I had a great walk yesterday with Tut The Dog. He’s a legend on the streets of Redondo Beach, either drawing the “Oohs and Aaahs” and attempts to pet him or folks cross the street. Come to think of it - probably more me than the dog, but let’s face it, we have our good days and some that are less than.
Some days it’s an operational efficiency thing - get the walk in, dog gets the job done and then off to work or finishing meal prep. So, the head stays down and the dog gets irked with me fast. There’s no time for meandering and smelling/marking every last tree or shrubbery.
Others, it’s a longer, leisurely pace and more tunes, slower gait and the dog gets his fill. And those are where the conversations and petting (before he gets agitated) come in.
Nothing that a dog owner doesn’t experience every day. Belly scratches and all.
But the end of walks has been a little different for me the last couple days. Taking a seat at the end - normally Tut hops on the lap and chills for a few minutes before sauntering off. No, recently he’s paused and just leaned in and put his head on my quad while looking up at me. It’s as if he’s saying “You needed a hug.” Or maybe he did. Maybe both.
The Boomtown Rats famously released the tune “I Don’t Like Mondays” all the way back in 1979.
It’s opening is unmistakable. Skip to the end of this post and reacquaint yourself, as necessary. I’ll wait.
Saturdays drag when there’s nothing formally on the schedule. It’s the lone day of the week without a show to perform, the enhanced version of self gets a pause. So, what do you do?
When your head is normally wrapped up in everyday household concerns, errands, appointments and constant refreshing of social media, blogs and websites as part of show prep, the hustle from pre-sun to 11pm, the silence is loud. I try to nap - but that’s usually a futile, miserable experience that leaves me pondering all of the things undone. I’ve been a terrible sleeper forever - can’t find the quiet and peace.
I ponder the “Hamilton” experience of “writing like I’m running out of time” and the myriad pursuits for the second half of this existence. Being “better” in countless ways.
So, Saturday the 19th was a long-ass day. I awoke early, as normal, even with no alarm set. Boo.
Went for a walk around the neighborhood with my ever-expanding playlist blaring.
Returned to get to a beautiful split-screen experience while enjoying the first sips of morning coffee. College basketball and the NCAA Tournament earned the big screen (North Carolina and Baylor was one of the worst officiated games in history), but I also returned to Netflix for more of a show I discovered late Friday night. “Is It Cake?” That’s it - bakers put together elaborate cakes in the shape of a handbag or a satchel of cash. The cake version and real version of objects are placed on pedestals. Contestants then have to determine, from a distance in the studio, which is the real deal and … which is cake.
Add some “Saved By The Bell” in marathon form, the first episodes of “Minx,” more music and we’ve landed into the mid-afternoon.
Eff it. I had to try napping. I surrendered and passed out quite quickly, managing to find 75 minutes of slumber. Success. Predictably, it took 15 minutes before I began to lament the loss of that time. How dumb is that?
More college basketball brought me into the evening and the start of my grid-building for my Sunday morning FOX Sports Radio show. The storylines surrounding the NFL are plentiful this time of year, so that didn’t require much time to create the list. But once on the page — the stories play in the Dome for the rest of the evening hours, constant revisions to what I call the “spidering effect.” You take the base story and see the interconnected web reveal itself.
I laid out several ongoing projects and ambitions, trying to build the parallel “To-Do” lists.
And I wandered into “Gilded Age” on HBOMax for a spell and sipped my 2021 Glogg.
——-
The annual 1-900-LUZ-MY-AZZ process begins Monday. This time, I hope to make it last. Channel the stressors and angst to propel forward. I’ll chronicle what that project entails on Monday.
Gotta get the mind to pause again. Stop a moment to give thanks and appreciate the good. The alarm for Sunday’s early performance awaits.
The characters and heroes of my youth (our collective youth) have seemingly fallen at a more rapid rate of late. Maybe I’m more keenly aware of it given some near-misses of my own.
The wrestling world lost one of its true characters and legendary heels when Scott Hall (aka, Razor Ramon) died following complications related to a hip surgery. He reportedly suffered three heart attacks, and the decision was made to take him off of life support.
I’d seen a note about the surgery ahead of the weekend and offered up a few good thoughts to a man who entertained the hell out of me and multiple generations of wrestling fans into a fourth decade.
My first memories of Hall come from his success and tag team championship days in the AWA alongside Curt Hennig during the mid-80s. He was given the all too creative moniker “Big” Scott Hall. Hell, I remember the Remco action figures of those legends - we had them all, including the wooden ring, and we created matches and did commentary to rival anything on the airwaves.
There are plenty biographies that will chronicle each step of Hall’s career. I’ll just put it in its simplest terms —- “Razor Ramon” and the “nWo.” Those two characters and time periods, in WWF and WCW, respectively, made Hall an enduring piece of the wrestling landscape and one of its treasured stars.
The looks were unforgettable. His catchphrases became part of pop culture history.
Toothpick, greasy hair, 5 o’clock shadow.
“Say hello to the bad guy.”
“Hey, Yo!”
“Too sweet!”
The man had his demons and transgressions, drug and alcohol problems that compromised his career at multiple turns. Dallas Page But the outpouring of love from fellow wrestlers, his peers, his mentees and the fans, demonstrated the good he created as well.
His tag-team partner with the nWo and “The Outsiders,” Kevin Nash wrote of one of Hall’s favorite quotes. “The last perfect person to walk the planet, they nailed to a cross.”
Strong words, for sure. Not an excuse-making statement, but just a reminder to be mindful of others’ struggles, fails and to love and build up. As well as our own. Take ownership and work to be better. Bit by bit.
———-
I talk of it often on FOX Sports Radio. The microphone skills of wrestlers in the 80s and 90s (along with those Chicago broadcasters) make up a good base of my training. Rants and looks (more video to come here), rewound on video tapes and memorized.
I sent and received myriad Scott Hall videos that chronicled his entire career on Monday — shoot interviews, in-ring rants and bits of skits and matches. I knew our show on FOX Sports Radio was going to consist of deep dives on NFL Free Agency, Tom Brady’s decision and the latest debacle from the Lakers.
I thought I’d share a great clip from his HOF speech. Watch the eyes to close it out.
Go find your greatness. And remember to, “give the flowers,” as we say, while folks are around to receive them.
Sure, it’s the battle cry when the bartender or bouncer announces last call.
Change the final word to “set” if you’re in the gym.
Apply as you need.
——
For me, I delved into the memory bank (more on that in a minute) while attending the Garth Brooks show in San Diego.
I discussed my initial feelings and thoughts about heading into Petco Park on FOX Sports Radio. The banners celebrating Padres starts like Fernando Tatis Jr. drew me into a mini-rant and discussion with the folks at the entrances. Thanks, baseball.
The Brooks tour in support of “In Pieces” included a ridiculous four-day run at the Rosemont Horizon in a Chicago suburb. I went to one of those on a first date that changed my life, a glorious event in 1993. I had issues with some of the long pauses for audience cheers and such, but not the company. Laughs, singalongs and swaying (that’s really all it was) with the music.
And a connection. Personally. Yeah, it was a big deal in those seats and the train home to campus.
The more universal for the sellout crowd —- ponder four days in one spot!
I got salty over the “which section is loudest?” bit. But, by the same token, I loved that energy. I speak to that frequently here in my travels and experiences. It’s good for the soul, that positivity in the same direction and the power of an arena (then) and stadium (now) singing along.
So when Brooks announced a show in 2022 down in San Diego, his first since shutting things down during the pandemic, it was time for another round. It was cold (on a San Diego basis) and rainy, but the energy remained. He started with a new song entitled “All Day Long.” The crowd responded pretty well. But Brooks acknowledged what we all knew —- there’s 33 years of his history and our collective memory of America’s songbook that brought us to that space.
While “All Day Long” hit, the opening chords of “Rodeo” sent the adoring throng into a frenzy. And Brooks owned that stage for the next 2 hours. There was a long set before an ingenious “Let’s do requests off of the signs you’ve brought” bit that Brooks did solo on the acoustic. The band then returned for several songs and they closed it out with “Standing Outside The Fire.”
The ending seemed odd, as the band left the stage without bows or an encore. There were no surprise guests, not even an appearance by Trisha Yearwood. So, folks who had followed the tour expected an appearance.
Maybe it was the threat of worse weather?
It was a still a 26-song sprint, including some George Strait, Billy Joel and Bob Seger.
And, I gotta say. The strangest part is that I hadn’t heard some of the songs in the playlist in 20 years. Yet I still was able to belt out every word. There’s something in that muscle memory, I guess. The songs that helped define the end of high school and college days are all still there. My kids have the ability to pick up lyrics after one or two listens, and that’s been me since my youth. But I thought that the exercising of muscle memory was vital (and it certainly is for a million other things).
For a night in San Diego, they were there like they were printed on a page.
Tuesday started early with great professional and personal highs.
In my career with FOX Sports Radio, I’ve been blessed to work with a number of industry greats and former players transitioning into their next careers (and becoming greats in radio and television!).
I was offered the opportunity to co-host The Dan Patrick Show (The DP Show!!!) with Rob Parker. Rob’s a mainstay in radio and television, sometimes a lightning rod for discussion and debate, and we hadn’t done a show together in quite some time. His show on FOX Sports Radio precedes mine each night, so the intersection hasn’t occurred in a while.
Then, I was gifted the glory of a new single from The Afghan Whigs … and the release of several tour dates. My daughters and I anxiously await the West Coast adds). So, I streamed that tune multiple times in commercial breaks and rocked out.
After the shift, I conversed with my team for a few minutes. It was so good for the soul to see some of them in person for the first time in months (some longer). Eventually, I got in the car and started driving home - playlist blaring - and, reports weren’t wrong, there was some traffic. Those that know me, or have read previous entries, know that I have a lot of Bowie, Dulli, Queen, Stones and Lanegan in the mix.
And then my phone started to buzz repeatedly. I finished the drive home and grabbed my phone, expecting some fallout from the Aaron Rodgers appearance on “The Pat McAfee Show.” That was only a part of it. My brother had forwarded the message from the Official Twitter account of Mark Lanegan.
The troubadour, whose voice and lyrics echoed in my brain, a comfort in hard times and a burst of energy to propel the good, had died in Ireland. I froze. Broken in that moment.
He’s been part of the soundtrack and an influencer (in the best of terms) for three decades, and I knew some of the Screaming Trees and QOTSA catalog, but his work and collaboration with Greg Dulli (Gutter Twins, Twilight Singers and Afghan Whigs) made me search out more lyrics, more tunes and more video of his history.
There was a resonance in the news that generated a few tears. I can’t pretend to have known him. I knew his history, his struggles, and had read some of his writings about the effects Covid had on him.
I met Lanegan a couple times at LA concerts, brief chats where I’d only ask a question or two, talk a little sports and thank him for the lyrics of particular songs that were in constant rotation on my playlist at the time. I’d always hoped for a longer interaction, an opportunity to discuss his road in more detail, more sports and pursuits. (It’s time for that music/pop culture podcast series, perhaps.)
The 2010 Greg Dulli concert at The Troubadour in LA remains one of my favorite live events. Meeting Dulli post-show was an honor, but the set contained surprises and an emotional roller coaster of powerful lyrics and guests. Lanegan came down the stairs, performed a couple songs from The Gutter Twins album with Dulli and the band, and just as quickly went back from whence he came. “The Stations” live carries tremendous weight - the opening on my list of all-time greats.
Lanegan left us an awful lot in “Read Backwards and Weep,” his autobiography, the hundreds of poems and lyric sets, and, of course, a rich tapestry of performances with countless artists. His influence has been cited for decades by numerous artists — stories of those sessions with Kurt Cobain and “Where Did You Sleep Last Night?”
The outpouring of love and respect filled my timeline on Tuesday and into Wednesday morning. The community that I speak of, the church-like energy and positivity, came together to celebrate his life and mourn his passing. It’s that energy that helps to sustain me.
I hope he’d found some peace in Ireland with his wife. Good thoughts and memories to his family, friends and collaborators and fans across the globe. Grab some good. FYW
Here’s one of my favorites — “When Your Number Isn’t Up”
This performance features Dave Rosser, guitarist for The Afghan Whigs and Gutter Twins, who died in 2017. Get down that rabbit hole, starting with this classic.
“No one needs to tell you that There's no use for you here anymore And where are your friends? They've gone away It's a different world They left you to this To janitor The emptiness So let's get it on”
It finally ended. A series of Instagram posts from Tom Brady made it official earlier this week.
We’d had myriad media reports — starting a week before the official announcement from friend of the show Jason LaCanfora. He had a second report for CBS Sports on the Friday before the big flurry of activity on Saturday when ESPN and the Schefter/Darlington combination dived into the fray.
We’d done the deep dives and reasoning and rationalizing about Brady and his future for a week. The secondary reports made me take pause.
For a moment, even though I was punting and shagging soccer balls for my daughter in my ragged shorts and backwards ball cap, I thought, “Damn. Now I’m officially old.”
It’s not a new phenomenon, these fleeting thoughts. After all, Jason and I have discussed plenty of “JRs” making their way to collegiate and then professional sports.
But this one hit different. Brady’s the player that sought to spit in the eye of Father Time. He set lofty goals of playing at 45, or — crazier - even 50 years old.
———
During the week, I’d argued about the high achievements of his 2021 season, the potential chaos of perhaps losing both coordinators, roster turnover and Brady having watched each of his contemporaries find their way to performance cliffs.
So, the pile of reports came as no surprise and didn’t stop me too long. The next punt gave me a twinge in my hammy, but I’ve come to accept those as part of the process. I shanked it, and laughed like a lunatic as my daughter glared at me.
By the time Brady actually confirmed the story, we didn’t spend much time discussing the actual retirement. Rather, we parsed words to determine potential snubs and the feelings of fan bases and organizations.
We’re transitioning into a brave, new post-Brady world. He may have hung them up (maybe until late-July?), but we continue our pursuits to keep young and playing in our weekend warrior mode. Maybe I’ll even find some TB12 supplements and avocado ice cream. Hey, worked for Tom!
That sums it up for me in the quest to add The Rolling Stones to my extensive concert list. You can see previous posts about my feelings and love for live music. Somehow, it never worked out to see The Stones.
But this October night had a different weight to it.
This was my third attempt to see the band.
The first was a failed attempt. I went to Las Vegas for one of two scheduled shows by the band that year. And I relaxed during the day, playing some “Sons of Anarchy” game to some success. I met a colleague from work for the show, had a drink and we went in. We checked out T-Mobile and grabbed a beer before the show began.
Shortly after the band hit the stage and ripped through “Jumping Jack Flash,” I wasn’t feeling well. I went to the restroom and light-headed, tried to do the obligatory water splash to the face. Well, that didn’t squash any of it. I woke up in the medical center down the road. Passed out. Evidently, some kind soul kept my head from hitting the sink.
Assumption was that I was over-served, but I’d had little to drink. Eventually got the Type-2 diabetes diagnosis and the question whether I’d experienced a dangerous sugar crash. So, this goes back to the idea of being “Better,” as discussed in the prior entry.
I hear the show was pretty tight.
My second miss of The Stones was a date at the Rose Bowl in 2019. I got the cooler bag associated with my seat purchases and readied myself for a huge night in Pasadena. Alas, I couldn’t get away from the microphone for the evening. That cooler bag comes in handy!!!
Queue the third attempt.
COVID-19 measures still stood to dismantle events in the back-end of 2021 (and I know plenty of people in NY and SF who have endured crushing cancellations at the theater). So, to say that I feared a last-minute loss of this show was an understatement. Then, in late-August, we mourned the death and celebrated the life, style and music of drummer Charlie Watts.
The Stones decided to play on. And so I anxiously awaited my birthday present to me - a date at So-Fi Stadium to finally witness Jagger, Richards and Wood LIVE with Steve Jordan providing the beat.
There was a beautiful tribute to Watts to open the show, following by a crowd-pleasing rendition of “Let’s Spend The Night Together.” And then, it was just a flood of childhood memories, listening to the albums with my Dad and celebrating this Bucket List item. I sat with a goofy grin and celebrated hit after hit, and each iteration of the requisite Jagger Strut.
The action on the stage was rivaled by the outfits in the crowd and enough throwback T-shirts, pins, jackets, etc., to fill a mini-museum.
And it was a beautiful, cathartic community event. For the crowd … and for the band.
While reveling in the cheers and applause, there were moments of the band in pure joy and appreciation captured on the jumbo video screens. And it was beautiful.
Now, enjoy the performance of Keith Richards’ time at center stage with “Slipping Away.”
Somehow I lost a chunk of this after publishing —- now pissed. I’ll try to recreate.
———————
It’s been too long. I have countless drafts and starts and stops to Blog entries commemorating a number of events, stressors and triumphs from the past several months. Many pages have torn from notebooks to start the next “journal,” “diary,” monologue, or whatever you’d call it.
But, like everyone (or most, I guess), an alarm rings, an email or text comes in that warrants attention, or you’re off and pacing to any number of chores/responsibilities that make up your existence.
Each year, we hammer out a robust list of resolutions designed to make us “Better.” Whether it’s a nod to health, money, mental well-being or learning a skill, we all have something (or many) in our lives that we want to make “Better.”
I do it weekly. I put together the exhaustive list of “To-do” items. And I get overwhelmed and salty, knowing that it’s a Sisyphus situation. I’m gonna through a bunch of things. I’m gonna check some boxes, but the Sharpie’s not gonna touch each of those lines.
Damned it all. The point of this blog is to find a little peace in the day, highlight finding the Lighter Thoughts. Jack Handey of SNL had his “Deep Thoughts,” and we’ll have some of those here. But it’s more about seeing/doing the things on your list, celebrating those triumphs and moving forward.
Friend of the show and colleague Jay Glazer talks about “fighting the grey.” In his appearances with us and his book “Unbreakable,” he speaks of rough mornings, and I can relate, to be sure. So, each day, I’m going to work - dare I say “Resolve” - to add at least one post. Short, in-depth expository or whatever - check in here. The goal is Community and talking … and embracing the positivity amid the chaos.
So, with that in mind — What are my 3 victories today?
1. Great show on FOX Sports Radio this morning with Bucky Brooks. We absolutely destroyed a number of narratives and created some new while dissecting the NFL Division Games from Saturday and previewing Sunday’s tilts.
(I’ll include game-watching on a larger scale here. We had all the drama we wanted, and then some.)
2. Long-ass nap. Sleep and I have been enemies since I broke my leg my sophomore year of High School (long story for another time). So, I’m learning to pause and listen to my body and foggy mind. I know it’s caused major issues in my past and still impact others, and contributes to physical and mental health.
Nas said in NY State of Mind: “I don’t sleep, ‘cause sleep is the cousin of death.” The line was later cited by Greg Dulli in “Omertà .”
3. I communicated with a great number of friends, colleagues and my brothers during the Sunday games. Text messages, calls and some Twitter back and forth. Add some of the 2021 Glogg and a hearty soup. And that’s a winner.
