The needs of media

Oh come on. How is it we make a news story of three potential NFL draft picks admitting to the use of marijuana, especially when one of them is poised to become the youngest player ever to play in the NFL (and not because he attempted to Maurice Clarrett it, rather, because he is smart enough to not only graduate two years ahead of schedule, but strong enough to lead the Cardinals as Captain at the age when most guys are trying to figure out where their Bio 103 class is). How is this a story?

I can absolutely, without reservation or hesitancy (heck, if they let me I'd be leveraging all my assets in Vegas against it) state that they were not the only three of the 200+ athletes the NFL suits were analyzing last weekend who have partaken in the smoking of marijuana. This wager is me going solely off of societal numbers, if I were to delving into how much the lifestyle of the collegiate athlete differs from the norm, I am sure I could convince the government of France to wager its GNP against it.

It is sad that instead of looking at this as three athletes who were honest, even with the fear of consequence, the media choose to portray them as potential risks. Risks of what? Pulling a Ricky Williams? I think we all know Ricky had a few more demons than the average man.

I understand the media's need for a story, filler to add bulk and substance to a paper. Marijuana always catches an eye and sells a paper, but what of the question of integrity? How is this story solely about drug use, and not more about values and moral compasses?

I know, I know, speculation, especially when no tests were failed, can bring with it a world of trouble and a mountain of litigation. I guess I just value honesty more than the I fear a potential drug problem. I guess I am ignorant enough to think that an athlete's fear of losing their ridiculous lifestyle is fear enough to stave off most idiotic choices.

I wish Clavin, Gaines and Amobi luck. I appreciate your ability to be straightforward and honest. You are better individuals for it.

An attempt

I have been asked by a friend, a hot soccer mom friend, to begin my writing career again. She fancies my work I guess (and no, we've established that's all she fancies - though I am great with her kids I hear). The problem is I don't know what to write about. I do... I have so many topics running through this tangental mind of mine it is amazing I remember which street I live on.

She tells me, "write about a story. Pretend you are a fifth grader coming home and telling your mom about Johnny's chocolate milk shooting straight out his nose and all over Billy's face." I try, but the words are blocked. Clocked by self doubt, fear of failure and a pervasive laziness (yes, perpetuated by all of the aforementioned). So many excuses...

I'll try...


My world stopped today. It has happened to me twice before in my life, but both of these were positive.

I'd been trying to reach my parents for the last couple of days and assumed that since they weren't answering they were just out cruising on their boat, a simple joy they both enjoyed often. Mom called around 7, you could hear it in her voice. "Strokes. Paralysis of the left hand. Problems with vision." That's all I heard . The world kinda stopped.

A month ago he was fine. Diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, in a little pain, scared and angry, but alright. Now... It's been a week and a half since I've seen him and I hear "lost a lot of weight" from my brother. What the hell does that mean?

Shit man, a month ago he was fine. Fine.