Add Free Site

FYI. For those of you who have blogs on Blogger, you can get an ad free site free. I emailed Blogger and asked for the ad free site and someone named Christine answered me. She gave it to me for free. I told my sister Becky and she got her site ad free without cost. So, you may want to ask before they introduce a pricing structure or something. Just wanted to spread the wealth.

Are You Ready For Some Football?

I love sports. As I child, I played baseball, football, and basketball in the neighborhood. The poor eye sight prevented me from playing any organized sports other than some wrestling. I caught on to running when I began college and have been a consistent runner now for 28 years. Today though, I want to talk about football.



Either you "get" being a sports fan or you do not. I suppose if I were in court and I was called upon to give rational and logical reasons why I spend so much time reading about, talking about, and watching football on television; I would be hard pressed. Back to the first sentence in this paragraph, you either "get it" or you do not. I know it is tradition and is a thread connecting my childhood to adulthood. It is also drama and entertainment. Football is a male soap opera. I am interested in more than what happens on the field in the games. I want to know what so and so said, and what they said about so and so. I want to admire them and hate them and get angry at them. Them being various football players, coaches, sports writers, and television commentators. Men discuss who is the best team, player, coach, quarterback, etc. We like to argue about it, tease, and harass those who support our opposing team.



I have successfully passed this "blessing / curse" on to my son. He has surpassed me in some ways. He has his own fantasy football team. I am a long time, die hard Kansas City Chiefs football fan and I brainwashed my son to be the same. For luck, we have a Chiefs helmet on top of our television when watching the game. If things are not going well, the helmet is reversed to point the other direction. This usually does the trick. The helmet is not reversed until it is absolutely necessary, because one does not want to waste the magic. I am the one who decides when it is time to reverse the helmet. We actually discuss this. "Dad, you better flip the helmet," John will say. "Not yet," I say very Captain Kirk like. "There is still plenty of time, we don't want to waste the magic." So far this year, it has worked. The Chiefs are 11 and 1 going into today's tough game with Denver.



I get an extra treat today. My pal Marty has season tickets to the Saints and I am going to the game today against Tampa Bay. I love being in the crowd at a game. The photo of John and I in Kansas City was one of my favorite moments at a game. For us it was like a pilgrimage to Mecca. The other time at a game I will never forget was the first playoff victory for the Saints. New Orleans beat St. Louis in the first round of the playoffs and the Superdome was electric. Everybody in there loved each other. After a play virtually sealing the victory and ending the fever pitched suspense, some big guy next to me picked me up and hugged me. My feet were off the ground. I am thinking, "slow down big fella, I don't want to know you this well." The noise was deafening. The sound of the crowd building to a crescendo sent chills up and down my spine.



I could go on, but I have to get ready to leave for New Orleans. This is the best time of the year for football fans. The NFL is heading into the playoffs. College football is doing the same. Get ready for tension, joy, disappointment, and frustration. Still, what would Sunday be without the background noise of a game? I remember once I had been gone overnight. When I returned Sunday afternoon, I found Barbara sleeping on the couch surrounded by the Sunday paper. She had a football game on the television. I was surprised and when she awoke, I asked her, "were you watching the game?" She replied, "it just doesn't seem like Sunday without football on in the background." Ladies, if you think your husband is asleep in front of the game just because his eyes are closed and he is snoring, you are mistaken. Want proof? Just flip the channel, my guess is he will say, "hey, I was watching that." I have heard of some mean wives asking him to tell them the score to proove he was really watching the game, but most just flip it back.



PS Blogger was down so I could not post this in the AM. The game is over and the Saints lost. Oh well, I am watching the Chiefs against Denver 14 to 14 right now - GO CHIEFS!



PSS (Monday AM) Chiefs got beat bad 45 - 27. Damn!!!! I flipped the helmet but no dice. Well, that's part of football. When you win you are happy, when you lose you are bummed, but you keep going.



Until the next time

John Strain

This Just In

Thank you to The G-Man for sending this original sketch inspired by the movie Dances With Wolves. Click on the sketch to see it full size. It seems a lot of people liked that movie - it is easy for me to see why. This scene Gary chose to draw is my favorite moment of the entire movie. It is where the lump in my throat is its biggest. Just after Kevin Costner's character left the tribe with his wife culminating in a poignant scene of telling his friend goodbye, the camera cuts to the approaching cavalry and then this lone wolf howling from a mountain top. The tragedy of friendship and separation was juxtaposed to the US Military trying to destroy Lt. John Dunbar and his new friends. Though very different on the surface, the indians and John Dunbar discovered they were perhaps more similar than different. To me the ultimate tragedy was knowing history. Knowing that the movie could not have a happy ending. The indians and their way of life had to change. Now we all long for it in some way. We all lost something. Today the tragedy is many do not know they have lost anything or that they miss anything at all. Thanks again G-Man for the drawing. Check out his site, there you will find good drawings, photos, and writing.



Until the next time

John Strain

Wolves

About 12 years ago, I became fascinated with wolves. I am not sure how it started, but some of the early influences were posters and books I saw at the Nature Company. One Christmas, Barbara bought me the book Wolf: Spirit of the Wild. This book is chalk full of photos, illustrations, and good information about wolves. The more I learned about wolves, the more I liked them. Not only were they fascinating, there was something else intangible and mysterious about these creatures. Their eyes were deep and expressive. Their movements were fluid, graceful, and quick. They seemed to appear and disappear like ghosts. Wolves embodied the frontier spirit of the west.



If you read my post yesterday, you know I had a love for the period of history in the mid to late 1800's, in particular the American west. Wolves certainly symbolize this period and their existence today is a living link to that time. I know of the controversy surrounding wolf introduction programs, but my interest and admiration of wolves is more of a spiritual thing with me. The wolf is a bridge of sorts, linking my childhood to my present. Wolves show emotion, they have relationships, they work together, they play. Their howl is haunting and sets free our imaginations.



I purchased this poster at the Nature Company and hung it in my bar. The photographer's name is Brandenburg. Wolf photos are plentiful on the internet. You can find some nice photos here.



In 1990 Kevin Costner's movie,Dances With Wolves, brought my love of the American west and wolves together. I love that movie.



I have various wolf items in the house. I couple of posters, some figures, a snow globe, and a dream catcher are but a few. I am selective about my wolf items. Each piece means something to me. I remember where I got it and the circumstances around the item



I do not want to own a wolf. If a wolf is captive it ceases being a wolf. They need to be on the fringes, in the shadows, like our dreams and fears. The wolf reminds me of a time that is no more, but in my dreams. They remind me of possibilities, mysteries, and uncertainties. They are symbols of strength, cunning, and family. Something deep within me reaches out to the wolf. I like that feeling. It is nothing I learned or strove to feel - it is just there where it has been no doubt for millions of years.



Until the next time

John Strain

Books and A Young Boy's Imagination

Books are capable of transporting the reader anywhere in space and time. When I was in the fourth and fifth grade I was fascinated with the Old West. I loved reading about indians and the cavalry. My favorite author was Shannon Garst. This author had me hooked. I read many of his/her 19 books. This picture is of Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce Indians. His story is compelling. He did not fight the US Cavalry, but ran from them. His elusiveness was legendary. He and his people were retreating to Canada. Their one thousand mile trek ended only forty miles from the Canadian border. Chief Joseph's words still haunt me from his surrender speech, "as the sun now stands, I will fight no more forever." My young heart sympathized with the indians. It seemed all they wanted was to live their life as they had for thousands of years.



I learned about the Sioux and other plains tribes. Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse, and others. I also read about Custer and the military campaigns of the day. I could not get enough. I remember my eleventh birthday (1968) I got to go to downtown Kansas City and see the new movie, Custer of the West. I would not recommend the movie - not accurate.



About that same time, our family took three week vacations in the summer, two years in a row. One year we went to the northwest and the next we visited the southwestern United States. My dad drove a white Chevy station wagon which pulled a tent camper. On these trips, the books I had read came to life. I got to associate real places with the battles and historical figures I had read about. In South Dakota, I already knew the Black Hills were sacred to the Lakota tribes. I also knew the indian name for the hallowed land was "paha sapa." When we first saw the Badlands, I told my mother, "mama, this is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen."



In Montana standing on the wind swept hill where Custer and his troops were massacred, I could imagine the sounds of battle as I watched the tall grass bend from the breeze. We were there in June which is when the battle actually took place. Shannon Garst had me well prepared to visit these places and today my memory is still vivid. There is something sacred and dignified about a battlefield. Most people sense it and show respect with silence and subdued voices.



The next summer when we explored the southwest I learned about the Navajo and Hopi Indians. I remember sitting at campfires listening to park rangers tell stories about Indian legend. The cool air drove the campers closer to the fire. The faces illuminated by the dancing flame were fixed on the story teller. We hung on every word as he described the Kachina's - spirits that would pay visits to children who misbehaved. This took place at Mesa Verde.



I owe a debt to whomever steered me to Shannon Garst and those wonderful books. I feel so fortunate to have traveled around the areas of the United States which represented the epicenter of my then interests. Those memories and images are still with me and I flip through them often.

Me, My Dad, and My Brother at the Grand Canyon

There is no substitute for experience. In the film Good Will Hunting, Matt Damon plays Will, a genius, but with major attitude problems. Robin Williams is the psychiatrist charged with turning the boy around. Robin Williams character almost gave up until something occurred to him. The psychiatrist said to Will, "you cannot tell me anything that I cannot learn from a book. But can you tell me what the Sistine Chapel smells like? Do you know the feeling of holding your newborn son? Do you have any idea what it is to be completely in love with someone?" As a young boy, I was amazed already by reading those books. The pictures my imagination painted was reward enough, but when I got to go to the places and smell the loam of the earth, feel the breeze and the warm native sunshine on my face, my imagination could go even farther. I could gaze at the horizon and imagine a line of indians charging. I could turn around and imagine being encircled as Custer was. I thought about the aftermath when the soldiers were stripped of their uniforms and some were mutilated; the smell of death and smoke; the sound of women crying in the way only the loss of a spouse can produce. The only survivor of the battle was Custer's horse Comanche. I have seen this horse several times on display at the University of Kansas. We went to KU five years in a row to take my son to the Roy Williams Basketball Camp. Seeing Comanche rekindled these memories each time.



Books, travel, good fortune, and a young boy's imagination. I have been fortunate enough to have had them all.



Until the next time

John Strain