Sleeping Duty

I told him ...

"The universe is in a constant state of balance between chaos and order, my son.

You must discipline yourself. You must be prepared at any time, for it is your duty to wield a righteous sword of justice, to bring order and render balance.

You must be ready, for the task is yours and yours alone.

At all times, known and unknown.

It is the path laid before you.

For you know ...

... the way of the samurai."

Hubris (Doesn't That Sound Like A Bone?)

Each day is becoming brighter or darker than the one before it.

You are someone different each day, and you know this by recognizing that the epiphanies you experience are comprised of the countless series of things that happen.

No one, particular moment changes you.

Yet then again ... it does.

Lack Of Beer Vote Costs Obama In Clinton's Nevada Victory

'Burrrrrp!' local drunk says

By Porter Brew
The Georgetown (S.C.) Tattler

LAS VEGAS -- Hillary Clinton edged Barack Obama in the Nevada Democratic presidential caucuses on Saturday -- a narrow victory that political experts say rested heavily on the lack of turnout of the so-called "beer vote."

Earlier in the week during a televised debate, Obama challenged the notion that the election "isn't about who you'd rather have a beer with."

Polls have shown that Obama leads substantially among voters who'd like a president they'd enjoy drinking a beer with. Clinton has struggled among that crucial voting bloc, which early polling data show failed to make it to the polls.

"I was going to totally wake up by noon and go vote for my bro', but he kind of pissed me off with that shit," said mall security guard Leon Idis, who had been chugging several beers with the regulars at Brewskie's Pub off a remote dirt road in Ely, Nev., on Tuesday when he heard Obama's beer comment.

Idis said he had considered bolting from the Obama camp and raising his mug to Clinton's campaign. In 2000 and 2004, he voted for the guy he'd rather have a beer with and had "heard that worked out great."

"I was all drunk and threw my bottle at the TV in whatever bar I passed out in that night," Idis said. "Then I woke up and was all like, 'Whatever,' you know?"

Yew Borous, a former political strategist during Bill Clinton's presidency, said that Obama tried reaching out to those who weren't taking him seriously because they viewed his candidacy "much like a student council presidential race based solely on likeability."

However, the move served to suppress the turnout of a key foundation of Obama's base, Borous said.

"It appeared to be a shrewd manuever, but never underestimate the fragile ego of a boozer," he said.

The comment also appeared to have farther-reaching ramifications, namely mobilizing the wine and liquor vote in favor of Clinton.

"What about us?" said Ginny Tawnac, a social drinker who says she detests the proletarian coarseness of seasonal wintertime black lagers. "We think the presidency is about more than beer. We're fun to hang out with, too, you know."

In a rally following his narrow defeat, Obama claimed victory heading into next Saturday's South Carolina primary and gave no signs that he would neglect the mecurial moods of boozers this time around.

"Thank you!" Obama told a raucus crowd of supporters. "Thank you. Yes. Thank you. OK. Thank you. Yes. Thanks. OK. Thank you. We walked a tight line here in Nevada. We were tested. We wobbled a bit, but we will put one foot in front of the other in South Carolina, and we don't plan on stumbling."



Barack Obama, holding a bottle of water he now says was spiked with Goldschlager , trades pleasantries with rival Hillary Clinton after Tuesday's debate in Las Vegas.

Make Them Wish They Had Never Been Loyal To Their Country

The Chargers beat the Colts today.

I had been kind of torn by it.

The Dolphins have nothing to offer my oldest son, who is forming his allegiances at the crucial age of 7. It's at that tender age that you develop those deep, lasting bonds with a team (the kind that makes a 34-year-old man stick with a bunch of losers).

What do I offer him? Zach Thomas and Jason Taylor in the twilight of their careers? Some Mormon quarterback? The promise that some aging, self-important a-hole (Parcells) is going to ressurrect a once-proud franchise?

Well, at least they re-signed Ricky Williams.

Somehow, some way, he's picked the Chargers as his team. Playing that PS2, I imagine. All of a sudden it was all about LaDainian Tomlinson, so I got him a powder-blue L.T. jersey for Christmas.

During basketball practice today, a coach looks at him and wonders aloud how my boy's Chargers are doing against the Colts.

My boy and his team.

My boy. Not my team.

Interesting.

I'm pulling hard for the Chargers now that they've made it to the AFC championship game.

I want my boy's team to be good. I want the hero whose number he wears to do something ... heroic ... for him.

And something else: A part of me had wanted the Colts to win because I thought they had the best shot at ruining the Patriots' perfect season. After all, besides the one win we got this year, all we've got left is 16-0 perfection in 1972. Even though the Patriots have 17-0, I'd love to see it 17-1. Hell, I don't care if it's 18-1. Just don't let them end it perfect.

And, yes, that's what losers who use to be winners do. They become haters.

But, no, I've got to go with my boy.

And ... what if the Chargers could knock them off?

The Dolphins got two shots at the Patriots this season and couldn't do anything with it. No repeat of Marino ruining the Bears' perfect '85 season.

But what if my boy's team can do it for me? Save this old man's glimmer of faded glory?

And here I thought it'd be a while longer before I'd be leaving it to my children to handle my business.

Two Thousand Eighties

This is the sad state of affairs entering 2008.

The fall from grace.

The times that try men's souls ...

... I'm at a 1980s-themed New Year's Eve party where people are karaokeing '80s songs and wearing any variety of '80s attire.

I don't have any semblance of '80s wear in my possession. What I like of the '80s would be too small, because I was a little boy.

And what I don't like of the '80s would still be too small (but I guess not undoably small, because what I don't like of the '80s I might actually be able to wear, because I became a teenager there toward the end when wearing tight jeans that make your junk show and making the jeans tighter at the ankle by rolling them up was the thing).

So, back to coming closer to the end of the first decade of the second millennium, I've just come with the boot-cut jeans (which, by the way, took way too long to hit the mainstream kind of long ago but not so long ago) and a reasonably contemporary wool sweater.

And seeing as I'm a bit shy in social situations, I'm wearing my favorite, salt-ringed Miami Dolphins hat pulled down low over my eyes.

It's a strange irony: Hiding your eyes with something so conspicuous.

A Miami Dolphins hat?

1-15.

In the same season as the New England Patriots became the first team since the '72 Dolphins to end the regular season with a perfect record. And in the same season as Brett Farve breaks the last remaining records Dan Marino set.

1-15.

(Thank heavens for the Ravens).

It's weird to feel out of place somewhere when you're not wearing '80s clothes. But here I've found myself, without my mullet and without my Swatch. The one a-hole refusing to cooperate and bearing the symbol of a crappy-ass squad.

I go to the bathroom, I look in the mirror and it's there I realize I can make it all right.

It strikes me as I examine the likeness of a reasonably focused dolphin wearing a football helmet jumping through what looks like a fiery hoop.

That symbol is a relic of my childhood.

Full of glowing, curl-up-with-your-Optimus-Prime-figure-and-watch-a-football-game memories:

Marino to Clayton. Marino to Duper. Marino hawking Isotoners.
The epic offense-a-thons against the Chargers and the Jets.
The Dolphins spoiling the Chicago Bears' perfect 1985 season against all odds late in the season on Monday Night Football and winning 50 cents from my Dad on a bet.

It strikes me as I wash my hands and grasp my Harvest Moon Pumpking Ale and head back into the social fray, with a new -- albeit somewhat humiliating -- perspective that, if shared, would signify a gesture of acquiescence.

The truth is, I'm wearing my Dolphins hat. And as much as I hate that it's the truth ... it's soooo '80s.