It’s been twenty-one years since she died.  It was lung cancer that took her from us and she was only forty-three.  I’ve already lived almost four years longer.  It’s difficult for me to wrap my mind around that. 

She’s missed the births of seven of her ten grandchildren as well as one great-granddaughter.  She’s missed four weddings.  But it’s me, my brother, and sister that have probably missed the most.

Enough has been written in this blog about my mother to probably bore you to tears.  It always fascinates me though to think back on her final months and remember how she kept her sense of humor as well as her ability to realize what she needed to leave behind for the three of us.

I can give a quick example as to what I mean by this in explaining the story behind her eulogy.  Sometime during those last few months I had joked about how we were going to have her stuffed and sit her at the end of the couch after she died.  That way the grandkids would be able to sit on her lap and “play” with her whenever they visited.  Well after laughing about that one for the tenth time I blurted out to her that I was going to read her eulogy at her graveside.

She simply said, “Ronnie- you’ll be too sad.  You’ll be crying and stuttering during the whole thing.”  And then we’d both laugh and mimic what it would sound like as I tried bumbling through the reading.  I’d stuttered for as long as I could remember.  I would never read in front of the class.  I avoided any type of public speaking as well as answering the phone.  When I worked at a grocery store I refused to make announcements over the intercom.  It was horrible and I was made fun of and ridiculed all through school.

Well- Mom dies and my brother and I write the eulogy.  And on a perfect late-spring day I stood in front of family and friends and read it with perhaps one stutter.  I guess you could say that my mom tricked me into overcoming my greatest fear. 

Yeah, I still stutter sometimes.  But I can now speak in front of hundreds of people.  I speak to groups of parents often and if I had to stand in front of 40,000 people, I’m quite sure I could do that as well.

It’s just a small example of a parent’s love and wisdom even while facing her own death.  It’s little lessons and subtle messages that I’ve always tried to pass along to my children. 

So below is a copy of the eulogy that my brother and I co-wrote and that I read (with limited stuttering) while both my siblings stood beside me.

Happy Dead Day Mom (and many more)!

A caller commented on how soft our kids are becoming. His example was that even after a season where his son’s team had not won a game, each child was still given a trophy. He went on to joke that if they had won one game a ticker tape parade would have probably been held in their honor.

The host agreed with him and called it the “wussification” of our youth.

He continued that the practice of every child making a team after the age of 9 or 10 was also a contributing factor to turning these children into wussies.

Here is the gist of the host’s point. “They (our children) need to realize that not everyone is going to be good enough to make the team. And how is this going to prepare them as adults when not every person is going to get the job they are after?”

I’m not sure where to begin. Perhaps I should state that I’ve been involved in both coaching and administrative positions in youth sports for over twenty years.

So let’s start with my firm belief that there should be a spot for every child in youth sports leading up until at least high school. I understand there are elite travel teams and that’s fine. For the players that do not make the cut however, they need to land on another team in a less competitive or equally as competitive environment.

Robbing our children of a chance to have FUN playing a sport regardless of their skill level is not going to send them into adulthood ill prepared. In fact it is at this very level where a majority of these children will have the only opportunities in their lives to play organized sports. Because yes, once high school rolls in, it becomes a competition to win the playing spots that are available.

I’m here to tell you that the playing field is usually not a level one when it comes to the fairness of how a child is judged. This is the premise to my contention and the lessor known and more controversial aspect to youth sports… the ugly politics some parents use to pollute many of our leagues. For those of you that have not witnessed it, let me give you some examples.

We’ll take baseball. The highest level typically is filled with 11 and 12 year-old players. And quite often there are barely enough spots to enable them all to play at that level together with the friends and classmates that they’ve been with since the age of five. However, Mr Coach wants his 10 year-old son along with his buddy’s 10 year-old son to play together on his team. These two children, while perhaps talented enough to play up a level, should in my opinion yield to the older players. But Mr. Coach has now taken an opportunity away from two deserving 11 year-olds who are told that they need another year at the lower level to sharpen their skills. They are in essence cut from a team of their friends and peers. In all reality this move is going to put them further behind and in some cases to the point where it can take them a couple of years to catch up to the other kids in their age group. Many times the child becomes discouraged and will leave the sport before realizing his full potential. I’ve seen it happen more times than I care to share with you. It’s wrong.

Now for the most alarming scenario of them all. And if you don’t think this exists my dear readers, you have not been paying attention. We have before us a group of three overzealous youth soccer coaches. They have egos much larger than any parent coaching a youth sports team should be allowed. All three of these egos are aboard for the ride so they need lots of space. They have been “grooming” a group of kids to become the next World Cup Champions. They play multiple sports together. When one of the less-talented “outsiders” makes a mental or a physical mistake on the playing field he is yelled at as he comes off the field to the point of tears. After the game he is ridiculed in front of his teammates. More tears. He drops out of the sport because he is deemed by this group of Knuckleheads to not be good enough to succeed on THEIR team. They have systematically squeezed him out. Now open your eyes and take a good look at this castaway. HE IS SIX YEARS OLD.

Fast forward four years. He is now ten. He’s been playing in the backyard with Dad and a few other of the neighborhood kids. Hey he’s actually really good and he’s regained his confidence. He’s ready to give it another shot! Good for him right? Aww but guess what? He’s been out of the loop for too long. While he’s probably good enough to make the elite team, he’s been long forgotten by the Knuckleheads who now control that division in the league. But he can play down a level. We wouldn’t want to put him with the other ten year-olds after such a long layoff, that would be an example of the wussification of youth sports.

Not only is it wrong, but it is proof that when an organization is run by a group that has its own agenda in mind, the children will end up paying the price.

This only begins to support the need to let every child play team sports regardless of skill-set. There is plenty of time once high school begins for our children to learn that as they get older they can expect the stakes to become higher. It’s all part of the natural progression towards adulthood.

Childhood is where we learn our likes and dislikes. It’s where we are allowed the mistakes and second chances that won’t affect the outcome of our lives. It’s where we discover courage and fear and about striking out or scoring touchdowns. But how would we have ever harnessed the power or our full potential if SMACK in the middle of the big experiment we were told to pack up and go home?

Finally I’d like to give my thoughts on another topic that the host and this particular caller talked about. The host indicated that political correctness and its intrusion upon old school sporting terms was getting out of control. His example was “suicide sprints”. It’s when kids sprint back and forth on the court or field from line to line. He laughed about his son’s coach changing the name of the exercise to “lines”. I wonder if the host has ever had to deal personally with the horrors of suicide. Or if he realizes the epidemic of teen suicides in this country. It may seem silly to some but not to the family that has been through it. Not to the sibling of a brother that is now gone. Does he need to hear, “Ok it’s time for suicides!”. Of course not. Is it a big deal that we rename such sprints? Of course not.

Many, many years ago my oldest son’s best friend was a “little person”. His mother couldn’t understand why the local youth football league had to have the word ”midget” in its title. She even lobbied for change. Put yourself in her position. Forget about everything else that surrounds these discussions and imagine if you were the parent of a “little person”. Do you not think that he’s already getting teased enough and having the word tossed around in a derogatory manner? Do you not think it’s a bit hurtful to hear the word being associated with a circus side-show?

Thirteen years ago I joined a local youth football league’s board of directors in another town. My first motion was to replace “midget” with “youth”. It passed unanimously.

Do I have all the answers to correct the problems that I’ve spoken about today? Not all but probably 75% of them. But it takes a group of open-minded adults to make the proper changes. It takes checking egos at the front door. And it takes just a little bit of compassion and common sense. Until that perfect storm can converge and conquer the mentality of the Knuckleheads, youth sports will continue to be held hostage by their reckless egos.

The city is also notorious  for its clan of meter checkers.  They fan their egos with books of half-empty ticket stubs.  And they never miss a violation.

On this morning I thought I was destined to another go-around until at the last possible moment I spotted the last meter at the end of the line.  I began lining up my car to back up and park.  A white van appeared behind me and tried to nudge itself into the opening by forcing me to move forward to a spot where a “No Parking” sign replaced the meter.  I continued backing up.  He honked angrily.  I backed up more.  He pulled up to the side of me.  He spoke angrily. 

ONE HOUR EARLIER

I’ve become increasingly forgetful lately.  After extensive on-line research I’m convinced that it’s a product of stress and worrying about a number of issues that we can explore in a future blog.

I had forgotten that I needed to do a couple of quick repairs on the snow-blower.  I was running late but grabbed a few paperclips and some picture-hanging wire.  I was able to address two of the three problems.  Paperclips are not as dependable as they used to be.

I have a habit of placing items on the roof of my car while I put my work items in the back seat.  Today it was my can of soda and gloves.  The gloves were the first to fly into the street about a quarter-mile into my ride immediately followed by the can of soda.   The can was launched into a distant snow bank but I recovered the gloves without further incident.

That’s not exactly the whole truth.  I’d been listening to ESPN Radio on my iPhone and when I exited the car I’d forgotten that the headphones in my ears where still connected to the phone.

I’ve always preached how important it is to properly protect your phone.  I like a rubber case.  It was a rubber case that saved my two week-old iPhone from certain harm.

BACK TO REALTIME

So he parks in front of me.

Him: “All you had to do was pull up!”
Me: “But there’s no meter there.”
Him: “It doesn’t matter.  The cops told me I can park here.  It doesn’t matter.”
Me: “Believe me it matters and I’m not parking where there is NOT a meter!
Him: “Such an ass… man you don’t know nuthin.”
Me: “Just keep walking and deliver your meals BITCH!!!” 
(I should probably mention that this idiot was delivering Meals on Wheels to people across the street.  The cops and meter checkers probably all know his vehicle and let him park there during his deliveries.  I know what you’re thinking, “OMG he’s picking on a dude delivering meals to the needy.”  Well just so you know, a lot of these guys are doing it only because they need to do community service as ordered by the courts.  So it’s not like I was picking on a 73 year-old retiree.  This guy probably robbed a freaking bank at gunpoint and is now working his way back into society.  As far as this story is concerned, the delivering of meals is of no real importance.)
Him: (Walking towards my car.)  “Bitch?  Who are you calling bitch?”
Me: “Well… I’m calling YOU Bitch… BITCH!” (The word “BITCH” felt powerful coming out of my clenched jaw.  As kids we loved when Elton John’s, The Bitch is Back would come on the radio because during the chorus we could yell, “Bitch-bitch, the bitch is back – Bitch-bitch, the bitch is back.”  And my mother would yell, “Stop saying that!”  And we’d say, “But Mom it’s part of the song- he-he-he.”)
Him: “I’ll show you BITCH, you wanna see a bitch?”  (His voice was WAY more intimidating than mine- it was deep and mean- like a guy that had probably spent hard time in prison- or something.)

At this point the Meals-on-Wheels ex-con tried to open my car door.  I went into a defensive mode and after he get the door halfway open, I used my super powers that I’d acquired recently at the gym and won the struggle with this bitch and pulled the door shut!  My heart racing, I quickly hit the lock switch and reached for my phone (as if I was reaching for a gun so that I could bust a cap in his ass).  I wanted a picture of him but by the time I figured out how to use it, he was gathering his meals from his van.  I did take several pictures of his getaway van along with the licence plate.

I was a little shaken at this point.  I sat in the car hoping he wouldn’t take his anger out on a hungry Senior Citizen or wheelchair bound shut-in.

I alerted my office by text so that they could watch me from the 4th floor window in the event that this crazy murderer decided to come back after me.

TEN MINUTES LATER

I had safely navigated the mean sidewalks of The Green and was resting comfortable in my chair.  I am not a confrontational person (OK well sometimes I do find it hard to back away from a situation where a really ignorant person thinks he can be a bully just because he feels like it).

THERE IS A LESSON TO BE LEARNED HERE

If you ever find yourself in a similar situation and your name and phone number are prominently displayed on large magnets on your car doors, remove them before calling another person a bitch. 

But seriously, he was an idiot and had an attitude from the beginning.  And I can’t help but wonder what the heck he would’ve done if he was able to pull my door open.  I don’t doubt that we will meet again.  Maybe I’ll break out with, “Bitch-bitch, the bitch is back.”

Her baby-smile brightened the inside of her dark pupils so that I could see my reflection and everything that I imagined she would say to me if not for her being relatively new to this life.

We stared at each other for much longer than it really seemed.  And perhaps this only makes sense if you believe that time can actually stand still. 

I’ve held many baby girls in my arms: as a father; an uncle; a Godfather; and a friend.  But never as a grandfather.  Never as the father of my child’s baby.  And when someone in the room mentioned Grandpa- my eyes immediately shifted over to where my own father was sitting.  But he was now the great-great grandfather and the person they were speaking about or speaking to was me.

And we were still staring at each other- me and my granddaughter.  The little person that no matter what, will always be my first grandchild.  She’ll be the first to sleep over.  And the first to watch the Yankees and Giants games next to me with our jerseys on- eating Doritos and homemade onion dip.  She’ll be the first to drag me out fishing with her Uncle Matt.  She’ll be the first to get a bouquet of flowers after a dance or piano recital.

I too was the first grandchild for my own grandparents.  I was their little Ronnie that helped to keep them young.  I’d bet that my little Gabriella will do the same for me. 

The Christmas lights on the fireplace mantle finally stole her eyes from mine.  I watched the colors flashing in her stare now.  Her cheek rested against my chest and she blinked once for every three blinks of the colorful bulbs.

One day- a handful of years from now, we’ll probably sit in the same spot on the couch and look at the same blinking lights while I tell her about the day that I fell in love with her.             

     Distant Replay is a book that details the 25^th Anniversary Reunion of the 1966-67 Green Bay Packers as recounted by Hall of Fame guard Jerry Kramer.
   Mr. Kramer’s underlying message is one of togetherness and the satisfaction of knowing that you can always return home. As stated on the inside flap of the book, “It is the love story of a bond among men that has endured for two decades.”
   Each year the MudHogs welcome the previous season’s recipient as a guest speaker to our annual banquet to share some of his experiences since leaving us. He also has the honor of passing along the copy of Distant Replay that he has had in his possession for the past year. There is space inside the book for each recipient to write a message for those that follow.  
   The award is presented to a MudHog that has excelled both on and off of the football field. He is a positive influence for his classmates as well as his teammates. He is not necessarily the most talented football player on his team. He is respected by his peers; unselfish, unassuming, and unspoiled. He leads by example.
   The award is not for winning  a contest in the purest sense of the phrase. There is no competition involved. It is simply a means of promoting a MudHogs family that extends beyond rosters, seasons, victories, or town borders. It is more like an invitation to all former MudHogs, regardless of hometown or future high school, to come back for a visit, throw the football around, and say hello to the family.
 
   This past Tuesday we held our annual baquet where we announced a new recipient for the award as well as welcomed back last season’s recipient.

   For those that are interested, I’ve supplied the details of all the nominees and the speech of our 2009 Distant Replay Award recipient below just as it was read to the 550 guests in attendance:

THE 11^th ANNUAL DISTANT REPLAY AWARD

(ME) When I announce your names please come up to the stage and line up here…

The nominees…

 Harrison Gill, Scott Bernard, Gabe Folkwein, Cam Daley, & Dan Hardiman

5 nominees

5 distinct personalities

5 extraordinary stories

5 wonderful young men

 How do you choose one of these young men from this group?

A panel of seven parents had the difficult assignment of narrowing 5 down to one.

Let’s learn a little bit about each finalist…   

Cam Daley

 From Coach Kennedy:
     Cam was an outstanding football player for us this year and some may argue that this is why his teammates looked up to him.  I would argue that what he did on Sunday only supported who he was on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.   Cam is the consummate team player, who never challenged a coach or disrespected a teammate or an opponent.
     I once asked what Cam said in the huddle after a second long touchdown had been called back due to a penalty.  The answer was simple.  Cam got back to the huddle and said, “Let’s try to do it again.”
     In asking my sons what they liked best about Cam, the response was “quiet football“.   I never heard the phrase before but it was explained that it meant Cam led by his actions with very few words. 

From the mother of a teammate:
     I admit Jimmy Murphy dazzled me with his ferocious tackles in A-squad last year.  But I have never seen a player like Cam Daley in this organization.  I can honestly say I enjoyed watching him as much as my own boys.  I’m just so glad my son had the good fortune to have Cam on his team!  He has made my son a better player…

How Do You Choose?

Gabe Folkwein

From Coach Aldridge:    
     There hasn’t been a practice all season where this young man hasn’t smiled and caused others around him to laugh and smile along with him!  Whether it was the hot days of late August or the cool days of early October, you could count on Gabe to say something that would be uplifting to our team… “Hey, look at that rainbow!”  Or, “Check out that full moon!”
     His attitude is as great as his smile!  He is a team player and role model who would make any parent proud!  His sportsmanship is as unyielding as his positive attitude!
     Our team has had its share of challenges this season.  We are winless at 0-7 as I write this.  This would be enough to make most boys lose hope.  Not this MudHogger!  Even with the news that he had fractured his wrist, he still smiled and talked about healing in time for the All Star game!

From His Parents:   
     Gabe may not be the best player in A squad, and he might not be the one that leads his team, but he has a huge heart…and I think that is something that is special and that not every player that takes the field has.  Gabe was diagnosed with Asperger’s Syndrome when he was 7 years old.  Back in Virginia, at that time, he was in his second year of pee-wee football.  He got minimum plays, but he made an impression on his coaches.  They gave him a special award for having the biggest heart on the team.  Six years have passed since then, and I still think that he proves, from season to season, on and off the field, that he has a huge, caring heart.
     This year, he is a totally different kid.  He has a huge heart but his head has been in the game, and that has shown on the field. 
     Gabe works hard at school; harder than some others simply because his disability requires him to do so.  And even though his grades aren’t straight A’s by any means, he works hard and puts his all into every assignment that comes his way.  He loves to help kids at school so he belongs to a club called Peer Support.  He works with other kids that have disabilities such as Down’s syndrome and Cerebral Palsy. 
     More than anything, though, he cares about his teammates.  This year’s team has been plagued with injuries.  Gabe has consistently expressed concern about what has happened to his newly found friends.  He just wants everyone to have fun. And that’s really what the league is all about.

How Do You Choose?

Dan Hardiman

From his mother:
     Dan started playing tackle football with the MudHogs in second grade.  That same year, Dan started playing the cello.  He soon started with private lessons through the Hartt School and most Saturdays during the school year are spent playing with the highest level Suzuki orchestra at the Hartt School.  He taught himself to play the guitar and the drums and now wows fans at IAR with the band he formed with his friend Rob Lynch and occasional others.
     In addition to his interests in football and music, Dan is also a Boy Scout with Troop 68, with the rank of Star.  He has spent countless hours serving his community through various scout projects, does lots of hiking and camping, and has so far earned 19 merit badges.  His recent work on the Personal Fitness merit badge inspired him to begin a regular program of weight lifting and running.

 From Coach Dlugolecki:
     This was my second season coaching Dan.  Although he has been one of the larger players on the team, he is typically a quiet kid on the sidelines despite his size.  He was a top player drafted this season demonstrating that he has certainly matured as a football player.  More important, he is a well rounded individual that truly cares about people. 

How Do You Choose?

Scott Bernard

From his parents:
     During the past 5 years, Scott has remained serious about his school work, typically maintaining an “A” average in his classes.  He has become increasingly more active in leadership roles at his school serving repeatedly as student council representative and now an Executive Board member, as well as the Chairperson for the Student Council’s Service Committee leading new service outreach programs for the Avon community. Scott has sought opportunities for continuous personal improvement picking up guitar, winning awards and becoming published several times as a poet and artist, winning the travel league championship as a soccer goalie, and representing Connecticut and the rest of the Northeastern United States at the Jr. Olympics Championships in Nebraska as a finalist in javelin.  
     You can tell Scott it can’t be done, but he won’t listen… The MudHogs have taught him to believe the impossible is possible when you are standing across the line of scrimmage from a guy that’s twice your size. And it only takes one last-minute sprint across the goal line to believe that you can accomplish more with a team than alone… that’s what Scott’s all about – that’s what MudHogs football has helped him learn…

How Do You Choose?

Harrison Gill

From Coach McLaughlin:
     Harrison is the type of young man every coach dreams of having. If you ask him to do something, he does it without saying a word and he does it to the best of his ability.  He was defiantly one of the leaders on our line offensively and defensively. He is a very quite kid, and leads by example.
     He is one of the toughest players I have coached.  During our 1st playoff game this year he was hurt and lying on the field.  I ran out on the field with the EMT and we asked him were he was hurt.  Harrison said he was ok, the EMT asked, then why are you lying on the field.  He said he was ok and it didn’t hurt anymore.  He is so tough and didn’t want to come out of the game.  He came out unwillingly for a few plays and was right back at it giving 100% effort again.

From his parents:
     Academically, Harrison has excelled in the class room.  He currently has a 92.8 average in 6 core subjects.  In addition to his class room work, Harrison plays the saxophone for the 8th grade band.  
     There is never a time when Harrison has a bad thing to say to a teammate or coach.  He is always a good teammate and a good sport.  He will help a player up after a big hit, congratulate a player on a good play, or try to encourage a player when things don’t go their way.  He is the first one to console his brother Tucker after a tough loss or help his sister Macy practice her MudHog cheers.  He tries to help them both learn the lessons he has learned: patience; persistence; and passion.

How In The World Do You Choose?

Before announcing the recipient of this year’s DRA, I’d like to welcome back the 2009 Distant Replay Award Recipient:

Terrence Brophy

(HIS SPEECH)

When I began thinking about this speech, and as I was reading the book, “Distant Replay”, everything came back to one point: I just love the MudHogs! When I was remembering what the past recipients of this award said in their speeches, they mentioned hard work, determination, and team work. All of which were true. However, I thought there was more to it than just that, more to it than just on-field success.
     There was a bond made between the players in the book I received that was full of love and reliability in their own personal life. This book got me to thinking of things as if I was writing my own “Distant Replay”.  Just recently, my high school freshman team played Avon. This rivalry has always been strong, and I found a couple of my past MudHog teammates on this team. When I was knocked down, I found just as many of my old MudHogs teammates from Avon helping me up, as I did my own Canton team. When I got injured going out for a pass, I heard multiple, “are you okay’s?”  from Avon.
     There’s a certain bond that you make in this sport that you can’t find in any other. Down in that mud pit at Farmington High School, you are fighting, breathing heavy, sweating, bruising and picking each other up every Monday, Wednesday, Friday and Sunday.
     After that Avon game, I didn’t greet some of my old teammates with just a good game, or a nice seeing you. I found Jake Ernst, and Sean Neagle, some of my closest MudHog teammates, at the fifty yard line and gave them a hug as if they were my brothers. I was also thinking of my former teammates from Burlington and Farmington, Trevor Watts and Drew Invergsten.
     Additionally, in the book, the players loved their coach, Vince Lombardi. I learned so much from my MudHogs coaches, Mr. Neagle, Mr. Earnst, Mr. Watts and Coach Rob, and took so much from them. They always stressed it wasn’t the size of the player that mattered. It was the size of the heart. This was important to me as I was an undersized player. Also, when I did got knocked down, they were never mad, they knew that if I got back up and chased after that play, I was just as successful as the person who knocked me down. A memory that really shocked me was that in my favorite season, my team went winless. I knew that I played as hard as I could and had fun and that’s all that mattered.
     In conclusion, this award I received brought back memories, and reminded me of how great this league is. I hope all of you listening to me right now appreciate your time in MudHogs, and with your teammates, as much as I had. Take something from this league, and from this speech.
     Best of luck to the next recipient of this award, it is a real honor. Thank you all for listening, and have a great rest of the evening.

(ME) 
As one parent wrote to me in an email several years ago:
     “Being nominated is the same as winning.   It may not seem that way to a 12 or 13-year old.  This is a great reflection on them, on the program, and on the way they are perceived by their coaches and parents.  This award is important for just that reason.  We need to recognize kids that are doing it right, setting an example and giving the young kids something to look up to.   We choose one winner because that’s what tradition tells us to do, but we must be sure to let these kids know that we are equally proud of all their accomplishments and proud that the choice was so difficult.” 

 The recipient of the 2010 Distant Replay Award is:

Cameron Daley

 From Cam’s Mother:
     Cameron is such a great role model and teammate.  He has never offered anything but positive words to teammates and opponents.  He celebrates his teammate’s victories while helping to encourage them to learn from their mistakes. 
     Cameron works hard in school.  He is an honor roll student and a member of the CMS Band.  He represents his school on 3 sports teams.  He was a past member of the Substance Free Students club.  He is a member of our church youth group in which they do outreach community service work. 
     Cameron displays the same values in all those activities as he does in football.  To Cameron, if asked what his favorite sport is, he will say Football.  This is his passion in life.  I am proud to be the mother of a boy who has learned one of the most valuable life lessons with an organization such as this.  I believe the MudHogs have helped define who he is on and off the field.
     MudHogs Football isn’t all about winning and losing football games. To me, a MUDHOG is being your best!!  He handled the disappointment (of losing the Championship Game) with such poise and style.  He was congratulating the other team members – former teammates and friends he has made along the way.  True sportsmanship – to the end!

Ladies and Gentlemen… one more time for Cameron Daley.

(Coming in Scene Two: Looking into her eyes)

20 years is so long, but not when think about how fast it’s gone.

I feel like we just hugged her and told her about our day, but it’s been 20 long years since she’s been away.

She’s inside all us, one way or another, we were so lucky to have her as our Mother.

Even though our time with her was cut way to early, after 20 years we still remember her so clearly.

Her sense of humor, wit, and charm and wonderful personality was picked up by all of us in one way or another, we were so lucky to have her as our Mother.

She cared so much about all of us, especially when she knew her days were running short, it was never about her that she made a fuss.

That is a true Mother, taken away too soon, loved so much, and always proud of us.

We will always keep her in our heart, talk about her with each other, and always know…we were so lucky to have her as our Mother.

"On your left!" Passing under RT 4.

Cool!

OMG I was wrong! They didn't even begin work on it yet!

The Farmington River from RT 4.

So peaceful.

Back on the trail.

The sun sneaking through just a bit.

Time check.

Things in the rearview mirror are thinner than they appear.

Almost fell taking this one.

"Ghost Rider" by RUSH

"Headstrong" by TRAPT

Still not much pain.

Cute family.

THE BRIDGE

"Open Your Eyes" by STAIND

"The Space Between" by DMB

"Walk On" by U2

Brace sponsered by UnderArmour

Perfect spot to rest.

"Get Out Alive" by THREE DAYS GRACE

Bluuuuuuuuur.

View from above.

Time check again.

"Take a Breath" by David Gilmour

Looks like fun.

The famous Farmington Big Bird Bridge.

Sometimes I prefer a Slow Hump.

Riverside Mini Golf

Don't touch the big cables!

Back at the Bike Shed.

My "Everything Bike." Almost 20 years old.

Come on in.

More of my friends.

The Wall of Honor

More stuff...

I love this poster.

Thanks for riding with me!

4:30:24
It’s the opening day of fishing season 2010.  The freaking alarm clock is blasting near my head.  I don’t even like fishing.

4:36:36
I don’t like the alarm clock.  I don’t like fishing.  It’s dark outside.

4:42:12
The alarm clock does not show seconds so all times noted are purely an estimation.

4:47:12
It’s exactly five minutes later.  I hate the alarm clock.  I hate fishing.  I hate my pillow because it’s a little clumpy on the edges.  I really don’t even care for the 12 year-old sleeping in the other room right now.

5:10:34
I’m dressed.  Wife/mom promised last night to get up and make a special fishermen breakfast.  Wife/mom needs to get up. 

5:15:47
Wife/mom is showing signs of life. 

5:20:59
The boy comes to life.  He tells me he’s tired and I scream at him at the top of my lungs that I hate fishing.

5:45:26
Breakfast was great. 

6:01:09
The creepy neighbor boy is now over and we finish packing the car.

6:22:41
We arrive and the tiny pond is surrounded by more creepy kids and some adults.  Many of the adults are dressed as if they should be on some stupid fishing show.  I’m tired and it’s cold.  But the boy is happy.  So I am happy too.

6:30:53
I have a pole in my hands with the line in the water.  I’m praying that a fish does not bite my hook. 

7:15:32
If this kid crosses my line one more time, the little jerk is going to accidently end up in the lake.

7:57:42
Some kid tells me that I have a nice fishing reel.  His mom has a nice rack but I decide to keep it to myself.  Thanks kid.

8:12:40
I’m cold so I put my hooded MudHogs Youth Football jacket on.  It’s a high quality piece of outerware that I have hand-picked for our HogGear collection.  It’s our most popular item.  My mind is drifting.  It’s a very warm jacket.

8:49:18
Dammit!  I’ve been discovered.  A football parent begins a conversation with me.  He thinks his dopey kid can be a quarterback.  The kid can’t even zip his own jacket.

9:12:52
I look way hipper than 80% of these other dads. 

10:01:08
My Facebook app on my Blackberry is not working.  I hate fishing.  I’m cold.  I have to pee.  The boy looks so happy.  I’m happy too.

10:19:49
There’s about 200 people here trying to catch the same five fish.  Dumb.

10:21:46
The guy next to me is bleeding.  Eww.

10:25:21
Time is not flying by.  

10:26:04
There’s a duck in the middle of the pond.  I hope some kid hooks it so we can all stone him and teach him a lesson.

10:28:58
People are smoking all around me.  It’s a state park.  Where’s the DEP guy?  Hey these jackasses are flicking their cig butts on the ground near the water.  Where is the freaking DEP guy when you need him?  Pick up your BUTTS and get OUT of here.  Should I scream it out loud… make a scene… make an example out of one of these clowns?  Maybe I’ll just blog about it.  I’m cold.

10:34:45
The DEP trucks just dumped 3000 more fish into the lake.  Every person here has caught at least two fish.  Some have caught so many that they are giving them away.   The kid standing next to the boy has caught 19 fish.  I know this because his annoying mother is counting them out loud as he reels them in.  The boy who claims I am his father has not caught a single freaking fish.  He’s a good sport though and congratulates the other kids whenever they yank one out of the water.

10:52:26
The boy is one hell of a castor.  He can hit an area the size of a quarter.  He just can’t hit an area the size of a fish’s mouth.

11:05:35
Damn fly fishermen!  Here they come whipping their poles like a bunch of lion-tamers.  Walk too closely behind one of the damn fools and you have a good chance of getting slapped in the lip… or the eye.   

11:16:09
FINALLY!  After a few tips from a wonderful fellow Fishman, the boy hooks two trout.  Photo op.  Woo-hoo!  This is so much fun.

11:29:39
We are in the car with two suffocated fish in blue plastic bags.  Two others are swimming in about eight inches of water in a white painters bucket.  One of the fisher-guys had told me that I needed to pull the gills back and bleed the fish before bringing them home.  I don’t do so well with blood unless it’s coming out of one of my own children. 

“Reporting back home Madame President.”

11:29:57
11:29:58
11:29:59
11:30:00

Here’s how it works on the lake near my house.  We put three layers of clothes on.  The boy gathers his stuff.  I pack something to drink and eat into my Cabella’s bag (having something from Cabella’s gives you instant ”lake cred”).

I get into the warm car and drive to the lake but make the boy walk the half of mile so that the frigid air begins to break him down before he even arrives. 

A cigar-smoking 17 year-old is always there with his gas-powered drill.  Without him we’d be unable to fish.  He makes the holes in the ice.  I can only hope that his smoking habit will take its toll before next winter. 

So today I took a chair and a blanket.  I took my iPod Touch too.  I sat in my chair and put the blanket over my head.  I played Scrabble until my naked hand needed coverage. 

The lake is within walking distance of the house.  I can see it during the winter from my front porch.  There was at least a 20 degree difference between my front porch and the middle of the lake. 

There was not even a slight breeze as I left the house.  The wind on the middle of the lake was blowing snow crystals through my layers of fabric. 

Yes, Ice Fishing is probably a wonderful activity if you are in one of those warm lake tents with a TV and some finger food.  It’s probably even more enjoyable if you’re drunk out of your mind.

I spent two hours today on a large ice-cube in Unionville, CT.  It was cold and windy and the 11 year-old loved every minute of it. 

Imagine if he actually catches a fish!