Earning the Fabiola
(aka There’s a Reason I Chose the Patron Saint of Travelers as My Confirmation Name)

When I got confirmed (what I like to call the Catholic Bat Mitzvah) back in the day (and when I say that, I mean 1996), I decided to be different and choose an unusual confirmation name (a name that you are supposed to use as your Catholic name, after the middle name, but no one really does anymore). I remember flipping the pages of the big book o’ saints that St. James had and trying to find something that wasn’t Mary, Maria, Elizabeth or Ann. Somehow I settled on Fabiola, the patron saint of travelers. I think this was because at the time, I wanted to travel or wanted to take a summer vacation like all the other kids. This name was so unusual that when Bishop Clark called me up to confirm me, his exact response was, “Fabiola? I haven’t heard that for a confirmation name.”

Now that I’m 23, and regret the immense geekiness of my teenage years, I rarely use the Fabiola. I’m reluctant to mention it, until Tricia (my best friend since age 3--"We've been friends for 20 YEARS!!!!!") inevitably brings it up and I have to explain my 14-year-old thinking. However, now the choice has become highly appropriate, for I have doing more traveling in the past three months than I thought I would. Here’s the overview:

• Ending a wicked busy commencement weekend by taking a short little trip to Providence to see the last hockey of the season.
• Going to Poughkeepsie to attend my college friends’ wedding and getting to room with Regina again.
• Taking four flights (yes I got on a plane for the first time in five years) in order to attend my little sister’s graduation party in Rochester.
• Driving out to Framingham for dinner with Caitlin and Chris and sharing the road with the Speeding Nuns.
• Traveling to Yarmouth, Freeport and Kittery, Maine to attend a clam festival and to see the fine state of Maine for the first time.
• Sticking my toes in the Atlantic for the first time while on a day trip to Martha's Vineyard.
• Of course, no exploits are complete without a jaunt to cheat death in East Somerville, MA.

To ramble about every single trip would be long, boring, and nearly impossible, so I will focus on the most important one of all (sorry, Chris):

SEEING STEVE YOUNG GET INDUCTED INTO THE PRO FOOTBALL HALL OF FAME!

Yes, the trip I've been talking about for years (a decade, to be exact) finally occurred. My parents, my 10-year-old brother and I (my sister had to work Park Avenue Fest in good ol' Rochester, and could not join us) piled into the family Buick Rendezvous (Buick's spelling, not mine) and drove five hours to the grand state of Ohio to visit the Pro Football Hall of Fame and watch the induction ceremonies live. We also took a detour to Cleveland to let my father bask in the glory of the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame, and so my brother and I could run around downtown singing, "Cleveland Rocks!"

Okay, my brother and I didn't do that.

The Cleveland detour took place on Saturday afternoon (and was not exterampeous in any means, as I had mailed my parents the "Hasenauer Hall of Fame Weekend" iternary weeks beforehand, in their folder of relevant trip information. And they think I have OCD--where would they get that idea?) My family arrived in Cleveland, parked on the waterfront, and headed over to the museum. As we walked the steps of the Rock n' Roll Hall of Fame, we saw our first Dan Marino fan. Remember, this was Saturday afternoon, in Cleveland, 45 minutes away from Canton. And there this guy was, in a white, teal and orange 13 jersey. No biggie, I thought. There was bound to be a few.

A few turned out to be 20, 000.

We saw around 200 at the Rock N' Roll Hall of Fame alone. Teal jerseies, orange jerseies, official t-shirts, homeade t-shirts, NFL jungle pants, orange hats, the number 13 EVERYWHERE.

At one point, in front of the Alan Freed exhibit I believe, I turned to my mother and said, "Mom, I think I'm outnumbered. There's not a red number 8 in sight."

My mother looked at me and shrugged. "How do you think I feel? I'm a Bills fan."

We left Cleveland a few hours later, already disinheartened (see photo of Sam, my brother, at right) by the number of Dolph-fans (my dad's word) we had encountered. Back in our hotel in Akron (the Vestal, NY of eastern Ohio, I am convinced) we thought we were safe from them. Just to be sure, when we headed to Bennigan's for dinner, I threw on my new Hall of Fame issue Steve Young jersey (thanks, Chris!). To use Hunter 115 lingo, I had to start "reppin'." I encountered four Marino fans across the dining room, but no confrontation occured, although I did get quite a few stares from the other diners for wearing an oversized jersey tied up 1992-style. (In another note of weirdness, did anyone else know that Ohio still allowed smoking in their restaurants?)

My parents, brother and I retreated back to our hotel, which my family was rather excited about. My family has never taken a family vacation ever, and this was only the third time my father has ever spent in a hotel, and only the third and fourth state my father has ever been in. Needless to say, our pretty large and cozy hotel room was one of the most exciting parts of the trip for my family. Even for a veteran hotel stayer myself (hello, I've even lived in one), I do have to say that our hotel in Akron was one of the nicest I've seen. It had a living room, a full kitchen (complete with dishwasher, which totally impressed my mom), a gorgeous bathroom/dressing area, and three beds. (Of course, I forgot to take a picture of it because I'm an idiot like that.)

My parents and Sam were out like a light that evening, and I would of been as well, had there not been the ESPN Classic Hall of Fame Weekend on. I have never been known to turn down a viewing of the 1993 San Fransisico 49ers Yearbook (well, except for the last five minutes--the NFC Championship Game), so I stayed up and watched that. But soon enough I went to bed, knowing full well that we would have to depart early to beat all the Marino-ites to Canton the next morning.

We packed up and reluctantly left our swanky hotel room early Sunday morning. Chris called us while we were on the 30 minute trip and let us know from Boston that NFL Network was already broadcasting live from outside the hall--and this was at 8am! After parking and taking the shuttle, we got to the Hall by the time they opened at 9am. When I was walking onto the Hall grounds, I was dejected already by the fact that I had been the only person clad in 49ers scarlet in the parking lot and shuttle--until two women who had to be in their 60s or 70s with handmade Steve Young shirts bounced up to me. "Hey girl, give me a high five!" they both screamed, and we all smiled and gave each other high fives. "We're so excited to see another Young fan!" said one, "We're rather few and far between here!" We were chatty for a few minutes about the crazy Marino-ites, and then went our separate ways, but instead of "Bye," we left each other with a big, "Go Young!"

While this was going on, my family hung back, pretending that they didn't know me, as they would end up doing several more times that day.

We then went into the museum (warning: during Hall of Fame weekend, they do raise the admission prices.) The Pro Football Hall of Fame is an absolutely awesome place if you are a football fan. There is just so much memorabila and information that it is almost overwhelming. It is also in a very cramped space, so if you're claustrophobic, I reccommend going on like a Tuesday morning in the middle of October or something. Lucky for Hasenauers, we're used to being crammed into spaces tighter than sardines in a can (anyone who has seen the house I grew up in can attest to that), so the throngs of people that were mingling around the hall didn't bother us. Among the highlights is the Super Bowl section, with the box score and memorbila from every Super Bowl (including rings, not to mention a Brady jersey at every turn--it's what you get when you win three in four years!); the "Other Leagues" section, with great information on the AFL and USFL (including a blown up front page of the Rochester Times Union from the 1920s when Rochester had a pro team); and the photography exhibit highlighting the best photos from the 2004 season. There is also the actual Hall of Fame with all of the busts of every inductee (see Jim Kelly at right), which is a great history lesson for those of us who started watching football back in the early 1990s. I must say that some of the busts look absolutely nothing like the actual people (the Kelly one is pretty close, but the Marv Levy one looks like they used a "generic old man" model.) They had the engraved shelves installed for Young and his fellow inductees already, but the busts would be unveiled during the ceremony and placed there afterwards. My absolute favourite part of the Hall of Fame had to be when a young boy and his family who were guests of the Steve Young Foundation sought me out to take a picture of them in front of one of the Steve Young exhibits. "We've been looking for a friendly face," they laughed as they handed me over their camera. I was like totally shaking, and didn't have the guts to ask where they got their Steve Young straw hats (all of Young's personal and foundation guests had a special straw hat with a red embrordered scarf tied on it) or if I could hang out with them for the rest of the day. That would be the closest I got to meeting Steve Young, but that was cool enough for me.

Of course, after viewing all of the exibits, my family and I made our way to the museum store. In the line to get in, I had my first celeb siting--well, not just siting, but bumping. Junior Seau, now a Dolphin, but a former Charger (he played for them in the Super Bowl against the Niners in 1995), was walking the opposite direction out of the press room near the store, and brushed by my shoulder. Nearby was Zach Thomas. Both were very nice and all smiles as all the Dolph-fans they passed oohed and aahed. After spending way too much money in the museum store, my family and I made our way to Fawcett Stadium for the ceremony. While waiting in line, Cris Carter rushed to the VIP entrance, with a fan trailing him. Only seconds later on the other side of the line, Chris Berman (who was to be the emcee of the ceremony), was driven past us to the stage in a golf cart. Everyone was cheering him as he drove by, and he waved. He looks exactly the same as he does on TV--like everyone's crazy uncle.

Now to the ceremony itself. It was such a good ceremony--except for the burning sun just frying my family and I in the stands. My parents and brother had to keep going downstairs and getting away from the sun to prevent getting sunburned. I usually don't burn at all (that's the 10% Italian in me), but even I was beginning to feel it. But what was even more annoying was the sixteen gazillion (okay, I mean 20,000) Dolph-fans, who were only there for their number 13. They were loud and annoying at times, not to mention rude. (There was one guy in back of me in line in the store explaining to his obviously-dragged-along girlfriend why Steve Young didn't deserve to be inducted, and that the only way they were going to let him in was to induct them a year with "totally the best QB of all time" so he would be outdone. I don't know if the guy was blind to my bright scarlet number 8 jersey in his face, or if he was just trying to get my goat. I'd love to say that guy was the exception, and not the rule, but unfortunately, it was the other way around.) But I didn't let it bother me, and settled in to hear Grit Young introduce his son.

All I have to say is that it is glaringly obvious that the Young clan are lawyers. 35 minutes later, Steve Young took the podium. Steve gave us his useful well prepared remarks, expressing his gratitude to everyone (even Joe Montana, who was noteably absent from the lineup of previous inductees.) It was also interesting to hear him and his father speak about his family life--something a lot of people don't know about, since he got married and had kids after he retired. We also got the standard story about how his mother came charging out onto his Pop Warner football field one time because a member of the opposing team made an illegal hit on her son, and the story of how he made his parents drag the whole family to the Hall of Fame on a family vacation--and how his siblings only agreed if they all got to go to Hershey Park afterward. He spoke for quite a while, but I relished every minute of it. He was obviously just soaking up the moment of being inducted, and realizing that there were some fans there for him, hidden amoungst the vast seas of teal and orange. He was so appreciative that you couldn't help but feel happy for the guy, even if you were a Dolph-fan.

After he finished, they took a commerical time out, and my mom turned to me and said, "Um...I hope you're not planning to see Dan Marino."

"Why?" I asked.

"Because your face is the same color as your jersey."

I felt my face and realized that I was done. As in, "I'm so done, turn me over" done. As in, almost-Italian-but-really-French-Canadian-me was fried to a crisp. (See photo evidence to your right. That was between Benny Friedman and Fritz Pollard's inductions. Take that redness and turn it up a few notches and you'll see what I was really like afterward.)

So my family packed up and left before the Dan Marino celebration began. Rude? Maybe. But I wasn't willing to risk heatstroke to see the arch-enemy of all Bills fans get inducted.

We packed into the family roadster (well, actually the family Buick Rendezvous) and headed back to Rochester, sunburnt and carrying six tons of Steve Young memoribila. A little less than five hours later, we were back in Rochester, and ten hours after that, I was back in Boston. It was a short trip (and yes, I missed my chance to stick around for Monday's Meet and Greet with the inductees--I needed to get back to Boston by Monday afternoon), but it was worth it. I know this probably sounds amazingly stupid, but it was amazingly cool to do something that I said I'd do since the age of 13,which is when I turned to my father the summer after Super Bowl XXIX and asked him if we could go see Steve Young get inducted to the Hall of Fame whenever he was elected. I don't think my father ever thought I'd 1) remember that or 2) really drag my whole family along for the ride when it did happen. So thank you Mom, Dad and Sam for letting me drag you to the boondocks of Ohio for Steve Young--and do you think we can go again in five years when Jerry Rice gets inducted? Please?

Kat's First Hand Account of History in Peabody
(or How Kat Survived Scoring, the TBPOE and Softball Friends)

A few weeks back, Steve Rushin of Sports Illustrated lamented the downfall of scoring baseball games. Baseball fans now attend games to buy overpriced chicken tenders and drink manically overpriced Bud Light, and children aren’t being taken to the park with their grandfathers and being given one-on-one hands-on lessons on how to hand score. He did point out that the only growing population of hand scorers is Little League Moms (not to be all left behind with the soccer mom phenomenon now), who keep stats on their 8 year olds (who the Boston Herald would like you to believe will have Tommy John surgery by the time they’re 12. Gotta love the Herald and its Fox-like embellishment and dramatics.)

However, despite the fact that I adore Rushin’s writing, he neglected another growing population of hand-scorers:

Ladies and gentlemen, I bring to you Kat, The Softball Girlfriend.

I am the unofficial scorekeeper—okay, I’m embellishing like the Herald, I only was on Monday—for the North Shore’s own “The Buzz,” a men’s softball league that counts among its members my boyfriend, Chris, who plays the outfield. (Where did Chris come from, you ask? See last fall’s entries where he was known as Fantasy Football Confidant.) I decided to tag along for The Buzz’s double-header on Monday up on the North Shore, hoping to witness their first win of the season.

Chris, his friend Todd, and I showed up for game 1 at Ward II in Peabody. They were playing St. Mikes, a team whose average age had to be a good ten to fifteen years older than The Buzz. However, with age comes…well, not exactly ability, but possibly arm strength from lifting up their kids, and therefore, St. Mike’s is known as a powerhouse in B League play. Both teams are warming up (which, in grand men’s softball tradition, meant that alcohol was being consumed in the parking lot) when Chris handed me a top coiled notebook and a pen.

“You’re keeping score,” he said.

“I am?” I answered. “You didn’t notice last week’s intramural debacle?” (Someone on Chris’s Boston University softball team handed me the scorekeeping clipboard as they went to take the field, and I didn’t realize I was supposed to hand it to the opposing team when they were batting, and so I sat there staring at it until the ref yelled at me. It was quite embarrassing.)

“Oh, this one is easier. Plus, you don’t have to give it to the other team.”

Chris sat down next to me on the bench and gave me what had to be the quickest scoring primer known to man in the two minutes before he had to get up to bat (he bats third in their rotation). And then, I was on my own. A few F-7s and 5-3s later, I was feeling the hang of it. Soon, I could take the time to mark strikes and walks. I felt competent (which really doesn’t happen often, especially with the aftermath of being beaten to near-death by my master’s degree.) I was relishing my role as the Softball Girlfriend, even offering to call out the batting order (which resulted in me calling Al "A-L" because I thought it was someone's initials and not really the name Al. Fun times with my stupidity right there.)

St. Mike’s shut out The Buzz, and since I didn’t have to score the other team, I can’t tell you what the score exactly was. It was then time to go cross-town to Ross Park for the most important game of the season thus far—a game against the last place team in the league, who were a half-game in back of The Buzz in the standings.

Ross Park will be known for the rest of this entry as TBPOE, an acronym for “The Buggiest Place On Earth.” (My feet are currently still swollen from bug bites. That’s what I get for wearing Chinese net slippers.) The Buzz arrived at the TBPOE early only to see their opponent, the Paddy Kelley’s (a bar in Salem) second team, lose after five innings to some other team with really spiffy embroidered shirts. (A game in this league is called after five if one team is up by 12 or more. They don’t like to humiliate people on the North Shore I guess.) The Embroidered Shirts handily won that game and sauntered off to let The Buzz take the field.

The scoring notebook and I found our place in the metal stands at the TBPOE, two rows above the female fans of Paddy Kelley’s. I don’t know if they are Softball Girlfriends, like myself, or just Softball Friends, but they show devotion as fans that I think the first place teams would kill to have. They made tank-tops for themselves, which were slathered in bug spray, which wasn’t really working at the TBPOE. The Softball Friends were quite nice, and offered me bug spray on many occasions, which I appreciated.

The Buzz was pumped even though the Softball Friends were talking smack about them before the game. (“We’ve got this game. We do. They’re last like us.) However, it wasn’t until the 3rd that The Buzz’s bats awakened and they just lit up the TBPOE with runs. They also capitalized off Paddy Kelly’s infielders’ errors, which I am beginning to learn are key in the game of softball (seeing that I got to second on one last week in my own game.) With Chris, my favorite outfielder, scoring twice, The Buzz beat Paddy Kelley’s 15-7 to get only their second win in their four years of existence. My scoresheet, which I handed to Todd after the game, will be framed and placed next to the framed scoresheet of the other game they’ve won.

The Buzz left the field to the cheers of me (the Softball Friends were silent at that point, despite their cheers during the game of, “That was almost a nice catch!” and “That was some good running! Maybe next time!”), and soon gathered in the parking lot, where they gathered around one of their cars, watching reverently as Todd carefully wrote on one of the softballs used for practice that night, “The Buzz vs. Paddy Kelley’s, 15-7, Ross Park, June 13, 2005.” As I hung back, I enjoyed watching the team excitedly look at the ball and what had been written on it. Us twenty-something females may be correctly stereotyped as constantly lambasting men as insensitive and emotionally disappointing, but if any of these disparagers had been standing with me at that moment, they would have to think otherwise.

***************************
I promise to write more later about my hiatus from my blog, especially because it makes for excellent blogging material. Just know that it involves me, four states, and more hockey than I could ever imagine seeing in a NHL lockout season. I just wanted to get this one up while it was fresh…and now that I am the proud-but-defeated recipient of a master’s degree, I will be writing more often.

Kat's Job Search
(But not really)

If the Niners’ want to continue being the penny-pinching misers that they’ve shown with this week’s hiring of Mike Nolan, then why not hire me?

Hmmm...

(insert daydream music here)

Katherine’s Resume

Objective: To become head coach or general manager of the San Francisco 49ers, everyone’s favorite downtrodden NFL franchise.

Education:

Boston University
Ed.M in Higher Education Administration, Expected May 2005

Binghamton University
B.A. in History, Minor in Art History, May 2004

Ithaca College
Studied Sports Information and Communication, 2000-2001

Experience:

Yahoo Fantasy Football Leagues August 2004-Janurary 2005

Finished 4 in both a 10 member and 12 member leagues, had the smart idea to pick up Brandon Stokley and Jerome Bettis just on a hunch, rode McNabb and a WR not to be named because you had problems with him to a very good regular season record until said WR had to go and hurt his freaken ankle.

Steve Young Fan January 1993-Present

Spent my formative teenage years obsessing over your former quarterback, at one point could recite his QB rating per year, what the formula was for the QB rating, and could tell you how many rushing yards he had cumulative to 1994, could also tell you when he graduated from law school, and often corrected people who thought he had brown eyes, not blue. Has taught me to be more tolerant of Republicans and to embrace Michael Irvin for the idiot he is. I can also pretty much name the entire roster of your 1994-95 Super Bowl team due to Steve Young’s inclusion on it. (Example: Off the top of my head, I can tell you the QB roster, which was Young, Elvis Gerbac, and Bill Musgrave, and can note that Doug Brien, the now embattled Jets kicker, was the kicker for said team, and that John Taylor was still on the team at that point, oh and that Brent Jones too went to BYU law, and that I often got him and Harris Barton confused, and that Steve Wallace wore a double helmet. I could go on, but I’ll spare you the memories of your glory years.)

Mountainview Housing Office Pick The Winners Regular Season Champion Fall 2003

Kicked everyone in the office’s butt when it came to picking a select number of games per week.

Extracurricular Activities:

Recreational Madden 2003 player (although I’ll admit my favourite facets of the game are the field goal training camp drills and playing the 1994 Niners versus the 1995 Niners on automatic mode. Oh, and switching Steve Young to being a Buffalo Bill.)

Requesting Salary:
$29,000 per year
(see, I’m cheap!)

(end daydream)

….see? I think I’m well qualified for what they’re willing to pay. I mean, hire me, save money, and then maybe they could use the rest to sign actual players who might make the cut on some AFC teams (some, not all. No need to get unrealistic for the rebuilding process here.)

I’m not saying that the hiring of Nolan is a farce. I mean, I did draft the Ravens defense in like the third round of the MCFFLOAT this year. Me, the non-defense girl, took a defense early. I mean, that speaks volumes about Nolan’s previous work.

However, here’s my problem, and it reflects my all-offense-all-the-time-girliness: Out of the three facets of the Niners, I feel the offense needs the most work. In the NFC, the Niners defense finished 12^th, while the offense finished 13^th (surprising, isn’t it? Worst team in the league, yet they are not the worst team statistically in the NFC…). However, in they finished -17 in take/give aways, meaning the Niners’ QB’s were intercepted 18 times, their players fumbled 16, all while their defense was on par or better with the Vikings and Packers (two playoff teams, by the way) in total takeaways (passes they intercepted and the fumbles they forced that resulted in a Niner procession.) The rushing and receiving statistics are pretty dismal. However, I mean, this is a team that held the Patriots to 7 points in a half, and a team that was able to shut down the Cardinals twice. I need to look at more statistics, but take those short ones and then add on that the most significant veterans they have are on defense, and that that side of the ball was put together by Jim Mora Jr. (who really isn’t a jr.) before he fled for Vick-land. They need to address the offense more than they need to do anything else, and while I recognize the oft-contended point that just because a coach is previously a defensive coordinator, doesn’t mean they will be a defensive minded head coach, I just think that a guy with such a heavy defensive background like Nolan isn’t the best guy for them. They need someone better rounded. I don’t know who they should have hired, but there has to be someone out there who would be able to address both sides of the ball effectively. But really, if the offense doesn’t improve, all the defense in the world isn’t going to help you much (i.e. the Ravens non-existent playoff appearance this season). And I don’t know if drafting a QB is the answer either. I mean, they have totally young QBs in their stable now, and no strong offensive coaching staff to develop them, and no effective offensive line to protect them. Even if you had Matt Leinart (who didn’t declare anyway), even all his USC magic would not go far if he was open to sacks like the Cask and Flagon to a Red Sox post-victory crowd.

I could go on and on. I just feel that they settled with Nolan because 1) his dad was a Niners’ coach in the 70s and 2) he’s going to be able to be paid less than say, Romeo Crennel or Jim Fassel. And that’s the bottom line with the York ownership: cheapness.

Urgh.

***
This week was the first week of classes at Boston University for the spring semester, meaning my winter break is officially over. Thus, the break of massive reading has ended. I ended up reading five books (Moneyball, False Start: How the New Browns Were Set Up to Fail, Committed: Tales of a Fantasy Football Junkie, Hockey in Rochester, and He’s Just Not Into You) and starting a sixth (Faithful). Here are my Winter Break O’ Reading Awards:

Best: (tie) Committed and Moneyball. Both astounding books: Moneyball for having so many of those lightbulb moments for me, because I am behind in understanding baseball as well as I do football or hockey, and Committed for making me laugh hystarically while also making me realize that not only are there war weirder people than me out there, but there women who have seriously taken up fantasy football up there with the hardcore bar regulars.

Most Whiney: False Start. Hands down, one of the most annoying books I’ve ever read. I was that close to finishing it, but I had to take a break because the constant talking in the second person (“You guys feel like the NFL cheated you? They did cheat you! You are miserable because the NFL is evil. Carmen Policy and you are not friends!”) Like, dude, I know people in Cleveland are miserable, but gosh, can you make less annoying arguments as to why the Browns had no control over their suckiness?

Most Degrading: He’s Just Not Into You. I’m glad to know that I, as a women, have to sit around and not take control of my own romantic life and wait around forever for any guys to ever show an interest in me, and then turn 75% of those guys who do show an interest in me down because they don’t bring me flowers every 5 seconds and/or want to spend time with their family or friends at some points. I’m also glad to know that despite how this book came about, men and women should not be friends, especially not men and women who used to date each other. Bull. Sure, there are some valid points to be learned through this book for the large majority of girls, like “get over a guy real quick once he breaks up with you, and don’t stalk them and/or call him up multiple times bawling.” But yo, I already knew that. I mean, I am Miss Queen of Successful Breakups. Basically I hate this book because it’s all about being passive, and the only active you take is dumping or rejecting guys. Last I checked, successful people weren’t successful because they were passive in life.

Best Pictures and Least Interesting to Anyone Who Is Not Me: Hockey in Rochester. Well, I’ll admit, unlike what I had thought before I got it for my birthday, it’s mainly a picture book. But a good one. The author racked tons of archives to trace hockey’s development and history in Rochester, which is pretty darn significant considering it’s all we do as Western New Yorkers. Very informative captions, but unfortunately only one Jean-Luc Grand-Pierre sighting, which is in the corner of a picture about one of the Amerks goalies. Sigh…how can they overlook the best looking Amerk of all time?!

If It Was Released Any Other Year, No One Would Buy It: Faithful. This is the first Stephen King book I’ve ever read. It’s also pointless if you don’t like the Red Sox and would be pointless had the Red Sox not won the World Series this year. However, I enjoy it, and will be fitting it in around my schoolwork.

And Best Movie of Break (okay, I know these are book awards, but I had to throw it in here): In Good Company. Awesome movie. Definitely worth all the hype that I had built up for myself after seeing the preview a few months back.

***

I was in the first day of my Distance Education course the other day, and the professor mentioned, “…the needs of adult learners, such as yourselves…”

I looked around the room, and began the following internal conversation: “Sure, they’re all adults in this class…wait. Does he think I’m an adult? No, I’m not. I’m 23. I’m still a…oh wait. I’m 23. I’m an adult. No, I can’t be. Nope, I think I’m an adult. Oh my gosh, I’m an adult. A grown up. I’m not a kid. I may still look like one, but nope, definitely an adult.”

That was the most depressing moment, like, ever.

Pewter Place Withdrawal

I finished fourth. In both my leagues, I finished fourth.

If nothing, I exude consistency.

What screwed me over was the following combination of circumstances: 1) The Eagles wrapped up the NFC like sixteen years ago, and decided that Owens' injury was their wakeup call to rest McNabb. 2) I have little access to crucial sports information in Rochester. Mind you, the Democrat and Chronicle is a fine...well, acceptable...okay, rather Bills-and-minor-league-hockey-centric newspaper. Not the best source for info. I have little internet access at home, seeing that my parents can't take care of their iMac and still think dial-up AOL is the cutting edge of internet access. I was online once during my five days at home, for all of a half hour, and I got on all of two websites during that half hour. In addition, I didn't get to watch a lot of ESPN or other sports related TV. So I had to set my lineups with Thursday's info, and hope that it would carry me through.

Therefore, I lost both match-ups.

(I would insert a picture of me pouting about this here, but I don't have a digital camera.)

However, despite this ending disappointment, I have to say that fantasy football is totally awesome, and I can not wait till next year! Thanks to everyone who played and were always there to trade and give advice. My two commissioners were fantastic as well, and I learned a lot from both of them. Thanks for finally giving me the chance to play!

Unfortunately, this week is fantasy-less, and that's kind of weird. When I heard this afternoon that Bettis, my stud RB, was going to sit out against the Bills, I initially started thinking, "Okay, I need to switch to Martin and Droughns for this week." Then I remembered that it was all over. So I can watch football and cheer for the teams, instead of players. Which is important, given what could happen tomorrow...

...which leads us to this week's picks.

Baltimore over Miami

Buffalo over Pittsburgh--I want a "Bill-lieve" t-shirt. Sadly, they started selling them on Thursday, the day after I left Western New York, so I will go without. If the Red Sox can win the World Series, then the Bills can make the playoffs. And wasn't the "Hailey's Comet" game great if you're a Bills fan?! I saw all of three minutes--which included a touchdown for the Bills' offense and a sack for the Bills' defense. Good times.

Carolina over New Orleans

Green Bay over Chicago--The last two games don't get me excited at all. I wish they did.

Houston over Cleveland--I will go over this more in my next entry, but I'm in the middle of False Start: How the New Browns Were Set Up to Fail, and it's a book of excuses. Really disappointing. Yes, maybe Policy screwed you over, but he wasn't stupid. Maybe you should of taken McNabb, but don't instruct Browns fans not to ask "What if?" and then go on and on about "What if?"

New England over San Francisco--I wish, I wish, I wish I was going to this game!!!!!!!!!

Cincinnati over Philly--A little too late for Cincy against a resting Eagles team.

Jets over St. Louis--I hope I'm wrong. I really really hope I'm wrong, and that the Bills make the playoffs instead of the oh-so-annoying Jets

Detroit over Tennessee--It's not that the Lions are horrible. It's that they can't get it all together at once. Harrington could be good. They have the best coaching. Their defense isn't too shabby. They just have to make it all work together.

Washington over Minnesota--I almost think the Washington defense deserves to make the playoffs more than the entire Vikings team. I have never really liked the Vikings, even though my family were always big Dennis Green proponents and I was raised by a huge Fran Tarkington fan. I think Tice needs to go, but I could also see where coaching turmoil could throw that team into shambles.

Tampa Bay over Arizona--Speaking of Dennis Green...

Atlanta over Seattle--Or the other way around. I don't know. I can't get a handle on either team.

Indianapolis over Denver--Those starters better play for the Colts, and enough to squeak out a win. However, Denver is so inconsistent, the Colts second string could trip them up.

Jacksonville over Oakland

San Diego over Kansas City--See, I almost almost ALMOST was right last week with the Chargers. I did say it was going to be close. I was so excited when I saw the score at the half of that game. Super Chargers!!!

Dallas over the Giants--My friend Brian said today that there was no reason to start Manning over Warner. However, Warner is Warner, and I can kind of understand why it was done--Warner is so inconsistent but so pompous. It would annoy the heck out of me to have him around. Why give someone playing time who will complain about the sky not being blue enough and his paycheck having a folded corner, when you can make someone's daddy happy? Coughlin walked right into this one...remove the front office stat!