Go Ask Daddy About Throwback Football, Old-Time Timers and Pretend Prehistoric Predators

photo credit: JoePhilipson via photopin cc

photo credit: JoePhilipson via photopin cc

I’m a cat person, but only by default.

And cat person is a misnomer. I’m a cat person in the same way I’m a ping-pong person. I’ll play if you have a table, but I don’t dream of it. I don’t long for it. I don’t wear sweaters with ping-pong on it or share ping-pong memes online.

(Are there ping-pong memes online?)

One dog tried to make me a dog person.

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Guest Post: Melissa of Home on Deranged, on Youth Sports

photo credit: delgrosso via photopin cc

photo credit: delgrosso via photopin cc

Sometimes, you don’t choose your team.

Your team chooses you.

Elise’s first season in youth soccer came and went with much chaos and discord. The coach of the Red Raptors had two kids – younger than 6 – on the roster. She spent more time yelling at them than teaching.

The next year, a mom and I said, ‘what the hell? We got this.’ So we volunteered.

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My Home Away from Home

Here’s a glimpse of my home away from home.

photo credit: Martin Berglund via photopin cc

photo credit: Martin Berglund via photopin cc

It doesn’t have to be this exact field. Any soccer pitch will do. Even a rival’s.

I’ll tell you why this is my home away from home, ahead even a disc golf course or closest taco truck. (Maybe in heaven there’s a disc golf course around a soccer pitch with a taco truck. On each sideline).

It’s cliché to call it a field of dreams. A field of hopes, maybe? Of transformation? You’d have to know me before the soccer pitch became part of my life. I’d never won. In anything. Introducing the King of Mediocrity. Average grades. Average SAT.

Plenty of third- and fourth-place ribbons.

Soccer wasn’t even on my radar.

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Go Ask Daddy About Prehistoric Revivals, Kryptonian Symbols and Precious Time

photo credit: Fuelgrafics via photopin cc

photo credit: Fuelgrafics via photopin cc

This is a night (or morning?) of irony.

Or is it tragedy?

I’ll go with irony. It doesn’t feel tragic. But for the first time in Coach Daddy history, I’ve begun my Go Ask Daddy (once known as 5 for Friday, Go Ask Daddy) at 12:02 a.m. On Friday.

I’d have worked ahead, if it weren’t for Elise’s term paper. She had four pages of rough draft due Friday, and needed my laptop to do it. So I slept on the couch while she worked.

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Guest Post: Deb from Deb Runs, on What it Means to be a Hokie

photo credit: NoVa Hokie via photopin cc

photo credit: NoVa Hokie via photopin cc

My school was so apathetic back in my day.

UNC Charlotte was a commuter school under construction. We didn’t have football. We played basketball off campus. We were the dumb little brother to UNC Chapel Hill. Kids would rather stay home and watch the ACC on TV than go to games.

Now, people care on campus, and in the community.

When I see people wearing green and gold, I can say, “GO NINERS!” and I’ll get a woot-woot or a fist bump. It’s kind of awesome. We have a long way to go, though, to have traditions like some schools. Such as Virginia Tech.

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Giving Thanks for Colorful Ideas, Sidewalk Chalk and Generous Hearts

HMP

HMP

It’s cool to buy Valentine’s Day candy on clearance in March, and eat it in April. Did you know that?

And, according to Tamara of Tamara Like Camera fame, those Halloween socks are good to go, any time of year.

Get this: It’s also fine to give thanks now. Well, any time of year. Reading Gina from A 4 Star Life reminded me of that.

So I’m going to get in a little, before Easter.

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Go Ask Daddy About Pickle Properties, Bony Behemoths and Ballot Busters

photo credit: Joz3.69 via photopin cc

photo credit: Joz3.69 via photopin cc

I’ve gone to preach it on the mountain, y’all.

Coach Daddy is on the road, and on the pulpit. Can I get a witness?

With Nicole away on the ultimate Caucasian vacation (on a cruise), I got the keys to Work In Sweats Mama. I found a lot of kid snacks and healthy crap, but did manage to find her Big Gulp cup and frequent-drinker’s card.

I filled that sucker up with Coke Zero until the manager said no.

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