Rambling ‘Bout ‘Roids

I've seen this way too often...

Baseball is a strange sport.  Its history reaches farther back than any other and the records, stats, and other numbers that go with that history and tradition are valid as much in 1929 as they are in 2009.  A 95 mph fastball was still 95 mph in 1910, and a single through the left side in 1947 looks the same as a single in 2004. 

The same cannot be said of football, hockey, or basketball, as the players have gotten bigger, faster, stronger over the years, not the mention how much better the equipment and coaching is in today’s game.  Baseball has seen the same trend towards better athletes and better techniques, but at a snail’s pace compared to the other big sports.

This is what endures it to its fans.  The game has seen an extreme accleration in both men and equipment in the sports-crazed environment we now live in, and performance-enhancing drugs have played a major role. 

Alex Rodriguez was viewed in my own mind (and in many others) to be the legitimate player that would reclaim the career home run tally from embattled roid master Barry Bonds, when he topped Hank Aaron’s coveted 755 total with big head, small marbles, and damaged integrity.  A-Rod has only a little over 200 homers to go to catch Bonds and with easily another 5 years of productive ball in front of him, one does not have to stretch their imagination very far to see Rodriguez taking back the record for baseball.

That now seems to be shattered and baseball has mud on its face once again. 

Some argue that we owe the revival of the game after the debilitating strike of 1994 to performance enhancing drugs, as the Home Run Chase of 1998 between Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa caught the nation’s imagination and brought people back to the ballpark and in front of the television.

Try telling this to a Royals fan.  Or a Pirates fan.  Or better yet, to an Expos fan.  The Royals have never had the money to afford the home run hitters or the power pitchers that entertain the idea of being bigger and stronger by way of illegal performance enhancers.  Only broken down or marginal players like Benito Santiago and Jason Grimsley have been caught in the public uproar over steroids in KC.

But we Royals fans sure have been victims of those that have engaged in illegal and fraudulent behavior.  How many homers has A-Rod hit off Royals pitchers?  The answer:  40, including his 1st (off Tom “Flash” Gordon) and his 500th (off Kyle Davies).  It is frustrating to fear players like Rodriguez, Roger Clemens, and Rafael Palmeiro, only to discover they have been cheaters and liars the whole time.  Their success (well past their primes in Clemens’ and Palmiero’s cases) has led to my team’s struggles.

I follow the Royals with a passion and have for years.  What makes a situation like this maddening is that players and teams are stuck in a cycle that absolutely does not favor a team in the Royals financial position:

For players:   Steroids = Statistics = Money

   For franchises:  Money = Better Rosters = Wins

Using a little math here makes Steroids = Wins.

While this isn’t always true, it can be argued that it happens more times than not.  Small market teams are not in a position to construct rosters through free agency (see Yankees, New York) and must build efficiently and draft smartly.  Perhaps this post lends itself more towards the push for a salary cap rather than railing against steroid use, but the argument is there nonetheless.

I just find it interesting that the Yankees have ended up with players like Jason Giambi, Andy Pettitte, Gary Sheffield, David Justice, Clemens, and now Rodriguez and since they obviously spend to win, it seems the currency of baseball isn’t pitching.  It’s steroids.  I wonder who will be next.

~Greg

If I never would have known that A-Rod took steroids it wouldn’t have changed the way I feel about him.  I still feel like he is a shifty scumbag.  Here’s a guy who cheated on his wife with Madonna, who looks like a cross between something out of a George Romero movie and an albino Sasquatch.  Seriously, Madonna has more hair on her jawline that I do on top of my head.  So automatically I’m highly distrustful of him.

 

Couple this with the fact that he cheats to win, and then he doesn’t deliver.  Seriously, what’s the point of cheating if you aren’t going to win anyway?  I believe in win at all costs.  I believe in running up the score.  I believe that if someone steps on the field to compete you should take them at every pass, show no mercy and win, win, win.  So what did he even gain by taking steroids?  Bigger arms?  More homers?  More pop superstars that look like something out of a Harry Potter movie?  Who cares.  I’m as uninterested in this story as I am in the next Kate Hudson movie.  Just another chick flick with an obvious twist and an annoying character.  In this case, though, it story happens to be about another shifty scumbag sleeping in the bed he soiled.   

 

Now, all that aside, I am proud of him for mostly coming clean today.  The whole Madonna thing still creeps me out, though.  Guy Ritchie broke up with her because he said it was like “cuddling up to a piece of gristle.”  How can we trust a guy who cheats to win and then doesn’t win and wants to have an affair with Madonna. 

 

The answer is, you can’t.

 

-Max

I detest the media so much that I honestly don’t care if someone tested positive for steroids six years ago. Weird how the story just happened to break last week when Sports Illustrated had nothing else to talk about in the world of sports. I’m sure it was just a coincidence. The media builds players up for one reason – so they can tear them down. It’s a ridiculous and contrived recipe and the unwashed masses fall for it hook, line, and sinker every time.
 
1. Build someone up for deification (see Favre, Brett; Tebow, Tim; Phelps, Michael)
2. Hype them relentlessly to build up ratings, sell magazines, etc. (see all of the above)
3. Pounce as soon as a mistake is made and tear that person down as fully as possible – just in case they rise back up so that another great story can be written (see Favre, Brett; Phelps, Michael; Rodriguez, Alex)
4. Write pathetic and sanctimonious stories about how players “cheated the game”, “let down the fans”, and perhaps the most ridiculous statement of them all, “Alex Rodriguez was the last hope baseball had in restoring the bridge between past and present. That bridge is now irreparably broken.”
 
Build Up, Tear Down, Move On. Lather, Rinse, Repeat.
 
The media wants players to apologize – as long as they as ultra-specific and apologize for exactly what the media wants to hear.
The media wants players to accept responsibility – as long as they accept on the reporters terms and in time to make a deadline.
Then the media writes articles about how the steroid era “just won’t go away”. Of course it won’t – not when 5.5 years after someone tests positive, it becomes a front page story on a generally respected national sports magazine.
 
In the end, I understand that the media responds to what excites most people. Most people respond to the hype and hyperbole and incessant noise and yapping that occurs in the current culture and news cycle. Apparently there are millions of people out there who want to know about every single indiscretion ever committed by any professional athlete or celebrity.
 
Lost in ESPN-izing of sports is the fan like me. I just want to watch and follow the games. I don’t care about useless predictions or Who’s More Now or Power Rankings. I don’t care about who is going where in free agency in two years, who tested positive for what ten years ago, or which player in which sport might or might not make the Hall of Fame when their career is over. I care about the games and the players and the statistics.
 
Amazingly, I don’t follow sports to gleam insight from sports writers. I don’t give a crap what the media has to say. They can say what they want, spin what they want, and ask the same questions over and over until they get a tepid response and then run with it. God forbid a player says he thinks his team is going to win – “So-and-so guarantees victory” exclaims the headline. The meda asks the questions they want, frames the responses the way they want to and tries to inflame everything. I’m sick of it. You’d think the media would want fans to like sports, but they don’t care about the fans any more than owners do. In fact, they view them the same way. Owners want to fill seats to fill their pockets. The media wants to sell magazines and cultivate viewers to line thier pockets. The time of media as an unbiased observer certainly is over, and probably never started. For me, the disingenuity was revealed during the Brett Favre retirement saga last summer. ESPN and other networks talked about it every single day ad nauseum. And then one day, I heard someone on ESPN talking about how the media coverage of the issue was suffocating. True – except that the point was made in between two segments about Favre. Very post-modern, but disingenuous to the hilt. I’m not sure if that was the tipping point for me, but it was a moment of clarity.
 
So, from now on, I am taking the same pious stand as the media and everyone else out there who gets sanctimonius when it turns out someone famous has done something wrong. I am not going to concern myself with the fact that people cheat on their taxes, cheat on their spouses, steal from their employers, their employees, and any store they enter. I am going to forget that I do plenty of things wrong on a daily basis and instead rant and rail against other who dare to perform their bidding in the public spotlight. Except I will not reserve my emnity for baseball players or celebrities. Mine is for the media. I will not accept anything less than full responsibility. From now on, every time there is a “report” that turn out to not be true, I demand a public and visual apology by the media person responsible for the report. Every time a “source” releases information that is not ture, I demand the media member who quoted the source accept full responsibility. After all, what’s fair is fair, right? I know this would never happen. but a guy could dream.
 
To sum this up, I am fatigued on reports and unnamed sources floating information that isn’t true. The media would much rather speculate and what could happen and report stuff that may have happened to bother with the games. Because the dirty little secret is that we don’t need them. Well, I don’t anyway. And they know that, which is why they play to the lowest common denominators – hype and noise. So my years long boycott on pre- and post-game shows contninues, but is now extended to just about anything that involves opinion by any member of the media. Because I like sports – and I am not going to have any biased scribe tell me how I should feel or why I should be bothered or outraged by failed drug tests from 2003. Huh – you say ballplayers were on steroids then? Wow, thanks for the breaking news. Here’s more breaking news – players in the 70s and 80s popped amphetamines like they were Skittles. Guess that’s OK, though, because they weren’t cheating the game.
 
I could add more, but I already delved far enough into that which I detest. I will no longer contribute to the noise that exists on the Internet and in the ether.
 
Just the facts, ma’am. Just the facts.

~Bristol

DVD Review: Max Payne

I should have just watched 3 Simpsons episodes.

I watched Max Payne last night on DVD and I gotta say, Andy Samberg pretty much has Mark Wahlberg pegged.  The whole time I was watching, I expected Wahlberg’s character to start talking to animals.  So let’s cut to the chase.  Why is that a bad movie?

For one, the back story isn’t there.  Don’t get me wrong, they go back in time and show a lot of stuff that happens, but they would have been better served to start from the beginning, and show Max Payne before all the bad stuff happens.  This way, maybe we could understand and sympathize with why he is so morose later in the film.   In other words, it would have been more effective for the directors to show us a Max Payne in love with his wife and excited about his baby before we meet a sullen Max Payne and learn about his story through the words of other characters with ulterior motives.

Secondly, we have no idea who Mila Kunis’s character is.  She just shows up.  Is she a cop?  Is she a criminal?  Does she fall somewhere in between?  Video game players are going to know this back story, but for big budget Hollywood, movies that follow video games to a T are going to alienate a lot of people.

Finally, predictability and choppy story telling made this one a snoozer.  Trailers for this movie were fantastic. It made me want to see this movie and get into the lore of it.  Unfortunately, wanting to see it and seeing it are two very different things.  The film is not very re-watchable, and unless they greatly improve their cinematic plan for the sequel, this franchise will die faster than most of the bad guys in Max Payne’s way.

The Great Odyssey–Part 2

The Bandit's got nothing on us.

9:00 Sunday morning, Phoenix, AZ.  I awoke with a hard pillow under my head and my brother Jack to my left.  Breakfast sure sounded good and the best thing about staying at an Embassy Suites is the free breakfast in the morning.  Not just a ‘continental’ breakfast, where ‘continental’ apparently is Latin for ‘crappy’, but omelettes, waffles, fruit, bagels, juice, yogurt, the whole nine yards.

Jeff flew through the breakfast line and Jack, Dan, and myself crawled through it, taking in all of the Eagles fans that were populating the courtyard inside the hotel.  There were enough McNabb, Westbrook, and Dawkins jerseys to go around, but not enough Terrell Owens’ #81.  Jack informed me that no self-respecting Eagles fan even mentions that name, let alone wear his jersey.

10:45 Sunday morning, Phoenix, AZ.  We were out of our liquid fuel for our journey, which was Goose Island Root Beer.  I get it at the Costco in West Des Moines and figured the Costco up the road 2 miles would have some there too.  After we walked through the store, wasting valuable minutes before heading to the stadium, we soon discovered that there would be no ‘booze’ for the return trip.  Jack made the fatal flaw of buying an economy sized box of Fruit By The Foot, which I may never eat again.

12:15 Sunday afternoon, Glendale, AZ.  Up until 2 miles from University of Phoenix Stadium, the flow of traffic was great.  Then things got tangled up, in a hurry.  That was to be expected, considering it was just a couple of hours before gametime and the Cardinals had not experienced this kind of success before.  Our parking pass indicated we could take the first exit to the complex, and we thought we were going places.  Wrong.  It took a minimum of 20 minutes to get through the light at the bottom of the exit on Northern Street, as a traffic cop was controlling the light and reveling in the frustrati0n of all drivers as all 4 directions were looking at each other and at the comically constant red lights.  Jeff yelled at the officer, who laughed and said “See you inside.”  Right…you’ll pick us out of 80,000 people and do what?  Best keep to your terrible job.

1:45 Sunday afternoon, University of Phoenix Stadium parking lot.  Yes, it’s 15 minutes to game time and we finally are parked, only a stone’s throw from the front gates to the field.  I am beginning to wonder if leaving is going to be a problem as the rows are closer together than any parking lot I’ve ever been to before, leaving only the width of one car to traverse through.  That’s before tailgaters and their tents, grills, lawn chairs, coolers, and those plowed drunks they belong to clog up the works.

2:10 Sunday afternoon, in the stadium.  We finally got inside, long enough to realize that every ticket taker is a complete tool.  Our line did not move at all and every person outside, Eagles fan, Cardinals fan, or indifferent were eager to get inside.  It was 83 degrees at this point and Cardinals fans had LONG SLEEVES on!  Eagles fans (like us) had shorts and flip flops on.  Talk about a difference in perspective from cold weather and warm (fair) weather fans. 

We finally get to our seats in the upper deck and miss a Cardinals touchdown (Larry Fitzgerald’s first of 3 in the first half) and are pleased to find our entire row is wearing green. 

The Eagles lay an absolute egg in the first half and Kurt Warner and Fitzgerald nearly deliver a deathblow in the opening 30 minutes.  This made the whole trip almost become a joke, as we drove 1500 miles (and had that much more to go), only to watch our team get pasted.

2nd Half.  Luckily, Andy Reed’s beard got angry at halftime (I can only assume), and the Eagles came roaring out of the gate in the second half.  We, and the numerous Philly fans around us, were completely ecstatic when DeSean Jackson hauled in a long touchdown pass from Donovan McNabb to go up 25-24.  Thanks to David Akers having the worst kicking day of his life, the Eagles had to settle for the 1 point lead instead of being up 3 (at least).  With plenty of time left on the clock, we all knew Warner had one more drive in him at least.

After converting a 4th down on a toss right and converting another 3rd down and long, the Cardinal offense was in the red zone.  With just under 3 minutes left, they set up a screen to Tim “Ed” Hightower, who magically avoided tacklers and stretched the ball over the goal line right in front of us to take the lead.  An easy 2 point conversion later, and they had themselves a full touchdown lead.

I figured the Eagles would have no problem advancing the ball downfield and getting the tying points.  With 3 minutes left and a timeout, they should be able to find some holes in what was a porous Arizona defense.  Wrong.  They managed to get to mid-field, but on a 4th down play (with apparent pass interference overlooked) ended our hopes of a Super Bowl berth.

I think we had left our seats and were heading for the exits (along with most Eagles fans) before that pass even hit the ground.  We had “a long way to go, and a short time to get there” and dilly-dallying around in the microscopic parking lot was going to do nobody any good.

5:30 Sunday afternoon, parking lot.  We endured some of the typical snide remarks from jubilant Cardinal fans and some rather dumb comments too.  We were the first ones in our section of the parking lot to come out that had actually attended the game, as there were a few tailgaters remaining from before we went in.  Luckily, there were no cars directly behind me as I started to back out, because I would have been pulling an Austin Powers with the Yukon in order to get out.

The aforementioned tiny lanes out and those lanes chuck full of reveling tailgaters  coupled with a hot car is a bad combination.  I had my window down and some drunk guy reached in through my window and starting giving me titty twisters and saying “Go back to Philly!”  Would it have done any good pointing out I was from Iowa or would the best thing have been to put a root beer bottle through his beer-addled brain? 

I choose to drive away, but he would have lost a pound of flesh had he done it again.  Jeff probably would have drug him into the vehicle by the collar and we might have  been booked for homicide, so it’s a good thing I happened to be the pilot.

We proceeded on without incident, avoiding the traffic jams by leaving early and being Eagles fans in enemy territory, we left with our bodies and ride home intact.  There’s nothing quite like having a daunting physical endurance test in front of you when you are upset/mad/furious.

TALE OF THE TAPE

Trip:  Phoenix, AZ to Ankeny, IA     Atlanta, GA and back, via Texarkana, TX

Miles:                 1500                                                       1330

Time:               24 hours                                                28 hours

Speed Limit:    Various (65-75)                                      55 mph

Direction:     Northeast, Up                                 Eastbound, Down

Vehicle(s):  2000 GMC Yukon Denali    ‘77 Pontiac Trans Am/’73 Kenworth

“Handle”:        Buff Hamster                         Bandit/Snowman/Frog/Smokey

7:30 Sunday evening, Flagstaff, AZ.  I-17 winds its way back up to the plateau Flagstaff sits on top of, and within the 2 hours since leaving the game, the temperature had plummeted 50 degrees, down to a chilling 33.  We needed fuel for both man and machine, and while we were looking for a Papa John’s to call ahead for pizza on the GPS, none were to be found in the greater Flagstaff area, and we settled for McDonald’s.  Gassing up in near freezing weather with shorts and flip-flops draws the oddest looks from passersby, and we each changed into cold weather attire before leaving the Mobil station.

Dan took over, assuming the role of trans Arizona/New Mexico driver he held on the way out.  We were listening to several AM stations as they faded in and out, trying to get snippets of the AFC title game between Pittsburgh and Baltimore before finally getting a strong signal from Dallas of all places. 

Jack retired to the back for rest required later on and I attempted to snooze as well.  Finding this impossible, I tried to squeeze in next to Jack and stretch out.  This also proved futile, and after about an hour and a half, I was back up in the middle seat.

12:15 Monday morning, Albuquerque, NM.  Perhaps the most amazing scene played out on the entire drive occured as Dan approached Albuquerque.  After traveling four over 300 miles in the deepest dark night one can imagine, the city blazes orange seemingly instantly when you cross over a ridge on I-40.  Our trusty driver had a mini freak-out, and the scene from atop the ridge drew the obligatory ”Albuquerque, New Mexico.  You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villany.  We must be cautious.”

We fueled at a Flying J and the sub-freezing temperatures were not well received by anyone in the party.  While filling my thirsty steed, a homeless man approached me with a hunk of measley beef and asked if I:

A)  Wanted to purchase said meat.

B)  Would give him a ride.

C)  Would give him spare change.

I told him I was decidely from out of state and no want or need for steak, and no place to store it if I did.  On the counter-offer, I told him we had no room.  As for the last part, I gave him the 30 cents floating around in my pocket, but should have whipped out a Grandpa Simpson-esque quote of “Spare change?  Yes, I have spare change!  And you’re not gettin’ any of it!”

I decided to drive from Albuquerque to Tucumcari and hand off the two-lane chores to someone else, figuring I had only a few hours of productivity left in me and interstate driving would suit me best.  Jack rode up front with me as Dan and Jeff slept in the back.  South Park was again featured on the DVD player, and we clocked 28 miles per episode rolling through the empty New Mexico night.

3:15 Monday morning, Tucumcari, NM.  Hard to believe, but we were here in this dusty town less than 48 hours ago, fueling up for the hard press across I-40.  Now, Jack was ready to tackle his forsaken stretch of road, the 207 miles to Liberal, KS.  An awful tasting energy drink which tasted like grapefruit, carbon dioxide, and battery acid sustained him and Tecmo kept me going.

5:45 Monday morning, Dalhart, TX.  The drive was getting long and a stop in this Texas panhandle city was required due to an impromptu train rolling through.  When a body has been jostled about in motion for the past 12 hours (and over 36 hours in the previous 65), sitting idly while a train creeps by is enough to push one over the edge.

7:00 Monday morning, Liberal, KS.  The sun was just starting to awake on the eastern horizon when Jack guided the Yukon into Kansas, and it couldn’t have come too soon.  I went to the back and crashed with Dan, while Jack switched off to co-pilot.  That left Jeff to take over, who hadn’t driven since pulling the graveyard shift coming into Albuquerque way back on that first night of the excursion.  He had been sleeping since refueling in Albuquerque and was thankfully well rested.

9:00 Monday morning, Pratt, KS.  I woke up rolling through Greenburg, long enough to catch the tornado damage by daylight.  The devastation we guessed was there Friday evening was shown to us without a doubt.  We stopped in Pratt at a decrepit gas station for a restroom break, one that involved a key to an outdoor bathroom. 

11:15 Monday morning, El Dorado, KS.  We jumped back on the Kansas Turnpike and the friendly open environs of four-lane freeways again.  We stopped in El Dorado to get something to snack on as I was starting to fade after only sleeping for about an hour and a half.  There’s nothing quite like a bag of pretzels, a king-size Twix package, and a bottle of strawberry milk to wish you had a good meal and a bed in your future.  All in good time, I kept telling myself.  All in good time.

1:45 Monday afternoon, Overland Park , KS.  We found a Subway in this suburb of Kansas City to eat at, having gone since the night before in Flagstaff without eating something that doesn’t take life expectancy away from you.  That was 5 states ago! 

Jack and I both got chicken subs, and mine was terrible.  Dan got a Dr. Pepper, which curiously tasted like root beer.  Too bad we didn’t have any more of our Goose Island booze to suck back on… 

Dan took over for Jeff, who had driven all but about 5 miles of the return trip through Kansas.  For those uneducated in travel through western states and nominate Nebraska as the most boring drive around, I point you towards Kansas.  At least Nebraska has I-80, whereas Highway 54 is a life-draining force that cripples all inhabitants of any vehicle.

5:30 Monday evening, Ankeny, IA.  After dropping off Dan and Jeff at their respective dwellings, Jack and I drove back to my house.  I was very glad to be home and was greeted by my wife Dana upon coming into the garage.  We told her a little of our great adventures and of the game, but mostly I wanted to sleep.  I didn’t even eat anything, just went to bed at a quarter to 8 and didn’t stir until 6:00 the next morning, when my alarm goes off for work.

Back to reality.  Back to the salt mine.  Back to real-life.  Yuck. 

At least we beat the Bandit back.  He should be coming anytime now, with Jackie Gleason hot on his trail…

FINAL TALLY:  Greg–825 miles, Jeff–850 miles, Jack–415 miles, Dan–910 miles.  Note~Jeff no miles turned on Sunday.  Dan no miles turned on Friday.  That’s how far it is to Phoenix.

~Greg

The Great Odyssey-Part One

Meteor Crater, Arizona

As the seconds ticked off a surprising upset win by the Philadelphia Eagles in the Meadowlands against the defending Super Bowl champion New York Giants, I was thinking how great it would be for the Eagles to make it their second Big Game in 4 years. 

My brother Jack (far left in picture above), has been a die-hard Eagles fan since Santa Claus left a #12 Randall Cunningham Hutch jersey and helmet for him, way back on Christmas of 1991.  Thanks to Tecmo Super Bowl and Sunday Ticket, his love for the boys in green has rivaled anybody’s for their favorite team.  While the rest of us are Chiefs fans, we are all Eagles fans too.

So when the opportunity arose from our generous and awesome parents to attend, in person, the NFC Championship Game in Phoenix the following week, we all jumped on it.  Just the four brothers, embarking on what would be an incredible adventure and despite the loss of sleep in the 3,000 miles incurred on my Yukon, it now proves as a highlight in each of our lives.

Friday morning 11:15.  -4 below in Ankeny.  Up an astounding 23 degrees from the night before, as we all had attended an AC/DC concert in Omaha and got home around 2:30 am.  Jack arrived with a bag of necessities (his laptop, which as Tecmo on it) and a bag of clothes.  We get the freshly-lubed Yukon packed and moving towards Jeff’s.

Friday noon.  We are packed at Jeff’s and head to Dan’s apartment.  At 12:15, Jeff is driving and points our chariot south.  The promise of mid-70 degree temperatures is enticing, as is the chance to play a couple seasons of Tecmo.  Luckily, Jeff brings his portable DVD player and we have a healthy collection of Family Guy/South Park/Simpsons seasons to get is down and back.  The snow is still falling on I-35, but the temperature has risen all the way up to 12 above.

Jack takes the Browns, Dan takes the Packers, and I take the Jets.  The Jets and Browns do well, while Don Majekowski proves why Brett Favre took over for him.  Before you know it, we are in and through Kansas City.

4:00 Friday afternoon, Ottawa, KS.  We stop to fuel up at a BP and fuel ourselves up on the deplorable Wendy’s value menu.  I had a couple of crappy bacon cheeseburgers that would prove to be my last meal before breakfast the next morning.  I take over the drive and the first foray into Family Guy takes over the DVD player.  An above-freezing 33 degrees sneaks its way onto my thermometer, a most welcomed sight.

For those who have never traveled in Kansas, it is amazing to hit the landscape between KC and Wichita.  It is the Great Plains, not the rolling hills and prairies that we are all so used to in Iowa.  There’s not much there, but it is still beautiful to me…this is basically what the pioneers saw as they pushed west across what was then called the Great American Desert.

Wichita was regrettably the last we would see the friendly four-lanes for several hours, as Dad had charted a course across the desolate Kansas plains on Highway 54, a conduit from Kansas into New Mexico.  Whatever boredom we could stand, this two-lane terror was prepared to dole it out.  Not much more than 20 miles west of the Kansas Turnpike’s exit, the road turns two-lane and 65 mph speed limits set in.  By this time (6:00) it is dark already.

The worst part about traveling by two-lane road is definitely the little towns you must pass through, and all of the local traffic who utilize their roads, obvlivious to out-of-state drivers who want nothing more than to pass by quickly and without delay.  Towns like Pratt, Greensburg (complete ghost town, eerily quiet and still after the F5 tornado that devastated it), and Meade roll by, without much to distinguish one from another.

10:00 Friday night, Liberal, KS.  I have been driving for over 350 miles and Jack and Dan were a little antsy to contribute to the trip.  We fueled at a Conoco and Jack took over, prepared to put rubber in 4 states in one 3 hour drive.  Highway 54 immediately exits Kansas and cuts diagonally across both the Oklahoma and Texas panhandles, before hitting New Mexico and intersecting I-40 at Tucumcari.  That was his goal.

Dan went to sleep and Jeff rode up front with Jack as South Park was rocking it on the DVD player.  I struggle to sleep in a vehicle (always have) and staying awake was tough despite this.  There is NOTHING in Texas and New Mexico, as lone trees and road ditches were our only companions as Friday passed into Saturday. 

1:30 Saturday morning, Tucumcari, NM.  Being in a trucking family, one appreciates good truck stops and also when to take advantage of fueling chances, particularly when in the middle of nowhere.  A Flying J is usually a good bet, and we had one here at Tucumcari, our gateway to I-40 and the Southwest.  Jeff takes over after we realize that we’ve been running on one headlight.  I have expected Jakob Dylan to stumble out of the convenience store and start wailing away, Wallflowers style.  Alas, I had nothing but South Park to offer him had he done that.

Immediately upon joining the four-lane party again, the State of New Mexico thought it would be a good idea to have 12 miles of construction and 55 mph.  Soon, 75 is the speed limit, and the cold, hard wind of the High Plains kicks in, dropping the air down to a chilling 24 degrees.

4:00 Saturday morning, Albuquerque, NM.  Jeff had found a Radisson just off the interstate for $55 a night on-line, as Albuquerque was the designated “crash site” for the trip down.  And crash we did.  Jeff and I shared one room and literally within minutes of entering the room, we were both out.  Apparently, I was talking in my sleep, like I usually do when under stress.  Poor Jeff, he must think that’s all I ever do.

Waking in the morning at 9:30 our time, Jeff sauntered off to the indoor pool, but it was closed until 10, plus it was chilly.  Wal-Mart was my destination, a headlight my quest, and luckily, there was one located just a half mile north.  You’re never far from low, low prices.

Jeff and I went to seek out my headlight and we found it plus some cheap tools to pull of the change.  We hit a McDonald’s for breakfast, and $26 later, we were back to the hotel, trying to round Jack and Dan up.  By this time, it was pushing noon our time.

12:20 Saturday afternoon, Albuquerque.  We fueled at a Phillips 66 and Dan was the pilot, prepared to take his first miles behind the wheel.  Little did any of us know, but he would get the plum of the whole trip:  New Mexico and Arizona by daylight.

As I-40 snakes its way towards Arizona, there are plenty of despicable Indian towns, which would no doubt draw a “Go back to your shanties!” comment from Shooter McGavin.  We were all apalled at the lifestyle lived by Native Americans like the Navajo and what passed as a home.  I guess we really have it good.  We hit the low 50s almost immediately upon leaving Albuquerque.

We passed through some of the loneliest, most beautiful country I’ve ever been through, with nothing but desert stretching as far as the eye can see.  The Navajo Nation and Petrified Forest National Park passed by, as we had our sights set on hitting what any space geek would have to see if the opportunity arose:  Meteor Crater.

4:30 Saturday afternoon, Meteor Crater, AZ.  Just a scant 6 miles south of the interstate, we followed what looked like an old cowpath to the most well preserved impact crater on planet Earth.  50,000 years ago, an iron meteorite dug out a 4000 foot wide, 600 foot deep hole in the desert floor and from the outside, it looks like any one of the many mesas we had passed already.  But it is quite different looking into it, as your sense of perspective is challenged due to the scale of the whole thing.  It was 55 degrees here, and while normally this should be on the chilly side, it was the most pleasant 55 degrees I can ever remember.  No need for a jacket or even sleeves.  You do need $15 a pop to look into the crater, however, which we handed over.

6:20 Saturday afternoon, Mund’s Park, AZ.  I took over for Dan at a little mountain town south of Flagstaff on I-17 for fuel at a Shell.  He had been at the helm for over 350 miles and I was going to take us into the city.

Now, Dad had mentioned that there are mountains around Flagstaff, and while I had driven in mountains before, I had never driven ones like these.  Flagstaff sits at 7000 feet above sea level and Phoenix at roughly 1100 feet.  Within 2 hours, you have to drop that much elevation.

I rounded a bend in the road and was greeted with a view that I’ll never forget.  It is just the beginning of the big drop (6% grade signs start popping up), and drivers are presented with a stunning scene of canyons, mountains, and valleys.  The Yukon didn’t like some of the climbs it had to make, as you pass to 3000 feet and then climb BACK up to 4000, then drop again. 

8:30 Saturday evening, Phoenix, AZ.  We finally arrived in the Valley of the Sun, taking right around 1450 miles to get there.  The temp:  71 degrees.  Our room was at the Embassy Suites and we were not disappointed, particularly with the huge outdoor pool, that was easily 100 feet in diameter.

Since we had not eaten anything since scarfing down McDonald’s breakfast way back in New Mexico and subsisting on nothing else but primo root beer and chocolate chip cookies, Outback was in order.  We found one about 3 miles south of the hotel.

Jack had a coupon for a free Bloomin’ Onion, and literally within seconds, it was devoured by 4 starving buffaloes.  Our waitress said as much too:  “Wow, you guys just inhaled that!”  So we had to explain why we had eaten 2 loaves of bread and a whole onion so fast;  I think she thought we were Cardinals fans if we drove all the way from Des Moines to watch the football game.

Once back at the hotel, we took a swim in the pool and the hot tub, being the last ones to leave, at around 1:00 that morning.  I slept fairly well that night, even if I had to share a double bed with Jack.

More in Part Two, as we actually attend the game and then immediately start the 24 hour non-stop trek back to Iowa in a bitter mood.

Max’s Marketing on a Budget: Vol 5

If you aren't prepared, your profits will not be going in this direction.

There are lots of things you can do wrong in your business and still come out on top, if you learn from your mistakes.  One thing you cannot overcome is failure to provide whatever it is you do. 

All of the cheap or expensive marketing ploys can’t make up for doing your job better than anyone else.  Today’s focus is on a few simple things you can do that will make sure everyone who uses your business becomes a repeat customer.

1. Make sure that if someone makes an appointment, you either show up, or have your business ready for them when they visit.  One of the most embarrassing situations is when a guest or worse, a group of guests shows up at your business expecting service and you are either not prepared or not even there to try and help them.  You can’t make any money if the sure thing falls apart because you didn’t bother to show up.  Keeping an up-to-date calendar and communicating with both your customers and employees will put an end to this problem before it begins.  If it does happen, make it right with the customer and then resolve the issue to avoid it in the future.  Too much of this and word will get around.  If word gets around customers won’t bother to show up either.

2.  Set up an email database and collect emails from every person that you can.  It doesn’t cost you anything but your time to plug emails into a database and send out professional email format marketing to a large group of people if you take the time to build a database.  This includes making an email field on all forms and contracts your company uses.  If people come to your business once, it’s an easy way to stay in contact with them.  It’s a huge mistake not to keep in contact with customers.  Don’t waste someone’s visit.  Collect information from them so you can send them specials and let them know of important goings-ons at your business.

3. Hire quality employees.  Rocky said it best.  If you hang around with bums, you have bum friends.  If you hire bums, you will have bum employees.  Especially in today’s market, it is easy to find quality help.  Don’t settle for a person who isn’t the ideal fit just because.  Keep looking.  It will be worth it in the long run.  You will sleep better at night knowing you have people you can trust working with you to grow your business.  Plus, friendly, presentable employees make customers comfortable and make them feel welcomed, and, furthermore, you will like them better and it will do wonders for your stress levels as you manage an upstart business.

4.  Take time to get to know your regulars.  Take time to get to know the new faces that come through the door.  I do a lot of business with people simply because I like them.  In fact, I changed the type of beer I regularly drink simply based on the delivery guy.  If people think of you as a friend, they will be more likely to return to your business again and again.

These should go without saying in today’s business world, but a lot of businesses I’ve been to in the last week have failed to do one of these four things.  Whether they have sloppy, unfriendly help, no way to contact me in the future, or just plain were not open, businesses every day fail on the most basic level of marketing, and that is, creating positive word of mouth.  While looking for cheap ways to get your name out there, don’t forget the most important.  That is, do a good job.

Max’s Marketing on a Budget: V 4

How do you get your free time to reflect the same line as this graph? Follow these steps.

Time management can be a real problem if it isn’t addressed.  The big problem for most people isn’t making the time to do the marketing, its wasting the time the do set aside on things that won’t make them money.  I’ve done cold sales jobs twice in my life and several warm sale jobs through my career.  The two cold sale jobs were door-to-door sales of coupon cards to local restaurants and amusement facilities and the other was Pre Paid Legal Sales.  I was really good at the door to door sales because I had a slave driver boss and all I did for fourteen hours a day was go door to door and sell products.  I stopped believing in the product, though, and then I just couldn’t do it any more.  The Pre Paid Legal Sales job I failed miserably at, yet I believed tremendously in the product.  In fact, I still use it today.  What was different between the two jobs?  Time management.

I would spend the day when I was trying to sell the legal insurance looking for new marketing tools and going over lists of people I was going to call, but didn’t spend the time actually talking to people about my product.  Without awareness, no one is going to pay any attention.  And it’s not their fault.  They can’t.  They don’t know it exists.  Time needs to be spent every day just getting the word out to new people about the products and services you offer.  Otherwise there will be no way to increase your contacts and potential sales.

So now that we have established that time management is key, how do you make the most of your time? 

I would say the number one way to make sure you make the most of your time is to come up with three plans.  The first plan should be called “What I’m going to do in the next six weeks to increase awareness”  The second list should be “What I’m going to do in the next six months to ensure I am making the most of my marketing dollars” and the third list should be “What I’m doing in the next eighteen months to make sure that I am maximizing my effort.”

So in practice it might look like this:

In the next six weeks I am going to tell 25 people a week about what I do and what I can do for them.
In the next six months I am going to take my business from selling such and such a week and increasing it to such and such a week by following my six week plan.
In the next eighteen months I am going to add another component to my marketing stratagy and new services because the marketing that I have implemented in the last year and a half has increased my business by such and such an amount.

Now, the reason this is important is it sets out what needs to be done, and will automatically manage your time for you.  If you know you have to tell 25 people a week, then you will make the time to do it.  But, if you are working on a tight budget, you need to make sure the benchmarks you set for yourself are completed.  Otherwise, you could just wasting your time.

CD Review: The Worst Thing Is The Best Thing Ever

Could this creature be the next American Idol? It can't be any worse than some of these bozos.

This is a pretty down week as far as CD releases, so in lieu of something worthwhile, I’m offering a few thoughts on some of the “talent” on American Idol, beings tonight is the kick-off show.

The best thing about this show is that even a tone deaf idiot can tell the difference between someone who is really amazing and someone who is really amazingly bad.  American Idol always delivers quality television.  It’s like a sweet case of diarrhea.  It comes from both ends.  In the beginning it’s like a drug.  I can’t stop watching just how terribly horrid some of these guys are.  I can’t believe that some of these people think they can sing.

Repeat:  I can’t believe some of these people think they can sing. 

And they are so serious about it.  And they think they are doing something so great.  Something so memorable (well, it’s definitely memorable).  

Then you see utter disbelief on these contestants faces when the judges just bash them.  Unfathomable.

The show delivers at the end with, surprisingly, great performances.  I didn’t really get into this show until last season, and I tell you what, three or four of those finalists were slamming good.  I thought both Carly Smithson and Michael Johns were just as good on any given night as the two Davids.  However, the beauty of American Idol prevails again, and who America wants is who America gets.

The fact that American Idol is just a big popularity contest isn’t really the worst thing.  In fact, if anything, it is the American Dream at it’s finest.  Every no talent wannabe can have their shot.  If they can do one thing better than everyone else, they could become the most famous person in the world for a short time, and possibly a rich and famous star for the rest of their lives.  It gives people hope when their lives might not have much hope in them.  And even when the judges rail hard on these terrible, awful singers, these people still come in droves.  You can see the hope in their eyes.  And that’s when the worst thing becomes the best thing.

-Max

Back To It

You don't need this!

We are back after surgery and busy work schedules. Who needs an appendix anyway?