Other Things Have Happened

As hard as it is to pay attention, the world continues to spin and other people have lives.

Well, except for my friend Ernie Tervi. Ernie passed away a few days ago after losing a battle with cancer. Ernie had the most innocent heart of anyone I knew, but managed to tell some marvelously cynical stories and jokes, and some wonderful shaggy dog stories with outrageous puns. You don't want me to try to reproduce them here. I hadn't seen him in many years, but will remember him fondly.

All right. One quick Ernie Tervi joke. What did the elephant say when the truck ran over his trunk? (Hold your nose to say)"Nice, real f***ing nice." (Sounds like "Dice, real f***ig dice").
There are no other quick Ernie Tervi jokes. Ask me sometime to tell about Peter Piper and the spinster sisters, or Toivo and Eino and the Bearcat Scanner. They take about a week each, but they're wonderfully wrong.

I had a scary little dark mole working near my right eyebrow, but it turns out to be a "sebaceous keratoma." Translation: an age spot. Crap! I'm scared enough about old age without scaring myself with age spots! I have a few others of this type of extrusion on my hands, but this one was in process, pushing up a little crown, and it had my attention. All's well. Nonetheless I encourage everyone to use sunscreen, wear hats to shade the whole face and neck, and pay attention to moles and other quirks of complexion, especially when they start changing or growing. Both of my parents had several run-ins with little skin cancers, and both had other cancer concerns which contributed to their decline in health; who knows the relationship?

In a previous blog site, I railed repeatedly about the general ineptitude of other drivers. I don't want to return to that, but a recent trend in driving has caught my attention. This one makes sense: I am sure that traffic in general has slowed down. I used to set my cruise at a reasonable amount over the speed limit, and be passed by many vehicles, especially from Minnesota and Illinois. Since gasoline passed about $3.90, things have slowed down. I have dropped two or three MPH off my regular speed, and I am now one of the fastest vehicles out there. Only a few FIBs (that's Illinois drivers in Badgerspeak) now sail by me, and even they are generally under 80. I am working on adding about five minutes to my commute time; this is fine with a 9:30 start but really bites when I need to be in Eau Claire by 6 a.m.

Yes, Ross, I follow some sports. The Celtics destroyed the Lakers last night to win their 17th NBA title. Kevin Garnett was incoherent with joy. It's amazing: the NBA has been in existence for 62 years; 31 of the championships have gone to the Celtics or Lakers. Whatever happened to the Syracuse Nationals or the Rochester Royals? The Golden State Warriors used to play in Philadelphia. The Royals moved to Cincinnati, then to Kansas City as the Kings (or, for at least one season, the Kansas City - Omaha Kings); they now play in Sacramento. Of course, the Lakers got that name when they played in Minneapolis. If I remember right, the Pistons of Detroit used to play in Fort Wayne. The Atlanta Hawks were the St. Louis Hawks, and somewhere before that. You could look it up... but why? Memory is more fun if less accurate.

What I'm flashing back to here is being about ten or eleven, on wintry days, wearing a pair of my dad's old Marine Corps red satin shorts, dribbling a basketball in my basement around the ping-pong table, shooting at one or another cardboard box (never mind the height), and doing play-by-play for myself. I was Tommy Heinsohn. I was Tom Gola. I was Bob Pettit. I was Paul Arizin. I was Bob Cousy. God forbid, I was Dolph Schayes. Al Attles. I think Baylor was in the league by then. Jerry Lucas, Oscar Robertson, John Havlicek were still in college - Havlicek maybe not yet.
I don't think I dared be Wilt or Bill Russell. And of course none of this came to anything; I have a sweet spot for a jump shot from the left edge of the free throw line, but now I can't jump.

And then there's that golf fellow, Eldrick whatever. 91 holes on a broken leg and a torn ACL, and he wins? Good God, what else does he ever need to do to prove himself? The man hit three shots in the last six holes of the third round (13, 17 and 18) that would be a career highlight reel for any other player. And he had the grace to laugh at his blind good fortune at the shot on 17.
Just hope that he recovers from his surgery and can play again, so we can watch more unbelievably good and bad shots and more utterly remarkable victories, and enjoy his debilitating effect on the psyche of every other golfer.

Thank you and good night. I'll be here all week.