Tuesday, June 5, 2012

Eating crow.

Well, let's see. A few weeks back, I picked the New Jersey Devils to win the Stanley Cup. Now they're down 3-zip to the LA Kings, who have been on an unbelievable roll, with Game 4 coming up in LA. New Jersey storming back to win 4 in a row is theoretically possible, but so's winning the lotto. The fat lady's warming up. A #8 seed is going to win it? Where did these guys come from? Regardless, looks like I was wrong.

In my previous post, I predicted the Boston Celtics could never win a game in Miami. They just did. I was wrong. Can Miami go into Beantown, win Game 6, then come back home again to win Game 7 as well? The last 4 games those teams have played against each other have been "coin-flips", so who knows? Then again, I predicted all along that Miami would win the NBA championship this year, because Lebron would not be denied. I'll probably turn out to be wrong about that too.

I think I inherited it from my late father. It seemed like whoever he rooted for was going down. The man was somehow jinxed in that way. Back in the day, before remote controls were conceived, I WAS the remote control. Put it on Channel 4 boy. Switch it to 7 boy. Get me a beer boy.

Dad loved to watch boxing. Though I'm not positive, I think way back then it was called Gillette's Friday Night at the Fights. This was almost sacred in our house. A hallowed time frame. As a comparison -- you could combine the enthusiam of the most ardent Tiger Woods' fan with the adrenaline of a pumped-up NASCAR maniac on the last lap of the Daytona 500, pump him chock full of steroids, throw in a little fire and brimstone from a Baptist preacher on speed, and that's pretty much how my dad felt about boxing night. This was not a good time for a young boy to get out of line.

But it never failed. Faster than you could say left, right, left, whoever he rooted for always seemed to wind up getting knocked out. That was REALLY a good time to be quiet.

So, God rest his soul, me getting all my picks wrong is simply a matter of heredity. It's HIS fault. Just kidding. But you know what? Unlike most others that try to predict games, only to be proven wrong later -- I'll own it. No excuses. I was wrong.

Given my heritage and personal track record of always getting it bass-ackwards, there's only one thing to do.

I hereby predict the Detroit Tigers will NOT make the playoffs, let alone win the World Series.

So there. I've done my part.

Hey Deb. Many thanks for the Pat Summitt Harley shirt. Pretty cool. Catch up with ya down the road....


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  2. John, you are stirring up really old memories. I believe the Friday night boxing was called The Gillette Cavalcade of Sports, but I guess I could be wrong. When I think of those old fights, it seems to me that Gene Fullmer was on every week. I know that can't be right, but it has stuck with me.

    What I really remember is how much patience was needed to watch anything on those old black and white television sets.
    And now you can watch on your 4 inch cell phone.

    Well, thanks for the trip down memory lane. Life seemed so much simpler then. Not necessarily better, although in some respects it was.

    Later -

    1. Wow Al. You must be an old fart like me. Gillette C of S sounds right. I vaguely remember Fullmer, a middleweight I think, that had a strange way of throwing punches. To put it in perspective, I was in 7th grade with a morning Detroit Free Press paper route, when JFK got shot in Dallas. I remember the HUGE headlines, and I was reading the story as I walked along folding up papers and throwing them on porches. Or put another way, the Leave it to Beaver era was winding down. In a scant few years, the entire American social landscape would drastically change. Glad I could stir up some hopefully good memories for you. In my opinion, your last 2 sentences summed it up perfectly. Glad I was there, if only for a short while. Have a great day.

  3. Or an older fart than you. I was in 9th grade when Kennedy was assassinated.

    1. OK then. You're 2 years older than I am. That means you're closing in on 39 -- right? I learned that one from my mom. She's still very much alive and well, and ya never know when your mom might read your stuff. Have to be careful about those things. LOL