A Bad Week For the NFL and...Men

This past week has been full of stories about domestic violence and the NFL. There was the whole Ray Rice video and more recently, the arrest of Adrian Peterson on child abuse charges. My observations, for all they are worth, follow.

So, Ray Rice is seen on video several months ago dragging his unresponsive fiancée by her hair out of an Atlantic City elevator. The powerful hammer of NFL justice comes down on him, suspending him for two games…two. The resulting tsunami of outrage by women’s groups and society at large caused the NFL commissioner, Roger Goodell to have second thoughts, issue a mea culpa and pledge much tougher penalties in the future. Then a video leaks this week showing what happened inside the elevator, Ray Rice knocking the woman out with a vicious left hook. The graphic video, played over and over on ESPN prompts the NFL to suspend Mr. Rice “indefinitely.” Soon, the discussion became, “What did the NFL know and when did they know it?” Now, Goodell's job is in jeopardy. Lost in all of this public relations nightmare is an answer to my simple question…why isn’t Ray Rice in jail? It was my understanding that assault and battery is a crime punishable by serious jail time. Apparently there is a different justice system for professional athletes.

Now comes word that Adrian Peterson has been indicted for administering a “whooping” to his four year old son with a switch. The alleged punishment left the child with cuts and bruises on his legs, backside, and scrotum. Peterson has been fully cooperative with the police, seemingly unaware that he did anything wrong. Reaction to this incident has been all over the map from, “I got whippings when I was a kid, what’s the big deal ?” to “Adrian Peterson is a child molesting cave man who should be thrown under the jail.”

OK, yes, I received several “whippings” when I was an out of control knuckleheaded kid, and yes…on many occasions my Dad used tree branches to administer his justice. Although, I must say that back then Dad made me go to the woods and pick out the branch for him! Unlike Mr. Peterson, Dad never made me drop my pants and never struck me more than three times. Believe me…three was enough. Such punishments were rare for me, reserved for particularly grievous rebellions on my part. As such, they all stand out in my memory, which I suppose was the intent. I never doubted my Dad’s love for me, I always knew that he wanted the best for me, and each time I got a whipping, Dad would make his way to my room before I fell asleep to hug me and tell me he loved me.

When I became a parent, I did things differently than my Dad. Having two completely different kids forced Pam and I to devise different forms of discipline for each of them. Still, on very rare occasions we agreed that some form of corporal punishment was in order, always administered with our hands…no sticks.

I say all of this not to defend anything. It just is what it is…many people my age grew up with spankings and many of us turned out to be pretty decent people with a workable understanding of the difference between right and wrong, in no small part because of our parent’s example.

In Mr. Patterson’s case, he seems to be frankly, obsessed with corporal punishment. He has a “whoopin room” in his house, a collection of belts dedicated to the practice. In the incident in question, the man stuffed the leaves from the branch into his son’s mouth. In other words, Peterson is an unhinged idiot. The image of a 240 pound world class athlete flailing away at a four year old child conjures up all sorts of horrible emotions.

Generally speaking, I’m all for the State butting out of our business. The nanny state interfering at our every turn as parents is infuriating. Still, the State has an obligation to protect the most vulnerable among us. I would say a four year old qualifies.

A very bad week for the National Football League, and an even worse week for men.

Is Golf a Sport?

Golf is not so much a game as it is a mystery. Most of the time it winds up being a four hour mind game, punctuated by casual bird watching and an occasional cigar. To call a stroll through the countryside a “sport” seems a stretch. It much more resembles a recreational activity like hiking or hunting, since some of us spend quite a bit of time hiking in the woods hunting for our ball.

So, this afternoon I’m meeting my niece’s husband Ruaridh and his sister-in-law, Lauren for a round out at Royal New Kent. I’ve got a full slate of appointments beforehand so it’s going to be one of those close calls. I’ll have to run from the parking lot to the first tee. But as is so often the case with this maddening game, sometimes, running late is a good thing. Let me explain.

Ten years ago I spent a weekend with my buddy Ron Rechenbach down at his place in Nags Head for some golf and relaxation. I was late leaving Richmond and the traffic was horrible. Our first tee time was for 1:15 and I pulled up into the parking lot at 1:10 in a fine mist. Ron pulled the cart up to my car, loaded my clubs and we made a bee-line for the first tee. No loosening up on the driving range, no practicing my putting, nothing. I had been in the car for three and a half hours and was stiff as a board. I had never played the course before and I detest playing in the rain. In other words, all the ingredients were in place for a truly awful round of golf.

I shot a 79.

It was my second best score. Ever. In fact, in all of my golfing life I have only broken 80 four times, three 76’s and that 79. Oh, and it was also the last time I’ve broken 80, never having come close since. My average score is probably somewhere around 88-91. Stupidest recreational activity ever.

But, it will be fun playing with Lauren. She has recently taken the game up and I’m anxious to see how she’s getting along. Poor girl has no idea what she’s gotten herself into.

No Sale, Mr. President

I watched the speech. The President sounded like a Ronald “shining city on a hill” Reagan one minute and a George “for us or against us” Bush the next. Talk about a transformation, this guy has gone from “ISIS is a JV team” and “the Syrian rebels are just a bunch of pharmacists and doctors” to ISIS is a cancer that must be destroyed and the Syrian rebels are a fine fighting force in less than thirty days!

I said before the speech that I was “persuadable” and I was. I was waiting to hear information that would convince me that ISIS posed a clear and present danger to America and our interests. I’m still waiting.

What I heard instead was that we have no knowledge of any pending threats, but that in the President’s informed opinion, there “could” be threats “in the future.”

So, which is it? If ISIS is so uniquely dangerous and such an existential threat to us, then why was the President unwilling to commit ground troops? Quick, name for me one single war in the history of the planet that has ever been won by air power alone? Apparently, even though ISIS represents an unprecedented threat to hearth and home, the President is willing to rely on the ground troops of Iraq, and the untrained army of pharmacists in Syria? Something just doesn’t add up. Just four weeks ago the President was unwilling to arm the Syrian resistance. Now after a couple of videos surface showing American journalists getting their heads sawed off with dull box cutters, suddenly he’s George Patton?

Sorry, nothing I heard in the President’s speech convinced me that this conflict is worth even one drop of American blood.

Before the President's Speech...

President Obama will give a major foreign policy address to the nation tonight in which he hopes to convince the American people that A. he has a strategy to confront ISIS and B. it is a good one that we should support. To put his alleged gifts of public speaking to the test, I will state my opinion of the ISIS threat now, before his speech, then tomorrow I will revisit the issue to see if the President was able to change my mind.

Of course, you may well point out what a ridiculous exercise this is since I am essentially a nobody, and who the heck cares what I think? You would be right about the nobody part but wrong that it doesn’t matter. It very much matters that the President is able to move the needle of public opinion on such an important issue as foreign policy. In as much as I am a member of the public and consider myself persuadable, I am very much his target market in this speech.

Here’s my view. ISIS is a brutal collection of roughly 20,000 black-robed 7^th century Islamists who, having noticed that their particular slice of the world doesn’t have a pot to piss in, have concluded that what is needed in the ARAB world is a revival of the Dark Ages. To this end, they all quit their day jobs as used camel salesmen and took up arms. This new “army” consists of small arms, machetes, lots of Toyota pickup trucks, rusty box-cutters and video cameras with which they film beheadings of various westerners to greatly exaggerate their power. The areas of the Middle East which they “control” consist primarily of vast stretches of…sand. ISIS has no air force, no mechanized armor and no camouflaged uniforms, (Seriously…who wears black in the dessert??). A 20,000 man army sitting around in the middle of a dessert with no air cover and no serviceable artillery seem like the very definition of “sitting ducks” for a modern air force. And speaking of air forces, there happen to be three very well equipped ones in the area belonging to Saudi Arabia, Jordan and Israel.

I agree with the premise that ISIS is a despicable organization, and their execution of American journalists in cold blooded fashion means that these murderers should be dealt with accordingly. But, I am at a loss to understand why this particular group of savages are suddenly some sort of existential threat to the Western World. Sure, there is always the threat that some nutjob will hijack a plane and fly it into a building, but this has been true ever since there were planes and nutjobs. ISIS didn’t invent brutality.

It would seem to me that the nations with the most to lose from ISIS are in the neighborhood. Something tells me that The House of Saud isn’t interested in being part of a Caliphate. I’m not sure the Kuwaits or the fine folks in Bahrain or the United Arab Emirates are anxious to give up their high rise luxury condos any time soon. In my opinion, it’s high time that these modern Arab states stepped up to the plate and policed their own back yards.

Besides, this nation-building business started by George Bush hasn’t been going very well. We get rid of the tyrant Sadam Hussein and we end up with a leaderless, ungovernable Iraq. We get rid of Muammar Gaddafi and we end up with a failed State and Benghazi. We draw a red line in Syria to try and get rid of Assad and now…

Enough already. The only reason ISIS is still in existence is because the neighboring ARAB states haven’t summoned the will to destroy it. Why have we armed them with the finest fighter aircraft in the world, the finest tanks and artillery, if not for a time such as this?

I will watch and listen to the President tonight, eagerly awaiting new information that might justify a change in my opinion. 

The Price of Things

“Price of milk reaches all-time high,” screamed the headline on my computer screen. At that moment it occurred to me that I couldn’t guess the price of a gallon of milk within 50 cents if my life depended upon it. It’s not that I haven’t bought a gallon of milk at the grocery store before, it’s just that I never pay any attention to the price. What am I going to do, shop around for the best deal on milk? No, when we need milk, we buy milk. The price is basically irrelevant. You can’t pour water on your cereal.

Be that as it may, it still bothers me that I am so unaware of the price of something so basic to my way of life. I know how much a gallon of gas costs. I’m completely up to speed on the costs of coffee and beer, other must-have life liquids. How did I get so out of touch with how much stuff costs?

So, I decided to give myself a little test. I wrote out a list of staples that we buy at the grocery store every week and made my best guess at their price as follows:

1.     Gallon of milk             My guess…$2.50……….actual price…$3.65

2.     Dozen eggs                  My guess…$1.75……….actual price…$1.82

3.     Box of cereal               My guess…$2.23……….actual price…$3.98

4.     Loaf of bread               My guess…$2.00……….actual price…$2.03

5.     Pound of bacon            My guess…$4.00……….actual price…$5.58

6.     Jar of peanut butter      My guess…$2.10……….actual price…$2.40

My Guess total...$14.58

Actual Price...$19.46

Pathetic. Stuff costs roughly 33% more than I think. I take away two lessons from this exercise. One, I am a terrible consumer, and two, when in God’s name did bacon become a delicacy? $5.58 a pound? Are you kidding me? What…did hogs go on strike or something? I don’t remember reading about a pig shortage down in Smithfield. Has the government slapped some kind of obesity surtax on the stuff? Is this some sort of politically correct punishment for our insensitivity to Muslims? What in the name of Porky Pig is going on?

I guess its simple supply and demand. In a country that serves up triple baconators for lunch you have to pay to play. Maybe if we didn’t love the stuff so much it would be cheaper. Still, I can’t help but be a little resentful of the big shots at Smithfield Foods for hogging all of the profits. The Chairman of Gwaltney gave a press conference the other day to try and explain the high prices. I’ve never seen a more HAMfisted performance. Total HOGwash, a complete boar.

I’ll stop now.

 

One more…who was Porky Pig’s favorite President?   AbraHAM Lincoln.

What is Happening to Me???

Regular readers of this blog know of my opinions about television. You know that in my house it’s Pam who does most of the watching. She sits downstairs on the sofa, busy on her laptop, while simultaneously watching everything from cooking shows to CSI. In her defense, most of the time the television provides nothing more than background noise while she is busy doing something else. But my uses for the thing are more targeted and less frequent…sports and old movies.

However, since the kids left we have developed a nice routine whereby the two of us sit down together during and after dinner and watch a show from Netflix. Almost exclusively these shows have one thing in common, they are all British.

Our latest discovery is a delightful mystery series called Foyle’s War. But before that there was Sherlock, Mr. Selfridge and The Paradise. So, what’s going on here?

For most of my life I have been decidedly snobbish about “foreign” things. My kids will attest to this with universal eye-rolling. “Dad, you’re so provincial! It’s OK to like Honda Dad…the war’s been over for 70 years!!” Generally, my taste for foreign things was limited to the dead…Beethoven, Churchill, etc. But I guess I’m having a mid-life crisis or something because not only have I developed a love of Indian cuisine, now I’ve become enamored with British television. What’s happening to me??

Take Foyle’s War for instance. Here we have a rather straight forward mystery series that takes place at the outbreak of WWII in the sleepy coastal town of Hastings. Foyle is a police detective who is too old to fight so must stay at home and investigate murders during war time. He has a son in the RAF. He is a widower. He has a spunky 20 year old girl for a driver and a recent amputee as an assistant. They go about the business of bringing murderers to justice amidst the backdrop of total war. Many of the crimes are related to the war effort and therefore present ethical conundrums to our team such as, should our top ace pilot be sent to prison for a circumstance-drenched murder depriving the country of perhaps it’s best aerial fighter?

Aside from the thought provoking story lines, there’s Foyle himself. Calm, unflappable, polite and measured, with kind eyes and a soft heart, he always seems in control of himself no matter how horrific a scene he encounters. He happens to be a dead ringer for my long dead Uncle, John Dixon. Watching him think things through, slowly, with methodical calm is fascinating.

The one thing that all of these British shows seem to have in common is something that is sadly missing in many American offerings…intelligence. The storytelling pulls you along, makes you think without the need for the profane or salacious. There is a certain sweetness to some of the characters that makes you care about what happens to them. Even though each episode of these shows is generally 15 minutes too long, afterwards, you don’t feel as if you’ve just wasted 90 minutes, in fact you come away thinking you just might be a bit smarter for the experience.

Try saying THAT after an episode of Keeping up with the Kardashians. For sure American television does have its share of triumphs (Breaking Bad, Mad Men and Parenthood come to mind), but lately, it has been the Brits who have drawn me back to television.

How many days until Downton Abbey??

How Do I Know That My Wife Loves Me?

Pam and I are going up to Charlottesville today for the UVA vs. UR football game. We have friends, Rob and Dodie Whitt, who have season tickets. It will be hot and muggy with a strong chance of thunderstorms by game time (3:00) and Pam hates football about as much as ISIS hates infidels.

That’s not entirely true since she doesn’t actually want all football fans beheaded, but she can only maintain interest in any sporting event for about five minutes, bless her heart. Now that I think about it, that isn’t entirely true either. She loves figure skating. That’s a sport, right? Yes, we have spent many a winter evening together marveling at the grace and beauty of all those triple toe loops and Sal chows. Oh, and she does watch the Little League World Series because the boys are “so adorable.”

But that’s about it on the sports front. About the only thing she hates more than football is being hot. I speak here of the temperature, not her drop dead beauty. Being from Maine has instilled in my wife a thermostat that is permanently set on 70. Add sauna room humidity to the heat and she feels as if she is in Hell.

So, today she gets to look forward to her two least favorite things in the entire world! On a positive note, Dodie is one of her favorite people and always a blast to be around. There’s the tailgating part which gives her some food to prepare and organize. Who knows, by the time the kickoff comes around she might find that she has gotten swept up in the buzz, thrill and excitement of big time college football. No, wait…this is UVA we’re talking about, where the fans enter the stadium midway through the first period, leave at halftime and don’t return until the fourth quarter, it at all. These are fans who instead of tearing down the goalpost in a fury of exultation, sing songs after each score.

My University of Richmond Spiders, of Division 1-AA fame will do our best to compete, and if the past is any teacher, will give the Cavaliers a battle. I’ll be wearing my Spiders gear, while Pam will be in denim shorts and a sleeveless orange top, not because she is a Cavalier fan but because all of her red things are “just too hot!”

I will thoroughly enjoy myself. Rob and I will talk sports all afternoon. Rumor has it that he has a Cuban cigar waiting for me.

After this day I will owe my wife BIG TIME.