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.
