March 5, 2012
So my son, T. Charles and his lovely bride to be, treated Kathy and I to a U of A-ASU basketball game yesterday and it was a ton of fun. Have to admit I choked up when, the game began and ASU started playing their sexy-rock-soundtrack to introduce their players, and the jaybirds sitting in the nosebleed section (that would be us and a rowdy gaggle of other Cat fans), started chanting U-o-f- A, with each section taking a letter and a vowel. Ruined their deal, which was really moving to an old man. I couldn't participate because I had tears in my eyes like that French guy in the famous photo from WWII where the Nazis came into Paris and he's weeping like a baby. Too much estrogen, for sure.
Couple of amazing changes to the game which shocked me: they didn't jump centers like we did in the old days before the culture wars. You know what I mean? When two beanpoles faced each other at the center jump circle? First of all, there is no jump center circle anymore, just a huge fork logo that goes from side to side. But, yesterday, the centers lined up SIDE BY SIDE for the jump and the ref, with the ball, stood in front of them. When the hell did THAT start?
Next, remember ten years ago when teams would line up, straight away from the bench and the starting players would be announced, and each player would jump off the bench and run through the gauntlet high fiving everyone, (which eventually evolved to low fiving), come out the end and wait for the rest of the team to be called? Well, now, each guy walks, seemingly bored to the end, several guys didn't even wait until their name are called, but went in twos, totally destroying the buildup by the announcer (I thought it might just be the Cats, but the Sun Devils did the same thing). So that tradition is dead. Can't do what our fathers did. That sucks.
But here is the biggest shock to me. When did coaches get their own coaching box ON THE FLIPPIN' FLOOR?! There is this tan line, like a hash tag, or, half a coaching box, like in baseball, that is painted on the floor in front of each bench and both coaches, stand ON THE COURT to yell at their players. That was unnerving to me, an old guy, who got choked up over a cheer and is outraged over the sanctity of the floor being invaded by creepy coaches in suits.
Of course, ASU won, shooting 58% from the floor, which I hated, but not as much as my son, who didn't even go to school in Tucson, but he's a rabid Cat's fan, so I must have done SOMETHING right.
Got in the new issue of "The Best of the Magazine Markets for Writers: 2012." See any familiar magazines featured on the cover?
Meanwhile, over the weekend Ed Riley came down from Prescott. He is the owner of Bronzeworks and he is leading a charge to make my painting "Not-So-Gentle Tamers" into a sculpture for the city of Prescott Valley. His crew, led by Debbie, created this clay model:
What an honor. I have always thought of Prescott Valley as a scattered mess, an incorrigible gaggle of rednecks, immature snowbirds and mighty cranky oldsters. So, I guess the two of us make a perfect fit, no?
"He who sleeps in continual noise is awakened by silence."
—William Dean Howells