when it's OK to be a witch or a little devilish. You can buy your costume or make it. Face paint is enough. All it takes to enjoy it is a bag of candy, a good imagination and the desire to be spooked. Haunted houses and haunted hayrides. Late-night scary movie marathons. Nothing is more fun than a fright.

Oh, and the full moon is on the 13th. Not as good as Halloween, but lucky still.

Found Happiness

You know how you get your winter coat out of the closet for the first time of the season, and you reach into the pocket to find a crumpled five dollar bill? Isn't it wonderful? It's not the lottery or anything, but it's a surprise, an unexpected gift. Yes, it was always your money, but that isn't the point. You didn't know you had it, so it's...free.

I lost an earring this week. I was certain that I lost it at the carnival, and so it would be gone forever, having been trampled into powdered crystal and crumpled metal under the feet of carnies and frolicking teenagers. I was particularly disappointed, because it was from a pair I had bought to replace another pair which had been broken. And the crystals were orange, so they matched my Auburn gear and my Browns gear. I almost threw the other one into the trash out of disgust. But I didn't.

Happily, I found it today! It was being batted around the kitchen floor by a kitten. When I saw it, I was as elated as I have been about anything in weeks, and even more so that I hadn't disposed of its mate. It occurred to me later as I enjoyed the tickling on my earlobes that it can take little to make a day pleasant. Five dollars in your pocket. A five-dollar pair of earrings. Small things as these can make the mundanity bearable.

God, I Hate Bama

I don't really hate them. I respect Alabama. Always have. They have one of the truly great traditions in college football, and it pleases me to see them rising after years of being down. But I confess that, as an Auburn fan, I'm bitter.

Due to the upset of USC by Oregon State, I have read a half dozen articles this week that say this game today between Bama and Georgia will decide who the chief candidate in the SEC is for National Champion. I'll remind The Bama Nation (with love) that the Tide was 7-6 last year, has struggled for at least six or seven years now, and barely made the top 25 in preseason rankings. In 2004, Auburn was ranked 17 in preseason and was following two years of 9-4 and 8-5 records. And in the end, we know how it turned out:

Scene: 2004. Office of the BCS Gods. Secretary enters.

Secretary: Your Eminences? There's a football team here to see you. The Auburn Tigers.

BCS God 1: Who? The Auburn Flyers? Never heard of them.

Secretary: No, Your Loftiness. The Tigers. T-I-G...

BCS God 2: You know, that other little college in Alabama. The one with the toilet paper. She's saying they've started a football program.

BCS God 1: Oh them! Yes, the Flyers. I thought they were in Georgia. Well, quite right. Congratulate them on their new endeavor.

Secretary: Well, it's the Tigers, Your Pompousness, and they're saying they are undefeated and are the SEC Champions. They're here to make a case for playing in the National Cham--

BCS God 1: Good on them. If they work hard they might play with the big boys one day, but really, tell them we're quite busy setting the Championship Game in place. Ask them to come back next week and we'll see what we can do for their little program.

Secretary: Yes, Your Fatuousness. (Exits)

BCS God 2: You know, I think you're right. I believe they are in Georgia.

But now, even though Alabama has done nothing significant in more than a decade, if they were in the same spot it would be more like this:

Secretary (whispering frantically): The Tide is here, Your Eminences!

BCS God 1: Holy Shyt!

BCS God 2: How does my hair look?

(Tide strolls in)

Tide: Hey guys. Just thought I'd check by and make sure you know we're playing in the National Championship game, aight?

BCS God 1: Well of course you are, Your Crimsonness! Do you think us madmen?

BCS God 2: Simply not worth calling it a National Championship if you weren't there, Your Brilliance.

Tide: Just makin' sure, you know. I mean, after what happened with Auburn and all that.

BCS God 1: Who, the Flyers? Pish-tosh, man. No one cares about that little Georgia school.

Tide: Aight, then. See ya at the game. (Exits)

BCS Gods: Roll Tide!

(There is brief silence, broken only by the relieved sighing of the gods.)

BCS God 2 (blushing coyly): I don't know about you, but I've got to change my panties.

It would never happen to Alabama like it happened to us. The fact Bama is even being mentioned in the same sentence with the words "BCS Championship Game" is proof. So you see this is why we Auburn fans don't tend to get too excited.

Ready For The Spotlight?

There's nothing else to say about it. It's time to start Quinn. Derek Anderson has an overall passer rating of 43.5 over three games, and has two touchdowns and five interceptions to show for his effort. Yes, the whole offense is to blame. Yes, the coach needs to go. But they need the spark of hope. Quinn should start against the Bengals this Sunday. Then he'll have a whole week to prepare for his first appearance as a starting quarterback on Monday Night Football against the defending Super Bowl Champions. Let's get going.

Buzzwords

Spot on.

That's my new least favorite word or phrase, dislodging "thinking outside the box," which has been a burr under my saddle for years.

We get these words and phrases periodically. Somehow, a technical term, a corporate buzzword, a foreign phrase or even a perfectly good but seldom used word will suddenly become vogue, and will then be used at every turn, wearing out its welcome. I think these things are called buzzwords rather appropriately, because they buzz in your ears like an annoying insect.

In the '80s anything known to be fact was "a given" and our dearest hope was that everyone would just be a "happy camper." In the '90s, everything made a "huge impact," or was "re-engineered," which was most definitely the result of someone "thinking outside the box."

I recall when George W. Bush first selected Dick Cheney as a running mate, and some educated person made the mistake of saying Cheney added "gravitas" to the ticket. Soon you couldn't get through a political talk show without someone tossing out "gravitas," while everyone else nodded seriously.

I'm not against vocabulary. I was an English major, after all. I used to enjoy reading the late William F. Buckley, because I knew I'd have to use the dictionary at least once. It was like a treasure hunt, finding that word that no ordinary person ever uses. But I'm sure it was my years in newspapers that makes me a firm believer that plain talk is the better way to communicate. It doesn't have to be cute or catchy to convey the message. And cute and catchy are usually annoying after the 100th time you hear it.

Everything does not have "synergy." That guy you met in philosophy class may well be smart and cool, but I guarantee he's not actually "amazing." You don't have to ask for a "paradigm shift" when you just want somebody to look at things in a new way. To be blunt, I never figured out what exactly "the box" was. All I know is that it was overused enough that Taco Bell was urging people to "think outside the bun," and when you're being parodied by a plate of Nachos Bell Grande you need to seriously rethink your approach to the language.

Trust me. I'm spot on with this assessment.

The Answer Is: Much Worse

The Browns just can't get it together. When everyone in the sports-loving world thought the defense was the most suspect part of our game, it was our offense and coaching that led us to utter failure against our dreaded foes, the Pittsburgh Steelers.

The defense showed up. No, they were not perfect, but they did limit the Steelers to only 10 points. On a normal day, you should win a game when you limit your opponent to 10 points. Shaun Rogers was particularly impressive, sacking Ben Roethlisberger two of the three times he got pancaked. Good work! He gets my game ball.

So where was the offense? Braylon Edwards is dropping so many balls, I doubt he can find his own. Jamal Lewis can't get to the outside. And Derek Anderson...Derek came away from the game with a 44.5 percent passer rating and two interceptions. So far this season Derek has only one TD to go with the two INTs, and has amassed a total of 280 yards passing through two games. He's throwing short and making bad decisions just like he did the last half of the season in 2007.

But I'm not blaming it all on Derek. Obviously Braylon and Jamal need to pick up their games too. And the coaching has been horrific. Two weeks in a row we've gone for safe field goals rather than touchdowns. Two weeks in a row we've made stupid calls. Two weeks in a row we have shown abysmal clock management. Coach Romeo Crennel did manage to crack a facial expression this week, but that's the only sign of life he showed. Team discipline is lacking, and that goes directly to the head coach. Twelve penalties for nearly 100 yards on your home field is unacceptable.

So what now? The Browns, who were the hot pick for the playoffs coming into the season, are now a three-point dog to the Ravens this week. The Ravens, who we beat twice last year. If we lose a third straight, it's time to make some changes. It may be past time. Many sports experts have already hung the wreath on the door that says Cleveland.

But, as ever...Browns 28, Ravens 17

How Much Worse Can It Get?

After four stellar weeks of preseason action and a magnificent home opener, my Browns will this week face off against our biggest and most hated rival, the Pittsburgh Steelers. Can we win? Ah, the audacity of hope!

It was clear against the Dallas Cowboys last week that Braylon Edwards was rusty. Three weeks of missing practices and preseason games showed in his four drops. Derek Anderson was rusty too, though for a guy who is typically about as mobile as a sequoia, he was remarkably agile. I have faith that both of them can come out better this week.

But our defense as a whole and our offensive line play have clearly deteriorated. I could have covered T.O. as well as our defensive backs, we're not blocking, we're making arm tackles, and we are flat-out beaten on speed. Our offensive line, which was our primary strength last season, seems to be asleep on the field. We sucked so bad, the Dallas cheerleaders could have scored on us. So now what?

Coach Romeo Crennel's assessment of our home opener opponent was that Dallas is "pretty good." This from the coach who simply wanted us to "look decent" in our last preseason game. Crennel seems to be the poster boy for understatements and low expectations. That attitude will get us killed for the 10th straight time by the Steelers. It could even be a worse shellacking than last year.

So, my prediction: Browns 28, Steelers 24. Ever faithful. We have nowhere to go but up.

Never Say Women Aren't Sexist

So I'm reading this Yahoo! news article today and find something really disappointing. Women are sexist. I mean, I knew that already but when I find evidence of it, it never ceases to irritate. The sexist part is this:

"An ABC News-Washington Post survey found white women have moved from backing Obama by 8 points to supporting McCain by 12 points, with majorities viewing Palin favorably and saying she boosts their faith in McCain's decisions."

Now, hold on. You can like Sarah Palin or not like her; agree with her policies and views or disagree. I'm not here to sell you on that one way or another. But the fact is, she brings nothing new to the McCain ticket except a vah-jay-jay. And apparently, her lady parts merit a 20-point swing in support among white women.

Understand this, ladies: If you liked the Obama platform two weeks ago, you should still like it now. Nothing has changed. The fact you'd switch your vote because there is a woman on the ticket is just as sexist as a man NOT voting for McCain because there is a woman on the ticket. Way to become what you've always claimed to hate. Good work. This is exactly why men think we're stupid and should not be allowed to vote.

Cold, Hard Pasta Salad Facts

I got an email this morning from my pal BomberDawg which asked, "this yew?" and enclosed a link to An Angry Chick Troll's Pasta Salad recipe on coldhardfootballfacts.com.

Yep. It's me.

The recipe is one I made via experimentation, but was inspired by a pasta salad my friend Sonya made for a party once. She got hers from Homemade Gourmet, and it was really good. I don't have one of those stores where I live, and ordering online for one item seemed excessive. So I decided to experiment, which can be dangerous given the fact that I'm not a good cook. After a few tries I got it how I liked it. I'm not sure how close it is at this point to the inspiration dish, but it's good. And it's different.

I'm particularly tickled that I got included on the CHFF tailgate section. It's my favorite football information website. The writing is sharp and funny. It makes me laugh every time I go there. Check it out.

At Last, Our Love Has Come Along

I wanted to find a really good picture. One that truly captured the unyielding and unreasonable fanaticism of a football fan. This one seems to work. The jack-o-lanterns are a particularly nice addition. One might assume that this Minnesota Vikings fan was attending a game on or near Halloween when this photo was taken, but who knows? Might have been the opener.

It's here, guys. Finally. College football began over the weekend, and the NFL's regular season kicks off this week. Not spring games. Not preseason games. Real games. Games that mean something. For the rest of the year there will be football from Thursday to Monday, almost every week. The other three days a week, many of us will be busy tweaking our Fantasy Football rosters. It's the most wonderful time of the year.

I am aware that there are people who don't enjoy football. Foreigners, for example, who have lived lives deprived of the sport. Girls, who've been conditioned (brainwashed) to buy into the whole "it's a guy thing," notion. Those I can understand. I accept that there are men who don't like football too. I accept it and I don't think it makes them bad people. But I don't understand it.

Football taps into mankind's primitive, warrior instinct. It allows both combatant and spectator to unleash aggression that we must otherwise suppress. I'm fully convinced that, without football, we'd have more road rage and office massacres. When one expends a lot of energy hating that other team and the ref who called that horrible play, there isn't much room left for other petty grievances. Priorities.

But more than that, football--and other things like it--allow people a chance to bond with others of their own ilk. Strangers sharing an allegiance. And possibly a tube of face paint. It is a glorious spectacle. Thank God it's here again.

Behold!

I love how people use the language, so in spite of the irritation that is spam email, I actually look forward to the penis enlargement variety.

They didn't used to be this good, but the latest ones that appear in my inbox are very clearly written by people who are not native English speakers. They use the most delightful mix of slang and grandiose verbiage. And for those inclined to obsess over such issues, these short emails are probably very effective. In a few lines they convey a sense of urgency, imply you've been looking for this information all your life, and that at last, by some miracle, now the solution is here. I couldn't make these up if I tried.

Give your girl the surprise you've been planning! Add inches to your penis with the latest cure. Go instantaneously to [insert website name here] and take a look at the groovy therapeutics at hand!

Increase your rocket with loads of inches utilizing the finest treatment! Pursue with haste to [insert website name here] and observe the meritorious cures available.

Don't be shy about your size. Add inches to your willy with this new remedy. Go without hesitation to [insert website name here] and behold the most magnificent therapy now within reach!

I hope nobody really buys this stuff, but I'm sure that millions do. It does no good that the Mayo Clinic, among other sources, assures men that the "average" penis size is 5 to 7 inches. It also does no good to tell men that these "meritorious cures" don't really work either. If they did, you'd find out on the front page of the New York Times, not the spam folder on your email account, and insurance companies would rush to cover it while still denying claims for birth control pills.

It will always be a matter of obsession I fear. But as long as it is an obsession I'll continue to receive these delightful spam emails. They're good for a giggle every day.

My Famous Friends

This is the video of my poker pal Jim at the recent gig he had with Lanisa Keith. She's a Contemporary Christian singer from California. You may recall that Jim is one half of Jim & Jess, two of my favorite poker buddies. I don't know if I mentioned before that they play guitar, which is a thing I envy deeply. Anyhow, Jim got the job for this particular show. He's the one playing that nice Taylor cutaway acoustic in the black Fender T-shirt. The cameraman, or "trained camera monkey" as he put it, was Jess. I think Jim was pretty nervous about the whole thing, but it looks like everything went well. He's got a few more jobs coming up too.

It's nice to see people doing things they like love to do and enjoying it. It's good to have friends, too, who share those things with you. I'm glad I ran into them on the poker tables. I enjoy observing their friendship. It encourages me about people.

Katrina Revisited

Three years ago today I was in New York City reading the front page stories in every newspaper and crying because the place my heart longs for most in the world was being sucked into the Gulf of Mexico and washed away by the Mississippi River and Lake Ponchartrain, and its people drowned like unwanted kittens or left to rot in the sun like discarded rubbish. Yes, I'm still bitter. Imagine if I actually lived there?

My ire was raised over the issue again today when I read this article from yahoo regarding the city's preparations for Gustav. It seems Ray Nagin thinks it's a good idea for persons without cars or other means to be transported to shelters in North Louisiana by bus. I suppose I don't need to remind you of these buses from three years ago.

I realize I should be happy that such preparations are now deemed a good idea, after all, it is good to learn from our mistakes, particularly when those mistakes are so monumentally stultifying. But I still stand in shocked wonder at how this idea was NOT considered important then. If I, as a mere tourist and general idiot, know that New Orleans is a largely poor city with a significant population living in government housing and without things we take for granted like so much as a Ford POS, then why didn't their mayor know this? Why didn't their governor? Did they just forget that NOLA is below sea level?

Before people jump on board and begin the W bashing, I'll do it for you. The cluster-fuck that was New Orleans after the levees failed was horrific, and I don't know that there was a way to handle the ensuing disaster more quickly than it was handled. I'm not an expert on disaster response and don't know anyone who is. But I feel confident, probably due to being a parent, that I would make a helluva preemtive striker. You picture the worst possible consequence and you take action to avoid it. When it became apparent that Mayor Nagin and Governor Blanco were willing to neglect their duties to care for their citizens, call for mandatory evacuations, provide for transport out of the the path of a CATEGORY 5 HURRICANE or call for the early aid of the National Guard, I would love to know why the hell he didn't just take over? I mean, he's The Decider. He doesn't operate on the whims of opinion polls. He doesn't worry whether people like him or not. So where was the cowboy then? Why not activate the Guard without request and evacuate the city merely because New Orleans is a strategic port of signficant national security interest? How 'bout that, Decider?

Whatever. What's done is done. Let's just not do it again.

Classic Example of a Woman Bitching About Something Stupid

A friend pointed out this article about some woman in an airport complaining about the security check. In case you don't want to read it, I'll sum up: A large breasted woman set off the metal detector with her underwire bra. She protested the "pat-down," saying that it was "humiliating," even though they offered to do it in a private area away from other airport patrons. Her solution for this dilemma was to remove her bra completely and pass through the metal detector again. Airport security agreed, and there ya go.

See, there's where I get hung up. To be patted by a female security guard is more humiliating than prancing through the airport, tits-a-swinging? It's more humiliating than going to the newspaper with a story that draws attention, not only to your enormous boobies but also to the fact that you are a whining about something stupid?

You think I have no empathy? Oh, but I do!

I have had limited opportunities to travel by plane. In fact, the first time I did it was a mere three years ago. Due to a job in which I had to travel occasionally, I made a total of five trips by plane over three years. That's 10 flights (not counting connecting flights), and in 10 flights I had to go through the big security check six times. By that, I mean I had to go through not just the metal detector and bag x-ray that everyone does, but also the deal where they make you empty everything from your purse and carry-on bag, and then they swab it all down for chemical residue and all that. And yes! On one rare occasion when I didn't have the big security check, I set off the alarm with my underwire bra. How did I ever cope? I just raised my arms, let the lady pat me down, and went on about my business. Believe me, the traveling world is well aware of the fact that women have breasts. If crazy lady had just submitted to the pat-down, she would have been in and out of security in 30 seconds instead of 40 minutes, and she wouldn't have missed her flight.

Is the security process a bit heavy-handed? Probably. But it is what it is. Believe me, the bag search is far more intrusive than a pat-down. That's when all your oddities can be revealed. The inside purse pocked with the condoms and peppermints. The deck of tarot cards. Your child's Transformer head. Who cares? I figure they've seen worse than what I have. In fact, I take a certain amount of pleasure in the idea that some poor baggage handler has been able to fill out her Checked Baggage Search Bingo card upon discovering the elusive vibrator-and-teddy-bear combo in my suitcase, and won the betting pool for the day. Good for her.

If you don't like it, feel free to drive your ass across the country next time. Or don't wear the underwire.

My Favorite TV Show

CSI: Miami is the best show on television. Don't shake your head and disagree. It's the most kick-ass show on TV, and I know this is true because I don't watch TV but I do watch CSI: Miami. Of all the shows available, it is the only one that has grabbed my attention. I suppose, though, that can be good or bad.

I've discussed my love of the show among friends. Our mothers LOVE the show because they LOVE David Caruso and they think it's cool. We love the show because we laugh our asses off from start to finish. It's a combination of soap drama and pure camp. And to the credit of those who make the show, I'm pretty sure they know this because it seems to be getting worse/better with every episode.

To start, the primary character is named Horatio. You can't beat that. You can only emulate. (Proof is the lead character named Jethro on NCIS, a similar program.) Horatio dresses in black from head to toe in the middle of the day in Miami. He can do this because he is that cool. He speaks in a series of one-liners, filled with pregnant pauses during which he can put on or remove his sunglasses. For instance, ehem, "The verdict is in Frank, [puts on shades] but the jury is out."

To make it even cooler, Horatio's first one-liner of the show is punctuated with with the voice of Roger Daltry screaming "YEAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!" from The Who's song Won't Get Fooled Again. It's absolutely perfect.

And so is everyone on the show. These forensics people in Miami are HOT. They're all smart and beautiful and ethnically diverse. Their hair is perfect, their clothes are high style. Best of all, the forensics lab looks like a night club.

Luckily, I discovered the show once it was in syndication, so every few days I can catch a couple of back-to-back episodes on A&E. I love it more every time. I really hope that if I'm ever brutally murdered, it's in Miami.

Do You Believe In Magic?

This little cutie has been associated with the Cleveland Browns since the founding of the team, and though he was notably pushed aside for a long period of time, he has seen a resurgence of late. Some of my fellow fans disapprove, saying the emblem is "silly," "wimpy," or "kid stuff." Know your mythology, boys. Brownies hold powerful magic and are known as the guardians of dragons. But that aside, even if you don't buy into the myth, any respectable sports fan should be slightly superstitious, and the long misery of the Cleveland Browns can be tied directly to the departure of the Brownie Elf. It's just like what Crash said: "If you believe you're playing well because you're getting laid, or because you're not getting laid, or because you wear women's underwear [or have an Elf logo], then you ARE! And you should know that!"

Making the Case for the Brownie Elf

The Browns were lovingly called The Brownies by fans almost from the beginning of the franchise in 1946. The Browns played in 10 consecutive league championship games in their first 10 years of existence, winning seven of those games. All the while, the little Brownie Elf was a popular logo.

Art "The Shart" Modell purchased the team in 1961. Though he fired Paul Brown in 1963, the Browns managed to win their eighth AND LAST league championship in 1964 under the guidance of Brown's longtime assistant coach Blanton Collier.

It was about this time that Modell eliminated the Brownie Elf from Cleveland iconography.

Since the elimination of the Brownie Elf, the Browns have won the Division only 10 times in 44 years and have made the playoffs only 14 times in that same period. Worse, the number of winning seasons versus losing seasons in that time period is 14-30.

It was not until 2004 that the Brownie Elf reappeared as a recognized team logo. Three seasons later, the Browns go 10-6, and this year, the Browns are poised for a playoff run and a Division Title.

COINCIDENCE? You make the call.

Adventures in School Supplies

I confess, I have an office supplies fetish. It started with school supplies.

Never loved school so much, but loved buying school supplies. Fresh notebooks, pencils and pencil cases, folders with pockets...it was like an early Christmas except better. As thrifty as my mother always was, I could convince her to buy nearly any sort of school supply because it was for the advancement of my education. I got to pick the colors I liked best AND I'd get a new bag to put it all in, which now makes me think my bag fetish can be blamed on school supplies too.

So now I'm the mom and I take Scooter to shop for his supplies and it's fun, though he isn't nearly as jazzed about colored pencils as I am. But since the beginning of his school career the fun of shopping for school supplies has been steadily drained by the ever-complex and ridiculous supply list provided by the school. I wonder at the need for every child in a third grade class to bring a can of Lysol spray to school. I suspect that having every kindergartner bring a ream of paper might be overkill. Still, I buy it. The only thing I ever balked at on the supply list was red pens. A red pen is only used for grading papers. I buy supplies for my child, not the teacher.

Shopping for supplies can also be dangerous. Last year the store we chose was overrun with parents and kids looking for loose leaf paper and protractors, and I had managed to grab the last package of dry erase markers in the store. Out of the corner of my eye, while perusing the No. 2 pencil display, I saw a woman reach into my shopping buggy and grab my dry erase markers. For a second I was taken aback, but instinct seized me and I seized her arm. I said nothing. Just looked her in the eyes, and she dropped the markers. That was a good choice.

So today we're off to buy our bundle of goodies. Somehow I think an extra notepad will end up in the mix for mommy. Combat pay.

Lightning Bugs

It's interesting, the things you take for granted, until you have to explain them to somebody else. It forces you to think about it and evaluate it and usually results in a new appreciation of something you may not pay much attention to otherwise.

I was playing poker online last night. It's fun, because you play with people from all over the world, and if they are friendly you can learn a lot of interesting things about where they live. Last night I was at a table with two Aussies, a German, a French Canadian, an Argentine and Jess, one of my regular poker buddies from California. (Note: Usually it isn't just Jess, it is Jess and Jim. They've been best friends for about 25 years and typically if I find one playing poker the other one is there, just left or will be there soon. You can tell they have been friends for a long time because of the way they unmercifully berate each other. It's fun. They both play guitar. Neat. Anyhow, Jim had abandoned us to watch a movie with his wife.)

So out of nowhere Jess says, "Kat, do you have fireflies?" I said sure we've got fireflies, but we call them lightning bugs. Then he says, "What do they look like?" I was baffled. What do they look like? They look like a lightning bug. I paused. Maybe this was the start of a joke. Then he says, "I never saw one." Now I was really baffled. I thought everybody had lightning bugs. Turns out, they pretty much don't exist west of Kansas in the U.S. Jess said they look cool in movies, but he's never seen one in the real world.

Jess is a smart fellow, so I knew there was no use telling him the nuts and bolts of what a lightning bug looks like. He can google for that. Instead I told him how we used to catch them every night when I was a kid, and fill up a Mason jar. We'd let them flash for a while and then turn them loose. The next night, we'd do it all over again. About this time one of the Aussies piped up. He didn't know what the hell we were talking about at all, so now I did have to figure a way to describe it. I settled on, "It's a flying insect with a bioluminescent bulb on its ass that flashes on and off to impress the lady lightning bugs." He said, "Ace!" His friend, the girl Aussie, left the table because she doesn't like bugs. Neither do I, but a lightning bug isn't an ordinary bug. It's a lightning bug.

Jess was pleased with the story and even more delighted when I told him we have glowworms at The Dismals, which is a natural attraction near where I live. It's one of the only places in the world outside of New Zealand where they exist. That's really cool! And I never even thought about it before.

SEC vs. Big 10

I like this picture. I like it when it takes two of their guys to bring down one of my guys. Nice.

It's a stupid argument, really, about which is the better college football conference. Here in the South, we hold with our own, just like Yankees hold with their own. Fair enough. Still, the numbers are what they are. All time, the SEC is 65-46-2 against the Big 10 through the 2007 season, with a 0.584 winning percentage.

The primary argument presented by Big 10 fans is the "you guys don't have to play in the snow" thing.

No. We don't. It's true. We don't typically play in the snow. I think it's true that an SEC team playing a winter game in Ohio would be at a serious disadvantage. I agree. But the fact is, National Championship games are played in good weather. Are you telling me that Big 10 teams are incapable of winning football games in good weather? The argument doesn't wash. And when the game is played in the Super Dome in New Orleans, it's even worse. You have a climate-controlled, indoor facility with no wind and no glaring sun. You should be able to play your best game, period.

Add to this the fact that a school like Ohio State tends to recruit nationally, while SEC schools tend to recruit almost exclusively in the South, and you have an even weaker argument for why a team should lose. If your team is comprised with hardy fellows from Ohio, along with a compliment of players from other regions of the country, you should have a well-rounded team. And yet, we've seen the Buckeyes punked by SEC teams in the national championship game two years straight. In the past 20 years, the SEC has won the national championship six times. Twice by LSU and Florida, and once each by Alabama and Tennessee. The Big 10 has won two, once each by Michigan and OSU.

Another telling thing is that I keep mentioning (the) Ohio State Buckeyes. Why? The Big 10 isn't deep as far as contenders for the national championship. In any given year, it is OSU and Michigan. Sometimes Wisconsin is in the mix. Penn State has a respected history, but hasn't really been in the thick of things for a while. In the SEC, besides the six titles already won by four different schools in the past 20 years, you have Auburn and Georgia (who is the likely SEC school to be playing for the title this year), and even our "weak" schools like Kentucky and Vandy have made bowl games the past two years. The SEC went head-to-head with the Big 10 in three bowl games last year and won two of them.

The fact is, we're more scared of playing each other than we are of playing the Big 10. I'm sure they feel the same way. Or maybe not.

A Rose is a Rose is a Dead Rose

"A profusion of pink roses bending ragged in the rain speaks to me of all gentleness and its enduring." ~ William Carlos Williams

I've had an inquiry about my roses, and I am sad to say that they are virtually lost. Some of it is due to yearly ravaging by Japanese Beetles which have left the plants weak and vulnerable to other tormentors like aphids and plant disease. Some of it has been dry summers for the past few years.

Most if it is because I'm not a gardener.

I started growing roses about seven years ago. One spring I just decided to have roses, so I purchased a half dozen rose bushes of various colors, planted them, and watched. Three of the original six did well and the other three died. I added three more the following year, and two of them lived, though they have not produced much. I have been unable to grow a single yellow rose, though I have tried and tried, and the exotic colors like lavender merely tease me, producing a single promising bud which never opens.

That rose you see here is one I managed to grow two summers ago. If memory serves, the name of this particular hybrid is "Luscious." That plant made about a dozen blooms, half of which were gorgeous like that one, and the others somewhat weaker. It is true the beetles and the dry, hot summers are part of the problem with my roses, but I'm sure it is mostly me. I'm just not garden savvy enough to figure out what continues to be the problem. It's not that caring for roses is hard; a healthy rose bush will produce and produce, and all you have to do is keep the spent blooms snipped off as they wither. That's it. It's the growing a healthy bush part that seems to be the trouble.

Oh well. I am nothing if not persistent. I shall try again next spring, with new bushes. I have a book on rose care and I'm not afraid to use it. I'll let you know how it goes.

Enough is Enough

Sorry, Brett, but I'm gonna have to break up with you. I tried hard to be on your side in all this. I said the Packers should welcome you back with open arms. I believed you when you said you felt pushed to retire and then changed your mind. Your love for the game gives me goosebumps. I respect all your many records.

But really, you're calling other sweethearts on the phone issued to you by Green Bay? Now you've just been stupid. People can forgive mistakes in judgment made in the name of passion, but stupidity is harder to ignore. As is cheating on your team by making late-night whispered calls to Minnesota. Green Bay was going to retire your jersey this season, and now that will all be put on hold.

It's all too much drama now Brett. The Pack has the goods on your calls, which means you will not play for the Vikings and they will likely lose draft picks over a guy who will never take a snap for them. See what you did? And now if you're traded you might be stuck in Tampa Bay where you will have nearly no chance to do much good. What fun is that?

Just stay retired. Make a nice speech about how much you love the Packers fans too much to cause a quarterback controversy. Say how you love the game too much to go somewhere and be ineffective for a team that will have to pay you too much money. Say how you didn't think you could live without the game, so now you're gonna coach quarterbacks at your local high school as a volunteer. Just go home though. Even the people in your corner are getting sick of it.

Sell Me, Don't Berate Me

I found this particular T-shirt on cafepress.com, and it reminds me of the thing I hate most about politics. Why is it that people can't sell me on their candidate rather than bashing the other guy?

I'm prepared for a particularly vicious presidential campaign this year, but I'm already sick of it. Politics is not a sport in which it is OK to hate your rival, because in this case your rival is an American citizen offering himself or herself for service, and by extension, your rival is anyone who supports that candidate. I frankly don't think it is healthy or productive to hate half the country.

This doesn't mean it isn't OK to be adamantly fanatic about your candidate, but show me somebody who is. What I see most of the time are people who are adamantly antagonistic to somebody else. If you really care, sell me on your guy. Don't just bash somebody else until I truly feel I'm left with the choice between a Giant Douche or a Turd Sandwich.

I'll be more specific: Don't scream at me how inexperienced Barack Obama is. Inexperience doesn't make him stupid or incapable. Tell me instead how John McCain's experience makes him the better choice. And don't just tell me that "McCain = McSame." Any fool can quote a catchy, smartass soundbite. Tell me instead how Obama's differences make him the superior pick. Sell me your guy, don't sell the other guy down the river. Because he might be your president, and I guarantee you live with or work with or associate with someone who supports him. And if your guy wins, don't you hope "the other side" can be swayed to see some value in him?

Or maybe you'd just rather fight.