This has been one of those glorious falls Saturdays where I’ve been able to carve out a little time and read a few things that I’ve put aside.
The dog is doing what she does best — sleep; my wife’s off to a baby shower with my mother (yeah, I’m gonna be a grandfather for the first time, my dad’s going to be a great grandfather for the first time, and that’s a little surreal to think about) and I’m sort of watching the Army-Air Force game because Larry Dixon’s running the ball for the Black Knights.
I’m sure your interests aren’t the same as mine, but I’m gonna share what I’ve been reading anyway.
I never knew much about the late Steve Jobs, and I was anxious to read Rolling Stone’s piece by Jeff Goodell on the man who gave us Apple and so much more. “Life is something that happens in a flash,” Jobs told Goodell. “We just have a brief moment her, and then we are gone.”
We’ve had a couple discussions in the office about what kind of money Albert Pujols is going to make on his next contract, and we’ve speculated …
(Let me interrupt this post to announce that Larry Dixon just scored on a 13-yard TD run to give Army a 7-0 lead)
on where Sir Albert might land. Whatever he signs for — and it’s been suggested he could get between $220 and $270 million over six or seven years — will be too much. Nobody’s worth that kind of money, and those big deals always seem to come back to haunt the franchise’s that get duped into shelling out the mad money. Joe Posnanski breaks down some of the big-money deals that have been signed in recent years. The Twins owe Joe Mauer $161 million over the next seven years. Posnanski points out that Mauer played in 82 games this year and has hit 12 home runs the last two years.
For my money, Mike Silver, formerly of Sports Illustrated and now Yahoo! Sports, is the best NFL writer around. I’m not a big NFL guy, but I find Silver’s rants and opinion to be pretty much right on. His latest column is about the Browns’ Peyton Hillis, who has become a major distraction for the franchise run by Mike Holmgren. In his weekly rankings column, he writes about the Lions’ nasty attitude and he wrote this to say about the No. 26-ranked Seahawks: “When Pete Carroll gets “hormonal” do Seahawks fans reach for the Midol?”
Ken Goe of The Oregonian writes that Ducks’ coach Chip Kelly is downplaying the significance of tonight’s rivalry game between Oregon and Washington.
“There is a visceral dislike here for the UW football program that dates for some to 1948, when California and Oregon tied for the conference title and Washington’s vote for Cal sent the Bears to the Rose Bowl,” Goe writes.
I think was on my third, maybe fourth, cup of coffee when I got to Uncle Sam’s Backyard. The blog is written by my pal and former Sun staffer John Wallingford,and I was looking forward to catching up on his ramblings. He’s back in Pennsylvania now, traveling home with his wife, Becky, and son, Max, and feline companion, Lester. Wally’s written about some interesting people and places they came across on their cross-country trip. His latest post is about a nuclear plant that’s located close to where his mother and sister live. It’s always good catching up on where he’s been and what he’s doing. If you’re looking for comments on the world of sports, don’t bother. But if you want to be entertained, provoked, educated, well, you’ll probably enjoy this blog. (Warning: some of the effin language might turn some of you off).
Here’s samples of what you’ll come across:
What does it all mean? Is there anything close to a thread
that ties this ramshackle narrative together?
We’re here on the road, like so many before, trying to make
sense of the American experience. Where’s Ken Burns when you need
him?
Into the second decade of the 21st century, you have
to wonder if we’re approaching the end of the road-trip era.
Should the world’s oil supplies peak and produce Mad Max-style
chaos, nobody will be wandering the highways and back roads,
especially at the obscene rate of 13 miles per
gallon.
It’s hard to see the end from here, though, the way the
great army of semis maraud across the country night and day, making
1,000 miles per every 200-gallon tank of diesel. You’d think we
were living in the 1950s, when domestic oil supplies seemed
bottomless and everyone in Oklahoma City had an oil well in their
backyard.
*** ***
With Becky and Max asleep, I raise the blinds and drive out of Norman in the direction of Oklahoma City. First up is Moore, a ghastly piece of sprawl that gave the world Toby Keith. Enough said.
*** ***
The gravitational mystery that attracts me to eccentrics, cranks, lunatics and out-and-out freaks has reached full flower.
Characters are falling in upon me so fast I can’t keep up with them. They’re everywhere. They’re talking with God in ancient languages, getting stabbed in the heart by God, riding in upon beaten tricycles like tarnished gods in surreal wastelands.
And then there’s Nelson, whom I met this afternoon at Smith’s grocery store in Kingman, (Arizona) after shelling out roughly $1,150 for six tires and an oil change.
Nelson: Corpulent slob in motorized cart who thinks Rush Limbaugh is God. He didn’t tell me this, it’s just an educated guess.
Nelson accosted me near the seafood counter, apparently seeing in me a kindred spirit. He leaned in with a conspiratorial nod and offered the following gem.
Well, nevermind, I’ll let him tell you. I was so inspired by his eager buffoonery that I ran right outside and grabbed my camera, tracked him down in the soda aisle and told him I had some friends in Washington and Pennyslvania who’d love to hear him tell his joke.
You’ll have to go hear for the joke and to see the picture of Nelson.