Seattlehog - Week 7

[vector4dz]

A WILD GOOSE CHASE - Ark v Georgia 2014


"Reality continues to ruin my life."

-Bill Watterson-


"I know the world isn't fair, but why isn't it ever unfair in my favor?"

-Bill Watterson-


"When in despair it sometimes helps to turn to "Calvin & Hobbes". "

-Me-




I try to stay on an even keel about things. Be a "glass half full" sort. At least the persona I use when doing these write-ups does.

The REAL ME - the one that sits around with a 4 year old actually watching these games while sharing a large plate of spaghetti and fighting over a bag of Lay's and French onion dip - is quite a bit less sanguine. In fact the REAL ME probably has some anger management problems (among untold other issues).

The REAL ME gripes so loudly (and probably unfairly) about certain players  that at one point after the fumble was returned for a TD Ellis turned to me and said "Daddy that is a really bad quarterback".

It's great the things we teach our kids.

At one point during the game my brother and I even exchanged text messages that quite overtly suggested ways we might make certain players, even whole position groups, "disappear". We discussed the brief candlelight vigils we could have in their collective honor before we moved on with other, actually good, players.

I'm  ok with that. Excessively angry and overly joyful responses to sports are part of the fun. 

The freakish nastiness and stunning lack of humor in some of the tweets about BA and Tevin Mitchell and other guys are kind of a whole other thing.

Putting stuff like that out in public, while knowing the players themselves will undoubtedly see some of it, isn't "venting". It's mental illness. 

A good general rule is that if you want to post something awful or threatening about a near teenager playing a game for our pathetic adult amusement - at least make it kinda funny.

I was as borderline horrified by the first half as everyone else.  When this team makes mistakes they are simply hard to watch because we all know they really can't make up for them. Once the Hogs are down 2 scores it becomes hard to imagine anything good happening.  Brandon Allen isn't good enough at anything that he can be directly involved in the ball hitting the ground 4 times and throw 2 pics.

All the same questions remain.  Can a beefed up straight ahead run game succeed CONSISTENTLY against top tier teams?  It appears that it can but only if we play clean in all other phases - no turnovers, good special teams play, opportunistic defense. And those things just aren't happening yet.

In all honesty I didn't even watch the second half live and I lack the energy and creativity to come up with a "What I Know" list this morning. (Besides I don't think I "Know" anything at all about this team.).  So instead I will simply relate the story of what we did instead of watching the 2nd half. In a weird and tangential way it may relate to the experience of watching the game.


THE BIKE RIDE




Ellis wanted to ride her new bike (with training wheels) so we headed out on an adventure instead of stewing in my self-constructed, football related, misery.

She rode while I walked and jogged beside her. She would ring her bell and wave and yell "HI CAR PERSON!" To every car that went by.

4 year olds are a bit emotionally labile and attention challenged. She started off saying she wanted to go "farther and faster than anyone ever". That goal didn't last long.

There is a little basket on the front of her bike (and yes it's pink and covered with princesses - sigh). She felt the need to fill it.

ELLIS: Keep an eye out for interesting things to collect on our trip.

ME: Interesting how?

ELLIS: Just interesting stuff. Treasure.

Apparently "treasure" casts a pretty wide net. Every 20 feet or so she would stop and get off her bike and go peer at something in the ditch or on the side of the road. I'm not sure what the exact criteria was for collection.
A lot of things didn't make the grade. 

The treasure in the basket eventually included:

1) a smashed beer can
2) a regular rock
3) a Sonic cup with lipstick on the rim
4) a (mostly dead) caterpillar
5) a matching pair of socks

Fortunately she decided to leave the empty condom wrapper where it was.

Before too long she started complaining. She was tired. Her legs hurt. She wanted to walk. Her underwear was "going up in her bottom".

I took this opportunity to teach a life lesson. I talked about never quitting, about how this is how we get stronger, about keeping a positive attitude. I even pulled out the "I Think I Can I Think I Can" BS.

She wasn't buying it.

We made it back to our street and only had a few hundred yards to go. She stopped. I had to pee so I was pleading with her to keep going.

She spotted this flock of Canadian Geese that live at a pond near us.  They were waddling around minding their own business.

Ellis, bicycle helmet in place, started to do her best "sneaking up" move. (This involves her hands out in front with her fingers pointing down and exaggerated high knee steps. She looks like a cartoon villain when she does it.)

Then she broke into a sprint and yelled "GEESE GEESE GEESE!" as the flock startled as one and unfolded their big wings and flapped away.

Ellis came back to the bike dancing and smiling as I hopped from foot to foot in the time honored movement of a person trying to keep their Miss where it currently resides.

ME: Ellis HURRY UP!

ELLIS: (decidedly NOT hurrying up) Daddy you were wrong. I LIKE quitting!  When you quit you get to chase GEESE.

Until Next Time
Seattle
Twitter: @seattlehog
http://seattlehog.org/

PS - as a weird bonus - since I didn't bother coming up with a "What I Know" list this week - I have included a story about one of my (much needed) trips to the shrink.

PPS - Pictures of the geese are on my blog






THE SESSION

My shrink's office is in a building that was a house 40 or 50 years ago.  It sneaks and sprawls into a hillside, hiding its depth. There are trees with low hanging branches that I suppose are meant to be bucolic and peaceful but that I find vaguely threatening in a "Lord of the Rings" sort of way. There is sap and bird poop on the porch.

Inside sits the usual mildly overweight and visibly stressed receptionist. I always assume these people are mostly-recovered former patients working off an enormous bill.  Indentured servants of the psychology industry.

There are 4 therapists that work here so as the top of the hour approaches there tends to be a small gathering of patients. Sometimes a parent with a child.  Sometimes a couple who for all the world appear completely happy but who I can only assume are working through some tragic betrayal or other - likely involving text messages, a hacked Facebook account, and blurred photos of a [CENSORED].

The waiting area was probably once the salon - off to the side, large, and unremarkable.  Way too many chairs line the walls and there is no reading material. The music is actually kind of good. It's some sort of Irish station with fast paced mandolins or violins or some such strings and I picture red headed women dancing in a line.  It occurred to me one time that a psychology office probably thinks really hard about their waiting room music. Something soothing yet intellectual yet acceptable to a large cross section of the populace.

  I asked my shrink about this.
She said "Huh?"

On this day there is some sort of problem with the front door. Like the house it is pretty old and the lock just won't catch. So when you close it behind you it bounces back open an inch or two. Then you turn around to try to fix it but it still won't snap into place.  At this point a collection of normal people would just walk away and ignore it. Unfortunately this is the exact opposite of a collection of normal people.

A dude with anger management issues slammed it and slammed it and finally walked away.  A lady who I would guess is here for OCD opened it, closed it, opened it, closed it.  Bit her finger nails, looked at her phone, then her purse. She looked at the door again, bending as if her viewing angle was the real problem.Opened it, closed it.  Then back to her purse. This might have gone on for hours if the receptionist hadn't waddled off her perch and escorted the poor lady to a seat.

Finally a woman who I will assume has problems with fear and paranoia just looked back at the slightly open door, keeping an eye on it all the way to her chair where she sort of folded into a corner and seemed to disappear, chameleon like, into the blue fabric.

My shrink's actual office is just an office. Books and magazines are stacked here and there and on a desk a laptop blinks a screensaver shot of her family.

I wish she had a chaise or something for me to lay down on, and I have told her this, but she doesn't. There is a love seat but if I laid down on that my legs would be folded over the edge at the knees and its tough to probe the depths of your soul in a position that is more suitable for a pelvic exam..

It's weird how important it is to me for my therapist to not only like me, but to think I am the best, weirdest, funniest, most disturbed, most interesting patient she has.  When she gets together with people and tells them things her patients say - I want to be the most quoted.

In some ways this could be a problem. I might lie and pretend I am happier or sadder than I really am. But my dysfunction is far more sophisticated than that.  In my mind, in order to be the BEST patient I have to be making the most progress. I have to be the most honest and forthcoming.  I have to see the problems and connect the dots. I have to have insight.

In other words I think it's a healthy obsession. Maybe I should talk to my therapist about that. (Actually I already HAVE! It's all part of being the best.)

Today's session went like this:

HER: So ... what's up?

ME: I got some new underwear. It's really special. My brother sent it to me. It's tight yet comfortable.  Very smooth and supporting. It's almost like being naked. I couldn't be more pleased.

HER: So being naked under your clothes is something you see as "good"?

ME: Well - now that you put it like that I guess I'm not so sure.  Now I'm really conscious of them and they seem a little too small. And they have a weird pattern on them. I think maybe they were one of those things that are better when you don't mention them.

HER: Jay is this some sort of weird metaphor?

ME: Huh? I don't know. I mean I really DO like my underwear.

HER: I mean like your life in treatment is nice and comfortable and supportive - like its not even there. But if you talk about it too much it gets weird and uncomfortable.

ME: Umm ... I really got new underwear. And I really like it. Here look. (I start to unbuckle my jeans)

HER: ( More than a little startled) No! Jay No! I believe you.

ME: It's ok.  They're boxers. Like bike shorts.  Very socially acceptable.

HER: (audible sigh - some scribbling on a pad)

ME : Am I your favorite patient?

HER: (still a little shaken) What? You are a patient Jay.

ME: I know. And I'm sure you couldn't tell me if I was your favorite. But I am right? C'mon - does anyone else bring an underwear metaphor to the table? That has to be top notch stuff.

HER: I thought you said it wasn't a metaphor.

ME: Well it could have been. That's good stuff. And I'm hilarious right? I bet most of your patients are really depressing. I have all these excellent and funny and original stories about parenting. I'm sure that's rare. Plus I'm a self-loathing narcissist. I can't imagine you have many of those.


HER: You'd be surprised.

ME: Do you want me to tell you about the dream I had last night? It was a good one.

HER: Umm ... No.  I think I told you that dreams about breasts aren't particularly helpful.

ME: Oh .. Ok. So my underwear - remarkably an XL fits me quite nicely ....



THE END


Have a good week
Seattle

[hoghearted]

That's quite a post. I may not feel so bad about the game now. 😳

[Harleigh Hog]

Awesome as usual!

[JoeyCapital]

That was hilarious.

You should email a copy of that to that Shields dude. Let him take some notes.