The New York Jets are lucky the Giants head coach Tom Coughlin decided to resign. All the talk around here is about the legendary patriarch leaving the helm instead of the disastrous outcome for the Jets vs. the Buffalo Bills. A win would have put the Jets in the playoffs. A loss would have resulted in the SOJ . . . Same Ol’ Jets. If you think the Giants fans wanted Tom out you would be wrong. Coughlin is beloved. Few wanted to see him go. Hopefully he’s not done. I would love to see Coughlin coach another team even at his advanced age of 69. But it can’t be the Cowboys; it can’t be the Eagles. I could not root for either of those teams. Couldn’t do it. I would love to see Coughlin coach the Cleveland Browns or the Detroit Lions. Was Coughlin forced to resign? I didn’t think so, but I may have changed my mind when I saw Coach Coughlin step off the stage and cross paths with Giants President and CEO John Mara. After the press conference, Mara stood to greet Coughlin. Ol’ Tom kept right on walking; no words, no acknowledgment. Some say it is Coughlin’s way. He has little use for press conferences and wants out as quick as possible. That’s not how I saw it. I sensed Coughlin’s resignation wasn’t entirely his decision. The pat on the back he received may have been push.
Coughlin would be great in some capacity for the NFL, but I don’t think the NFL, the Commissioner, or the team owners would be happy with what the old-school man of decency would have to say.
The Oregon militiamen can have my Pringles when they pry them from my cold dead hands.
Story for myself. A coincidence that will mean nothing to anyone but me. I was in Asbury Park the other day, the famed beach town in New Jersey. It was a weekday about 2:00 in the afternoon. Parking spots galore. No one around. I pull the car up to an empty spot. It happened to be parking spot #100. I smiled, thinking I could have taken any spot in the lot and somehow landed on the round number 100. I walk to the meter kiosk and put in some coin for a two-hour stay. I get me receipt and walk it back to the car. And what do I see fluttering in the wind . . . . . a one hundred dollar bill! WEO! A hundred dollar bill in spot #100. There it was at my feet. I quickly grab it and shove it in my pocket. Feeling a bit sorry for whoever lost it, I wait around 10 minutes to see if anyone comes along frantic. Five minutes later, which was really only two, I decide to be on my way in fear that someone would actually come along. I decide to walk into the wind just in case there are any more 100s breezing towards me so to maybe find the source. Maybe it was a discarded bank heist! But the lone $100 is the only one I find. I peruse the barren beach and head over to an eclectic dinery for lunch. And since I had a free hundred, I decided to treat myself to an appetizer. Irish Rice Balls. At Kim Marie’s.
And then that weekend at a garage sale I bought two TVs with the leftovers from the $100 find. $100 found in spot #100.
$100 . . . . It felt nice to make money again.
I find the Subaru radio commercial stories a bit annoying.
New Weight Watchers campaign starring Oprah has her pointing and proclaiming, “You gotta lose! You gotta lose! Everybody’s gotta lose!”
Something that Major League Baseball/ESPN should be working on NOW! The L.A. Dodgers play the Yankees this year at Yankee Stadium, September 12-14th, on a Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. This is also likely Vin Scully’s final season announcing baseball for the Dodgers after 67 years, having his start with the Brooklyn Dodgers. Scully’s travels are limited now but he has to come back east to New York to announce a few innings of one of these games on ESPN . . . and it should be ONLY him. Go solo like he does in L.A. That’s what I would do if I ruled the world. Get Scully back to New York to work a game for the entire nation to hear.
Oh, another coincidence. Again, just for me. 45 years ago I was on vacation with the family in Virginia Beach. A storm was coming and so we lowered the pop-up trailer and we all hid in the car until the hurricane blew over. I was way in the back of the station wagon reading “Sports” magazine. I read a story about an unknown playing for the New Orlean Saints, Danny Abramowicz. Abramowicz played for Xavier in college and was drafted in the 17th round by the expansion Saints. He went on to produce some very productive years as a receiver, being named 1st team All-Pro in 1969. And from that one article, Abramowicz became a reference for me whenever talking football receivers. My throw-away line would be, “Yeah, but he’s no Danny Abramowicz.” The amusing muse was meant only for me, not expecting others to remember Danny A. A decade or two pass by and then for the first time in a long long time, I referenced Danny Abramowicz again. It was just the other day. No one asked me who he was because many of my friends have learned to ignore my utterances. But I smiled to myself, satisfied to hear the name “Danny Abramowicz” again, thinking back to that stormy Virginia day in the station wagon, circa 1969. Later that night while flipping through the channels, I stop on the ETWN Christian network. There’s a small roundtable discussion going on about Jesus and fish and stuff. The women are wearing calf-length skirts and the men are in glasses and combovers. But I stayed on the channel because one guy looked as if he didn’t belong. Though elderly, he had some beef to him. He had some shoulders. It looked like he could still lift a box. And then . . . yup . . . his name is captioned: Danny Abramowicz, former NFL All-Star. I hadn’t mentioned his name in 20 years, and then the day I DID say his name . . . .zzzzzzzzzzzz . . . HEY! WAKE UP! . . . . . and then the day I did say his name for the first time in 20 years, there he is. I find him on the TV on a channel I never spent any time on.
Oh, and Danny Abramowicz grew up in Steubenville, Ohio, the home of Dean Martin and Late Show staffer and favorite Bob Borden.
I went to the New York Giants game vs. the Carolina Panthers, the one where Odell Beckham lost his cool. I was expecting some confrontation between the two and it started on the very first play, but that’s now why I called. I went to the game with my daughter, Danielle. She got us two tickets for Christmas. Good seats, lower level, in the corner of the endzone. Now you know those two people who are at every game who feel the need to stand throughout the game? Yeah, there are two at every game. Well, there they were standing right in front of me. Danielle could lean to the right to see around them. The guy to my left could lean to the left to see around them. I had to bend and stretch and crane my neck to get a glance of the game. It was bad enough that they stood and never sat, but when I saw they were tweeting and facebooking and texting while the game was going on . . .. that really bothered me. They were barely watching the game. I didn’t want to make a scene and they seemed like nice kids . . . in their 20s . . . and so I decided to let it go. They would eventually get tired. But they never got tired. They stood from the 1st quarter, through the 2nd quarter, through halftime, and into the 3rd quarter. The Panthers go up 35-7 on another touchdown, a score I sort of saw. I decided I had enough. I kindly tapped the Carolina fan and said softly enough so no one else could hear, “Excuse me, but you’ll have to sit down.” I get an angry glare, with, “We don’t have to do anything!” Oy vey. Here we go. Being with my daughter, I decide to only roll my eyes and let it go. They growl to each other with how rude I am to tell them they have to sit down. The one turns around and shouts, “You could ask us to sit down!” Deciding to create some excitement in this bummer of a game, I bellow back, “I shouldn’t have to ask you to sit down! Look around! You’re the only ones standing, and you’ve been standing the whole game!” Then the guy gets all hot and bothered, and barks “You can’t talk like that to my woman!” I laugh at the tired approach. I return volley with, “Look! I’m talking to YOU! How can you be so unaware that there is someone sitting behind you? You don’t think your standing blocks our view?” He gives a scoff and mutters, “If you think I’m going to sit down now, you’re nuts.” I play along. After every play I lean forward an ask what happened. This goes on for one play, two plays, three and more. “What happened? Did he catch it? Who caught it? Was it a run? Was it a bubble screen?” My daughter wants to get involved in the spat but I tell her to watch and learn. You need to annoy them with kindness. Now I got a thousand questions about every play, breaking into their conversation whenever they start one. I look around and see that I am the only one in this fight. My fellow Giants fans are of no help. A little support from the peanut gallery may have helped the standers to see the error of their ways. Philadephia fans would have bloodied these two long ago. Anyway, the Giants come back slowly but surely. 35-7. 35-14. 35-21. 35-28. By now, the two Carolina fans have tired of being tiresome and sit . . . at least between plays. Giants tie it, 35-35. The Giants fans are delirious, but we all know deep in our heart how this is going to end. 35-35 with 1:46 left in the game. We know, we know. Panthers receive the kickoff. Cam Newton runs for a first down. During the run, the fans way in the front row far below stand to see. This results in an upward wave of standing fans in the stadium. Each row stands when the row in front stands. I ask those in front of us why they stood on that play. The guy snaps, “Because the people in front of us stood up!” “So?” I ask. He howls, “Because I wanted to see the play!” And I shout back in triumph, “NOW YOU GET IT! NOW YOU GET IT!”