Paul's "little league" football team was scheduled to play a game last night. Play was delayed because one of his players found a white powdery substance on the field. Head Coach Paul suspended play immediately and the Sheboygan Police were called into investigate. After a complete analysis, forensic experts determined that the white substance was actually the goal line. It was a substance completely foreign to Paul's players. The game started and the police were confident that Paul's team would not encounter the white substance again this year.
Just spoofing! I understand Paul's team won 6-0 last night.
Scoring at Camp Randall has all kinds of meanings. The first game of the year was against Washington State. A young man and a young woman were "making out" in the stall of a women's upper deck restroom during the game. They were reported and when the police arrived they were hurriedly putting on their jeans. When asked to produce their tickets, the guy obliged and the lady couldn't find hers. Oops, her pants were inside out. She couldn't find the pockets. They both had blood alcohol levels twice the legal limit. The police took them down to the station and the young man was heard asking his partner "what was you name again"?
Grasshopper No. 3 was invited to last weeks Notre Dame's football game at South Bend, Indiana. Notre Dame lost to Michigan State (Wisconsin's opponent this week). He saw "Touchdown Jesus" and the Golden Dome. He hobnobbed with Tom Izzo (the basketball coach at Michigan State) and he watched the Irish go down in flames again. Grasshopper No. 3 got to witness history as the Irish lost their 4th game in a row to start the season. This has never happened before to the blessed group of warriors. Sh-- happens. Irish fans are hurting. Grasshopper No. 3 told them to "rub some dirt on it".
Tomorrow is Camp Randall and the Michigan State Spartans are coming to town. Should be a good game. The place will be jumping. I think they have beefed up security in the women's rest rooms.
Who said football wasn't exciting?
Love,
Dad
I've always been fascinated by the concept of being able to go back in time to moments of my life (of course knowing what I know now) and be able to change the outcome of certain events. There is the movie "Peggy Sue Got Married". Peggy went back in time determined to do things different and eventually made the same decisions. Her destiny was to marry the same jerk.
I could be greedy. I could pick a point in time where I knew an investment would pay off and then enjoy the financial windfall. I'd buy as many shares of Microsoft in the 1960's as I could.
It would be interesting to change family history. If I could warn the family about my Grandpa Chalk's impending heart attack (or hemorage of some sort) and he had lived, the dynamics of the City Club and my family would have been dramatically different. Or would they?
I could try to intercept my Dad's decision to "get out" of this world. It would have preserved the family unity. Or would it. It might have been gotten uglier. His marriage was struggling. His business world was crumbling. His dreams were fading. So if he had lived, the inevitable might have just been delayed.
Getting married at age 19 (almost 20) might be a good point in time to revisit. The lives of 5 Grasshoppers hang in the balance of returning to that event. Naw, I wouldn't change that.
I have several work situations that I would like to revisit because they altered my career in different ways. The "net" of my work career was pretty good so I'm not sure I'd change too much.
In thinking about it, I really don't want to go back in time with the ability to change anything. The assumption is that I could improve the future. I really don't know. I might have made things worse.
So I am resolved that things happen and it is man's destiny to react in a positive way to ongoing change. My conclusion Grasshoppers, is that looking back is a useless exercise. Enjoy each moment. Make the most of each moment. The best is yet to come. You are where you are supposed to be in time.
Would you like to go back in time?
Love,
Dad
Fridays in high school were special. It was football night. I played on both offense and defense. I was a defensive halfback and an offensive wide receiver. My junior and senior year in high school resulted in 8-0 records (there was no playoff system at that time). So we just won, yah baby.
Classrooms were just something that got in the way. Most talk in the halls was about the game that night. Football players got favored treatment.
The last class of the day was cut short to have a pep rally in the auditorium. I remember doing some sort of stupid skit to the song "Whats Behind the Green Door". Of course, our football team was behind the green door.
Players arrived at the school gym several hours before "kick off". We were under strict orders about what we could eat prior to the game. Protein. Limited diet. Stay hydrated.
We always wanted to be the last team on the field and make a big entrance. Excitement was in the air. Lights made the field seem magical. The ceremonial calisthentics were a necessary evil. There were cheer leaders. There was a pep band.
Important people in my life always attended the games. My special girlfriend was there. My dad (along with Art Mueller and Jack Becker) were there. I think my brothers and sisters were there. I don't recall my mom attending the games.
And then we won. We had teams that just bull-dozed the competition. We would win by 20-30-40 points. It seemed normal at the time. History says we had some extremely talented teams.
After the game was celebration time. I kept it rather simple. Hey, I had my girlfriend. The A&W drive-in was a gathering place. And then there were the drinking haunts. My Dad along with Art Mueller and Jack Becker headed for the local pub to analyze the game. Because Art wrote the sports column for the Plymouth Review newspaper, I got my share of printed compliments about my playing time.
The coaches also headed for some secluded tavern to celebrate success. They were careful not to be conspicuous.
Saturdays always had a quiet "buzz" about the success of the previous night. My Dad would make sure to mention my mistakes and would kid about the good stuff. I remember dropping a touchdown pass in the end zone (it was poorly thrown of course) and my Dad lamented that he couldn't run for Mayor any more because of the shame.
Then next Friday we repeated the ritual. Yep, it was high school football in all it's glory Throw in the home-coming pagentry, celebratory parades and award banquets and it all added up to a memorial time. It seems like yesterday. The same ritual continues today.
By the way, I married my special girlfriend.
Love,
Dad
Just a note on compassion before talking about gifts. I was listening to my local radio station this morning and they reported that a chinese man had played a game on a computer at some coffee shop for 3 days without sleep. He fell over dead. There was no conclusion as whether it was a heart attack or lack of exercise. A female announcer who lacks some compassion (obviously) said "it was probably a good thing he died because he didn't have a life anyway". It was a clever observation. It was funny. My question is "how would you like being married to that little angel"? She'd probably laugh if you fell down the stairs.
Now the gift. The theory is that everybody has a gift. Mother Teresa had a gift of compassion bringing comfort to many, many unfortunate souls. Warren Buffett (a financial guru) has earned more money than most people in the world so his gift is accumulating wealth. A school teacher can relate to students and actually teaches her "charges". Her gift is inspiring others. A dancer develops skills and the world gets to enjoy the magnificence and grace of an accomplished artist. You get the idea.
You also have a gift. Yes you do! You are special in your own way. Maybe you've never thought about it. You do have a gift and it makes you unique. Of course your Mom and Dad always knew that.
Your mission in life is to discover your gift. It is obvious to some early in life and for some it takes years to understand. Trust me, your gift is what makes you special and you should make sure it doesn't go to waste.
Now the final step. Once you understand your gift, you should give it away. Huh? Yep, your gift should be shared with other people. Mother Teresa shared her compassion. Buffet gave 31 billion (that is with a "b") dollars to a charity that will improve the world. A dancer performs at the "Met" in New York and inspires dreams. A teacher helps young people find their gift with patience and instructional cleverness. They are all giving the gift that is unique to them.
So Grasshoppers, I'm proud to say you all have a gift. Some of you have discovered your gift and others have an "inkling" about what their gift might be. Once you find your gift, life takes on a new fullness. And then with your gift, give it away. It seems un-natural. The ultimate personal reward comes from using your gift to benefit others.
So, what is your gift?
Love
Dad
Life is short. We all need to make the most of life.
There is "perspective" however. Life when examined in the context of eternity is but the "blink of an eye". Eternity has no beginning. Eternity has no end. Shakespeare, in one of his plays, said that "life is but a fleeting second in eternity". Imagine that. In the click of a second on your watch, your life is over based on eternity.
Okay, follow me now. Your life is just a "blink". Hardly seems worth the effort does it? Then you watch a movie like "City Slickers" and the trail boss, Curly, proclaims that the meaning of life is one thing. We never find out what the "one thing" is, but it is obviously very special.
So imagine that your fleeting life (one second) boils down to one thing (as declared by Curly). Also imagine that you will experience that one thing on one day late in your life. What a magnificent experience that would be. Everything comes to a crescendo.
Now imagine that you sleep through that infinitesimal part of the moment that was designed to be the essence of your life. Or possibly you are in the "bathroom" when your moment occurs. Maybe your cell phone rings and some guy is trying to sell you insurance. You could miss your moment. How disappointed would that be?
So Grasshoppers, my wish for you in your short life, is to discover the true one meaning of life and have the chance to experience life's true rewards.
There is a theory that says you get to come back and experience many moments. You get to do things over and over until you get them right.
In the end, if someone asks you to describe your moment, was it a glorius moment? Was it a rewarding moment? Was it a f---ing moment? Were you just "there"? Don't waste it. Make the most of your moment.
Love,
Dad
Rumor has it that a family member is about to manage the opening of a new hair styling facility in Sheboygan. It is called the Barbershop.
I want the world to know that my grandpa Chalk had a 3 chair barbershop in the late 1930's and early 1940's. It gave male gender customers haircuts and shaves. It is now 75 years later and someone has decided that it would be special to open a chain of outlets called the Barbershop. Huh? Grandpa Chalk did that 75 years ago.
The environment of the new Barbershop is unique. It serves guys only. There are individual cubicles. Each cubicle has a flat screen TV with a remote control that they tape to your fingers during your haircut. They have buckets (or baskets) of peanuts that you can enjoy before, during and after your haircut. You can shuck the shells to the floor, throw them at other customers or toss them in the air as the Packers fumble another ball. All this frivolity for $10.
Oh yeah, then there is the haircut. I assume that they give great haircuts. They have professional stylists. Maybe it doesn't matter. They give a treat instead of a treatment.
Okay, peanuts on the floor isn't a new concept. The Ground Round restaurant has been doing it for years and so have several local steak houses. Flat screen viewing has been part of sports bars for years. It is nice but not new. People are friendly. So what is the secret? What is the secret?
During my morning exercise, I encountered a retired barber and his friend. We kidded about the "Barbershop". I described the concept of peanuts and TV to which the friend (a female mom) replyed that her son had received a cut at the new Barbershop in Appleton. His comment was "Mom, they have hot chicks". Whoa! Now let me see. Peanuts! TV! A good haircut! Male only patrons! And apparently the secret, "hot chicks"!
So prepare Sheboygan. The Barbershop will take your community by storm. And I know the secret of their success.
Love,
Dad
On Labor Day we had tickets to the Milwaukee Brewers game versus the Houston Astros in Milwaukee. It was an afternoon game. Bright sunshine. The roof was open to Miller Park and a light cool breeze was coming in off Lake Michigan. Sitting in the shade and enjoying the excitement of a pennant chase, I couldn't help reflect on how "Bucky" would have enjoyed the show. My Dad's dream was to be in the "show" and he never dreamed how extravagant the performances would get. Yes sir, we were tapping our feet before the game and guessing "song titles" played by the organist.
My goal? Bring home a winner.
It was a good game. Ryan Braun "pumped out" a homer and Fielder got walked several times. The net result was that after seven innings, the Brewers were leading 7-4. I had made a pack with your mom that we would leave after 7 innings to beat the crowd. Never fear. Turnbow and Cordero would pitch the eighth and ninth. The game was in good hands. We had brought home a victory.
So we eased out of Miller Park. Our strategy had worked. No traffic problem,
Then listening to the remainder of the game on the radio, Houston had runners on base and were threatening to score in the top of the eighth inning. As we headed north on Highway 41, the Brewers were tied 7-7. What the hell? By the time we reached Lomira, the score had turned in favor of the Astros, 9-7. The stupid game didn't end until we approached Fond du lac. It had taken over an hour to finish two innings and the Brewers pissed away another lead.
Well we tried. I guess our mistake was trying to leave a little early. If we had stayed, the Brewers would have won. Yeah, right!
Actually it was a very pleasant day. Everything was enjoyable right up to the time we left the park. Where else would you rather be on a summer ending Labor Day? Miller Park! A pennant race! Good ball game! Time with family! It doesn't get much better. The score was incidental to the whole experience.
I can't help but ponder "did leaving early affect the outcome of the game"? No, it couldn't have! Could it? No matter, it was a failed attempt to bring home a winner.
Love,
Dad
Saturday afternoon was the kickoff of Badger football for the season. It was a sunny afternoon in Madison and a victory made it better.
We had two extra tickets for the game. Grasshopper No. 2 wanted one ticket for one of "the boys" because she was short a ticket (she had her own tickets).
Enter "cell phones". We used cell phones to contact Grasshopper No. 2 as she approached the stadium to confirm our respective locations and ultimately connect up to enter the stadium together. We would met in front of Gate No. 10. Remember that Gate Number. Did we need the cell phones? No. Were they convenient. Yes.
Grasshopper No. 2's family got split up during the ballgame because some sat with us in our familiar seat location and some stayed with her in the lower deck. Actually there was a switch of members at half time.
After the game, the plan was unclear. Fear not! We have cell phones. We can talk immediately after the game and make sure Grasshopper No. 2's family could leave together. We were in the upper deck with her Son No. 2. She was in the lower deck directly beneath us with Son No. 1. When the game ended, we made a call to Grasshopper No. 2. No answer. More calls to No. 2. Still no answer. We know she had the cell phone turned on. Her vibrator system on the phone was active. She wasn't responding to vibration. Aren't cell phones great. On this particular day we wanted to get out of the stadium and weren't anxious to stay for the infamous 5th quarter.
Then as I was looking down from the upper deck to her section, I spied Grasshopper No. 2 and family. There she was. She was looking up. She was waving. She was enjoying the music of the 5th quarter. Obviously she had not checked her cell phone. So from the upper deck I flashed 10 fingers to signify Gate 10 and pointed in the direction of Gate 10. Her face lit up with understanding and 5 minutes later we joined up in front of Gate 10 to return her property (Son No. 2). All was well.
Imagine that! 10 fingers did what cell phones with vibrators (along with instant messaging capabiliity, GPS information sharing and internet connection) couldn't do. Fingers visually conveyed details of our meeting. 10 fingers cost nothing (it reminds me of the Indians sending smoke signals). Isn't the Power of Ten amazing. The only thing more powerful than ten fingers is sometimes one finger. Huh.
Love,
Dad