Faith on a Wire

I've been wanting to post about the June 15 high-wire walk across Niagara Falls by Nik Wallenda, but as always, my insanely busy schedule has kept me from doing so in a timely manner. Patience and persistence usually win out in the end, however. Mr. Wallenda has proved that.

Some months ago I heard about New York and Ontario authorities dispensing with their century-long ban on daredevil stunts at Niagara Falls so as to allow the 33-year-old Wallenda,of the famous "Flying Wallendas" family of aerialists to attempt a crossing of the Niagara Gorge directly over the brink of the Falls. I took a rather dim view of that action at the time, wondering what other silliness local authorites would stoop to promoting in order to generate a few dollars to prop up their ailing economy. More recently, I heard that the "event" would be televised, but didn't make any special plans to watch it, as I regarded the whole thing as roughly equivalent to the second coming of that 1970s oddball Evel Knievel.

But with Friday evening winding down and a little free time on my hands before retiring, I decided to check out the broadcast. I grew up just a few miles from the Falls on Grand Island, New York, and worked in the Niagara Falls State Park for two summers during college, so I'm quite familiar with all parts of it and thought it might be a hoot to see all the commotion and circus atmosphere there on TV.  I had heard that Wallenda had been required to use a safety tether to prevent a fatal mishap, so I didn't have to worry about having to witness something like that (I might be a little more squeamish than the average person). I wasn't quite prepared for the experience I was about to have.

I tuned in just a few minutes before Wallenda started his walk, so I didn't see any of the lead-up coverage. It was interesting indeed to see the area at the head (or is it the foot?) of Goat Island I had walked through countless times brilliantly illuminated, jammed with people at 10 o/clock at night, and being  televised around the globe. Suddenly the camera focused on Wallenda, who climbed up onto a 2-inch metal cable stretched across the precipice of the Horseshoe Falls and the yawning Niagara Gorge into Canada, balanced a long pole between his outstretched hands, and began stepping, ever so sedately, down the wire.

In moments, Wallenda was beyond land and suspended above the raging rapids of the Niagara River as they approached the brink of the Falls. I was transfixed. The aerialist was walking ramrod-straight, atop a wire narrower than an infant's foot,  perfectly focused and calm--even talking casually with reporters and his father by microphone--as the angry torrents rushed past beneath him. Soon he was at and then across the edge of the cliff itself, while thousands of gallons per second of frigid water hurtled over with a deafening roar, into a churning maelstrom 174 feet below (this is not hyperbole; I've spent countless hours at this place myself and can attest to the fantastic power and violence of all that water). The photography during this part of the show was breathtaking, as it focused on the tiny figure traversing the almost-invisible wire while dwarfed by the mighty Falls behind him.

 

But that was hardly the most difficult part of the walk. Wallenda kept going, robot-like, into the swirling clouds of mist above the center of the "horseshoe."  "Mist" is a misleading word; the flying water here is actually equivalent to a cold, driving rainstorm, whipped about by fierce and ever-shifting winds (if you've ever taken a ride on the Maid of the Mist boat near the base of the falls, you've experienced this for yourself). Yet, through all the breathtaking ferocity about him, soaking wet and perched precariously where the water below is deeper than the Falls themselves are high, Wallenda never faltered, or even paused. His moccasin-clad feet seemed to be small machines unto themselves, advancing in short, careful steps with an amazingly precise rhythm that never varied during the entire almost-half-hour of the walk, regardless of the elements hurling against their owner's body.  Again, the video was amazing; despite the swirling mist, Wallenda (and his incredibly calm, focused gaze) was so clearly visible to the camera I felt almost as though I were walking backwards on the wire just a few feet ahead of him, through the eerily backlit cloud.

The most amazing feature of the event, however--at least for me--was hearing Wallenda, over an open wireless microphone, thanking and praising God and Jesus Christ (for example, "Thank you Jesus, my righteous king . . ." "Thank you, Lord God.  Thank you, Jesus." ) as he stepped relentlessly along the wire. It was electrifying to hear a famous, accomplished person, at the moment of his greatest trial and his greatest triumph, extolling our Lord and giving Him all the glory. I had no idea at before then that Wallenda was a Christian, but learning so at that moment and in that way put the whole event in a new, positive perspective for me. I want to thank ABC for not shutting off Wallenda's mike in secular embarrassment at this flagrant display of religious faith.

Perhaps it's only natural that someone who makes a career out of risking his life would get into the habit of praying, mostly to be spared sudden, violent death. But Wallenda didn't seem to be praying for deliverance so much as thanking God in advance for success and for the opportunity to glorify Him in front of millions of people. There wasn't a trace of fear in his voice, only exultation.

Some people have criticized the feat as a pointless, self-glorifying stunt that only "tempted" God even as Wallenda was flaunting His name. Others have suggested that Wallenda's prayers were but a cheap play for sympathy, approval, and even money from a gullible public. I can't see into another person's soul--no one can--so I couldn't pass judgment on Wallenda's motives. I can only judge what I witness, and what I saw Friday night was an intensely focused, remarkably calm, utterly confident man who--for all the world to see and hear--committed his every step in absolute trust and gratitude to his Savior.

Wallenda's "stunt" seems much less crazy and irresponsible when one considers the combination of personal and spiritual elements that made it possible: ambition, resolve, tenacity, self-assurance, self-sacrifice, patience, relentless preparation, carefully cultivated skill, and, perhaps most of all, faith: faith that it could be done, that he could do it, and that the Lord would sustain him and see him through to success in the end. Maybe the act of walking on a wire over rushing water does not, of itself, substantially benefit anyone. But the fact that Wallenda could do such an improbable thing and the way he did it, despite the laws and elements of nature and all the challenges that would have defeated a less stalwart man (like me), serves as a compelling model for all people of the faith it takes to realize a seemingly "impossible dream."  Wallenda's feat maifests the truth of what Christ himself said: "With men this is impossible; but with God all things are possible." (Matthew 19:26) The formula: strive to and beyond what you think are the very limits of your capability, and then, when you have done all you can do, trust the rest--and yourself--entirely to the Lord. That's what Wallenda did up there on that wire a week ago Friday night.  As he explained in a post-event interview: "Faith plays a huge role in what I do," Wallenda said. "I believe God has opened many doors for me in my life and this is one of them. To inspire people around the World, let them know the impossible is not so impossible if you set your mind to it."

As another perceptive commentator has observed:

What Wallenda taught us as he walked across the Falls was the power of awe.  He taught us the power of worship.  Intensely concentrating in order to maintain his balance and composure, Wallenda's mind was on His God who had given him the incredible ability to pull of this stunt and who had created wonders of creation such as Niagara Falls.  And so he gave witness to Christ all the way across the Falls.

* * * * * 

One other thing about this event merits discussion. Wallenda expressed some embarassment and annoyance both before and during the walk at having to wear a safety line that secured him to the cable, which was required by ABC, and perhaps local authorities, as a condition of getting permits and TV coverage for the act. While that might have been an "insult" to Wallenda professionally, I am SO glad he used it and didn't take it off during the walk, as some people predicted he might. Wallenda has a wife and small children, all of whom were present at the event.  It's unthinkable what they and we would have had to witness had he not worn the safety line and fallen from the wire, all the more with such a tragedy being broadcast on television around the world. In my personal opinion, we don't need any more obscene violence, or threatened violence, for people to watch as "entertainment."  Enough with degrading voyeurism!  That this wasn't necessarily a "death-defying stunt" (it still might have been; safety devices don't always work, as parachutists know all too well) didn't detract one iota from its power for me; in fact, I wouldn't have watched it otherwise. It was enough to see whether such a feat was humanly possible. That he did it, regardless of the harness, thrilled me and millions the world over to no end. If Wallenda attempts a wire crossing of the Grand Canyon, as apparently is his plan, I pray he uses (or is made to use) a safety tether again. If so, I'll watch and be thankful to him for the faith he's so boldly modeled for all, whatever the outcome.

SEE FOR YOURSELF!  Click here to see the complete Niagara Falls high-wire walk program from ABC (including pre-event coverage, with commercials). For raw video of the walk itself (no audio), click here.  For highlights of the walk itself (without commercials), click here.

Religious Expression: The New Flatulence?

I was listening to our local radio sports talk show the other night, and up came the subject of Tim Tebow, apparently now the most widely admired, or despised, human being on the planet. In addition to his remarkable athletic and team leadership skills, Tebow--once a quarterback for the University of Florida Gators and now one for the NFL's Denver Broncos--is just as famous (or infamous, depending on your viewpoint) for his public assertions and displays of Christian faith. For example, he likes to etch references to Bible verses into his eye black, and take a knee in brief prayer on the field before, after, or during a game. He did the latter a couple of weeks ago after leading the Broncos back from a 15-point deficit in the last five minutes of a game against the Miami Dolphins. Ecstatic fans started copying that stance at home, in public, and everywhere, and posted pictures on Facebook of themselves and others doing it. And just like that, "Tebowing" was born. There's even a web site devoted to it.

The fan euphoria evaporated quickly the next week, however, when the Detroit Lions decimated the Broncos and Tebow had a terrible game. To add insult to injury, Lions linebacker Stephen Tulloch sacked Tebow in the first quarter and celebrated by doing his own bit of "Tebowing" while the man who inspired that move was still lying on the ground. This sparked a storm of controversy in the sports world over whether Tulloch was "mocking" Tebow and his beliefs by taking a knee over him. Tebow himself, as a befitting a Christian gentleman, took no offense and dismissed the incident as just another football player "having fun with his teammates" (but the backlash against him continues; at a game against the Oakland Raiders this past Sunday, Raiders’ fans held signs that read “Welcome to Hell,” directed at Tebow during the pre-game warm-ups).

During the talk show one of our local sportswriters, while criticizing Tulloch's gesture, suggested that Tebow "deserved it" for "wearing his religion on his sleeve," and that kneeling and praying should be limited to the locker room or the privacy of the player's own home. "I don't need to see that," he said in a disgusted tone of voice, and opined that such behavior was probably just for show anyway. Another sportswriter on the show also criticized Tulluch's "Tebowing," but stressed over and over that he was "not a religious person."

I started to seethe as I listed to this banter. It wasn't about Stephen Tulloch's kneeling in mock prayer over Tim Tebow's prostrate body--if Tebow himself can pass that off as a clever joke, so can I--but rather the attitude of the sportswriters in speaking about religious faith, or the public expression of it, as though it were something offensive that one just doesn't manifest in polite company.

What's happening in this country? Since when did acknowledging God become socially unacceptable, like belching or breaking wind? Perhaps it was when openly anti-religion groups like the ACLU, and atheistic professors and commentators in academia and the mainstream media, convinced America's intellectual elite--even sportswriters?--that expressions of faith are out of bounds (no pun intended) in the public sphere, a sinister threat to our secular "multicultural" society and even to our democratic political system. We're all familiar with their efforts to remove any reference to or reminder of God from public schools, public meetings, and public property, even streets and sidewalks. Now, apparently, their sympathizers would like to remove those things from purely voluntary, privately funded events like professional sports contests (as well as from ads televised during broadcasts of those events--remember the furor a couple of years ago over Tebow's pro-life spot with his mom that aired during the Super Bowl?)

Why do some people feel outraged or threatened when a young athlete briefly takes a knee in public, apparently to give thanks to or invoke the aid of, the Deity in which he or she believes? And how would a casual observer know--and why would he or she presume--that such an act is empty and hypocritical? Wouldn't it be just as easy to assume that it is sincere? Why, then, would the observer be offended? And why would someone who didn't think anything offensive was being done take elaborate pains to dispel any suspicion that he is a "religious person"? Does he think he'll be shunned, or not invited to cocktail parties?

Gestures like Tebow's aren't novel or uncommon at sporting events. Over the years I've seen many football players other than Tebow take a brief knee in the end zone after scoring a touchdown, or even make the sign of the cross. I never heard criticism of those acts, so one wonders whether it's Tebow himself, and his more outspoken brand of faith, that some people object to. And there are certainly other common practices by players that we "don't need to see," like scratching their "private areas" or patting each other on the rear end, that I've never heard a sportswriter complain about.

I suspect that unashamed, public expressions of faith rub many people the wrong way because their consciences are pricked, and they might be reminded that their lives are not focused where they should be. Almost always the expression, especially one like Tebow's at a sporting event, is not intended to embarrass anyone or make them feel badly. But the expression and the one making it is condemned nonetheless.

Not so many years ago a gesture like Tebow's would have been lauded, or at least tolerated without comment. Those were the days when Christian faith was the norm in this country. And those days are, apparently, long gone. Now people have no problem with the orgy of materialism and crudity that professional (and increasingly, college) sports has become; they pay hefty ticket and cable prices to watch obscenely wealthy athletes engaging in violent, arrogant, and juvenile behavior on the field, while commercials aired during the event feature boorish men and barely-clad women promoting gluttony and alcohol abuse. But these same people find it offensive when a player kneels for a moment to acknowledge the God who created him.

If anything, sports--and all walks of life, really--need more Tim Tebows. We need more people of faith, whatever their church or denomination, to come out of the closet and not be afraid to "offend" others by openly praising and witnessing for the Lord. We must not let the forces of darkness drive the church underground and rob humanity of His light. Nor should we hide that light under a basket in order to avoid personal criticism or loss of friends or connections. We are taught that "if any man suffer as a Christian, let him not be ashamed; but let him glorify God on this behalf." (1 Peter 4:16) This was precisely Tim Tebow's point when he Twittered, in response to the alleged mocking of him by other players and fans:

“Only fear the Lord and serve him faithfully with all your heart. For consider what great things he has done for you.”

Amen, Tim.

Quarterback for Life

That was quite a Super Bowl game the other night, wasn't it? Competitive, frequent lead changes, even interesting side-stories like the New Orleans Saints' quarterback (Drew Brees) who played college ball in Indiana (Purdue University), while the Indianapolis Colts' quarterback (Payton Manning) grew up in New Orleans.

Yet, perhaps the most significant moment of the evening didn't happen on the field, but on your TV screen during a "commercial" break. And quite possibly you missed it completely, even if you were watching the commercials. I'm talking about the "Celebrate Life" ad sponsored by Focus on the Family (FOTF) and featuring Heisman Trophy-winning quarterback Tim Tebow and his mother Pam. For weeks the Tebows and CBS were excoriated by the "pro-choice" lobby--Planned Parenthood and its allies, "feminist" activists, "progressive" Democrats, mainstream media and academic types, a legion of "comedians," and even some athletes--for having the audacity (only liberals can have audacity, right?) to present an advertisement promoting life during the telecast of a major sports event. Outrageous! It went without saying that the Tebows and Focus on the Family are a gaggle of Neanderthal bigots who have no right to air such socially irresponsible ideas in public. What was even more inexcusable was that a once-reliably-liberal major television network--the home of Walter Cronkite, Dan Rather, and Katy Couric, for crying out loud!--would give (well, sell, for 2.5 million dollars) them a platform from which to present those pernicious ideas in front of impressionable women, a few of whom might see the ad, go to the FOTF web site, read what it had to say about family and reproductive issues, and discover that "choice" actually includes the option to give birth. Such behavior threatened the "right" of women everywhere to a "safe, legal abortion," and would thereby force them back into the clutches of coathanger abortionists! At least one "feminist" attorney has threatened to sue CBS for misleading advertising.

Having heard that the ad was going to air during the first quarter of Sunday's game, I kept my eyes peeled--and almost missed it anyway. If you missed the ad, here it is:



If you're saying to yourself "is that all there is?", so did I. Only 30 seconds long, and the word "abortion" is nowhere to be found in it. About all the ad consisted of was Pam Tebow reflecting on how she "almost lost" Tim and giving thanks that he's still around, and Tim pretending to tackle her and the two of them hugging. And the words "Celebrate Family. Celebrate Life" under the FOTF web site address. Pretty shrill and divisive, eh? I've seen more provocative commercials for Cheerios.

CBS certainly needed and wanted the millions that were ponied up for the brief time the ad ran, but also took an enormous risk that it would alienate a substantial portion of its viewership--and struck a blow for free speech by doing so (for which I commend them). If "pro-choice" advocates came up with the money to buy some air time and presented a similarly sensitive, restrained ad, I'd have no objection, disagree with their position though I might. It would be healthy indeed for our polity if opposing points of view on controversial subjects could be aired in this way on major networks.

That so many influential people sought, and apparently still seek, to stifle such debate is shameful. I guarantee you that some of them (the older ones, anyway) were out on the streets back in the late 60s marching with their hippie friends for freedom of speech. I guess only they have that freedom. Where were the howls of protest from feminist groups at the sexually explicit, female-exploiting commercials for Godaddy.com (which shocked and disgusted me)? Where were the screams of outrage from socialists and pacifists at the dozens of Super Bowl commercials that celebrate crass materialism and violence? It would appear that to them, sexual license and irresponsibility are the most sacrosanct all values--to the point not only of snuffing out the lives of helpless children, but denying freedom of speech to any and all people who espouse a different view.

Drew Brees and Payton Manning will be great quarterbacks for years to come. Right now I'm most thankful for Tim Tebow, Quarterback for Life, and the courageous lady who dared to bring him into this world. Every woman who makes that choice should be in a Hall of Fame somewhere!

Movie Review: The Blind Side

I suppose this is a late review for a movie that's been in theaters for more than two months, but the Oscars are coming and we just got around to seeing it this past weekend: The Blind Side, starring Sandra Bullock. If you haven't yet seen it, this is an excellent movie and well worth the time and admission!

The film presents the story of Michael Oher (as played by Quinton Aaron), a physically immense but shy and depressed black teenager from "the projects," drifting in and out of foster families and homelessness in Memphis, Tennessee. A man with whom he's living gets him admitted to a private Christian high school as an athletic prospect, but he's withdrawn and dysfunctional in classes and has nowhere to go at night. An affluent white family, Sean and Leigh Anne Tuohy and their two children, see him wandering on campus one evening and take him into their home so he has a place to stay. Michael seems grateful but unsure what to make of the Tuohys' generosity, and is painfully awkward at school and in the Tuohys' home.

The "temporary" arrangement grows more permanent as the Tuohy parents and children try to penetrate Michael's abiding sadness, and help him feel loved and accepted in their family. Leigh Anne decides that the only way to secure their relationship is for her and Sean to become Michael's legal guardians, which launches Leigh Anne on a harrowing journey through the family protection bureaucracy, into the drug- and violence-infested world of the projects from which Michael came, and eventually to the squalid apartment of his drug-addicted mother. The scene in which the two women meet and try to understand each other is exceedingly touching.

The other great challenge the Tuohys face is helping Michael to feel capable in school and to find his hidden talents. He's helped by the Tuohy children and by a caring, determined woman (played by Kathy Bates) whom they hire to tutor the boy. At first, Michael's progress on the football field is as slow as in the classroom, but his confidence builds with his own persistence and that of the Tuohy family--spearheaded by the salty-tongued, irrepressible Leigh Anne, who shows teachers and coaches how they need to work with him to bring out his best.

And out it eventually comes, in football and (if just barely) in academics. Michael becomes a highly-recruited college football candidate--a source of great pride for him and his family, as well of the film's climactic challenge when NCAA investigators shake his confidence in the family by suggesting that the Tuohys' objective all along was only to prep him for attendance at their alma mater, the University of Mississippi. Michael wanders back to his old "home" in the projects to find his mother and himself, in the mirror of his past--and makes a decision with explosive, but positive, consequences.

That's the central point of the film: Michael's struggle to find out who he really was and could be. What the Tuohy family gave him was not just a safe and comfortable home, help with school, or coaching at football--but a chance to trust others, to believe in himself, and to be everything that God enabled him to be. The movie also highlights the miracles that can be wrought by faith and unconditional love. Some have criticized the film as too "feel-good," avoiding the tension and conflicts that they suppose "must" have existed between the Tuohy spouses and children, and between them and Michael. Probably, only the Tuohys and Michael Oher will ever know that full story. But the filmmakers chose to focus on Michael's inner struggles--can I trust these people? why are they doing this? how can I fit into this white, wealthy world? don't I really belong back where I came from? what am I good for? --and how he surmounted those challenges with the Tuohys' help. Indeed, it will be ironic if Sandra Bullock wins an Oscar for her performance, because The Blind Side is at least as much about Michael Oher as it is about Leigh Anne Tuohy.

Near the climax of the film, it develops that Michael can raise his high school GPA high enough to qualify for an athletic scholarship only by writing a good essay for his English class. He chooses to write about Alfred, Lord Tennyson's poem The Charge of the Light Brigade, which explores how men can valiantly charge into mortal danger prompted even by a leader's mistake:

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
'Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns' he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

'Forward, the Light Brigade!'
Was there a man dismay'd?
Not tho' the soldiers knew
Someone had blunder'd:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

(read the entire poem here)

Sean Tuohy explains the poem to Michael as a metaphor for the game of football, with the players as the cavalry and the coaches as the generals making the wrong decision and "dooming" them--and still they play their best, together. This prompts a remarkable essay by Michael highlighting the meaning of courage and honor:

Courage is a hard thing to figure. You can have courage based on a dumb idea or a mistake, but you’re not supposed to question adults, or your coach, or your teacher because they make the rules. Maybe they know best but maybe they don’t.

It all depends on who you are, where you come from. Didn’t at least one of the six hundred guys think about giving up and joining with the other side? I mean, Valley of Death, that’s pretty salty stuff.

That’s why courage is tricky. Should you always do what others tell you to do? Sometimes you might not even know why you’re doing something. I mean, any fool can have courage.

But honor, that’s the real reason you either do something or you don’t. It’s who you want to be. If you die trying for something important then you have both honor and courage and that’s pretty good.

I think that’s what the writer was saying; that you should try for courage and hope for honor. And maybe even pray that the people telling you what to do have some, too.

In the end, Michael Oher achieved distinction (All-American at Ole Miss and being drafted in the first round by the NFL Baltimore Ravens) through his own courage and honor--qualities that even the Tuohy couldn't give him, though they showed him what they meant, and that he was thoroughly capable of them.

Pictured above are the real Sean, Michael, and Leigh Anne at Ole Miss.

The Blind Side isn't all serious; in fact, it's bursting with humor--the gentle, humane sort. Where else can you see a good half-dozen real college football head coaches, including Lou Holtz and Nick Saban, stumbling all over each other (literally) in pursuit of the same recruit and being lectured to by a middle-school kid (Michael's diminutive "brother" S.J. Tuohy) and a middle-aged woman? But you'll also come away with damp eyes and a deeper understanding of how people can transform their own lives and help others do so, too.

I Like My Bike!

After failing to persuade one of our college-student boys to use the second-hand bicycle we had bought him through craigslist, Melany was struck with the idea of getting a bike for herself. She hadn't ridden one in many years, but I thought it was a capital idea. I'd been trying to get her to go out riding with me for as long as I could remember, but I think the idea never came to fruition because of other commitments, lack of opportunity, and perhaps under-confidence on Melany's part. I was thrilled when she found one she liked --we drove into Rochester together to pick it up--and since that mid-August day, we've been going out a couple of times a week to ride along the Erie Canal towpath (which runs by just a few hundred feet from our house), or around the village of Brockport.

I love to feel the breeze on my face as I ride along, and the rest of me appreciates the workout--I'm always more relaxed and sleep better afterwards. And having my sweet spouse along for company makes it seem like a little romantic adventure!

My mount is very special--a single-speed, coaster-brake, Schwinn American that I bought with money I received at my First Communion party back in 1963. That's right--I'm 54, and my bike is 46! I've never owned any other bike. Why should I? It runs as well today as it did the day I brought it home--better in fact, as I wasn't quite big enough to actually ride it then, and had to wait most of the next year before I had grown enough and could start learning. This sweetheart is as solid as a tank, has no extra gears, hand brakes or cables to get fouled up, and gathers very little rust, which I clean off along with the winter's dust every spring. It's surprisingly easy to pedal when the tires are fully inflated. The kids made fun of it for years because its various little creaks and squeaks made me audible for some distance as I approached or rode away. Well, I finally fixed that--WD-40 in a few strategic places, and now she's quiet too! True, the fenders and frame have some dents and scratches from several senseless acts of vandalism when I had the bike with me in college and at our second apartment in Chattanooga. Her original brilliant red paint is now a faded coppery color. The handgrips are more brownish than the snow white they started as (and, of course, are devoid of the multi-colored plastic streamers that I removed for maleness' sake soon after the bike came home) . Thousands of miles under my butt have worn down the once nicely-padded seat to a thin layer of vinyl over the coils. But I've never replaced anything on the bike except tires and once, after a nasty fall, the rear rim. And all I've added are a rear carrier and a bell.

I can't begin to number the miles my bike has carried me--in a pack with my brothers and pals in the mid-60s around Grand Island, NY; between home and the Little League ball fields, the public library, and several summer jobs; around campus at Michigan State University; between my apartment and work (for several months) in Chattanooga; and through our various neighborhoods with the kids to playgrounds, the library, and school. Her history is a cherished part of my own half-century-plus, and connects me with the "golden age" of the 60s in America before drugs, politics, and war spoiled the end of that decade--the age of baseball cards, transistor radios, grape Nehi, scouting and Boys' Life, the Beach Boys and Herman's Hermits, Corvettes and Camaros. Who from that era would want to discard something that went through it with him, and made it possible for him to live those days to the hilt?

I'm afraid that when I pass on, they'll have to inter my bike with me. I don't know how I'll do without her on the other side.

Another Old Athlete on the Disabled List

. . . and this one never took steroids, made an eight-figure salary, or appeared on "Dancing With the Stars." He does, however, have long legs and muscular shoulders, enjoys a good ball game, and owns a beautiful fur coat.

I'm speaking, of course, of our dog Frank. He's now fully into middle age (7) and about 10 pounds heavier than he was when we got him 3 years ago, but he's still trying to race around like the speed demon he then was just off the greyhound track. But as any old ballplayer will tell you, age and decrepitude have a way of sneaking up on you. Well, they paid a visit to Frank this past Monday when our daughter-in-law's family came over for a Labor Day cookout in our back yard. They brought their dog William--some kind of sheepdog, I think, and a perpetual motion machine himself--and Frank, while reeling off laps around the house with the evident purpose of showing off his athletic prowess, somehow managed to break a toe in his right front paw. Yesterday Melany took the poor fellow to the vet, who advised that Frank stay off that paw as much as possible over the next 4 to 6 weeks. No more laps around the house, no more chasing down squirrels (or the shadows of them), no more brisk walks along the Erie Canal even (his favorite nightly activity). He limps his way into the back yard to answer Nature's call, then limps back into the house to resume his enforced rest. Like many banged-up sportsmen, though, he appreciates a good soak in the jacuzzi now and then.

I've reminded Frank of that old saying by Mark Twain about age being "an issue of mind over matter: if you don't mind, it doesn't matter.” But that seems to have just gone in one of his floppy ears and out the other.

NATIONAL CHOMPS!

OK, the year in the graphic isn't quite up to date--but then, in case you forgot (unlikely, for any of their fans), the University of Florida Gators were National Champs (er, "Chomps") that year, too, beating Ohio State with surprising ease. I saw that game too (on the telly, of course), and was exhilarated all the way through.

Last night's game was quite different. The Gators seemed so feeble and error-prone in the first quarter that I was afraid they were going to end up National Chumps. But they slowly, steadily jelled as the game went on, doubtlessly energized by those two incredible goal-line stands and the amazing resilience of Tim Tebow. Meanwhile, as the Gators found their footing and improved, the Sooners slowly faded, and lost the seeming invincibility they had in the first quarter. The Gator defenders' hot-potato game with OSU QB Sam Bradford's attempted touchdown pass, as the first half ended, was great fun to watch! And the Gators' late-game interception, as well as Tebow's amazing "jump-up" TD pass to seal the victory, were priceless! I wonder if Urban Meyer enjoys drinking Gatorade (aptly named) as much as he obviously does wearing it?

I wanted SO MUCH to be with my fellow Flemings in Jacksonville, FL (together with my Gator-fanatic brother Steve and his wife Linda, and those disappointed Penn Staters in Clarks Summit, PA) last night to share the game and the celebration, but I know we were all together in spirit.

It's such a blessing, here in Buffalo Bills country, to have SOMEBODY to cheer for once! I have to admit that this past New Year's weekend was more entertaining than usual football-wise, as I was able to watch my two alma-maters Michigan State (Capital One Bowl) and the University of Cincinnati (Orange Bowl), as well as the University of Buffalo Bulls (International Bowl). The latter two were particularly remarkable, as both are almost devoid of bowl-game history, and they didn't play half-badly! Yet, all three of my teams lost. But now, after last night--VINDICATION!