Age Before Beauty

Omaha, NE

As NFL teams waged war against each other at locations scattered across the country, a much more important battle was fought on the fields outside Stonebridge Christian Church. As the chilly Omaha afternoon turned to evening, the youth group sponsors faced off against the youth group students in an epic . . . a legendary . . . a historic game of tackle football. This game was not played for playoff positioning or home field advantage, but rather for bragging rights, and that was plenty.

Unlike traditional football contests which have standardized numbers of players on each team, the students literally outnumbered the sponsors throughout the entire encounter. Fighting against extra players and younger legs, the sponsors fell in an early two touchdown hole against the students. The students received the ball first and quickly marched down the field for their first score and had their second score set up by a pass that slipped through defensive specialist (forced into action on offense due to the students numerical advantage) Andrew "Big Z" Zetterman's hands which resulted in an interception.

Down by two touchdowns, the sponsors showed their experience and poise, quickly responding with a scoring drive, capped off with a classic option play. Quarterback "Rumbling" Ravi Lulla forced his way into the end zone, barreling over anyone that stood in his way. The sponsor's defense, led in the first half by Big Z, came up with a huge stop before the tandem of Alex "Heisman" Hall and Josh "White Lightning" Laughlin (which is ironic due to his thundering running style) took over on the next scoring drive to tie the game up.

The game then became a shootout between two powerful offenses. The students used their speed to strike against the stronger sponsors. The sponsors responded by breaking tackle after tackle, reminiscent of Tommie Frazier trucking through the Florida Gators defense, on their way to the end zone. After trading leads for much of the first half, the power of Laughlin and Lulla (collectively known simply as Chocolate Thunder) and the Quarterbacking of Heisman Hall and Lulla became too much for the students after intermission.

With the game tied at seven touchdowns a piece, the sponsors ratcheted up the defense with help from late addition and defensive anchor, Nick "Ndamuhkong Suh" Brown, and scored four straight touchdowns on offense to take a commanding lead. At this point the sponsors started making history. Roger "The Lone" Wulff came in at quarterback and found Bob "Speedy" Swanson on a 40 yard touchdown bomb to form the oldest scoring connection in the history of mankind, coming in at a combined age of approximately 94 (exact records were not kept at the time of their births).

The sponsors finished the remainder of the game with a comfortable four to five touchdown lead, proving once and for all their physical dominance and overall superiority over the students of the youth group.

That's My Jam!

How much better would life be if it were accompanied by everyone's own personal movie-style soundtrack? First of all you would have the pure entertainment value of always having something to rock out to, but also life would be about a thousand times easier to navigate through. Just think about it, you meet someone for the first time and think they are normal enough to perhaps have a friendship with until you realize they have some bizarre European techno blasting on their soundtrack. Now you know its best to walk away now rather than have to awkwardly decline an invitation to participate in recreational drug use later. Ladies, you find yourself on a first date with a guy you don't know all that well. Your male companion has opened doors for you, pulled out your chair and by all measures been a perfect gentleman that you think you would like to go out with again. Wait a second, is that Sex and Candy by Marcy Playground on his soundtrack right now? Check please! Life soundtracks could even help cut down on hate crimes. Say you are a person of color like myself, if you hear country music of any kind just turn your naturally tanned self around and you have steered clear of trouble and a possible race war with some hillbillies. Are you concerned that a member of your basketball team might be gay? Just tune in to his pregame life soundtrack and if he's listening to Josh Groban instead of Jay-Z, then you might want to reconsider the community showers idea.

The practical applications of life soundtracks are virtually endless. How much more romantic would your proposal have been if you had Sinatra quietly crooning in the background? Having a bad day and want everyone to leave you alone? If people could hear Break Stuff by Limp Bizkit playing in your head then they would know better than to ask you stupid questions today. There has to be some sort of technology to play whatever song we have in our head out loud and in real time, and if there's not then people need to start working on it rather than trying to figure out how to create a colony on the moon. Life soundtracks would be beneficial to everyone, let's make this happen. Someone call NASA.

Cheater, Cheater, Pumpkin Eater

One of my best friends and former roommates is the pastor of student ministries at a local church. This basically means he is in charge of running the junior and senior high youth groups for the church. He is rather good at his job and while under his watch, the junior high youth group has exploded in size and as a result he has recruited several people including myself to help out as volunteer youth sponsors. Basically our roles are to lead small groups and just have fun with the kids during the game time. Now the game time is where it's at. Junior high kids generally are not overly tuned in during the small group time, not that they're bad kids or anything, they just have the attention span of a goldfish with ADHD. Needless to say it can get a little frustrating trying to get through to a junior higher on a deep level. So game time is where the frustrations can be released a little bit, namely in the form of dodge ball.

Now we play a lot of different kinds of games but about 94% of them are some variation of dodge ball. This is probably because if we weren't allowed to throw things at the children after they completely ignore the profound theological knowledge we attempt to lay down, none of the sponsors would ever come back. I don't want you to get the wrong idea, the kids are in no danger. We use those foam nerf and gator balls that are basically made up of the same thing as those swimming noodles which are designed so it is physically impossible to hurt someone with them. And while we occasionally play sponsors versus students games, the sponsors are usually distributed evenly between the teams. Still there is something therapeutic about blindsiding a 7th grader who somehow couldn't manage to stay quiet during a 30 second prayer.

There is however one major problem with game time. Junior high kids are bigger cheaters than Major League Baseball players. Now obviously none of our students are shooting up roids to get an edge (although we do have a giant 8th grader who I suspect of recreational HGH use) however they will blatantly disregard just about any rule intended to govern a game. In general, to actually get one of the kids to sit down during a dodge ball game, you have to hit them with a ball at least four times and directly call them out before they will even consider the fact that they are no longer part of the game. Sometimes video replay and 11 witnesses are also required.

It used to boggle my mind how anyone could cheat with such a disregard for anything that resembled integrity. Now it is possible that its because they completely disregarded any lessons we have had on integrity. Honestly I don't know what it is. What I realize now though is that its not just junior high kids, because there was a split second in our dodge ball game on Wednesday night where a ball hit my shoe and for just a moment I thought to myself, "Maybe no one saw that . . . "

Best. Concert. Ever.

I know you all have been anxiously awaiting my thoughts on the Creed concert that I was so eagerly anticipating a few blog posts ago and I will leave in you suspense no longer. I have three words for you. Best. Concert. Ever. Alright, so maybe that is a BIT of an exaggeration and honestly I do not have the concert going resume to support that statement to any length. However, the concert was absolutely everything I could have ever hoped for and more. You truly appreciate the musical prowess of a group to a much greater extent once you see them in person. Mark Tremonti, the lead guitarist and composer of most of Creed's songs, is a fantastically talented individual. I was also impressed with Scott Stapp's ability to produce a strikingly similar sound to that heard on the recorded versions of Creed's songs. To me this is always a measure of how good a band is, their ability to match their sound in a recording studio during a live performance, and Creed measured up admirably. On this same note, opening act Staind was absolutely incredible at this, their sound was an exact replica of what you hear on the radio or on one of their albums, and while I only enjoyed about half of their set, I appreciated this about them.

Now let's back up a couple steps. Heading into the concert, I certainly had some concerns. I had heard the horror stories of some Creed concerts several years ago while Stapp was battling severe alcohol problems where he was so intoxicated during concerts that he could not even remember the lyrics to the groups most famous songs. While I understand that Stapp has reportedly sobered up, he was still playing a concert in Council Bluffs, and spending more than a couple hours in the CB could even drive a priest to the bottle. Basically I was just crossing my fingers that this show was not going to be the victim of an untimely relapse. Well there was good news for the crowd and for Creed, Scott Stapp appears to still be riding the sobriety wagon (all jokes aside, good for you Scott, keep up the good work). With these thoughts fresh in my mind, the very real fear was born that seeing this band live might irreversibly taint my love for them. Not only was there a possibility that musically Creed could have been awful live, there was also the chance that all of the band members were just giant tools which would have completely ruined the experience for me. A part of a performer's personality comes through during a live show that you just cannot begin to pick up on from a recording, and unlike some people I find it difficult to seperate someones personality from their work, thus the reason I hate Brett Favre.

Luckily my concerns were put to rest with the very first song. Creed came out to a heart pounding ballad backed with fire and pyrotechnics that instantly let you know, this was going to be a good show (I apologize, I don't know the name of the first song they played, I believe it is from their new album which is yet to be released and it is not one of the singles they have put out). There are some bands, regardless of their style of music that just put on a great show and Creed is one of them. They simply know how to capture a crowd and not let them go until the final note is played. The only thing I was worried about after the first song of the concert was that Creed would be too busy promoting their new album to play their most famous and popular songs. I didn't know if they were one of those bands that had started to resent the music that had caused everyone to love them in the first place. Once again, Creed pulled through for me. They struck a balance of playing some of their new stuff (check out "Rain" from their new album, its fantastic) while embracing the songs that everyone was there to hear. They even wrapped up their encore by playing "Higher" leaving the crowd equal parts satisfied and amped up.

All in all, I could not have been happier with how the concert went. Even the cheap tickets that I bought were pretty much centered in front of the stage, and the MidAmerica Center isn't big enough to have a bad seat in the house (which was packed). Through this experience, my love for Creed has grown exponentially and has filled me with sorrow for those who still refuse to accept the greatness that is Creed.

Lord, I Was Born a Ramblin' Man

Sometimes I find it impossible to fathom the fact that I am 22 years old. I am almost done with college. Whether I end up going on to law school or not, I'm pretty much a year or two away from being a full blown adult. I am in no way ready for that. I still feel like a kid, literally. When people ask me how old I am, in my mind the first number that pops in my head is usually somewhere around 15. Then I remember that I can drive, so I have to be at least 16. Then I recall that I graduated high school putting me in the neighborhood of 18. Finally I realize I can legally buy alcohol which puts me at 21, and somehow I always end up remembering that last year relying solely on my clever ways. 22 years old. Luckily my mind works over these steps fairly quickly so people don't end up thinking I am the victim of some sort of brain injury or mental handicap because I can't even tell them how old I am without some serious thought. I'm going to be a bit all over the place tonight. I can't really sleep so I'm just going to type until I get tired. Maybe I will write something brilliant or hilarious or divinely inspired as my insomnia gives way to delirium and finally to sleep.

It may surprise you to find out that for someone who has changed their major in college close to a half a dozen times, I've only ever really wanted to do one thing. Play professional baseball. Like most people, this became something that was no longer a possibility sometime in high school. After a shoulder surgery and a broken elbow, there just wasn't a whole lot of zip remaining in my right arm. I tried to teach myself to play left handed, figuring I hadn't thrown with it all my life so there had to be plenty of juice left in it. You can ask my parents, I really did but it just isn't as easy as Pat Venditte makes it look. On kind of a sick side note, it is kind of a relief that I hurt my arm. I mean, yeah I had to quit playing competitively but I probably would not have made it pro even if I had stayed healthy. Its not that I wasn't good, just that chances of it actually happening are pretty astronomical. At least this way when people ask if I hadn't got hurt, if I would have made it, I can look them in the eye and say, absolutely. Sometimes never knowing is the greatest gift life can give when you fail to reach your dreams.

For some reason baseball was the only thing I could ever manage to funnel all of my considerable focus and energy entirely into and I think that is why I have such a hard time figuring out what I want to do in life. It isn't that I can't find anything I want to do, it's that I want to do everything. I want to write movies. I want to own a restaurant. I want to coach. I want to teach. I want to sing. I want to be important, and I don't mean famous, I mean important. I want to matter to people, now if that makes me famous too then I guess that's alright. I want to change the world. I want to save the Church from itself. I want to make people laugh and I want to move them to tears. I want to be an inspiration. I want someone to pay me for writing this blog. And when it is finally my time to die, I want to go down in some sort of epic manner that just doesn't exist anymore except in Braveheart and Gladiator. I want to do everything because for some reason in the midst of all of my insecurities, I honestly believe I could. I am the strangest blend of unsure and self-confident. Maybe I really could do all those things, even if not all at once. But instead it looks like I'm going to be a lawyer, because for all of those things I want, there are some things I don't want too. I don't want to be poor. I don't want to have to worry about providing for my family (if I ever have one). I don't want to worry about how I'm going to pay for my diabetic supplies. It isn't that I necessarily want to be a lawyer, its that being a lawyer keeps me away from all of the things in life that I don't want.

As I continue on my never ceasing trek toward adulthood, more of the doors that used to be open are starting to close. It started with baseball, that was the first door to shut, the first opportunity squandered. Every day, another door closed, another dream forgotten, another chance wasted to be who you want to be. It feels like at some point you have to start trading your ideals for practicality, and maybe to a certain extent you do. But through it all I just thank God that I can always close my eyes, and listen to that perfect song, and feel like, if only for a moment, that I can be all those things I wanted to be, and do all those things I wanted to do. In that moment is where I find peace and perfection; strength and purpose. That's when it hits me. The only thing I want is to live my life in that moment, and you know what? I can live there, and I will, because that door is still open. So here is to my trophy wife, my dream job, and being the man I want to be, I know you are out there waiting for me, and I'm on my way to find you.

The Angel Who Got His Wings

Anyone who knows me is well aware of the fact that I am a huge Red Sox fan. In fact you don't even have to know me that well, if you have ever had a conversation with me, or even seen me walking down the street, you probably know this about me. What you may not know is how seriously I take my baseball. The list of things in life that are more important to me than Red Sox baseball is pretty short, certainly shorter than it should be, but that's just the way it is. That being said, on the eve of the start of the 2009 Major League Baseball playoffs, I have a confession to make; I am not wholeheartedly rooting for my beloved squad from Boston.

Back in early April, the baseball loving world was buzzing about the arrival of a 22 year old pitcher named Nick Adenhart. Adenhart was the top prospect in the Los Angeles Angels' farm system and was considered by most one of the top pitching prosepcts in all of baseball. In his first start of the season, Adenhart threw six shutout innings for the Angels, no small feat for a rookie. So much for growing pains or adjusting to the big leagues huh kid? However the celebration didn't last long. Later that same night after Nick had pitched so brilliantly, someone else in Southern California made a very poor decision. This individual got behind the vehicle of their car while heavily intoxicated, and to make matters worse, they also had a suspended liscense. The point being, this person in no way belonged behind the wheel of a car, but they chose to drive anyway. Nick and his friends were hanging out that night after the game and while en route to some place or another, had their car sent sailing into a telephone pole by the aforementioned drunken driver who had run a red light shortly before hitting the vehicle containing Adenhart and three of his friends. Two of the passengers in Adenhart's car were killed instantly while Nick and the third friend were rushed to the hospital. Nick later succumbed to his injuries and passed away at the hospital. The lone survivor in Adenhart's car was only able to make it after having his skull surgically reattached to his spinal column. The drunken driver? They were fine apparently. At least fine enough to flee the scene of the accident on foot.

Normally this would just be a sad story of a ball player dying too young, but ultimately that story would fade and be forgotten. After all, the kid was a rookie, he hardly had enough time to make an impression on the sport of baseball. But that is part of the tragedy isn't it? The ceiling that he was never given the opportunity to reach? The life that he was never allowed to finish living? There's more to it than that though. Every game this season, the Angels hung Nick Adenhart's jersey in the dugout with them. They left his things in his locker. He was very much still a part of that team. When the Angels clinched the American League West title, they celebrated with Adenhart, holding his jersey in the middle of their joyous circle and showering it with beer and champagne; the same postgame shower everyone else on the team got. I do not know anything about Nick Adenhart the person, not a thing. By all accounts he was a good guy, but I have no evidence of that. I do know one thing though, a group of grown men do not act this way about someone who did not leave a lasting imprint on their lives. The fact that Adenhart did it in such a short amount of time is even more impressive.

For the third year in a row the Red Sox are matched up with the Angels in the first round of the playoffs. The Angels have never beaten the Red Sox in a postseason series. In my head I want Boston to win the series and if they do I will absolutely be rooting for them to win another World Series. I've got to tell you though, I don't think there is an inch of my heart that doesn't want to see the Angels present Nick Adenhart's parents with his World Series ring on Opening Day 2010. I'm not a fair weathered fan, and I'm certainly not switching my allegiance from the Red Sox to anyone else. Like I said, there is a very short list of things that are more important to me than Red Sox baseball, but seeing Nick Adenhart become a World Series champion is absolutely on that list.

With Arms Wide Open

Back in the late 1990's and early 2000's a cultural phenomenon swept the country. This phenomenon was known simply as Creed. Creed pumped out three straight albums that went multi-platinum proving that they were not just some flash in the pan. Then in 2004, the band quickly and abruptly broke up amongst rumors of personal issues between band members and the well documented alcoholism of lead singer Scott Stapp. Stapp had become widely hated by just about everyone for the alter ego his drinking problems produced, and that is where Creed backlash began. Everyone realized that Scott Stapp was a tool, and everyone started to hate the music he sang because of it. Well in reality, sober Scott Stapp was not a bad guy, even according to his bandmates who like everyone else, didn't care much for the drunken antics of their frontman. Creed collapsed almost as fast as Stapp's personal life and everyone who had loved the band so much (over 30 million albums sold) now hated them and their music just as much. Creed became the punchline to every joke about bad music, and everyone just pretended as if they never liked them. Basically Creed was Nickleback before Nickleback was Nickleback. But there is a big difference between Creed and Nickleback that most people fail to notice; Creed, unlike Nickleback, does not suck (sorry Ashley!). If you don't believe me, just check out VH1's top 100 hard rock songs of all time. You will find "Higher" checking in at number 95 on a list compiled just last year, and I contest it would be much higher (no pun intended) on the list if not for the outpouring of hatred that has followed Creed the last several years.

I bring all of this up for a good reason. I have to admit that I loved Creed just like everyone else, and when the tide turned against them, I am ashamed to admit that I drank the haterade just like the rest of the world. However, while sitting in my friends basement (Buske shout out!) watching tv, we stumbled across the aforementioned VH1 top 100 hard rock songs countdown and I had my eyes reopened to the greatness of Creed. As the beautiful driving guitar melody of Creed's most famous song blasted through the tv's speakers I was taken back to a much happier time . . . A time when people loved Creed. Since that day in the basement, I have made it my own personal little mini mission to reaquaint people with Creed. I put some Creed on my summer CD for my car so that everyone who rode with me had to deal with the fact that at one point in their lives, Creed absolutely rocked their faces off.

My journey back to loving Creed is coming to a very important moment next Wednesday. I will be attending my very first Creed concert, and I could not be more excited about it. Judge me if you will, but just put aside your prejudices and listen to the music again, just listen to them one more time and see how you feel. I think you will find yourself once again embracing Creed, with arms wide open.

The Worst Six Hours of My Life

This past Saturday I participated in taking a lovely little exam known as the LSAT. For those of you who don't know, the LSAT is essentially the entrance exam to get into law school. Do well on your LSAT, then you go to a good law school and start stacking mad cash; do poorly on your LSAT, then you go to a horrible law school and end up being a pro bono environmental lawyer. The point being that a lot of my future was going to be determined by how well I did on a test when I would rather be sleeping and then watching college football.

Now the LSAT is made up of six 35 minute sections (only four of which are graded) and a 15 minute break in the middle. I'm not a math major or anything but I believe that adds up to three hours and 45 minutes. I was willing to accept 45 minutes to an hour for instructions putting me somewhere around four and a half hours for the whole test, which while an incredibly long amount of time, I was prepared to handle it. Somehow, in a turn of events inexplicable by either science or theology, this test last for over six hours. You heard me right, six. The actually time that it should have taken the test was almost doubled. It was unbearable. Excruciating. It may have been the worst six hours of my life. But this wasn't a title I was willing to give the LSAT lightly, and so I did some thinking. Here is what resulted:

The Top Four

4. 2003 American League Championship Series Game 7

As a diehard Red Sox fan it is difficult to even bring myself to recall this event. You may remember it as the Aaron Boone game. Red Sox vs Yankees, locked up into the 11th inning, Aaron Boone hits a walk off homer to send the Yanks to the World Series. This game probably only lasted about four and a half hours but the heartache which followed was more than enough to fill up the remaining 90 minutes. This would be much higher on the list if the Sox had not turned the 04 Yankees into the biggest choke artists in history.

3. The First Night After My Ankle Surgery, 2007

I had undergone surgery before, so I thought I would be alright with this ankle surgery, but that was not the case. Before I went under the knife, my doctor warned me that I was going to have some deep bone pain the next day, I had no idea what that meant but it sounded awful and I would soon find out that it was much worse than I ever could have imagined. Ironically having gone through the the previous surgery actually was a detriment because I had built up quite a tolerance to pain killers already. So rather than needing the standard percocet, vicadin or oxycotton to put me down, I needed a fistful of bear tranquilizers, which apparently are not readily available outside of vet clinics in Montana. But to make a long story short, my ankle hurt a lot until I was overcome by shear exhaustion until I fell asleep about 6-8 hours later. Moral of the story, if anyone tells you that you are going to have deep bone pain, you should probably leave immediately.

2. The LSAT. Nuff said.

1. The Stomach Flu Catastrophe of 2005

It was the night before a basketball trip my freshman year of college and I woke up around midnight with some rumbling in my tummy. I walked down the hall to our lovely community style bathrooms and found out that this rumbling in my tummy was actually some rather unpleasant diarhea. As it turns out, this bathroom break at midnight was the first of what would become a clockwork like need to purge my insides from one end or another every 20 minutes until about 6 in the morning. The worst part was that somehow, my body knew when I was in the bathroom and the 20 minute clock wouldn't start the countdown until I had left and gone back to bed. Needless to say this night was awful and to make matters worse, I was forced to stay home and not go on the basketball trip for obvious reasons. And that my friends, was the worst six hours of my life.