Is there anybody out there?

We set out at the beginning of July with a simple goal, a sociological experiment if you will; go the entire month without posting anything new to this here blog. Leave it up to me to go and shit on the whole thing, I just couldn't take it anymore! I can almost see again!

(What? We didn't plan this? Then where the hell did everyone go? Ah, beer run! Ah, yeaaaa, you want to partake, son?)

Remember the passing mention of those adventure races that my marathon training partner does? Didn't think so. Well, I "completed" my first one this past weekend. This one was to be an 8 hour race consisting of running, mountain biking & kayaking all while orienteering your way through a 30 some mile course. These courses aren't existing or permanent, which one can go visit & practice or anything, it feels like someone just walked into the woods in some arbitrary direction, throws a flag in the ground and says "Find this, punks." Hell, sometimes the flags are on islands in a river.

The night before the race (Friday), all the teams - either 2 or 4 person teams, ours was a 2 - met at one of the area's REI stores to finally learn the location of the event. As it turns out, we were to race at St. Croix (Steven? Steven?) State Park, a place I'd actually been! Attributing it to half hunger and half our "need" to carbo load, the girl and I went to the Olive Garden (Tour of Italy, bitches!) before heading home and finishing packing everything we'd need the next day. On this race, each competitor was to carry all of their gear (except the bike, kayak & paddles, obviously) the whole time - life jacket, bike helmet, H2o, food, tp and a list of mandatory gear. For those who have never carried a backpack besides the one they took to school, the weight and bulk of gear adds up quickly. Now imagine having to run with that on your back, bouncing around, getting snagged on trees and bushes. Yea, that's fun. Granted, it's not 30 or 40 pounds, but damn you gravity, you win again!

All right so Saturday morn, she and I got up early (4:30? 5?) and drove the nearly 2 hours to the race site on the MN/Wisco border. We get there, get all our gear together, insect repellent & sunscreen on, everything organized, OK! We're ready to go! One problem though, we can't go. Either of us. Seems that dinner doesn't want to be left behind on this race. Jesus H Christ, the one time I want to take the Browns to the Super Bowl and I can't do it. You've got to be kidding me. "What if I go over there?" Location mattered not; we were stuck with the bottomless salad and breadsticks.

As the 8:00 pre-race meeting crept closer, we realized our dilemma, try to force everything out at the privy or start the race and probably stop 5 minutes in to relieve ourselves in the woods. Wasn't hard for me to decide what to do. After 10 minutes of standing in line (and missing the meeting), I finally had my turn again and was quite successful. Hell, if she says she's fine, I'm taking her word for it, what can I do, reach in and pull it out? (Mark it zero, Dude)

With an 8:30 start time, we weren't able to look at our maps and order of disciplines until 8:27. Teams also received the sensor which would register us all at the checkpoints, along with the warning that if we lost it, we'd owe 35 bucks. Yea, lose the thing we need to check in the whole race? The most important thing beside the map? No worries, bud. We came to learn that the order would be running, kayaking, running, kayaking, mountain biking, running, mountain biking, finish. Look at that again, it never gets old. A total of 18 checkpoints, 5 transition areas and 1 team challenge stood in our way of the celebratory BBQ. "We can do this", "Hell yea", "This is gonna be fucking great." "We got this". Allow me for a second to assure you, the reader, that yes, we did in fact "have" that. Minus the butterflies in the stomach, we knew this was going to kick ass, and so were we.

Bam! 8:30, everyone takes off, all the teams racing towards the first checkpoint, about 100 degrees from magnetic North (remember, I'm carrying a compass). Run, run, run. Running through tall grass, running along 4 wheeler tracks, running through a marsh (HIGH KNEES!), stomp up the hill, stepping on every living plant along the way - wait, there it is! Checkpoint 1! Hell yea! I'm officially an adventure racer! I'd already plotted where we headed next (as had every other team) - about 1.5 miles, 45* from N.

This trot was easy, over a grassy trail, about 8 feet wide. It had its fair share of gopher holes, strewn branches and the like, but considering our expectations, this was nothing. Being in good shape, she and I ran alongside the fastest teams and left all others behind. After hitting CP #2, we were off towards a point a couple thousand feet away, just south of east. There didn't appear to be any easy access by trail so everyone chose the same option- bushwhacking! I think by this point, we were in 3rd or 4th place overall, right behind the leaders, and easily #1 in our class - 2 person, coed.

Really, there is nothing like bushwhacking. Plants, fallen trees, bugs, brush, nothing gets in the way of a focused person. If we can build thousand foot buildings, bridge 4 mile wide rivers and clone sheep, then no freakin' forest floor is going to stop us. I was right on the heels of my teammate, ducking, dodging and leaping with every "Branch!" or "Log!". Finally, after 10 minutes or more of slow moving, we can see the trail running perpendicular in front of us, all right, when we hit the trail, if we go ri-WHAP!!! "FUCK! You have to call those out!" Her right shoulder inadvertantly caught a small branch that snapped right back at my unsuspecting face.

Perhaps my reaction was a bit knee-jerk, but that branch/stick/twig hit me right in the friggin eye! Seriously, right in the fucking eye! Instantly I was blind on my right side. Not only could I not see anything, but it felt like Bo Jackson's bat handle was stuck under my eyelid. This was only 2 checkpoints and 30-45 minutes into our race, and I'm unable to voluntarily open my eye, plus when I pry it open, it was a haze heavier than getting out of a pool with too much chlorine. A couple of extremely helpful and conscientious teams stopped to try and help but we all realized that there was nothing they could do. If I could just make it to the first transition point, I'd be able to check with the medics and see if there's anything they could do.

To make matters worse, while we were stopped trying to flush out my eye, my excruciating knee/hamstring issue arose. You want pissed off? Not, "Dude, you didn't even hit me" ticked, but "IT'S KRAPF, YOU IDIOT!" pissed, that was me. Not only was I concerned because I was unable to run, but again, I couldn't see. My girl and I had decided that I'd be the navigator and now that plan was pretty much shot. The worst parts for me were not only the sinking feeling that I was letting her down, a solid & experienced competitor, but also, I don't think she found my situation was as bothersome as I did.

After some lengthy issues finding CPs 3 & 4, we headed towards the first transition point, a kayak launch. It was here that I learned from the pleasant medics that not only could they not do anything for my eye, but I was to expect that it'd get a lot more painful. Well, thanks fellas, glad you could come out to help. If I may say so myself, and I will, we kicked some serious ass kayaking. We passed a number of teams that had passed us during our hold ups and gained some serious ground again.

When we took our boats out of the water, we ran into yet another significant issue; we lost the god damned 35 dollar electronic device that registered which check points we'd visited? Christ! What's going on here? Oh, now the fucking waterproof map case broke and the maps are soaking wet?!?! gggggrrrrrRRRRRR AAAAARRRRRGGGGHHHHHHHHH!!!!!! FUCK! Uh, needless to say, she and I weren't much for words at this point. To her credit, she helped minimize the finger pointing, given the circumstances, as did I, but crap, could anything else possibly go wrong? You already know the answer.

While Lorenzo Neal'ing my way through a thick creek bank, somehow the compass was ripped out of my hand, only to be lost forever. So you know, while orienteering, a compass is more than "required" gear. It's "don't bother if you don't have it" gear. How deep is that creek down there? Any chance I can drown myself in it? Luckily, she had carried one as well, which we proceeded to use, but imagine if she hadn't - that'd have been it for us. This was only CP 8.

Sorry to skip most of the rest here, but I need to sleep. After finding checkpoint 16, we decided that we would skip #17 and the team challenge so that we could head back for the BBQ and to chat with the other racers. Much of the latter half of our race was spent wavering between complete silence and me trying to apologize profusely for not being able to do better than I'd been able to. Our official finish time? 8:18:00. The winner in our class? 7:23:51. Crap. If I'd been able to either see OR run, we'd have won the thing, hands down. Now that's frustrating.

We finished and took some quick pics, though neither of us seemed to really be in the mood.




Oddly enough, word had passed throughout the race of my eye troubles and many people were coming up and congratulating me for finishing, which as touching as that was, did nothing to alleviate the guilt I felt for letting down my teammate (oh yea, she's my girlfriend, too).

When we finally headed home for the day, she decided that she'd be taking me to the ER for the eye. No one here knows this, but my eyes are the one part of my body you just don't mess with; doctors, polices, hookers, none of you! Now I was going to have all these people probing it like the Houston 500. At some point that night, a doctor put some dye in my eye and checked it with a blacklight which apparently showed the scratch to all observers on the other side of my eye (i.e., you). My girl got to see it with the doc and apparently it was a round-ish scrape of decent proportions, which overlapped onto the pupil, thus the vision issues.

Another thing ya'll don't know - I don't do pills. I don't do medicines. I don't do drugs. At least not this kind. Seriously, I've never been one for painkillers, but this was so intense that I jumped at the chance for Vicodin. Never again. Bastards put me to sleep like watching Titanic. The race went down on Saturday, it's now Thursday. This is the first day that I've been able to consistently hold my eye open. The main problem now seems to be that if I'm looking at an object, I see anywhere from zero to four images of that object. Could be going better. It'll improve, but this definitely answers the question - would I rather be deaf or blind?

It's All About Taking Chances...

Trust me, this past Tuesday changed me. I witnessed something which may require a running account of the goings on - it was that entertaining. You'll read about it sometime.

I'd initially started a blog post surrounding my first Twins game, but it's been rudely interrupted by the night's NBA proceedings. Sure, we're only at the point where Carolina just took Brendan Wright, but were there not food in front of me to this point, I'd be about 2 pages deep into this thing already. Even with this year's, allegedly, intriguing/interesting/exciting, draft, I just can't get excited. Not having draft picks picks is like a hand job from a fat chick; sure, something's happening, but you just want to be past it so you can get on with your night.

That being said, we just had the first WNBA player ever selected - Joakim Noah to the Bulls! That's gotta be the most flat chested shemale I've ever seen. I'm against domestic violence, can we please hunt down the person who punched him/her in the mouth and seek retribution?

I still don't understand why Oden & Durant were always the Top 2 players in this draft. I don't care that I've never seen Durant play; I just don't get what makes these guys such "sure things". I said it before, but it's like the outcome has already been determined for these guy's careers. Why even play the games?

Rachel "Hoover" Nichols. Ma'am, you're glowing. Whatever you've been doing down there in Charlotte, I'd have thought you'd get some bigger leads out of it. Must not be using the DSL you've got to maximum potential. Plus, don't think it's slipped my notice that you've spent a lot of time around Michael Jordan. Next time, clean up your lipstick before going on TV.

I'm not sure what to think about Jeff Green to the Celtics. On one hand, I hate the fanbase surrounding Boston sports teams even more than Buckeye fans and would have loved the Chinese guy going there, on the other hand, STOP COMPLAINING ALREADY! There is no satisfying Bostonians; their inferiority complex is unrivaled. The city may be the most historically relevant U.S. locale, but having been eclipsed by New York's money, they've got to bitch about everything. Back on point, whenever the Celtics blurb scrolls up the screen, it mentions something about a trade rumor of "Jeff Green to Seattle". Awesome. Though that's not exactly a trade, that's a giveaway. What's Boston getting in return? Ray Allen? Please, like you'd draft a talented player & ship him with another good young guy and the pride of Miami U. for a max contract? Oh. If you don't mind, I've got to make a call... Maybe Danny Ainge would part with Tony Allen & pieces of the parquet floor for these chicken tenders.

This is it for now, but just so you know, I'm in a bar in Minneapolis watching the draft. The laughs/applause when Milwaukee took Yi was almost bigger than the T'Wolves taking Corey Brewer.

I'm getting scared, Atlanta looks like they're trying to put together a competitive young team. I'm out.

Marketing slogans you won't soon see: Fosters beer

Progressing through the World Beer Tour at the local establishment, I've tasted some pretty good and awfully shitty beers. As I was in the mood for one final night of self deprivation, I subjected myself to some Parrot's Bay shit (think Smirnoff Ice for masochists), Guinness (oh Guinness is refined, classy & full of body? Wrong, it's like giving a rimjob to a elephant with IBS) and Fosters. I did reward myself with a Hazed & Infused, but that doesn't eliminate the taste of rotten labia from my lips.

Never before has one beer inspired so many remarks as this one can of Fosters. Seriously, unless you've ever sat at a bar drinking one of these oversized cans, you haven't tested the limits to which you'll push your endurance and integrity. If the following doesn't convince you that your life is incomplete without the experience that is Fosters, well sir, you are far from a beer snob; rather, you aren't wearing your Golden Straightjacket.

-Fosters; tastes like the zoo
-Fosters; tastes like Oklahoma
-Fosters; smells like penis
-Fosters; like you're 8 years old, giving hand jobs to the bus driver again
-Fosters; for those who like their beer with hay, not hops
-Fosters; never will a beer can make you feel sexually inadequate like ours
-Fosters; ain't no one being f'ed by this can
-Fosters; you're kidding, right?
-Fosters; twice the size for only a buck more

It's late, I can't remember the rest. Anyway, Fosters sucks.

Let your mind wander

If only because I'm in the mood to be a bit self indulgent after the truly shitty evening I've had, here comes a story which, if I could openly share all details, could be one for all time. Definitely not about sports.

All things end badly, or else they wouldn't end, or so I've heard. Well, not only have I sworn off most Irish women, but now it's time to add the Swedes as well. Intuition's a bitch - for the longest time I haven't been able to shake the feeling that I'm "sharing" my lady friend. That's not a pleasant experience, you can tell what's going on but it's a bit unfair to make allegations without proof.

Well after watching the monstrosity on ABC tonight, I got a call from her asking if I'd seen the game. Uh, yea, of course - on TV at the gym while I was running. Wait - this doesn't make sense, she doesn't have TV. Apparently she'd seen it with a friend of hers. Needless to say I was more than a bit disappointed. Allegedly (and I'm almost willing to give her this one) this is just a friend that she trains with, but what the hell? Seriously? So in a huff I went to her place to pickup my laptop that she'd been borrowing for a few days.

Not to bitch and bore you with all the details, but after expressing my disappointment and asking some questions it came to light that, once again, intuition is the strongest sense. When someone starts a sentence with, "I've been trying to decide if I should tell you something..." they usually don't follow with "I've hired a hitman. He's going to take out Barry Bonds." I didn't need the full history of her relationship with the guy. Nor did I really need to know that when he comes back in town she'd be exploring her feelings for him again. As I was already staggering, I asked if there was anything else I needed to know; kids I don't know about, diseases, debilitating illnesses, murders? No? Ok then. Wait, what? ANOTHER GUY??? You have got to be kidding me.

Surprisingly, following these revelations, I left. Now things get awesome. As I said, she'd been borrowing my computer for a few days as she can get a wireless signal but has no working computer of her own. You need to know that one of my biggest attractions to her is her, uh, openness and ability when we're alone. Well, here's a suggestion for you all to keep in mind for pretty much the rest of your lives - if you use someone else's computer for your own leisure, it may be a good idea to delete the sites you visit. She's shared some of her fantasies so seeing some of these web addresses wasn't a complete surprise, but jesus, how much porn can one woman look at in a day?

Hey, yea, also Tiava is categorized. Turns out she digs of the same things as I, but some of the other categories - yowza! Oh, yea and if you're into any of the anonymous real life hookup sites, you may want to delete those links as well.

So I'm single again.

Careful what you wish for

Back in the days when Chris Mills, Terrell Brandon, Bob Sura, Dan Majerle, Bobby Phils, Michael Cage & Tyrone Hill were pulling in big minutes for the Cavs, down towards the end of the bench sat Donny Marshall.

I was emotionally torn concerning Donny Marshall; on one hand, he sucked, although it looked like basketball talent ran in the family. I firmly believed that had the team gotten the other Marshall brother, we'd be rooting for a contender (instead of getting swept by the Knicks before not making the playoffs 7 straight years). Well, when I'm wrong, I'm really wrong.

This is nothing new, you guys have been hearing/discussing it all day, but why the hell was Larry Hughes on the floor to start the game? After seeing Tony Parker absolutely blow past him, Hughes should have been relegated to towel waving on the bench for the remainder of the series.

Piss off, Curt

Flashback to 1997: July 7th to be exact. I'm at Jacob's Field, lucky enough to be at one of the most entertaining MLB moments of the season: the festivities the day before the All Star Game, specifically the Homerun Derby. One of my father's friends hooked our family up with seats between the Tribe dugout & home plate, about 8 rows up from the field.

The day included a celebrity softball game which pitted Jonathan Silverman and LeAnn Rimes' squad against Zack Morris & co. Plus, we got to watch the All Star workouts. Ever show up 2 hours early for a baseball game and watch them teams stretch, play catch and take BP? Ever do it twice? Right, so what makes you think you'd want to pay to see it without them playing an actual game? These are the days when Jeff Blauser, Royce Clayton, Tony Womack, Bobby Jones, Brady Anderson, Joey Cora, Jeff Cirillo, Pat Hentgen (Toronto's Charles Nagy), Justin Thompson & Jose Rosado were making "All Star" appearances.

Anyway, Tribe fans, during the run in the '90's, what was it that everyone said the team needed to win it all? Pitching. Nagy would never be able to it on his own; Dennis Martinez & Orel Hershiser were successful, but long past their primes; Bartolo Colon came on too little, too late & Jaret Wright was busy plowing his way though Brush's cheerleaders. Dammit, if only there were one more guy. one more person wanting to take the ball on the biggest of stages and win a championship, if not always for the noblest of reasons. Enter the slobbish prick I'm watching most of the day's workout.

In 1996 & '97, Indians fans were teased with the constant rumors of bringing young stud Curt Schilling to town. This week's honorary punch in the face goes to John Hart for acquiring Ken Hill instead of the future Hall Of Famer. Really, the rumors of getting Curt Schilling were frequent and, at times, convincing. Imagine for a second, having a selfish, young Curt Schilling on the mid to late '90's Indians.

The 1997 All Star break may have been the climax of the trade rumors & even though I think at the time I realized it wouldn't come to fruition, I couldn't help myself from taking pictures of the arrogant bastard wearing number 38. Watching this SOB walk around the field like he owned the place (chest puffed out, looking down his nose at everyone), I realized that it might not be worth it. Do I really want to sacrifice the pride of my team for a guy who I can't stand but might help win it all?

This tub o' lard has proven himself to a self absorbed hired gun, worried more about his "legacy" than the larger reality of what he's really accomplishing. Am I jealous that he brought a WS title to another long suffering area? Yes and no: sure, I wanted to win, but not with him. After having another decade of this guy behind us, we get to look back and see what could have been. From the desperation of jumping from winner to winner, to the spokesman deals, to the bloody sock, to his manipulating blog and need to always be available for interviews & TV appearances, he has proven to care more about the name on the back of the jersey than the one on the front.

Would I want to Browns to win the Super Bowl if it meant taking Terrell Owens with him at his worst? Probably not and the same goes for the Tribe & Schilling. I can't stand the guy. Had Slider or Brady Anderson choked Schilling like an Asian with Lexington Steele I'd have been ok with that.

You know what, Curt Schilling? When I'm talking to my friends' kids about baseball before they were born, your name will probably come up. Want to know what I'm going to tell them, what your legacy is going to be? You were a prick. Yea, you won, but everyone hated you. I'm glad you never pitched for my team, even though we could have won with you. Piss off, Curt.

He's still no Cleo Lemon

Terrific, Trent Green just went to the Dolphins. Why? They've already got two washed up quarterbacks on their roster. Oh, they're trading Culpepper, huh? Yea, the guy who is so shitty that they made this trade to begin with, they think they have much leverage with any team? Jesus, if they get anything above a 4th round pick, I'll be impressed. So why trade for Green? Am I the only one who thinks Joey Heisman could still be a serviceable quarterback in the league?

To make a run in any sport these days, your franchise either has to hit rock bottom or be a consistent contender; if you're crap, you get high draft picks and can justify trading current studs for future stars - if you're a contender, players come to you. The 'fins are neither - they suck, but not enough for a top 5 pick and they still aren't a playoff contender, what's the sense in trading for someone to make you marginally better? 8-8 might actually be worse than 6-10; Why give fans false hope while losing out on a (slightly) higher pick?.

Trent Green is going to be 37 when the season opens and this guy is going to have a better arm than Culpepper? Doesn't Daunte have an incredible "air it out" type of arm? Shit, if only his team had a raw talent who can't run routes but has impressive speed... You get Trent Green on your team, you want receivers who will be where they're supposed to be when they're supposed to be there. Culpepper needs guys who can run under his passes; simply, true athletes. What direction is this team going?

Let's say this trade had gone down before the draft, would Miami have taken Ginn? Why get a piece then change the puzzle? Besides for my own pleasure, WHY DIDN'T YOU TAKE BRADY QUINN?