My regular pair of tennis shoes stink. I can't remember how it happened, but they must've gotten wet early on in their life and now they have a putrid, mildew-y smell that I can sense only 3-4 feet away from my nose. So today I picked out a pair of tennis/walking shoes that I used to wear when I worked retail many moons ago. While comfortable, they are black. I also (unwisely, my wife would surely add) chose to wear read sweatpants. The thing about sweatpants is they gather up around the ankles, revealing your socks by the space between pant leg and shoes. This is not good when you're wearing black shoes. Hopefully, I won't be seen in public today.
Today's chapter in PDL was about the value of friendships. Time and quantities of it, not "quality time," are what prove the priorities of relationships. What a trying time to hear this message! I'm working 8am to 1am shifts at the magazine, away from my wife and children. That's no fun. Coincidentily, I've concocted a plan for the kids to come spend the night at the office with me tonight, so that they can be around me and me them and I can also get a late night of work in. (Tomorrow getting up and ready for school is going to be a bear!) I hope they have fun.
I liked one of the sarcastic images in the chapter today. Someone is on their death bed and they're telling a loved one, "Please...bring me my trophies. I want to see them one last time." So funny in its silliness.
When #44 was a sophomore, he transferred to our school and could only play in our scrimmage against Big Bear to start the season. I vividly recall a halfback pass that he must've thrown a good 40 yards (seemed liked 60 to me, it was in the air so long), which Anthony Moore hauled in for a touchdown. One play on defense I remember was when my friend and tackle Pat Zang "intercepted" the snap from center to punter and picked up the ball to try to score on a fumble recovery. At defensive end, I was in the backfield and ran over to the punter to block him. Unfortunately, I blocked him straight up and he shoved me aside and ran over to tackle Pat. When I returned to the sidelines, I heard #44 exclaiming, "WHO was that trying to block for you?" I spoke up sheepishly, "It was me." Acting like a good coach, he told me I should've at least tried to "cut" the guy (blocking him below the waist by diving into him), which surely would have taken him down and given us a touchdown. Some lessons you never forget.
-#81