4-20-07 Maple Meadows East 9

Maple Meadows’ East 9 hole course is one of my personal favorites to play. It is long, well kept and most every hole challenges your decision and shot making abilities. Course management is important, whether it is avoiding water, which comes into play on 7 of the 9 holes, or fade/draw/lay up decisions to line up your approaches on the dog-legs (holes 2, 4 and 6), or just plain-old trying to stay out of the fuckin’ trees (5-8 holes, depending on your accuracy).

More important than the physical attributes or value ($14 to walk during the week), I love this little course because it is always nice and wide open. Never need to set up a tee time, and never need to stand around and wait for more than one group ahead of you. Furthermore, unlike at Streamwood Oaks, I can, with almost 100% assuredness, promise you that you will not run into some asshole ranger, starter or fellow golfer. I don’t know what it is…but something about the place makes everyone happier, even when they are playing off of your fairway or if you are playing off their’s.

I got out their on the 20th for my first round of the season with my Dad and my brother Alex. Pops had just picked up a pretty nice oversize Prince driver from Meijer, and I was anxious to do my best John Daly impression (I have been working on the gut for quite some time, now).

After slicing my 3 iron into the trees of the 220 yard par 3 3rd hole. This green is severely sloped from back to front and the only good play off the tee is straight down the pipe, as you cannot control the roll if you end up over or on either side of the putting surface. I ended up with a triple bogey on this hole.

I drove the ball surprisingly well. Well…surprisingly accurately, I should say. I put the ball where I wanted and was able to control my fade fairly well, which is not something I normally do with the big drivers. The only problem was that I was skying the hell out of the ball. I probably only gained 10 or 20 more yards total with the big stick than I could hit my normal Wilson driver. It is somewhat frustrating to finally stop slicing balls into the next county off the tee with a 450cc driver but not actually gain that extra 40 or 50 yards you expect. More galling than my still-short tee shots, though, was my short game. I finished up last season with a fantastic round at the Arboretum Club, a round where I went 18 holes without a 3 putt, due largely in part to my effectiveness around the green with my pitching and sand wedges. Guess a few long and cold winter months did well to cool off that streak, though, as I could not put it within 10 or 15 feet all day, and I did not know where the ball was going with the flat stick. Could not get a good read on the greens, which are not particularly tough there, and my pace was all messed up.

At the end of the day I beat both my Dad and Alex, but not by more than a few strokes (or one stroke, depending on whose card you are going by…mine read 54 and my Dad’s 57). More importantly, I just did not feel well about how I played. I was steady, but short off of the tee and my short game was beyond stupid. I did make solid contact with my mid-irons, but I did not always know where they were going. I suppose it was not bad for my first proper round of the season…but I was hoping for something a little better than 6 strokes a hole.

SCORECARD

Hole	1	2	3	4	5	6	7	8	9	Out
Yardage	177	537	220	321	308	436	326	300	190	2815
Par	3	5	3	4	4	4	4	4	3	34
Alex	4	9	5	5	7	10	6	7	4	57
Dad	5	10	4	8	7	8	6	5	6	58
Me	6	8	6	6	5	9	5	5	4	54

Next planned outing is for Twin Lakes this Friday with my brother in-law Chris. Nice little course, and I am looking forward to getting some short game practice, as well as golfing with Chris again.

There is one, and only one, thing I like about the NFL Draft

The hand-wringing of some dopey white quarterback who thought he was going to be drafted first overall and still has not been taken through 16 picks.

I love it, and today Notre Dame quarterback Brady Quinn has officially joined the Matt Leinart dissed-at-the-draft club.

Wait a minute…breaking news…with the 17th pick…the Denver Broncos select…NOT Brady Quinn.

I know nothing about college football. Don’t follow it. Don’t watch it. Don’t particularly care for it. I know nothing about Brady Quinn. Maybe he was the best player in the draft. I don’t know, and fuck if I care. Nothing pleases my heart more than watching the squirming and writhing and frustration of some well-to-do college kid who thinks he is getting disrespected and overlooked, though.

Now, I have a policy regarding whenever Mel Kiper and/or Michael Irvin and/or Chris Berman is on the television. That policy is the mute button. So I do not know how much spittle is flying about this whole issue…but as I said…I enjoy every minute of it…every time they cut back to the frustrated Quinn and his girlfriend it makes me smile big. Fuck Brady Quinn and his sense of entitlement. Dumb bastard should be happy to fall so low in the draft. He is going to end up with a better team.

P.S. The San Jose Sharks are up on Detroit 2-0 early in the first, and the Bengals just selected NOT Brady Quinn with the 18th pick.

Update: The Browns traded to pick Quinn at 22. I guess the whole thought of him landing with a better team was wrong.

Enjoy the mistake by the lake, Brady. Bring your shiv.

Buehrle & The Beast

Last night, Mark Buehrle entered the history books by throwing the first no-hitter of his career, the first Sox no-no since Wilson Alvarez 16 years earlier. Buehrle has been in the front car of the White Sox roller coaster the past few seasons, pitching like a stud and winning a championship in 2005, then following up in 2006 with a career-worst 12-13 record and 4.99 era. This year started off where last year ended, not even making it out of the 2nd inning in his first start and giving up 3 runs in the first inning of his next start. Following that first inning against of his April 11th start in Oakland, though, he has been untouchable, warranting only 1 hit in the 15 innings since.

I did not have the opportunity to watch the no-no, as I was at work. Listening to the Cubs on WGN, Corey Provus announced in his 5th inning fill-in duties that Buehrle was sitting on a no hitter in the 6th. When Pat Hughes later announced he still had it going in the 8th, I knew to flip over, if only to hear Ed Farmer dance around stating the obvious.

“Mark Buehrle has faced the minimum.”

“Buehrle has only faced 24 batters through 8 innings.”

“The only Rangers base runner tonight was a walk to Sammy Sosa who Buehrle picked off a few pitches later.”

Hopefully this will provide the somewhat lethargic Sox with a shot in the arm. While it is far too early to determine if this is a championship-caliber team, If Buehrle, Garland and Contreras can all start pitching like they are capable of, the Sox will definitely be in the hunt.

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Meanwhile, on the other side of town, the Keystone Cubs are still a laugh riot. I long ago abandoned the attitude of hope and excitement about my team going into the season as possible contenders. Instead of World Series hopes, I now, in my old age, just look forward to spending my afternoons and evenings hearing the crack of the bat and the pop of the (opposing team’s) catcher’s mitt. For those of you smart enough to not be following this team, I will give you a quick recap of what has been learned through 14 games:

-Carlos Zambrano has gone from being crazy good to just plain old crazy.
-Will Ohman remains a better disc jokey than relief pitcher.
-Rich Hill, the youngest and only starter in the top 4 not being grossly overpaid, is pitching lights out.
-Wade Miller still sucks at baseball.
-The outfield is currently in danger of tallying more errors than home runs.
-Jacque Jones still could not throw out a baserunner if he were standing on the pitcher’s mound…and if the baserunner were Christopher Reeve.
-”Defensive shortstop” Cesar Izturis had a 3 error game.
-Kerry Wood & Mark Prior are both hurt and did not start the season. SHOCKING.
-Mark DeRosa leads the team in home runs.
-800 billion dollar man Alfonso Soriano tweaked his hammy during the first Cubs night game, but did not want to go on the DL, which prompted the team to send long reliever Angel Guzman down to AAA Iowa and call up the legendary “next great 5 tool player” Felix Pie to fill in center field where, the very next day, the game went to 14 innings and Lou had to burn up the entire bullpen because they had no long reliever which further prompted Lou to let Cliff Floyd figure out the lineup decisions in the last inning that resulted in Jason Marquis pinch hitting and he would have had to play first base had the game continued but instead the Cubs lost 6-4 because Will Ohman is still bad.
-Ron Santo still makes me want to die.

I am glad baseball is back and I do not believe that the Cubs will have the kind of year they did last year. There are some encouraging points. The afformentioned Rich Hill, who looks like the real deal through his first 3 starts. Ryan Theriot is hitting everything and provides smart and fast base running. Felix Pie has already lapsed the combined outfielding talent of every other outfielder the Cubs have by putting on a clinic on approach angles and also throwing out a would-be go ahead run at the plate in the 14 inning marathon.

Most encouraging is Lou Piniella. He has already shown a willingness to shuffle the lineup and put in the players who give the team, what he thinks, is the best chance for victory…regardless of their age or reputation. He also has been completely honest in his assessment of the team with the media, already having a couple of well-televised little blowups. I still have questions about him as a manager, particularly with regard to his use of pinch hitters and runners innings, leaving his bench and bullpen thin in the later innings, but I am pleased with his candor, honesty and aggressive managing style. It is a welcome change from Dusty Baker.

The Cubs have as good a shot at the playoffs as anyone in the division noone wants to win…how deep they go will depend on how hot the bats get and if Carlos Zambrano gets his head on straight.

VA Tech Shootings

For those of you (us) who live in a cave, it may concern you to know that earlier in the week, Virgina Tech hosted the largest shooting spree murder in American history. The killer was a young man named Cho Seung-hui, and, as per usual, the fingers are already being pointed at video games and movies as the source of this rampage.

No…really…this troubled young man who was found to be “metally ill” and a “danger to self or others” approximately a year and half before his murderous rampage, and who was asked by an English Professor to receive professional counseling, and who was removed from a poetry class by another Professor because of his “menacing behavior,” went on a killing spree because he watched Old Boy one too many times.

It shocks and astounds me. Educated, intelligent people whose opinions I normally respect (read: Milt Rosenberg) are, once again, glossing over the facts and turning straight to violence in music, video games and movies as the reason for this terrible tragedy.

As I have already alluded to, this young man was was a little more than “troubled.” He was diagnosed with depression and medicated for it. He had submitted one act plays and stories in his writing classes filled with pedophilia and violence disturbing enough to cause his teachers to speak with their higher-ups about his mental state and recommend he seek therapy. He was introverted and all of his classmates (well…those looking to get on television) are coming out to say that they were uncomfortable with his presence and that noone seemed surprised when they found out he was the shooter. One of his teachers went so far to say that she “would have been shocked if it wasn’t [him].”

Even days afterwards when his bizarre, rambling multimedia manifesto that he mailed in between the time of his first two murders and the thirty to come arrived at NBC News in New York, people are still looking past his mental and emotional problems and decrying the effect fictitious entertainment had on him.

What about all the real life violence? What about Fox News, MSNBC and CNN doing round the clock coverage of the “war” in Iraq? Constantly updating death totals. Field reporters in the middle of fire fights and insurgent sabotages. Live footage of the aftermath of suicide bombings. What about those same networks and their round the clock coverage of the “tragic” death of Anna Nicole Smith? Jon Benet Ramsey? Laci Peterson? Remember that whole O.J. Simpson thing? This is a country and a culture completely obsessed and fascinated with murder and death. We demand it every day on the front pages of the print media and at the top of every television newscast. Amidst all of the murder, homicide, genocide and natural disaster death we are bombarded with every single day by the media, the media somehow finds a way to make people believe that they are the ones doing the service, and violent entertainment the disservice.

Perhaps it is just me, but I think it smacks of complete arrogance and laziness that someone can blame popular culture and entertainment as the source of violent crime and overlook the glaring deficiencies in the home lives, parenting and upbringing of the young people in the United States of America. I was brought up in the halcyon days of violent gangster rap, horror movies and video games. While the content has certainly become more detailed and graphic of late, I was in at the ground floor when blood began appearing in video games and guns in music videos, and I believe the effect was just as impactful, if not more, than it is today, as it was new and not monitored by parents or by the government nearly as closely as it is today. I was exposed to all of it, too. Mortal Kombat. The Geto Boys. Friday the 13th. I enjoyed all of these things as an impressionable young boy. I took in all the gore and violence, but still have yet to apply them in real life.

Why?

Simply put, because I have parent’s who taught me right from wrong. Fact from fiction. I was able to hear Willie D rap about killing people and knew that it was wrong because I was brought up under the impression that violence and murder were…you know…bad things. A stable and considerate upbringing will lead to a stable and considerate adult. It is not really that hard, is it? How many troubled young people that have gone on to commit attrocities like this came from a stable, two parent home that did not include and physical, mental or sexual abuse? I am willing to wager they are few and far between.

We just brought our first child into this world two months ago and things like this absolutely terrify me. Not because I worry our daughter will end up shooting up a school or a mall someday. I am confident in our ability to raise a well-adjusted and emotionally stable child. We may not be able to provide a life of luxury for her, but I know that when we turn out loose into the world as an adult, she will know right from wrong and will have a strong sense of what reality is. My terror comes from knowing that our child might someday be taken away from us forever because another set of parents failed to raise their child and let The Matrix raise it for them.

Let me tell you about my day.

Well, I suppose it started the prior evening, so I will start there. Nikki went to lay down and get some rest. Chris was over hanging out with Grace and me. She was a little cranky, but after an hour or two and a diaper change, she fell asleep in my arms at about 10 pm. At 10:15 I laid her down in the bassinet, fully expecting her to wake up within the next 5-30 minutes. I slowly and quietly backed out of the bedroom and rejoined Chris in the living room, where we ended up watching television and talking until midnight rolled around. Realizing that Nikki only wanted to take a nap, I went in to check on the two of them. Nik woke up and joined us for another couple hours of television and talking Her stomach was still bothering her a little and she hoped it would settle down before Chris left and we decided to turn in for good. Before hitting the hay, we woke Grace up for one more feeding, in the hopes that she would fall back asleep and not wake up right after we get into bed, and she did. We ended up going to bed at about 3:30 am.

I remember waking up for another diaper change and feeding in the middle of the night…perhaps around 5 am. Not sure about that time or when I got back to bed, but I know the next time I woke up it was around 8 am. After Grace ate this time, it was apparent that she would not be going back to bed. Nikki was still not feeling well, so I offered to take Grace out in the living room and keep her occupied so Nikki could sleep off her tummy issues. Grace and I watched golf for a couple hours before waking up Mommy for another feeding. This time, I hopped in the shower while she fed, as we had a big day ahead of us. A big day which I have prepared for by getting 4 or 5 hours of sleep. I was going to drop them off at the In-Law’s house as I had to work a full shift this particular Saturday. The plan was for the two of them to hang out with Grandpa (Grandma is out of town) while I worked, and then that night we would all head over to my parent’s house for dinner.

Well, to cut through the treehole, we ended up departing for the greater Streamwood area at 12 noon. We made (what we hoped would be) a quick stop at Starbucks and arrived at about 12:30 pm. The Cubs had already started and I was hoping to have been at work for at least 30 minutes by this point…but all is well. There is still plenty of time, I thought. After getting them situated I took off for work and arrived at 1. I got to work immediately and immediately I forgot how much more work there is to do on Saturday then during my normal shift. If I might compare it to something like the CDC, during the week…I am working on containment. A virus has broken out and my job is to limit the spread. To oversee the entire area and make sure the population is not at risk. Saturday is a different animal, though. Saturday is the post-apocalyptic cleanup day. Everyone is evacuated or dead. I am there to, not only cleanup the infected bodies, but to disinfect every remaining element of daily life. With so much more to do, I had begun to deeply question my decision to leave work early Friday night and save some of the extra things I could have gotten done for Saturday morning.

Two hours elapse and I have almost completed the upstairs office area (1/2 – 1/3 of the entire job) when Nikki calls and asks if I will be done soon. After a quick “Not a chance,” she says she is hungry and was hoping I could bring her some lunch. Not having eaten in quite some time myself, I agree to leave and pick up some food, as I would not be having dinner until 7 pm or later and I knew I would probably be at work until 6 at the rate I was going. I tried the gyros club sandwich at Chiggy’s, and I would rate it 3 out of 5 stars. The taste is delicious and the portion is generous, but it is a bitch to try and eat. After inhaling my food as quickly as possible I headed back to work where I still had a lot left to do. I received a call from Alex asking me what country Prague was in. He said my Dad and he were just getting onto the Elgin O’Hare, coming back from 6 long hours of stripping and waxing floors at the terminal in Lyons. I informed him that I was still at the Schaumburg terminal and that I would see him for dinner. Not too long after that, I had just switched from Rammstein to Gentle Giant on my iPod, when I turned around and saw Alex. “Calvary’s here,” he proclaimed. He and my Dad asked what work I had left and split up to help me finish it. While I thought at the time it was just a nice gesture…I had no idea how much help I would really need.

Alex split off to take care of the line haul driver’s breakroom, while I remained in the lower offices and Dad headed out to the dock offices. This time was approximately 4:30 or 5:00 pm. Alex came running back after only a minute away and said “Come here. We have a situation. A bad one.” We made haste to the lunchroom where, behind the monolithically retarded ice maker, it appeared to be raining from the ceiling. It looked as though there was some sort of microburst directly above the machine and what seemed to be a monsoon-level storm was pouring forth. Meanwhile, the lunchroom was flooded, the electrical room next to the lunchroom was flooded, the office area adjoined to the lunchroom was flooded and the classroom next to that office area was flooding. Assuming a toilet or sink was overflowing upstairs, Alex and I ran up there to investigate. To our surprise…nothing. Everything was kosher up there…but we could hear, in the wall, the definite sound of running…well…gushing water.

I headed back down to take a look at things again while Alex ran after my Dad to get backup. I climbed upon a shelf next to the ice machine and peered up into the gaping hole in the ceiling where two of the the ceiling tiles had collapsed to the floor under the added weight of so much water. The tiles normally hid all sorts of duct work, copper pipes and wires, none of which I knew the purpose or use of. All I knew is that everything up there was wet and dripping. After a little fiddling around and investigation, I realized that the water was not gravity assisted but was, in fact, shooting up into the ceiling from the floor behind the ice machine. About this time, Alex rejoined me and we pulled the machine away from the wall. Sure as shit, the copper tube that connects the ice machine to the main water line and valve at the baseboard of the wall and floor had come off and absolutely frigid, pressurized water was geysering straight up anywhere from 8-10 feet. Like a plumbing version of Red Adair, I dove right down in there, face first into the geyser and began turning the valve shut. 5 or 10 seconds might not sound like a long time, but when you are staring into a fucking fire hose it feels like an eternity. It seemed as though it would take 20 or 30 turns to shut the valve and cut off the water.

Once I did get the thing shut down…I came back out from behind the machine and only the area between my ankles and my waist was not soaked to the bone. I would later find that the water had penetrated under the glass of my wristwatch, which is waterproof down to 30 meters. I stood up, stepped back a little and Alex asked me how I was. I tried to think of something witty. That didn’t work so then I just tried to say that I was fine, but I am not sure that even worked. I am not sure I was able to give him an answer other than the sound of chattering teeth. It took me a minute or so to regain my composure and then we began to survey the damage. By this point, my Dad was back and we were also joined by the Operations Manager on duty, who had been alerted earlier to call a plumber. I told him to cancel that call, which he did, but he also put a call into the fire department, as a few people in what was now Lake Cubicle keep their computers on the floor and they were plugged in, sitting in an inch of water, and he was concerned about electrocution. Personally, I was only concerned with cleaning that shit up, changing into some dry socks and eating that meatloaf I know my Mom had made for dinner.

It cost the three of us an extra hour or more to get all the water cleaned up. They do not have a wet-dry vacuum there, so we had to use pushbrooms and squeegees to herd the water to the drain underneath the ice machine, which had become blocked by the sludge of decaying, wet ceiling tiles.

It was right about this time when I really began questioning my decision to stay up and hang out with Chris instead of kicking him out and getting myself an extra 4 hours of shuteye.

The flow made it all the way into the dock lunchroom, which is separated from ground zero by two or three walls, and the huge quantity of water going down the drain caused some overflow in the office bathroom drains. The lasting ramifications of this incident will not be felt until water-damaged electronic components begin to fail, until floor tiles begin to become unglued and pop up, until the bottoms of their file cabinets rust out, or until they begin to discover mold in the water-logged walls. That is not our concern, though. As for us…we contained the virus and cleaned up the red zone, so to speak. After finishing up all the work we had forgone to attend to the disaster, at approximately 7 pm the three of us sauntered out of there like the opening credits in Reservoir Dogs. Sure, we did not have the suits or sunglasses and we weren’t walking in slo-mo, but there was a certain sense of odd pride and hilarity as we exhaustedly joked about the incident as we headed out to our cars only to meet up again about an hour later for that delicious meatloaf.