2019 Cities: Who are those guys?

Famously quoted in cinematic classic, “Butch Cassidy & the Sundance Kid“, “Who are those guys?

That is my sentiment toward the field of incredible amateur golfers at the 2019 Lowell City Golf Tournament.

Before I go further, you know how great the Cities are as I noted a few years back

As this nearly 100 year old tradition comes to its conclusion today, I realize I have no clue – zero – who 90% of these guys are?  Why is that?  They are kids!  Children!  It seems like only yesterday when the youngsters of this 3-day party had names like Pare, Dowd, and McGuirk (hey Chris!)

I looked at the leaderboard today and I personally know like 5 guys in the entire field.  What happened?  When did I get so old and, worse off, when did my contemporary golf buddies get so damn old that they cant even make it any more.  “You bums’ cried the 18 handicap!”

And kudos to the REALLY old guard including players like Parigian, Harrison, and Stone for continuing to fight the fight.  I salute you, but these young guns are gonna prevail.  Time and tide.  Death and taxes.  Cant’ beat the clock.  Those are the facts.

Well, while I can’t go back in time, I can recreate as it as best possible.  As I noted in a tweet I posted yesterday, “in my day” I made the most of the Cities as did my juvenile delinquent friends.

I’m 44 years old damnit, but, as Thornton Mellon so eloquently stated in Back to SchoolI will not go gentle in to that good night!

I will rage!  Rage against the dying of the light.  I will restage the City Tournament I once knew.  The 90’s man!  It was Hammer Time!  I’m grabbing a case of warm Bud Heavies, sliding them in the bushes by “Old’ Jack Hassett’s house and rage! I’m slapping on some jhorts (jean shorts), popping the collar on that size medium Polo and getting at it.  Mothers, lock up your daughters!  Frank circa 92′ is coming in hot to Mount Pleasant today for some final round revelry.  Look out!

What’s that, honey?  Oh, the need to look at tile at Loews today and cut the lawn.  That’s right.

Well, it was fun to dream for minute.

Good luck to all today – even you young punks!

The Juice is Loose…on Twitter

Grab the popcorn, folks, cause this is gonna be fun.

PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT: Orenthal James “OJ” Simpson has joined Twitter. (ok, that was a link to my feed – just click “Follow” and we will move on)

 

To follow the REAL Juice, here it is TheRealOJ32

And faster that you can utter the phrase “If the glove don’t fit, you must….” OJ has over 600,000 followers!

Wow.  What does that say about the world?  Simple, we all want to be entertained and I have a hunch ol’ #32 will bring that to the ‘Sphere.  So far, OJ has posted three short selfie videos.  The very first one is most intriguing when he proclaims he’s “got a little getting even to do…”

And what do you mean by that does that mean, Mr. Simpson?

Also, how about the fact he makes this big announcement almost exactly 25 years to the day he was alleged (and I by alleged, we all know he did it) to have brutally murdered two people.  We see what you are doing Juice.

But that doesn’t mean we can’t take a stab (oops) at mocking this new gift granted to our social media lives.

So let join in the revelry with some early ones I have heard,…

“OJ will be using Slashtags instead of Hashtags”

“Surprised he didn’t use the handle @IDidIt”

“His first follower was the LA Police Department.”

“Sure, OJ is on Twitter but that is not gonna drag me away from Judge Ito’s Instagram”

“OJ and Twitter go together like a hunting knife and leather gloves.”

And the jokes could go one forever.  Won’t even begin the long line of Kardashian quips that could be made (yet).

So, highly suggest you give the 71 year old future Hell of Famer a follow.  Its sure to be interesting.

Personally, I prefer to remember ‘the-pre-double-murder-silly-clumsy-Naked Gun Nordberg’ OJ Simpson

 

P.S. Imagine that fact that OJ isn’t even the worst guy in this picture?

P.P.S. My Dad said “he was a nice guy” when he met him earlier this year BUT I am also pretty sure OJ gave him cancer.  Can’t prove it.

Empty your Bucket

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BUCKET LIST (noun): a list of things that one has not done before but wants to do before dying

I think we all have our Bucket Lists; I hope you do.  That trip, adventure, goal we want to complete before the clock expires on this earthy world.  One of the very largest items in my personal bucket was a trip to The Masters golf tournament in Augusta, Georgia with my Dad, Big Frank.  Well, last April we removed this item from the bucket.

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The trip was everything we hoped for and beyond.  He and I spent three incredible days walking the most beautiful and hallowed ground in golf lore.  Augusta National is golf heaven for the player and fan alike.

Since I was a little kid, the week of The Masters has been very special.  On this week, Dad and I carve out as much possible time together to just sit and soak it all in.  To actually walk the course, smell the perfectly manicured grass, stand just feet away from the worlds’ best players (and even drink a few very economically priced adult beverages) was everything  we dreamed it would be.

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The moment we left those “pearly gates” of Magnolia Lane, we both insisted we needed to come back; as soon as possible.  It was 100% worth it.

And so, we booked the trip to return in 2019.

But, life got in the way; as life tends to do.  Late last year, Big Frank got diagnosed with cancer.  He would have a big battle on his hands.  Masters 2.0 for the McCabe Boys was not going to happen this year.  That said, he has a very positive prognosis and fights the good fight everyday to get back to his full health.

And so we will, per usual, enjoy another Masters from the comfort of home.

First round is less than 48 hours away.

And while I am confident Dad and I will be back in Georgia in April again, you never know?  I am just so thankful we have no regrets and got there when we could.

More so, what prompted me to pen this story today is when I learned one of the most kind, genuine and decent human beings I ever knew passed away; very unexpectedly and far too young.  He led a wonderful life, but I am sure he had some more items on his list he will never get to cross off.

Start emptying your bucket.

Rest easy, Billy.

 

Voter’s Remorse

100 days in.  Remorse is growing stronger….

Written 1/12/17

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I voted for Donald Trump.

I did.

Like (obviously) many Americans, I was/am ready for a change.  Like any Average Joe, I do not feel as if the country was doing the best it could for me and my family.  I am ready for change.

Step back a year.  As the election race evolved, I became weary.  I can’t vote for Hillary (certainly not Bernie) but reality -TV-crazy-man, Donald Trump, surely won’t win the nomination? No way. I’ll wait this out.  It will be fine.  Someone great will surface.

But s/he didn’t.  Months turned to weeks.  Weeks turned to days.  Holy shit.  Donald Trump is the Republican National Party’s nominee for President of the United States of America?

Ok.  Deep breath.  This could be a good thing?

Right?

Time for  a major change.  An evolution.  Turn things upside down.

Right?

That’s what I tried to buy in to.

As November grew closer I got more and more apprehensive.  Watching the Saturday Night Live-fodder made me even more nervous.  This guy is not built for President.  He is just a giant, orange, obnoxious, rich bully.  He is an asshole.  I hate him.  Everyone hates him.

After 3 debates, it was quite clear Hillary Rodham Clinton would be the (first woman) next President.  I was a bit apathetic, so I entered that voting booth and figured ‘What the hell, Donald.  Have my vote.  Doesn’t matter and anything is better than Hillary.  You can’t win anyway”.  

Right?

And then this shit actually happened.  He won.

Wow.  Well, maybe this is OK?

Right?

Healthy change in the country.  Cant be a bad thing?

Right?

And then I REALLY started to pay attention.  Like a moment of clarity, I was filled with regret.  This guy is a narcissistic, ego-maniacal, shallow, spoiled, childish asswipe…and he will be MY President.  What have I done?

While I am, by no means, an Obama guy, I reflect on where I sit as a human.  Love or hate his politics, Barack Obama appears to be a ‘good dude’.

Right?

A family man. A gentleman.  A good husband and father.  Classy.  The qualities I certainly aspire to possess.  Dare I say Barack Obama was certainly, “Presidential“?

And then I watched this presentation of the Medal of Freedom he bestowed upon his Veep, Joe Biden.  Like Mr. Obama, I am not necessarily a Biden guy either, but if I step back, Joe Biden is the guy you totally want to hang with.

Right?

Fun, funny, charming, charismatic and, most notably, good hearted.  Joe Biden is the guy you would be grilling burgers and sneaky smoking (legal) weed with on a Friday night.  He just is.

And isn’t that what America is about?  Isn’t that what you want a leader to be?  A person like you.  Relatable.  Basic. Kind.  Real.

Right?

And now we have this orange, soulless, baseless,  useless a-hole about to lead the free world.

Donald Trump is the guy who would cheap shot punch you during gym class when no one was looking?  He is guy that cuts you in the lunch line cause his Dad bought the team uniforms.  The guy that pays for his kid to be on the varsity team.  The guy that has no time for a couple Budweisers and some football talk with you.  The guy that actually makes fun of special needs people.  He is a fucking dickhead.  And I cast a vote for him…in the name of change.

And while I had/have no interest in Bill-ary leading our country…this guy?  Big mistake…and I aided it.  Why can’t we just have a “do over”?

Right?

So, I am sorry ladies and gentlemen.  We fucked up.  Can’t we all just poetically exclaim in unison”You’re fired!“?

TOP 10: What I would do with Tom Brady during his suspension…

The Greatest Football Player of All Time, Thomas Edward Patrick Brady (Christ, that might be the greatest freaking NAME of all time!) is about to be mortal.  He is about to become a regular person.  Human.

In the coming days, our beloved TB12 has to join the rest of us “fans” and simply sit back and watch the first 4 weeks of NFL action.  Tom will be sitting at home and watching HIS Patriots play their first four games like he was just another Joe (Montana).  It is hard to imagine.  Hard to digest.  Hard to believe.  And while this is a devastating blow to the Pats, this is the one team in professional sports that can likely manage it, even with TFB sidelined (insert gratuitous FUCK YOU, GOODELL!)

And so, got me thinking.  What to do during this black hole in Boston sports history?  Of course I will remain glued to the TV each week with the rest of you but also…what will Tom be doing?  Per his suspension he can have no contact with his teammates.  Can’t visit the stadium, sit on the sidelines, throw a pass, communicate in any way with anyone in the NFL. (Yeah sure.  As if Coach Bill and J McD don’t have more burner phones hidden than Anthony Weiner’s weiner)

Got thinking more – what would I do if I could spend these 4 weeks with Tom Brady?

(SIDEBAR: If Tom was ever actually willing to host a contest where one lucky fan could spend the suspension month with him, the funds raised would make the entire history of The Jimmy Fund Radiothon look like a 6 year old’s $.25/cup lemonade stand. He’d probably cure cancer too.  Just sayin’.)

What would you do with Tom if you got that opportunity?

The listing of possible activities is endless, but here is my top 10. (all entries are rooted in strict hetero-sexuality, I assure you)

10.  Grooming:

Lets get this one off the table, who would not want to assist in assembling the G.O.A.T. everyday?  What the hell kind of magic potions, ointments, soaps, shampoos, lotions, creams, etc. create that level of magnificence?  Even this new, ah hem, ‘interesting’ hair style.  So what.  I need to know.

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9. Go to the mall:

Yup, I bet TB never can do this given his fame, but I want that experience.  I want to walk in to Structure and watch the heads turn.  I want to pepper spray oncoming crazed fans.  I want to be the one protecting him.  I want to hold his hand in the food court while waiting in line for an Orange Julius.

8.  Prank calls to Sports Radio:

I want to be the Bart Simpson or Baba Booey to these stations that loath the Patriots and Tommy Boy.  I would use Tom to legitimize the call and then scream drunken obscenities (see #5 before they could cut us off.  Then #12 and I would giggle and have a quick pillow fight before our next call to glory.

7Image result for karate in the garage

Enough said here.

6. Tandem-Bike-Ride (could be substituted for Motorcycle with sidecar, but whatever, whatever) -through-Boston-to-Duck-Boats-Sit-on-Good-Will-Hunting-Bench-for-3 -Hours-in-Silence

(or something generally along those lines)

5.  Drinking

Yes, I know, Tom is not completely fueled and energized by booze like the rest of Patriots Nation, but this is fantasy.  In this world, Tom and I hit the bottle hard…every afternoon.  And I’m not talking about ‘sitting around the house sipping on some Bad Larrys’-kind of drinking.  I mean bar hopping from Back Bay to Brighton to Barnstable.  I mean jello shots with every Barstool Smokeshow since 2010.  White Girl wasted.  Watching the Greatest throw up a little late night Moons Over My Hammie in a Denny’s parking lot would be a privilege and an honor.

4.  Get arrested…

…for streaking…at Gillette Stadium, but during a Revolution practice.  Cause…Fuck you twice Goodell!

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3.  Visit a Michigan University Sorority House. 

Be like hunting with nuclear weapons.

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2. Potato Sack Race Against the Manning Brothers (no, not you Cooper.  Sit back down)

Win, lose or draw the Mannings are going in those sacks and being thrown off the Tobin.

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1. PLAY CATCH!  DUH!

Image result for tom brady playing catch

Period.

And so, may the month of September fly by as fast as the salmon of Capistrano!

GO PATS!!!!

 

Back to School

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Dedicated to Botto, Ellen, Boogie, Skeets, Shauno and the rest of you dedicated educators

(Reblog from 2013, because laziness is the hallmark of starting school)

No matter your color, creed, political affiliation or ethnicity when you hear the phrase “back to school” it elicits an emotionFrom the time we can comprehend the concept until we are in our golden years those three words mean something to just about everyone; especially students, teachers and parents.  But even for those beyond the educational starting-line that is “back to school”, the expression conjures up some feeling be it past, present or future.  Every one of us has had to manage the passage of returning to school for some portion of our lives and later, many need to manage this annual happening with our offspring.

With the beginnings of another school year upon us again I began to think about the feelings that are mustered up when we hear those three little words  And so, here is my review of the emotional roller coaster we each ride over the course of our lifetime when we hear that timeless expression.

Age 7: Wonder & Excitement

First grade baby!  Are you kidding me?  What on earth is better than 1st grade?  You have already survived the politics and mind games that you surely confronted in kindergarten.  Now it’s time to party.  No more naps.  No more half days. You have your own little friend posse and you are ready to take it out for a spin.  First grade may be the last grade you enter with no real expectations or demands put upon you.  Show up, shut up and smile…you’ll get straight ‘A’s’.  Fact.

Age 11: Confusion & Uncertainty

Well, you have now dominated elementary school.  You have been to the top of the mountain.  King or Queen of that K-5 hill and now it’s time for the next chapter.  But, not so fast my friend.  It’s not that simple.  Not only are you entering into those years with perhaps the largest age bracket of punks, sneaks and (future) criminals, you are in an all-out war with your hormones.  For the fellas, they are noticing they are growing hair on more than their heads.  What is this?  Not to mention your voice sounds like you are the next of kin of Michael J. Fox and Peter Brady.  Oh and let’s not forget about your, ah hem, newfound acquaintance with your…never mind.  As for the young ladies, you are meeting two new close “friends” and not sure how you should manage their inauguration.  That’s all I really know about girls  (back then and now).  As for the academics?  Spanish?  Algebra?  More than ONE teacher to deal with?  How do I get out of this one?  Junior High sucks…on most levels.

Age 14: Fear & Loathing

Congratulations!  You have managed the daily minefield that was Junior High School but now it’s time to take off the training wheels.  It’s a brave new world. While you almost have your newfound adult form in check, you are now the littlest of tadpoles in the big pond.  For the young men, you are getting pounded by the upper classmen; on the field, in the gym, in the hallways, in the parking lot.  NO escape.  Your only saving grace is there are REAL women here for you to gawk at!  Yeowza!  No more wearing sweatpants to school.  I’ll leave it at that.  And for you poor freshmen girls…that is how you are viewed by your elders; ‘girls’.  Prepare yourself to be mocked ad nauseum by every single older female you come across.  They will judge your clothes, your hair, your shoes, your friends…everything.  Even if you are a squeaky clean all-American girl, you will be mocked and probably be rumored to have made out with the janitor, Carl, before Columbus Day.  For you early developing 9th grade ladies, I always hated you.  Why?  Because you were not wasting your time with a silly co-ed freshmen boy like me when the senior captain of the basketball team named ‘Scooter’ has just asked you to the prom during orientation.

Age 18: Hip Hip HOORAY!!!

You made it!  Graduated high school.  You can vote.  In some places you can drink!  You have big dreams and ambitions.  The world is your oyster.  Oh, here is the really good part for the lucky ones; COLLEGE baby!  On your own.  No more parents and curfews.  New friends to meet.  Ridiculous theme parties. Fraternities. Tailgates.  Awesomeness aplenty.  Going ‘back to school’ for the 18 year old is the apex of life…so far.  Breathe in that higher educational air, start an ultimate Frisbee game, and chug that beer!

Age 21: Depressed & Scared

Where the hell did college go?  What do you mean it’s over?  Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor?  What do you mean I am not going ‘back to school’?  I need to pay my own bills?  What in God’s name is going on?  Even for you brainy slicksters that continue on to law, med or grad school, the joke is on you.  The school work is harder, the party has ended and, likely, so has your parents’ generosity.  For the rest of you, grab a helmet and welcome to the real world.  It sucks.

Age 30: Jealousy and Bitterness

You are likely at some mid-level job you hate.  You may have gotten married.  You may even have a kid or 2 of your own.  Life has become just too real to fathom.  When you see all those ads for ‘back to school’, you muster up intense feelings of envy and sadness.  You can finally appreciate just how awesome school really was compared to the ‘real world’.  You contemplate if there is any possible human way to turn back the clock?  There isn’t.  Put your head down…you are in for a long haul.

Age 40:  Hopefulness and Joy

By 40, you probably have a few kiddos of your own running around the school hallways.  You have channeled your previous anger and jealousy for the college years into positive feelings of hope and excitement for your children.  For many of us, ‘back to school’ is once again awesome…but for totally different reasons.  Those summer-time-dependents of yours are, once again, someone else’s problem for six hours a day for the next 10 months.  Break out the bubbly!

Age 50:  Oh Crap

By 50, you have two overpowering emotions that you have no idea how you will control and manage when ‘back to school’ is mentioned.  Number 1, my ‘baby’ is leaving for college and 2, how on God’s green earth am I going to pay for it? In a related story, you are middle aged and gross.  BOO!

Age 60: Oh well

The kids are grown up, moved on and no longer your problem; financial or otherwise.  ‘Back to school’?  Who cares?  We are headed for Boca come October anyway.

Age 80: Who’s going back to school?

No really?  I can’t hear very well.

In the immortal words of Billy Madison

“Oh, Back to school, back to school

To prove to Dad I’m not a fool

I’ve got my lunch packed up, my boots tighed tight

I hope I don’t get in a fight

Oh, Back to school, back to school…”