The Fan - A Cautionary Tale of Bad Behavior and Porta-Potties

Fans. The lifeblood of any sport. Without fans, there would be no arenas, multi-million dollar salaries, sports agents, televised sports events, etc. No superstars, nor their DUI's, arrests for illegally carrying guns (sometimes shooting others with them, sometimes shooting themselves), fines for testing positive for controlled substances. Speaking of televised sports events, I'm not referring to things like bass fishing, curling, or even golf - those are sports events in much the same way that Monsanto is an organic agriculture firm. I really can't understand why anyone wants to watch these things, let alone do them. They are basically 98% waiting for something interesting to happen; something I don't desire on a sports channel. This is why we have C-SPAN (okay, that's 99.95% waiting for something interesting to happen). And no activity involving a broom can ever be considered a sport - I'm talking to you, curling. That's just housekeeping. With rocks. On ice. Meh.

And fans come in many varieties: good, bad, indifferent and truly embarrassing. Good fans, predictably, even though desirable (especially to be within earshot of), would be, by definition, boring. They cheer for their teams, don't argue calls, never criticize the coach and wish only the best for the other team. I say "would be", because they do not exist, at least in my experience. They may have all committed suicide. Bad fans, however, are out in great quantities, are MUCH more interesting, and come in different varieties:

The "referee" fan. This guy knows more about the rules of whatever game he's watching than any human being, ever. They have super-vision, allowing them to see what we mere mortals (and the trained referees) missed. Unsurprisingly, their own team never commits a penalty, foul or similar infraction, but the opposing team is guilty on virtually every single play. This is also the same fan, who, after having watched their kid play soccer for the last 15 years, STILL does not understand the concept of the offside penalty, and hasn't even heard of "advantage" - but they will gleefully scream offsides after every goal by the opposing team, as if it will magically erase the score. When asked why they don't go and get their referee license since they know the sport so well, usually tell you they don't have the time, which is code for: I can't pass the licensing test.

The "connected" fan. They are the opposite of the "living vicariously through my children" fan. Easy to spot, these fans either have their heads buried in their mobile devices or are deeply involved in a conversation (having nothing whatsoever to do with the sporting event they are attending) with another "connected" fan. Truly gifted connected fans can do both simultaneously. They are thereby able to claim that they attend their children's games, without the annoyance of ever having actually watched any of them. These are the fans who are completely unaware that something has occurred until the cheering or booing begins, and then are suddenly interested: "What happended?" "Your son just broke both his legs trying to bicycle-kick the ball." "Oh, I'm sure he'll be okay - excuse me, I have to look up what a bicycle-kick is." These fans don't really bother anyone else, and are usually taken care of via karma. Karma, at least in the soccer games I've attended, is when this fan, sitting 5 feet from the field of play in their folding chair while their attention is focused on their phone, gets hit soundly in the side of the face by a soccer ball traveling upwards of 900 miles per hour, usually knocking the parent to the ground and disintegrating the phone. Typically it will have been kicked by the fan's offspring; atypically, while the child performs a bicycle kick.

The "living vicariously through my children" fan. We all know this guy (it's usually a guy, but sometimes it's a woman, and for some reason, they're actually worse) - it's all negative criticism with no positive feedback: "How could you miss that catch?", "Hey, why don't you open your eyes?" "C'mon, get up, you're not hurt - if you can't see bone, it''s not broken!", etc. It's a pretty safe bet this kind of fan SUCKED when they played, but convinced their kids they themselves were the equivalent of Peyton Manning when they played. If they played at all. They pray their kids never run into one of their former classmates, otherwise the jig's up: "Your dad? On the football team? Seriously? He was always too high to play!". They are bellicose, to the point where they appear not to even require inhaling; it just is one long endless stream of profanity-laced criticism. They are totally focused on the game, and have trained themselves not to blink for long periods of time so as not to miss a single moment of play. Almost every statement begins with, "When I played...". No one likes to be near them, except, of course, others of their ilk, but everyone else will do almost anything to be away from them, including, but not limited to, sitting atop the porta-potty. Get a few of these fans in the same spot and there will likely be suicidal drownings in those porta-potties. But not at curling matches - they usually just wander out onto the ice into oblivion. Those medieval Scotts knew how to handle adversity in a socially acceptable way. Peace.

Bunco - A Man's Perspective

My wife hosted Bunco at our house the other night. Bunco is a dice game 12 women play under the guise of playing a dice game. What it really is is an excuse to get together. And eat. And talk. And talk. And talk. If some dice get thrown during this 3-4 hour event, well, you know, sometimes that's gonna happen. It's really about having a good time - if you're a woman. If you're a man, it's basically the 5th inner circle of hell.

Don't get me wrong - I love women. Especially my wife. But no one ("no one" being code for: man) wants 12 women in their house at once without their accompanying spouses. Said spouses are required to constantly distract their women by doing normal ("normal" being code for: disgusting) men things, such as groin-scratching, burping and even more odorous and odious bodily functions. Without the husbands there, 12 women will focus on the one guy there, and you don't want it to be you. It's kind of like the interns following the doctor around on rounds to your room: "Here's Mr. Smith. Mr. Smith thought it would be a good idea to operate a chainsaw while chugging a case of beer. How's the groin feeling today, Mr. Smith? Which one of you would like to change his dressing?".

I'll go into a detailed explanation of the rules of Bunco for you: there aren't any. At least not that I could discern. Oh, I'm sure there are official rules, somewhere, but I couldn't figure out what they were. A lot of time seemed to be spent getting the ladies to move from one table to another, signaled by the ringing of a bell, which is totally ignored. You see, there's 3 tables set up with 4 ladies at each table. After a round of Bunco is completed (we just don't have enough space here to explain THAT), some of the ladies from each table are supposed to move to one of the other tables, while others remain at their present table, but have to move to a different seat at that table. It's much like musical chairs, except everyone's on crack. And deaf.

If one of the ladies can't make it to a Bunco night, the other players can either play a "ghost" at the missing chair, or better yet, get a substitute player. Sometimes, the extremely gullible husband of the woman hosting Bunco will be invited to play. Don't do it. Make up an excuse - changing the oil on the car, re-siding the house, shaving your head with a cheese grater - anything. I'm joking, of course - it wasn't that bad. But it does now rank lower than the cheese grater. And they call you a "dice monkey". I'm serious.

The scoring in Bunco is interesting and seems to depend upon the phase of the moon, the average speed of an English swallow in flight and pi. There can be ties, which are settled by swordplay. Just kidding - if there was swordplay involved, men would be playing this. Depending on your definition of the term "swordplay", dice may not even be needed. (You'll have to Google this if that doesn't make sense to you - don't make me go there.) The game ends when all the food is gone, or the number of Bunco's scored is greater than the square root of of dessert, whichever comes first. Peace.

Jimmy's Facebook guidelines

Okay, moving away from the cancer theme.

I'm on Facebook. A LOT. Also, as part of my job responsibilities, I teach social media to our real estate agents, so I've done quite a bit of research on this to be able to sound lucid, and I think I have a pretty good handle on good practices. The following is NOT part of what I normally teach, just my observations on some some things people (at least those over the age of 25) should stop doing on Facebook, IMHO.

Do NOT like your own post, comment, or uploaded pic/video. We know you like it, because, duh, you posted it, didn't you?. Liking any of the aforementioned makes you a tool. It's like complimenting yourself, which is narcissistic, unless you're a member of Congress; then it's okay. I'm smart enough to know that. See? That was me, being a tool. Don't be a tool. Develop some tool-radar.

Drama posts - just say no. You know what these are; those cryptic, vague cries for attention. They're easy to spot: "I'm having the worst day", or "Something terrible just happened", or "Nobody will ever love me", or some variant. Don't post them, and whatever you do, don't ever respond to them - that's what they want, and you're just enabling that behavior. Well-meaning responses are typically: "Oh, no, what happened?", "Oh please call me", "I'm here for you", etc. Warning: if you keep responding this way, they will keep posting these types of desperate, attention-begging posts. If you must respond, please do so in a way that makes them stop. Here's some suggested responses: "You know you still owe me money, right?", "Call me, the test results are back and we need to tell your wife to get tested", or "I have an investment opportunity you can't afford to miss, but only for the first 100 people who private message me". Those may sound callous, but trust me, the sooner we get these people to stop posting drama posts, the happier we'll all be. Trust me.

Selfies - those photos you take of yourself with your phone, usually in a mirror, to be used, in theory, as a sexy profile pic. Couple of tips on this one, starting with turning off the flash - that's just distracting. Let's try not to do this in the bathroom (yes, I know, that's where the BIG mirror is), but if you must, let's keep the shots of the toilet in the background to a minimum. More critically, let's keep it to zero if someone's actually using it. Nobody wants to see that, although there are entire websites devoted to just those kind of selfies. Making a duck face (excessively pursing your lips) is fine. If you're 13. And have low self-esteem. Otherwise, you just look silly (see: above). They do, too, but they're 13, so, you know, it's okay.

Take a decent photo if you're going to post it, for Pete's sake. I shouldn't have to figure out if that's a picture of your kid at the waterpark or a three-toed sloth giving birth. Tag it with who's in it and a location - don't make us guess, it's awkward: "Oh that's a lovely shot of possibly your child whose name I can't remember in some place I don't recognize". And if your camera does not take good pictures in low-light situations, stop posting them. I've seen people post pics that seemed to be taken in a black hole, only darker. You may know that it's a shot of your wife in the movie theatre, but to us, it's just a unfocused, disembodied head, floating, apparition-like, in an even darker room. That's just spooky.

Food photos. Stop. Just stop. Seriously. Nobody cares anymore. If it's a remarkably exotic meal with an outstanding presentation - fine. That's not something most of have seen/will see, so that makes it interesting. I've seen about a billion pictures of burgers and fries - I believe we all know what they look like by now - we got it, thanks, no more visual aids are necessary. Same thing with shots of soup, chili  and/or meth cooking on the stove - I try scratching my screen, but, nothing, no aroma at all. Maybe it works on the new iPad Air, but on a laptop, nothing. It's frustrating, so stop it. It's almost like you're saying, "Look at this delicious food I'm making that you can't have". The people who comment that it "looks so good"? They're just your friends humoring you, but they're thinking what I'm thinking.

I trust you liked this latest blog post. I think it's excellent.

Hope your tool-radar went off. Peace.

Road to Recovery

Part of my recovery is to walk - basically as much as I can, and I do. I walk all around my small town, which allows me to see things you normally don't see while driving. Interesting things. Confusing things. Scary things.

What's scary? The things people do while driving. Can't tell you how many people are using their cell phones while driving, but that's no surprise. Some are blatant about it, holding their phones right on top of the steering wheel; some keep it in their laps, because someone driving while smiling at their crotch fools...well, no one, really. I've seen people eating, drinking, even shaving. How that woman got her leg up on the dashboard, I'll never know. Maybe I don't want to. And the eating - really? Soup? You're eating soup while driving? Cereal? Seriously? What's next - barbecuing while driving? I'm actually surprised Keurig hasn't come out with an automotive one-cup coffee machine yet. My favorite is when they do all these at the same time. Usually I see this from my vantage point of hiding behind a telephone pole or sturdy tree for safety, because these people are really scary, and I refuse to die by someone else's stupidity; I insist I die by my own stupidity (and I've come close).

What's confusing? Why the high school kids suddenly lose the learned skill of crossing the street safely. I mean, some of them look like insurance scam artists hoping for a payday. They don't even look before crossing, often from between parked cars, or even better giant SUV's (crosswalk? what's a crosswalk?); it's like they're TRYING to get hit. I mean, c'mon, kids, your SAT scores can't be THAT bad. You have so much to look forward to; crushing college loan debts, a position in the fast food industry, living with your parents until you're 40, the latest release of HALO, etc.. I've talked to my daughter, who is a senior, and she's equally perplexed. Personally, I blame the Pythagorean theorem; I remember it causing some suicidal thoughts in high school. I even think we lost a kid to calculus one year. Math kills.

What's interesting? Basically, people, again. I find people fascinating. I've seen people, on my walks, who refuse to make eye contact, clutch their bag a little tighter, even cross the street (of course, that only makes me want to cross the street to see what happens next) as I approach them. I mean, I'm mid-50's, gray hair, wear glasses, 5' 7" tall, usually have a smile on my face - I don't believe I offer that an intimidating a presence. And this was even happening immediately after my surgery, where I was shuffling along at a blistering pace of possibly 10 yards an hour, basically slow enough for the old school zombies to catch and devour me (remember, I'm now prostate-free, so, you know, less calories). The current zombies move much faster, something I'm not happy about as your ability to run fast is inversely proportional to your aging process. But I'm not worried about the zombies getting me because I'm a realist. I'm pretty sure it'll be the shaving, cereal-eating, texting and mascara-applying driver in the weapons-grade Hummer.
Peace.