The Babe

So we've had this picture for years. It's a black and white picture. A black and white picture of Babe Ruth, a Yankee pitcher whose name escapes me at the moment, and my great-grandfather. My great-grandfather is holding up some kind of trophy fowl as the trio had been out hunting prior to the picture having been taken. You can't really tell what kind because it's a really old picture. Obviously, as kids, my brother and I proudly thrust the picture on any and all visitors regardless of age or gender. Much of our senses of self-worth were tied up in that picture. What makes the whole thing even better though, is the story that accompanies it.

My great grandfather was invited to the pitcher's place in upstate New York for a weekend of drinking and hunting with a few other dudes and The Babe. Something held the Sultan of Swat up in New York City. If what they say is true, it was most likely a large group of loose women, booze, and hot dogs. So, upon my great grandfather's arrival, they went out hunting as a group only sans Bambino. Pitcher even brings his new hunting dog...

So they're out there with their guns and the dog. They're quietly stalking around the property looking for things to shoot. Things to kill. Typical hunting stuff I guess. The dog sprints into a clearing for what I can only assume was a kind of bird similar to blurry corpse in the picture. He successfully flushes the bird out and someone fires their gun. Only instead of looking for the dead bird to retrieve the thing as everyone expects, the dog takes off running in the opposite direction with its tail between its legs. Shortly thereafter, they all reach the conclusion that this "prize" hunting dog is gunshy and pretty much worthless. More specifically, every time a gun is fired, the dog completely loses it, it's stumpy tail goes between its legs and it takes off in the opposite direction. Takes them quite a while to find it too.

Later that evening, the group shared a drink and a few laughs over this fact. My forefather even had a great idea. He sells the group on presenting the dog to the Babe, following their hunt the following day, as a gift. The idea doesn't take much salesmanship as the group laughs hysterically, drinks way too much whiskey, and pukes all over each other.

The Babe arrives early the following morning and the group goes hunting for the day. At some point the picture my family holds so dear was taken. At the end of the day the Babe is presented with the dog. They drink a bunch of whiskey and pass out 1930 or 1940's style. The following morning the Babe is the first one to head back to the city, presumably to indulge in the aforementioned vices. Obviously, he is accompanied by his new "prize" hunting dog. Upon waking, the rest of the group shares a laugh, each picturing the Babe's next hunting trip and the look on his face when his dog abandons him in the middle of the woods upon the first gunshot.

Eventually my great-grandfather gets into his car for the long trip back to Newark. He ends up stopping for a bite to eat along the way at a little country place on the side of the road. At the counter he strikes up a conversation with the guy seated next to him.

Guy says, "You'll never believe who was just here!" Without waiting for a response he adds, "Babe Ruth!"

Great-grandpa responds triumphantly, "Oh I believe it! I was just hunting with him for the weekend a couple towns back! Wait til' you hear this!" he says as he looks around to make sure he has an audience.

With his voice raised (for the audience) he then tells the story from the top of how they duped Babe Ruth into thinking he had been given a prize-winning hunting dog when in truth they'd given him a gunshy mutt...

Only before he gets to the punch-line he's interrupted by a member of the audience, "Well, joke's on you and your buddies pal cause the Babe just sold the dog to a guy who was just in here for $25!"

And the entire diner errupts into hysterical laughter.

(Remember, 25 big ones was a ton of money back then when you adjust for deflation!)

No Really I'm OK....II Karma Police

My older brother was undaunted by my attempted daunt. As my luck, or lackthereof, would have it, he knew of my hiding place. He knew them all! He was always one step ahead! And although he didn't know I was hiding from him, in my haste I hadn't noticed my shoes were untied, (not that I could have done anything about it had I known; you see, this was my first pair of shoes with laces and I had yet to master the art) one of which lay on the floor in front of the curtain behind which I stood, holding my breath, almost bursting with anticipation.

But I digress, "ROOOOOAAAAAARRRRRRRRR!"

Before I knew it I couldn't breath. I was on the ground doubled over in pain. Through the tears welling up in my eyes I could see my untied shoelace. Blast! Should have gone with velcro Ninja Turtles today....or at least found mom and had her tie 'em! Oh the pain! It's unbearable.

Gradually, the muscles in my stomach loosened back up enough for me to breath. I wiped my eyes and looked before me..... There he stood. Proud as a goddamn peacock! My older brother!!!!!

Years went by. I drank a shit-ton of milk, ate butt loads of broccoli, and eventually outgrew that bastard. More specifically, I had exploded both vertically and muscularly. I was a monster. Even still, this was Seamus O'Connell I was dealing with. Even with all apparent advantages in my favor, I was still at a disadvantage. He's like a superhero. I needed something more.....to tip the scales in my favor.....

It was Thanksgiving. Seamus was home from college. Naturally, he was showing the early signs of alcoholism. Namely, if there was booze in the vicinity, he would drink it until that was no longer the case.

"So Seamus, what do you want for Christmas this year?" my aunt and uncle inquired at the dinner table.

"A karoeke machine", he slurred.

This was my chance. Worse case scenario he had no idea what he was talking about. Best case scenario, he was completely blatto. This preminition was confirmed when after dinner he began sprinting up and down the hallway with his shirt off, twirling it around in the air and screaming like a Hipache warrior sprinting off to battle.

"Interested in a little ping pong???" I asked when he stopped to catch his breathe.

"Let's do this", he said as he slapped me on the back and headed towards the basement and the ping-pong table.

Needless to say, he couldn't make contact with the ball. I chided, "Hit the one in the middle."

Eventually his frustration boiled over. He threw his paddle at me from accross the table and charged. I absorbed most of the impact while simultaneously side stepping, bringing him to the ground beside me. I jumped on top of him and started wiping him around on the carpet like a janitor would mop a wooden floor. He shrieked in pain as rug burns opened up all over his bloated college boy body. I stood up. Still he refused to relent. He charged again. This was to be the final act.....

I brought him back down to the ground and gave him a swift punch about the face. He stopped moving. Bloodied and gasping for breath, I stood back up certain of victory.

And for a minute there, I lost myself, I lost myself.

No Really, I'm OK.....

(My Nightmare)

By Michael O’Connell
November 28, 1994

Dedicated to: My mom who helped me when “IT” happened

One day when I was about 7 I went to a German Swim Club I no longer go to. I was standing in front of two girls in a picnic grove, and they started throwing rocks at me. I got real mad and my face turned fire engine red and confetti came out of my ears. I screamed, “STOP!!!” One of the girls (that I knew) faked a throw. I ducked and turned around and “BANG”. I hit my head square in the middle of my eyes. I had tears in my eyes and I went over to my mom and I told her what had happened. I got a tissue and put it on my head. The girls ran away, and my mom took me home. She got a few things and we went to the Dover general Hospital in New Jersey. I got 3 stitches in my head. When we got home I couldn’t wash my face in the bathtub. So my mom treated me like a little boy for the 6 weeks I had stitches. Then it all snapped. Everything was back to normal. I played sports again. I could go under water again. I never really talked to the girls after that, and they stayed far away from me now.
After the stitches episode I had a friend over; Brian McCormack. We played soccer, rode bikes, and had a snack. He went home and I had dinner, watched TV, and went to sleep. So the next day I went to school and I couldn’t concentrate on my school work. All I could do was think about my incident, but my teacher saw me daydreaming and she gave me tons of homework! So I was up til’ about 11pm doing my homework. I was late for school the next morning. But I wasn’t feeling too well either. I kept falling asleep so my teacher sent me to the nurse’s office to wait for my mom. When we got home I had a drink. So I had a nap. When I woke up I felt a little better. I ate some cookies and had a drink. Then I watched TV and I waited patiently for my brother and sisters to come home. When they did, I hid in a hiding place no one found before. When they came downstairs, “ROOOOOOAAAAARR!!” and you don’t want to know what happened to me after that.

About the Author

One day on July 1, 1985 I was born at the Memorial Hospital in Morris Plains, New Jersey. I had one brother and two sisters but my little sister wasn’t born until later in 1989.
I am a boy who is interested in sports and I play soccer, fistball (which is a German sport) baseball, and football (for fun) so I really like sports.
I moved from Morris Plains, New Jersey Roxbury New Jersey to Wheaton, Illinois. I also moved further away from my friends and cousins aunts, uncles, and grandparents.

Michael O’Connell


In case you were unable to surmise, this post is a story written by my kid brother on the above referenced date. It's hilarious. We found it, complete with illustrations, when I was home for Christmas.

Talk about surprise endings!!!

A few things I feel I have to clarify: I was one of the two "girls". Mikey has repressed this fact. At the time, as my parents were fighting to keep Mike awake (he kept almost passing out), and blood poured out of his forehead, I was terrified. I thought I'd killed my little brother.

Goose

So I am going to be leaving the nest this weekend and spending some time with three buddies from college at a bar in New Hampshire. We'll be staying with my college roommate who currently resides there. He's given to complaining about coming to Boston as all of our college friends that live in the area are saddled down girlfriends and all the luggage contained therein. The crux of his malcontent seems to be our collective unwillingness to be play wingman.

Well, I just called him to give him the heads up: I'm making it a point to be a great wingman this weekend. I also warned him he would have to provide me with a refresher course as I've long since forgotten the ways of the single man and their predatory practices. Here's what I've come up with so far:

1. Approach mildly attractive female, "Hey. What's up? I'm gay.....so I'm not hitting on you. My buddy [point to buddy] isn't gay though. He's actually pretty homophobic [shake head like you're acknowledging that your friendship doesn't really make sense. So, what'd'yah think? Would you have casual sex with him?"

2. "Hey. Can I buy you a drink?"

Gorgeous babe responds, "Of course you can."

I respond, "Eeeeehh, I don't really want to. I'm in a monogamous relationship with an Italian dictator. [point to friend] I think he does though. That's my buddy. Some people think he's cooler than he looks. Have you ever heard the saying, 'Don't judge a book by its cover?' Can he buy you a drink? He's sensitive and caring and he doesn't have any communicable diseases that I know of."

3. I act really beligerently drunko and pretend to hit on some broad. My buddy comes in, separates me from her, ernestly apologizes for my behavior, and then takes it from there.

4. "Hey. What's up?" See that guy over there [point to friend]. He was at the urinal next to me in the bathroom just now. WOW! [make face of utter disbelief, shock, and awe] Just thought you might like to know. Actually, you should take a look for yourself." Shrug and make face as if to say "balls in your court" and walk away.

Stream of Consciousness (Again)

Tom Coughlin has the full faith and confidence of the Giants' front office. What the hell is wrong with the Giants' front office? Even Arizona had the good sense to drop its dead weight [Denny Green].

Tiki Barber should be in the Hall of Fame. 10,448 career rushing yards alone doesn't etch his place in Canton in stone. In 2005 his 2,390 yards from scrimmage ranks second all time (Second to whom? Anyone? Anyone?). Moreover, he's 10th all-time in career yards from scrimage; placing him ahead of Jim Brown and O.J. Simpson! And he wasn't even the Giants' featured runner his first two or three years. Remember, originally he was designated as a third down back a la David Megget.

The House of Representatives banned smoking in the house....THIS WEEK. Wha? Congressmen could light up while in session last week? That's really bizarre, no?

George Bush is a complete disaster. Gasp! As evidenced by the concessions he/his handlers made in his brilliant speech two nights ago, even he/they know this. What I do not understand, however, is why the rest of the world, Britain actually, are deciding withdrawl makes sense now? I didn't support the war at it's inception and I don't support it now, but the Middle East and consequently the rest of the world, are at a pretty critical juncture right now. Concede the entire region to sectarian strife, and ultimately Iran and its brand of religious finaticism, or try to salvage some semblance of future stability? Hmmmm.......

What a Crappy Frigin Football Season?!

I got a new TV. It's sick. Flat pannel, LCD, HD, the works. I was actually a little worried to be honest. Before I got the HD cable box the coloring actually seemed a little worse than our former piece of crap TV.

Now that we have the HD feed through the HD box, the HD channels are fantastic and everything (even non-high def channels) looks a lot better. My only worry is the constant temptation. Aside from sports and the odd sitcom- The Office, Scrubs (yeah I know...I'm lame), HBO (which we no longer have), Discovery, and The History Channel (organized crime specials), there's not really much worth watching....or at least possible to watch without beginning to hate yourself. Hopefully I won't forget this. We got DVR too. Extra 5 bucks per month. My buddy Eric told me this has actually cut down on his TV watching because he records the stuff he wants to watch and spends no time surfing around just looking for something good amongst the piles of brain sucking shit. Still, I got the box just in time......for WILD CARD WEEKEND!

"Worthwhile" television almost came in the form of the Giants v. Eagles game yesterday afternoon. On the bright side of that fiasco, I hope, is the firing of Tom"pon" Coughlin. He's such a dope it pisses me off to even think about it. To the point where I'm fighting the urge to curse out loud here in my cubicle mere feet from people with the power to fire me. How can an offense that looked so cohesive and methodical for it's first drive just look so bad thereafter? I mean besides Tiki Barber. Don't even get me started on the penalties. Jesus fucking shit. Dick. Remember 1st and 30? That was enfuriating. al;sdfjaskljdfjaskldfja;slkfdasdf

When push came to shove actually, Brian goddamn Westbrook broke the Giants' back. And it's hard not to at least appreciate a little Villanova guy like that who turns in a performance of that caliber in the playoffs. Let's not get carried away with the pats on the back though. I hate HATE HAAAAAATTTTTEEEE Jeff Garcia, his doo rag, his hot girlfriend's fake boobs, Andy Reid and his real boobs, and Brian Dawkins and his Ray Lewis wannabe bullshit, more than the entire Boston Red Sox franchise put together! Trust me, that's a lot of fucking hatred.

But I digress, Eli either needs to study his brother harder than ever this offseason or embrace a regimen completely separate. Maybe he's putting too much pressure on himself in comparing himself to Peyton as they workout together during the offseason. I dont know. Something is stunting his development. Perhaps, and I hope this isn't the case, it's just who he is. Maybe that doofy "where the hell am I and what's going on?" look he sports on the sideline isn't the stone face we've hoped it is w hile trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it's actually the face of an under-achieving, dopey younger brother. He has the tools. Maybe he just lacks the fire?

They have to hire a coach with a clue this year. None of this faux disciplinarian crap. And how about a guy smart enough to realize the team's strengths and placate them. Most imprtantly, someone who'll get Jeremy Shockey involved in the offense early and often. How great was it when he lost his helmet and kept plugging forward as if his head were made of iron? That was classic Jeremy Shockey. On the sideline trainers were trying to examine whether he'd knocked his teeth loose and he shoo'd them away. The Giants need more of that. And I've said this before, GET SHOCKEY THE BALL IN SPACE AND GOOD THINGS WILL HAPPEN.

Tiki Barber will be missed. All in all, I think he's been underappreciated over the course of his career. Crazy when you consider he's played in the center of the media universe. He commands the utmost respect even from opponents. Even from the Eagles for Christ's sake.

Another football season, collegiate and professional, down the goddamn tubes.

I guess I'd like to see New Orleans come out of the NFC and the Colts or Chargers out of the AFC. I don't like Marty Schottenheimer or Shawn Merrimen but I love LT and I don't mind Philip Rivers (even though I might resent him a little bit as we could have had him but traded for Peyton's retarded little brother). I love Peyton Manning and Tony Dungy. I don't understand why people don't like them. I like the story surrounding New Orleans. I enjoy Drew Brees, weird birth mark/mole and all. And you're always a breath away from a jaw dropping Reggie Bush masterpiece. And like Corey Dillon for the Pats, Deuce McCalister remains quietly relevant. Actually that's probably an understatement.

Oh, and Nick Saban is a piece of shit. Have I mentioned that already?

Fake punt inside your own 40 in the first quarter? Questionable call. There's "aggressive" and there's "stupid". There's also "questionable". This call was "questionable". A bold move like this is dubbed "genius" when it works and "idiocy" when it doesn't. In truth, this was a "risky"/"questionable" call made in the first quarter.....the only time a fake punt inside your own 35 is ever really remotely rational in my mind. Given the overall picture, one in which ND's defense could not stop LSU, perhaps this failed manuever made no significant impact on the game. Although, Notre Dame's defense was clearly better in the first half than it was in the second. With this in mind, it is possible playing it safe may have changed the complection of the game entirely?

The Irish defense was so porous in the second half that their offense wasn't afforded the opportunity to commit to running the ball.....something that looked promising in the first half.

I really wanted them to win last night. NO ONE was giving them a shot. This is partly understandable but also partly rooted in the media's anti-ND bias. Writing this blog is bringing up old emotions I didn't want to revisit:(

It seemed like every play from scrimmage for LSU went for at least 10 yards in the second half. The ND defense was already spent and it showed.

When LSU receivers were open in the ND secondary, they weren't just get open, they ran undetected 30 to 50 yards away from the nearest defensive back. While Jemarcus Russell is an undeniable talent (can throw 40 yds from his ass, 60 from his knees, and 80 standing), he's developmentally no where near Brady Quinn right now. Let's be serious: Against ND's secondary he wasn't exactly being asked to thread the needle.

I couldn't stand how I kept hearing how much more talented LSU was than Notre Dame. That's bullshit. Defensively, yeah. Doesn't take an ESPN analyst to point that out. Offensively????? Gimme a break. With a better defense, The Irish would have been in that game until the very end. I know, "coulda shoulda, woulda." I'm just trying to make a point here.

Terry Bradshaw sounded drunk half of the time. The other half he provided good insight from a former QB's perspective on reads and audibled patterns and the communication, or lack thereof, between quarterback and wide receiver. Provided he knew what he was talking about (that's kinda anyone's guess because while he seemed drunk, he's still a hall of fame quarterback), Brady Quinn is an extremely polished quarterback and there were two hands full of dropped passes and miscues that are aptly blamed on wide receivers. S emardzja was hit in the head with a fade in the end zone for Christ's sake. McKnight had a bunch of drops. There was also a play where he didn't read the cornerback's blitz, Quinn did, and consequently Rhema hadn't even turned his head when Quinn's pass went sailing past it.
I only remember olson catching the ball once.

Against superior teams (ND's 3 losses this year) they began to look really lost- from a play calling standpoint- once it was established that they were not going to be able to impose their wills on the opposition. The fact that Weis prides himself on in-game adjustments makes for an interesting contradiction here. Hopefully that works itself out once they've put together a dependable defense in coming years.

Oh! And Nick Saban is a scumbag.