People in Baton Rouge are crazy, especially when it comes to LSU.
Tiger Mania has been on my mind for the last couple of weeks. I haven't been keeping up with the Bayou Bengals, but when I heard the fans were coming down hard on the coaches, I had to find out why. Hearing allegations of poor clock management and poor play calling sounds like some heartbreaking losses were stacking up for the Tigers, so you can imagine my surprise when I found out they were undefeated at the time.
Only in Baton Rouge could you find a mass number of fans unhappy with a 7-0 start to the season. Just a few years ago they were cheering Les Miles for his gutsy play-calling on his way to LSU's second BCS championship of the decade. Now those same fans are berating that same style; I guess it's making the game too interesting for them.
I've only watched a couple of games this season, and only half-heartedly at that. What I've see from Miles and his coaches is solid work. In the Auburn game, it wasn't anything the coaches did that led to that loss. The defense played a great game to keep the score close, and that game showcased some of the most outstanding punting you'll probably see all year. Auburn had to fight for nearly every yard of turf, most times starting on their own goal-line.
It was the play of the offense that let everyone down in that game. The plays called were dead on, as were many of the passes, but key throws were dropped by receivers that should have been able to catch them. Open men dropping balls that, if caught, would have meant serious yards, and maybe more points.
In the end the defense spent too many minutes on the field and were worn down by the stellar play of the probable Heisman Trophy winner for this year. LSU fans will try to blame the coaches, but they're not on the field. If the players can't get their heads in the game, the coaches can't step in and play for them.
I'm a fan of Les Miles. He seems to be a decent man who cares about the players in his charge, and has faith in those players to make the plays. Otherwise he wouldn't call the fake punt or go for it on 4th-and-1. I'd love to see more coaches like Miles, who bring excitement to the game, and I'd hate to see anyone fired over the fickle nature of the fans.
Showing posts with label College. Show all posts
Showing posts with label College. Show all posts
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Monday, April 12, 2010
The Dood.
A birthday post from a good friend triggered some nostalgia. "The Dude abides." - The Big Lebowski.
Over the past few months, I've been catching up on content generated by one Wil Wheaton. He's a terrific writer and stories like his are what I hope to one day commit to the bits and pixels that make up this blog. He's a few years older than I, and as I read his work, I see his footprints on the path to maturity that I am walking. It could be the same for all 30-somethings of our generation, but I find it comforting that someone else has had nearly the same feelings and been able to express them in such an eloquent way.
He has also been blogging for a few years longer, and has a rich catalog of prior material to troll through for inclusion in his podcasts and books. I have little doubt that he will find himself, in his later years, with the extraordinary undertaking of culling from scores of missives, those stories to include in his memoir. His children will also have the gift of a written account of who he is and why. I would like the same for mine.
Remember Spin-jas? I guess their closest corollary would be Bakugan or something like that. They were these little tops with ninja torsos that loaded into handheld, spring-loaded, launchers. In a small arena, the two gladiators would whirl like the Tasmanian Devil, gliding toward each other to impact briefly and fly away, with the winner being the last one remaining in the ring. Today I found this to be a metaphor for my experience with D&D, which was the subject of the Radio Free Burrito episode I was listening to at the time.
Throughout my formative years, I would have fleeting encounters with Dungeons and Dragons, which were just enough to make me aware of it, but I had no way of getting into the game. I remember nights at my grandmother's house where my uncle and his friends were gathered around a folding card table, the intensity of their focus and enjoyment drawing me to them the way a gas giant attracts a new moon. I think I was in first or second grade at the time, and way too young to play with teenagers, much less grasp the fundamentals of the game. I can still see my uncle's character sheet, a jumble of numbers and words in a format that made no sense to me then, but in which I would now be able to see a fully realized character. It's like 'The Matrix,' where they look at the symbols crawling down the screen and see a blonde, brunette, or redhead.
The next flash is watching the D&D cartoon on Saturday mornings and cheering on the party in their struggle against Venger. Again I'm in my grandmother's house, but this time in the den, and I have not a care in the world.
A third instance is the movie 'E.T.,' which to this day can still crit against my will stat to sell me a bag of Reese's Pieces, but didn't have a lasting effect on my wisdom where D&D is concerned.
When the Third Edition Ruleset came out, my group of friends began to get together to play. Two of the guys used to play all the time in high school, but for the rest of us, it was our first campaign. Andy was the Dungeon Master, and he made it a great experience for all of us. I wasn't able to make it for every session, and I missed out on some fun nights, from the sound of it.
One of those nights had a twist thrown into it. Andy had created a drinking game tailored specifically for us. He took each mannerisms unique to each person, and certain group interactions, and made up some cards with each one. Each person that night was required to pull one from the deck, which would be their secret drink trigger. I wasn't there to play, but I have heard tales of this night that had me in stitches, and still bring a smile to my face as I think of them. The greatest card, from my point of view, was the one based on me. It is called the Curse of the Cajun Surfer, and is based on my overuse of the term 'dude', which sounds more like 'dood' when I say it. I consider this the greatest, because even though I wasn't there to trigger it personally, everyone in the group had picked it up in the half-mocking way of close friends.
I don't remember who exactly pulled "The Curse," but they got hammered that night because it had become such a part of our everyday lexicon. One of the guys even wrote a song about it. It's hard to believe that all happened nearly ten years ago, because it is still so fresh in my mind as to have happened ten months ago. It has achieved near legendary status among us. As testament, to this day, when making a call to one of these friends, the first word spoken is not "Hello," but "Dood."
Over the past few months, I've been catching up on content generated by one Wil Wheaton. He's a terrific writer and stories like his are what I hope to one day commit to the bits and pixels that make up this blog. He's a few years older than I, and as I read his work, I see his footprints on the path to maturity that I am walking. It could be the same for all 30-somethings of our generation, but I find it comforting that someone else has had nearly the same feelings and been able to express them in such an eloquent way.
He has also been blogging for a few years longer, and has a rich catalog of prior material to troll through for inclusion in his podcasts and books. I have little doubt that he will find himself, in his later years, with the extraordinary undertaking of culling from scores of missives, those stories to include in his memoir. His children will also have the gift of a written account of who he is and why. I would like the same for mine.
Remember Spin-jas? I guess their closest corollary would be Bakugan or something like that. They were these little tops with ninja torsos that loaded into handheld, spring-loaded, launchers. In a small arena, the two gladiators would whirl like the Tasmanian Devil, gliding toward each other to impact briefly and fly away, with the winner being the last one remaining in the ring. Today I found this to be a metaphor for my experience with D&D, which was the subject of the Radio Free Burrito episode I was listening to at the time.
Throughout my formative years, I would have fleeting encounters with Dungeons and Dragons, which were just enough to make me aware of it, but I had no way of getting into the game. I remember nights at my grandmother's house where my uncle and his friends were gathered around a folding card table, the intensity of their focus and enjoyment drawing me to them the way a gas giant attracts a new moon. I think I was in first or second grade at the time, and way too young to play with teenagers, much less grasp the fundamentals of the game. I can still see my uncle's character sheet, a jumble of numbers and words in a format that made no sense to me then, but in which I would now be able to see a fully realized character. It's like 'The Matrix,' where they look at the symbols crawling down the screen and see a blonde, brunette, or redhead.
The next flash is watching the D&D cartoon on Saturday mornings and cheering on the party in their struggle against Venger. Again I'm in my grandmother's house, but this time in the den, and I have not a care in the world.
A third instance is the movie 'E.T.,' which to this day can still crit against my will stat to sell me a bag of Reese's Pieces, but didn't have a lasting effect on my wisdom where D&D is concerned.
When the Third Edition Ruleset came out, my group of friends began to get together to play. Two of the guys used to play all the time in high school, but for the rest of us, it was our first campaign. Andy was the Dungeon Master, and he made it a great experience for all of us. I wasn't able to make it for every session, and I missed out on some fun nights, from the sound of it.
One of those nights had a twist thrown into it. Andy had created a drinking game tailored specifically for us. He took each mannerisms unique to each person, and certain group interactions, and made up some cards with each one. Each person that night was required to pull one from the deck, which would be their secret drink trigger. I wasn't there to play, but I have heard tales of this night that had me in stitches, and still bring a smile to my face as I think of them. The greatest card, from my point of view, was the one based on me. It is called the Curse of the Cajun Surfer, and is based on my overuse of the term 'dude', which sounds more like 'dood' when I say it. I consider this the greatest, because even though I wasn't there to trigger it personally, everyone in the group had picked it up in the half-mocking way of close friends.
I don't remember who exactly pulled "The Curse," but they got hammered that night because it had become such a part of our everyday lexicon. One of the guys even wrote a song about it. It's hard to believe that all happened nearly ten years ago, because it is still so fresh in my mind as to have happened ten months ago. It has achieved near legendary status among us. As testament, to this day, when making a call to one of these friends, the first word spoken is not "Hello," but "Dood."
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