The Sleeping Bear

I have few regrets. Sure I’ve got the usual “I wish I wouldn’t have tried to outrun the cops on my motorcycle” or “I wish I wouldn’t have taken that skydive”.

But those regrets are minor. My biggest regret is never learning to throw a knuckleball. Think about it for a second: Instead of spending an hour and a half on crowded freeways for the pleasure of sitting in an artificially lighted cubicle with nary a window typing away like a monkey at a cheap, coffee-stained keyboard, I could be sitting on the bench of my favorite squad, the Minnesota Twins, chewing tobacco or sunflower seeds talking about my latest sexual conquests to future Hall of Famer Johan Santana. And the Twins would be paying me more than I’ll make in 20 years at the cubicle farm to talk BJs with Johan.

“But you have no talent, SCL. Your cheese tops out at 70 MPH. You can’t play baseball.”

Ye of little faith: 70 MPH is the perfect speed for a knuckler. In fact, you can throw it 55 MPH and get it to wiggle up and down more than a cheap hooker. That’s the beauty of the knuckler – you don’t need a rocket arm to be an effective Exhibit A: Tim Wakefield. Wakefield was drafted as an everyday player. After shuttling between the corner infield positions in minor league ball, his manager told him he didn’t have the talent to get past AA. Sure, Wakefield could have quit, returned dejectedly home to Florida and a life of strip clubs, backwoods bars, gator fights and swamp living. But he didn’t. He came up with the million dollar plan of mythic proportions: He learned to throw a knuckleball. Next thing you know, he was in the majors, going 8-1 with a sub 3.00 ERA in his rookie season, helping lead the Pirates and pre-balloon melon Barry Bonds to the playoffs. And don’t think he wasn’t getting his fair share of Rust Belt groupie tail despite his Neanderthal looks. We all know chicks dig the knuckle.

Sure, your career will flutter like the ball you throw. Wakefield fell on hard times, struggling to tame the wild beast that is the knuckler. Control issues led to his release from the Pirates just two years after his meteoric rise to fame. But Wakefield didn’t knuckle under. He kept his chin up and learned to keep his knuckleball down, signed with the Red Sox and became their longest tenured player, winning a championship and earning the city’s love in the process.

Wakefield won 17 games at the age of 40, a baseball rarity, and earned $4 million dollars doing it. Over his career, he’s made almost $40 million. In fact, the Red Sox have given him a contract that, if they decide they want him, pays him 4 million bucks a year for life. And he could pitch forever – the knuckle ball places little strain on your elbow, shoulder or arm.

And boy is Wakefield popular. Let’s face it, everyone loves a knuckleball thrower. They’re the everyman of professional sports. God hasn’t blessed them with freakish athletic gifts. They perservere in spite of their athletic inadequacies, pushing a rotationless ball slowly toward muscled roidheads. And they utterly embarrass them, causing the ugliest swings you’ll see anywhere. It’s the ultimate David vs. Goliath.

So kids, take heed: Learn to throw the knuckleball. You’ll thank me when you’re getting high-class hookers and snorting coke like a rock star.

Magic Johnson perfected the no-look pass. Cedric Ceballos the no-look dunk. But they’ve got nothing on my dental hygienist. Yeah, she’s a no-look hygienist.

Nobody likes the dentist. Generally, here’s how it goes for me:

“How often do you brush?”

“Twice a day.”

“Great. How often do you floss?”

“Twice in my life.”

Usually they laugh and ask “No, seriously.”

I couldn’t be more serious.

Then we get down to business. Business usually involves lots of pointed metal things poking my gums. It’s unpleasant, I bleed a little, I rinse, I spit. I go on my merry way.

Not this time. This time my hygienist was trying her hardest to reinvent dentistry. We exchange pleasantries, she gets to work. She’s grabbing her metal scrapers, I’m focusing intently on the light above my head, hands clasped to my chest. She pokes my gums, my hands clasp a little tighter.

And then it happens: As she’s scraping my teeth, I notice her turn her head and look into the hallway. Shit, I’m tempted to look in the hallway. Did Britney Spears walk by? Rosie O’Donnell? Maybe a hairy sasquatch? Nah, in either case I would have smelled something queer.

I figure it’s an isolated incident. She continues cleaning. She’s working my molars over pretty good. A solid scrape hits the gumline, causing me to wince. And then another. I take my eyes off the light and she’s looking into the hallway again.

Five more gum slashing lookaways later and I’m a bloodied mess. I’m rinsing and spitting more than Jenna Jameson.

And then we’re done. I never did determine what she was looking at in the hallway. Maybe she sees dead people. Maybe she had a kink in her neck. Or maybe she’s just a god-awful excuse for a dental hygienist.

When two evenly matched teams collide, as the undefeated #4 St John’s University Johnnies and #18 St. Olaf Oles did on Saturday, the game is usually decided by special teams. Near the end of the third quarter, with the Oles seemingly on their way to a big win, the Oles special teams play had been a big part of their lead. Trailing 14-9 in the second quarter, the Oles Andrew Schmiesing fielded a punt at his 25 and cruised down the left sideline for a 75-yard TD that gave the Oles a 16-14 lead with just a 1:20 to go until halftime.

And in the third quarter, after the Oles had just driven 57 yards to kick a 27 yard field goal and regain the lead, 19-17, Josh Rose fumbled the Oles’ kickoff, setting them up inside the 35. They used the momentum gained from that fumble recovery to score on an 8-yard run by bulldog Coty Watkins to run up a 26-17 lead.

And then God intervened, seemingly favoring the Catholic university. With the Johnnies near midfield, Alex Kofoed, who bounced back from a poor showing against Carleton to go 28-43 for 318 yards and three TDs, went back to pass, got hit and winged a rainbow inside the 10. Brian Weber came out of nowhere to pluck the ball out of the air, avoid the congestion and waltz into the right corner of the endzone in front of a rabid Clemens Stadium homecoming crowd estimated at over 12,000.

Momentum had swung back in the home team’s favor. The Johnnies held the Oles on a fourth and 8 from inside their 40 and another Kofoed to Weber miracle brought the Johnnies inside their five. Weber slipped past the Ole safety, who had fallen down and had nothing between him and the goal line when Kofoed uncorked a pass that seemed destined for the ground 5 yards beyond #5. But with a burst and a full layout, Weber popped up with a remarkable catch, the Johnnies were first and goal and the Oles were on their heels. Mike Patnode finished the drive off with a three yard run, the Johnnies try for two was stopped, but the Johnnies had a four point lead.

The Oles drove for a FG to get within 1 with 5 minutes left, but the Johnnies pounded the ball from there, getting a key third down grab from Brett Saladin and a facemask penalty to continue the drive and end the game. It was another fourth quarter comeback and another 6-0 start for the Johnnies.

And yet, in the end special teams did play a key role: Two botched Oles long snaps, one on a 30+ FG and one on an extra point, proved to be the difference in the contest.

The Oles proved their mettle in defeat, however. If they run the table the rest of the way they should earn a playoff berth because that is one solid squad. Their defensive and offensive lines dominated for most of the game, they’ve got some excellent Florida talent at WR (Gant, 6 catches for 101 yards and a score) and CB (Hutchins limited Weber to 1 catch for 4 yards before going out with an injury late in the third quarter) and their running game is explosive. They were very reminiscent of some of the early 2000s Bethel squads that Meidt helped lead to playoff berths.

For the Johnnies, Mike Patnode quietly had another solid performance. Though he didn’t gain 230 yards like the previous week against Carleton, he did manage to gain 135 combined rushing and receiving yards. Aaron Blackmore also returned to the lineup after a two-week absence, notching 74 combined rushing and receiving yards.

On defense, the Johnnies rotated in two additional defensive backs on obvious passing downs, a tactic that limited their pass rush but shutdown the Oles deep out passing attack. In typical Johnnies style, they bent, but didn’t break, limiting the big plays that led the Oles to average 550+ yards and 50+ points through the first give games of the season.

With the win, the Johnnies inch closer to yet another MIAC title. They still close with three of their final four on the road – Gustavus, Hamline, and Bethel, with Bethel matching the Johnnies undefeated MIAC start. And then there’s the always tough Tommie game to contend with. But it’s been a promising start so far, with the Johnnies finding ways to win close contests.

I’m a Viking fan. Always have been. Always will be. Even after they move to LA. So I’ve always looked at Brett Favre with some jealous disdain. Let’s face it, just about everyone in the national media sees this guy as the second coming of Jesus. Hooked on painkillers? It’s because he wants to compete so hard he doesn’t want to miss a game. Leaves a teammate out to dry in a contract holdout? He just wants to win. Throws 5 INTs? He’s a gunslinger.

That stuff gets old. He’s a great QB – I get that – but he’s not a saint. He’s got his demons. It’s OK, it doesn’t make him any less of an athlete because he’s had problems.

I thought I’d seen it all. I thought the national media had jerked off to an image of Favre throwing a TD pass enough. But, after Favre broke Dan Marino’s all-time TD record, throwing a beautiful slant to Greg Jennings for the score, I could barely hear Peter King’s line of questioning he had Favre’s johnson so far down his throat:

“You changed the play from the line of scrimmage. It was a great audible. What did you see?” A great question, no doubt, but it stunk of giving Favre way too much credit for being a smart QB. I’ve seen Daunte Culpepper change a number of plays at the line of scrimmage, yet he can’t even spell his name. That’s what QBs do – his change wasn’t anything special. It happens dozens of times in the average game. For QBs, I would rate Favre as having average to slightly above average intelligence. What makes him great is his physical tools. There’s a reason he’s going to throw more INTs than anyone else – he sometimes makes some horrendously bad decisions.

“You hugged Deanna [his wife] after the TD – what did you say?”

Favre looked a little confused and embarrassed and essentially said “I didn’t say anything, except we have to win this game.” Classy comments, not doubt, but why is what he said to his wife even relevant? Obviously, King wanted to paint him as a family guy. As a football fan, I was more interested in what he said to Jennings, his line, his coach or anyone on the field that actually played in the game. What happens between him and his wife is of no relevance to me or to the game of football. Unless he’s pulling an OJ and offing her.

These aren’t bad questions, but they’re obviously asked by a guy who’s got a man-crush on Favre – “You’re so smart. You’re such a great husband.”

There may have been a couple more questions, but the last one really shocked me. “At any time during the moment did you think about your dad? Did you wish he was there?”

Favre’s dad passed away a couple years ago. It was a tough time for him, though he had a nearly flawless game against a very bad Raiders team immediately thereafter. It’s part of the Favre mystique, that game.

Of course he misses his dad. Of course he wishes he could have been there. And of course Peter King is trying to paint Favre as the man who persists despite insurmountable odds. My god, his dad died? How can he put that behind him and continue to throw a pigskin in a tight spiral while roided up men try to kill him?

Where did this guy earn his journalism degree? Communist Russia? Toe the party line Peter. To Favre’s credit, he answered the questions with class and dignity. I respect Brett Favre the athlete. I’m sure Brett Favre the man is a good guy. But I really don’t care. He wasn’t named Humanitarian of the Year (although maybe he should have been when he disrespected football by laying down for Michael Strahan’s sack record), he broke an athletic record.

Favre breaking the TD pass record was a historic accomplishment – a historic athletic accomplishment. It didn’t make him the smartest human being on the planet. It didn’t make him the best husband a woman could have. It didn’t make him a man struggling to overcome the despair of losing his father. It made him a great athlete.

Is it really so hard for the national media to take Brett Favre’s schlong out of their mouths long enough to ask relevant, non-partisan questions?