This past week was a bit rough. Alright, it was very rough. Emotionally, physically, mentally, the whole kit-and-kaboodle.
First focal point - volleyball.
Sunday we had a practice that went fairly well for only have three girls there. Monday we didn't have a practice because of Parent teacher conferences at the school.
Tuesday was another decent practice in my eyes. The girls finally realized that, "Yeah, we're gonna have to work."
Wednesday we were off, same with Thursday Friday and Saturday. At least the team was. We coaches however were not off. We had a clinic on Wednesday for our last two months focusing on keeping the girls from burning out from the long season. Thursday we found out that Curt's mother passed away. Friday we had another mini-clinic at Curt's house on coping with loosing. (Related to something somehow I'm thinking...) We didn't really talk about much other that other experiences we were in where we lost, and how we got over it. It boiled down to just a couple of us hanging out in the basement playing pool and drinking beer, talking about what's gone wrong in life and how we got past it.
I was a bit of an outcast at that point. I don't really enjoy talking about my feelings. Ever. It's hard for me to articulate what I feel, because I'm not good at it, I don't like doing it. I've got no problem telling about times where I screwed up, I've got plenty of those moments. I can tell you how I got over the guilt of screwing up. But for me to bare a piece of my soul and tell how I got over that...it just ain't gonna happen. Couple of reasons for that: I better know you better than I know my family, and you don't wanna know how I got over it, I'll look like a sociopath.
Loss is something that I don't truly understand. It happens. We can't change it. Remember what you want and move on. No use beating yourself up about something you can't change. (No use beating yourself up for things you can change either, if you can change it...change it.)
Anyway, Saturday coaches got the day off for planning and assembling the troops for tournaments.
Sunday was the fourth tournament. The girls did a great job. 12 points lost from not talking. From 41 points to 12, in a week. Amazing progress, and I let them know it. But, I let them know it too soon. We were in the last match of pool play, playing for third place. We came out of the gate fired up and took the other team to extra points even if we lost 26-28, it was a great effort. The second set we were set up in serve receive and could not pass the ball. The girls got their heads in the way of they fun of the game. We took third place in the pool because of a point spread that was negative 20. Ouch.
Bracket play started and we swept up. We kicked butt and took names. Every team in our side of the bracket (Consolation first place!) met with defeat when they faced us. The sad thing is that a weaker sister team played great in their pool and got demolished in bracket play. Just annihilated, which happens. What I'm upset about with that situation is that none of that team, coach included, did not stick around to watch any of the other sister teams playing. My team did, well after pictures with the new hardware we supported our 13's and 14's teams still playing.
Second focal point - work(ish)
One of the volunteers out at the farm asked me if I'd help him move some of his cattle and help him load hay, then clean out a grain bin. All in all, not the hardest work in the world. But this volunteer happens to live a good 45 minutes east of here. Working with Hank is a lot like working with Grandpa. The work is cleansing, the conversation is never boring, and there are plenty of coffee breaks. He kept putting off paying me (which he insisted on, I thought I was just going to help out a good guy) till the next day. Ended up that Friday we sat in the tavern for most of the day debating who the better artist was/is: Willie Nelson, Merle Haggard, Johnny Cash, or Hank Williams Sr. At the end of the Friday he asked if I'd come back out on Saturday and help him shoot ground hogs with his son. I informed him that I only have a shotgun and a pistol out here, but I could borrow my roommate's .22 rifle on Monday. Hank said, "Forget that, you can use my aught-6" So, Saturday I showed up at his shop's door around 6 in the morning. Hank opened the door and handed me a cup of coffee and said, "Do you not sleep in on the weekend?"
We took a couple of varmints, and had a great time doing in. Met Hank's boy, who I've heard all about, and had fresh meat for dinner.
Third focal point - Farms.
Somehow, somewhere, somebody is not keeping confidential information confidential. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, but if the only way to keep a secret between three people is to kill the other two, I'm with the wrong company. Cloak and dagger and speaking out of turn on subjects the speaker has no knowledge of is not a good way to retain employees. It makes my head and heart hurt when my trust is betrayed. And betrayed it was.
Fourth focal point - Sleep.
I haven't been sleeping again, hence the subject line. It comes from a song by Jason Michael Carroll, where the theme is being young and crazy and not sleeping.
Yes, this past week has been busy. Early mornings, and some late nights. All of that points to me sleeping. I get tired, I can't sleep cause I'm at the wheel. I get home and crawl in bed, and close my eyes. Then I toss and turn, toss and turn...then finally open my eyes back up and see 15 minutes have gone by. Repeat that for another 4 hours with maybe 5 minutes of sleep thrown in there every hour. I don't know where I'm getting the energy to get through the day. Wherever it's coming from I'm grateful.
I don't know how to change it, so I'm just gonna accept it and move on. Change it when I can.
Buck
Monday, February 22, 2010
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
A Letter
Dear Mr. Brown,
Over the years I have come to not only respect your culinary technique but also the logic and science you apply to the art. This being said, I've got a bone to pick with you.
A few seasons back you had an episode on drying foods as an excellent way of not only preserving them but also of having a readily accessible highly nutritious snack. Ever since I saw that episode I have been aching to try your method of drying out meat to make jerky. As I have tried numerous other recipes and techniques that you have featured I was looking forward to this new adventure.
Your particular method involves a box fan as a cheap dehydrator, with the thinly sliced meat in furnace filters stacked and bungee corded to the box fan. Turn on the fan, and forget it until you wake up. Or eight hours, whichever comes first (or second).
In the past I have cooked the meat in order to dehydrate it. I also enjoy using a brine, and then season the meat. These are methods that you discourage. I can understand that the baking method will actually cook the meat which is something that should be avoided if possible in the jerky operation. The brine and then seasoning is adding a double dose of salt that isn't necessary. So far, I understand your science.
Where I stop following you is when you say to use a box fan with furnace filters. I understand the multi-tasking in the kitchen. But why the cold air? I understand that warm air holds onto more moisture which if translated into the culinary world means that less moisture will have the chance to be pulled out of the meat.
In your show you used the example of any mountain dwelling peoples that dry meat. Cold air, air movement, great jerky. But what about a little bit closer to home? The Plains Indians dried out buffalo meat. Last time I checked the Plains of the United States isn't very mountainous, and while it does get cold in the winter, there are plenty of days in the summer where 80 degrees is a low temperature.
Needless to say I was skeptical about the adventure but was willing to try it because you highly recommended it. So, just yesterday I started the process. Slightly frozen meat, check. Cut the meat into my desired size, check. Marinade of Worcestershire sauce, soy sauce, honey, liquid smoke, garlic, and pepper for three hours, check. Towel dry meat after three hours and place on furnace filters, check. Bungee cord said furnace filter laden with meat to the box fan, check. Turn box fan on high in a well ventilated room, check. Find something to fill the time for eight hours, check.
This morning I came out of my room to a delicious smelling kitchen. I turned off the fan, un-bungeed the bungees and proceeded to check the jerky. I can summarize my thoughts on the turn out in a word. Disappointing.
Don't get me wrong. Clean up was a breeze. Prep was a breeze. The jerky tastes phenomenal. Where I'm stuck is at the texture. While jerky is supposed to be chewy, this was more like a Slim-Jim than jerky. My conclusion is that your method is a very easy method for producing great tasting jerky, but to make great tasting and great chewing jerky bump up the time that the meat is on the fan. I put the meat back on the filters and turned the fan back on for an additional four hours, checking the meat every hour. At the end of all 12 hours I have amazing jerky.
All in all, just like you strive to teach on your show, stepping outside the box and experimenting leaves you with nothing but...Good Eats. Thank you AB.
Buck
Over the years I have come to not only respect your culinary technique but also the logic and science you apply to the art. This being said, I've got a bone to pick with you.
A few seasons back you had an episode on drying foods as an excellent way of not only preserving them but also of having a readily accessible highly nutritious snack. Ever since I saw that episode I have been aching to try your method of drying out meat to make jerky. As I have tried numerous other recipes and techniques that you have featured I was looking forward to this new adventure.
Your particular method involves a box fan as a cheap dehydrator, with the thinly sliced meat in furnace filters stacked and bungee corded to the box fan. Turn on the fan, and forget it until you wake up. Or eight hours, whichever comes first (or second).
In the past I have cooked the meat in order to dehydrate it. I also enjoy using a brine, and then season the meat. These are methods that you discourage. I can understand that the baking method will actually cook the meat which is something that should be avoided if possible in the jerky operation. The brine and then seasoning is adding a double dose of salt that isn't necessary. So far, I understand your science.
Where I stop following you is when you say to use a box fan with furnace filters. I understand the multi-tasking in the kitchen. But why the cold air? I understand that warm air holds onto more moisture which if translated into the culinary world means that less moisture will have the chance to be pulled out of the meat.
In your show you used the example of any mountain dwelling peoples that dry meat. Cold air, air movement, great jerky. But what about a little bit closer to home? The Plains Indians dried out buffalo meat. Last time I checked the Plains of the United States isn't very mountainous, and while it does get cold in the winter, there are plenty of days in the summer where 80 degrees is a low temperature.
Needless to say I was skeptical about the adventure but was willing to try it because you highly recommended it. So, just yesterday I started the process. Slightly frozen meat, check. Cut the meat into my desired size, check. Marinade of Worcestershire sauce, soy sauce, honey, liquid smoke, garlic, and pepper for three hours, check. Towel dry meat after three hours and place on furnace filters, check. Bungee cord said furnace filter laden with meat to the box fan, check. Turn box fan on high in a well ventilated room, check. Find something to fill the time for eight hours, check.
This morning I came out of my room to a delicious smelling kitchen. I turned off the fan, un-bungeed the bungees and proceeded to check the jerky. I can summarize my thoughts on the turn out in a word. Disappointing.
Don't get me wrong. Clean up was a breeze. Prep was a breeze. The jerky tastes phenomenal. Where I'm stuck is at the texture. While jerky is supposed to be chewy, this was more like a Slim-Jim than jerky. My conclusion is that your method is a very easy method for producing great tasting jerky, but to make great tasting and great chewing jerky bump up the time that the meat is on the fan. I put the meat back on the filters and turned the fan back on for an additional four hours, checking the meat every hour. At the end of all 12 hours I have amazing jerky.
All in all, just like you strive to teach on your show, stepping outside the box and experimenting leaves you with nothing but...Good Eats. Thank you AB.
Buck
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Response
In regards to my latest post I feel the need to defend myself and my decisions. Perhaps this unmerited, but it is the way I feel.
An anonymous reply to the post said ,"As the line in Miracle to coach Herb Brookes, or maybe in Remembering the Titans: "There's a fine line between punishment and insanity" be careful you don't lose the team (if you ever had it). They are young, and at a very insecure age. Don't beat them. Drive your point home, but remember the goal is not to have a mutiny, but to develop volleyball players. The consequences should be appropriate to the offense, and within a time frame that amplifies the conduct. Just my dime's worth. BTW, Listening is a skill I am still trying to improve."
My reply to that is I do believe that the punishment is appropriate to the offense. Not only that but I am leaving a loop-hole for the girls, I understand that they are young and so they might not catch it. The push-ups are a team punishment for a team failure. True, some failed more than others in this particular challenge, but the fact remains that when one person fails on the team the entire team fails. So, if they catch the loop-hole they only owe 50 push-ups. This is not unreasonable, even for 15 year-olds that have started weight training on their school teams. As a secondary issue, if this punishment does drive a wedge between the team and the coach a part of me says good for the team. It will give them a cause to rally behind, hatred or resentment of a coach. While this is not a good motivational tool (speaking from experience...Doc.) it does work. I would give up my "friend" status -which I don't think a coach should have anyway- to bring the team together. I feel, not only from experience but in my own philosophy -which I suppose is derived from my experience- that a club team should be able to play, win, work together, overcome obstacles, and communicate with each other without active coaching. The coach is there for strategic purposes, and guidance.
This particular club that I'm coaching for is a farm system. They cultivate players from within the school district that they practice at. To me that means these girls have played with each other, or against each other (depending on the age). This club also starts at 12 years old. By the time these young ladies are 15 they've had at least three years of experience with the sport, and with the higher caliber expectations that are associated with club ball. If at this point they think that 50 push-ups is ridiculous, they need to rethink sports. A secondary issue is that I don't get a weight room, I don't get time to have conditioning practices because the folks that run the club don't see the need for conditioning in an anaerobic sport. From my vantage point, a consequence that incorporates body-mass exercise and conditioning at the same time is a very good thing.
The second reply to my post was from my sister, " I agree with Anon about the fine line. The thought of doing that many pushups makes me want to cry and barf simultaneously. As far as new and creative ways to encourage listening...well, how many days of your life do you think you've heard it? And how many times a day? The second part of the saying is pretty important. A skill isn't something you just change (Today I'm going to be a great painter!) it's something to practice your whole life. If you want to try something completely unsporty for different perspective, there were some good theater warm up games (improv stuff mostly) we did to focus on listening and not being nervous to talk. Could be fun?"
My response to that is a little convoluted. First, I agree with the sentiment that skills are cultivated throughout a lifetime. I disagree with the second part of the comment though. During my tenure in college I had my fair share of "team building" moments. Hell, throughout my life I've had my fair share of "team building" moments. The only thing that I took away from them - the staged get-to-know-you ones were different kinds of fruit or breakfast entrees. In college I had to come up with multiple activities that could be used at team-building exercises and then present them to the class. Imagine an entire two weeks of nothing but team-building. I cam to the conclusion during those two weeks that the activities only worked if the leader was a believer that the activity worked.
Knowing what I took away from those activities I feel unfit to lead them. I don't think they work. I've never thought they worked. Even in high school I viewed those activities as time I didn't have to do anything, or make sure I had all of my AP Psych note cards done. Either way, I wasn't actively participating because I thought and still think they are a waste of time.
Having said that, I realize that not everyone shares my unique outlook on the world. Yet I still believe that those activities do not work. I could be wrong. Since there is that possibility I should not short change my team by denying them the opportunity to become closer. I readily admit that. What I won't admit though is that I'm willing to give up 10-20 minutes of a practice to incorporate those activities. We have too much work to do in only 3 hours a week.
If I had been on top of my game we would have already done this. We would know all about each other a month before our first tournament. But...in my eyes, because of how I came through the system, that's what tournaments are for. That's when you get to know your teammates. Practice is when and where you get better. Tournaments are where you prove yourself to your team, your coach, and yourself; then you get to find out about each other.
That's my take on it, on club ball. Maybe I'm wrong, it wouldn't be the first time. But, just maybe, my expectations for these young ladies are not too high.
Buck
An anonymous reply to the post said ,"As the line in Miracle to coach Herb Brookes, or maybe in Remembering the Titans: "There's a fine line between punishment and insanity" be careful you don't lose the team (if you ever had it). They are young, and at a very insecure age. Don't beat them. Drive your point home, but remember the goal is not to have a mutiny, but to develop volleyball players. The consequences should be appropriate to the offense, and within a time frame that amplifies the conduct. Just my dime's worth. BTW, Listening is a skill I am still trying to improve."
My reply to that is I do believe that the punishment is appropriate to the offense. Not only that but I am leaving a loop-hole for the girls, I understand that they are young and so they might not catch it. The push-ups are a team punishment for a team failure. True, some failed more than others in this particular challenge, but the fact remains that when one person fails on the team the entire team fails. So, if they catch the loop-hole they only owe 50 push-ups. This is not unreasonable, even for 15 year-olds that have started weight training on their school teams. As a secondary issue, if this punishment does drive a wedge between the team and the coach a part of me says good for the team. It will give them a cause to rally behind, hatred or resentment of a coach. While this is not a good motivational tool (speaking from experience...Doc.) it does work. I would give up my "friend" status -which I don't think a coach should have anyway- to bring the team together. I feel, not only from experience but in my own philosophy -which I suppose is derived from my experience- that a club team should be able to play, win, work together, overcome obstacles, and communicate with each other without active coaching. The coach is there for strategic purposes, and guidance.
This particular club that I'm coaching for is a farm system. They cultivate players from within the school district that they practice at. To me that means these girls have played with each other, or against each other (depending on the age). This club also starts at 12 years old. By the time these young ladies are 15 they've had at least three years of experience with the sport, and with the higher caliber expectations that are associated with club ball. If at this point they think that 50 push-ups is ridiculous, they need to rethink sports. A secondary issue is that I don't get a weight room, I don't get time to have conditioning practices because the folks that run the club don't see the need for conditioning in an anaerobic sport. From my vantage point, a consequence that incorporates body-mass exercise and conditioning at the same time is a very good thing.
The second reply to my post was from my sister, " I agree with Anon about the fine line. The thought of doing that many pushups makes me want to cry and barf simultaneously. As far as new and creative ways to encourage listening...well, how many days of your life do you think you've heard it? And how many times a day? The second part of the saying is pretty important. A skill isn't something you just change (Today I'm going to be a great painter!) it's something to practice your whole life. If you want to try something completely unsporty for different perspective, there were some good theater warm up games (improv stuff mostly) we did to focus on listening and not being nervous to talk. Could be fun?"
My response to that is a little convoluted. First, I agree with the sentiment that skills are cultivated throughout a lifetime. I disagree with the second part of the comment though. During my tenure in college I had my fair share of "team building" moments. Hell, throughout my life I've had my fair share of "team building" moments. The only thing that I took away from them - the staged get-to-know-you ones were different kinds of fruit or breakfast entrees. In college I had to come up with multiple activities that could be used at team-building exercises and then present them to the class. Imagine an entire two weeks of nothing but team-building. I cam to the conclusion during those two weeks that the activities only worked if the leader was a believer that the activity worked.
Knowing what I took away from those activities I feel unfit to lead them. I don't think they work. I've never thought they worked. Even in high school I viewed those activities as time I didn't have to do anything, or make sure I had all of my AP Psych note cards done. Either way, I wasn't actively participating because I thought and still think they are a waste of time.
Having said that, I realize that not everyone shares my unique outlook on the world. Yet I still believe that those activities do not work. I could be wrong. Since there is that possibility I should not short change my team by denying them the opportunity to become closer. I readily admit that. What I won't admit though is that I'm willing to give up 10-20 minutes of a practice to incorporate those activities. We have too much work to do in only 3 hours a week.
If I had been on top of my game we would have already done this. We would know all about each other a month before our first tournament. But...in my eyes, because of how I came through the system, that's what tournaments are for. That's when you get to know your teammates. Practice is when and where you get better. Tournaments are where you prove yourself to your team, your coach, and yourself; then you get to find out about each other.
That's my take on it, on club ball. Maybe I'm wrong, it wouldn't be the first time. But, just maybe, my expectations for these young ladies are not too high.
Buck
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Episode Three
Third tournament.
Third time where I'm hitting my head against a brick wall.
I've come to understand something that my coaches have said in the past. Something that my father ingrained into my head from an early age up until...well until now. Listening is a skill.
I first really understood this phrase when I was in 12 or 13. I was at a basketball camp where we not only learned techniques to make us better, but philosophy, and morals to make us better players and better people. Pretty heavy stuff for kids that aren't even in high school yet, but at the same time it is a moment and a camp that I will never forget.
"The difference between hearing and listening is the same as glancing and looking. When we glance we just see the big picture with one or two details. When we look we see the big picture with all the details. When we hear we catch the important parts without understanding the meaning. When we listen we hear the important parts and actively understand the meaning."
Heavy stuff.
Every practice I've been stressing the importance of talking, cheering, making any kind of noise on the court. I'd be happy if I heard one of the girls shout "Hamster!" It got to the point where at last practice I divided punishments up by the time in practice. If the player contacts the ball without saying anything in the first third of practice they had to do five diamond push-ups. If the same thing happens in the second third of practice the punishment increases, five diamonds plus sidelines while play continues. If the same mistake happens in the last third of practice the whole team gets punished, they all have five diamonds and sidelines and play stops.
I continued the punishments through our last tournament and the girls knew it. Things were better, for a while. If you extrapolate three contacts per point, 45 points per set, two sets per match. You get 270 opportunities to talk, to say anything. We passed up on 41. All in all that's pretty good.
But think about it this way. Every time "we" don't talk "we" loose the point. That's 41 points. To draw an analogy from another sport. Not talking in volleyball is the same as missing a shot at the charity stripe. It's easy, and should be routine.
So. 205 diamond push-ups.
If the girls weren't mad enough about losing - still taking fourth place, but losing to get it - they were furious about the push-ups. All I said when they kept whining, "That's not fair" was "Then maybe you should have talked during the tournament." I had and have no sympathy. I told them before we started playing, "Sunday night at practice you owe me for all of the times you didn't talk on the court. As a team. Everyone pays for one person's mistake."
Tonight, I was foiled. Three girls showed up. Two were sick, one was coming back from Minnesota with her Show Choir (second tournament she's missed along with the 8th practice. Guess who's questioning her commitment to club volleyball? ME!) one was coming back from a ski-trip, the last one I have no idea where she was, or why she wasn't at practice.
Because of coach not knowing from the girl about three of the absences the team gets their punishment from the tournament pushed to Tuesday. The girls that were here tonight don't have to do as many. Because I'm gonna double it. 410 total. Plus the normal punishment for not telling the coach about missing a practice which is the dreaded 10 ball. They way I'm thinking right now, which is much calmer than I have been, is that that the whole team is gonna do 10 ball. Encourages movement, and the count starts over when you don't call the ball. I've already thrown out one of the rules because we aren't good enough where the count resets when you miss one. I hated 10 ball.
I don't know. Any advice on expressing the Listening is a skill idea to my team? I can only say it so many times before I go further insane.
Grrr. Arrgh.
Buck.
Third time where I'm hitting my head against a brick wall.
I've come to understand something that my coaches have said in the past. Something that my father ingrained into my head from an early age up until...well until now. Listening is a skill.
I first really understood this phrase when I was in 12 or 13. I was at a basketball camp where we not only learned techniques to make us better, but philosophy, and morals to make us better players and better people. Pretty heavy stuff for kids that aren't even in high school yet, but at the same time it is a moment and a camp that I will never forget.
"The difference between hearing and listening is the same as glancing and looking. When we glance we just see the big picture with one or two details. When we look we see the big picture with all the details. When we hear we catch the important parts without understanding the meaning. When we listen we hear the important parts and actively understand the meaning."
Heavy stuff.
Every practice I've been stressing the importance of talking, cheering, making any kind of noise on the court. I'd be happy if I heard one of the girls shout "Hamster!" It got to the point where at last practice I divided punishments up by the time in practice. If the player contacts the ball without saying anything in the first third of practice they had to do five diamond push-ups. If the same thing happens in the second third of practice the punishment increases, five diamonds plus sidelines while play continues. If the same mistake happens in the last third of practice the whole team gets punished, they all have five diamonds and sidelines and play stops.
I continued the punishments through our last tournament and the girls knew it. Things were better, for a while. If you extrapolate three contacts per point, 45 points per set, two sets per match. You get 270 opportunities to talk, to say anything. We passed up on 41. All in all that's pretty good.
But think about it this way. Every time "we" don't talk "we" loose the point. That's 41 points. To draw an analogy from another sport. Not talking in volleyball is the same as missing a shot at the charity stripe. It's easy, and should be routine.
So. 205 diamond push-ups.
If the girls weren't mad enough about losing - still taking fourth place, but losing to get it - they were furious about the push-ups. All I said when they kept whining, "That's not fair" was "Then maybe you should have talked during the tournament." I had and have no sympathy. I told them before we started playing, "Sunday night at practice you owe me for all of the times you didn't talk on the court. As a team. Everyone pays for one person's mistake."
Tonight, I was foiled. Three girls showed up. Two were sick, one was coming back from Minnesota with her Show Choir (second tournament she's missed along with the 8th practice. Guess who's questioning her commitment to club volleyball? ME!) one was coming back from a ski-trip, the last one I have no idea where she was, or why she wasn't at practice.
Because of coach not knowing from the girl about three of the absences the team gets their punishment from the tournament pushed to Tuesday. The girls that were here tonight don't have to do as many. Because I'm gonna double it. 410 total. Plus the normal punishment for not telling the coach about missing a practice which is the dreaded 10 ball. They way I'm thinking right now, which is much calmer than I have been, is that that the whole team is gonna do 10 ball. Encourages movement, and the count starts over when you don't call the ball. I've already thrown out one of the rules because we aren't good enough where the count resets when you miss one. I hated 10 ball.
I don't know. Any advice on expressing the Listening is a skill idea to my team? I can only say it so many times before I go further insane.
Grrr. Arrgh.
Buck.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Things that just irk ya
I have discovered something new in life. Eating healthy. Alright, maybe this isn't a new discovery maybe it is a re-revelation.
I'm still fighting those extra pounds I threw on from a bit of a wild style of living for the last four years. Working everyday in the summer helped, eating fewer larger meals, and more tide-me-overs helped. Drinking less alcohol really helped.
Now that we're in one of the worst winters and I'm only pulling hours for coaching. That leaves me with roughly 160 hours a week with nothing to do. I mean nothing. I'm riding around with the maintenance crew helping with plumbing, woodwork, snow removal...but I'm not getting paid to do any of this at least not anymore. It just gets me out of the house which I love.
What do I do to fill my time now? I work out. I read. I hop on the computer. And I plan things.
Working out isn't that big of a deal to me. High school I had to work out pretty much everyday. College I dropped off after leaving Concordia and stuck to a regiment of 12 oz. curls. When I moved in to BlauHaus I took over the water softener business for reasons unknown at the time other than no one else would and I'm at least half-way familiar with it. But while I was down in the basement I came across a bar, a couple of mini bars for curls, a bench, and almost 500 lbs of weight plates. I was very happy to see these things because it means that I get to focus on some of my weight training goals.
- Increase bench press rep weight by 10%
- Increase bicep curl rep weight by 15%
- Increase triceps ext. weight by 30%
- Increase squat rep weight by 20%
- Increase lunge weight by 25%
Those are my biweekly goals. That's right. Every two weeks I achieve the desired weight on the bars. And since I don't have much else to do during the day I go to the "gym".
Where does the food fit in with this? I can ruin a great 3 hour workout in a manner of 15 minutes. No problem. Sometimes even less. Fried foods, griddled foods, the extra butter, chips, pie, cake, burgers, pizza, coke, beer...all of that stuff that is sooo tasty and yummy wrecks everything that I did in the morning. So where does that leave me?
Ideally I would be cutting all that crap out of my diet. But when I'm coming home from a tournament or practice and stop at Casey's to pick up a big boy jug of Gatorade for the week (I cut my Gatorade so that it is easier for the stomach to process. It also decreases the amount of sugar/serving and makes the half gallon last a whole week.) I have to walk by their diner counter. At this diner counter is everything you need to keep you going. Cheap 32oz fountain drinks. Fried pork and chicken samiches, pizza, chicken nuggets, doughnuts, hot ham and cheese samiches, etc. And the smells. Oh the smells.
There is something special about the smell of warm fried foods that just sends me up the wall with enjoyment.
After a couple of minutes of debating with myself in my head I glumly walk to the fridges and pick up my Gatorade and a pack of Peanut butter cracker samiches. The clerk, Tom, always laughs at me when I get to the counter. "Couldn't do it could ya?"
You'd think that for someone who enjoys cooking as much as I do would have no problem passing up the drive-thrus, garbage foods, and other assorted crap. But, humans are like water we take the path of least resistance. Willing to spend 6 bucks for dinner at Wendy's when I could have spent 6 bucks for three nights worth of dinners if I were willing to cook it myself.
But in the end I suppose it's worth it. I get to perfect recipes, find just what I like in what styles. Plus if it keeps me living healthier who am I to complain? I put my body through the paces on a regular basis and work it like I'm still 15. Which I'm learning the hard way that I am not.
Last week we had a specialties practice where I was the gunner. My job for three hours was hit at the liberos who were practicing a new style of pass designed to take the brunt of an attack with the result of a soft pass. After the first hour I couldn't feel my hand. After the second hour I couldn't feel my arm. At the end of practice I couldn't feel my right side.
What does that mean for my workout? New focus on a couple of different muscle groups. That way I can recover from something like that practice in a night, not three days.
Getting old isn't for sissies
Buck
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Story of my Life
Sounds Like Life
Darryl Worely
Got a call last night from an old friend’s wife
Said I hate to bother you
Johnny Ray fell off the wagon
He’s been gone all afternoon
I know my buddy so I drove to Skully’s
And found him at the bar
I say hey man, what’s going on
He said I don’t know where to start
Sarah’s old car’s about to fall apart
And the washer quit last week
We had to put momma in the nursing home
And the baby’s cutting teeth
I didn’t get much work this week
And I got bills to pay
I said I know this ain’t what you wanna hear
But it’s what I’m gonna say
Sounds like life to me it ain’t no fantasy
It’s just a common case of everyday reality
Man I know it’s tough but you gotta suck it up
To hear you talk you’re caught up in some tragedy
It sounds like life to me
Well his face turned red and he shook his head
He said you don’t understand
Three kids and a wife depend on me
And I’m just one man
To top it off I just found out
That Sarah’s 2 months late
I said hey bartender set us up a round
We need to celebrate
Sounds like life to me plain old destiny
Yeah the only thing for certain is uncertainty
You gotta hold on tight just enjoy the ride
Get used to all this unpredictability
Sounds like life
Man I know its tough but you gotta suck it up
To hear you talk you’re caught up in some tragedy
Sounds like life to me
Sounds like life
Darryl Worely
Got a call last night from an old friend’s wife
Said I hate to bother you
Johnny Ray fell off the wagon
He’s been gone all afternoon
I know my buddy so I drove to Skully’s
And found him at the bar
I say hey man, what’s going on
He said I don’t know where to start
Sarah’s old car’s about to fall apart
And the washer quit last week
We had to put momma in the nursing home
And the baby’s cutting teeth
I didn’t get much work this week
And I got bills to pay
I said I know this ain’t what you wanna hear
But it’s what I’m gonna say
Sounds like life to me it ain’t no fantasy
It’s just a common case of everyday reality
Man I know it’s tough but you gotta suck it up
To hear you talk you’re caught up in some tragedy
It sounds like life to me
Well his face turned red and he shook his head
He said you don’t understand
Three kids and a wife depend on me
And I’m just one man
To top it off I just found out
That Sarah’s 2 months late
I said hey bartender set us up a round
We need to celebrate
Sounds like life to me plain old destiny
Yeah the only thing for certain is uncertainty
You gotta hold on tight just enjoy the ride
Get used to all this unpredictability
Sounds like life
Man I know its tough but you gotta suck it up
To hear you talk you’re caught up in some tragedy
Sounds like life to me
Sounds like life
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Color me blue
Dick Vitale.
Dickie V.
Joe Buck.
Brent Musberger.
Hate them. Worse, I loathe them, all that they stand for, and everything they ever wanted to stand for.
For those that don't know all of the above have something in common. They are sports color commentators. Now for the most part I don't listen to what they say; but when forced to, or I forget to think about the game analytically a rage builds up inside me.
While in Bloomington this past weekend I was watching the MSU UI basketball game on ESPN. Normally this would be fine, Dickie V can only comment one game a night, chances were on my side that I would miss that game. I was very wrong. Granted we were flipping channels for the most part, but the 3-4 minute segments that we would watch the game I would go crazy.
First MSU wasn't playing well. Second. Dickie V.
I can understand when former players or coaches become commentators. I get it. They want to still be part of the game and get paid gobs of money to do it. Now with that logic Dickie V should be tolerable as a commentator. Former coach and all that. But there's a reason he's a former coach. He wasn't very good. Coaches can do a lot with talent and good teams, but if the coach doesn't have either of those...all you can do is what you're paid for. COACH. Teach the kids how to play.
Anyway. The best thing I can say about these guys is that there is a mute button and that I am not them.
Lighter side: The girls did a great job in Bloomington this past weekend. Well...not really. We came out of the gate at a full stop. 8am is too early for them, but this is club ball and 8am means 7:30. I did not feel sorry for them. Bailey and I went out and had a few at the bar catching up watching the Hawks game. What started as one beer turned into the end of the game turned into "let's listen to the band for a few songs" turned into me walking to his apartment because he wasn't gonna drive. Even though I stayed out later than intended I held true to what I said upon arrival, "One beer. I gotta work in the morning." I was a good boy.
Saturday we lost our first match. Lost the second match. Lost the third match. Lost the last match in three sets instead of two. Needless to say Coach was not happy. Coach dropped the friend routine right quick and put on the "shut up, I don't care" hat. I was livid. Granted, we were a player short so the entire weekend we only had six instead of the seven we were planning on. So one girl was playing out of position for three of six rotations, but we've run drills like this, it wasn't an entirely new situation.
Best part was I had to deal with an aggravated parent (father). He was the spokesperson for the parents to question what happened, and what I was going to do to correct the flaws to win in bracket play. I swallowed my pride and did what I was taught to do with reporters, "Well from what I saw out there we did a lot of things right in a lot of tough situations. I'm going to have to change some things so that the girls can excel without question tomorrow, some things I tried to do strategy wise didn't pan out. That's my fault. Poor reading of the opponents defensive styles." He liked that and walked off with his head held high.
In reality, my analysis and play calling was spot on, we need to work on execution now.
Sunday started at 8am again. We game out of the gate at full stop again. After I burned both of my timeouts at scores 0-8 and 2-12 I sat down. I watched. I shut up. Two reasons for it though. The first was I wanted to see how the girls reacted to no feedback from the bench in a situation where they knew exactly what they had to do - talk, move, and pass really easy serves-. The second was because I was furious. We lost that set 11-25. Not bad, we had a string of service runs and they were waking up from anger. The second set I didn't do a thing. I didn't even call a timeout. Same reasoning.
After that set I told the girls to go to our campsite -where all our bags were and that stuff- drink some water, and tell their parents to stay away. I took a lap outside to cool down a bit. When I got in to the campsite that father from before had pulled one of the girls -his daughter- aside and was telling her where to play on defense. I marched right up to them and said, "Maddie grab some water, pee, whatever, then head over to the others let them know I'll be there in a few minutes". Once she left I turned to Dad and said, "Unless you know what type of defense we run by name don't tell her what to do or where to go on the court. That's my job." His reply was, "Well then maybe you should do your job." Mine was, "That's where I'm going. You've read the rules cause you've signed that you've read the rules. Never question the coach on game day." Then I turned and got my Diet Dew and walked over to camp.
Much stern talking, prodding, questioning, and explaining later we played again. I also might have told Maddie that if her old man ever came up to her on game day again telling her where to be or go on the court to say, "Coach said not to listen to you cause you're full of crap". This time we came out the gate full bore. They were talking, moving, not sending easy free balls over the net, everything that I wanted them to do. In short, we kicked ass. 25-4, 25-6. I was so happy!
The next match was for Fifth place. We came out strong. The second set we faltered a bit, but learned that when coach calls a timeout and gives us strategy tips to listen. The other team wasn't covering deep on third hit, and the setter routinely never played defense. So, I said deep corners, or straight down the lines or at the setter. We battled back to extra points but lost. Third set to decide if we would be staying to ref or hitting the road back home. We ran into some old problems of not moving. I called a quick TO to get them settled and I only said six words, "Good pass, Good set, Draw blood". The girls laughed and actually did those three things. One of the middles just hit the bladder out of the ball through the block into the blockers face. Mt. Vesuvius from the nose. Awesome. We lost the race to 8, switched sides with serve receive. We couldn't get a pass to save our lives. 7-12. Burned the last TO to ice the serve and calm the girls down again. Missed serve. Serve run from a fairly weak server to take the lead 13-12. Great pass, dump set. 14-14. Service ace 15-14. Then something that was amazing happened. The server looked at me to see where to serve it, I said, "In." Which is something we've struggled with. She put a little rainbow gumdrop serve right onto the tape, rolled over to the other side. The receivers made a great dive and roll to pass it up, then free balled the pass over to us. We had great cover but it didn't matter. Our middle had gone up for the free set and slammed it into the court inside the 10 foot line.
A 10 foot shot is something I haven't seen since I played. I was screaming and yelling, the ref looked at me weird, the girls looked at me weird, the parents looked at me weird until the girls saw the ref signaling us to the end line for end of the game hand shakes. Then they went nuts too. I had to be the grown up and calm down then tell them to get to the end line and and shake hands.
So...we took fifth place at the tournament. Out of 20 teams, and only five of the teams were 15 year olds. We only played two 15 teams the entire tournament. Everyone else was 16. I told them that when we were packing up camp, and the girls started cussing me out. Literally.
But they accepted my logic on it, we played really tough teams that are older than us. That brings our level of play up. Plus we spanked a 16's team on their home court. If we can play that great against "tougher" teams than us, imagine how well we should be playing against girls that are worse than us, and are our same age.
Good weekend all in all.
Then Dickie V. happened.
Oh, here's a question for ya. Why is it so tough to get 15 year old girls to talk on the court, but not off the court, or in a huddle?
Buck
Dickie V.
Joe Buck.
Brent Musberger.
Hate them. Worse, I loathe them, all that they stand for, and everything they ever wanted to stand for.
For those that don't know all of the above have something in common. They are sports color commentators. Now for the most part I don't listen to what they say; but when forced to, or I forget to think about the game analytically a rage builds up inside me.
While in Bloomington this past weekend I was watching the MSU UI basketball game on ESPN. Normally this would be fine, Dickie V can only comment one game a night, chances were on my side that I would miss that game. I was very wrong. Granted we were flipping channels for the most part, but the 3-4 minute segments that we would watch the game I would go crazy.
First MSU wasn't playing well. Second. Dickie V.
I can understand when former players or coaches become commentators. I get it. They want to still be part of the game and get paid gobs of money to do it. Now with that logic Dickie V should be tolerable as a commentator. Former coach and all that. But there's a reason he's a former coach. He wasn't very good. Coaches can do a lot with talent and good teams, but if the coach doesn't have either of those...all you can do is what you're paid for. COACH. Teach the kids how to play.
Anyway. The best thing I can say about these guys is that there is a mute button and that I am not them.
Lighter side: The girls did a great job in Bloomington this past weekend. Well...not really. We came out of the gate at a full stop. 8am is too early for them, but this is club ball and 8am means 7:30. I did not feel sorry for them. Bailey and I went out and had a few at the bar catching up watching the Hawks game. What started as one beer turned into the end of the game turned into "let's listen to the band for a few songs" turned into me walking to his apartment because he wasn't gonna drive. Even though I stayed out later than intended I held true to what I said upon arrival, "One beer. I gotta work in the morning." I was a good boy.
Saturday we lost our first match. Lost the second match. Lost the third match. Lost the last match in three sets instead of two. Needless to say Coach was not happy. Coach dropped the friend routine right quick and put on the "shut up, I don't care" hat. I was livid. Granted, we were a player short so the entire weekend we only had six instead of the seven we were planning on. So one girl was playing out of position for three of six rotations, but we've run drills like this, it wasn't an entirely new situation.
Best part was I had to deal with an aggravated parent (father). He was the spokesperson for the parents to question what happened, and what I was going to do to correct the flaws to win in bracket play. I swallowed my pride and did what I was taught to do with reporters, "Well from what I saw out there we did a lot of things right in a lot of tough situations. I'm going to have to change some things so that the girls can excel without question tomorrow, some things I tried to do strategy wise didn't pan out. That's my fault. Poor reading of the opponents defensive styles." He liked that and walked off with his head held high.
In reality, my analysis and play calling was spot on, we need to work on execution now.
Sunday started at 8am again. We game out of the gate at full stop again. After I burned both of my timeouts at scores 0-8 and 2-12 I sat down. I watched. I shut up. Two reasons for it though. The first was I wanted to see how the girls reacted to no feedback from the bench in a situation where they knew exactly what they had to do - talk, move, and pass really easy serves-. The second was because I was furious. We lost that set 11-25. Not bad, we had a string of service runs and they were waking up from anger. The second set I didn't do a thing. I didn't even call a timeout. Same reasoning.
After that set I told the girls to go to our campsite -where all our bags were and that stuff- drink some water, and tell their parents to stay away. I took a lap outside to cool down a bit. When I got in to the campsite that father from before had pulled one of the girls -his daughter- aside and was telling her where to play on defense. I marched right up to them and said, "Maddie grab some water, pee, whatever, then head over to the others let them know I'll be there in a few minutes". Once she left I turned to Dad and said, "Unless you know what type of defense we run by name don't tell her what to do or where to go on the court. That's my job." His reply was, "Well then maybe you should do your job." Mine was, "That's where I'm going. You've read the rules cause you've signed that you've read the rules. Never question the coach on game day." Then I turned and got my Diet Dew and walked over to camp.
Much stern talking, prodding, questioning, and explaining later we played again. I also might have told Maddie that if her old man ever came up to her on game day again telling her where to be or go on the court to say, "Coach said not to listen to you cause you're full of crap". This time we came out the gate full bore. They were talking, moving, not sending easy free balls over the net, everything that I wanted them to do. In short, we kicked ass. 25-4, 25-6. I was so happy!
The next match was for Fifth place. We came out strong. The second set we faltered a bit, but learned that when coach calls a timeout and gives us strategy tips to listen. The other team wasn't covering deep on third hit, and the setter routinely never played defense. So, I said deep corners, or straight down the lines or at the setter. We battled back to extra points but lost. Third set to decide if we would be staying to ref or hitting the road back home. We ran into some old problems of not moving. I called a quick TO to get them settled and I only said six words, "Good pass, Good set, Draw blood". The girls laughed and actually did those three things. One of the middles just hit the bladder out of the ball through the block into the blockers face. Mt. Vesuvius from the nose. Awesome. We lost the race to 8, switched sides with serve receive. We couldn't get a pass to save our lives. 7-12. Burned the last TO to ice the serve and calm the girls down again. Missed serve. Serve run from a fairly weak server to take the lead 13-12. Great pass, dump set. 14-14. Service ace 15-14. Then something that was amazing happened. The server looked at me to see where to serve it, I said, "In." Which is something we've struggled with. She put a little rainbow gumdrop serve right onto the tape, rolled over to the other side. The receivers made a great dive and roll to pass it up, then free balled the pass over to us. We had great cover but it didn't matter. Our middle had gone up for the free set and slammed it into the court inside the 10 foot line.
A 10 foot shot is something I haven't seen since I played. I was screaming and yelling, the ref looked at me weird, the girls looked at me weird, the parents looked at me weird until the girls saw the ref signaling us to the end line for end of the game hand shakes. Then they went nuts too. I had to be the grown up and calm down then tell them to get to the end line and and shake hands.
So...we took fifth place at the tournament. Out of 20 teams, and only five of the teams were 15 year olds. We only played two 15 teams the entire tournament. Everyone else was 16. I told them that when we were packing up camp, and the girls started cussing me out. Literally.
But they accepted my logic on it, we played really tough teams that are older than us. That brings our level of play up. Plus we spanked a 16's team on their home court. If we can play that great against "tougher" teams than us, imagine how well we should be playing against girls that are worse than us, and are our same age.
Good weekend all in all.
Then Dickie V. happened.
Oh, here's a question for ya. Why is it so tough to get 15 year old girls to talk on the court, but not off the court, or in a huddle?
Buck
Monday, February 1, 2010
Don't means don't
I've been following another blog for awhile now. The author hails from the Flint Hills of Kansas. I enjoy reading this particular blog because of some shared interests and some non-interests. However, the latest work that was posted revolves around a topic that is dear to my heart. Here is the author's take on "pest control". While I'm not certain whether or not it was written as a comical piece as there are many quips and comedic phrases, I'm still not certain.
The hunters that come out to the Farm are a bunch of decent guys. Two I really enjoy visiting with, the other three drop off some tasty meat every other week. All in all, I have no complaints. I do however have a problem with the administration disregarding the rules posted by our maintenance head, the hunting organizer, and the local DNR enforcement.
DO NOT FEED THE DEER.
Simple rule. There are three corn cribs that the feed from, dozens of hay bales they can feed from, even with the three feet of snow there is plentiful vegetation that they can feed from as well. They don't need peanut butter samiches, apples, and candy.
Being annexed on the fringes of an urban community, we are termed an overpopulation center. While not technically true since the deer can leave the property and hit the local farms, and all of the deer harvested this year are all disease free, we do have quite a large number.
But rules are rules. Even if you are the head honcho, you are expected to follow the rules. I don't care if your kids want to see a deer, or you want to take pictures of them in their "natural environment". Authority figures - I think - should follow the rules because they set an example to the line grunts.
I also think that they should open up shotgun season out here for employees. Screw the neighbors. Bluahaus will take care of the 16 deer that walk across our front yard every day and night. While 16 less won't put a dent in our population numbers, it will add to the 35 harvested already.
Poaching is a cardinal sin, but to those of us living on the property, we should get our nuisance tags.
I want a cross bow.
Buck
The hunters that come out to the Farm are a bunch of decent guys. Two I really enjoy visiting with, the other three drop off some tasty meat every other week. All in all, I have no complaints. I do however have a problem with the administration disregarding the rules posted by our maintenance head, the hunting organizer, and the local DNR enforcement.
DO NOT FEED THE DEER.
Simple rule. There are three corn cribs that the feed from, dozens of hay bales they can feed from, even with the three feet of snow there is plentiful vegetation that they can feed from as well. They don't need peanut butter samiches, apples, and candy.
Being annexed on the fringes of an urban community, we are termed an overpopulation center. While not technically true since the deer can leave the property and hit the local farms, and all of the deer harvested this year are all disease free, we do have quite a large number.
But rules are rules. Even if you are the head honcho, you are expected to follow the rules. I don't care if your kids want to see a deer, or you want to take pictures of them in their "natural environment". Authority figures - I think - should follow the rules because they set an example to the line grunts.
I also think that they should open up shotgun season out here for employees. Screw the neighbors. Bluahaus will take care of the 16 deer that walk across our front yard every day and night. While 16 less won't put a dent in our population numbers, it will add to the 35 harvested already.
Poaching is a cardinal sin, but to those of us living on the property, we should get our nuisance tags.
I want a cross bow.
Buck
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