Thank God, it's baseball season

Roman is ready. I am ready. Red is ready to taste orange Gatorade for the first time. (from Aug 2010)

I'll admit. I was not and never have been a part of the Communist party. I have also never been a life-long, gung-ho baseball fan.

As most brainwashing--err--fandom starts, it starts young. My youth was introduced to baseball as many 6-10 year-olds trot onto a little league field. But my distaste started when I was positioned in right field. Now, if you are playing any outfield position on the 5-6 year-old team, that basically means you have zero hand-eye coordination to prevent a baseball from hitting you in the face. If there was a baseball card for my stats, it would include zero errors (due to zero balls driven past the infield dirt) and a few HBP from other dads (during coach-pitch ball). I better served the team and the league pulling weeds from the outfield. Hey, keeping up those fields was a team effort.

I stuck it out for two years, if you can call it that. It's wasn't my finest hour quitting "the great game". But it just wasn't my bag. I was going to take my talents to PE and score a Presidential Physical Education award by being a prepubescent gym rat (amazing that it's still around today). Two days a week of dodge ball, two days a week of some goofy volleyball hybrid that wasn't volleyball and one mean game of wall ball a week with pull-ups, push-ups and wind sprints in between. So, I was essentially giving an underdeveloped middle finger to baseball.

So, aside from stealing glances at my older brother's and younger brother's baseball card collection, I had a limited engagement with baseball aside from the annual "hey, you wanna go to an Astros game?" conundrum. Pre-strike, it wasn't so bad when they played at the Astrodome. But later, well after the strike, it was a beating to drive to "downtown" Houston to watch lethargic NL Central baseball. Also, they play in a venue with the dimensions of a little league field, with a "berm" in center field. Ha! Enron Field.

So, to recap, the high school and college time frame was nearly absent of any baseball conscientiousness. Which is sad.

Then, I roll up into Dallas. If there is one thing Dallas is starved for is a champion in the 00's. The town was spoiled in the early nineties with the Cowboys as all of the teams got better and better. The Stars won the friggin' Cup in '99 while half the fans didn't know what a blue line was. Hell, even the Mavericks showed up as a NBA team of reckoning. Then there were the Rangers...the lowly, lowly Rangers.

They are still paying ARod (he was still a financial consideration during the sale of the Rangers in 2010). They had a dysfunctional series of owners and team management that somehow looked better after they ruined a baseball team. It was literally an ugly stepchild that was stowed away in the back upstairs bedroom when dinner guests arrived. During the Hicks stewardship, there were Dallasites disowning the Rangers like a daughter marrying the wrong guy.

But then something happened...to me and to the fine folks of North Texas (and likewise the remote Ranger fans that have been long suffering). The Rangers started winning. Within all of the turmoil of the team sale and the skeletons in the closet coming out, the Rangers were playing solid baseball under the radar. Their June and July of the 2010 season was so torrid, they locked up the division as early as in previous years they were eliminated from any playoff contention. The DFW area was talking about significant baseball in August as opposed to following the circus of Cowboy training camp. It was a complete mental shift that no one was prepared for but was totally prepared for.

And I was sucked in. I was caught in the vacuum of awesomeness that reignited the reason why I wanted to play little league baseball in the first place...because baseball is exactly what you need when you need it.

I wanted to be part of a new town. I needed a common thread. A baseball team that had absolutely nothing to lose brought a town and a region together every damn day they took the field. Downtown was a hub with the traveling fans and the hometown revelry that brought everyone together, including me. I fell in love with the story. It was a rag-tag bunch with a survivor of addiction, a statesman of the game, a kid primed for greatness and a traveler that showed up at the right time. They were all meshed with a modern-day zen master that isn't the perfect zen master, but a zen master of the passion that found him.

C'mon, at that point, who wouldn't fall in love.

So, the Rangers are back. The configuration and the love affair might be different and matured, but it's still there. And just like I needed it to facilitate the geo-social identity, I need it again today. My mind is everywhere. This has been one hell of a month and a more-intense past two weeks. Sometimes you need to see how an inning is built or falls apart to get away from things that are falling and constructing in your life. Sometimes watching the challenge of pitcher and batter puts your challenges in perspective. Sometimes you need a break. And as much complaining there is of the 162-game schedule, for my mental and physical health, I am certainly glad it is there. To boot, it's another cool thing Dad and I can talk about. So, the love affair is back. And it doesn't matter about balls and strikes, it's about the escape that is sometimes desperately needed.

So, go Rangers. Yay, baseball. And Yankees suck. Welcome back, past time.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) So, that's how it happened, huh? Okay, then.
2) That's a pretty creative name, Longhorn Network. Did you think of it 15 seconds ago?
3) If you don't know how to convert your time zone from GMT, "I bid you no points and may God have mercy on your soul".

So, now that one fixture has been re-established, there seems to be a new-coming fixture that is close to installation. More on that next week. Until then, talk later.

OPERATION: Homebody...part two?

Well boys, you get your wish...you get to see more of your daddy.

Addicts call it "rock bottom". It's the absolute lowest level before the self-realization or assisted proclamation that help is needed and their current state is unsustainable. Granted, my problems are no where near as detrimental as a clinically-deemed addict, but I did need some help in something I have been struggling with for a while.

I know, I know, we have been through this before with varying results. But I was in Corpus where I could make the excuse to be a homebody (or not). But this is Dallas. This is a town where they build stuff on top of stuff to exercise boredom. This is a town that blows up stuff that used to be fun, because they thought is was a good idea. But there is a true reason for the operation reboot. And I don't think I have a choice in the matter.

So, there are these things called taxes. Apparently, you are supposed to do them every year. But I am not sure if you are supposed to pay them in the amount and frequency we have done in the couple of years in Dallas. I don't know if The Lovely wants me to divulge the amount paid from our last two submissions. But I will say that the grand total could finance a small counterinsurgency in an unstable region overseas.

Last year was a bit different because we actually had a war chest ready to use for the huge number changeover we were going to experience. And yes, your hand shakes whenever you write a check with five significant digits for the first time. But this year, we are in a bit of a pinch. So, what do responsible adults do when they are in a pinch?

No, seriously, what do we do?

We -- more in tune to the situation, I -- know exactly what to do. OPERATION: Homebody 2 has to work. If it doesn't, that's all I need to compound a situation...tax issues. It's really not a big deal. I either pair down the optional living expenses and throw money at the problem or I arrange a payment plan and get worked over by simple interest to pay this off. It's not a big deal. It has to be done. And I'm sure it will go to a good cause.

It sucks. My outings and my schedules will now be affected. Hell, The Lovely is skipping one of the four weddings to save some money. My social schedule will be altered by trying to load balance other things to do in the saving effort. No more drunken nights of random iTunes purchasing binges. No more kickass dinners where we shrug at triple-digit tabs. No, all the spare change we have goes to Uncle Sam. Blogs will consist of reading back issue magazine articles and supplanting delayed opinions as opposed to comparing which restaurant has the better short ribs (Bolsa has the Shiner Bock marinade as Craft just slow roasts the hell out of them). That might be an accidental benefit from the op reboot. And I can cancel that miniature giraffe order.

But in the back of my mind, I hate this. I wish I was one of those crooked bastards that gets away from all of this fiscal responsibility. I could stare and bold-face lie to some sap to protect my secret millions. But I'm sure there are some pitfalls with that as well.

Or I could fix my W-4 like a normal person.

So, for all my social connections, I will be in hiding for the next four months. I may sneak away for a rebound of the fun life. Hopefully, my debt to the nation will be paid sooner rather than later. I'm sure I can generate some action while at home, but we will see. I have this thing called a PS3...I wonder what it does other than Blu-Ray and Netflix?

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) C'mon, admit it, VCU and Butler in the Final Four is kinda cool. However, you will never make me love the bracket of 68. Make it an even 96 and move on.
2) So many hacks...so...many...hacks.
3) Welp, I have lost another dozen brain cells. Eh, it happens. Catchy. At least it's not that damn "Saturday" song.

Seriously, this homebody thing has to work. If anyone has any suggestions or assistance, don't hesitate to comment. I may need the comments to read to pass the time. Lameness. Talk later.

Wedding Blog, Pt. I - Dunes are different from the beach

Congrats to Derica and Patrick, looking lovely on the most important St. Patrick's Day of their lives.

In my ongoing quest to turn this blog into a series of telenovelas, I now present the first part in my four-part series on weddings and why anyone would invite me to them. Within this ongoing series, I will unfairly and unjustly compare everyone's wedding to my wedding. I know, it's not a fair fight because I had the best wedding, ever (everyone should be so biased). Also, as the convention of this blog, I will attest to the mature nature of this very important ceremony simultaneously with the immature hypothesis that we don't need all this pomp and circumstance to be with the ones we love. The adult in me loves the stability, while the kid in me just wants to eat wedding cake.

First up, the lovely daytime nuptials of Derica Shipley (not related to the footballer Shipley family) and Patrick Griffin (not related to the Griffin's from TV's "Family Guy"...because he is not animated).

Last Thursday was a very good day to get married on the coast. Yeah, you read it correctly...last Thursday, as in St. Patrick's Day...as in the first REAL day of The Tournament. Yeah, that last Thursday. Speaking of the kid in me, the spoiled brat in me was throwing a hissy fit. A personal lesson to me would be that love does not care what your schedule looks like or what holiday it collides into. Of course, this is the second time I have been scolded with this harsh reality. My younger brother was married on New Year's Eve. Of course, he got his feelings hurt when I left a shade before midnight. So, St. Patty's Day should not have set me crooked, right? Right?

See, this is what I expect on St. Patty's...and that's it! Say hi to Amber...

God bless this lovely couple, but if you were told only these four things about a wedding:
March 17th
5 PM
Corpus Christi, TX
Padre Balli Park
...what would come to mind?

In my simple, panicked mind, I am thinking, "okay, a beach wedding during spring break on one of the drunkest days of the year." What could go wrong?

My doomsday scenario was nowhere close to being realized. Balli Park is probably the best possible location to avoid drunken beach sunburned zombies as the pavilions ask for the cash deposit before anyone shows up near those buildings. All of my fears were quelled. Even the weather cooperated with my sports jacket and heavy slacks as the sea breeze was comfortable and somewhat calming.

As the wedding ceremony goes, I also expected a very heavy catholic tilt even with the neutral ceremony site in between the dunes separating the tides with Park Road 22. No dice, with the unknown association to clergy from the officiator of the wedding, the ceremony lasted, maybe, 15 minutes with very few religious overtones. The wedding procession of seven groomsmen, seven bridesmaids, the proud parents, a ring bearer and bagpipes(!!!), the walking portion of the wedding nearly eclipsed the ceremony running time (Lessons Learned sidebar: I need to have a stop watch to measure how long these ceremonies last if I am going to blog about it).

"It's easy to grin, when your ship has come in, and you've got the stock market beat..."

With all timing and sequencing analysis aside, there is one constant that remains...everyone looked beautiful. The bride was beautiful, the groom looked slick with the all-black. The green of the bridesmaids' dresses offset the groomsmen's highlighted accessories brilliantly. The sun-kissed blue sky was the ultimate backdrop as the rows of waves behind us came with five rows at three feet. The only natural element that was a bit of a bear was the cloudless glare of the sun...but that was the witnesses' problem that a pair of sunglasses could easily solve.

To the happy couple, thank you for the invite. I apologize for the mumbling as this was not what I expected. I appreciate being surprised in a good way. No disrespect, but my wedding was cooler. Literally, we had central air when we were inside. Good luck to the both of you.

Wedding Blog series disclaimer - I am going to be a jerk about your wedding because my wedding was the best. See paragraph one.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) If Corpus could pull off nights like last Thursday, they would have to worry about their image because the tourists would just be pouring in enjoying themselves. Quit over-thinking and just be a city by a sea.
2) If Austin was the size of Dallas, locals would probably not bitch all the time about visitors invading their city. It's SXSW. What the hell did you guys expect (see: ComiCon)? Blessing and a curse...
3) If Dallas wanted to be more like Austin, they should have asked this guy to come north. Ah, the North Texas identity crisis continues post-80's TV show. Wait, what?

Unlike the Costa Rica series, the "goin' to the chapel" series will be a bit more spread out. We double-down in June as April and May are sans ceremonies. July through September are also quiet for reporting as we finish up the ego-trip in October for the event of the season. Then and there, we will see how these bums stumble out of the blocks on day one. If trash-talking weddings are wrong, then I don't want to be right. Talk later.

Stealing Words

Being thirty-two, I am years from my college English courses. English majors learn to think and write, but in a way, unless you are creatively writing (the thought of which always completely terrified me), you're just putting your ever-growing internal vocabulary list to work in order to analyze and explicate someone else's words in some meaningful way. However, I've come to realize that even just doing that is better than not using your words at all.

So, after being urged by a friend to write, I find myself making an attempt. This is not the first time someone has suggested I do this, but it is the first time I've taken anyone up on it. It's strange how people have told me before that I would be a good writer, never even having read two words I've attempted to put together outside of a Facebook status update. The fear of proving these people wrong has kept me from this for a long time. But, I think I'm ready to get some words down on a page (or screen).

What to write about? How about words themselves? I love words. I own an extensive collection of magnetic poetry, I love to play Scrabble, and I am the owner of three books about vocabulary building. As much as I do love words, I sometimes have a hard time putting them all together on a page and shuffling them around to find that perfect mix that will completely express a thought with all the subtleties and shades that might be required. I used to collect quotations and song lyrics because I thought that there was nothing that I could say about anything that had not already been said better by someone else. I mean, we are limited by the finite number of words that exist, and I thought that it was best left to the professionals to combine them in appropriate ways. Don't get me wrong I understand that new words are coined every day. There is a continuous need to describe or explain new technologies or to find different ways to communicate complex (or not-so complex) ideas with our thumbs. But there is something magical about the most simple combination of everyday words, when their interaction manages to completely capture a single true emotion.

Simple words are often overlooked. I once had a conversation with a person who was able to appreciate my usage of the word "trite." He commented on its infrequent usage, ironically showing that it has become a word that is in itself the opposite of its own meaning. I appreciated his appreciation. Then, I smugly commented that one need not be sesquipedalian in their expressions to convey an important idea. And yes...at that point I was just showing off. I just really enjoyed the fact that we could have an entire conversation about the very words we choose to converse with.

So, back to putting words together...I think I'm ready to try it. I'm sure I will be regurgitating words already learned and known. And I will most certainly be leaning upon the crutches of my thesaurus, my extensive collection of magnetic poetry and the most intriguing work ever to be published by the London Philological Society. Yes, the words will all be stolen, but the ideas will be my very own.

March Madness can mean so many things.

Meli's kickass hat is from The House of MacGregor. Daniel's hair is from decades of bad haircuts.

With all the insanity that is going on globally, it is difficult for me to use the word "epic". First of all, it's part of a title of a Mickey Mouse video game. Right then and there, the word lost a bit of it's intensity. Secondly, I would be breaking the Louie CK rule of exaggerated vocabulary. But I have no other adjectives in the word box. I'm sorry.

Anytime you get to go to two sporting events without having to pay for a single ticket, that's pretty awesome. Granted, it was hockey, but it's a professional sports league. So, for most people, that would be their weekend. Spool it up and wait for Monday to show up. But no, I had to entertain out-of-town guests, go to a birthday party, pull a late night filled with service industry alienation, Old Milwaukee, YouTube video references, ditching The Toadies, calling an absolute stranger a d-bag for cutting in front of me in a food line (yeah, I don't know if it was the beverages or the sunburn talking at that point), the luckiest pizza delivery guy outside of a porno storyline, the best shower ever, and a home-cooked meal in which my mother would assault a small child for the recipe.

Yeah, yeah, this is a 32-year-old's epic weekend.

Part of the epic-ness was moving through a cloud that I used to navigate all the time when I was younger. You really start to appreciate stamina when you start to lose it. But then when you have 12 hours on your feet and in the heat without collapsing under your own weight, you start scrambling for those gold stars you used to earn because, damnit, you just got yourself a new one. Also, where did that tolerance come from?

Maybe I should back up...

Dallas is known for very few things because it's filled with plastic people ballooning plastic thoughts. But if there is one thing this city does right, it's the St. Patrick's Day Parade. Every Saturday before drunky's night out, this town goes greener than Al Gore's PowerPoint presentations. The scene is controlled chaos before the floats, flat-bed trucks and one poorly decorated OU alumni trailer (it's 8:47pm...). Then the parade rolls out. Living downtown and being trapped near kiddie parade central (thanks Adolphus Hotel for waking me up so early on a holiday weekend), it was a welcome change of pace where the subject matter is not overtly adult, but PG-13 enough to tolerate the Charlie-Foxtrot of traffic, people and waking up relatively early on a Saturday. Then it ended. Media juggernaut Gordon Keith stole my thought on The Musers this morning, but I will reiterate. The aftermath is the most realistic looking post-apocalyptic, zombie-plagued urban scare-scape that I have seen in a long time. And it was awesome.

For most people, just the parade would be enough to call that an epic weekend, especially after witnessing the revelry and the expiration of some people's sobriety and good graces. As a parade virgin, it was all to be expected with a couple of fun surprises in between. As I have mentioned before, it is amazing how the body responds to different stresses. And with the White Rock Marathon notwithstanding, this was about as impressed I have been with my sad sack of beyond-the-warranty bones. But when you really want to continue to stand to see what happens next, the stamina shows up in buckets.

Good job, human body. And thanks to everyone that joined along in the fun. If we do it again next year, remind me to grab a hat and get a better night's sleep.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) Never, ever, ever, ever buy something you really want. Three months later, another something will come by and CRUSH EVERYTHING IN IT'S PATH, INCLUDING YOU.
2) So, my older brother is now on Twitter. I wonder in how many formats, languages and social media platforms he can offend with? Now he's just showing off (@garner99...go ahead a guess what his password is.)
3) If it wasn't for The Bachelor, Dancing With The Stars and Modern Family, ABC would be my generation's version of CBS. BTW, fuck The Bachelor; can I have my wife back, now?

Pow. It's an update. Now I have to watch a lot of basketball. PS - I have a couple of new correspondents. Hope they come up with something a delicious as post-parade coverage...wait, that sounded odd. Talk later.

Yet another anniversary to mark...Year One in Dallas

The 'hood, as viewed from the Belmont Hotel patio. First one to find our building gets a prize!

Humans are weird. We react and behave completely differently than any other animal on Earth. We are so weird in our behavior that we study other species to see if any of their behaviors match our own, mostly to no avail.

No more is this chasm of differentiation more apparent then when we look at how humans associate memory with dates. No other animal (other than elephants) has the capacity and the desire to associate events with dates and mark them for memorial or trivia. March 6, 1836. June 28, 1914. December 12, 1980. Whether good or bad, we have to make a friggin' anniversary for everything.

And on some of these events, someone else will try to monetize the anniversary. Could I interest anyone in some commemorative Obama inauguration plates?

So, in my quest to seem a bit more human to everyone, I have done the same today with...today. On November 30th of last year, we landed on our version of Plymouth Rock.

There were ample reasons and discussion points as to why this was such an important event.

In reaching Dallas, this was the first Manifest Destiny move I have made since college. For good reason, no one counts college as they foray into the quote/unquote real world. That's like saying the Oklahoma land grab was done right outside of Philadelphia. No, this was the reason why you go to college...to move on up, to the [north] side.

This move was to unfamiliar territory. I had to adjust with only a generalization of the area and my penchant for hating to get lost. As an extension to Manifest Destiny, there was nothing really stopping this move other than want for something better.

Also, on a personal level, this was my Laverne and Shirley moment. No, no, not working for a beer company. But this would finally mark the end of my rehabilitation of immaturity and proceed with the adult move completely from under the parents' shadow. Granted, I needed every bit of their help. But this was the move that placed the exclamation point on "Let's blow this Popsicle stand!"

Finally, I have moved to where I can get some stuff done. I moved to where I can grow with the niche I found. And I can finally make something that my mother said a decade ago a reality.

And it all started a year ago today. Got to say, it's been a pretty good year.

The year started well, with the alma mater putting a one-point beating on the men of red from some state in the Midwest.

Then the snowpocalypse. Was I an omen for the fair city of Dallas?

Then Michael hosted New Year's. That was nice...

But toward the end, it got a little weird.

Celebrating Year Two of a super-cool union with The Lovely. I have no idea who the blonde is behind me.

Lots of sleep was lost in between, especially during the graveyard shift. Just trying to help a brother out.

Special guests visit all the time. Sabrina liked our neighborhood but the neighborhood did not appreciate all the yelling.

Then Mom showed up...and I had to behave myself (BTW, Mama is my mom. Mom is Meli's mom, just FYI).

The cool thing is that there is always something going on in Dallas, but the distractions were always around.

Dallas is like Casablanca, you know, without the Nazis.

The Metroplex is a scary place. Grande and I almost died that day (from heat exhaustion).

First year in Dallas, first year for Fantasy Football...yet another thing Michael is superior at than me.

Got a second job as a superhero. They have GREAT medical and dental.

Granted, Thanksgiving was different, but a first Dallas Thanksgiving to remember. We didn't disavow the holiday altogether!

So, Dallas, I just have one request...stay classy.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) I have to keep doing this. This is cathartic. This is supportive. This is necessary for me to stay sharp and poignant. Besides, my writing has been so lacking I'm misspelling layup words. Nothing more angering than that.
2) I know it's necessary for a state to collect sales tax. But if Cyber Monday is any indication of the stomach punch Texas is taking, the state may need to figure out a new method of collection other than a customary tithe.
3) It's not that The Social Network made me hate Zuckerbergnet and all he stands for, it just pissed me off that I studied the wrong subject in college.
BONUS: Listening to the Trent Reznor/Atticus Ross score for Social Network. I dare you not to write code while listening to it (Money tracks=2, 4, 5 and 11).
SUPER BONUS: Light a candle for me when you are hitting up mass, church, temple, et al. this weekend. The Rock will be fun, but not easy.

I would like to thank everyone in my life right now. As the snapshots show, it would not have been possible without everyone. Also, the next post will be nowhere near as sappy. Talk later.

The Big XII: 1996-2011

Welp, I guess we can put that next to the Southwest Conference trophies...

I have to chime in. There is so much circulating with this story and so much to say. With twelve internal moving parts and four big external moving parts...mostly dealing with football, television and levels of money that would make The Donald blush.

But hey, it's not like we weren't heading to this. The writing has been on the wall since The Big Ten Network came into fruition. Hell, with the formation of the Super Alliance and the BCS, it was going to be a money grab featuring the have's and have-not's. The current financial system could not and would not be sustainable. Once a foot goes one step down the slippery slope, the effects were bound to happen.

So, since the "expert" line, such as Jesse Palmer(?), Craig James (maybe a Tech expert - ha!) and Dan O'Malley(???) is chirping like somebody pulled its voice string, why not I add a little rolled-up newspaper on this wildfire. Here is the list of my favorite players...so far:

Hero of the story - Chip Brown, OrangeBloods.com: Who knew that a former beat reporter from the Dallas Morning News would be the hot knife through the cold stick of butter that was supposed to be a boring conference summer meeting. Yeah, notsomuch. This gentleman is crushing it. He is pouncing on the real stories, staying focused on the actual storyline and staying on top of the static. I think he just about scooped everyone. Much apologies to my beloved Austin American-Stateman writers and the know-it-all in New York, but Mr. Brown is in the muck every minute and is bugged by ESPN for fifteen minutes of his valuable time.

Goat of the story - Dan Beebe, Commissioner, Big XII: I'm not sure if he has queued the band while the ship is taking on water, but the cardboard statements aren't bailing the Big XII out. I lost all confidence as soon as I knew his name. How did I know his name? After the UT/OU/Tech tiebreak debacle. The problem with having a young conference is when a once-in-a-generation situation occurs, there is apparently no need to change the screwy rules borrowed from a broken system. If all you know how to do is shake hands with the championship game winning coach and not be a CEO for a multimillion dollar enterprise, then maybe you should go away. By the way, the ultimatum was a really, really, really bad move for a starving, cornered animal.

Harbinger of the story - Big Red: Rewind to last week, the Big XII (in an awesome leadership move reminiscent of any empty threat seen on a sitcom) told Nebraska to make a decision--stay or go. Nebraska did not take the comedic bait. Besides, we already mentioned the Big XII leadership always gets two for flinching. Okay, Nebraska says, we will start looking around if you are giving us a "deadline"...wink, wink. The North and South divisions have always had a dissonance geographically and competitively. So, why not? It was crazy enough to work when we took the Big 8 down south. Experiment failed, so let's try something else. No big deal, so, here you go Big XII, we are out and taking the state with us...wait, Colorado beat us to the exit?

Darling of the story - The University of Texas: This is the most quiet I have ever seen this sports giant. Granted, being the richest athletic department in the nation takes all volumes and all tones. But with the (presumably grinning) silence from the juggernaut in Austin, they are looking like the "awe-shucks" good guy in this cast of characters. Granted, having the biggest stick, financially, has it's advantages. But no matter the outcome, these guys are smelling like January 5, 2006...like roses. The Big XII fails, "Hey, we tried. So, we are going to make the best of a sticky situation." The Big XII is restored to 12 teams, "I'm glad we can stay as a cornerstone member of the Big XII." The Big XI (eleven)? I don't see that happening; it would look too much like the AL West (Rangers joke, Hi-oh!). Texas, with the silence, is seriously the "hot chick at the end of the bar."

FTW guy of the story - A&M: "I don't know about you guys ("you guys" meaning=Texas, OU, Tech, OSU), but I'm going to the SEC!" Uh, no. That makes no sense any way you slice it. Logistically, it would be a pain to travel to Auburn, Oxford and Tuscaloosa with a athletic department hemorrhaging money from all of their athletic venue expansion efforts. Competitively, right now, as strong as the SEC is-up and down-they would be lucky to squeak away with two wins within the West division! Academically, the only other power conference with less academic hurdles to jump than the Big XII...you guessed it, the SEC. Fine, ATM, you think you are a special little snowflake that is unique in every single way, go to the SEC. Enjoy the TV money because you are sure as hell not getting any bowl money (unless there is revenue sharing).

Poor bastard of the story - (tie) Baylor/Mizzou: I'm not sure which is worse...pouting while taking your ball home or tattle-telling to your dad that you were wronged. That would be the situation for the Tigers and Bears...oh, my (wow, that was low-hanging fruit). The first childish response came from Mizzou after the Big XII "ultimatum". Since they are on an island with no in-state buddies, their silence and stiff upper lip (added with new reports of whining) make the school in Columbia look like malcontents, completely unlike Texas. Not really sure how they got that wrap but that seems to be the perception within this whirlwind of activity. Baylor went the other route, telling their parents (Texas Legislature?) that if they aren't tethered with the rest of the Texas schools for any sort of conference movement, they are going to have a parent conference...with the conference in question. Wait...isn't Baylor a private institution? I don't know how state education money breaks down with non-land-grant schools, but isn't Baylor asking Austin for help tantamount to me asking for money from my brother's father-in-law? It doesn't make sense. Neither does the "combo-pack" including Mizzou and/or Baylor...there's not enough TV's in Waco or Columbia.

Non-story of the story - "What about the travel? What about the student athletes?": Yet another example of college football is a business...mind you, a quickly-expanding, dynamic business with a modular business model. But it is a business. Every year, schedules and travel plans are made in accommodation for intercollegiate competition. This has happened since the NCAA was formed. Why would it be any different with boatloads of money now included? Athletic Directors and departments will continue to do the business they have done since athletic departments were created. With the TV money and conference inclusion windfall, the revenue assists with flexibility. Now the Griswold's can go to WallyWorld every summer...and book flights instead of driving the superwagon into the ground. A little bit more capital never has hurt business.

Preachy BS of the story - "It's all about the money!": C'mon, really? If anyone goes with that high-and-mighty garbage, especially at the "Worldwide Leader", that is the most hypocritical complaint anyone can yield. ESPN wouldn't be in existence if it wasn't about the all-mighty dollar. All of the talking heads that we can't stand (in and out of this story) would not be in front of the camera if they did not get a raise or were thrown a bag of cash with a dollar sign on it. So enough with the "it's all about the cash" with some faux forlorn tone. It costs money to run any business. And the business of college football, with TV expansion and conference contraction, is no different.

Accidental story some have mentioned with this story - Playoffs?!?!?: One less conference to worry about...money shifting to super-conferences...probably less of a drumbeat from ACC and Big East. Hmmm, compelling. Besides, if you throw away the "travel" limitation for the super-conferences, the ad revenue has to go somewhere. Jean-Jacques Taylor stated on The Ticket 1310 with Norm Hitzges that with this consolidation, that might be the way to go. But, with the rabbit-like multiplication of the bowl games...again, that ad revenue has to go somewhere.

The story continues to develop. Tweetdeck continues to break down with all Texas sports followers pushing through the cluttered bandwidth. I would personally like to thank all the information holders sharing their data with peons writing blogs like me so I can vent the wonderful yet bittersweet opinions (e.g. sportswriters, sports radio, news agencies, wizards, etc.).

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) Holy smokes, the NCAA does have teeth. Though it takes five years for them to grow.
2) Twitter should really look into getting some more support. Stupid fail whale.
3) I have never, and will never, care about Notre Dame. If ND still wants to be an independent and continue to collect checks from The Peacock, I don't care. Notre Dame is about as niche as open-wheel racing. I don't care about Danica Patrick.

I have to say, this is about as close to the hot-stove period of baseball that I will every experience. Usually, the common college football fan finishes in early January and starts counting down until the first weekend of September. Now I understand that feeling...where is the player going to go...forget that, where is the team going to go? Talk later.