Letters to the Editor
There is a hot subject in the current news about football that concerns how the game is played. This is the dangerous spear tackling characterized by hitting an opponent with the helmet aiming at his head and what can be done to stop the possible brain damage and carnage on football players.
The NFL has said that starting this Sunday (24 Oct. 2010) they will take measures against the offenders if they practice this barbaric, intentional act to maim an opponent. Some of the players will object because this will remove one of their weapons they use to try to win games. If they are more heavily fined or dropped from the team for multiple games, they will scream even louder.
There is a very simple thing that can be done by the officials which will put a stop to this practice in a single weekend and it will not affect the players’ livelihood by taking money from them in fines. All the officials have to do is to start imposing a 30 yard penalty against the team whose member uses the spear tackle.
A 15 yard penalty is obviously not sufficient to prevent the use of the spear tackle but I think the 30 yard penalty would be. This dangerous form of play appears to happen more often when an opponent gets onto the other team’s end of the field and especially when in or near the red zone. I think a 30 yard penalty would be effective at stopping intentional spear tackling because it would result in an automatic touchdown if it happens on a play starting 30 yards or less from the opponent’s goal line. Even further away it would greatly increase the opportunity to score a touchdown. This would immediately get the attention of the owners of the franchises because it would result in lost games and you can be very sure that they would take the necessary action to stop their players from ever using the spear tackle to stop an opponent.
If applied judiciously, It would become equivalent to throwing a boxer out of the ring for a low blow during a prize fight.
Sincerely yours,
Robert M. Mc Cully, Colonel (Ret. ) UFAF, V.C.
October 23, 2010
Commentary
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Cutie & Sweetie
We have two new inhabitants in our house. You see, after an unfortunate accident, our “beloved” housedog “Buster” passed away and with a young child in our home, it was understood that a new puppy was required. And of course “Doctor Fred” our veterinarian just happened to have a passel of pups for sale in his waiting room. (I don’t think it’s much of a coincidence that Doctor Fred also sells used cars.)
Now before I would agree to another pet, I made my daughter promise that she would be responsible and take care of it. I actually made her swear on a stack of three Bibles, had my attorney draw up a contract for her to sign and made her spit on her hand before we shook on it. While she picked out a single puppy that struck her fancy, I paid the vet bill for the previously deceased Buster and then wrote another check for the puppy. Little did I realize that the check writing was just beginning.
As we took “the sweetest little puppy in the world” home, (my daughter’s words not mine) the pup promptly wet on my car seat. When we got home, my wife was waiting for us, still teary-eyed and a bit melancholy about Buster but she did make the best of it. As anyone with a new pet would do, we sat in the floor to play with “the sweetest puppy in the world” that of course immediately wet on the rug. I should have known that I was in trouble when my wife didn’t get upset at this or the other mess that “Sweetie” was strategically leaving around the living room. In fact, Tracy seemed unusually calm and that should have been a warning sign of things to come.
Even though it was like closing the barn door after the horse got out, my daughter & I took the pup outside. As we sat on the steps and watched for any “activity”, I whiled away the time pondering the absurdity of the theory of evolution, not upon religious grounds but upon a review of my current situation. I mean when you consider that man has evolved from hunters, gatherers and graphic cave artists to the state at which I found myself (waiting in the hot sun for a dog to do her business), it doesn’t really lend much support to Darwin’s Theories.
After twenty minutes of no activity, “Sweetie” was brought back inside where she promptly wet in the foyer just inside the door. As my daughter so cheerfully cleaned up the mess, I realized that my wife was nowhere to be found & neither was the checkbook. I checked the garage and her car was gone. Thinking positively I reasoned that she had gone to get some high powered puppy food for “Sweetie”. You know the kind I’m talking about; it costs more per pound than rib eye steak & has “all the vitamins, minerals & roughage to make your puppy big & strong & poop a lot!”
It wasn’t much later that she came in the door holding “the cutest puppy in the world.”
“Sweetie needed a companion.” She said, “and besides it’s no more trouble to keep two than it is one.” Now I’ve been married for 17 years and even as slow-witted as I am, I know there are some battles that I can’t win. I wasn’t even going to fight this one. Sweetie was excited to see her sister, so excited in fact, that she wet on the rug again. Cutie decided to make it a group activity.
After much debate and at least one roll of paper towels, Sweetie & Cutie became Roxie & Chloe. Now a trip to Wal Mart was required to fulfill the “little darlings” needs. This included five pounds of that puppy food, two color coordinated collars, half a dozen squeaky toys, chew sticks, pig ears, Vidal Sassoon Dog Shampoo or equivalent, puppy pads, doggie perfume, nail polish, air freshener, carpet cleaner and industrial strength paper towels (they’re in the automotive department). Fortunately we already had a pet carrier.
Now I’ve had dogs all my life but most of them were outdoor critters that slept on the porch and chased rabbits when the urge hit them. Roxie & Chloe or “Pee & Poop” as I call them aren’t ever going to make it outside. Why any self- respecting rabbit would either die laughing at the sight of them or try to nurse them. So we were going to have to house train Pee & Poop – errr Roxie & Chloe. Now I had once house-trained a border collie in one day so I figured this shouldn’t be too hard; a rolled up newspaper and sharp voice should take care of this in short order. I discovered that these dogs have very little in common with border collies!
The first night, I think there were 47 little presents left for us throughout the house & this was before bedtime. We finally got them in their cage and quiet around midnight. By four o’clock the next morning, I couldn’t take the whining anymore. I did learn that my wife could actually laugh in her sleep when I told her that she needed to get up & take the puppies outside. Being the good father that I am and knowing that a ten year old needs her sleep, I didn’t bother to drag out my contract with my daughter and wake her with the details of Article IV, Section 1-5 of the fine print. Fortunately, our nearest neighbor is a quarter mile away, so still half asleep, I just slipped on my wife’s bathrobe, grabbed the “little darlings” and took them to the backyard. Instead of taking care of business as they should, they proceeded to make a mad dash for the woods behind our house. Calling them did no good as they were as confused about their names as I was and as some of the names I was calling them were not appropriate for mixed company, it’s just as well they didn’t respond.
Now we have a lot of coyotes in our area and as I didn’t want to put my family through yet another grieving process, I decided I had better bring them back. I took off after them in an uncinched pink bathrobe and not much else. After ten minutes of stumbling through the mud & brambles not only had I lost the puppies but I had also lost the belt to the robe and most of my dignity. I decided to go back to the house and get properly dressed and equipped for a massive search effort. As I crawled out of the woods, there they were sitting on the porch looking at me with their heads cocked to the side as if thinking “What’s that idiot doing out there?”. I’m just thankful that God will forgive us for the use of foul language in times of stress especially between the hours of midnight & five A.M.
Upon bringing them back into the house, Pee & Poop (they’ve earned these names) proceeded to do just that on the living room rug. Knowing there wasn’t much sense in going back to bed, I spent the next three hours following them around with a paper towel in one hand and a rolled up newspaper in the other. I have to give my wife some credit for good judgment, as she never once had the nerve to ask me what happened to her bathrobe.
Later I learned that puppies don’t have much control over their bodily functions until they are twelve to sixteen weeks old and that smaller breeds like Pee & Poop can sometimes take as much as six months to house train. I think these gals are going for the record. My daughter is not so cheerful about cleaning up after them anymore and my wife has to feed them most of the time but the “little darlings” have become part of the family now. Oh, by the way, that contract I had with my daughter; I found a real good use for it at about four o’clock one morning.
This is an older story written several years ago. Roxie & Chloe are still with us. The pink bathrobe didn't survive.
Now before I would agree to another pet, I made my daughter promise that she would be responsible and take care of it. I actually made her swear on a stack of three Bibles, had my attorney draw up a contract for her to sign and made her spit on her hand before we shook on it. While she picked out a single puppy that struck her fancy, I paid the vet bill for the previously deceased Buster and then wrote another check for the puppy. Little did I realize that the check writing was just beginning.
As we took “the sweetest little puppy in the world” home, (my daughter’s words not mine) the pup promptly wet on my car seat. When we got home, my wife was waiting for us, still teary-eyed and a bit melancholy about Buster but she did make the best of it. As anyone with a new pet would do, we sat in the floor to play with “the sweetest puppy in the world” that of course immediately wet on the rug. I should have known that I was in trouble when my wife didn’t get upset at this or the other mess that “Sweetie” was strategically leaving around the living room. In fact, Tracy seemed unusually calm and that should have been a warning sign of things to come.
Even though it was like closing the barn door after the horse got out, my daughter & I took the pup outside. As we sat on the steps and watched for any “activity”, I whiled away the time pondering the absurdity of the theory of evolution, not upon religious grounds but upon a review of my current situation. I mean when you consider that man has evolved from hunters, gatherers and graphic cave artists to the state at which I found myself (waiting in the hot sun for a dog to do her business), it doesn’t really lend much support to Darwin’s Theories.
After twenty minutes of no activity, “Sweetie” was brought back inside where she promptly wet in the foyer just inside the door. As my daughter so cheerfully cleaned up the mess, I realized that my wife was nowhere to be found & neither was the checkbook. I checked the garage and her car was gone. Thinking positively I reasoned that she had gone to get some high powered puppy food for “Sweetie”. You know the kind I’m talking about; it costs more per pound than rib eye steak & has “all the vitamins, minerals & roughage to make your puppy big & strong & poop a lot!”
It wasn’t much later that she came in the door holding “the cutest puppy in the world.”
“Sweetie needed a companion.” She said, “and besides it’s no more trouble to keep two than it is one.” Now I’ve been married for 17 years and even as slow-witted as I am, I know there are some battles that I can’t win. I wasn’t even going to fight this one. Sweetie was excited to see her sister, so excited in fact, that she wet on the rug again. Cutie decided to make it a group activity.
After much debate and at least one roll of paper towels, Sweetie & Cutie became Roxie & Chloe. Now a trip to Wal Mart was required to fulfill the “little darlings” needs. This included five pounds of that puppy food, two color coordinated collars, half a dozen squeaky toys, chew sticks, pig ears, Vidal Sassoon Dog Shampoo or equivalent, puppy pads, doggie perfume, nail polish, air freshener, carpet cleaner and industrial strength paper towels (they’re in the automotive department). Fortunately we already had a pet carrier.
Now I’ve had dogs all my life but most of them were outdoor critters that slept on the porch and chased rabbits when the urge hit them. Roxie & Chloe or “Pee & Poop” as I call them aren’t ever going to make it outside. Why any self- respecting rabbit would either die laughing at the sight of them or try to nurse them. So we were going to have to house train Pee & Poop – errr Roxie & Chloe. Now I had once house-trained a border collie in one day so I figured this shouldn’t be too hard; a rolled up newspaper and sharp voice should take care of this in short order. I discovered that these dogs have very little in common with border collies!
The first night, I think there were 47 little presents left for us throughout the house & this was before bedtime. We finally got them in their cage and quiet around midnight. By four o’clock the next morning, I couldn’t take the whining anymore. I did learn that my wife could actually laugh in her sleep when I told her that she needed to get up & take the puppies outside. Being the good father that I am and knowing that a ten year old needs her sleep, I didn’t bother to drag out my contract with my daughter and wake her with the details of Article IV, Section 1-5 of the fine print. Fortunately, our nearest neighbor is a quarter mile away, so still half asleep, I just slipped on my wife’s bathrobe, grabbed the “little darlings” and took them to the backyard. Instead of taking care of business as they should, they proceeded to make a mad dash for the woods behind our house. Calling them did no good as they were as confused about their names as I was and as some of the names I was calling them were not appropriate for mixed company, it’s just as well they didn’t respond.
Now we have a lot of coyotes in our area and as I didn’t want to put my family through yet another grieving process, I decided I had better bring them back. I took off after them in an uncinched pink bathrobe and not much else. After ten minutes of stumbling through the mud & brambles not only had I lost the puppies but I had also lost the belt to the robe and most of my dignity. I decided to go back to the house and get properly dressed and equipped for a massive search effort. As I crawled out of the woods, there they were sitting on the porch looking at me with their heads cocked to the side as if thinking “What’s that idiot doing out there?”. I’m just thankful that God will forgive us for the use of foul language in times of stress especially between the hours of midnight & five A.M.
Upon bringing them back into the house, Pee & Poop (they’ve earned these names) proceeded to do just that on the living room rug. Knowing there wasn’t much sense in going back to bed, I spent the next three hours following them around with a paper towel in one hand and a rolled up newspaper in the other. I have to give my wife some credit for good judgment, as she never once had the nerve to ask me what happened to her bathrobe.
Later I learned that puppies don’t have much control over their bodily functions until they are twelve to sixteen weeks old and that smaller breeds like Pee & Poop can sometimes take as much as six months to house train. I think these gals are going for the record. My daughter is not so cheerful about cleaning up after them anymore and my wife has to feed them most of the time but the “little darlings” have become part of the family now. Oh, by the way, that contract I had with my daughter; I found a real good use for it at about four o’clock one morning.
This is an older story written several years ago. Roxie & Chloe are still with us. The pink bathrobe didn't survive.
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