Fun Fact #763

The cleanliness of my bathroom is inversely proportionate to the (relative) length of my hair.

This axiom sounds more telling than it probably is.

Stranger than Fiction!
I was sleep-walking to the Metro today, so what I'm about to spill into this space could be made up, but I don't think it is. Stumbling along, minding my own business, I had just thought to myself, "I really don't desire to go to work today."

The end.

No. I kid. I had just thought that I didn't want to go to work and that I was barely awake, when out of the sky came a bird. This bird attacked from the rear flank and slammed into my upper arm and backpack before flying away. Stunned by this event, I looked around and saw the bird flapping away. I walked on and the bird turned as if to make another attack. As he flew by, I ripped my bag from my back and tossed it aside. The bird was not near enough for another strike, but still too close for comfort. Two kind gentlemen asked, "What happened?" as I looked around with a mixture of fear and anger.

"The bird attacked me," I replied. They laughed. I grabbed my bag and rushed off saying only, "There's a story for you."

Later, I tried to formulate a headline for my story. It went something like this: Bird attacks man with banana. Banana not that good anyway.

MAGIC-al
I'm a little bit excited for the NBA Finals. Not a lot excited, but a little bit. I'm excited because for the first time in a long time, a lot of the sportswriters seem to be talking about the same thing and it's not scandalous. They're talking about the battles of the past. They're talking about the history of the sport. They're talking about Bird and Magic and games that happened 21 years ago. Part of what makes (made?) pro sports so cool when I was a kid was the history and the continuity. There were fewer teams and fewer stars. The stars weren't so overexposed and if they happened to be greedy bastards it wasn't on the nightly news. They were grown men, playing a game, and generally they stayed with the same team for most of their careers. Teams like Boston and L.A. had the potential to be dynasties. I'm not sure I knew what that meant, but I knew it meant greatness.

Yes. Yes. I know this is an over-simplified analysis, but it's the analysis through the eyes of an idealistic 9-year old. Just a boy who wanted to grow up and play. Because playing was the best thing he knew to do. Now, I see a lit bit of that idealism in the columns and the sports-world chatter of excitement for this coming series. ESPN is replaying Game 6 of the 1987 Finals right now. The men in that game are not particularly muscular-looking. They look like they could have been pulled off the playgrounds. They were the pros. It's no wonder boys thought they could achieve that ideal. The fans are decked out in purple and gold. The shiny jackets are out in force. I don't know how those went out of style. I'm told, however, that they are out of style. If they replay this summer's series on on ESPN in 2030, I bet we'll see a lot Kobe jerseys. Will we wonder if we'd gone from wanting to be superstars to just wanting to dress like them? Maybe not. Maybe this series is going to bring back some of the magic to the NBA. Maybe it can be relevant again as a game instead of a business. It's stirring up a lot of history, which brings some excitement for the fans with a memory. What does it do for the new fans, I can only wonder. The teams lack some continuity, but that might be overlooked if we end up with a great series.

I worry that too many columns and too many blogs will slice and dice and analyze this series to death. I'm tempted to limit my sports reading to once daily with breakfast like the old days. I can't recall if I was taking the paper with the '87 Finals, but I'm certain I poured over the sports sections when Jordan was dispatching my hero Magic and the Lakers. I put up posters, full size behind the door and wore a purple Lakers hat, but the changing of the guard had come and it took me another 10 years to realize it. Here I am trying to appreciate the sports heroes of today. They don't seem to have the reach and the power that they did back then (if one ignores advertising dollars), but maybe the change is less about them and more about me. One change is certain: Go Celtics.

Monday is funday

My primary "flippin'-the-bird" finger has been swollen for two months. I finally made it to the doctor two weeks ago to see if maybe there was some breakage. My doctor referred me to the X-ray people, so now, two weeks later, I have found out that while I may be permanently disfigured, the guy who pulled my finger pulled it all back in place quite nicely. The referral doctor reminded me a bit of Kirk Douglas, in one of my all-time favorite movies Tough Guys, but he told me I was basically fine, so that's good news. Or may be it was Burt Lancaster. Either way, that's the closest I've come to liking a doctor in ages. I'm not sure we really developed a rapport, but then I forgot to tell him that he reminded me of a movie from the '80s. Maybe next time.

In non hand gesture news, I found out that garbage disposals have reset buttons. While this made my landlord look particularly handy, it made me feel just a bit on the dumb side. It also seems like maybe the landlord could have saved a trip here and just said, "have you pressed the reset button?"

I think reset buttons should go be placed on just about everything that can break. Car battery dead? Hit the reset button. City-wide power outage? reset button. Broken hopes and dreams? Reach under your foot and hit the little red button.

Now get out there and give it another go.

Up and at 'em
I could find very little enthusiasm for a 5k this morning. By the time I rolled out of bed and headed to the race, I knew that my warm-up would be cut short. Poor planning meant that I had no idea. What I thought would be an 8:00 AM start time was actually a 7:50 start time. I joined the crowd at the line when the starter announced, "1 minute until race time." I snuck through a few extra bodies and went off with the gun. I was awake and knew I had to move up on the tight course before I got boxed in. I moved a little too well as the out of this course was mostly on a slight downhill. I knew I was pressing, but I felt completely out of whack and so I figured I might as well press on. At the halfway point, I was out of touch with the group in front of me and running at 8:25. I knew that it would take a miracle to keep that pace. At 2 miles I was at 11:07 and the morning was starting to weigh heavier than early summer humid air. I chugged along, pretending that I might found the wherewithal to make a move forward. Eventually, I was passed by a few more people and I considered a full-blown collapse. I fought to the finish without being passed again, but I was out in no man's land. I finished in 17th in a time of 17:56 with a few dry heaves.

Some days are better than others...