March of the Cicadas

There are literally hundreds of cicada shells on our willow tree!

Nighttime Ritual

Ahhh....You just can't beat a good old fashioned belly rub!

Fantasy Sports Team Names

In the past few years, I have become involved with fantasy sports. Only baseball and football, because I really don’t follow the other sports close enough to make informed decisions about my teams. I know people not involved think it’s silly, and that’s ok. I happen to think reality TV is silly, but that’s a topic for another day. One of the more entertaining aspects of fantasy sports are the team names chosen by league members. Some are dull, some are crude, and some are downright hilarious.

Of course, what league would be complete without references to genitalia such as:

The Big Ditkas

Show me your TD’s

...you get the picture. But to me, the best team names don’t resort to crude, they are simply clever:

W.D. Forte

Kibbles and Vicks

Favre Dollar Footlong

…And finally, 2 of my favorites:

Chad lost his Johnson

Somewhere over Dewayne Bowe

You have to be a football fan to understand (and I suppose it wouldn't hurt to be familiar with 1939 classic musicals.)

Beautiful. Simply beautiful.

Memories

A few years ago, My sister Sue put together a booklet of various "Dad" stories to give him on his 90th birthday celebration. She did a great job with it, and virtually up to the day dad died, he would request that someone would read various stories to him. They always made him cry.

I was scanning through a folder on my computer when I came upon my entry to this book, and I wanted to share it once again.

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Growing up in the Johnson household, it didn’t take long to realize that Dad was an animated sports watcher. Baseball back then wasn’t on TV very often but football was, and every Sunday dad would be glued to the TV watching the Big Red. Not unlike a pitcher who has the ability to drown out all of the chaos around him, dad would lean forward in his chair, squint, and be totally engrossed with the game at hand. Only the occasional child moseying in front of the TV (probably Sue or Judy, because us boys would never dream of interrupting something of such importance) would temporarily break his concentration. Of course he would immediately point out their gaffe, and soon be back into his trance. During an exciting play, dad would leap from his chair and it would flop back against the wall. I think he likes to blame all of those wall nicks on us kids, but we know the truth. An occasional bellow of “get the football” during a fumble or “go baby go” on a long run would ring out. During a tense portion of the game, dad would get up from his chair and start briskly pacing from the living room to the dining room and back.

Cardinal baseball in those days was primarily relegated to radio. Listening to Harry Carey and Jack Buck call a game, however, wasn’t half bad. To relieve boredom on a lazy weekend afternoon, we would frequently go for a car ride. I think these rides were more about listening to Cardinal games on the car radio than relieving boredom. Again, amongst the chaos of a car full of screaming kids, there was dad, totally engrossed, leaning over the steering wheel…. squinting.

Today, dad no longer leaps from his seat or squints over the steering wheel. He has replaced this zeal with the likes of clapping whenever the Cardinals score or pounding his hand against the arm of the chair when something bad happens. This is his way of keeping mom (who is in the other room) informed on how the game is going.

I took the liberty of borrowing dad’s technique to keep Carol informed on how the Cardinals were doing. She was not impressed.