One of my brighter moments...

A couple of weeks ago, I was in New York for the US Open. For work, no less. After sixteen years shooting film and video in landfills and chicken farms, my stars, it seems, finally aligned.

Well, my moment of brilliance occurred when we decided we wanted to get a shot of what it looks like to enter the city...through...the Midtown Tunnel. That's right campers. We filmed ourselves driving through the tunnel.

When we emerged on the other side of the river, one of New York's Finest was waiting for us. He pointed right at us pointed to the side of the road, and we spent the next half and hour or so explaining our complete idiocy. No, we didn't know it was illegal. Yes, you can watch us erase the footage. Yes, we actually found the tunnel interesting. "Whatchoo wanna shoot that for?" he says in his thick Bronx accent. "It's bowring."

Once they realized we were just a couple of harmless, Midwestern morons (trust me, I've never been more thankful my name isn't Mohammed), they let us go.

So God bless the men in blue. They're still kicking it hard in NY. Keep at it guys, you're the line in the sand. And God bless the poor G-man that's stuck monitoring my calls for the next forever. He's got the dullest job in government by far. And that says a lot.

Moral Dilemma

This Saturday, Michigan plays Notre Dame.

I hate 'em both. Like, bad.

Is it possible to wish for both teams to lose?

If I had to chose, it would be for a Irish victory. It will make for a better National Championship match against the Bucks come January. And I'd still get the satisfaction of Lloyd Carr losing another big one.

Still, though...

The Long Dry Season Comes To An End

Have you seen Hidalgo? It's the story of a former Pony Express rider who takes his horse to Arabia and wins a mega-mile race through the desert. Again and again, you see him and his horse wandering slowly through the shifting sand, staring numbly at another thousand miles of nothing in front of them, no different than the nothing they've already passed.

Another scene, this time from the movie Alive. The premise: a plane full of soccer players crashes in the middle of the Andes. Besides eating a couple of their frozen buddies (can you say Donner donors?), they end up trekking their way out of the mountains. The scene: a few of them struggle painfully up the side of what they are sure is the last mountain in their path, only to reach the peak, gaze out beyond and discover more mountains as far as they can see.

The point in both of these scenes, or at least what they represent to me, is bleak, never-ending suffering. Hopelessness. Long, lonesome days and nights sprinkled with a smidge of despair. And, of course, the Major League Baseball Season.

Day after day, night after night. Nothing but meaningless game after game after game.

Come Saturday, though, they're be a new sheriff in town -- and he's a lot more exciting than his overpaid, steroid-laden, jock-scratching, sunflower-seed-spittin' brethren. His name: College Football. And each week, literally millions of rabid fans will cram into our nation's stadiums with beer and brats on their breath to watch him play.

Personally, I'm a Buckeye -- and there aren't many who are more rabid than our lot. Especially this year, with a preseason #1 ranking, two Heisman candidates and a genuine shot at another national title. But it doesn't really matter which team you follow. College Football is still the best game in town, bar none. Case in point: it doesn't need a silly fantasy league to make it more interesting, like the pros. This game is best played on the field -- not in the chatrooms.

So Go Bucks! And best of luck to Eyebrows' Irish (as long as they aren't playing us...even though we've owned them lately). ;-)