Vindication?

Looks like Michael Brown was right after all.

You remember Michael Brown, don't you? Former head of FEMA? Looked like the biggest jackass after Hurricane Katrina nearly wiped out the Gulf Coast region?

Well, if you have been watching the news, Brown is almost certainly having a good chuckle. A videotape has been released by The Associated Press of a briefing, one day before Katrina stuck on Aug. 29, involving Brown, President Bush, Homeland Security Secretary Michael Chertoff and other officials.

Brown and others warned that the storm could breach levees, endanger lives in the New Orleans Superdome and overwhelm rescuers.

Five days after the briefing, with most of New Orleans underwater, Bush said, "I don't think anybody anticipated the breach of the levees."

The video, obtained by The Associated Press, "confirms what we have suspected all along," said Senate Democratic Leader Harry Reid of Nevada, charging that administration officials have "systematically misled the American people."

Even some Republicans are amazed by this turn. Senator David Vitter (R-La.) said the video "makes it perfectly clear once again that this disaster was not out of the blue or unforeseeable. It was not only predictable; it was actually predicted. That's what made the failures in response -- at the local, state and federal level -- all the more outrageous."

Again (and again), Bush has proved one of three things. Either:

A) he's an idiot
B) he's a liar
C) both

Can we survive until Jan. 20, 2009, the inauguration date of the next president of the United States? I wonder.

What do you think? I'd like to know.

A golden Finnish

I went 5-1 picking the quarter and semifinal men's Olympic hockey winners ... hmmm -- maybe there is a career in this?

SWEDEN-FINLAND: This quote from Finland's Saku Koivu explains in a nutshell how important Sunday's gold-medal game is for that country.

"It does make it bigger when you face Sweden. We feel that they always think that they're better than us," said Koivu, the Finns' leading scorer with eight assists and 11 points. "We've played against them so often for so many years, and I think every country has their opponent that they really want to beat.

"For us, it's Sweden."

Unlike our so-called athletes -- read: Bode Miller, Shani Davis, Michelle Kwan, Chad Hedrick, Shaun White -- the Finns buy into the team concept.

And yes, I know the "Flying Tomato" won gold and all, but trolling for a date from Sasha Cohen (hot, but reeks of being a princess) was fairly pathetic. I hear Spicolli in the back of my mind when I look at White.

But back to the Finns. No one gave them much chance with other teams like Canada, the Czechs, Russia and Sweden there. Instead, they have six of the top nine scorers at the games, and have given up just five goals in seven games.

Sweden is good. Finland is better. ... FINLAND 5, SWEDEN 0

And then there were two ....

That's right! Call 1-900-FLEECED and for $499.95 a minute, I will give you the GUARANTEED winners of Friday Men's Olympic Hockey semifinals!! CALL NOW!!

OK ... just waiting for the hardcore bettors to come forward ...

Still waiting ...

Oh, yeah, with the United States and Canada out, no one cares.

Guess again! (And for those counting, I went 3-1 in quarterfinal picks.)

===

1. SWEDEN-CZECH REPUBLIC: For New York Rangers fans, this is going to look real familiar. The Czechs feature NHL scoring leader Jaromir Jagr, Martin Rucinsky and Martin Straka. Jagr may still be feeling some after-effects of a check into the boards by Finland's Sami Salo in round-robin play that led to nine stitches.

Sweden, though, has rookie goaltender Henrik Lundqvist, who has played in major tournaments before. He is Sweden's answer to a young Patrick Roy. And it doesn't matter how much offense you have -- a good goaltender wins out each time. If Peter Forsberg plays -- and he has been rested for this -- Sweden should move on. ... SWEDEN 3, CZECH REPUBLIC 1.

2. FINLAND-RUSSIA: This shapes up as the best match of the Olympics. The two highest-scoring teams also feature two of the best defenses. Finland's Antero Niittymaki and Fredrik Norrena combined for four shutouts while Evgeni Nabokov has three shutouts.

Finland, though, plays more of a team game with four players in the top 10 in scoring -- Teemu Selanne, Saku Koivu, Jere Lehtinen and Olli Jokinen. Russia only has Pavel Datsyuk in the top 10. The Finns are playing for pride, never having won a gold and not having won silver since 1980.

Russia has won 12 medals, including a record eight golds, since 1924. They won't get a ninth. ... FINLAND 2, RUSSIA 1

Hermetically sealed on Funk & Wagnalls' back porch ...

Because I live for this ... my predictions for the men's hockey quarterfinals in Turin ...

1. Switzerland-Sweden: The Swiss have been the feel-good story of the Olympics, but the run ends here. While the Swiss have two fine NHL goaltenders in David Aebischer and Martin Gerber, the Swedes have more weapons on offense and defense and they have been here before ... SWEDEN 4, SWITZERLAND 1

2. Czech Republic-Slovakia: This is a juicy game with the countries meeting for the first time since the 1993 split of Czechoslovakia. The Czechs are banged up with Jagr still feeling the after-effects of being rammed into the boards by a Finnish defenseman and Hasek out with a leg injury. Two words describe the Slovaks -- upstart and dynamic. If not for Switzerland's surprising run, Slovakia would be the story ... SLOVAKIA 5, CZECH REPUBLIC 3

3. Russia-Canada: Both teams have combined for 14 gold medals since 1924, but one of them will be disappointed at the end of the day. Given the lackluster way the Canadians have been playing, I think they need to concentrate more on Vancouver in 2010. Perhaps by then people from Prince George to Corner Brook will have forgiven them. Canada's goaltending will keep it close, but Russia has way too many players who can put the puck in the net ... RUSSIA 3, CANADA 1

4. Finland-United States: For years, and for reasons I am still trying to figure out, I have rooted for the Finns. This is the year I think they can put it together. They have the offense with Selanne and Lehtinen. They have allowed just two goals in five games. The United States -- like many of the athletes there -- have looked disinterested. The Americans also will have to win three in a row if they want to leave with gold. That's just not happening ... FINLAND 5, UNITED STATES 1

The aftermath

So, like I said .. it's been three years since I had my stomach stapled. First, I want to address some myths.

SWING AND A MYTH: You can't eat anymore.
MYTH-UNDERSTOOD: As the doctors and nutritionists told me before all this started ... yes, you can eat again and in time, you can eat anything you want, provided it agrees with you. What you cannot do is eat like you used to.

Technically, that is not true. If **could** eat like I used to, but all I would do is make myself sick ... and I don't know about you, but throwing up is right there with evisceration as the worst feeling in the world to me.

Speaking of eating like I used to, some gastronomic idiocy in my life: Most White Castle cheeseburgers in one sitting -- 26; dinner many nights in Missouri -- one pound of pasta, one stick of butter (time needed to consume it, about 20 minutes); most beers in one sitting -- 24 (an even case in high school ... and since I hated light beer, multiply 24 by 288 to see how many calories I consumed); a normal McDonald's lunch for me when I worked in Missouri -- double QP with cheese extra-value meal, super-sized AND a nine-piece Chicken McNuggets. Amazing I didn't turn my arteries into fuel injectors.

MYTH MANNERS: Gastric bypass is the easy way out.
MYTH BUSTERS: Ahhh, Bill Maher. You fucking jackass.

Before a surgeon takes scapel to skin, the patient undergoes a battery of tests, both medical and psychological, to see if he or she is ready for this. One of the things you come to grips with this change of life.

One of the things you have to do is list all of the diets you've tried, regardless of success or failure. I'm a veteran: Weight Watchers -- twice (including when I was eight!) ... Overeaters' Anonymous ... Xenical ... starvation (like that was going to work?!)

An aside about WW ... I am sure it has changed and been tweaked over the years. My meetings were held on Springfield Boulevard in the basement of an establishment called Zip'z -- a place where you could create your own ice cream sundaes. How's that for delicious irony?

It is not the "easy way out" for most people. I am sure there are some out there who undergo this procedure, lose hundreds of pounds and then go right back to eating the way they used to, completely defeating the purpose. I was taught this is not a solution, but a window of opportunity.

I look at this is akin to clearing a hard drive on a computer.

MYTH COMMUNICATION: Why should my insurance rates go up because some fat slob cannot control him or herself? Just push yourself away from the table.
MYTH-ING LINK: In a way, someone saying this is correct. My surgery cost the same as a mid-sized SUV, about $34,000, and yes, insurance picked up a large chunk of that.

I was 37 when it was done and figure I added, if I stay healthy, about 15 years to my life. Of course, if I hadn't had the surgery, and I lived to say, 70-75, I am sure I would have had at least one heart attack, and I don't want to even consider all the co-morbidities, like diabetes.

I'm sure insurance would be so much more. If I lived. I figure it I kept going the way I was, I'd be dead by 44.

As for just pushing yourself away from the table, I would have liked to, except that walking -- even short distances -- caused my left leg to go weak and then numb. Try having to take a rest on a bench at Wal-Mart because you cannot walk.

By the way, I can walk five miles now easy and probably much, much more.

===

So, what's it like being on the other side?

The "other side" is what the obese call normalcy. It's pretty good, but there is one side effect.

To look at me, I look like a normal person. The gut it still there, something that needs to be worked off -- preferable to further body alteration: THAT would be the easy way out. Really, the only way you would know I had this done is very subtle ... I have bit of a wattle under my neck and there are some folds visible on my neck when I turn it.

But there are times when I see myself in the mirror and staring back at me is that 373-pound individual hell-bent on eating himself to death. He will probably always be part of me, and that's not necessarily a bad thing ... keeps me grounded.

In fact, I keep my ID card from when I worked the 2002 Little League World Series in my wallet. It was six months before my surgery and I figure I was about 365 in that photo. That will always be a part of me as well.

===

Things I can do that I never though I could before ...

Walk long distances ... order food at a restaurant and leave with a doggy bag ... give up fast food altogether (OK, I admit it, I do eat it rarely -- but not 4-6 times a week like I used to) ... give up soda with sugar (since all this, I have had about a third of a 20-ounce bottle of that low-carb Coca-Cola, C2 -- awful) ... buy clothes off the rack at a department store ... fit in the driver's seat of a compact car ... not use a seat-belt extender when I fly ... have sex in positions that were all but impossible or incredibly painful before ... not have to get clothes from a Big and Tall shop ... run.

===

If anyone reading this has any questions or wants to know more, they can leave a message or e-mail me direct at alefko@gmail.com.

Happy Birthday to me!

Happy birthday

I was born in September 1965. I was reborn three years ago today.

No ... I did not find religion. Far from it. On Feb. 18, 2003, I underwent a surgical procedure that turned my life around in ways I could not even start to imagine.

The technical term is "roux-en-y gastric bypass." The layman's term, stomach stapling.

Whatever you want to call it, I know what the end result is: I lost 171 pounds, reaching a low weight of 202. You can do the math -- I was 373 at my heaviest. Three years later, I tip the scales at 216.

Here's what I remember so vividly from that day. I had drive from Joplin, Mo. to have the surgery done in New York City and recover for six weeks at my parent's house. Just in time for a blizzard too as about two feet of snow fell the day before and it took me some three hours to get to upper Manhattan to have tests done.

I was shoveling their walk and ready to dig out our cars when my father called me from the front door.

"Andrew, phone," he said.

"Hello?"

"Hi, this is St. Luke-Roosevelt Hospital. I understand you will be having surgery tomorrow. We need you to come for testing," a somewhat cheery voice said on the other end.

I paused, looked outside and pointed something out the somewhat cheery voice may have missed. "Um, you know there's two feet of snow outside?" I said.

"We'll be here," she responded.

"It will take me several hours to get there," I warned.

"We'll be here," she said again.

So I eventually made my way to a subway station in Sunnyside and, as I thought, three hours to get there -- including a 15-minute trek down my parents' unplowed block. Testing wasn't bad only because I had my gall bladder out four years earlier -- two hours instead of eight.

The next morning, my father drove me to a subway station in Flushing at about 4:30 in the morning. Dressed in a pair of sweats and a winter jacket, I got on the 7 train.

I am an anxious sort, so you can imagine the war of words going on in my mind.

"You can still back out," one faction said. "You can always say no."

"You've come this far," the other side said. "Don't back out now."

That other voice was right. It wasn't the testing, the psych profiles and the meetings with nutritionists. It was being made fun of in school while growing up for always -- and I mean ALWAYS -- the heaviest kid.

It was being the heaviest person no matter where I was. Malls. Stadiums.

It was never having a date in high school. It was a girlfriend's father disgusted by the size of the person she was dating and even considered marrying.

It was being turned down for jobs and advancement because of my size. I had a boss when I was in inside sales for a publishing house -- and since this is a blog, I have no qualms about naming names: Dino Battista of the Free Press -- who was visibly repulsed every time I was in his office to meet.

It was the constant pain in my knees, hips, ankles.

It was the frustration in feeling like a freak. No one wants to sit next to a fat person on mass transit or an airplane (believe me, I did my share of apologizing for my size when I flew.)

It was a miracle I didn't kill myself years earlier, because I definitely considered it more than once.

One thing, though ... I blame no one but me for getting to the size I did. I ate the fast food. Hell, I ate anything I wanted and as much as I wanted and didn't care. A six-pack of Coke or Pepsi a day -- 1,080 calories -- was normal. I'm not about to sue McDonald's or Burger King for a lifelong lack of self-control.

For the record: height ... 5-foot-10; heaviest weight ... 373 pounds; largest waist size ... 54"; largest shirt ... 20 1/2" for a dress shirt, XXXL for T-shirts; shoe size ... 12EEEE.

===

Though I am a native New Yorker, I ended up on the wrong train uptown -- took the 2 instead of the 1 and ended up on the wrong side of Central Park. So, here it is, about 5:20 AM, lost in my hometown, scared to death of undergoing surgery that caused some deaths.

Somehow, I lucked out. Despite the early morning and the blizzard, I found a cab. Jamaican driver. Thought I was nuts to be out at that time. Told him I was undergoing surgery in a couple hours. Tipped him $10.

I made it to St. Luke's at about 6 AM. Was scheduled for 7.

I sat in a lockerroom-type area. My clothes and boots stowed away and me sitting on a bench wearing a surgical gown and hat and trying not to break out bawling. Unlike "ER" or "Third Watch," I wasn't wheeled into the operating room. I got to walk in and hop up on the table.

"They're gonna gut you like a fish," that nagging voice said. "You're going to die. Back out."

Once everything was in place -- IV, monitors -- a mask was put over my face and I was told to count down from 100. I think I made to 97 when I was out.

I woke up in intensive care about five hours later. I was alive, awake, aware. I looked under the gown I was wearing. Yeah, they gutted me alright ... a thick black line of stitches and staples from navel to breastbone. The hardest part was over. So I thought.

Maybe it was all the hospital dramas I watched. Maybe it was having an aunt who was head nurse at one of New York's best hospitals. Maybe it was a feeling in my newly sized gut. Something was wrong.

Over the next few hours, I went from feeling alert to tired and then sluggish. At some point, while lying on the gurney in ICU, I was able to look at the monitor above and to my left. Pulse was way too high. Blood pressure dropping -- not a steep drop, but slow and steady.

Around 5 p.m., a ring of doctors and interns were around my bed and they all had the some look on their faces: uh-oh. Given that I felt as weak as I ever had, I knew something was very wrong. A doctor who assisted the one who did the surgery came forward and told me I needed to go back into surgery.

"Am I going to die?" I asked.

"We need to get you back in now," he said (and for the life of me, I cannot remember his name -- but he did have the same procedure done and lost 110 pounds.)

"Just get me out of this alive," I said. "And someone call my parents and let them know what's happening."

This time I was wheeled back into surgery, although I had to boost myself off the gurney and onto the operating table ... no easy feat, I can assure you. About three hours later, I was back in ICU with a new set of staples and stitches.

What was wrong was that something in the new stomach was not tied off properly and I was leaking blood into my abdomen. In between surgeries, I lost about two liters' worth.

Oh, and my parents were never alerted.

===

I ended up spending about five days in ICU and a day and a half in a room with an automated and oversized bed that I imagined could have held someone weighing about 900 pounds. Felt good so long as my legs were higher than my head.

I watched news about a Rhode Island nightclub fire where an 80s hair band lit off pyrotechnics, killing 100 people. The city continued digging out of the blizzard. Terrorism was quickly ruled out as the cause of a refinery explosion on Staten Island.

I was discharged after a week and returned to my bedroom in the house where I grew up. Though I had long since moved out again, they bought a platform bed and an air mattress for me to sleep on.

Things from early on in my recovery ... turning over on my side and feeling my insides shift when I moved; our cat, Summer, jumping on the bed and poking her face at me, sensing I was not well ... needing 45 minutes to eat a portion of one sunnyside egg.

Next: What the last three years have been like.

Czech-mate

I'll make it simple -- if you're favored to medal at the Olympics, YOU CANNOT LOSE TO SWITZERLAND (a noted bunch of chocolatiers and fondue-eaters.)

Really. Part of the rules. When you have international superstars like Jagr, Lang, Vokoun and so on, there are no excuses.

Two days into the men's hockey event at Turin have seen the biggest upset (Swiss top Czechs 3-2) and a near upset (U.S. rallied for 3-3 tie with Latvia). While Canada is still far and away the team to beat for gold, it will be interesting to see who moves on to the medal round.

Next ... Stephen A. for Stephin Fetchit?

Bet this didn't show up in the transactions section of your sports page this past week ...

WALT DISNEY CO.: Traded the rights to sportscaster Al Michaels to the National Broadcasting Company for cable rights to Friday play of the next four Ryder Cups, increased usage of Olympic highlights and the right to Oswald the Lucky Rabbit.

Sorry, but if I was NBC, I would have held out for Goofy, Pluto and a fourth-round draft pick.

A tarnished legacy

I have been fortunate enough to be in the same lockerrom as Wayne Gretzky when he was with the New York Rangers, standing literally inches away from the greatest player in hockey history as he would talk post-game.

One annoying trait about him was that he would never speak above a low tone, forcing the media crush around him to lean in with their notebooks, tape recorders and microphones. For being the best ever at what he did, Gretzky never seemed comfortable being in the spotlight.

He may have to learn to get comfortable with that real soon.

According to Thursday's edition Newark Star-Ledger, Gretzky was caught by New Jersey state wiretaps talking about the multimillion-dollar gambling ring allegedly helped run by his friend and Phoenix Coyotes assistant Rick Tocchet.

Gretzky, the NHL's all-time scoring leader and the Coyotes' coach, denied any knowledge of the ring on Tuesday.



But law enforcement sources told the Star-Ledger that the Hall of Famer spoke about the ring, and that investigators are looking into whether he placed any wagers through his wife, actress Janet Jones.

According to the newspaper, Jones waged $500,000 on sporting events during the past six weeks, including $75,000 on last week's Super Bowl. Authorities are considering whether to issue a subpoena ordering Gretzky to testify before a state grand jury, sources told the paper.

This has the opportunity to become very ugly, especially if it is found Gretzky placed bets, especially on hockey. Think Pete Rose.

What do you think? I'd like to know.

Overstaying the welcome

So, Jerome Bettis gets his Super Bowl ring ... and then announces "The Bus" is being garaged.

Neither bit of news Sunday -- Steelers winning the Super Bowl or Bettis announcing his retirement moments after winning the championship -- was much of surprise. Super Bowl XL will probably go down more in history as the game the Seahawks gave away rather than the Steelers winning.

For Bettis, it was a nice end to a nice career. When you ask who are the top five rushers in NFL history at the water cooler or watering hole, the first three ... make that three and a half ... should be easy. Emmitt Smith, Walter Payton and Barry Sanders should take all of 8 milliseconds to spit out.

Number four? C'mon. You know it. All those who guessed Curtis Martin, take a big step forward.

Number five is that one that makes you say "Oh, I know that one ... I'm gonna kick myself when I hear his name." Big hint. He just called it quits.

And that brings me to what I really want write about. Have you seen Jerome Bettis? Shades of the Bears' William Perry 20 years ago. There is no delicate way to put it -- Bettis is out of shape for a running back. May be just perfect for an offensive lineman though.

Players who stick around professional sports one (or a few seasons) too long are all too common. And then again why not? They are treated as gods and make incredible amounts of money even when not playing.

As for that last point, professional players get a per diem -- meal money -- that they can spend as they please. Why go to Peter Luger's of Chicago Chophouse when you can hit Subway?

So, ESPN radio about a week or so ago posed a question to listeners: if you could go back in time and tell any player to stop and retire before they played that one final -- painful season -- who would it be?

Here are some for you to consider ...

1) Joe Namath: "Broadway Joe" will always be linked with the New York Jets and for trying to get inside the pants of ESPN's Suzy Kolber on national TV. Does anyone remember him with the Los Angeles Rams? Four games in 1977. Three touchdowns. Five interceptions. Just 606 passing yards.

2) Willie Mays: Some say the greatest center fielder ever with 660 career homers, 3,283 hits and 338 stolen bases. Returned to New York to play with the Mets and managed just 44 hits, six homers and 25 RBI in 209 at-bats. Ouch.

3) Michael Jordan: For my money, the greatest NBA player I ever saw. Even though he averaged better than 20 points per game in his final two seasons in Washington Wizards blue, black and bronze, he looked little like the player that averaged more than 30 points seven straight seasons and the Chicago Bulls to six championships.

4) Mario Lemieux. Love hockey. Love that he kept Pittsburgh on the NHL map -- for now. Questioned the decision to come back after the lockout. Seven goals in 26 games before calling it career last month because of a heart problem. In his defense, he got the chance to play with Sidney Crosby, possibly the next Lemieux.

Who would you pick? What do you think? I'd like to know.

Due to technical difficulties

Just an example of what life is like in the 21st Century.

For the better part of the last 10 days, I have been either with high-speed Internet service or it has been running really slow -- like worse than when I used to dial up on A-O-L.

Definitely not the cable modem. Router is working fine. Finally, it was determined a line tech needed to come out and futz around outside. As I am penning this chapter, no one knows for sure if it will actually allow me to post immediately so ... here goes nothing.

Now then ... so James Frey has come clean -- turns out his best-selling book "A Million Little Pieces" is more fiction that memoir. The whole thing may actually be a work of fiction. I know this was a serious enough issue for St. Oprah of Chicago to issue a mea culpa for her personal endorsement of the work.

I read the book because of a personal interest and issues of addiction within myself and my family. My take is the framework Frey describes about going to Hazelden is probably dead on, but the characters -- the bricks and cement that hold the story together -- is probably shaky at best, from the Mob boss who takes Frey under his wing to the former boxing champion who curses a blue streak at the drop of a hat.

While reading the book, I kept thinking to myself, "This character is nowhere near strong enough" to just able to stop -- cold turkey for the most part -- the addictive behaviors he described. There was no way he could describe the horrors of rebuilding a mouth of shattered teeth without any anesthetic because he is an addict.

The love interest he met in rehab also was just too perfect. Two addicts meet and hook up while trying to get clean and sober? Sure, it can happen, but ...

And in the end, when Frey reveals that the love interest was found dead after hanging herself, that just seemed -- in a left-handed compliment sort of way -- too neat and too perfect to be real.

Regardless, I would say read it. Issues of fiction versus non-fiction aside, Frey delves into a dank world most people never want to caught in, much less spend time thinking about.

If you have read it, tell me what you think. I'd like to know.

Back in game ... back on the bench

Happy New Year, three weeks late ...

Last year ended for me being in a relationship for the first time in many years. I ended it this week, but not without feeling pain I have not experienced in a dozen years -- and it is something I do not want to relive anytime soon.

It's not that I did not enjoy her company. Quite the opposite. I enjoyed going out with her, even to do things like window-shop, go to restaurants and the like. She even did things for me that no one has ever done.

Two weeks after we started seeing each other, I went home to New York City for Thanksgiving. She met me at O'Hare and took me and we went to lunch before dropping me off at work.

Last month, she took me to a Christmas concert at Chicago's Symphony Hall. I did not know what to expect, considering I am more Blackhawks and beer than culture and champagne.

It was nice ... I'm not one for ballet and choral singing and the like, but it was just nice ... the atmosphere and all. Performance was not bad either.

For the first time, I spent the holidays and such with her ... as best we could given my hours and her schedule to go home to Wisconsin. She put a lot of thought into gifts for me -- a sweater, dress shirt, a beautiful book from the Chicago Tribune about the city's history.

It was truly one of the nicest gestures someone has ever shown me. Which makes it all the worse that I felt it needed to end.

Not to sound too clinical about it, but I do not like my life micromanaged. For the longest time, I lamented being alone during the holidays and Valentine's Day and such. Having been on the other side so to speak, I think being alone -- and more important -- having the freedom to do what I want, go where I want and answer to myself for the most part -- is not so bad.

Some married friends, who are for lack of a better term "in trouble" have told me how they wish they could have my life. Not everything in it, but the freedom part of it. Now I understand why.

I also should have seen this coming. For example, picking me up at the airport ... a nice gesture? Yes, of course. But at the same time, a little too -- intimate? -- for two people just getting to know each other.

I'll say this about me: I admit being difficult ... I throw myself in my work to such a degree that I do not like getting personal calls there unless there is a medical, family or similar type emergency. I explained this to her, but almost every night, she would call me usually around 10:30 or 11 p.m. I explained to her that this is consistently one of the busiest times of my shift in the newsroom. Still the calls kept coming.

Another thing I learned was about the micromanaging of other's lives. I have been guilty of that without realizing it. I tried to be a part of someone's life and have summarily been ignored. That's OK with me ... live and learn. Took me more than 40 years and this experience to see it.

There were other issues in my case ... issues I don't think need to be spelled out here, something I will do out of respect for her.

So, ultimately, the question needs to be asked -- will I date again? I think in all honesty, I can say that I do not know at this time. What I have learned is that alone time is not horrible.

Mine, all mine

I was sitting at work earlier this morning when J.T., an editor on the desk in New York, sent me an instant message telling me that 13 men trapped a coal mine in Upshur County, W.Va., were alive, two days after an explosion buried them underground.

I messaged him back, telling him I am not religious but to say Amen and that miracles do exist.

Apparently, they do not. Within three hours -- just as word spread before that the miners were alive -- they were, in fact, found dead. All but one named Randal McCloy Jr., a man with the stamp of Appalachia on his 27-year-old face. Married. Father of two young children. Hanging on.

The mix-up ... make that a fuck-up of monumental proportions, there is no other way to put it ... is horrific in its scope. Fault is being blamed on a "miscommunication." The families say the mining company told them they were alive. The mining company said nothing was official.

He said. She said.

I cannot imagine the grief and horror the families are going through. It's almost like seeing the bridge abutment that ends your life, except you keep clinging to it and cannot die.

And in an even more horrific twist -- thanks to CNN -- they just showed a copy of USA Today with the headline "12 miners found alive," apparently attributing it all to West Virginia Gov. Joe Manchin's office.

Oops. Happy 2006.

CNN just showed a clip of a woman -- sweatshirt, denim jacket, older, perhaps in her 50s -- imploring out loud to have someone explain what happened. How do you explain this? How can anyone begin to explain this complete about face.

You cannot. All you can do is send your thoughts, and yes, I suppose your prayers, to the dead miners and their families.

Dragging my way out of '05 ...

Just a few random thoughts headed into 2006 ...

... Good for Kansas City Chiefs coach Dick Vermeil to let his team know he was calling it quits at the end of the season. At 69, Vermeil decided family was more important. While any team can be like a family, it is not quite the same.

... There are WAY TOO MANY college football bowl games. Do we really need the Meinike Car Care Bowl? Bonus points if you can tell me who won and the final score.

... The Saints will play the 2006 season in Louisiana. As well they should. Now they seriously need to work on blowing that team up and starting over.

... There may be nothing more painful -- or comical for that matter -- than watching a kicker or punter make a tackle.

===

OK, so I have been terrible about updating this thing recently. The reason, oddly enough hasn't totally been because of the woman I have been seeing for the last six weeks or so ... it has been work.

With the New York desk shutting down on Jan. 15, more responsibilities are falling to us here in suburban Chicago. This is not a surprise. I knew this was going to happen coming in. Add that to writing assignments for the upcoming Olympics, and it makes for a very STRESSFUL life.

Up until a few days ago, I was in one of my poor sleep cycles -- couple hours here, stay up for a day, few hours there, stay up maybe a day and a half -- but thanks to better living through chemistry (Lunestra, to the rest of you -- Ha HA! Rest.) I have been getting some normal sleep in.

Don't get me wrong -- things are still great job-wise and all, but these next few weeks and months will be a test.

===

It's 15 hours, 57 minutes into 2006. How many resolutions have you broken?

The year 2005 was one of great change for me on so many levels. Started with a car wreck eight days in and says after I was named news editor of the paper I was working at in Eastern Connecticut. ... a four-month stop as an assistant news editor in Washington on business news desk (wasn't really horrible -- just not a challenge.) ... finished up here in suburban Chicago working in a field that probably suits me best.

To everyone out there ... Have a safe and happy 2006: may all the things you wish for come true.

Ahhhh-CHOO!

OK ... I know ... I have been remiss in updating this thing, but I have a good reason.

I was sick.

No, really.

Nothing serious, just my first cold in about three years. I am not the best patient in the world. I am irritable. I am cranky. I am bitter. And that's when I am healthy!

Combine that with my poor sleeping habits and you have quite the combination. I think this has something to do with the crazy hours that I work, but every now and then I get into these cycles ... I'll feel like I slept all night, but it turns out to be about three hours. Then I will be up for 20 or so. When I get back to sleep, I'll get another two to four hours and be up 24 easy.

Sometimes it lasts a couple of days. The longest stretch was three months. I am in the midst of one of these stretches right now. The only thing I can only hope is that this ends soon.

Other than that -- and this is for a fan in Kansas -- I see the Royals signed second baseman Mark Grudzielanek and first baseman Doug Mientkiewicz. Hope the needles don't break from overuse when making up those jerseys. Who's next? Garciaparra?

Terrell Owens tells GQ magazine he felt "used" by the Eagles. Funny how nothing is ever his fault. I wonder if he has ever considered therapy. I would love to be a fly on the wall for that.

Henrik Lundqvist is my choice for NHL rookie of the year. Don't know him? Watch the Rangers on MSG or OLN when you can and you will him get better with each game. If he keeps his head on straight, he will become one of the league's all-time best.

What do you think? I would like to know.

Even the Worldwide Leader is due for a fall

I wanted to call your attention to this Web site (and if you have to copy and paste it, well, Life is hard, now isn't it ...): http://www.everydayshouldbesaturday.com/?p=1406

Let it never be said that I am not one for taking a dim view of the industry that I work in. Don't get me wrong: I love sports. More often than not, I show up to work early because I thrive on the energy in a newsroom and if it is a sports newsroom, so much the better.

The words of co-worker Chris Altruda come to mind: "We get paid for this??" Yes, we do. I mean, to have a job where I can have five hockey/baseball/football games around me cannot be all that bad, no?

But there institution that seemed to start the sports revolution has become way too big and has always been way too full of itself. I am talking about ESPN, the pride of Bristol, Conn.

(As an aside, having worked briefly in nearby New Britain, Conn., I chuckle when I hear those contests that say you can way a trip to the campus of Bristol University ... there is nothing in Bristol worth seeing -- period.)

When ESPN started some 26 years ago, it was a great idea. An all-sports network. Seems like a match made in heaven for the all-around fan. Now, it has been something of a joke, and the blog -- to which I hope you have now seen -- simply points this out: ESPN is EVIL.

Here are some things to consider, courtesy of the Everyday Should Be Saturday blog ...

3. Stuart Scott. His poetry slam two days ago didn't happen, because if we did admit it, then we'd wake up crying in a ball in the corner struck by the sadness of what has become Sportscenter.

My take: I call Stuart Scott "DJ Stewie Stew," but let's be realistic -- Stewie is employed by ESPN to relate to those in tha' Hood regardless of race. I have never seen him do anything that remotely resembles journalism. And making "Boo-YAH!" a catch phrase doesn't count either.

34. Mark May. The youngest disciple of the (Mike) Gottfried school of broadcasting, a nasty, choleric presence on the screen whose vagina-pelt-looking goatee only added to his dislikeable on-air demeanor. Makes pure evil presence of Lou Holtz seem agreeable in comparison.

My take: This is what happens when you let former players/coaches/executives become members of the media. The thinking may be, "Well he (or she) can get us information we would never have access to otherwise."

This, plantively, is bullshit, and makes me think of another line, this from the character Al Giardello, played by Yaphet Kotto, is the old "Homicide: Life of the Street" show on NBC -- "JUST DO YOUR JOB!" In journalism, that sometimes means beating the bushes to get your story and not relying on cronies and the like.

40. ESPNU. Not even sure what this is, but it's unknown and strange -- therefore by instinct we must hate it.

My take: Has anyone even seen this on their cable systems? I believe it is a portion of the network dedicated to college athletics -- you know, like the pros, but without the multimillion dollar deals in the open?

The network has evolved and eventually morphed into something that wouldn't even recognize what it once was. ESPN2. ESPN News. ESPN the Magazine. ESPNU. What's next? ESPN the water? ESPN the contraceptive? ESPN the floor covering? It has become slightly comedic. OK, make that very comedic.

I used to work for a division of ESPN called SportsTicker that was based in New Jersey. I often referred to Ticker as ESPN's bastard child, meaning it was acknowledged, but that was as far as the relationship went. I worked for some interesting characters: Jim Morganthaler, who once suspended me for 2 days because I laughed at him. Executive style is that of a cold brick. ... Anthony "Tony Miles" Mormile, a gangster wanna-be, and at about 500 pounds, I am still wondering 1) how he has not died of heart disease and 2) why anyone would put up with this asshole on any job. As racist as they come.

It takes a certain type of person to work for the mothership in Bristol. After two stints, it was clear I was not that kind of person. And for that, I am thankful.

What do you think? I'd like to know.

Zoom, zoom

Sometimes, you just get so bogged down with stuff, you kind of forget to do this ... so at the prodding of a dear friend in Kansas (think like the rancher going to the pen with a cattle prod) ...

Last Monday may have the single best day in my life. In the space of seven hours, I bought a new car and had a really good date. Yes, gentle reader, you may close your mouth before the flies find their way in -- I said date.

But first, the auto-mo-byle ... some 14 months ago, I bought a Nissan Altima from a dealership in Norwich, Conn., but I never felt entirely comfortable with it -- I felt that from the moment I drove it off the lot, I was being hustled into something I never really wanted.

Todd down in Oklahoma recently bought a Mazda 3 and raved about it. I drove one and could see why. For a small car, it had some pretty good jump to it. So, I was set to trade in the Nissan for a 3, but we could not make the numbers work. They were able to make the numbers work on 2005 Mazda6 -- a car very similar in size to my Nissan.

The commercials are right -- they are fun to drive. A friend in New York also had one when they were still called the 626 and he had it for many years and said it was good. So, at about 6 p.m. last Monday, I drove away from Naperville Mazda the proud owner of a new car.

First place I go? On a date. How's that for making an entrance? Her name is Rebecca and she lives in Chicago. Met her through Match.com and we went to Starbucks for the "break-the-ice" coffee before going to Charlie's Ale House in the city's Andersonville section.

We shut down two places. We have also been spending a lot of time on the phone since. It's been a nice ride so far. I guess the best way to describe how things have been is comfortable ... I don't feel as anxious around her as I have around other women.

Yes, anxiety is a bitch.

So, maybe that's why I have been slacking off in this. Think it's a good reason?

What do you think? I'd like to know.

This old dog

The Montreal Canadiens retired Yvan Cournoyer's No. 12 Saturday night.

To 99 and 44/100ths of the free world, that would not seem like much of a big deal. To hockey fans, especially those of my generation, it is.

Actually, for the first time in the Canadiens' storied history, they retired a number for two players. Cournoyer -- nicknamed "The Roadrunner" -- played from 1963-79. Prior to that, Dickie Moore played pour les Habitants from 1951-63. Between them, they led Montreal to 16 Stanley Cups.

I also, for a moment anyway, realized my own mortality. I watched as the lights in the Bell Centre came up and Cournoyer walked to a podium to address the crowd. I was shocked at how old he was.

Now, I have to remind myself that Cournoyer was born in 1943 -- the year after the U.S. got involved in World War II. That would make him 62 today. Players I grew up watching -- the Cournoyers, Espositos, Orrs and the like -- are all bucking for Social Security now.

Should I be surprised? Not really. I'm 40 -- "old fart-ville" as someone in San Francisco said to me this week. It doesn't really bother me getting older ... I thought it would be worse. Finding another grey hair in the goatee or feeling the bones creak a little more when I get out of bed is in the worst thing in the world.

I could be Yvan Cournoyer. And soon enough, I will be that age.

What do you think? I'd like to know.

Man in the mirror

442 am ... you'd think, I'd be able to sleep at some point. Too much tea. Too much coffee. Too much Diet Mountain Dew. Too much "Goodfellas" and "Slap Shot" overnight on HBO.

We all have problems. Some have addictions. Some think they know it all (thereby pissing off those of us who do.) I know there are many out there who will say I have my share of problems, and they would be right. I'll be the first to admit it ... for years I had a chip on my shoulder the size of, say, I don't know, Saskatchewan? ... for seven years I drank way too much, smoked too many cigarettes ... up until a couple years ago, I ate WAY too much.

My biggest problem, though, has always been self-perception. For the longest time -- and to this day -- I feel like I am damaged goods. Why do I feel like this? It's many of the same things I have some publicly and privately seemingly again and again: Never been married ... hardly date at all ... trust VERY few people; I have been screwed enough times to let many into my life ... feel like I'm largely forgotten by some ... no, not those in Kansas, Long Island, Oklahoma and a few others out there.

Anyway, it is a feeling that has affected my personal and professional lives. I have tried talk therapy. I have tried drug therapy. I did not do either of them particularly long term because I didn't see much if any progress. When I was in talk therapy one-on-one, it felt more like I was on stage doing stand-up.

Sorry, I don't like paying each week to make others laugh. Self-perception be damned.

But to anyone looking at my life right now, they may see a success: I have a nice place in Chicago, fast becoming a great city to live in ... I have a job I truly enjoy -- a co-worker said we're basically stealing money given what we do for a living. ... things are good; for the first time in a long time, things are good.

So why am I unhappy? I know some people who read this will try to explain why I feel this way, but this is something I need to deal with. I need to find a way to get past some events in my life that continue after years to nag in my mind long after, in some cases years and decades after they have happened.

Ray Liotta now realizes his last good drug score was flushed down the toilet, he looks to Paul Sorvino for forgiveness and Paulie turns his back on him. Time to try and get some sleep.

What do you think? I'd like to know.

Growing pains

I did something today that I had never done before: bought furniture.

I'm not talking the Wal-Mart, Sauder, O'Sullivan disposable kind, either. And I started small: a loden, microfiber sofa from Value City of Niles, Ill. (Don Pardo voice -- total retail value, $599). Eventually, I will add an oversized chair to it, making it a living room set. I am also planning on a dinette set and bedroom set from there down the road.

This is uncharted territory for me. It also signals something I have pretty much surmised all along: I will know when the time is right to settle down.

I think the time is right, and I think Chicago and its suburbs will be my home from now on.

At 40, I can look back at the places I have lived in. Some were because I thought I would be able to start a new life there -- Minnesota (3 times!) Some were for work (Ardmore, Okla.; Joplin, Mo.; Pittsburgh; Norwich, Conn.) Some I still have now clue why (Perth Amboy, N.J.)

But the more I explore this area, the more I am liking it and the more I am seeing myself stay here. I've never really been able to say that with a lot of confidence. I'm even working on a plan to save money (ok, everyone can stop laughing now) to put money down on a place of my own. It will take several years, but it will happen.

So what is this? A new phase of life? Time to grow up finally? I'm open to suggestions.

What do you think? I'd like to know.