Feels like I’m going all Aristotle lately.
Why this, why that. Philosophy in everything, from my soccer matches to my blog posts to my eggs over easy with a warm tortilla. (I just like to think about breakfast). Kelly McKenzie’s blog, Just Typikel, is to blame for this brain hyperactivity.
She asked why we return to some blogs, but not others.
I’ll tell you why.
Enthrall me with your voice, and I will read again and again. I can’t get to your every post (unless your name rhymes with Camera Flowman), but if your voice resonates, I’ll be BAAACK.
Want me to go away and never come back? Ignore comments. Not just mine. If I get to a blog and there’s a lot of voices in comments – but not the bloggers’? Tells me I should go read elsewhere.
The incredible tribe that congregates here spurs me to write. Even at 1:27 a.m. when I keep drifting off and dreaming of Amber Heard and cheeseburgers. Show me you care about who reads you, too.
When a blogger discloses she no longer can write because of life, readers never say, “dammit, girl. Shake it off and post!” We all have hurdles. I will always pull for my faves to find the fuel to keep on trucking.
I’d better put pedal to the metal and answer some of the girls’ questions.
1. Where did Steve Smith go, and does he still have a house in Charlotte?
Steve Smith is a gritty receiver off whom Grace once made $20. He signed with the Baltimore Ravens after the Carolina Panthers cut him during the offseason.
Being fired is a tremendous motivator. You can imagine what it can do for a man whose essence gives him motivation to play with fire anyway. Steve Smith’s new team will host Carolina this Sunday. He promised weeks ago there would be “blood and guts everywhere” when he next faced the Panthers.
He’s since softened the blow, and answered the second part of your question. Smith, a player who has influenced me as a writer more than most others, said Carolina will always be his home.
He still lives here, and makes frequent trips back to see his kids play soccer.
No blood and guts? Check out what he did to Cincinnati Bengals defensive back Adam “Pac-man” Jones. And that was just a new division rival.
2. If the Bills move to Toronto, will they change their name?
Love the sports questions. The Bills will change names if the team moves to Toronto. There’s a lot of T-shirt and licensed car-flag sales at stake.
Back in the day, you kept the name you moved with, even if it made no sense. There’s no Jazz in Utah, but plenty in New Orleans, the team’s original home. A name like lakers makes about as much sense in L.A. as soy burgers and caffeine-free Coke Zero. But fits where they came from, Minneapolis.
The alliterative and historic Buffalo Bills name will suffer a fate much like the American bison. It’ll drift into obscurity and become a circus sideshow when you see one.
Rocker Jon Bon Jovi sure would love to buy the team and move it to Toronto, but he’s a little short on cash. I know the feeling. I’d have liked to buy a bacon cheeseburger and move it to my mouth, but hey, times are tough. Talk about Living on a Prayer.
If JBJ can scare up a few bucks, here are three names he should consider:
Toronto Bad Medicine – Fearsome. How best to vanquish a Patriot or Dolphin? Faulty pharmaceuticals, of course.
Toronto Gecko Fireballs – I can’t take credit for this one. It came from teamnames.net. It’s a random generator I hope more fantasy football owners use than aspiring NFL team owners.
Toronto Arctic Foxes – We need foxes in sports. This would beat other entries such as Geese, Rob Ford Warriors and Biebersauruses.
3. You played basketball?
Darn tootin’ I did. I was a power forward. In the fourth grade.
At that age, I had reached my grown-up height. Almost. That boded well for my illustrious career. My coaches were gentle Colorado granolas in jeans and flannel shirts. They made suggestions in practice, rather than bark orders.
We were the first team eliminated in the county tournament, in related news.
One night, I lit up the scoreboard.
It’s good they didn’t drug test that day. I was so hyped on Actifed for my uncontrollable hay fever that I don’t think I blinked or peed for 17 days. I scored like 37 points in a 50-44 (or so) loss. I even canned a shot from the free-throw line – on my knees.
The next game, without benefit of bad medicine (what?), I scored one point and fouled out in the first half. And cried on the bench. The rise and fall of another promising basketball career. Thanks, drugs.
4. Can you use a Red Box code more than once?
I haven’t tried in a while, but I hope someone will – the code BREAKROOM used to give unlimited free movies. I’d just drop the knowledge on peeps while we waited in line. I felt like a Rockafeller.
“You know,” I’d say as the person ahead of me tried to scroll past The Oiijia Experiment before I can notice. “If you enter BREAKROOM as the code, you get that movie … for FREE.” You can imagine the reception. Only sometimes did such generosity result in a shin kick or blow to the sternum.
The ones I get by text or email, though, are one per customer. Which is fine. A sternum takes a while to heal, and the first 17 weeks are crucial.
5. What’s that noise they make at kickoff?
My guess it was a type-A, extroverted narcissistic masochist who first had the idea. Hey, let’s start a chant of ‘oooooooooooooo!’ as the placekicker approaches and ball. We’ll switch to ‘ah!’ when he kicks it! Thanks, sparky.
It’s among the worst cheers in football. Others:
Block.That.Kick. – Call me biased. I don’t think they’d ever do this at Colorado. Usually, a meaty-necked male cheerleader at Nebraska leads this one. With a megaphone and sweatbands on both wrists. And white pants. Block what kick?
Defense!ThumpThump.Defense! – in a Kohl Center at the University of Wisconsin in an epic, sold out game against Michigan State, it’s imposing. For New Jersey Tech on a Tuesday night? Just annoying.
Seven Nation Army – This White Stripes song is thumbs-upped on my Pandora. It gets me going. Does it get you going? And my Ravens bitterness has faded. But my eyelids still twitch when I hear Baltimore fans harmonize the opening riff.
You heard me, Steve Smith. Ice up, son.