Author: Frank McCabe

@fhmccabe
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Irrational Fear: SHARK ATTACKS

In honor of JAWS 50th anniversary (June 20, 1975) here is a throwback

(Originally published August 1, 2013)

With the onset of Shark Week, I have opened a new series in the Can I be Frank? tales; Irrational Fears.  We all have fears in life.  Some are founded, others are completely ridiculous.  I realized that I have many of what I am calling, irrational fears.

An irrational fear, by my definition, is the fear of something – be it a person, animal, object, activity, or geography – that is likely to be perfectly safe and unlikely to cause any bodily harm.

First on my agenda of these fears is the ultimate adversary to mankind.  Of course, I am referring to sharks.  All shapes, all sizes.

Here are just a few “real” facts on shark attacks from the liars at National Geographic…

·        93% of shark attacks from 1580 to 2010 worldwide were on males.

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·        In 2010, North American Waters had 42% of all confirmed unprovoked attacks worldwide (32 attacks).

·        2010 was the most dangerous year for unprovoked shark attacks in a decade with 79.

·        Since 1907, 201 out 220 Great White Attacks have occurred when the human was less than 6ft from the surface.

And my favorite…

·        You have and a 1 in 3,700,000 chance of being killed by a shark during your lifetime.

Oh, I so beg to differ, N-Geo.

Based on the extensive research I have performed, which includes watching JAWS, Finding NEMO and (foolishly) going to the beach, I am confident in revising these fraudulent statistics printed by “one of the largest nonprofit scientific and educational institutions in the world.”  Hogwash.

Let me get your attention.  My research leads me to believe the odds of being attacked and eaten by a shark in Massachusetts are, actually, 1 in 4.

Sobering, isn’t it?

Don’t believe me?  Need more evidence?  Fine.  Let’s start with the most factual testimony ever produced about shark attacks; the 1975 cinematic masterpiece, JAWS.  Most people believe that JAWS was simply filmed by Steven Spielberg (who, unbeknownst to most, is an international shark expert) as entertainment for movie-goers.  Wrong.  Dead wrong if I must use a bad pun.  JAWS was a non-fictional narrative of what happens every single day on the waters off of the scenic Massachusetts shores.  Sharks are there.  Sharks are waiting to eat you.

The quacks over at CNN actual proclaim there was only ONE shark attack in Massa-CHEW-setts during 2012!  Yeah, and I have a bridge I want to sell you (maybe the Bourne Bridge, a.k.a., “America’s Gateway to Sharkland).

In just over TWO HOURS of the JAWS documentary, we witnessed SEVEN shark attacks, SIX of which were FATAL!  And for the three main characters: Brody, Hooper and Quint?  One dead and two attacked. Plus, add insult to (fatal) injury, Quint was the greatest shark hunter in the world.  In. The. World.  And how did he ultimately die?  Exactly.

Am I starting to get through to you people?

These hard and true facts are what lead me to my conclusion; a shark attack is likely going to happen to each and every one of us over the course of our lifetime (I would actually contend it will happen during a 1 week vacation to Cape Cod, but I have not concluded this segment of study).

There is an old adage that there are only two certainties in life; death and taxes.

I would revise this statement to read “death BY SHARK and taxes”.

Deep breath. 

Despite my findings, the ‘main stream media’ would argue that you have a better chance of dying by being struck by lightning, catching the flu or simply taking a bad fall.  These “statistics” should prompt me to pause, step back, think and lean on modern research and science to relieve me of my fear of these ruthless, blood-thirsty destroyers of man.  Yes, that is what I should do.  I just can’t.

Don’t say you have not been warned.

As shark attack escapee, Martin Brody so eloquently stated, “We’re gonna need a bigger boat.”  I would advise you to skip the bigger boat, skip the beach, and certainly skip entering the treacherous ocean waters.  Just stay home.  Life is too short.

ENJOY SHARK WEEK!  I’ll be under the covers.

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A Letter to Frankie: Commencement of another kind

Dear Frankie,

Happy Birthday, bud!  22!  Hard to believe! 

We are so proud of you as you move on to the next exciting chapter of your life.  While most parents of children your age are watching them cross the stage of their college graduation, we have the privilege of watching you transition to adulthood in a different way…but equally awesome.

I know you appreciate so many people, Frank, but I will do the honor of pointing them out for you.

First, thank you to your sisters, Elizabeth and Maura, for being the most patient, loving, and soulful humans you could ask for.  Words cannot capture the amount of gratitude and admiration Mom and I have for these two.  What a blessing you were granted when they came into your world.  We love you so much, girls.

Thank you to our family and friends for all you have done over the years.  It takes a village, for certain, and you have been a great one for Frankie.

Thank you to all the amazing teachers, paraprofessionals, administrators, coaches, doctors, caregivers, and peers (you know who you are) for the incredible support you have kindly provided our son over the past two decades.  Frankie’s journey has been a long and hard one at times, but he has taught our family so much. 

And now, Frankie, congratulations to YOU on your “graduation.”  Well deserved, my boy. 

And onto the next.  Moving forward. The next adventure begins for you.

Happy birthday, pal.  I love you.

-Dad

Can I Be Frank, Sports

BET THE MORTGAGE: ROAD TRIP!

Well, my main man Matt (aka the “BET THE MORTGAGE” kid) is about to embark on a sports trip of epic proportions this week.  As many of you may recall, Matt is an absolute sports fanatic.  He lives it.  Breathes it.  Digests it.  Each and every day.  Matt loves all sports but football is his pure passion…unless you count the Celtics and Red Sox. 

After some intense research, Matt mapped out a road trip  that reads like a tall fairy tale.  Matt investigated if there was a possible way to attend (3) NFL games during the same game weekend…within driving distance.  Are you kidding me?  Impossible, right?  Well, he figured it out and on Wednesday, he and his Dad hit the road to make it happen.

Thursday

The first leg.

Just a short 556 mile voyage from Boston to Pittsburgh, PA to catch the dreadful New England Patriots play the sneaky Steelers on Thursday night football.  No big deal.  Quick 9 hour cabin cruise to the 3 Rivers in Pennsylvania. Let’s (NOT) Go Pats!

Sunday

Leg number 2.

After enjoying the Steel City, Matt and Crew will make their way to Baltimore, MD to get a view of the Ravens versus those pesky Los Angelos Rams on Sunday afternoon.  A quick 250 mile, 4 hour trek for some Crabcakes and football – that’s what Maryland does!

Tired yet? 

Quoth the Raven, Nevermore.

Monday

Off to the Big Apple.  Only a 200 mile and 3 hour trip north. Pfft…like a speedy jaunt to the grocery store after this week. The New York Football Giants versus the frozen-tundra-behemoth Green Bay Packers.  Why not close it out with a bang watching two of the NFL’s oldest and most storied franchises.  Well played, Matt.

Wheels up back to Boston right after the final whistle in Rutherford, NJ.  Home by dawn. Matt is about to live like a rock star for a few.  Kid needs a NIL contract and some Adderall!

Have a blast, my boy, and don’t be shy to ask Uncle Frank if he can maybe jump in on this epic gridiron journey!

P.S. Matt will divulge his football picks throughout the trip! #betthemortgage

Can I Be Frank, Frank McCabe, REAL MEN

REAL MEN: SLATTERY

As I have noted in previous REAL MEN columns, I only feel the inspiration to write them when I recognize the subject has made an indelible mark on me. A person – in this case – PERSONS that made an impact on my life in some way, shape or form. Most of the men I have chosen are my elders. Dear friends and family that have all guided me through my almost 50 years on this big, spinning, blue ball. However, this chapter is being dedicated to a large brood of kind, soulful, hysterical and 100% crazy men that I have been around for a very long time.

Hello Slatterys!

Yes, welcome to the Crazy Train indeed, folks.

Born, bred and proud Lowellians, the five Slattery Brothers are an army of awesome. With no disrespect to their solo sister, Kelly, this series is about men, but I am confident she could measure up to her kin in many, many ways (Apologies, Kelly. If I ever develop a ‘REAL WOMEN’ spin off, you will make the cut. God Bless you for tending to these screwballs for more than half of a century)

And now on to the boys and their individual accolades from this man’s perch.

Actually, let me back up for as second.

The Slatterys are a larger than life (literally and figuratively) Clan that have been causing mischief and mayhem around the Mill City for a long, long time. Educators, corrections officers, civil servants and (arguably the greatest) bartenders a plenty, these fellas do not f&$k around. Each and all have very storied and, somewhat epic, athletic histories taking them from the gridiron of Cawley Stadium to college stadiums across New England and beyond. A gifted brood of jocks that each appear to be a little better than the one in line in front of them. And while all of that is impressive and widely known, these cats are simply great dudes. Fun, fiery, loyal and wild. The epitome of a classic 20th century Irish American family.

Here are their stories (insert the Law and Order DAH DAH!!!).

In birth order, each hold a special spot with me for incredibly different reasons. (Jesus, I hope I don’t piss any of these monsters off. Here goes!)

Ted “Bubba” Slattery

Became friends with Teddy at a later age and have always been honored to call him that. It’s almost ironic he bears the name Teddy – because he truly is a Teddy Bear of a human. (Of course, I don’t recall knowing or owning a Teddy Bear that would rip your head off if you crossed him or his family. I digress.) Ted is actually a gentle, considerate, kind and awesome guy. The first guy to offer a handshake, a hug, or ice cold beverage. Most of the time I have spent with Teddy has been on a golf course or in a saloon. While we both suck at golf, we make up for it in the barroom. Our sessions are always fun and packed with laugher. We all could use a guy like Bubba in our corner.

Paul “Pipes” Slattery

Oh boy. Where do I begin with this 6’5, 250 pound mass of coolness? The Pipa is an absolute legend and a gift to us all. A hilarious, story-telling, drink-slinging gentleman of historic fame, Pipes, for lack of a better term, is just freaking fantastic. One of those people that you light up when you see because you know you are on the receiving end of an amazing story, joke or (likely exaggerated) tale. Paul was the pourer of my very first (illegal) alcoholic beverage. The now-defunct “KEG” pub, tucked over in Lowell’s Centralville section, was where one squeaky-voiced Frankie McCabe Jr. ordered his first beer at the tender age of SIXTEEN in 1991! Yes, really. Tagging along with some older cousins and buddies, I was a wreck. Paul asked for my identification. My stomach dropped on the spot but then he quickly followed with, “I’m “f%cking with you buddy, what do you need?”. The best. A single-handicap golfer, Pipes still remains the man around these city streets.

P.S. – Ask him to croon Springsteen’s Thunder Road if you bump in to him.

Kevin “Coach” Slattery

Kevin was on my high school football team’s coaching staff. While he was busy directly coaching the “biggins” and not us soft, little, delicate guys, he always made a point to know all of his players. Truly an intimidating figure, Kevin taught me a healthy amount of fear and respect for my superiors – which is highly lacking (and needed) in today’s world. Just prior to my senior season, Kevin decided to put a temporary hold on his coaching career; and that stung. I recall my Dad pulling him aside and virtually begging him to stay just one more year until I moved on and continue providing me direction. He was a powerful influence on a whole gaggle of punk teenage boys. A builder and leader of men, Kevin is a role model and a Real Man if you ever met one. Thanks Coach. You made a valued and important imprint on me.

James “Don’t you dare call me Jimmy” Slattery

Nope. No stories. No banter. Nuh uh. Not doing it. Ain’t no way on Turkey Day. Guy scares the shit out of 99.9% of the population (the only 0.1 % that are not scared are his brothers – maybe). Have a good day, sir. Sorry to trouble you. Carry on. God Bless.

“Administrator” David Slattery

Baby of the Slattery Clan. Arguably the craziest. Arguably the toughest. Arguably the sweetest. . Positively one of the best. David is closest in age to me and I consider him a dear friend. There are 10,000 David Slatts stories that I won’t bother to reference; except for one. At a very low point of my professional life, when I really needed a break, David was my guy. At a career-crossroads for yours truly, DS stepped up and offered me daylight to get me back on my feet. It turned out to be, perhaps, the most meaningful part of my working life and I owe that to him. And speaking of education, a University of Rhode Island football (and Lowell break dancing) legend, Dave will get the pleasure of my company at those Rhodie tailgate parties as my middle child is about to become a Ram for the next four years. Can’t wait, buddy!

And there it is. Hope I didn’t upset any of you big boys with these words, but if I did, I want you to know Shaun McCarty held a gun to my head and made me type this.

REAL MEN.

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The Obituary of Pee Wee Herman

Herman, Pee Wee, 70

Beloved entertainer, tuxedo model, purported serial sicko, Pee Wee Herman has passed away from complications from an apparent bicycle accident.  Authorities have ruled out foul play. 

Best known for his incredibly insane behavior Pee Wee Herman was last seen alive at a Level 3 Sex Offender rodeo in El Paso, Texas this past Saturday.  The long-time tuxedo and bow tie touting Herman was in several feature films including Pee Wee’s Big Adventure and Big Top Pee Wee.  He also was the lead weirdo in the non-award winning television series titled Pee Wee’s Playhouse where he could be spotted every Saturday morning screaming at his came-to-life furniture and singing showtunes with (a then unknown) Laurence Fishburne. 

Famous for his wildly odd style, stage-ready makeup and odd voice, Herman was a terribly lonely and haunted individual, but a beloved entertainer. Many of Herman’s former co-stars and friends have commented on his passing…

“Pee Wee was misunderstood.  Sure, he was a very mentally ill human, but he was my greatest customer and friend,” stated a very distraught Mario, owner of Mario’s Magic Shop.

Neighbor and bath-taker/chubby thief, Francis Buxton, is deeply grieving his departed friend and rival.  “I always thought I would go before Pee Wee,” the portly, pasty gum-chewing Buxton wrote in a prepared statement. “I’ll never forgive myself for stealing his prized bicycle nearly 40 years ago.  It will haunt me until I reach my own non-shallow grave.”

Herman’s lifelong companion, Dottie, assistant manager of Chuck’s Bike-o-Rama, (who predeceased him when she mysteriously died from a horn blowing incident in 2011) loved her Pee Wee.  As etched on her tombstone, ‘See you on the other side Pee Wee.  You were a loner and a rebel, but you were mine.”

Estranged hitch-hiking supporter, “Large Marge” was reached by phone for comment.  “The last time I saw Pee Wee was at that roadside diner so many years ago when he got out of my tractor trailer.  Tell the Lord Large Marge sent you, Pee Wee.  Rest easy.”

Herman loved magic, tomfoolery, fashion but his lifelong passion was to his bicycle.  When the prized bike was stolen in 1985 Herman traveled the country in pursuit of his famous two-wheeled form of conveyance.  While Herman and his bicycle were eventually reunited it would become a total and complete compulsion.  Herman vanished from main stream society in 1999 after a scandal involving a transsexual dwarf prostitute, a large supply methamphetamine and nearly 1,000 yards of red licorice in a Las Vegas brothel.

Herman leaves no family behind except for his longtime friends Clocky and Chairy who both miraculously escaped from the famed PlayHouse Fire of 1990.

Private services will be held and Herman will lie-in-state in the basement of The Alamo in San Antonio, TX on Friday, August 4 from 2:00PM-8:00PM. 

In lieu of flowers, Mr. Herman’s next of kin, his dog Speck, has asked that donations be made to “The Amazing Larry Foundation”, a non-profit organization with the mission of ending furniture molestation in America.

Can I Be Frank, Sports

Running for Life: 10 Years Ago

A throwback post I wrote in 2013 as we acknowledge the 10 year anniversary of the Boston Marathon Bombing.

April 16, 2013

In my typical sarcastic fashion, I once wrote a column titled, ‘Running is Stupid’.  This self-deprecating piece was intended to offer some humor and levity to those dedicated marathoners and day in/day out joggers in our society.  I wrote it just over a year ago.

Well, what a difference a year makes, huh?

On Monday, Patriot’s Day in Boston, one of the great traditions in sport took place for the 117th time; The Boston Marathon.  But the marathon and the sport of running, in general, will never be the same after what the world witnessed.

At approximately 2:50PM, almost simultaneously, two bomb devices exploded on Boylston Street in Boston’s Back Bay, just steps from that historic finish line that so many thousands of runners dream of crossing after grueling months and, sometimes, years of training.

Here are the facts to date…

3 people are dead….including an 8 year old boy.

Hundreds of people are injured.

The city of Boston, and perhaps the nation, is back on high alert.

Winner’s tape is now police tape.  That famous finish line is now a crime scene. 

The media has provided around the clock coverage.  Every leader, official and law officer has weighed in.  President Obama has pledged the full force and backing of the White House.

Every person of power and authority is doing all they can to find answers to this senseless act or terror and violence.  Those answers will surely come, hopefully sooner than later.

In the wake of the incredible sadness and confusion, we all want answers.  Many want justice.  Many want vengeance.  All of us want peace.

I am in no position to provide any solution or even solace in the midst of this overpowering tragedy, but I can now say with total and utter clarity; running is certainly NOT stupid.

Running is perhaps the purest of all sports.  A sport that can be experienced and loved by children at the youngest of ages to our elders in society that refuse to slow down because of a number(just ask 78-year-old marathoner Bill Iffrig who was knocked to the ground by the blast just steps before completing the race).  Running and marathoning are as old as mythological Gods and embody the human spirit. A sport of will, determination and self-discipline.  A sport that will now forever be tarnished due to the acts of a few.

However, running proved to be the savior in this whole horrific tale.  Running, not by just those soulful and dedicated marathoners but also by the fearless first responders, courageous volunteers and innocent bystanders.

With the face of evil in plain sight of literally thousands of joyful participants and spectators, running is what help save lives and rescue our fellow human beings.

As we all witnessed this terror unfold on television we were also seeing bravery, courage and compassion that only times of true emergency and crises are revealed in people’s character.  While our beloved police, fire and emergency service professionals leapt to action immediately, as they always do, so did the untrained, the unprepared and, in this case, the exhausted.    Thousands of onlookers, confused and scared, almost instantly rose to this unimaginable occasion. Despite the bloodshed and loss of life happening right in front of their eyes during the world’s most famous race, people continued to run.

They ran to help the injured.

They ran to help a child.

They ran to donate blood.

They ran to lend a helping hand even in, perhaps, the darkest and most frightening moments of their lives.

People were running for life.  Running to save their own.  Running to save others.

Sir Roger Bannister, the first runner to run a sub-4 minute mile, once stated:

“We run, not because we think it is doing us good, but because we enjoy it and cannot help ourselves…The more restricted our society and work become, the more necessary it will be to find some outlet for this craving for freedom. No one can say, ‘You must not run faster than this, or jump higher than that.’ The human spirit is indomitable.”

It is certainly hard to disagree with that last part.

God Bless.