There is a new research study that says the answer is yes. Thanks for visiting. Hope that was helpful for you.
Right, right, the question: "Could Where You Live Affect Heart Health?"
Now that's a good way to get my attention. Thank you newspaper people for shocking me once again into reading something I already knew. These shock headlines annoy when they don't reflect the content of an article. Especially when the link headline is different than the actual article headline. It works, I read it, but it's annoying and makes me not want to trust you in the future.
It turns out there are particular states that have higher rates of heart trouble. So does the state determine that? Or education and diet determine that? Just asking. "Several of the states with the highest heart disease rates lie in a swath of Southeastern states known for high-fat diets." Uhhh, yeah, that's what I thought.
But here is what really struck me, even before I clicked on the link "Could Where You Live Affect Heart Health?" The answer I heard to the question was, "Yes." It's funny that I've been learning about this and then a USA Today headline catches my attention to lead me back there. And then here's where I went.
Where do I live? In bitterness? In judgement and condemnation? In jealousy? In unforgiveness? Yeah, I live there some. More than I even recognize. BUT, it's being revealed more and more. Which is disturbing...but good.
I'm in the process of moving but I've got lots of luggage still at the old place. And it's hidden away in a maze of closets I can't even find. The light hasn't been very good over there so I often don't see my bags. But I'm learning to pull them out when the light comes on. And I can't even turn the lights on myself. I guess it's good that I've at least learned that I'm no electrician, which saves me some heartache.
Simply, this is what I hear about this place. IT'S NOT GOOD.
I'd like to get on over to the new place. Forgiveness. Grace. Humility. Joy. It seems to be a pretty well lit place. Skylights and big, tall windows with a great view. There's even loot over there. You'd think I'd enjoy this place more, even out of selfishness, but I find myself at the old address frequently. Probably out of habit. (I really think there's more to it than that.) But it reminds me of Paul (Romans 7).
"The new survey, [the lead author] says, supplies the estimated prevalence of people 'actually living with heart disease.'" Yeah, funny thing though, how alive can I really be with this heart disease I'm speaking of? And I'd guess this heart disease is pretty rampant. Too bad an EKG won't diagnose this.
Could Where You Live Affect Heart Health? Yes, I agree with this research.
What I'm about to say does not apply to the NBA All-Star game. It sucks. Bad. And there is nothing that the low to mid-level consumer can do to increase the entertainment value above high school girls hoops.
It may not apply to "your" team. But it should until tournament games start or if you hate the team wearing different colored uniforms. This is best used for good teams that you have no real interest in but as you'll see, works best for good GAMES.
I have realized how great basketball on tv is, IF watched appropriately. Basketball on the television drags for me. I tend to flip a lot when I'm watching games, so it's good that there are often 4 or more games on at a time. This applies to any level of tv ball. And this soon to be revealed method will come in mighty handy for all of us come the first weekend of the NC2A tourney. The patch, as PC users call it, would strike fear in the hearts of advertisers should they be made aware of its (correct use of the apostropheless "its" - and "its" is a funny looking word isn't it) genius.
We all should know by now that a large lead early, say 17-2, often means nothing when two competing teams are of similar stock. The 15 points are almost meaningless. Match ups change, foul trouble manifests, a team gets hot or cold, strategies change, and typically, the lead is chipped into over the next 30ish minutes to tighten the contest to a one to two possession game. This is often achieved by the last 5 minutes of the the allotted time of said leagues rules.
So get out your notepads. Here's how this works.
The goal: Don't start watching the GAME until there are approximately 5 minutes left in regulation.
Step 1 - Based on the start time, calculate at what time the last 5 minutes will be played. Step 1 (alternate scenario) - If you accidentally stumble across a game, calculate at what time the last 5 minutes will be played. Step 1a - Change the channel.
Step 1a is of great importance to the soundness of this maneuver. If you find yourself watching the game in the early minutes, for the love of humanity CHANGE the channel.
Step 2 - Check the progress of your game and recalculate. Step 2a - Change the channel.
This is a finesse move that requires practice and discipline. For the newbie, it may be good to set the timer on your watch, stove or high end coffee maker for 15 seconds so as not to get sucked in. This "sucked in" phenomenon is a real and legitimate threat to the proper execution of Step 2. You have been warned.
Step 3 - Repeat Step 2 and 2a so as not to miss the final 5 minutes.
If you find you yourself repeating Step 2 and 2a, without the digital minutes changing on the game clock, do not be deceived, you ARE watching the whole game. And muting the game does not work. This has been thoroughly tested and has repeatedly been shown to be a miserable failure as an alternative method.
Step 4 - Enjoy the "Final 5."
Assuming there has been proper execution of Steps 1-3, Step 4 is cake. This is your reward. If you have missed anywhere up to the final 150 seconds, don't be concerned, there is still a good fifteen minutes of basketball left to play. But this is your time. Enjoy this, you are getting the good stuff.
And that's it.
Let's walk through some of the major benefits. - Your significant others will be pleased at the free time and peace of mind you have, as well as the minimized times of Neanderthal action directed at "your" team. (By the way, neither the coach nor the players can hear you.)
- If the game does turn into a blowout, you have wasted no time on a stinker of a game. And if you have applied this method to "your" team you have saved yourself much grief and anxiety. In this situation, if "your" team happens to be the dominator, you have missed the destruction of a hated team. I will say a prayer for your loss. But rejoice in the final 5. However, my research has shown that the odds of a blowout in a rival game are less than 3.5%. So chances are good this will not happen to "your" team.
- Overtime games are the perfect fit for this skilled approach to tv basketball. Example 1 - The recent Texas-Texas A&M, double overtime game is a prime exhibition of this approach. Down four with fourteen seconds left what does A&M do? Tie it up , we're going to overtime. Example 2 - The recent Cavs-Mavs game. With Cleveland down fourteen to 13 wins in a row Dallas and 6:02 left, the game is over. SO over. Uhhh, no it's not, we covered that. Lead cut to three with 41 seconds left. Down to the wire as LeBron misses two free throws and two good looks at a 3 that would have sent it to overtime. (And I'll say it here again, LeBron MUST start hitting free throws for Cleveland to advance in the playoffs.)
All anyone really wants to see is the final 5 plus the overtime. A mini-version of the "Final 5" can be applied during bonus time, known to those in the...know, called the "mini-Final 5" or the "Final 1." It is risky, but can can be applied by veterans of the "Final 5."
- Sometimes you reap the benefits of networks having met their commercial quota and you are kept live on air to watch the players and coaches stand around in a tight huddle while you can hear nothing. Your imagination runs wild about all the scribbling of Xs and Os on the dry erase board. And the encouragement by Coach, it's still ringing in my imagination. All the while uninterrupted by adds for life changing products and services. Exhilarating if you ask this man.
- If you feel as though you may have missed an amazing highlight, they can often be seen on ESPN's Sports Center or at ESPN's online gathering place.
But don't be discouraged. If you invite me over to your place to watch "your" team play an entire game of hoops, chances are high I will come (chances are high I will come over if invited for any reason). And I will not feel the need to flip. You are in control and I am ok with that.
Actually, no, I will not say a prayer for your loss. And there was no actual research done in preparation of rolling out the "Final 5." All stats contained herein are based on...not much.
I am an unpaid spokesman for this, but the Google suite of products is sweet.
You may already be well aware of this good news, but I have recently become a fan of the personalized Google homepage and extries. I can: manage my G(oogle)mail email from there keep an online calendar get online space for pictures peruse the news of my choice from numerous different sources receive daily Calvin and Hobbes track the weather get photos of the day try famous optical illusions check current moon phase play Pacman and/or Frogger use the currency converter stare blankly at daily cat pictures try new recipes get my horoscope or yours
Really anything I want within reason. And it's all free for me.
The calendar is fantastic bombastic. Since it is online, wife can get in and add stuff from wherever she wants so that I don't miss stuff that she tells me. Occasionally I delete stuff on the planner in my head.
I can put lots and lots of pictures (and maybe movies) online so that the world or just friends can see. This is great news for me since I have no family within 4 hours and they are now able to substitute the computer images for the real thing. Great, no? Intermittently they do come for a close up view.
So check it out. It has proved useful. Google dot com, top right, "personalized homepage."
This is past due, but I was not impressed with the SuperBowl halftime show. Why is the artist formerly known as the artist formerly known as Prince chosen by the NFL powers to entertain the millions that watch the intermission act? How many other people would I have rather seen? Lots. And I think I could fairly easily find somebody that most others would deem suitable. Prince just is not one of them. Last year's Rolling Stones were not either. The NFL has not done well the last two years.
I do enjoy hearing his "1999" or any other song that refers to a year or decade that is long past. I just remember thinking how far out there 1999 was and now it's 8 years ago. Funny/ weird. I am really only writing so that I can load this next creation of mine. I made it a few weeks ago when I made up tuxedo t-shirt Jesus. You can make your own at some website that I can't find anymore. This is my recollection of him as he was on stage at halftime.
KT and I watched Hotel Rwanda this weekend. I have already recommended this film to a few people and now I am recommending it to you. Unbelievable story. Really, almost not believable. Yet, I know where I live, and so it is believable and heartbreaking because it really happened. In a pistachio sized nutshell, an assistant hotel manager helps to save 1200+ refugees during the genocide of over a million Rwandan Tutsis in 1994.
It's been a long time since I've been this tense watching a movie. Horror movie tense. Or roller coaster tense. Not because it was a jump out and scare you type like Psycho, but because of the gravity and reality of the situation.
I am starting to wrestle with my frustration towards the inaction I was feeling during the movie. Why didn't somebody do something? And why, at the time, did the media ignore it? I remember very little about it in 1994, and wonder if what I do remember I actually heard later. Probably. (I just found out today there is a new movie about the Rwandan genocide releasing soon, Beyond the Gates.) This is also the tragedy that helped launch IJM.
Hotel Rwanda has a scene where the main character is thanking a journalist that has shot footage of the massacres happening. Here's the line that really struck me (spoken by the journalist), "I think if people see this footage, they'll say 'Oh, my God, that's horrible.' And then they'll go on eating their dinners." Yep, that sounds about right.
So that was Saturday night. Sunday afternoon, KT and I are walking out of Dick's and I am passed by a van in the parking lot. After a second look I realize it says "Invisible Children" on the side. This is a documentary I have recently been made aware of about a similar thing happening in Uganda. I heard of it a couple months ago. So I went over and introduced myself to the van's inhabitants. Short story shorter, they are in town doing screenings and gave me a copy of the movie. So Invisible Children is now on the short short list. Like, next.
Last night, I'm talking with Mom and she says, "Oh yeah, you need to see Lost Boys of Sudan."
OK, OK, so I get it. There's a lot of stuff going on in central Africa I don't like. What is so frustrating is, what now?
What do I think about intervention in that situation from a political standpoint? Does that even matter?
Do I pray? Do I just wait for God to tell me what to do? Do I just give somebody some money? My time? Do I go to Rwanda or Uganda or Sudan? Do I write my representative and senator and president? Do I run for representative or senator or president?
I'm not even sure I know the right questions to ask. All I have at this time is, "What now?"
Friday, February 16, 2007
Apparently C. S. Lewis' The Screwtape Letters, is bound for the big screen. I'm not sure what to think about this. I read the book recently and enjoyed it but can't really picture it as a movie. Perhaps that's why I don't currently work in Hollywood. I also don't live near there, so that makes it hard as well.
I suppose I am looking forward to seeing it if only to see how it's brought to life. But unlike the Lord of the Rings or Chronicles of Narnia, it is not (at least from memory) a very picturesque story. As the title suggests, it really is just a series of letters from an uncle to a nephew. However, it did throw some light on dark places I don't like to talk about. Maybe I'll read it again this weekend. It is short. My guess is there will be significant creative license wielded with this film.
So my advice to the movie makers: don't screw it up.
I was watching the end of the Cavs-Lakers game yesterday. Cleveland won, despite Kobe Bryant's valiant attempt to repeatedly beat the triple team defense played down the stretch. That made me happy. Just happy. Look at him, isn't there something in you that is pleased with this grimace?
I do like this Anderson Verajao fella. 6-10 and he can take you to the hole. And that hair is so good. Reminds me of me back in the college days. The hair part and me taking you to the hole.
I like the Cavs, however, they will not go deep into the playoffs if they don't start knocking down their free throws. The team is shooting 69%. That won't get it done. Especially LeBron at 68%. How can he shoot 33% behind the arc and 68% from the stripe. Ilgauskas is even shooting north of 75%. Smells like a quick exit to me.
Speaking of bad, my wife's Celts have done a fine job of tanking. And put themselves in good position to make a run at Greg Oden or Kevin Durant. 12 wins in 50 attempts, are they even trying? Did they hire Isaiah as a consultant? 18 craps in a row. They are not just horrible, but HORRIBLE.
So I see this guy Vladimir Radmanovic. Apparently he's been in the league for 5 years. New to me. I am immediately reminded of Kurt Rambis. "Look, it's the new Kurt Rambis," I say, either in my head or out loud. I know Vlad is Eastern European but it's new school. New School.
Saw Talladega Nights recently and had high hopes, knowing full well it could never live up to them. Of course the folks KT and I watched it with thought it was a top fiver, so naturally I feigned agreement. Not in my top 5 folks. However I thoroughly enjoyed the prayer at the dinner table. I'm not trying to be nasty but thought I could see a Kenneth Copeland type sitting in Ricky Bobby's chair. This will be a well spent 3 minutes and 4 seconds whether you've seen the film or not.
I have to let you know that after this madness, Walker encouraged his Dad with this treasure, "you made that grace your bitch." Precious.
So why do I find this funny? Other than because it pokes fun at the things that need poking.
Maybe it's more sad and disturbing than funny. I often laugh in the wrong situations because I don't know how to react. The uncomfortable laugh, you know? I think because I have done the same thing. Lots. Except my Jesus wears a turban and sits on a flying rug and only comes out when I rub his belly the right way. Then he'll do what I want. Certainly I know what I need. Or sometimes he's not on the rug, but rather way at the top of some snowy Nepalese mountain. And I have to climb along a goat trail through briers and over boulders, passing through the right checkpoints just to get to him. Finally, when I do I'm just hoping all the stamps I got in my passport and the crap climb I made was worth it. And here's the foolishness of what I do. "Whew, so I've got a question." or "What's the one thing I've been missing?" or "Tell me what to do now." "Can I get some help with this?" or "I need to do something for you to show you how much what you did means. Any ideas?"
Traps, and the list goes on. But this last one is sneaky nasty. I'm trying to get close to equal footing. Not expecting equal-equal, I mean He is God, but isn't there something I can do? Extra credit maybe? I don't really believe that...but sorta, sometimes. There is something in me that is big time against being indebted. But the funny thing is, as big as the price was, there isn't a debt that's being held. "Hey kid, how about just take it." And here's what else I hear, "and I've got more where that came from." It's not like one bank bought the mortgage from another. And now it just has a different payment address.
Less and less do I think that way but years like bricks can build a prison. Thankfully He is throwing open doors for me and I'm just needing to walk through them. Apparently He has the keys.
Galatians 5 says, It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery. That sounds really...really...really good. Like I'm getting away with something.
"You mean I can just walk out?" "Yep." "Well let me get some things in order." "Nah, I'll deal with that. How about we get some dinner." "Well gosh, I haven't had a good meal in some time, but don't you need me to do something?" "How about nothing. I've got some good stuff planned but how about we just hang right now."
That's what I feel like today. We're just sorta hangin'. Remember Hangin' with Mr. Cooper? Well I'm hangin' with God. There is some real relationship He wants. Really the same thing I want, I just never knew it. And I forget quickly when old habits come calling. But I've been hearing about fathering and shepherding and receiving. It all sounds quite good, and it's certainly a different picture than what I'd grown accustomed to. There is seeking, and there are promises, but there is also relationship. Real relationship. Living relationship. Today. I'm finally seeing the good news. Not just a ticket on the salvation train but the astounding news that the creator of the universe wants to know me. Little me.
A River Runs Through It was recommended to me today. So I have it on reserve at the library because I trust this particular recommender. I've seen the movie but we all know movies and books are different and it's been years since I've seen it. Anyway, ever since I saw the film, it has become associated with my good friend Empy. He once told me a story (via email) that I have saved for these types of moments. It is from awhile back but I was reminded of it today. I love it and wish it was my own, but I live vicariously and tell it to others on his behalf. This really is one of my favorites.
Ah, my young friend, you have heard yet another of my pike stories, but not the greatest one.
Let me introduce the characters. Me, Empy. Fetz. Ball. Jack. Jack's real name was John, but I decided to call him Jack.
Where are we? Saranac. Young Life property in the Adirondacks, NY, on Upper Saranac Lake. It's late May--still chilly at the 'nac.
We had a beat up yellow pick-up that you could shift without pushing in the clutch. Our job was to use tools, specifically, pitchforks, to shovel up pine needles in the wading beach. Not ones that washed up on the beach, mind you. Ones that were under water. You have to trust me on this, pitchforks are the only way to get those things out. Not very efficient, but better than shovel/hands/anything else you can think of.
The four of us spent the better part of our day in the water (with waders/wetsuits on), getting small amounts of pine needles on our pitchforks and hauling them onto the beach where we dumped them in the back of the pickup.
At this time of year in the 'nac the shallow water is just starting to warm up--but it's still butt-cold. But the warm(er) water attracts schools of yellow perch--literally hundreds of them would be swimming around us.
Now, you don't have to be a rocket scientist to figure out my math. Pitchfork + Schools of perch = Fun. We all would just jab our pitchfork at the perch, and inevitably one (or two) would get stuck on the tines, which you would lift out of the water in triumph. A few fish got impaled on sticks and were left on the beach as a warning to...I don't remember who it was a warning to. It was probably just to show how cool we were because we could stab fish, and got to do it while other people were scrubbing toilets with toothbrushes, weeding, etc.
Well, by the end of the day we had made some good progress with the pine needles, and had a full truck load that we needed to go dump. We were all pretty damn proud of ourselves. Since the pick-up only had room for two people in the cab, I hopped up on the back...
And that's when I saw him. Not 30 feet from shore was the shadow of a great fish--a Great Northern Pike. And it was a big one. Apparently warm water attracted perch, which attracted NOT ONLY boys with pitchforks but also giant pike, who evidently liked to eat the perch. Perhaps this one was attracted by the carnage that had taken place earlier.
It was one of those times that I was incredibly excited and yet incredibly frustrated. I pointed the pike out to all of the guys, and we all stared in amazement, but what were we going to do? I decided that, out of desperation, I was going to fling my pitchfork at the pike, knowing deep in my heart that I would miss, the fish would swim away, and our glorious day filled with massacre and amazement would leave a bittersweet taste in all of our respective mouth's.
That's when Ball spoke. "DON'T", he yelled as I raised the pitchfork in the air. Shocked, I watched Ball grab his own pitchfork and begin wading into the water after the beast, like a man trudging off to war. Stunned, I watched on, knowing in my heart that the only thing less likely to work than me flinging the pitchfork like a javelin was trying to sneak up the animal.
But the animal didn't move. Ball is 10 feet away. Still hasn't moved. 5 feet away. Still hasn't moved. Finally he sidles right up next to the great pike. In retrospect, we all decided that the fish didn't move because it was planning on eating Ball. It was that big.
Ball raised his weapon in the air, and then used the force of gravity combined with all the strength in his arms to impale the fish. The great contest of man versus beast had been decided at last. Man had won.
Or so we thought. Leave it to man to have the quarry in his grasp, and then allow something--pride, forgetfulness, fear--to let it get away. For as quickly as Ball had speared the leviathan, he raised his pitchfork in triumph, as we had all afternoon during the Perch Massacre. During the early battles the perch had emerged, unmoving, stuck on the tool. But the weight of this new species caused it slide off the tines, back into the water. The fish, understandably stunned, paused for a brief moment. Ball froze. We all froze. But, like all eternal moments, this one thawed, and the angry beast violently thrashed its tail and swam at terrifying speeds, with the orientation of a drunk driver, away from the beach at out into the depths.
I wish I could provide a poetic conclusion to what had happened, but I can't. The four men and one fish that were there that day know what happened, but that doesn't mean they can understand it. We finished up our work, loaded ourselves into the truck, and drove away, back into the world where fish and men don't interact, let alone wage war. We had to turn on the windshield wipers, as it was starting to rain.
Epilogue: A few days later I was making small-talk with the checkout lady at a nearby store, a purveyor of soda, smokes, and porn, as well as a place you can get your fish weighed. I brought up pike fishing. She said that the other day someone had brought in a 40-incher. I wanted to ask if it had puncture wounds in its side.
I heard recently that "Pluto" won Word of the Year. I don't buy it. But I kind of like it.
I'm looking for a chance to use it. Maybe during the SuperBowl. I think I should be saying, "If Jake Plummer hadn't been plutoed (meaning demoted) the Broncos might be playing tonight." But I'm not diggin' it. I'll use it more like, "Man, did you see that? Urlacher just plutoed Manning."
Speaking of the game, I'm not much on predictions but I sure would like to see the Colts take this one. I can't think of a guy on that team I don't like. And they are exciting to watch. I could say the same for the Bears except they are unquestionably NOT exciting to watch.
We're watching the game with friends, and I'm becoming a big fan of spending my free time in this fashion. Not watching tv, but rather with people. (stream of consciousness: oftentimes I feel tv is like a chain, the kind that is connected to the anchor of a big ol' cruise ship, and I've got it slung around my neck. So who wouldn't throw it off? Well see, it's been glazed like a Krispy Creme doughnut, so I leave it on and just lick the sugar off the iron.) However I'm mucho tired-o of surfaceyness. I suppose it is congenial and convenient, but I am starting (at least trying) to avoid conversations/people where the same thing is said, every time, out of compulsion. Can't you just be nice? Yes, yes I will, but I'm not gonna like it.
Am I the only one that has these conversations? After the pleasantries, there is much standing around, and uncomfortableness if you ask me. Maybe I'm selfish but sometimes I don't want to work at this conversation. Or know what is going on with you. Want it straight, I don't really like being around you all that much. Sorry, but that's where I am right now.
I want depth, or at least a deep area to dive into. I feel like I'm wading into a great, deep pool and I'm playing Marco Polo. As the water is rising I can tell I'm headed toward the deep end but the responses to my "Marco" are mostly behind me, in the "No Diving" end. It feels like most "Polos" are right near the edge of the pool so they can cheat and jump out if I get too close. And I'm not saying they are shallow, just our relationship. Granted, there are some "Polos" I'm not chasing in the shallow end or the deep end, but I think that's ok. But maybe I hear so many at the 3 foot end because the deep end takes some work. Or maybe they're just in the shallow end of my pool.
I'll guess at times it feels like treading water, but I'm hoping the deep end of the pool opens up to the ocean where I hear "Polo." What a great game that would be.
My lunches are usually filled with the wonder of the World Wide Web. I'm sure there is a better use of the time but currently this is it. I have a buddy that used to tell me sometimes he felt like going to the movies just for the previews and then leaving. At the time I thought that was ridiculous but have found myself watching the trailers at Apple. It's great, I get to watch 12 movies at a time but only commit 20 minutes.
Anyway, today is a bit different, smarco calls me from Perfect North ski slopes. We've done this before but it's still well worth my lunch break. See they have webcams. So he wanders out in front of these things and I try to figure out which indistinguishable blob he is. Ahhh yes, they all look the same. Sort of like Where's Waldo.
"I'm standing by the such and such...a kid just skied by me that looks like spiderman ...I'm waving." Right, gotcha. "Did you see me just kick a snowball?" "Uhhh, no, you're...an eighth of an inch tall. Seriously, I just measured."
I hope these conversations are real. This one is for smarco.
Jock #1: Don't you dare tell me that Santa Claus doesn't exist. I'll kick your ass. Jock #2: Shut up, you know he doesn't exist. Jock #1: Then who the hell puts the presents under the tree?! Jock #2: Your mom does! Jock #3: I'd totally do your mom. No lie. Jock #2: Me, too. Jock #1: Santa exists, dammit!
Customer: What is the Happy Meal toy for boys this week? Employee: Oh, no ma'am, we don't have boy or girl toys this week -- they are bisexual. Customer: What?!
Girl: I don't know, I just hate it when they mixed the coloreds and the whites. Random passerby: What? Girl, loudly: What? Ohhh! I mean Christmas lights! I swear. I like houses that are all decorated the same way. Friend: Just stop talking. Girl: I am such a dipshit.
I hope you weren't worried but I was locked out of the house for a bit. Apparently I have too many email addresses and passwords, and logins, and user names. So I forgot how to get in. Surprised I'm sure.
I was watching Espen the other day and was on the way out the door but caught the beginning of a spot. I heard an interesting question. Or maybe I heard something that made me think of this question. It's been a couple of weeks now.
So the question is, across any major sport and any time period, who is the most clutchest of athletes?
I have to say soccer, hockey and boxing are out. Maybe hockey could get by based on a goalie but I don't know enough to make that call. I think we're talking the likes of Montana, Jordan, Reggie Jackson, Federer, Tiger. Too many to list without feeling like I've left somebody off. Even the smaller fish like Jeter, Reggie Miller and Kimo von Oelhoffen. I'm not saying you have to like them, but who do you not want with the ball when your team is up. And I'm not saying they have to be the best, we're talking clutch.
In the 3 minutes or so of focused effort considering this question, I've got to go with MJ. Is there any more lasting image than "The Shot"?
And since we're playing this game, who is the biggest choker? Latrell Sprewell does not count.
"Whether we admit it or not, we circle our wagons closer and closer each year. We believe that he's happy and proud of us and is pointing proudly at our circle. But he's not even paying attention because the wagons are together so tight that he can't get in. Not even on his Harley. But we always find room for other wagons that look just like ours."
Simply, this is what I hear about this place. IT'S NOT GOOD.
