tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11063741398775424212024-02-19T06:52:26.073-06:00Here's The Thing...Doug Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667166547854799856noreply@blogger.comBlogger52125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1106374139877542421.post-32702377444082327652017-05-31T23:26:00.000-05:002017-05-31T23:26:30.497-05:00The Joshua Tree 2017<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg676DMLQ4_MxBAEu21uCdR1KkSWRVPXMLda-nZ1N3AYo2I_n44r6oUQiEYNOZB02UMgOGDmgu7mfHUI7rRr_0Ofsk5-scczkpUjIY0g9PK-iCbXLSHSkb8C8tpimKQEtVFov3lVWDhAcpA/s1600/The_Joshua_Tree.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg676DMLQ4_MxBAEu21uCdR1KkSWRVPXMLda-nZ1N3AYo2I_n44r6oUQiEYNOZB02UMgOGDmgu7mfHUI7rRr_0Ofsk5-scczkpUjIY0g9PK-iCbXLSHSkb8C8tpimKQEtVFov3lVWDhAcpA/s1600/The_Joshua_Tree.png" /></a>Its been almost a week and I still can't stop thinking about U2's concert at AT&T Stadium on Friday night. The images, the sounds, the emotions, they won't leave me. Not that I want them to.<br />
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There are only a few full circle moments in life. Moments where you see the beginning from the end, where you are transported back to a time when you were much younger, but with the benefit of years of experience gained along the way. In many ways and for many reasons, this show was a full circle moment in my life.<br />
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Back in 2015 I posted on this blog a musical bucket list. These were
the top artists that I wanted to see before I, or they, kicked the
bucket. U2 was number two on the list, only behind fellow countryman Van
Morrison. This is what I wrote:<br />
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<i>"I had the chance to see U2 once, back when U2 was EVERYTHING to me. I
had a ticket to their sold out show at Tarrant County Convention Center when
they were touring in support of the Joshua Tree. November 24, 1987.
Unfortunately, I had received a speeding ticket the previous week and my
father grounded me from the concert. A friend of mine sold my ticket
for face value and I have resented my dad ever since. I know U2 still
tours and perhaps one day I will see them perform, but it won't mean
what it would have meant to me when I was seventeen."</i><br />
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It had to be U2.<br />
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The most important band of my generation. The band of my passionate youth. The band that woke the American conscience on a cold night at Red Rocks. The band that carried the banner of love, peace and pride for the sons and daughters of those who had lost their way. The band that fed the world. This band is the only band that could make me feel seventeen again, and for two hours that is exactly what they did. From the opening drum kick of "Sunday Bloody Sunday" to the final sing along rock-out of "I Will Follow" I was taken back in time. This was the show I had been waiting 30 years to see, and it was so worth it. <br />
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It had to be "The Joshua Tree"<br />
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U2 at their zenith. I was, or course, a huge fan before this album was released but "The Joshua Tree" was such a culmination, a fully realized vision. This was the perfect music, in the perfect moment, in the perfect location to remind us all that America is a wonderland. A land of mystery and myth, of big sky and bigger dreams. It was at once a loving portrait and a dissection. It transcended radio and MTV and managed to weave itself in the fabric of my life. I memorized it to such a degree that even if I did not have my Walkman handy, I could play the entire album in my head. It was and is, a masterpiece.<br />
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It had to be my wife.<br />
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Here's the thing that strikes me as I type away next to my sleeping wife, the people I have connected with over U2 are all people I have loved. There was Doni Jandl, the girl I crushed so hard for as a sophomore in high school. I loved her, she loved Larry Mullen Jr. She was the first U2 superfan I ever knew. At first, I was interested in U2 because I was interested in her, later I grew to appreciate them on my very own, which is good because Doni never became interested in me. There was Travis Williams, my best friend from those days. We would spend hours listening to U2 while he tried to copy the drum parts on his snare, because that was the only drum he had. He is the one that said Bono could sing opera if he wanted to, and he was right. Then there was Erica Carson. Erica was another one of my crushes, this time as a senior. She was super intelligent, pretty, and of course, out of my league. We were friends though, good friends. She was the friend I was going to the show with that fateful November evening in 1987. After I missed the show, we went our separate ways. I think she went to Princeton, while I attended Princeton on the Pond, i.e. Tarrant County College Northwest Campus.<br />
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So it had to be my wife who was sitting next to me this time around. The woman who bought the tickets so we could go, the woman who, even though she is not a big U2 fan, wanted to see the look on my face when I finally witnessed them hitting the stage. The woman who smiled because I could not stop smiling. The woman who has given me two daughters that I thought about when the band played "Ultraviolet" and images of great women spread across the massive screen. She is my biggest love. She completes the circle.<br />
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So thank you U2. Thank you for bringing it all back around again. Thanks for reminding me how much music matters, how much it holds the power for change and for goodness and grace. How it can make you feel like a kid again. By the way, dad, you are forgiven. I know you were only doing what you felt was right. <br />
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<br />Doug Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667166547854799856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1106374139877542421.post-13147679431416169592017-05-06T15:41:00.000-05:002017-05-06T15:51:28.132-05:00The Ticket and Me: Part 2 (Or Part 1 of Part 2)Thanks for being patient. Life has forced me into the fast lane and out of memory lane for the last couple of months. But with just a little time on my hands I wanted to continue to remember my time at The Ticket, which turned 23 this year.<br />
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After being let go from the station in January of 1996, I was a little lost. I had tapes and resumes out there, but not many offers, back then there was only one sports station in town and I was narrow minded and arrogant enough to believe that not only did I belong in town, but I only really wanted to be a sports guy. (Side note: if you want to stay employed in broadcasting, best to be able to do a little bit of everything. Over the years I have done news, weather, traffic, and the always difficult to execute "traffic and weather together." I have done promotions, emcee duties, public address announcing. I have done play-by-play for high school girls softball on the internet, to high level college and minor league sports on ESPN News, ESPN 3, Fox Sports Southwest, etc. In other words, have voice, will travel)<br />
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For not the first, or the last time in my career, I got very lucky in March of 1996. Since The Ticket and KRLD/TSN were owned by the same company, management had made the decision to move the Kate Delaney show to the Texas State Network. She would still be heard on The Ticket, but now she was being syndicated statewide. TSN needed a sports anchor for her show and someone to cover games, edit tape, and handle a few morning and evening sports casts for the network. The program director at The Ticket recommended me to the director over at TSN and from there I was off to the races. A new job with some of the old perks, it was a great deal.<br />
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I spent three years at KRLD/TSN. Fairly early in my tenure KRLD/TSN and The Ticket went their separate ways due to ownership changes. I was no longer being heard on The Ticket, but I had a great job. I would come into work about 2:00 PM and prep some afternoon sports updates for TSN. After doing the updates, I would head out to whatever game happened to be in town that night. During the fall and winter I spent most of my nights at Reunion Arena covering either the Mavericks or the Stars. I also went to a lot of TCU and SMU basketball games and events like the Texas/OU Classic at the Cotton Bowl. During the summer, the majority of my nights were spent at The Ballpark in Arlington. This made sense. KRLD was the radio home of the Rangers at the time and the KRLD/TSN studios were at the Ballpark. I literally walked out our back door into the concourse area behind Greene's Hill in center field.<br />
<br />
I loved, LOVED covering the Rangers. The Ballpark was still almost brand new, the team was turning into a winner under Johnny Oates and in fact, would win their first Division title in the fall of 1996. I was privileged to be in the locker room that night. Summer nights at the ballpark are just about as good as it gets, especially when the hot dogs and sodas are free and you get to sit in an air conditioned booth right above home plate. The Rangers press box had an empty booth that was only used very sparingly when an extra broadcast space was needed. Almost every night during a Ranger game it was occupied by Mike Rhyner and Greg Williams, the super popular, super baseball power hitting duo of the Hardline. They allowed whoever was covering the game for The Ticket that night to sit in that booth, and one other, humbled, honored, special guest, me.<br />
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Those nights were just spectacular. I learned baseball from two of the most passionate baseball nuts I could imagine, I was sitting at the equivalent of the cool kids table from junior high, an invitation only space of our very own, to be as loud and obnoxious as we wanted without drawing the scornful glances of the high and mighty scribes down in the writers pressbox. I laughed my ass off pretty much every night. I enjoyed trying to crack up Mike and Greg as well. Every seventh inning stretch I would come up with what I called the "Free Verse Cotton Eyed Joe" wherein I would ad lib lyrics to the Cotton Eyed Joe that were crude and sexually perverse, usually about people I had spotted in the stands. I'll not re-print them here, you can use your imagination.<br />
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This was also the birthplace of the "Half-Assed Novelist." One night I was trying to make Mike laugh so I was doing this old mans voice, regaling Mike with this long winded, verbose story about a little boy that turned out to be John Cangelosi (I think, the details are fuzzy). Rhyner liked it, he liked it a lot. He told me I should call in on the show and do the character. Now mind you, at this point in my career The Ticket was the competition. But it was still where I longed to be. I started doing the bit for the Hardline and it seemed to be a hit. This only served to validate my thought that I was wasting away at KRLD and stoked my desire to return to The Ticket. (BTW I was wrong about wasting away, even though I eventually did go back to The Ticket, I should never have taken for granted the good thing I had at KRLD/TSN)<br />
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The Half-Assed Novelist was not the only character I did for The Ticket during this time. When down in Port Charlotte, Florida covering the Rangers for spring training, I happened to be there at the same time as The Musers (George Dunham, Craig Miller, Gordon Keith). Of course, I hung out with them most of the time when we were not at the Ballpark and one morning I saw a commercial on television for some New Age Music compilation. One of the artists was a guy named Ottmar Leibert. I started goofing around with a voice that sounded like one part Colonel Klink, one part Kathleen Turner. In our minds, Ottmar Leibert became a German industrialist who toured around the United States going to different sporting events. In whatever town he was in, he would develop crushes on the athletes of a certain team in that town and express those feelings of love in rhyme, in third person. A few examples:<br />
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"Ottmar is jealous of Mrs. Greg Ellis"<br />
"Ottmar wants to do the splitski for Dirk Nowitzki"<br />
"Ottmar wants to give a bone, to Jerry Jones"<br />
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This was, believe it or not, also a marginally successful character and my desire to return to The Ticket grew with every covert appearance. Every time I would hang out with those guys it would just remind me of what I was missing out on. There was not an opening at the Ticket that would have made sense for me to leave what I had at KRLD at that time, but soon enough, a couple of wheels would begin to turn that would ultimately give me my dream shot...dang this is going to be a long post, better split it up. I promise part two of part two will come quicker than part one of part two did. Hang with me.<br />
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<br />Doug Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667166547854799856noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1106374139877542421.post-69094846215862156872017-01-28T14:16:00.001-06:002017-01-28T14:18:43.494-06:00The Ticket and Me, Part I<br />
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imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Image result for The Ticket logo" border="0" class="_WCg" data-deferred="1" height="121" id="uid_1" src="data:image/png;base64,iVBORw0KGgoAAAANSUhEUgAAAHkAAAB5CAMAAAAqJH57AAABQVBMVEX////eHi3cAADeGyvdABTdABgAAF7eGCgnMHHkZmj20NLeJDMACGMAAGPyuLnhQ03/7ezn6O3h4ugTIGrT1+GJj6z42tjdDSEhK2/kY2yBgqI1PHfgKjLurK3fPUD27u9nbJSqr8IAEGaUlKygornjXGPlhooMG2jrkpUAFmfum5729vgaJWxQVYWGh6FaYIwAAFfExtNwdJhAR3zUADLClzrneH24ucmxxUHywsPiT1a6Zj/OGzPGozfCazu+Sz3Cszi6gD/NADe5iT3LrTSVr0qChFOmsUaTl060rUKhoUi2T0GsZkaztUDDJTm4OECqjUGaaUt4elWOaE+Pck+aeUyzXUOsd0TGwDO1AD9qdFqzIT3N2TKznEK+zTnKXDfAADqcT0vIeDfPTDOjRkfDODiVi0nIgzUuFFzSwckAAEq4lJvOAAAPMUlEQVRoge2a+3+bRrbAhzeSwBIvgSF6IJCxBBgBsoiUuHGd7k2T1o/dbbO+t3GS2zTb3f7/f8A9M6CHYzu2m3z2/uLz8SeRBcx3zpkzcx4YoQd5kAd5kAd5kAd5kAd5kAe5QUIQ8u9/hqaoK9Ce49goTHKxWH6juqmqKl97JqFvZP0kdyYrjj6IdIRcKVaW3xS8rFmiE7tflaxPMjeSCtVVV1/JYlEUvmSvb0q0VNHdyVchq64dEy1DIDpSunlNsniel6M1OcytxFbD1eT0P2t4xcsyLw3VlQrJyL9EFmFNdTlbPyBaXl9fzSNJfMPwXB3dV8K8nLu+ItsjY+N6xk8yFDr8H6vre5qoKKhwyoXPZTJPxc3QPcWQlNasWVuTi0jiNxZVAT+G5VBX3h7aSa7xg4GllBMHC/XwBwPdR5TU6/uoQ5sb5NQrUuWzT8GuU/TUDVdkdrEThllx64JX1xXdywzC6HDCBvl+Qsi02eihUC8Mw12a5up+VwrbwC7s2zZxit58Z2FSnyOHK7mZzHR75W+6a3hY9TSy3U3DqZ7t68hI7b5HNk57PGRpUxAukVPP7vf7e+Du8IufVJL1Myy2bRu+m67tWpIpoTHrtKtvQHWDj9Sw8IrqNj0pp+GTMdudGkebpsnSjaGwIqfJJIZ1Bim8OC+QfWlrlyZQYY09O+v3DTxSSaZMk6OFWqdVoXxRLzUlGycGM89rdfjU2ppxNIdvpmZw8xZbkcPYKTYhmZOkYbuSq8ZWdH+v70w8TN5p0iyh78xLwyMyCQXrk0oGqrH0vL7TNFnOpChquNvGSxMuycrIg4Vvz7d2Z9uL5qLWQraczrFhQGi4t9dsDrd3xp15vd1az0+BdWZ64DGzJssKJscsiOF3qXGrJCdwQAwFpgFUll1sC0IT9q6ROCN9SYagtLV4JNBEWIGdoZQHssCAlGR8geNYuPiou5iN5+1SPyC3kGHoSqvDUBTLsQBv7XL0TkmOCZkSWGExbqMtDsjKRIssbUn2J2GdNpluc1jb6XTGLNyg8ilqtbqMsGgR/2nX51sNRmgIoJwACpjd4c5WKyRkezBy3FaDMcfbj1iTZbqMeYksNLEpworMR6JYkVXfcdAOx42rZWrThGy7BYIxhrBaWELUMdlxqz7vwGoxJvEVbiEQciRqBpDZOvjRwuQE6jIZG033ArUk53oaAZmmh0hNghhtm2wHLu9lsU7IihYNkpIcTiSJd1CLNhew/E74CFSqd2aweOAzhCyJUUUufKU9bnyiM11HMa/JSkm2ka5pen0X/FGVrIrsy1HEpyXZEq1+RdbAPCrqClwrlUWp94jhdrF3oXqnZmLyXrrS2ZflOBxzS3KyImuidIkMpp2DYVfkQSQOKrJmRUvyYAA7d8zSnfBfcL0k6xMphy1fehhyVuRADPRryEkWXSa3aXa4Sc7sJVn1jaAiKx7ywjYNnzI/tpbkkWjBIl0hg+E3yP0leU/lPyVjD+OtpCR7imJdQ/YLHS1MupXG4ZosRyI8doWcgd9eo/OefhtZJWS2e4mcYVuzndDS0Yqc2va1ZD3/AnJrp1PfJIcOauNnvD5a65wWKI6AbAqfkJ0vIFcn/1pnHTUFRkBFukl2UQ7kTo36auQo6cdOwE/SFRkOYpai6Hpv7zI5thyjwDHwK5FFC0Qc+Mhekessw+BjaS9cr3Po24480gJ5FBvJVyEHo4HMjywIXWtyA6IERA7073RJHpexsohFUbQGnycvuFnvDmTFgLRDUVQor1bWnnFsZ05jc3sVmenO5iRYZlJkRbnyCXmX3STjnEG1dfkWMriWYWR2liVLD9tu01wN9Ux8FntKSaYEDvIZiDCem8U4a98kR3q7Zs7WZBjSHqS3kxXNJcnjclcJwwVOL9HMFLpg7qTSuQGBkmshPDq+e5NsObberi/PMA8VCS976CZyf0XuyzoK2+v9TAnYQXR1C8zd7nn95TrXt2aNFloWQ5fIYsTnvlLqHMXOQOMTdDs5FEc4dHK9FZnidlAo4lwPe3e+9G2FJJPuVbIVYa8L5JyQLSsYZDglvJ1MUiSmsSYLFAwQ5KgmYHPLq1jFy4PYM66QlTSTAgvgI8yLZdC+PJnuT4bhvNiy1C0WPoaOuI5VojXKrpJh4d1Y0sqq1E6Xeev9yeY2BAfVClwwN9jdjtaxCg4dJy1rmktk4s2fVnn3IXsleYbrgzyK4eyG5/4tLU/PrJ9HmepD2u8qV8hX5R5kz5CTiuyGcTBQxhzFttG/luQUpcTYoe7HX4GcFpaMyd1QDTKjKMkpLqoyvc4Sc8srchJkZXVqfzlZx0cnLnkgJ5FxXUTIS2EZ7N1/rMixliEa6uevQSbSGnPCApPb4/EjRmiOcXjoQU0xMykOarOw9DDbtyQgQ0L6RWQHyOZsPBuCkqZJQZjQZXVOc5DICywDD8JnpgGbe9GZtwmZLLBfZkNfQBZ5IFO4bgCB4ompQ4xU52aDSJeQoSgTIDNhORyrt6uyqiRn9yJnRWytySMo36CSb3QXw9nuVr2HdDg7UKtHBMfD1ryDy8yGABWrAGizu93BVWWpc6oFdydrfhatyVYe1jtQoFadB9UTLdF3fSJuAfW8rpCWRatdH8+aj8A6uKpr1MYcJvcHXn5nMoyzR6wNS6pCeNFivYKmfuZAWBPFYBRomhYEo9FgwMv8wMqTzPBTFfOhqsJ0oayrEgkevJXMlxUdlKY2ITe3kLoXwBksRXkuapI80KJRoKuaVYm4Evgl0gbywMlwr6I13+kS02My2OM28h9ZuMUx3QXdIeQeNm/hGrJVjgxjB7IDh71qOXkex3HuiIHM87IEBoiW07C0AR/1cYOpvtukic7zekW+0l0ppUhgSmMwkVCRUZhm2khFbixC4icFTmz76tXnQkUvXM9OnBE2ScmPYCGSsucJ5BltUjisIde+TutMtlGna+ItWmsjQ7OMRAyiUdnqDRVFWTa+1LRwfTvJkA45ddZHRubqOkSlMFQLI4NcbFTirSByskIlZAFyCHzm6MU15DiwIQdlhSFOB5U+VPpRNNpssoJuUE6qKOedYNSPA1WLXS+KkB/zUL46lSVDHe7KowGhWxEE6kDpjZusSbFNSKNuIg/LnkXR12IxCsSk6lXjlwhhPxeDOIkslMUoE5HLF7iba1tgQzkNYRqlSQzcwALt7VgckdQH4rSh9uZD02R3bybjdosOVbKW61G/qNZEj/mJ6CLPkDCJV2wHvEBJrTCX8iyGWGgEvq5X5GKgJdWAapFZWpCD7tEoKVB7Rn+GDGWJI4OReb3qv+IUm4/TNJehYOOzwoYIBDWcAX6HXMe184ED2avGT3jS3EPKIM5z/CHNiPX1Ip0QzQeRofTaN5H3VFsOtEGQVZcVm59YajbC89dihAJNih2NtD0l4HgBfPQnUDY7KMzkMvGRdDvCS6QnvNQn48CBMMJrrslJegPZEvGRROaKm+ZpBrmpryWJiK8mFhRsToiXN0SKJ0FiYEhJWuR86jtQwezxmGyPZF4bEW0LOetPqv6+m/NE8ZFztV+KyVEwStyygrBi5PGWhnXNMnwGoT6QDSlV1Yk2UfPAcXLk50mkxarr5BGvQ3ZU+IbUD1O7fI2QWAqxVNlcTfvE3SLnupZ0Di5IPnhS5IC3Kr7s+pGjuDzsLFWEMRxpEKMCDiK8t/ELOtJ9wpsd3MJI4EiHQ0AvSAKmiNjRPF4tHCvBiuqZFUDUQ8rVhvgy+fV5Iwzxc8poJEJFE8Z8ZoiiimwbZ0Ofk1D1i0QaRUaICh5XEQa4KtS7pbernmXDMeTq15yDpe45PkhyH7+eIf4a2o5j3PIGY0PU1BC9fkz8TLRCJUhwndrHI0A1qMABeNNYeWQnE1nCFR6fXesRt4uSBVLspwnvgQkLpEtyrBEj4FduN75E1cXA8VQFXKiQ+fzTF124qTremQ0XkJOxZdvZbDQXtRluby+zIDKMHUxwEZPDIQeBFSw4ucnKK0ljPGurH/KbkaVV7+wsGizN4lYqhH1I/6hSIA+ELMDkOBanTDWSLxEB3awEauQU7AcjTvzraJvi83tqgbuoS6v06p1ZFxIcnGPdIowAOaIpNGdb5XuToh84qTvBlkv5W8lQrYzkZGma1tZ2F6DMrdDLfFaouiWKDQco9pY+f/srymJS7WzU2xpSQL0HdJNON2Z1YjeoKhVPTj7HrKRy6NYORf857JJu0s0OsJUYUqb47i+FdznuTtjP3iSwDVwX6cXd3wbXKa58FNyKgfIB/xAjfgp6+qQh4EvkOoO9Xrg8MbrZux23lg5bPi/8cPBMODr47uD50f63FDPdP3x2eWDhm33ypfDx4OApMz377pezE+Hy9EyufXdwfWlo5uRsXzg5/O14f/rb2wbz/OL0zXuGODr8g/8zL57tP//t7dHR4SncOT3+x/mbj89evcPvslZ4oXt3rZvm6qknQP7x18P3wvQxdXR4Ihw8YbofoJI7+fD0w5Rhjo7fH54w58/eXfx+dipMX1CvX56e//3nj+8+fHg3XQ7Cju8K7tHUJpl5f3ZxQQH55PxI+P33j8dnz385v7g4PDuYCqffTQ9+//Dmh1/f/nixL1AfP56f/Pjmr7+9/fnw4uz5UmtheGedL5HNZ2+nR+fvsc7nWOeP/9w/nB788u7sCCyx/8Q8ffnq/PTXA+bp4ylj7p8JzPGUejn99pv3h0uyeXfycGltpvFkn3ry8ujZ+dH7t0fUxTdHb97vP399/FNJPhIeP20cvj56e/Tx8Ojd8ckT8/CJ0DieTl82vv11TaY7dya3KtemhL8eP/5+evb4+PToL8d/OTk5fvyj+cOLVy+/f/Ff37/4n8c//fc5Jbw+fvGDQP3j8fHJ61fmP59RPx//9Pfjv7149bfH/1uOYi7uDAbnNiutyf4UwJVwRILdPC1/g+iEf8zn3+IWJPmZks2ObySxTFjtbPZ+G7o1pC9v3GuFOX262js3nGUCPbuddlm2undg3xI4IX1Y1O8Lhr3Vad7x6L5pWqxQm9+fS6SOGw93sPp12nJmd3yPY/OKhFD54wToXpkBJCbcsPMl2CV9Ph4KONczb1EfuzXkhY1Z508s7o0C2dhurcnhbJMlXbnlzhGqDh0Is5iNt675O4+vM4F2fasz3p3NZrVabTgcwr+z2c4u/pOO1n/mrxEf5EEe5EEe5P9F/g8Tx1ra+3N0UwAAAABJRU5ErkJggg==" title="http://streema.com/radios/The_Ticket_Sportsradio" width="121" /></a></div>
Sportsradio 1310 "The Ticket" turned 23 this month. Unbelievable. The little sports station that nobody gave a chance is now one of the greatest success stories not only in D/FW radio, but nationally. Drive around the country and see how many towns have a sports station called "The Ticket". There are a ton, but the one in Dallas, the one I worked at three times over the course of ten years, was the first. I am pretty sure it is also still the best. Mainly because I want to get this down before I forget too much, I am writing about my time at The Ticket and some of the memories I have of the place. I hope you enjoy. <br />
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I spoke my first words on The Ticket a few months into it's existence in 1994. I was trying very hard to finish up my degree at the University of North Texas, graduating on the six year plan and needing to pass this Algebra/Pre-Cal class that had kicked my butt twice before. I was also working on my fledgling radio career, first at KNTU and KDNT in Denton, then the USA Radio Network in Farmers Branch. My best friend Mark Followill told me there might be a weekend, overnight board-op job opening up at The Ticket and I should apply. A quick primer, the weekend, overnight board-op is basically the lowest guy on the programming totem pole at any radio station. The job is simple, play a station ID once an hour and try not to get caught sleeping. I jumped at the chance.<br />
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The Ticket was the dream. From the very beginning. Even though the industry "experts" were brushing it off, the guys I hung out with, those of us who went to UNT, studied under Bill Mercer, looked up to our predecessors like Dave Barnett, Craig Way, George Dunham and Craig Miller, we knew that this was something special and somewhere we needed to be. Mark had been the first of us come aboard, hired from the start to be a "Ticket Ticker" guy. His presence at the station had opened the door for me. I started at the station in the spring of 1994, within a couple of months of it going on the air. Not a Day 1 guy but pretty close.<br />
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I ran the board on Friday and Saturday nights, overnight, when no-one else was at the station and the programming was syndicated garbage from some national network. I played the station ID at the top of the hour and watched television the rest of the time. Sweet gig. My first involvement with an actual show was running the board for "The Ticket Stub". The Stub featured two young, up and coming talents named Gordon Keith and Laurence Scott. It was an awakening. The show was fresh, raw, completely original and unpredictable. It was the first time I had worked with genius level talent. Both Gordon and Laurence were on another level intellectually and while that worked to create some of the funniest radio I have ever heard, it also created some of the most awkward on-air friction ever. Gordon was always concerned that the show would get too sports intensive, shifting the focus away from his strength, the comedy. Meanwhile Laurence, knowing he had the upper hand when it came to sports knowledge, was always trying to expose Gordon in that area and show off his own sports acumen. It was mutual sabotage. It's a shame, because while both have gone on to outstanding careers, Gordon, of course, with the Musers, Laurence as a game host, commentator and content producer for the Golden State Warriors, had they been able to work together they might have become the best product The Ticket ever produced.<br />
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My first on-air break occurred quite by accident. I was finishing up the overnight board shift. The Saturday morning show, "The Bottle Rockets" were coming in. Being a live show there were Ticket Tickers, but the anchor had not shown up and it was almost time to go to break. I ran into the Ticker booth, threw together a couple of notes, and did the update. It was probably terrible, but I remember it being among the most exhilarating feelings I have ever experienced. I was just on the air, on The Ticket!! After that the Bottle Rockets producer, Rick Arnett, gave me a regular assignment recording a sports calendar of events that would air throughout the weekend. I was on my way.<br />
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There was only one problem, I was coming up on graduation, having finally tackled that damn math class (D is for Diploma) and I was going to be in need of full-time work, and soon. I figured I would have to travel out to a smaller market, maybe Mount Pleasant or Abilene, to get a start but I knew I should ask my bosses at The Ticket first. I was at a remote at the Hard Rock Cafe when I approached station owner Spence Kendrick and told him about my situation. He said he would see what he could do. (Thank you Spence!!) The next day the program director, Jim Short, came to me with a proposition, how I would I like to do Ticket Tickers mid-days, Monday through Friday? At this time there was not a mid-day slot for Ticker guys, David Burrall handled the mornings, Mark Followill the afternoons. I would be the third person hired for the job. Amazing. Did it pay much? Hardly anything. Did I care? Not a bit. I was right out of college and about to be working full-time in a Major Market. Living the dream.<br />
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I did Ticket Tickers from August of 1994 to January of 1996. Along the way I picked up the nickname "Doogie" from Mike Rhyner. Rhyner nicknamed everybody and I am not sure why he settled on Doogie but I am glad he did because Greg Williams wanted to call me "Flounder" after the character in the movie <b><i>Animal House. </i></b>I was also just happy Rhyner took an interest in me at all after an unfortunate encounter in the Rangers clubhouse when I was still in college left me wondering if I had made an enemy for life in the radio business. That is a story for another day. For a while I worked two Ticker shifts one during the mid-day and one during a new night time show called "The Sports Princess" with Kate Delaney. I still lived in Denton, so I practically never went home, and that was fine by me. This was during the summer of 1995, or as I call it, "The Summer of Drunk". That's because virtually every night after the Sports Princess show, her co-host Gordon Keith, her producer Randy Myers, Mark Followill and me would all head out to Louie's or some Lower Greenville establishment and proceed to enjoy libation until the place closed down. It was easily the most fun summer I have ever had. I was married to The Ticket, to the life, and it was a loving relationship, until it wasn't. They let me go in January of 1996. They said it was a budget thing. I was devastated. All I had wanted to do was work at The Ticket, now that was over. Little did I know that this would only be part one of a three part series. <br />
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<br />Doug Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667166547854799856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1106374139877542421.post-81876035521968223592015-01-14T21:16:00.000-06:002015-01-14T21:22:21.873-06:00The Half-Assed Novelist<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGKjof1NjWDFryVCsJmY1Dp5D13eRxL5fgRvvFRzte7emsXe7zaUFCeZMBPDlAMvbQv2N5xkM1aU-9bzV7bqzJW7tlCwR7pGzhn0Zh6aN3bYPsSZniP57PGU5GSWLKzJBdNm4_A0Vp3fzo/s1600/Half-Assed+Novelist.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGKjof1NjWDFryVCsJmY1Dp5D13eRxL5fgRvvFRzte7emsXe7zaUFCeZMBPDlAMvbQv2N5xkM1aU-9bzV7bqzJW7tlCwR7pGzhn0Zh6aN3bYPsSZniP57PGU5GSWLKzJBdNm4_A0Vp3fzo/s1600/Half-Assed+Novelist.jpg" /></a>The year was 1973. I was an artist, living in New Orleans...I drew caricatures for tourists along the boardwalk on the East bank of the Mississippi River. The times were indeed high. My artist friends and I we shared love, we shared passion, we shared whatever intoxicants we might possess at our midnight gatherings in Jackson Square. It was such a fine and natural sight, everybody dancin' in the moonlight just like the King Harvest song of a similar name.<br />
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It was at one of these nocturnal festivities that I saw something wondrous and truly affirming. I was lying on my back, letting the cool of the grass support my carriage as to give my tired legs a moment of respite. In that moment my eyes happened upon a kite, swaying against the moonlight. The kite was as patriotic as Old Hickory himself, streaked with brilliant reds and blues against a backdrop of white. I was mesmerized by the hypnotic dance of this flying wonder and could not help myself but to follow the string all the way down to the earth where I saw that the string stopped inside a little hand, a hand attached to an arm which made a skinny journey to the torso of....<br />
<br />
a little boy.<br />
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This lad was a firecracker. He was decked out in bell bottom jeans with patches on the knees, a "Super Friends" t-shirt with likenesses of Batman, Superman and Wonder Woman. He wore a baseball cap bearing the logo of what must have been his favorite team, the Baltimore Orioles. He wore horn-rimmed glasses which perched ever so carefully atop a slightly runny nose.<br />
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I rose to my feet. I walked over to the boy, fascinated by the way he mastered the kite flying high above our heads. I said "Son, what's your name?"<br />
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The boy barely gave a sideways glance as he mumbled somewhat under his breath "Jimmy."<br />
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My stare penetrated his blank exterior and I asked with fervor "Jimmy what?"<br />
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And with that the boy made a massive pull on the string, sending the kite into a nosedive, he jerked the string with such a violent motion that the kite leveled out, three feet above the ground, the pointy tip flying straight into my posterior. I fell to my knees, my eyes watering, my backside on fire. The boy glared down with sinister, repellent eyes and said to me "My name sir....<br />
<br />
is Jim......<br />
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<b>FREGOSI!!!!"</b><br />
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<br />Doug Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667166547854799856noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1106374139877542421.post-89184164345376669862015-01-13T20:29:00.004-06:002015-01-13T21:25:06.484-06:00Song of the MonthI am a lyrics guy. This might have something to do with the fact that I am not a musician. I love music but aside from being able to strum C, D, and G on six string I have no discernible musical skill. Lyrics though, lyrics I get. To me the essence of a song lies in what it has to say. Obviously a great song needs to make sense melodically and feature excellent musicianship, but if I am to remember a song, more than likely it will be for the message that I take away from the lyrics. Recently I started compiling a list of songs that have changed my life. Songs that have buried themselves in my heart and now exist as part of the collateral mass that makes up my soul. Naturally, these songs are great lyrical songs, with lines that resonate permanently in my psyche. I came up with about twelve songs which means I should be able to share at least one every month throughout the year. I will list them in no particular order, though some might be more timely than others depending on the season. Here goes...<br />
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<b>"Fast Car" by Tracy Chapman </b><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/uTIB10eQnA0?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uTIB10eQnA0"><br /></a><br />
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Timing was definitely part of the reason this song had such an impact on me. Released in April, 1988, "Fast Car" came out just as I was preparing to graduate from high school. I was moving beyond the synth-pop of the mid-eighties, looking for a change of pace from my punk flirtation with Black Flag and Circle Jerks, and my obsession with classic country was still a few years in the distance. Tracy Chapman came along when I was trying to be a grown-up, and listen to grown-up music. Her song, a tale of a girl caught up in the cycle of poverty, alcoholism, and the bitter need to be self-reliant, was about as grown-up as it got.<br />
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"And I had a feeling that I belonged<br />
I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone"<br />
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"Fast Car" is the musical marriage of Joni Mitchell and Charles Bukowski. It's gorgeous melody cradling the tattered soul of a woman beaten by desperation and frustrated by the father, and the partner, who have done nothing in her life but let her down. Perhaps, one year earlier, in the incubator of high school where life is taken care of by those who know what's best, this song would not have registered. But as a young man who graduated high school on a Friday, and went to work in a hot warehouse the following Monday, this song struck a literal chord in my life. It was about small victories and big dreams, and the heartache that occurs when those dreams have to be put down. I would not be so presumptuous as to say I saw myself in the song, God knows I had it pretty good all things considered, but I did relate to the message. For me the song is a testimony to the truth that no matter how much you want to believe in someone, at the end of the day you are responsible for your life, for better or worse.<br />
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"We gotta make a decision<br />
We leave tonight or live and die this way"<br />
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"Fast Car" changed my perception. It was so well-crafted, so intelligent, it moved me to explore deeper musical subject matter, and reminded me that life was bigger than what I saw through my windshield. That out there somewhere was a world I did not know, but I wanted to, desperately.<br />
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<div id="lyrics-body-text">
<div class="verse">
You got a fast car<br />
I want a ticket to anywhere<br />
Maybe we can make a deal<br />
Maybe together we can get somewhere<br />
Anyplace is better<br />
Starting from zero got nothing to lose<br />
Maybe we'll make something<br />
But me myself I got nothing to prove</div>
<div class="verse">
You got a fast car<br />
And I got a plan to get us out of here<br />
I been working at the convenience store<br />
Managed to save just a little bit of money<br />
We won't have to drive too far<br />
Just across the border and into the city<br />
You and I can both get jobs<br />
And finally see what it means to be living</div>
<div class="verse">
You see my old man's got a problem<br />
He lives with the bottle that's the way it is<br />
He says his body's too old for working<br />
I say his body's too young to look like his<br />
My mama went off and left him<br />
She wanted more from life than he could give<br />
I said somebody's got to take care of him<br />
So I quit school and that's what I did</div>
<div class="verse">
You got a fast car<br />
But is it fast enough so we can fly away?<br />
We gotta make a decision<br />
We leave tonight or live and die this way</div>
<div class="verse">
See I remember we were driving, driving in your car<br />
The speed so fast I felt like I was drunk<br />
City lights lay out before us<br />
And your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder<br />
And I had a feeling that I belonged<br />
I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone</div>
<div class="verse">
You got a fast car<br />
We go cruising entertain ourselves<br />
You still ain't got a job<br />
And I work in the market as a checkout girl<br />
I know things will get better<br />
You'll find work and I'll get promoted<br />
We'll move out of the shelter<br />
Buy a big house and live in the suburbs</div>
<div class="verse">
See I remember when we were driving, driving in your car<br />
The speed so fast I felt like I was drunk<br />
City lights lay out before us<br />
And your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder<br />
And I had a feeling that I belonged<br />
I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone</div>
<div class="verse">
You got a fast car<br />
And I got a job that pays all our bills<br />
You stay out drinking late at the bar<br />
See more of your friends than you do of your kids<br />
I'd always hoped for better<br />
Thought maybe together you and me'd find it<br />
I got no plans I ain't going nowhere<br />
So take your fast car and keep on driving</div>
<div class="verse">
See I remember when we were driving, driving in your car<br />
The speed so fast I felt like I was drunk<br />
City lights lay out before us<br />
And your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder<br />
And I had a feeling that I belonged<br />
I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone</div>
<div class="verse">
You got a fast car<br />
But is it fast enough so you can fly away?<br />
You gotta make a decision<br />
Leave tonight or live and die this way</div>
</div>
<div class="writers">
<b>Songwriters</b><br />
Chapman, Tracy L</div>
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Read more: <a href="http://www.metrolyrics.com/fast-car-lyrics-tracy-chapman.html#ixzz3Ol82gASq" style="color: #003399;">Tracy Chapman - Fast Car Lyrics | MetroLyrics</a> </div>
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<br />Doug Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667166547854799856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1106374139877542421.post-77785877226623800762015-01-08T21:05:00.003-06:002015-01-08T21:08:25.284-06:00Respect for the Also-Ran's<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span id="goog_61979835"></span><span id="goog_61979836"></span><span id="goog_1618374032"></span><span id="goog_1618374033"></span>Once, a very long time ago, I was "The Weakest Link." Allow me to take you back, all the way back to the turn of the century, 2001 to be exact. At this time there was a very popular game show on television called "The Weakest Link". It was hosted by a curt British woman named Anne Robinson. She was known for her harsh stares and directness, and for making contestants feel like dirt when they did not perform up to expectations. The idea of the game was that the contestants would build the jackpot together, answering questions, banking money in the kitty, and voting each other out of the game until one by one each of the contestants was eliminated save for one, and that person walked away with all of the money.<br />
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Early in 2001 the show was holding open auditions in cities across the country. During this time I was producing a morning radio show in Dallas on 93.3 FM "Merge Radio" which before that was known as "The Zone", then afterwards "The Bone", then "I-93", and maybe a few dozen other names as well. Anyway, as a bit I auditioned along with the two hosts of the show, Tim and Yvonne. The audition consisted of answering a few trivia questions, talking about yourself, and displaying interesting talents (Hellooooo Breakdancing!).<br />
Yvonne received a call right away and was on the show soon after. As I recall she did well, finishing somewhere in the middle of the pack. Months went by, I left the radio station, forgot all about the audition, and then one day the phone rings and it's a producer from the show. They liked my audition, and want to fly me to LA to be on the show.<br />
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Cutting to the chase, I was terrible. I did not answer a single question correctly, I did not bank any money, and at the end of the first round I was voted the weakest link by every other contestant. Goodbye!<br />
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For a long time I looked at that as a defeat, a serious blow to my confidence. I had choked on national television. It all felt like failure, everything that I had been taught to believe about winning and losing told me that I was a loser. Somewhere along the way, however, I began to realize something; what people saw on television was only part of the story. Sure, I had blown it in that one round, and the fact that it was the first round was certainly a case of bad timing, but what was not seen was the victory that was getting on the show in the first place. To become a contestant on "The Weakest Link", not only did I have to impress the producers in the Dallas audition, I had to be impressive enough to be chosen over people in Dallas, Los Angeles, Philadelphia, and wherever else the auditions took place. Once you arrived in LA, they did not just slap some makeup on you and throw you on television. The producers brought more people to Los Angeles than they planned on using, so we had to play a "practice game", a rehearsal if you will, only the people who made it through that simulation were chosen to be on the actual show.<br />
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Did I win any money? No. Did I get an all expenses paid trip to LA? Yes. Did I look silly on national television? Yes. Would I trade the experience? Absolutely not. Now I do not believe in the "every kid gets a trophy" approach that our culture currently embraces. I think there are, and should be, winners and losers. I do believe, however, that we have too narrowly defined what a winner is. We tend to see only the last man standing as the winner while giving no respect to the ones who gave everything they had, and fell just short.<br />
People who do their best are winners. People who don't give up are winners. People who overcome adversity and challenges and don't make excuses are winners. We need more winners like this in the world, no matter where they might place in the race of life. Despite what society may say, no one who does these things is an also-ran.<br />
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Doug Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667166547854799856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1106374139877542421.post-40057032572363910962015-01-06T21:02:00.000-06:002015-01-06T21:02:42.533-06:00To Him the GloryThe struggle is for our growth, the victory is for His glory!<br />
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Every now and then I will throw down some preaching. God knows how to speak to me because He made me. He knows what will resonate and connect. I think in sound bites so He often will speak to me in that way, giving me little quotes that I can jot down like the one above. Those words came to me this morning in prayer time when I was thinking about how our God is a God who is with us in the daily junk. He is intimate with our struggles but does not leave us stranded there. Instead He is leading us out, to a place of victory and redemption where we can look back at where we came from and rejoice in His might, His goodness and His love.<br />
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Take heart that God knows it's hard sometimes, but He also knows what you are made of, because He made you. He knows that you have power and strength. Most importantly, He knows that when things seem too much to bear, you have a God who is on your side, and will not let you down.<br />
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So when you are in the struggle, remember that you are growing, becoming who God designed you to be. When you achieve the victory, remember that it was God who delivered it and to Him should go the glory.<br />
<br />Doug Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667166547854799856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1106374139877542421.post-64942050933837477052015-01-05T18:02:00.001-06:002015-01-05T18:19:54.473-06:00On Living LongWhen is a good age to die? I will be 45 this year, halfway to 90. Ninety seems like a really good age to die. You have lived past your 80's so hopefully you have been blessed with health and feel you have lived a good, long life. However, you don't make it to 100, which is alright because between 90 and 100 I would imagine you spend most of your time checking over your shoulder for the grim reaper anyway.<br />
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Much more important to me than how long I live is how well I live. I don't mean living well in the sense of having nice things and being comfortable, I mean the satisfaction and joy that comes with being independent, able, and of sound mind and body.<br />
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My greatest fear when I was young was being "normal." Living as an anonymous, faceless drone doing a job that nobody noticed or cared about. That fear certainly motivated me to pursue a broadcasting career, I loved the idea of being on the radio, of being heard, even more than I loved the actual sports I was covering.<br />
Some people fall in love with sports, and that love leads them to a career in play-by-play. I was the opposite, I loved radio, and my love of being on the air manifested itself in a sports broadcasting career. Now that I am older and I have come to terms with being both known and unknown, my biggest concern is that I will one day be helpless, unable either mentally or physically, to do the basic, daily tasks that make us human. The things of dignity, respect and self-preservation. I want to be the old man who putters around, running his daily errands, having little adventures. I want to be my own man, always. <br />
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I know, however, that the day might come when that is no longer a possibility. I am fortunate to have two wonderful, caring little girls who I am fairly certain would tolerate me if I become a little old man, ornery and stubborn, but in need of their care. That is not my prayer. My prayer is to be the daddy they know, full of life, light and surprises. A blessing to their kids and even their kids kids, right up until the day the light goes out. Whatever (old) age that may be. <br />
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<br />Doug Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667166547854799856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1106374139877542421.post-10873908910345118682015-01-04T21:33:00.000-06:002015-01-04T21:34:24.595-06:00The Jersey Boys<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQuUE-QZu6rYqAtarjFdudkCyNAl26g_k2DHWpHHkPVZSfbkPWzNYNkkckoDu_tn1Mrp8TxIoGfB6Xly6IWADisfdZ3mkZClAer0xEQQr7pB1tiUCmvbsBuco4bZqE2VwLLIMxf85qoswY/s1600/Cowboy+fans.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQuUE-QZu6rYqAtarjFdudkCyNAl26g_k2DHWpHHkPVZSfbkPWzNYNkkckoDu_tn1Mrp8TxIoGfB6Xly6IWADisfdZ3mkZClAer0xEQQr7pB1tiUCmvbsBuco4bZqE2VwLLIMxf85qoswY/s1600/Cowboy+fans.jpg" height="149" width="200" /></a>I am not judging, but I don't get grown men who wear jerseys. I see them everywhere, grocery stores, restaurants, even at church. Mostly they are worn by men who bear no resemblance whatsoever to the person whose name adorns the back of the garment, unless Dez Bryant somehow morphs into a middle aged white dude when he is not on the football field.<br />
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I don't know why it bothers me, it just does. Like I said, I am not judging and I really don't have a problem with how other people choose to express their support of a particular team. It's just not something I understand. I would never, as a grown man, wear what amounts to a replica of the work attire of another grown man to show my admiration for said individual. To me it would be akin to showing up for a doctors appointment wearing a lab coat with a stethoscope draped around my neck. <br />
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When I was a kid I had jerseys. I remember being very proud of an Earl Campbell Houston Oilers jersey and my Pittsburgh Steelers jersey bearing the name and number of the great Franco Harris. I guess I had a thing for stocky running backs. But when I grew up, I put away childish things. Now if I want to support a team, I will wear a t-shirt or a hat with the teams logo, maybe a golf shirt if I am feeling upwardly mobile that day. I guess I associate the wearing of a jersey with idol worship, in essence the wearer is saying; "I want to be this person when I grow up." The problem is my friend you are grown up and chances are your career path does not include playing time in the NFL (I know, if not for the knee injury in high school you would have made it) so maybe it is time to let that dream go.<br />
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There was a stretch of my radio career where I spent about 200 nights in a year in a locker room. My job was to interview players, take the sound back to the radio station and cut it up for use in updates the following day. I interviewed guys like Michael Jordan, Nolan Ryan, Troy Aikman, etc. One of the reasons I think I was good at it was I never looked at it like "OMG! I am talking to Nolan freaking Ryan"! It was always one guy doing his job by talking to the other guy about how he did his job. Maybe that is why the whole jersey thing escapes me. I see athletes as guys doing their jobs...entertaining as hell and fun to watch, but just guys, not gods. <span id="goog_732344302"></span><span id="goog_732344303"></span>Doug Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667166547854799856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1106374139877542421.post-34909360328717954712015-01-03T19:56:00.002-06:002015-01-03T19:56:59.453-06:00A Musical Bucket ListI was sad to learn of the passing of Little Jimmy Dickens this week. Dickens debuted on the Grand Ole Opry stage in 1948 and was its most senior member. I always enjoyed watching him perform. He just seemed like the nicest little firecracker you could ever hope to meet. I never did meet him, or see him perform live. I have never been to the Opry, but it is something that I have always wanted to do. Now that I think about it there are numerous musical adventures I would like to have before it is too late, so in that spirit I have created my own musical bucket list, here goes...<br />
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1) Van Morrison.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiflde7GU8KBj6zPs-0q5SskFBGuTgt4RRoURXXtYlhrv57jT03iuW4a8krQW_zPekUdATRL8DjXys_aelPko1OU8SaYQ1LW8bUBINR1GwRFsOiv0R5A8kVJTkqXj6uv28-SwLg__qj57ov/s1600/Van+Morrison.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiflde7GU8KBj6zPs-0q5SskFBGuTgt4RRoURXXtYlhrv57jT03iuW4a8krQW_zPekUdATRL8DjXys_aelPko1OU8SaYQ1LW8bUBINR1GwRFsOiv0R5A8kVJTkqXj6uv28-SwLg__qj57ov/s1600/Van+Morrison.jpg" /></a>Right now Van is performing in Europe, mostly in his native Ireland. If I were able to see Van the man in concert on his home soil, I don't know that I would ever need to attend another concert for the rest of my life. Morrison has inspired me and his music has connected with me in a way that no other artist ever has. One day on this blog I will tell the story of when I was first introduced to this transcendent talent but until then just know that this is number one on my musical bucket list, by a large margin.<br />
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2) U2<br />
More Irish greatness. I had the chance to see U2 once, back when U2 was EVERYTHING to me. I had a ticket to their sold out showTarrant County Convention Center when they were touring in support of the Joshua Tree. November 24, 1987. Unfortunately, I had received a speeding ticket the previous week and my father grounded me from the concert. A friend of mine sold my ticket for face value and I have resented my dad ever since. I know U2 still tours and perhaps one day I will see them perform, but it won't mean what it would have meant to me when I was seventeen.<br />
at <br />
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3) Kris Kristofferson<br />
Johnny Cash is dead, never saw him. Waylon Jennings is dead, never saw him. Willie Nelson is alive, but I have seen him. Kris Kristofferson is my last chance to see another Highwayman. I love this man, and I love his music. I think that he is perhaps the greatest writer to ever step foot in Nashville and I will push Steve Earle off of Bob Dylan's coffee table to get up there and say so. By the way I have seen Dylan so he does not make the list. <br />
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4) The Grand Ole Opry<br />
Might not be as appealing to me now as it would have been in the days of George Jones, Tammy Wynette and Loretta Lynn, but still something that every country music lover should probably experience.<br />
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5) Barbara Streisand<br />
Not so much for me, but if I took my wife to see Barbara Streisand, I could leave the toilet seat up for the rest of my life and it would not matter. Plus, it would most likely be a really cool show.<br />
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There you have it...hopefully I will get the chance to see Elvis, Michael Jackson, George Jones, Jimi Hendrix, Mozart, Johnny Cash, Buddy Holly, and a bunch of others one day as well, but that is after I kick the bucket.<br />
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<br />Doug Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667166547854799856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1106374139877542421.post-60536563852644353152015-01-02T18:38:00.000-06:002015-01-02T18:38:02.013-06:00Why do we hate Florida State?I admit it. I am a Florida State hater. Judging by yesterday's reaction to the Seminoles loss to Oregon in the national semi-final, I am far from the only one. It seems that most of the country took great pleasure in seeing Jameis Winston, Jimbo Fisher and the rest of the FSU team dismantled at the hands of current Heisman winner Marcus Mariota and the talented Ducks. I never felt sorry for Florida State, but at some point I began to wonder what is behind the loathing? Why do we love to hate Florida State?<br />
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I think there are several reasons why the Seminoles became the J.R. Ewing of college football. One reason has to be their success. I remember when the Chicago Bulls were on their remarkable run of NBA Championships. The country was polarized by the Bulls, either you loved them because they were so good, or you hated them for that very reason. I think there is a large percentage of people who love the underdog, and if you love the underdog, you can't love Florida State, a team that had won 29 in a row going into the Rose Bowl. It was maddening to the Seminole hater to see the team come from behind week after week to win football games, teasing us with the prospect of a loss only to be gloating and smiling at the end of another victorious effort. For those people yesterday was a sweet vindication, even though Oregon was the higher seeded team going into the game.<br />
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Other people point to cheating, claiming that Florida State is guilty of infractions and violations that have heretofore gone unpunished. But hating a college football team for cheating is like hating a lion for killing a gazelle. One does what one must to survive in the jungle. <br />
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Jameis Winston. The name alone raises the ire of many a Florida State hater. Here is a petulant wunderkind, a gridiron savant, playing the role of college football's bad boy. How we took joy yesterday in his fall (literally) from grace. I don't know if we have seen a player that more people love to hate. Whether it's the relatively minor incidents of questionable behavior (offensive language, crab legs), to the far more serious question of whether or not he raped a woman, Winston has given the college football fan plenty of reasons to wish failure upon him and his Teflon coated teammates.<br />
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And that is my problem with Florida State. I have never seen a football program with such an impenetrable shield of immunity. From the coaches, to the University administration, to the fans, to the freaking City of Tallahassee Police Department, all are doing their part to make sure that if you are a Seminole football player, the ONLY thing you will be held accountable for is showing up to practice, playing your ass off on Saturday, and "keepin' the winnin' goin'." <br />
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It is sickening to watch an entire community, so blinded by loyalty to a football team, that they are willing to look the other way time and time again while those who don the helmet essentially do whatever the hell they want, without any fear of consequence. I am scared to think of what lengths these enablers will go to protect their beloved program. Could a Florida State football player literally get away with murder in Tallahassee? I want to say of course not, but sometimes I am not sure.<br />
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Hey, maybe I am blowing this whole thing out of proportion. I mean, it's just a game, and boys will be boys, right?<br />
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<br />Doug Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667166547854799856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1106374139877542421.post-44993086498064304662015-01-01T10:10:00.000-06:002015-01-01T10:10:26.023-06:00Happy New Year!<br />
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This is day one of what I hope will be a 365 day journey of consistency. In the past I have started each new year with a few resolutions, most of which, o.k. pretty much all of which flame out sometime around the Super Bowl. One resolution I make practically every year is to write more. I love writing and consider myself a writer, but writing itself often falls down the list of priorities in my daily life. I want that to change in 2015. Therefore, I am making it my goal, not resolution, to put something in this space everyday. It might be rubbish, actually there is a fairly decent chance of that, or it might be gold. Either way words will be written because as you can see by the new title of this blog I believe that writers write. Right?<br />
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The thing that is on my mind as we begin this new year is greed. I wrestle with greed the way a boxer might approach a formidable opponent. I respect its motivation and tenacity, but I still want it annihilated.<br />
I read a lot of social media, probably too much, and I see a lot of anger toward things such as white privilege, systematic oppression, and even capitalism. Don't kid yourself, white privilege, systematic oppression, those things do exist and whether or not you believe you have contributed to it in any way, it continues to be a problem with deep, deep roots in our culture. This country is still sharply divided along racial lines. As a white man with an African-American wife and two bi-racial children, I wish terribly this was not the case, but the evidence is too strong to believe that it is not true.<br />
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We can talk about racism another day. Today I want to focus on capitalism. There seems to be a belief that the system is at fault for the way things are. Capitalism created the 1%. Capitalism denies the opportunity for a man to provide for his family. Capitalism oppresses the poor. I for one don't blame the system, I blame greed. I am not an economist, I know that there are others out there far more educated than I am on the subject but I look at this way; the ones who know best how to take advantage of the system tend to be the greediest among us. For them, enough is never enough, it is always about more. More production, more money, more profit. More is not evil, it can be a good thing when handled properly, but there is a lack of morality, of ethics among those who are always striving for more. They tend to be of the mind-set that as long as there is more for me, then screw everyone else. That mentality, that greed, not capitalism, is what has created this prosperity gap that continues to widen every day. <br />
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I believe it was Spider-man's Uncle Ben who said; "with great power comes great responsibility." This attitude has been lost on a generation of the business class who would rather believe what another movie character said back it the 1980's, when Gordon Gecko told all of us that; "greed is good." <br />
I believe in people getting ahead, I love the fact that a man can conceivably start with nothing but a dream and end up on top of the world. I don't think there should be a limit on a persons success, but I think that each of us has a moral obligation to be good stewards of what we acquire. That means playing the game fairly, abiding by the rules. That means giving back, being generous, lending a helping hand. I don't think this only applies to money. I believe that we all have talents and resources that go beyond the monetary and that if we shared these things with others that we all would benefit. That is my hope for 2015, that the concept of greed become outdated and obsolete. I know the chances are slim, but you have to start somewhere. Kind of like this blog. I will write everyday, try to be less about me everyday, and 365 days from now, hopefully we will all be living in a better world.<br />
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<br />Doug Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667166547854799856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1106374139877542421.post-89589232122171521012014-06-19T09:14:00.002-05:002014-06-20T08:28:05.780-05:00Father's Day<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This week I found out that there is no shortage of “World’s
Greatest Dad’s.” If I am to believe Facebook and Twitter, the overwhelming
majority of my friends and acquaintances were blessed with the kindest,
smartest, funniest fathers that anyone could ever ask for. I am happy for
them…really.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I saw picture after Polaroid picture of dads on my social
media feeds on Father’s Day. Dads decked out in polyester, dads proudly
displaying a hard- won catch from the lake, dads hugging kids, young kids,
grown kids, their kids. Great words too, dad was an inspiration, dad was a
mentor, dad is a hero.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to
disconnect, unplug. I had to remove myself from the endless tribute.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was too much. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There are people who remained invisible to social media on
Father’s Day. They did not post loving memories of dear old dad. They did not
give words of thanks to the man who taught them so much and loved them so well.
Some are fatherless, never knowing the man who is semi-responsible for their
existence. Some know their fathers but, after a lifetime of abuses, wish they
did not. Some are working through it with their dads, trying to lay pavement to
a relationship that has always traveled along very rocky terrain. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For people like that, people like me, there are questions as
to how we should feel when Father’s Day rolls around. Is it okay to be a little
resentful of friends that seem to have been blessed with a wonderful
relationship with their dad? Should I consider myself lucky that at least I did
not have it as bad as others who have suffered unspeakable crimes at the hands
of their fathers? What is the appropriate amount of pain I am allowed, and when
should I just “get over it” and move on?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The thing I have learned about pain, it’s like a
fingerprint, unique to you and attached to you. Other people may see your pain
but they don’t know it, and because they don’t know they really don’t have the
right to tell you how it should be managed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We have a bad habit in our society of putting pain on the scales of
justice, rationalizing that because one person’s wounds seem to be deeper than
another’s , then the more wounded person deserves more compassion. It’s a false
assumption.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Compassion and understanding
are for everyone, and so is the right to heal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have known many people with parental wounds, and while I
do my best to encourage them, I know enough not to try to “fix” them with a
self-help catchphrase or even worse, tough love. Your wounds are your own, so
is your road to healing. For some, it is simply a matter of forgiveness, being
able to let go and move forward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Others
might require confrontation and justice, an acknowledgement of wrongdoing, an
apology.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For everyone who must deal with
the past, the question of the future also remains. Do we try to repair the
broken relationship, or do we build a wall and leave the offenders on the other
side? It is unique, a million life circumstances and just as many responses,
fingerprints. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As for me, I am approaching peace. I am fully aware of whom
my father is, and I know that we will never have the happy, smiling, father-son
photo op that social media seems to adore. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is ok.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sure, every once in a while I might mourn our dead relationship but I
know what is best for me. That is why on Father’s Day I did the very best thing
I could do for myself. I unplugged, put my phone away, and took my two
beautiful little girls swimming. We had a wonderful time!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Doug Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667166547854799856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1106374139877542421.post-72072781883784327282014-06-05T13:15:00.001-05:002014-06-05T13:15:04.453-05:00Gun Lovers, Don't Tread on Me.
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was my friend Monty’s birthday, sometime in the summer of
1989.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Monty was from the country. He
loved to hunt, fish, and ride horses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The horses we had in common, everything else, not so much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Monty had decided to have his birthday party
at an indoor firing range in Fort Worth. I went, if for no other reason than to
see what it was like.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had never been to a
firing range before. The only experience I had with guns was firing a couple of
shots at a tin can with my grandfather’s .22 rifle. That was a long time
ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now I stood in a booth, ear muffs
on, pistol in hand, ready to shoot. I don’t remember whether or not I hit the
target, I remember the recoil, jarring and sudden. I remember the noise,
booming even through the “ears”. Holding that weapon I was awestruck by the
idea that something so simple and small could be so forceful. Here was the
power to take life, to maim and cripple, to alter family histories, to alter
world history, and it fit in the palm of my hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That thought humbled me, in fact it terrified
me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was uncomfortable. I did not like
the feeling of having the arbitrary power to end something, or someone’s life.
It did not belong to me. What right did I have to a power like that? More
importantly, could I trust myself with a power like that? It was the last time
I picked up a gun. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So I am not a gun person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Does that make me un-American? Am I a “sissy” because I don’t like to
shoot things?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>According to some folks in
my great home state of Texas, the answer is yes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Recently members of the “open carry” movement
in Texas have been holding very public demonstrations, exercising their right
to walk around with long rifles, assault rifles, and the like. They have mugged
for pictures inside restaurants and coffee shops, they have marched in the
parking lots of Home Depot’s and they harassed a former Marine in downtown Fort
Worth because he had the audacity to question the sanity of their brazen
disregard for the safety and security of their fellow citizens. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This particular group of people actually
accused the NRA of being too soft after that organization called the groups
tactics into question.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wow. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I have questions for open carry advocates. These questions
are not asked in the spirit of accusation but in the genuine interest of
understanding your position. You want to be able to display your weaponry for
the entire world to see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why? I really
don’t understand. Is it for protection? I would think if someone wants to take
you out being able to see what you’re packing and where it is on your person
would actually put you at a disadvantage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Is it fear? Are you so afraid of the bad people in this world (and yes,
there are bad people in this world) that you feel your only recourse is to
strike fear into the people around you, be they man, woman or child, guilty or
innocent?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hope your reasons go beyond
intimidation and antiquated notions of old west justice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am for your rights, but please don’t tread
on mine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I think back to that birthday party at the gun range and I
remember this; it was not the gun that frightened me. It was the thought of
what I could be capable of with that gun that scared the hell out of me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So when I say I am uncomfortable with the way
you are expressing your rights, I am not saying it because I don’t trust the
guns, I am saying it because I don’t trust you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t trust you to always, always think
safety first. I don’t trust you to always, always keep your emotions under
control.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t trust you to always,
always value human life, even if it is the life of someone you hate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You want to have guns?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fine. You want to carry them openly in public?
Ok. Just know that along with that choice comes the burden of a greater
responsibility that you can even fathom. I’m simply asking that you take that
responsibility with the seriousness it deserves. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Doug Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667166547854799856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1106374139877542421.post-64437887618159820712014-04-11T14:28:00.001-05:002014-04-11T14:28:14.340-05:00Bro? No.
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">He is a staple of our culture, equal parts annoying and
hilarious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He rages against the dying of
the light, fueled by the internal hunter to pursue good times, good booze, and
good looking women. Laughter is his medicine, that and dollar longnecks. He has
traveled through history under many names.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He has been our chum, our pal, our buddy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the eighties and nineties he was simply
known as “dude”, a term so encompassing and versatile that by varying ones
inflection it could be the only word spoken between two "dudes" in an entire
conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the new millennium our
friend goes by another name, one that has certainly entrenched itself into the
fabric of pop culture. Today he is “The Bro”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Bro loves to party.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>His priorities are hanging with other bros, getting drunk, and hooking up,
usually in that order.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His life is
carefree. Not saddled with a mortgage, a wife, or kids, his income is expendable
and his burdens are light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He lives for
the good times, he lives for today, never putting much stock in the
future.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We tend to think of him at his
worst, drunk and disorderly, misogynistic, self-centered and irresponsible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At his core, however, beats the heart of the
restless wanderer, the nomadic warrior, the alpha dog fighting domestication. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These are qualities that are important, even
essential to manhood. In their proper context they are part of what equips us
as leaders, husbands, and fathers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
problem is that in the massive value shift that is re-shaping our society, the
bro no longer sees responsibility and relationship as an end goal to be
achieved, rather they see them as looming monsters with yellow teeth, something
to be avoided at all cost. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I was reminded of this a couple of weeks ago when watching
the final episode of the CBS sit-com “How I Met Your Mother.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The show tells the tale of Ted Mosby (Josh
Radnor) and his four friends as they navigate life, love, and New York City,
growing from 20-somethings into 40-year olds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>One of Ted’s friends, Barney Stinson (the fantastic Neil Patrick Harris),
is the eternal bro. He lives by a “bro code”, a never ending list of rules
about how a bro is to behave (e.g. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Article
2: "A Bro is always entitled to do something stupid, as long as the rest
of his Bros are all doing it.”) He has a playbook for picking up women, and a
“guy” for everything from securing VIP passes for the Victoria’s Secret Fashion
Show after party to booking a castle in France.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When the show began nine seasons ago, Barney was easily the breakout
character.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His schemes and tall tales
were clever, absurd and reflected the legendary life many of us tried to live
out in our twenties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As time went on,
and Barney aged, the bit grew stale and a little sad. By the time we reach the
end of the show and Barney is still “the bro” into his forties, it is just
pathetic. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I think every man (and woman for that matter) should
experience the unique freedom and fullness of life that is only available in
your twenties.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’ve graduated, your
making your own money, life is full of potential and possibilities and the
world and all its spoils are yours for the taking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is a great season of life, but it is
just that, a season.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The longer it goes
on, the lonelier it becomes until you are left by yourself in the endless
summer while everyone else has moved on to fall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At some point, you have to know when to let
go of the bro. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t blame the bro. Hollywood portrayals of marriage and
family are very rarely glamorous or even appealing. The beaten down
husband/father with the dead end job, the nagging wife and the obnoxious
children is the standard for movies and television.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Given that example, plus the fact that at
least half of the young adults in our country come from broken homes, it’s not
surprising that millenials reject the idea of settling down. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is sad to me because while I loved being
a “dude” in my twenties, I am so grateful that I am not still clinging to that
stage of life. Back then I never pictured myself as a husband or a dad but now
I can’t imagine myself any other way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
think that young men would be missing out on so much if they turned their back
on this life and its rewards. However, I have also seen too many guys get
married and have kids, but never really change.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They escape into man caves; they play in softball leagues, go to the gym
or the sports bar and ignore their families in order to do their own
thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those guys should just stay
single; they haven’t left the bro behind. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am not saying male bonding is not important, it is. Men
should have friendships. Those friendships should grow with the man and support
him through the various stages of life, not serve to keep him in a perpetual
state of adolescence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you feel like
that is the state you are in, it’s time to let the bro go. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
Doug Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667166547854799856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1106374139877542421.post-41240060490285917502014-04-08T09:56:00.004-05:002014-04-08T10:00:02.549-05:00No Foolin'Originally published on <a href="http://www.thenamelessvalleyblogger.com/">The Nameless Valley Blogger</a> (4 April 2014)<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">April 1<sup><span style="font-size: x-small;">st</span></sup> came and went uneventfully again this
year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>None of my friends attempted to
pull an April Fools prank on me. No one ever does. I would like to say the
reason I don’t get pranked has to do with my incredible ability to smell a rat,
or the fear of what dastardly shenanigans I might return to them as a form of
retribution. Alas, no. It is has more to do with the fact that pranking me is
too easy, and there is no payoff because I just have no enthusiasm, positively
or negatively, for the art of the prank. Allow me to explain. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It started when I was ten.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was approaching Christmas and I was certain beyond any doubt that I
was going to be receiving an Atari 2600 game system. I had stacked the deck in
favor of this since it was the only thing I asked (begged) for and since I was
the last kid on the block to have one. I figured I was due.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My lobbying effort, along with a little tear
of wrapping paper and a quick peek at the biggest box under the tree, convinced
me I was right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did I get a little
arrogant?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s possible. Did I strut
around the house singing an annoying made up song about getting an Atari?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most definitely. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The big day arrives and I confidently rip away the wrapping
paper concealing my long awaited prize.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The box is glorious, the Atari 2600 on the top, a picture of plastic
perfection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A huge, smug smile on my
face as I open the box and empty the contents to reveal…rocks. ROCKS!!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A sane, logical boy would surely have
realized that a prank was in the offing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>No mother would go through the trouble of finding the box of the one
thing her son so desperately wanted, fill that box with rocks, and present it to
him on Christmas day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, my
little boy brain lacked that logic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
my mind I imagined my mom going to the store, purchasing the Atari, making her
way over to the poor side of town, giving the contents of the Atari box to some
less fortunate child, a boy who would be grateful for this Christmas miracle,
then bringing the box home, filling it with rocks, and giving it to me in order
to teach me a lesson!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I began bawling.
I melted down like Velveeta in a microwave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My mom, and my step-sister, who was in on the gag too, began bawling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They started throwing other presents at me
and yelling for me to open them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
the Atari. Every piece boxed individually.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They explained that they knew I had been sneaking around the tree and
had already figured out what I was getting so they thought it would be funny to
see my face when I opened the box and it wasn’t there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wasn’t very funny was it Ma?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Four years later I got my first job bussing tables part-time
at a Mexican food restaurant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After my
first shift ends the guys in the kitchen tell me they have something for
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Apparently it is customary for the
cook to make a meal for a new employee at the end of his first shift.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The sour cream chicken enchiladas looked
appetizing, and the first bite wasn’t bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>On the second bite I noticed something was off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Out of politeness I tried another, that’s
when it occurred to me that these enchiladas reminded me of the time I got
punished for saying dirty words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes,
the “chef” had filled the tortillas with soap, not chicken. Hilarious…the
entire staff got a really good laugh out of it but I did not get it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not because I was the victim and not because
I was embarrassed, I just thought it was mean.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Why do we love to laugh at someone else’s misery? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The awkwardness, the brief moment of panic,
the kick in the groin, I know it’s a temporary pain and in the long run
hopefully everyone, including the victim, is able to laugh about it, but it
just makes me very uncomfortable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am pretty sure I am in the minority on this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pranks have probably been around as long as
we have and April fool’s day pranks can be documented back to the Middle Ages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was bombarded on Tuesday via social media
with announcements of fake firings, fake resignations, fake engagements, and
fake divorces. Of course companies did what companies always do, turn any minor
holiday into a marketing bonanza, so I also was introduced to fake new
products, fake mergers and other assorted fakeness that just made me tired.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Honestly, I love to laugh. I think I have a good sense of
humor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just find that most April
fool’s related humor falls into two categories; either it lacks imagination, or
it is cruel, and in the worst cases it is both.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe you have a different opinion. If so I
would love to hear it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just don’t wrap
my car in foil because that is a waste of good aluminum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Doug Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667166547854799856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1106374139877542421.post-44893507960754695472014-03-31T15:49:00.001-05:002014-03-31T15:52:01.803-05:00The Man I LoveOriginally published on <a href="http://www.thenamelessvalleyblogger.com/" target="_blank">The Nameless Valley Blogger</a> (29 Mar 2014)<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am in love with a
man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shocking right? You might not want
to hear about it but I would like to tell you about the man I love. This man I
am in love with is older, by about 2000 years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He is smart. He seems to know everyone and everything and anything that
anyone has ever done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Armed with that
knowledge you would think he would be extremely judgmental and have a low
opinion of humanity, I mean imagine the evil he has seen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really it is quite the opposite. He loves
people, every last one of us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His capacity
to love people is amazing. He even loves those sinners; you know the ones, the
7 billion of them that inhabit this planet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The man I love is kind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He stands up for the poor and the oppressed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He forgives wrongdoers, even the ones who have
done wrong directly to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He would
never throw a rock at someone as a punishment for their lifestyle, and he would
never, ever, protest the funeral of a soldier to further a hate filled agenda.
Again, the man I love does not hate people, he loves them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That is not to say he is passive or permissive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of the things I love about him is that he
knows right from wrong, it’s almost like he wrote the rules himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He calls me out when I’m wrong, and I am
wrong a lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is not judgment or
condemnation. That is accountability. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
does not condone sin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People seem to
have this idea that because he hangs around with sinners that he is totally
cool with sin. He is not. But the man I love would rather be a bright light for
us than shine a bright light on us and all of our junk. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This wonderful man, I’ll call him “J”, he loves
children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He loves their minds, their
hearts, and their ability to believe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
saddens him when children suffer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
wants every child to be loved and fed, and that is much more important than who
happens to be holding the spoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know,
hard to imagine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He just cares that
much.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The thing is, and this is the thing that made me fall in
love with him in the first place, “J” values love above all other things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He loves us and wants us to love each
other.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, you know that old saying
‘love thy neighbor?’ He made that up!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If
you want to know who your neighbor is, watch the movie “Gravity” starring
Sandra Bullock and George Clooney.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When
you see the big blue ball they orbit around, just know that everyone who lives
on that ball is your neighbor, everyone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I am sure by now you have figured out that the man I love is
Jesus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe you love him too, maybe you
don’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe you would like to meet him
and maybe you think he doesn’t even exist. That is your prerogative.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The purpose of this post is not to convert
you to Christianity or try to “shove religion down your throat.” I am simply
saddened by the misrepresentation of Christ in our culture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Extremists on the right and on the left have
propped up Jesus as a symbol of their cause when nothing could be further from
the truth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jesus does not pick sides because
all of humanity is of concern to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
does not rank sins in order of most to least heinous because to a perfect God
all sin is the same.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He does not wave a
red flag or a blue flag because believe it or not he is not even American!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Jesus is love. He wants to take away your sins, not your
sensibilities.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Doug Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667166547854799856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1106374139877542421.post-31821394965348321822014-03-27T10:29:00.001-05:002014-03-27T10:29:51.539-05:00Listen up!I am writing for a new blogging site called <a href="http://www.thenamelessvalleyblogger.com/">www.thenamelessvalleyblogger.com</a> This is the first piece I posted there...more are coming and I will link them here as well. Enjoy.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I love to talk. More to the point, I love to be heard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has been that way since I was young.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember the one consistency on my
elementary school report cards was a check mark in the space designated for
those who had a problem with “talking in class.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being heard, being visible, being
significant, has always been an important thing to me. It makes sense that I
chose to make a living in broadcasting. Being heard, being someone who matters,
important stuff.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Talking has served me well. I have been very lucky to put a
few meals on the family table through my abilities with the spoken word.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I grow older, however, I am finding more
and more that being heard, being noticed, talking…is overrated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure, it is nice to have a voice, and my
voice, like any other, has a right make itself heard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But now I am beginning to really understand
that there is something much more important to a life of meaning than being
heard; and that is hearing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>More to the
point, listening.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Hearing is involuntary. If you have working ears, you
hear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is why I don’t like the term
“selective hearing.” I prefer the term “selective listening.” We live in a
world where we hear lots of things, but we control what we listen to. I call it
the “earbud effect.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>With a pair of
earbuds we can essentially tune out the entire world and listen to only that
which gives us satisfaction and comfort.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That is dangerous, not because it might damage our ears (this is not
really about earbuds, after all), but rather because it keeps us from experiencing
and considering the voices of those with whom we might not agree, or those that
make us uncomfortable.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">“The most basic of
all human needs is the need to understand and be understood. The best way to
understand people is to listen to them.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>--Ralph G. Nichols<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We used to debate, and it was good! The reason was we
listened to one another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, I wanted
you to hear what I had to say, to understand my feelings, but I was willing to
listen to you and consider your feelings as well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Where has that gone?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now instead of debating we argue, and the
point is no longer to judge ideas based on their own merit but to win a
shouting contest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This mindset has polluted everything from politics to
religion and dominates pop culture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
have become so afraid of being wrong, of being seen as the loser, we won’t even
allow for the possibility that someone who opposes us could actually have good
ideas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We stopped listening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I find it amazing that great minds throughout history valued
listening over talking, have learned more from their failures than their
success and yet we continue to define our personal value by the sharpness of
our tongues and the wars we win, however petty those may be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">One of the reasons I was interested in writing here was the
idea that this would be a site where opposing viewpoints could co-exist in an
atmosphere of civil discourse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have
opinions. I am not a fence sitter, but I don’t want to sit so far on one side
of the fence that I have no clue what is happening on the other. After all, the
grass could very well be greener over there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Calibri;">We have two ears, one mouth. I believe that is intentional.
It’s my goal to learn more than I teach, to listen more than I talk, and to be
smarter tomorrow than I am today. Feel free to chime in, I am listening.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
Doug Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667166547854799856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1106374139877542421.post-90200586787055713122012-08-31T13:06:00.001-05:002012-08-31T13:06:43.330-05:00<br />
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On our TXA 21 Game of the Week we did a short tribute to one of our good friends, former North Crowley coach and teacher Ken Kershaw. Because of time restrictions the tribute was not as long as I was hoping it would be so what follows is the full text of what I was hoping to say...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdKAQ89cz2PFjE1wXbM9TTGgONqMkA2Aet7EHSxY6uc-qSjAg9WHkn50LRhPyZeCbrOlKh_0csNheRFy5Yuxfgt1EpPtBtJa2klEilYTMhC-PyUHJT8JAlZhcQRV74c7es0IQwIwajrJW6/s1600/images%255B2%255D" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdKAQ89cz2PFjE1wXbM9TTGgONqMkA2Aet7EHSxY6uc-qSjAg9WHkn50LRhPyZeCbrOlKh_0csNheRFy5Yuxfgt1EpPtBtJa2klEilYTMhC-PyUHJT8JAlZhcQRV74c7es0IQwIwajrJW6/s1600/images%255B2%255D" /></a></div>
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Texas high school football lost one of its biggest fans and greatest supporters when Kenneth Kershaw passed away on April 19<sup>th</sup> of this year as the result of an automobile accident. Coach Kershaw was a Texan, born in Brownsville, and he was passionate about all things Texan, especially hunting, BBQ, and high school football.</div>
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Coach Kershaw earned a Masters degree from TCU in 1988 and spent his entire adult life teaching and coaching on the high school level, first at Fort Worth’s Western Hills, then on to Marble Falls in the Texas hill country. After that is was back to Fort Worth and stops at Pascal and Southwest high schools before finally settling at North Crowley in 1999.</div>
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He was a successful coach, helping to lead baseball and football teams to winning seasons…the ultimate athletic prize came his way in 2003 when, as an assistant football coach, he was part of the magical North Crowley run to the 4A DI State Championship..</div>
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Athletics was only part of the Ken Kershaw story though…a beloved and respected educator, he was named North Crowley teacher of the year in 2003 and 2004 and Educator of the year in 2005. His students marveled at how he knew the mascot for every high school in Texas, and how he could tell them about the best barbecue restaurants in any small Texas town…he pushed his students to excellence, and they loved him for it.</div>
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Coach Kershaw loved what he called “small ball” high school football on the 1A and 2A level..so its fitting that his family and friends are celebrating his life tonight at Waco ISD stadium where Bosqueville and Bartlett are squaring off in a “Battle of Bulldogs”.</div>
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Ken Kershaw absolutely adored the sport of Texas High School Football, so let me say this final thought in a way I think he would appreciate…On the scoreboard of life the points are not given for fame, money or possessions…rather they are earned by faith, the lives you touch, and the good that you do…by that measure Coach Ken Kershaw didn’t just light up the scoreboard, he blew it up. I know I speak for his wife Sara, his kids Kristine and Kurt, and countless other members of his family and his friends when I say Coach, you are loved, and you are missed.</div>
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<br />Doug Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667166547854799856noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1106374139877542421.post-71617860293310763522012-08-01T21:40:00.003-05:002012-08-01T21:40:55.685-05:00Football season is upon us! The odometer on the year 2012 has officially rolled into August and that means it is time to start thinkin' bout football. My wife, love her as I do, does not enjoy this fact. To her there is still much summer left on the calender and thus we should not be focusing our attention on the gridiron just yet. But we know better don't we? Why, if you are just now starting to pay attention to your teams two-deep or if you haven't even purchased your copy of Dave Campbell's Texas Football, you are lagging behind! So with that in mind, let's get geared up for the upcoming football season by going back a couple of seasons to one of the greatest games we have ever broadcast on TXA 21. The State Quarterfinal matchup from Dragon Stadium between Coppell and Euless Trinity. Click on the link and enjoy!<br />
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<a href="http://legacysportsnetwork.com/LSNTV/Coppell-Trinity.htm" target="_blank">http://legacysportsnetwork.com/LSNTV/Coppell-Trinity.htm</a>Doug Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667166547854799856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1106374139877542421.post-88741803794478467912012-04-19T19:31:00.000-05:002012-06-29T15:59:45.910-05:00A Letter Home from a Traffic Jam<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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(This is what happens when I watch the Ken Burns documentary on the Civil War and then get caught in traffic the next day)<br />
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My Dearest, Warmest, Bridgette, <br />
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The fondest wish of my heart is that this letter finds you well. It has been 50 terrible minutes since I departed my work post and set about for our homestead. The caravan of motorized wagons that ensnares me stretches beyond the ability of my eyes to discern its end. It has vanquished all hope of forward momentum. Our procession has slowed to such a degree that a wounded mule carrying two 100 pound gunny-sacks of sorghum could advance more rapidly were he of a mind to do so. <br />
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I fear that I may never look upon your lovely visage again my darling. I long for the evenings when we would enjoy each others company in the parlor whilst watching the box with the moving pictures. All the while the air circulator above our heads rotating swiftly, giving us a rather refreshing breeze. <br />
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If I perish on this God forsaken stretch of blacktop, tell the children that my final thoughts were of them, and you of course. I must endeavor to.....oh cool honey it's starting to break up..gotta go!<br />
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Your most devoted and humble and kind hearted and goodly mannered husband, <br />
Douglas<br />
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18 April, 2012Doug Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667166547854799856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1106374139877542421.post-59388687542689749512012-03-06T23:06:00.000-06:002012-06-07T12:11:35.456-05:00Why Bounties are Bad. Period.Here is what I don't want to hear about bounties: <br />
1) It's Football <br />
2) Everybody Does It<br />
3) Players will try to put other players out, money or no money.<br />
4) As fans, our bloodlust is what brought this on.<br />
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That's ridiculous. Period.<br />
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Bounties are not an inherent part of football and if they are then I really have to re-evaluate whether or not I am interested in watching this game anymore. Football is voilent, no question, but it is supposed to be an honest violence. Boxing is violent. Boxers are out to hurt each other. But boxers know going in that is the goal. They line up to face each other in the ring and they know that they are getting ready to beat each others brains in. It is what they sign up for. Football players, professional or not, do not sign up to be the subject of cheap shots or overly aggressive hits because some 300 pound buck on the other side of the ball is trying to put a skin on his wall.<br />
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I don't care if it is an unspoken part of the game that everyone turns a blind eye to, wrong is wrong. There should still be a place for honor and sportsmanship in the game even if the stakes for winning and losing have risen to levels that only God can comprehend. Hit hard, yes. But hit clean.<br />
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I know my parents rolled their eyes at my grandparents when they said "the world is going to hell." I know I rolled my eyes at my parents when they said "the world is going to hell." I also know my kids will one day roll their eyes at me when I say "the world is going to hell." But you know what, I am going to say it anyway. You know why? Because THE WORLD IS GOING TO HELL! When we laugh off the idea of one man trying to end another mans career for the sake of an "atta boy" and say "that's football" or "boys will be boys" then I am sorry but<em> </em>I don't have a lot of hope for the future.<br />
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How much will we tolerate taking violence out of the game? I don't know. We seem to throw a fit everytime the NFL makes a rule that portends to protect any given player be it a quarterback or a kick returner. I know most fans love their big hits but I don't believe the popularity of the league would be any less by making sure that those who are doing the hitting are doing it the right way, and for the right reasons.Doug Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667166547854799856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1106374139877542421.post-43549148888113186632012-02-28T23:18:00.005-06:002012-02-29T07:56:56.845-06:00So I went to a Men's ConferencePrior to this weekend I had never been to a Men's Conference. To be honest, I never had much interest. I figured if I wanted a bunch of strange men that I have no relationship with to hug me in an awkward way and make painfully dry small talk, I would just show up at the next family reunion. But for some reason the Lord was telling me that I needed to attend Alpha Summit. Alpha Summit is the Men's Conference at Gateway Church in Southlake. I love Gateway. My wife, my kids, we all love Gateway and have been members there for about six years. But during that time I have never really connected with the men of Gateway. I have been to a few men's groups but for one reason or another I never stuck with it. Alpha Summit was a chance to change that.<br />
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It would not be easy. The conference had been marketed toward "guy's guys", I do not consider myself a "guy's guy." I don't hunt or fish. I hate to work on cars, I hate to mow the yard. I don't get excited about motorcycles or bows and arrows or even golf clubs for that matter. Maybe living in a house with three women has made me soft, I don't know. The point is I was not sure how or where I was going to fit in.<br />
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Thursday night I made absolutely no new friends. In fact I did not even talk to anybody. I did however discover at least one thing that I have in common with manly men...we like meat. Thursday night was a tailgate party in the parking lot. I have never seen such a wondrous display of carnivorous delights. Brisket, ribs, fajitas, and my favorite, the jalapeno bratwurst. All washed down with a choice of soda. I had a warm feeling in my chest, either it was the hint of kinship with my fellow men, or heartburn, I could not tell.<br />
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Friday was the day that changed everything. I started the day by volunteering as a greeter at one of the entrances. During the course of shaking about 175 hands I made a new friend, a guy named Ian who was greeting alongside me. As it would turn out my wife knows his wife and they are actually friends. This does not come as a shock since my wife knows everyone at church and seems to be friends with all of them. A tremendous lineup of speakers taught throughout the day. Bill Hybels on the importance of male friendships, a "band of brothers" if you will. Tim Ross on the life of David, how he shaped generations to come and how we have the power to do the same. Perry Noble on being passionate for the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, our savior Jesus Christ. Awesome stuff. Now I was starting to rethink my previous objections. Perhaps I had misjudged this whole Men's Conference thing. God was doing some amazing things in the room that night and I was glad to be a part of it.<br />
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Even the male bonding exercise of building a catapault was enjoyable. Although our catapault self-destructed after two practice launches and my only contribution was coming up with sportsy nicknames for my teamates ( like our captian Michael "Coupe" Deville) I still had a great time.<br />
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Saturday ended the conference on a high. Perry Noble spoke again. If you have not heard him you owe it to yourself to check him out. He pastors a church in South Carolina and speaks the Truth in a way only a southern born, southern bred believer can. When it was all said and done, I came away grateful that I went. Grateful for the friends I have, and the friends to come. I may not like some of the same things that "manly men" like, but I am a warrior for Christ. I am also the leader of my house, the protector of my family, and the one who is responsible for how my children grow up. Bring it on...<br />
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"I can do all things through him that gives me strength." (Philippians 4:13)Doug Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667166547854799856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1106374139877542421.post-45043047042360922282012-02-09T20:27:00.000-06:002012-02-09T20:27:24.620-06:00A Question of TrustTrusting God sounds simple enough. After all, what do we know about God? We know He created the universe. That He created us to love Him and love each other. That He is all knowing, all seeing and that above all He is good! He loves us, cares for us, and does not desire to harm us. This is all in the book. <br />
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If anyone has earned our trust, it is God. So why do I find it so hard sometimes to fully put my trust in Him? Two weeks ago I was having major trust issues. My finances were not lining up the way I wanted them to. My job was not going the way I wanted it to. My marriage was not flowing the way I wanted it to. All of these things that were not going my way were causing me to turn my frustration toward God. I was angry because I felt like I had been a good boy, done and said the right things, I had been faithful in giving and going to church and not cussing (at least not much) and so I had held up my end of the bargain. Why then was God not holding up his?<br />
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Then I started noticing a pattern, every lesson I studied in quiet time, every sermon I heard on the radio, even the subject of study at my men's group were all hitting on the same theme, courage. The men's group was studying Ephesians Ch. 6 where Paul tells the church at Ephesus to "put on the full armor of God". The breastplate of righteousness, the helmet of salvation, most importantly the shield of faith. You don't put on armor unless you are going into battle and if you are going into battle you better have courage and courage covered by faith. Two different radio ministries were discussing the story of Paul's shipwreck on his way to Rome which is told in Acts Ch. 27. It is Paul, the prisoner, who stands up bravely and tells his shipmates that not a one shall perish even though the ship is to be run aground. Courage covered by Faith. Our family night movie was "Courageous." Police officers who overcome tragedy and challenge themselves to be the best fathers they can be, to do what is right no matter the cost. Courage covered by Faith.<br />
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Finally through prayer and listening, I started to catch on. My God, who meets every need, who guards me like a lioness, who loves me with boundless love I cannot comprehend, had not abandoned me. He had not even left my side for a second. He just wanted me to trust Him. Did you see a pattern to the problems I mentioned earlier? I was upset because things were not going MY way. My circumstances were not working out the way I wanted them to. Guess what? Things don't have to go my way, they only need to go God's way because God is enough! So it was up to me to trust God and let him work out the details. Now what does this have to do with courage? That, my friend, is where I had my revelation. See, it takes a courageous man to fully and utterly surrender to God. If there is one thing guys hate, it is giving up control. We want to be behind the wheel, we want to choose the restaurant, and we want our hands on the remote! But God wants, and deserves, our trust. Once I began to relate courage to surrender and bravery to trust, my mind was put right. My heart softened. I was back in my Fathers arms, such an awesome place to be. <br />
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Needless to say, things started getting better. I had peace, my relationships improved, my finances were blessed. Most importantly I grew closer to God, hearing Him in a stronger way. Connecting with Him with a freshness in my spirit. I can't wait to see what happens next.<br />
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My bottom line: Until you surrender to God, you are not ready for the fight. Put on his armor, and hold on tight.<br />
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"I have said these things to you that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation but take heart, I have overcome the world." -John 16:33 Doug Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667166547854799856noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1106374139877542421.post-27751884613556728642011-10-18T09:36:00.000-05:002011-10-18T09:36:15.747-05:00High School Football 10-17-11This weekend in the Metroplex was truly one for the record books. State records fell in Fort Worth as Southwest defeated Arlington Heights 66-21 and QB Wesley Harris broke the state record by throwing for nine touchdowns in the game. Nine TD's, that is one better than Denton Ryan's Scotty Young, Birdville's Josh Dorman, and several other players going back to Turkey Valley's Kirk Saul were ever able to do. Harris' favorite target, Robbie Rhodes, wrote his name in the record book with 390 yards receiving and eight touchdown receptions, besting the state record in both categories. This all comes just a couple of weeks after Wichita Falls QB Dylan Sheffield set the state record for passing yards in a game with 683 and seven touchdowns against Denton High. Throw in the history being made by Aledo's Jonathan Gray and they guys at Texas Football magazine are going to be very busy updating their records section during the off-season.<br />
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300 for the Fedora<br />
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Another milestone was reached on Friday night as Highland Park Coach Randy Allen notched his 300th coaching victory. The Scots defeated Richardson Pearce 41-27 to improve to 7-0 on the year. Coach Allen has been on the Highland Park sideline for 148 of his 300 wins including the 4A D1 State Championship in 2005. I was at Rose Stadium in Tyler that day. Calling the game for the Texas State Network as a quarterback named Matthew Stafford led the Scots to a 59-0 win over Marshall. I first met Coach Allen years earlier, however, when he was coaching at Abilene Cooper. I have always respected Coach Allen and I am very appreciative of the time and attention he gives to me whenever we do a Highland Park game on TXA 21. He is a true gentleman and I congratulate him on becoming the 11th coach in Texas high school football to earn 300 wins. Good Job Coach!<br />
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11-5A Action<br />
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This week our game of the week was in Mesquite as the Horn Jaguars hosted state ranked Longview in 11-5A. The Lobos outlasted the Jags 38-30 but I came away impressed with both teams. Longview looks like a team that can make a long playoff run with offensive weapons like QB Bivins Caraway, WR Eric Hawkins and RB Tory White. Hawkins in particular was sensational with 4 catches for 149 yards and two touchdowns. If the Lobos can learn to shut down the opponents passing game, watch out. Horn put up a great fight and has weapons of their own including Sophomore QB Destri White and TE/WR Vincent Hobbs, but their best playmaker is Oklahoma commit Devante Harris. Harris is a defensive back but hardly ever leave the field, playing wide receiver and returning kicks as well. Harris is blessed with blazing speed and the ability to make players miss in the open field. He also shut down Hawkins when he was covering him. All of Hawkins' big plays came when Harris was not covering the Arkansas bound receiver. Horn may be 2-5, but considering their losses have been close games against Coppell, Hebron, Denton Guyer, Stephenville and Longview, I would not count them out as being a threat to make some noise in the post-season.<br />
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The Big Three<br />
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Another team out of 11-5A is among my top three teams in the area. The DeSoto Eagles. The Eagles demolished Tyler Lee this week 66 to 13 and posted 623 yards of offense in the process. I have Allen, DeSoto, and Skyline clearly above the pack in the Metroplex right now. In fact, I would take take those three teams and give you every other team in the state of Texas and say that I have just as good a shot as you at predicting a state champion. I am that confident one of those three teams will be hoisting a trophy at Cowboys Stadium at the end of the year. <br />
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Undefeated Showdown<br />
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Speaking of Allen, the #1 ranked team in the state will be on TXA 21 this week facing unbeaten Flower Mound Marcus. The winner of this game will be the last undefeated team standing in District 8-5A, one of the toughest districts in the state. Allen has a load of D1 talent including QB Alec Morris who has thrown for almost 2,000 yards with 25 TD's and only one INT. Marcus counters with a running game that includes tailback Harvey Giddens who is approaching 1,200 yards rushing and has 18 touchdowns on the ground. <br />
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Other big games this week include: <br />
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Cedar Hill (5-2, 4-0) at Mansfield (7-0, 4-0) in 5-5A<br />
Sachse (6-1, 3-1) at McKinney Boyd (5-2, 3-1) in 10-5A<br />
Frisco (6-1, 4-0) vs. Frisco Centennial (7-0, 4-0) in 9-4A (Pizza Hut Park)Doug Andersonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01667166547854799856noreply@blogger.com0