This picture was taken one fairly cold Sunday night with Sara helping out.
A few other pictures from that night. One of these was taken by Sara.
We also scouted out an alley and couple of other potential late night photo subjects in downtown Des Moines.
Here are a few extra, bonus images from the Lone Wolf photo shoot with Sara.
Sara was full of creative ideas on this night and she helped improvise when I realized that I had left a key part of my tripod at home, making the tripod essentially useless and making the image I wanted to capture impossible.
Oh well, there will be other nights at Gray’s Lake. After all, The Summer of Fun will be kicking off very soon. Perhaps as early as May 8!
“You see the smile that’s on my mouth
It’s hiding the words that don’t come out
And all of my friends who think that I’m blessed
They don’t know my head is a mess.No, they don’t know who I really am
And they don’t know what I’ve been through
like you do.”-Brandi Carlile (The Story)
Most people know that I am a loner. I keep to myself mostly. Most nights I can be found sitting home alone working on my studies or my projects or watching my shows.
A couple of years ago Jay decided to give one of his friends the nickname “Lone Wolf”. I was quite shocked when this nickname did not come my way. Instead it was given to the social butterfly and vice-mayor William McAlpine.
I knew this was a dreaded mistake. If there was a member of the animal kingdom that best described Willy’s social agenda it was clearly the salmon. Chinook, steelhead, pink or sockeye. I’m not sure which one, but he is definitely a salmon.
However, I made peace with the slight because I don’t have a particular affinity for nicknames.
Then it happened. Jay came to his senses and stripped Willy of the nickname that he did not deserve and placed it squarely on my shoulders. The true loner.
Jay made me a mask and we had a small ceremony where the title was rightfully transferred to me.
However, something hasn’t sat right with me in the few weeks since I became Lone Wolf. I don’t doubt that I am the Lone Wolf. A quick perusal of my social calendar shows that I do little more than go to work and come home and sit on my couch, alone.
I don’t get many emails. I don’t write many emails. I don’t get many calls. I don’t make many calls. I don’t get many texts. I don’t send many texts.
I have 289 Facebook Friends. Not a single one of them can tell you my favorite color, my favorite movie, my favorite show or my favorite musician.
With apologies to Travis Bickle, “Loneliness has followed me my whole life. Everywhere. In bars, in cars, sidewalks, stores, everywhere. There’s no escape. I’m God’s lonely man…”
I’ve learned to embrace this loneliness. In fact, Jill introduced me to a movie called World’s Greatest Dad. The core message of the movie is summed up near the end with the following voice over:
“I used to think the worst thing in life was to end up all alone. It’s not. The worst thing in life is ending up with people who make you feel all alone.”
That is my philosophy. Or I should say, that is the philosophy of The Lone Wolf.
But even though I know without the foggiest doubt that I am the true Lone Wolf, it didn’t feel right. Jay unilaterally stripping Willy of his moniker and giving it away. That is a lot of power for one man to possess.
Therefore I am giving Willy a chance to win back his nickname. I have challenged the vice-mayor, the social butterfly, the salmon to a Lone-Wolf-Off!
The month of April will be a Lone-Wolf-Off between the true Lone Wolf and the Salmon. Winner gets the name! (But I keep the sweet mask either way!)
What is a Lone-Wolf-Off? For the entire month of April we will be tracking our social engagements. At the end of the month, an impartial panel (consisting of Jesse, Dawn and Faust) will determine who is the true Lone Wolf.
Therefore, I should point out that for the next 30 days, don’t be distressed if you don’t see me, if I don’t return your emails, phone calls or texts. I’m in full Lone Wolf mode. I will most likely return your correspondence on May 1 when I am celebrating International Worker’s Day!
Although I should point out that at some point in April many of you will be getting an invitation to my birthday barbecue in the mail. It is a well known fact that lone wolves like meat cooked over a fire and the antiquated feeling of using the United State Postal Service.
Last night I went to see Chloe and have dinner with Sara. Since it was my last social engagement for the next 30 days, we took a few pictures to celebrate my Lone Wolfness.
Insane Enough
But the Lone Wolf also knows how to keep it laid back.
The Lone Wolf – confident, but not cocky.
Hoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooowwwwwl!!
I would propose a Dance Machine Off between these two gents, but I think we all know that Willy doesn’t really dance. He just likes to pretend that he does.
I cited a FNSC ending in My Great Shame a few journal entries back, but I never indicated what was My Great Shame. A few people already know about My Great Shame because I exposed those people to it. I’m not sure if I exposed them because I wanted them to share in my misery or if I was using this exposure as an excuse to continue in my shame.
However, I have been motivated by other people’s strength in the last few weeks to quit my shame. If Jen, Derrick, Jill and Sara can quit or work on quitting smoking, I assuredly could give up my shame. It is after all, not a physical addiction.
I witnessed some of the strategies that others have used to quit smoking. Cinnamon sticks. Only smoking at work. Not smoking at work. I tried in vain to step down with a crutch, but it didn’t work. I had to quit cold turkey.
It was My Great Shame, but I can proudly proclaim that I have been free of its demon clutches for three weeks now.
What is My Great Shame?
The Starz Original show Spartacus: Blood and Sand.
This easily has to be the worst scripted program to ever grace the airwaves. I’m pretty sure that it is written by junior high students hopped up on meth. It is a combination of 3 things: extremely bizarre and gratuitous sex scenes, extremely ridiculous bloody battle scenes and the most pathetically-written-profanity-laced-dialogue ever. The dialogue makes the dialogue in Games and Quietus appear that it was written by Shakespeare.
Despite the fact that it is beyond horrible, I couldn’t stop watching it and I was ashamed. I knew it was clearly beneath me and didn’t belong in the guilty pleasure category like Just One of the Guys.
The best excuse I can give for watching this wretched show was that I couldn’t wait to see what ridiculously stupid thing would happen in the next scene or in the next episode.
I wrote to Andree, Baier and Russell and told them about how I couldn’t stop watching this terrible show. At least Baier and Andree watched it and came to a similar conclusion as me. This was truly the worst scripted program in the history of television.
I decided that I wasn’t strong enough to quit cold turkey. I spent a Sunday watching Stanley Kubrick’s Spartacus and backed it up with Ben-Hur. I figured watching excellent historical drama would cleanse my palette and free me from the grip that this show had on me.
However, while I was watching Kurbrick’s Spartacus I got a text from Jill about how her dad loved Spartacus: Blood and Sand. She had rightfully mocked him for watching this terrible show. I didn’t think that this information would lead to a relapse for me, but it did.
On the Thursday of that week I was at Jen and Derrick’s house. Derrick told me that they were spending the upcoming Saturday with his parents. I was gripped with an uncontrollable urge to expose them to Spartacus: Blood and Sand. I grabbed their remote and loaded up an episode from the OnDemand menu. I fast forwarded through most of the episode and we watched the scene where Spartacus defeats Theokoles.
Then I just told them to ask Derrick’s dad about the show.
I walked out of their house knowing this terrible show was out of my life forever.
The previous Friday was the Jucy Lucy experimental Friday Night Supper Club. Near the end of the night I was aimlessly flipping channels when I came across the brand new episode of Spartacus: Blood and Sand. I told Jay and Willy that they HAD to see this show. Everybody should experience what might be the worst show in the history of television. I apologized to Dawn for subjecting her to such a thing as this show.
Jay and Willy agreed that this show was wretched but it had a certain lure to it. You do want to keep watching to see what extremely bizarre and terrible thing that they are going to do next.
Dawn “pretended” to get a text message in the middle of the show and left.
I woke up the morning following exposing Jen and Derrick to the show and felt terrible about being powerless against the dreadful allure of this awful show. My self-esteem took a beating. I looked in the mirror (not literally) and I quit Spartacus: Blood and Sand.
I walked away from the show that day. It has been 3 weeks now and I finally feel good about myself again.
Last week’s theme was EXPLORE. Here are the submissions:
Christopher D. Bennett
IMAGE LOST
Becky Perkovich
Michael Vest
Dawn’s Weekly Poem
Explore Ourselves
An escape from complacency let’s explore our world
unseen corners, hidden pulses, and wild streams un-purledDiscover riches in ourselves let our impulse flow
And share the depths of our hearts that seldom do we showVenture a path not oft taken freedom be our way
Open recesses of our minds and let come what may
In case you were wondering what the Random Generator looks like, it looked something like the picture below this morning:
Next week’s theme is MOTION.
As many of you know, it is nearly NCAA Tournament time. Once again, my beloved Cyclones will be sitting at home or doing whatever it is that they do. It seems that they look at other schools to transfer to, but regardless, I didn’t come here to wax philosophical on yet another McDermott debacle.
I came here to invite everybody within the radius of these words to join the 6th Annual Roundball Oracles NCAA Tournament Pool. There is no money to enter. The only thing that is put on the line is pride. Of course where I come from, pride is no small thing. I do provide a trophy to the person that is able see into the future the best. The winner also gets their name proudly displayed next to our past champions:
2004 – William McAlpine
2005 – William McAlpine
2007 – Tim Peterson
2008 – Mark Wolfram
2009 – Mark Wolfram
If you think you have what it takes to take down Mark Wolfram or even if you think it would be a little bit of fun to take the UNI Panthers to the Final Four (after they humiliate Kansas in the 2nd Round) or you are just looking for a new experience, just send an email to bennett@photography139.com and I will provide you with all the necessary information to enter into this most noble of competitions.
I look forward to some new competition this year.
I haven’t been as active blogging lately. There are several reasons for this absence.
A surprising side effect of my reading is that I think I might have regressed as a writer. I fear that I might have peaked and it is all downhill from here on out. Some of my writings in the not so distant past were clever, witty and dare I say it – brilliant. I fear if I was ever going to write a play for ACTORS that was going to revolutionize costumed (believe me I have tried – Geri D. will not let me put an all-nude play on her stage) drama in a meaningful way, I have missed my chance. Rather than eloquently crafting phrases, I now rely on cheap tricks (like my over reliance on parenthetical statements that makes me want to punch myself in the face almost as surely as if I had moustache) and broad allusions. I have surely descended into hack-hood. See, that isn’t even a real word. It isn’t like the old days when I used to invent words that are sure to be the next surefire hits in our lexicon. I can’t come up with a word so I throw out a dash and postfix and then I merrily go on my way.
It didn’t used to be like this. (I just don’t mean that I used to not end sentences with prepositions.) I used to be growing as a writer. For example, when I was in the 4th Grade I wrote the worst creative writing stories ever!! They were based loosely on a pet rabbit that most likely died due to my neglect. Only I stole some ideas from a few cartoons and movies that I enjoyed and out of my pencil and on to some poor dead tree came writing that was so dizzingly bad that it makes me want to vomit when I read just a few short passages:
When Fluffy found him he took him to Leo the Lion. Leo took care of him. Pucky told Leo his life story. Then he told Fluffy what Jack, Jill and Joan said. Fluffy said “I better get going” then he left. He hid in Raspberry Forest and said “By the power of Carrot Castle! I HAVE THE POWER!” Then he said, “Up, up and away and he flew off to find Joan, Jack and Jill. When he found them he landed and said, “Pucky sent me.” Superfluff said. “Let’s get that wimpy rabbit!” Superfluff picked them up and twirled them until they gave up and promised to stop picking on Pucky. Then he went after Swampfrog. When he was fighting Swampfrog he said a few words he shouldn’t of. When he returned he taught Pucky karate. When he stepped into the pond, Jack, Jill, Joan and Swampfrog were waiting for him but Pucky beat them up in 15 fish winks. Now everybody calls him The Karate Duck.
Fortunately I can still say that I’m a better writer than I was when I put that horrible drivel to paper. But I did slightly improve by high school:
Eric reached deep into his soul, past the candy wrappers and half-eaten bagels, to the insult department. Through the corridor with doors marked with signs that read “whites”, “blondes”, “Scott Kendall” and “dogs”. He opened the door that read: “The Mother of All Insults”.
The glowing light almost blinded him. The brilliant shiny box in the room was his destination. He opened the box and was greeted with a cloud of rolling smoke. He reached into the box and grabbed a piece of paper. Eric read the paper and he knew he had his death blow!
Back in reality Eric stared at the landing party and said… and I quote… “Huh, freaks of nature!”
He was puzzled when this didn’t break their morale. They were laughing at him. This was the Mother-of-All-Insults and they were laughing at HIM!
Chris looked at Eric and broke into another 5 minutes of laughter. Chris controlled himself and said, “You sir are our inferior. You call us freaks in an attempt to manipulate reality. We have evolved into a place of superiority over you!”
“Liar! I’m not listening to you!” Eric screamed.
“Scott. Who-o-o-o-o-o is this m-m-m-an?” Captain Punjab whimpered.
As you can tell, I have clearly progressed from the terrible wretch that wrote those words. I just hope that I am not regressing to that level again!
I finally found a use for this window that I like. Sara agreed to pose for this picture before we went to the movies one snowy Monday night. This pose was not without some danger. The lights behind Sara are extremely hot, but she managed not to burn herself. This was a victory of some kind.
I hope everybody had a marvelous Valentine’s Day weekend. I spent Saturday night seeing the last Academy Award Best Picture Nominee that I needed to see with Sara. We went to see An Education and then ended up at Skip’s, home of the best nachos in Des Moines. They really are fantastic and they are worth the trip to Des Moines.
Now I’ve seen all 10 Best Picture Nominees, I feel a need to rank them. Even though I think that it is a rather tragic oversight by the Academy that they failed to nominate (500) Days of Summer. I also feel that Julie & Julia should have been nominated for Best Picture, but other than those two omissions, I can’t complain about the list too much. Okay, Fanastic Mr. Fox should have gotten more love as well. I also understand that the Oscars this year will hold very little suspense. Avatar will win Best Picture. That being noted, here is how I rank the 10 Best Picture Nominees from Best to not so good. Also, in case a person was to get invited to an Oscar Party, the movies that are currently available on DVD have been noted.
Here is Saturday’s love letter from The Writer’s Almanac:
Nathaniel Hawthorne wrote Puritan-inspired, New England-based works of dark romanticism, and he was largely a recluse. But he was cheerful about his personal romantic life. In his 30s, he fell in love with another reclusive person, Sophia Peabody. She and Nathaniel Hawthorne secretly became engaged on New Year’s Day in 1839.
They got married in her family’s bookstore in Boston. She was 32; he was 38. The newlyweds moved out to an old historic mansion in Concord, Massachusetts, where Henry David Thoreau made a vegetable garden for just the two of them. Hawthorne wrote to his sister: “We are as happy as people can be, without making themselves ridiculous, and might be even happier; but, as a matter of taste, we choose to stop short at this point.”
Then, on his first wedding anniversary, he wrote to his wife: “We were never so happy as now — never such wide capacity for happiness, yet overflowing with all that the day and every moment brings to us. Methinks this birth-day of our married life is like a cape, which we have now doubled and find a more infinite ocean of love stretching out before us.”
Writer James Joyce said things like, “A man of genius makes no mistakes; his errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery.” But he often apologized wholeheartedly to his wife, Nora. And he said things like, “I’ve put in so many enigmas and puzzles that it will keep the professors busy for centuries arguing over what I meant, and that’s the only way of insuring one’s immortality.” But to Nora Barnacle, he wrote things like — on October, 25th, 1909 — “You are my only love. You have me completely in your power. I know and feel that if I am to write anything fine or noble in the future I shall do so only by listening to the doors of your heart. … I love you deeply and truly, Nora. … There is not a particle of my love that is not yours. … If you would only let me I would speak to you of everything in my mind but sometimes I fancy from your look that you would only be bored by me. Anyhow, Nora, I love you. I cannot live without you. I would like to give you everything that is mine, any knowledge I have (little as it is) any emotions I myself feel or have felt, any likes or dislikes I have, any hopes I have or remorse. I would like to go through life side by side with you, telling you more and more until we grew to be one being together until the hour should come for us to die. Even now the tears rush to my eyes and sobs choke my throat as I write this. Nora, we have only one short life in which to love. O my darling be only a little kinder to me, bear with me a little even if I am inconsiderate and unmanageable and believe me we will be happy together. Let me love you in my own way. Let me have your heart always close to mine to hear every throb of my life, every sorrow, every joy.”
From Sunday’s The Writer’s Almanac:
Today is Valentine’s Day, the day on which we celebrate love, especially romantic love. The holiday was named after an early Christian priest, St. Valentine, who was martyred on February 14 in 269 A.D.
The tradition of exchanging love notes on Valentine’s Day originates from the martyr Valentine himself. The legend maintains that due to a shortage of enlistments, Emperor Claudius II forbade single men to get married in an effort to bolster his struggling army. Seeing this act as a grave injustice, Valentine performed clandestine wedding rituals in defiance of the emperor. Valentine was discovered, imprisoned, and sentenced to death by beheading. While awaiting his fate in his cell, it is believed that Valentine fell in love with the daughter of a prison guard, who would come and visit him. On the day of his death, Valentine left a note for the young woman professing his undying devotion signed “Love from your Valentine.”
Poets Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett Browning carried out one of the most famous romantic correspondences in literary history. They first introduced themselves by epistolary means, and fell in love even before they had met in person. The letter that began their relationship was written by Robert in January 1845; it was essentially a piece of fan mail to esteemed poet Elizabeth Barrett. He wrote:
“I love your verses with all my heart, dear Miss Barrett — and this is no offhand complimentary letter that I shall write — whatever else, no prompt matter-of-course recognition of your genius and there a graceful and natural end of the thing: since the day last week when I first read your poems, I quite laugh to remember how I have been turning and turning again in my mind what I should be able to tell you of their effect upon me …”
Elizabeth Barrett responded right away: “I thank you, dear Mr Browning, from the bottom of my heart. … Such a letter from such a hand!”
She continued, “I will say that I am your debtor, not only for this cordial letter & for all the pleasure which came with it, but in other ways, & those the highest: & I will say that while I live to follow this divine art of poetry, … in proportion to my love for it & my devotion for it, I must be a devout admirer & student of your works. This is in my heart to say to you & I say it.”
They continued writing to each other, clandestinely, for a year and a half, and then they secretly got married in 1846. Right before the wedding, Robert mailed off to Elizabeth a letter that said: “Words can never tell you, however, — form them, transform them anyway, — how perfectly dear you are to me – perfectly dear to my heart and soul. I look back, and in every one point, every word and gesture, every letter, every silence — you have been entirely perfect to me — I would not change one word, one look. I am all gratitude — and all pride (under the proper feeling which ascribes pride to the right source) all pride that my life has been so crowned by you.”
And then, the day after the wedding, she wrote to him:
“What could be better than [your] lifting me from the ground and carrying me into life and the sunshine? … All that I am, I owe you — if I enjoy anything now and henceforth, it is through you.”During their courtship, she was composing sonnets for him, which she presented to him as a wedding gift. The sonnets were published in 1850 and include one of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s most famous poems ever:
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints — I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
I know that there are some Scrooge McDucks out there that loathe and hate Valentine’s Day. I hope you can at least appreciate the great writing that was posted last week.
Basic housekeeping:
This page will be moving at the end of February. Don’t forget to update your links, bookmarks and RSS Feeds to the new URL: http://www.photography139.com/notebook/
Astute and technically savvy subscriber Angie did remind me that Blogger Dashboard is just an RSS Feed reader and anybody that follows An Artist’s Notebook on Blogger Dashboard will still be able to follow it through Blogger Dashboard by simply updating the URL.
Dawn and Angie both raised concerns that they would not get email alerts when responses to their comments are left on the blog. I am currently looking into coming up with a fix for that and I will let you know when I come up with a solution.
This week’s submissions for Random Weekly Photo Experiment:
IMAGE LOST
Dawn Krause
Michael Vest
Shannon Bardole’s Art Appreciation Picks of the Week:
Dawn Krause’s Weekly Poetry Entry:
Dawn went for the “psychological concept of Framing” with her poem.
Framing
A social theory of interpretation
It helps us along in communication
Reference points making up our lives
Fitting together till every piece jives
Outline of who we believe we are
Continually makes us raise our bar
Compare our lives to what we know
Fitting our frames to friend and foe
This must have been a tougher concept to tackle as the fewest people contributed, but hopefully more people will be able to tackle this week’s theme:
As many of you know, I am a huge fan of The Writer’s Almanac. It is my favorite thing on the radio. I wanted to share a little tidbit from today’s Writer’s Almanac as it is rapidly approaching Valentine’s Day. In fact, The Writer’s Almanac is celebrating this week with love letters.
Poet John Keats (books by this author) lived to be just 25 years old, but in that time he wrote some of the most exquisite love letters in the English language. The letters were to Fanny Brawne to whom he became engaged.
He was 23 years old, recently back from a walking tour of Scotland, England, and Ireland (during which time he’d probably caught the tuberculosis that would soon kill him), and had moved back to a grassy area of London, where he met and fell in love with Fanny Brawne. During this time, he composed a number of his great poems, including Ode to a Nightingale. And one Wednesday in the autumn, he wrote this letter, considered by many the most beautiful in the English language:
My dearest Girl,
This moment I have set myself to copy some verses out fair. I cannot proceed with any degree of content. I must write you a line or two and see if that will assist in dismissing you from my Mind for ever so short a time. Upon my soul I can think of nothing else. The time is passed when I had power to advise and warn you against the unpromising morning of my Life. My love has made me selfish. I cannot exist without you. I am forgetful of every thing but seeing you again — my Life seems to stop there — I see no further. You have absorb’d me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I was dissolving — I should exquisitely miserable without the hope of soon seeing you. I should be afraid to separate myself far from you. My sweet Fanny, will your heart never change? My love, will it? I have no limit now to my love … I have been astonished that Men could die Martyrs for religion — I have shudder’d at it. I shudder no more. I could be martyr’d for my religion — love is my religion — I could die for that. I could die for you. My Creed is Love and you are its only tenet. You have ravish’d me away by a Power I cannot resist; and yet I could resist till I saw you; and even since I have seen you I have endeavored often “to reason against the reasons of my Love.” I can do that no more — the pain would be too great. My love is selfish. I cannot breathe without you.Yours for ever
John KeatsThe following spring, Keats wrote: “My dear Girl, I love you ever and ever and without reserve. The more I have known you the more I have lov’d. … You are always new. The last of your kisses was ever the sweetest; the last smile the brightest; the last movement the gracefullest. When you pass’d my window home yesterday, I was filled with as much admiration as if I had then seen you for the first time.”
Keats and Brawne became engaged. He wanted to earn some money for them before they got married. But then he began coughing up blood. When he saw it, he said: “I know the color of that blood; it is arterial blood. I cannot be deceived in that color. That drop of blood is my death warrant. I must die.” He wrote to tell her that she was free to break off their engagement since he would likely not survive. But she would not, and he was hugely relieved. But he died before they married.
Those with good memories will remember a few months back when I wrote a series of blogs about groups that I am in that have matching shirts. The keenly observant will recall that I said there were 5 such groups, but I only posted blogs about 4 such groups.
I was waiting until the final group had earned our way into being “blog-worthy”. That group made that leap from anonymity to greatness on Sunday night. That was just the conclusion of what was a phenomenal week.
The week started out to be not particularly great. On Monday morning I was nursing a nagging foot injury in my right heel from Sunday night’s brutal basketball doubleheader.
Then several great things happened. In no particular order (chronologically or in magnitude of greatness):
My week concluded with my Ames Rec League basketball game. Our team, The Little Dribblers, has struggled mightily season.I We hadn’t won a game yet this season. I had walked around the workplace guaranteeing victory, but Tony took my guarantee up a notch and suggested that we shave our beards if we lost on Sunday.
Based on how amazing my week had been, I was supremely confident that I wouldn’t be showing up for work on Monday as a dirty naked-face. I pledged myself to the pact.
My week kept getting better and better after the pact. When I walked into the gym on Sunday night I had no doubt in my mind that me and my Little Dribblers brethren would be walking back out of that gym 60 or so minutes later with our heads held high for the first time all season.
I should point out that when I say that we haven’t won a game this season, that doesn’t mean that we get close and lose it in the end. We have been on the wrong end of some fairly brutal blowouts. It is not an exaggeration to say that we have obviously become the girlfriend game for most of the foes in the league.
Maybe I should explain the concept of the girlfriend game to those that aren’t familiar with it.
The girlfriend game is the game where you force, bring or allow your girlfriend to attend. It is a game where you are fairly certain that you will win by a healthy margin. You will look impressive and it will reassure your girlfriend or wife that she made a wise choice in selecting you from the herd.
This is the way that men think. I’m pretty sure most women would rather be at home watching Gray’s Anatomy or whatever it is that women like to do on Sunday nights. Either way, it is not paranoia that forces me to make the observation that when teams play us, there are lots of lady friends in the other team’s cheering section that aren’t there when they are playing other teams.
For the record, only Donner has ever brought his lady to one of our games. She came to our first game and hasn’t returned since. Yes, the Little Dribblers have been sans female fans since our first game. It is a sad state of affairs, but it is understandable.
That isn’t to say that we are devoid of fans. Both Doug and Joe have brought their sons to our games. Thankfully they are both too young to lose respect for their fathers based on what has transpired on the court before their innocent eyes.
Based on how awesome my week had been, I warmed up with extreme amounts of confidence. The only thing that gave me cause for pause was the fact that Tony did not show up. Why had Tony suggested a beard growing pact and then failed to even show up? Did he know something that I did not?
We still had plenty of firepower. Firepower we didn’t have the first time we locked horns with our opponents. A game where we fell in OT after running out of steam because we only had 6 players.
This time we had 9 guys. 9 guys with a wide range of talents.
The game started out with the Little Dribblers jumping on our opponent. We opened up a quick 7-0 lead. But our opponent didn’t show any quit. They rattled off 9 straight points to grab the lead, but an old-fashioned 3 point play by Donner put us up for good.
The game turned into a defensive struggle with neither team able to score much against the other team’s tough defense. The Little Dribblers settled into halftime with a 19-16 lead. Not a comfortable lead, but we were clearly in control of the game and it was our first halftime lead of the season.
During halftime I collected my thoughts and sent out a score update text.
The third quarter was all about defense for the Little Dribblers. Our tough 2-3 zone suffocated the paint and our quick guards closed out quickly on their outside shooters to prevent any open looks.
We held our opponent without a single point for the entire third quarter. We were forcing our will on them, but there didn’t seem to be any quit in them. It wasn’t until the final few seconds of the third quarter when you could finally feel the air come out of the gym.
Memory is a funny thing and I can’t swear to every detail that I’m about to describe, but it is not the exactness of the details that is of the most importance. It is the general idea of what happened that is of consequence.
With about 7 seconds left we missed a layup. Our opponent rebounded the ball and headed up court. A little in front of the three point line, Chad knocked the ball free from the man he was guarding. The ball bounced to another one of our opponents, but Corey was there playing in the jersey of his man. Corey knocked the ball free and start dribbling towards our basket. I saw that there wasn’t much time left on the clock so I sprinted towards our basket and called out for the ball. Corey, with his legendary court awareness, spotted me out of the corner of his eye and burned a pass through 2 (maybe 3) defenders. Despite the smoking velocity I caught the ball and took a dribble and went up for a layup on my weak side. The ball left my hands and banked off the backboard and through the hoop. As my feet (still nursing an injured foot) landed on the court the buzzer sounded signifying the end of the third quarter. The Little Dribblers bench jumped up and celebrated in pandemonium. Our opponents lowered their heads and walked back to their bench. There was still 10 minutes left to play, but that play effectively ended the game. We had crushed their spirits.
The last quarter played out. The buzzer sounded (after a strange player where one of their players came completely across the court to foul me, while I was just dribbling out the clock after securing the final defensive rebound of the game) and the scoreboard shouted, “Little Dribblers 43 Other Team 23”. End of losing streak. End of frustration. End of being the girlfriend game, well maybe not the last one.
We sat on the sidelines and soaked in the feel of victory for awhile. I grabbed my phone and fired off a few texts to interested parties. Perhaps they weren’t all that interested, but they got a text message any way.
It didn’t take long for the accolades to come streaming in:
“WOW!!! U guys creamed them! CONGRATS 2 U, UR TEAM, AND UR GOATEE!!!”
-Jill Gorshe
“You really ‘dominated’ them!”
-William McAlpine
“Awesome! As it happens peggy didn’t end up getting the tickets.”
Shannon Bardole
“Congrats!”
-Jen Gorshe
Jay said something cool as well, but I accidentally deleted his text message. Sorry Jay.
Jesse asked very kindly if he could touch a Little Dribbler jersey so he could know what it feels like to touch a winner. I obliged him in this request.
Now that the Little Dribblers are winners, until we take the court again on St. Valentine’s Night, I can post a picture of the Little Dribblers jersey.
I’m sorry, the jerseys are not for sale to the general public.