Football, Movies, and Not-so-stupid Questions.

My buddy Russ was a good football player. About my size, so not a moose, but strong. Sadly, he never really got along with our high school football coach, so his playing time was limited. One Thursday before a Friday game, the coach was going through the game plan: telling the assembled team in some detail general and specific assignments. The team we'd play was bigger, so we'd have to trap-block. The guards would drop back from their man, and run down the line and catch the advancing defensive tackle or linebacker on the opposite side of the line. The running back would take a fake and the fullback would hit the gap between the right-side guard and tackle. Stuff like that. After about 10 minutes, Coach Korn asked the team if we had any questions. Russ, knowing he was not going to be playing the next day- and knowing that the coach knew he knew this- raised his hand. Coach Korn eyed Russ warily: "What is it, Baggett?". "Coach", Russ said as the 80 or so half-padded players looked on. "Coach. If Jesus Christ and Superman got into a fight, who do you think would win?". Through considerable effort, I managed not to laugh. Fast forward thirty-five years: Last night, Lady Di and I saw "Man of Steel" at Walterboro's lone theater, Ivanhoe Cinema 4, and Russ's question popped up again. Confused? Well, yeah. See, in "Man of Steel", Superman is presented as a Jesus figure. Jor-El (played by Russell Crowe), a scientist from Krypton, seeing his planet about to implode, puts his infant son in a ship to a similar planet- Earth- to save his child and maybe to save Earth. Young Kal-El is found in Smallville, Kansas, by the Kent family. Dad (played by Kevin Costner), obviously knows his boy is different, because, you know, he found the kid in a space-ship. Mom and dad also discover his amazing strength, lazar vision, and lightning speed. Over the course of time, mom nurtures him, and Dad tells him he's obviously got a very special reason for being there, and eventually he'll know, but in the meantime, to keep his head down and not to tell anyone about his powers, because he doesn't know his purpose yet, and the world just won't understand him. Not hard to imagine another adoptive father, Joseph, telling young Jesus the same thing. When some bad guys- who, by virtue of their timely banishment managed to survive Krypton's destruction- arrive to conquer and colonize Earth, Superman has to step up to save Earth. Guess how old is at this auspicious moment? How's 33 grab you? There are plenty of other parallels between Superman and Jesus, and I'm quite sure they've been pointed out by lots of folks before (when I excitedly mentioned my theory in my post-mortum of the movie to Lady Di, she was all, "Duh!", so, I'm evidently not breaking any new ground here). Anyway, I thought of Russ, Leto Falcon football, and Coach Korn. And I've finally got an answer: Russ, Jesus wouldn't fight Superman. Jesus is Superman.

I like beer.

>I'm a mild and content man these days. Downton Abbey, a nice meal, and an occasional glass of pinot noir with Lady Di is a fine evening. It was not always so. I listened to Blues the other day, while I sipped a glass of cold beer. My mind drifted to days of yore. Commander. Russ. Scott and Bob. Betas and Fijis. I don't miss it, but I'm glad I lived it. Thanks, guys.

Alpine Camp for Boys, Circa 1980.

I got a call from an old buddy of mine the other day. Jim and I were camp counselors at Alpine Camp for Boys in Mentone, Alabama in the Summer of 1980. Two of my friends from the Fellowship of Christian Athletes at Sewanee, Woody (with whom I played football) and Margaret, hooked me up with Alpine. When I got there, I wanted to teach/coach football, or some other team sport, but was assigned to teach non-competitive sports, a/k/a "Earth Games", where Jim had also been billeted. In honor of our unsolicited appointments, Jim took the moniker "Earth Lizard", and I appropriated "Earth Duck". Jim forwarded the picture at left. I'm in the middle; he's to the far left. I think we were teaching them how to sing "Swing low, sweet chariot", in the picture, but I'm not positive. E-Lizard and I had a blast. There were some loose guidelines on "Earth Games": we had a parachute that we'd all flap up and down, and there were a few more or less organized activities, but mostly we just led the kids in whatever silly game we could imagine. If a kid scraped his knee, we'd celebrate it by giving him a stick or a pine cone as an award. We'd be patient about most things, but didn't brook bullying... or whining. If a kid was moping about, Earth Lizard would give him a "woodgie", which consisted of an exaggerated pout.  Egregious behavior might rate "the pit". I'm not gonna explain that one. Maybe Jim will. I also remember lots of little things, like drinking Tab, and doing laundry at the "disco-teria" in Ft. Payne; as well as some bigger things, like being grateful to talk about Jesus to kids who wanted to hear about him, and  the spiritual growth that I had. It was a long time ago, but I don't think I've ever had a better Summer. Thanks, Jim, for bringing it back.

Kicks.

Baltimore Raven's kicker Billy Cundiff's miss of what would have been a game-tying field-goal in the A.F.C. championship game is almost a week-old now. The miss is not fresh news, anymore, but as a long-standing Florida State Seminoles fan, it touches a nerve. The following videos are about kicks. They range from Paul Revere and the Raiders warning against chasing kicks in the 1960's, to the thoroughly raunchy video by Peaches and Iggy Pop. None of them is so painful as the last video, though.

Odd Man Out.

I was watering the Marigolds the other day, and caught this lone orange and red dude amongst the yellow ones. Reminded me of my daughter. And my mom. And me. Teachers had a tough time knowing what to do with us. Smart enough, but kinda out of step with the rest of the class. Back in the day, my buddy, Dave Okamoto, incorporated the Harry Chapin song "Flowers are Red" into a highschool spirit week skit. It about sums it up, I reckon:

The Mitch is Back!

I got to see my old friend Mitch last Sunday. You might recognize him from the high school picture I posted a week or so ago. He and his lovely bride Gina were down in Chuck Town for a Tennis tournament, and they gave up a couple of hours to hang out with me and Lady Di and eat Thai food. Back in the day, Mitch and I were thick as thieves. We strode through the halls of Leto High like we owned the place. Mitch was voted "Friendliest" in our class of more than 750 students, and I was "Class Clown" (the following year, when my brother won that category, they changed the name to a much more dignified "Wittiest". Ah, well). Mitch is pleasant, fun, and a genuinely good person, just like he was back in the day. Here's to you, Buddy!

The Name Game, Redux.

Though I'm a Florida State graduate, I first went to college in Tennessee, at "The University of the South: Sewanee" (or, as it is now called, "Sewanee: The University of the South"). Names are funny things. Shakespeare pointed out that a rose would still smell nice if you called it an old shoe, but names still have power. Diane and I went to the Charleston chapter gathering of the Sewanee Alumni association last night, and they gave me a name-tag that indicated I was "Sparky", though I'd never used the moniker at Sewanee. Whence the mix-up? Well, "Chip" Manning, one of my old classmates, was dunning me for a contribution, and I sent my generous contribution of, maybe, twenty five bucks an returned the gift card with the name Sparky. Chip apparently amended the records to reflect my new name. A couple of people at the gathering looked at me quizzically. "You look familiar", they noted, "but I don't know any Sparkys". The host of the event, Mark "Moose" Phillips, with whom I'd played football (and quaffed a few brews way, way, back then) gave me a funny look, too. Once I'd assured him of my actual identity, he loosened up, a bit (though he did watch his liquor cabinet closer!).