Powell, WY


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I've received considerable positive feedback about my last column, “God and politics.” A large number of people have told me they agree with what I said.

Such compliments are appreciated, but I'm also happy to receive negative feedback, such as the letter we published last week, “Traditional values are decency and hard work,” criticizing my position. Such criticism is good, keeping me on my toes and providing an excuse to write another column.

Most of the points made in the letter were valid, but debatable, and they deserve serious comment and discussion.

But the writer inserted an irrational element when he suggested I had been drinking “Obama Kool-Aid.” The implication, of course, is that, because of my liberal leaning, I'm somewhere in left field, probably because I'm intoxicated, or otherwise not quite all there mentally.

I actually found the comment rather humorous, since, when I was a teacher 40 years or so ago, some of my students thought I was hopelessly conservative, despite my vote for George McGovern. And they may have had a point about my conservatism, since I owned a sizable collection of Nixon buttons, which, I am embarrassed to say, I had worn to school in 1960. I was only 16 then and didn't know any better.

Suffice it to say, then, that my political inclinations were evolving well before President Obama was born — an event which did take place in Hawaii, by the way — and anyway, I'm not by nature a hero-worshipper. Even great men, George Washington, for example, are flawed human beings, and that is definitely true of our president. I tend toward seeing both of them as real people rather than the mythical heroes or demonic fiends some make them out to be.

So, when I started to write this column last week, I planned to include a wisecrack about over-indulgence in tea spiked by Sarah Palin, who, it seems to me, has the same effect on some conservative voters that President Obama has on some liberals. But, having listened to a discussion about civility over the weekend, I decided to take a different path.

The fact is, I am not the radical the writer thinks I am. I agree that the government has been fiscally irresponsible, wasteful and bigger than it should be. Neither am I opposed to the work ethic, having been a job-holder ever since I took over a paper route back in 1955, and I am still working, even though I could be retired at my age.

It's important to point out, though, that I am able to work, in part, because of fortunate circumstances. I have found a job that fits my talents and physical abilities, and I remain healthy enough to perform in it. In addition, I have found a boss who doesn't mind employing a guy bordering on geezerhood. Not all people my age are that lucky.

The realization that I am blessed by good fortune is the basis for my liberal view on government aid to people less fortunate than I am. That realization grew out of more than 50 years of working and observing the world, not the result of something I drank or some hero I worshipped.

America's social problems, including unemployment, have complex causes because our society is complex, and an unemployed person can't be simply written off as lazy or lacking a work ethic. A variety of social, economic, political and personal factors are involved. I will take the writer's word for it that he isn't a racist, but it is naive to deny that race or ethnicity plays a role in finding a job. So do gender, sexual orientation, age and even religion.

Even personal assets, such as education and training, may sometimes have a negative effect on employment. I personally know people who have had difficulty because they couldn't find the jobs they were prepared for, but were rejected for lower level jobs because they were “over-qualified.”

But in our political life, complex issues are usually boiled down to simplified slogans, most of them designed to play on people's emotions rather than serious discussion about the causes and solutions of problems.

Demonstrations such as the Beck/Palin event I criticized in my last column are designed around such simplified slogans. The plea for “traditional American values” is as empty and meaningless as the “power to the people” slogans chanted by left-wing anti-war demonstrators a generation ago in the absence of serious discussion of what those concepts mean and how they apply to the events at hand.

Such discussion is not available in the ranting heard from radio commentators or seen in signs waved in anger on the steps of the U.S. Capitol by whatever group is angry this year. Neither can such debate take place when we begin the discussion accusing our opponents of being un-American, crazy or intoxicated with Kool-Aid or spiked tea just because they see the situation from a different perspective than we do.

With that in mind, I invite anyone who takes exception to my positions to respond. I may not like your opinion, and I will try to point out the flaws your thinking, but I won't cast any aspersions on whatever is in your tea cup.

MY LOUSY WORLD: Little Sis and me

Two weeks ago, when my little sister came from Pennslyvania to visit, I had joy, joy, joy, joy down in my heart; down in my heart … tooooo stay.

Well, not really to stay, since Joy and husband John only stayed five days. It wasn't “Joy to the World…” just Joy to Park County.

Oh, how I love song lyrics; unfortunately I can't think of any for her husband John. Few ditties were written with references to a name that's a euphemism for “toilet.”

But as long as Joy has John, John, John, John down in her heart, I'm happy. He's a chatty, jovial chap, but after roughly 3,500 hot miles together in a small car (they're currently tailgating brother Jess and his wife, Marti, on the way to New Mexico), Joy's probably thinking, “Will ya please shut up and quit being so dang jovial?

There wasn't enough time during her rare visit, but I'd always hoped to introduce her to some Cody women I've known over the years. Joy would en-joy meeting Hope Sheets, Love Murray, Faith Holler, and Grace Weaver, who worked with my older sister Wanda when she spent a summer here 25 years ago.

Any time you can get Love, Hope, Faith, Grace and Joy gathered together, it's a blessed union. No chance of a cat-fight there!

Sadly, I'm rapidly losing Blough women these past few years. Two sisters and Mom left me, leaving only two special “Bloughs gals” in my life: little sister Joy and little dog Trina. Per my dog/human calculations, Trina's a little older; Joy is 52 and Trina is about 9, making her 63. But as we know, today's 63 in dog years is yesterday's 49 in dog years.

Like myself, Joy confounds the aging process — she doesn't look too far removed from her class of '75 homecoming queen photos. My high school girlfriend Diane was runner-up, and since she sent me a Dear John (“Dear Toilet”) letter while I was in Cody that summer, it serves her right being only a lowly attendant to my sister.

Joy looks healthy as a horse; I just wish I could say the same for my other Blough gal. Until two weeks ago, my sweet little Trina dog was the runningest, jumpingest, hole-diggingest little Spaniel that ever lived life to its fullest. But on the horrible afternoon of Saturday, Sept. 11, a perfect storm of fluke, sickening events converged to rock my world.

I lack space to relate how each led directly to the next, but it ended with a carpenter on a job I drove to after changing my Saturday plans, backing over precious little Trina in full view of her doting, lovesick, constant 8-year companion, Trinity.

Her smashed foot would heal eventually, but the tail — cleanly broken at the base where all the nerves control functions — has left her totally incontinent. We're loving her up as best we can at home, but when I try tell her the messes she leaves aren't her fault and everything's OK, her sad eyes say it's not OK. Trinity and I will probably have to say our goodbyes later today.

It will be back to how it was eight years ago with just me and old stud Trinity in the truck now. And with blood, female family, it's only Joy now. As long as John doesn't back over her in some motel parking lot during their trip, Joy and I need to stick together. More phone calls and less negative childhood memories that I'm pretty sure never happened. She still claims that walking up our dirt road to the school bus, I made her lick dirt.

That just doesn't sound like me. I vividly remember always sticking up for her when sister Wanda would tease her. I secretly, but vigilantly watched over Joy when she reached seventh grade. She tearfully told me a bully girl named Sandy Richards picked on her and said her thigh-length hair was “witch hair.” It was I — skinny, peaceful, pimpled sophomore “UnderDoug” — who approached her two older, really tough brothers and made them an offer they chose not to refuse. They called off their little sister, who never bothered Joy again.

So I clearly was more of a hero than a tyrant who would suggest anyone lick dirt off a road. This column is a tribute to Joy and her husband named after a commode, so the next time I get home, I darn well better see this column framed and hanging on their living room wall. If not, as God is my witness, I'll force Joy to drink from the toilet!

SPORTS GUY: Panthers' perfect 10

The high school football season is just two weeks old, but already there's plenty to talk about. The latest media and coaches' poll has bumped the Panthers to No. 4 in advance of Friday night's road showdown at No. 2 Buffalo (Douglas is No. 1, Cody No. 3 and Riverton No. 5 for those curious).

That head-to-head clash on the other side of the Big Horn Mountains may well be the game of the week in Wyoming 3A football this Friday night. After all, Powell and Buffalo are two of the remaining four unbeaten teams in the class.

But that's not really the big story coming out of the Powell locker room early on this season.

The early-season head-turner has been the Panthers' perfect 10 —10 interceptions in just two games by the Powell High School secondary. Put another way, Powell's defense, through two games, has caught two more passes than its receiving corps has, and without the benefit of a quarterback that's actively trying to throw the football to it.

The Sports Guy has stood on the sidelines of many, many prep football fields over the years. The six picks he witnessed last Friday night against Wheatland may well have been a first in that decade and a half. Gut instinct leads me to believe that accomplishment has to at least be in the neighborhood of a state record — except it seems the state of Wyoming is somewhat lacking in the record book department when it comes to high school football achievements.

I do, however, have in my hands a copy of the Panthers' team stats dating back to 2003. According to that sheet, the most interceptions recorded by the team over the course of an entire season has been 10, accomplished by the 2005 defensive unit (although the stat apparently wasn't tracked in either the ‘07 or the ‘08 seasons). Powell matched last year's total of six interceptions in just 48 minutes of play this past Friday.

Look, I'm a realist. I know the trend probably won't last. Sooner or later, someone is going to get their hands on some game film and realize that putting the ball in the air against this unit might not be the soundest of strategies. When that occurs, two things will happen.

First, Powell's defensive front seven will have a chance to step up and showcase their mettle. Second, it likely will spell fewer opportunities for the Panthers' secondary to get its hands on footballs.

Or maybe it won't. Powell junior Olie Olson snatched three balls out of the sky in the Panthers' opening week win against Riverton. Guess who Wheatland targeted on the first passing play last Friday night.

Regardless of what happens this weekend and in the weeks ahead, Panther fans have already witnessed a special rarity.

Defensive performances like last Friday night's don't come along every week, or even every season. Hopefully the fans that turned out for the Wheatland contest understand and appreciate the uniqueness of the moment. Hopefully the players both take a measure of pride in accomplishing it and feel a pang of hunger to repeat the achievement.

In any event, from the pass rushers hurrying opposing quarterbacks into making bad decisions to the guys in the back that are finding the football, here's a tip of the ol' ballcap in recognition and appreciation. Keep at it boys!

During several weeks with a broken computer and racing, abnormal thoughts, I was all stressed up and had no place to go.

When random, disjointed thoughts build up and a troubled writer has no means of transfer — No, I refuse to write longhand like a nerd from the '90s — it's a powder keg.

My computer is now fixed, but before writing anything substantial with an orderly flow, I first must detonate this logjam. So I'll just come out and say it:

• I'm guessing that the first chicken (which came just before the first egg), never would have envisioned the extensive future of that large, oval stone she just passed. The original chicken — let's just call her “Henrietta” — probably assumed some idiot might eventually crack it open for a taste…but scrambled, over-easy (or “dippy” as we call them back home), poached, hard/soft boiled, Benedict, Florentine, not to mention egg-drop soup? Henrietta should have filed for a patent.

• Speaking of patents, each autumn I pick and toss milkweeds, flourishing on the banks of the canal, to my dogs. They chase them down in the water, suck out the milk and discard the container ... much like we do with eggs. So I says to myself, “I wonder if that gooey milk might be tasty, or at the very least, non-toxic?” I'm sure no one's been intuitive, or smart enough to find out.

I sat back against my canal “thinking rock” and daydreamed I'd extracted milk from thousands of weeds, bottled and chilled it — then poured it over my corn flakes for breakfast every morning for a week. Soon people were commenting on how young I suddenly looked and how thick and luxurious my hair was. I got a patent (technically it wasn't I that invented this milk, but my God is not a litigious God), under the name “Doug's Dog's Miracle Milk,” or ”I Can't Believe it's Not Cow Milk.”

• Speaking of dreams, it's hard to believe no one has yet designed what would be the greatest of all inventions, the dream recorder. Whoever did — and I'm currently fiddling with a crude prototype — would become a billionaire “overnight.” How much would you pay to have your greatest, most bizarre dreams recorded and then converted to VHS or DVD? It would make science-fiction movies obsolete.

My “hook” in the TV commercial would be: “Ever wondered how you looked flying naked with no teeth through the halls of your old high school? Well, now you can see for yourself, with “Doug's Nocturnal Spy.” (A quiet disclaimer would clarify, “Refund if not satisfied? You must be dreaming!”)

•At the aforementioned canal last Saturday, I had forgotten to wear appropriate, early-September long sleeves. I quickly found myself muttering (much earlier than usual this year), “Stinking cold wind! Where's the freakin' sun when you need it?”

This after declaring every day since late June, “I can't wait till this hot, sweaty summer is over!”

An unknown poet (named Alibaster Taliwacker) once said, “As a rule, man's a fool; when it's hot, he wants it cool. And when it's cool he wants it hot; always wanting what is not.” Truer words were never rhymed.

•No matter how broke I get — and currently it's a compound fracture — I can't bring myself to purchase the cheapest offering of any product. If one gallon of milk is $3.50, the second is $3.20, and the third $2.85, I'm compelled to take the middle one. In my mind, the first is an overpriced brand name and the last has a bogus expiration date or came from diseased cows.

No matter if it's food, bottled water, or theoretically a dream recorder — I can't afford the best, but I sure ain't settling for the worst!

•I'll admit I'm no John Kennedy Jr., but surely you'll admit I'm better looking than Sen. Henry Waxman. An uglier politician never there was. Abe Lincoln and C. Everett Coop were no woman's fantasy either, but what did they expect with full beards but no mustache? But the bald Waxman has hair sprouting from his ears and his flared nostrils!

• Repent! The end is near!

• The end.

AMEND CORNER: God and Politics

It seems like only yesterday that I heard my minister declare one Sunday that America had elected “the man God wants” to be president of the United States.

I probably would have been offended, since I voted for the other guy, but, as a lifelong Baptist, I'm used to hearing preachers say things that I disagree with, so I let it pass. While it's acceptable among Baptists to call out an “Amen” when you agree with the pastor, it's considered unseemly to yell “Oh, baloney” when you don't, although, I must admit, I've been tempted to do that a few times.

That Sunday, of course, was 10 years ago, when the “values” people had taken credit for electing George Bush II. I doubt that same minister is singing the same tune since the last election, although I haven't talked to her since then. She's probably of the opinion that the same electoral process that gave us the “right” candidate back then has given us the “wrong” guy today, i.e. the somewhat more liberal Barack Obama.

And she's not alone. The latest right-wing radio heartthrob, Glenn Beck, called a big rally last week to proclaim that it's time for America to “turn back to God.” The implication is that we all disobeyed God if we voted for President Obama, and it's a belief I don't buy.

This rally, as you probably heard, was “not about politics,” according to Mr. Beck, but that assertion really does rate an “Oh, Baloney.” You don't call a rally in Washington two months before an election to proclaim that America is going in the wrong direction for any other reason than to influence the election.

This is especially true since Mr. Beck and his sidekick at the rally, Sarah Palin, have spent the last couple of years blaming the current president for taking America in the wrong direction, presumably, away from God.

The right guy, of course would be a “real conservative” as defined by Mr. Beck and Mrs. Palin. Personally, I think these two are radicals, not conservatives, but that's a semantic discussion for another time.

One of the big messages at the rally, set forth, I believe, by Mrs. Palin, was that we need to reject the “fundamental change” President Obama is always talking about. Instead, she believes we should return to “traditional American values,” which, in conservative circles, are perfectly in line with God.

There's quite an irony in that position in Mrs. Palin's case, since she is the product of fundamental changes in American society, not traditional values.

It wasn't too long ago that one of the unofficial qualifications for president was being a white male. Without the fundamental changes that America has undergone since the 1960s, those “traditional American values” would have meant Mrs. Palin would likely have reached her highest elective office when she was president of the PTA. Being elected governor would have been unlikely, and running for vice president would have been a pipe dream.

In that regard, Mrs. Palin has a lot more in common with President Obama than she does with, say, Mr. Beck, who fits nicely into the white male demographic.

And that's just one problem with leaning on traditional American values. Our rose-colored view of our national history has to ignore quite a bit of violence and injustice, a lot of which was aimed at protecting “traditional American values.” That often meant persecuting Catholic immigrants and other religious minorities, lynching African-Americans and taking Native American children from their parents to drive the Indian out of them. None of that seems very Godly to me.

Mr. Beck, for example, might reflect on a certain mob in Carthage, Ill., whose members almost certainly thought they were defending traditional American values when they shot Joseph Smith, the founder of Mr. Beck's religious faith, in the Carthage jail.

Now I'm firmly in favor of the nation turning to God. I think everybody should consult God prior to making decisions about politics or anything else, and I did so when I cast my ballot for president two years ago. I didn't turn away from God to do so, and I didn't make a mistake.

All I did was reject the philosophy of Mr. Beck and Mrs. Palin, and I did so because, from my perspective as a born-again Christian, there is nothing Godly about it.

SPORTS GUY: Soccer era opens with promise

Intercollegiate soccer made its debut for Northwest College this past weekend. By all accounts, the coming-out party has to be considered a rousing success. In their first four games —two men's, two women's — Northwest College returned home from a lengthy road trip with a combined 2-1-1 record.

Had it not been for some, shall we say, unique timekeeping — I invite anyone to provide me with another example from major soccer where a half is blown dead on a clear attacking opportunity — that mark could easily have been 2-0-2, if not 3-0-1.

Regardless of which record you look at, the results are noteworthy given the fact that neither program existed on anything but a conceptual level just nine months earlier. Sure, soccer had existed as a club sport on the NWC campus. But moving from a club level to a competitive intercollegiate activity is no easier in soccer than one would expect the dorm intramural basketball league champions to step up and compete in Region IX.

And that's the key word in this discussion — compete.

Given the compressed time frame it had to operate with, Northwest College's inaugural season could have been rife with difficulties. Considering the programs were starting behind the curve with regard to both visibility and recruiting, it didn't take a lot of imagination to envision NWC's first season of intercollegiate soccer being largely a throw-away affair where student-athletes were playing to keep their scholarships for the following year and the schedule consisted of lump after lump.

Clearly, that's not going to be the case.

The Trappers demonstrated in the season's opening weekend that they are capable of competing on the pitch —not someplace down the road, but right here, right now. Admittedly, nobody is going to mistake Dodge City for seven-time national champion Yavapai, but the school does play in the Jayhawk Conference, arguably the most consistently strong league in the country when it comes to across-the-board junior college athletic quality. That Cisco College squad that the Trapper women played to a scoreless draw? They've won multiple Region V titles and had walked off the field victorious in 113 of their last 150 games.

Most established programs would gladly take the draw and walk off the pitch with a smile on their faces against that resumé. As a first-year program, one has to imagine the NWC visages were positively beaming with excitement.

Like many, perhaps even those in NWC uniforms, I don't have a large frame of reference when it come to junior college soccer. In fact, today's (Thursday) men's contest against Laramie County will be the first I've covered in my career.

We'll have a better idea one week from now about how both the men's and women's teams stack up against their Region IX counterparts. Based on early indications, however, the Trappers have every reason to suspect that they can be in the mix immediately in Year 1.

If you've got the opportunity to get out of work an hour early Thursday, or if you find yourself looking for a good excuse to get out of the house or dorm to enjoy what should be a seasonable late summer or early fall day, I invite you to head over to the field at Trapper West — NWC's new soccer fields weren't as ready as its teams for the inaugural contest — for today's home and Region IX opener at 4 p.m. Help welcome Northwest College's newest sport to town and provide the team with a positive atmosphere for its first-ever home game.

The soccer era at Northwest College dawned this past weekend. From early indications, plenty of bright spots lie ahead on the horizon.

It really didn't matter to me what the books said. Or what I learned by Googling. Even the wisdom of experienced poultry hands couldn't keep me from it.

Every day — multiple times, mind you — I found myself drawn to the chicken coop in the backyard where I had lovingly placed a brand new nesting box in the darkest corner (following directions to a “T”).

I'd hold my breath in anticipation and slowly lift the lid/roof of the coop. Peering in with my trademark eternal optimism, my eyes would first go the nesting box, then, upon finding it empty, quickly scan the rest of the coop, thinking surely one of our hens must have decided to lay that long-anticipated egg. No such luck. Oh, the crushing disappointment.

This went on all summer, even though everyone, and everything I read, assured me it wasn't quite time for them to be laying. I experimented with different bedding (grass clippings, leaves, shavings) and got another nest box (don't ask me why I thought if the one remained empty, another box would entice fair hens to lay).

I even put golf balls in each nest after reading that the balls resembled eggs to a fair enough degree to convince hens to deposit some more.

Bliss evidently considered the golf ball idea a good one, since she now tosses every golf ball she comes across — and there are many of them around our house and garage — into “Chicken Land.”

Alas, all the effort was for naught — and I'm sure to the great amusement of the more experienced poultry people who got word of our endeavors.

That is, until the one afternoon when I wandered into the backyard and saw one, two, three hens ... Since they usually stick close together, I feared the absence of the fourth meant she'd met the same fate as the unlucky Black Bart. Quickly determining that Henrietta was the missing beak, I began my search for her.

It didn't take me long to find her, comfortably ensconced in the base of a lilac bush — and with five beautiful little pullet eggs underneath her! It was like a miracle.

I gently gathered the eggs from beneath her and took them into the house. Bliss was as excited about the discovery as her mother. After some celebration and the requisite admiration of the eggs, I decided since I couldn't be sure how long they'd been outside in the hot summer temps, it would be best to blow them out, thus preserving the memory of the girls' first eggs.

Since that lovely afternoon discovery, my four little hens have been laying quite regularly (or at least three of them have — Ginger, I know, is not quite old enough).

However, it's been quite the undertaking to convince them to lay said eggs in the nesting boxes. It seems they would prefer to stash their eggs in various suitable nest-like places around the perimeter of our yard. For the time being, our formerly free-range fowl are spending much more time locked up until they can be persuaded to lay their eggs in the right place — lay in the box, get some freedom.

Hens, I'm learning, are a little slow on the uptake (consider the morning I found two eggs, smashed, on either side of the coop.) Apparently, a couple of them decided it wouldn't be a bad idea to perch on top of the coop to lay eggs. That whole bird-brain thing? There's justification behind it.

Yep, every day is like Easter morning at our house — with no dresses or church!

Our egg hunt uncovers homegrown treasures: Henrietta's dark, chocolatey-brown eggs; Water-Head's larger eggs, the color of coffee with cream; and Pearl's, the lightest in color, little more than faint beige.

And, if we're particularly blessed on a certain day, we'll actually find one or more of the eggs in the boxes.

The Sports Guy loves a classic movie as much as the next guy, and it has been 50 years since the classic Western “The Magnificent Seven” first graced the screens. There's a scene in that movie, shortly after the capture of the seven heroic gunfighters, where the bad guy is questioning them over their motives.

After his first request for an explanation is rebuffed, he finds a taker for his second inquiry to why seven heroes would ride to help a dirt-poor farming town. The answer is provided by Vin, played by the late Steve McQueen.

“It's like a fellow I once knew in El Paso,” says Vin. “One day, he just took all his clothes off and jumped in a mess of cactus. I asked him that same question, ‘why?' He said it seemed to be a good idea at the time.”

In the event that Brigham Young University moves forward with its rumored plans to withdraw from the Mountain West Conference to become a football independent, I suspect school athletic officials will be having a similar conversation in the years ahead.

The Cougars have until Sept. 1 to announce their intentions. By all major media accounts, had the Mountain West not performed an eleventh-hour invitation to snatch both Nevada and Fresno State as members (a move, I might add, that was advocated in this column some weeks back), the Cougs would have already have made the announcement. ESPN reported earlier this week that a preliminary 2011 independent schedule had already been crafted for the school's football program.

Look, I understand the financial elements of the equation —BYU is responsible for many of the media dollars that currently seep into the MWC television coffers and the school is watching a lot of that cash get redistributed into others' pockets. I get that.

That said, there's a reason the trend in college sports in recent years is for schools to eschew independence and cluster together in conferences, even when such affiliations make no geographic sense (like Louisiana Tech in the WAC). Even the all-powerful Notre Dame was forced to relent and seek conference affiliation in all sports but football in order to survive.

And let's be very clear here. Brigham Young is not Notre Dame. Any similarity between the two schools ends at the point where we acknowledge both are religiously affiliated. Any Cougar fans thinking there's a greater parallel are jading themselves.

Notre Dame has tradition, something BYU carries very little of once you get east of the Great Plains, where most television sets reside. Notre Dame ensures a record crowd for most any stadium that brings them to town. Does BYU command a similar national fan base?

And who, exactly, will the Cougars be playing in this independent football schedule? Games against WAC opponents aren't going to light up TV executives' eyes or television ratings numbers. Games against big-name opponents? That Texas-BYU series looks nice, but how many other schools are willing to follow the Longhorns? In an era where SEC teams schedule Chattanooga, Big 12 teams invite Montana State to town and the PAC-10 takes on Portland State, who in their right mind will schedule BYU, much less travel to town, in October or November?

Whoever it is probably isn't going to command the sort of attention that will bring a big-name network to town, even on a Thursday night.

The handshake deals and East Coast following that allow Notre Dame into a BCS game with relative ease aren't there for BYU. Watching rival Utah get invited into the PAC-10 had to sting, but a move to independence makes no sense for BYU. It made no sense when the school rejected the idea four years ago. It makes less sense now, particularly given the MWC's strides toward garnering an automatic BCS slot or the Big 12's possible search for additional members in the wake of the Colorado and Nebraska exodus earlier this summer.

Hopefully, the silence out of the campus this week means the university has recognized the dangers before it became too late. The clothes may be off, but there's still time to avoid jumping in the cactus before Sept. 1.

AMEND CORNER: Cooking for one

As of Tuesday, I have become a bachelor.

This is a temporary situation, I hasten to say, not the result of catastrophic changes in my marital status or anything like that.

I'm not about to hit the singles scene looking for dates.

This situation is due to the redeployment of my wife to grandma duty. Our daughter-in-law's employer has sent her off to collect soil samples at some environmental cleanup site, so my permanent dance partner is helping our son manage two pre-school kids, three dogs and a cat. As a result, for the next 10 days or so, I'm a single guy, with only two cats for companionship.

I'm facing the next few days with a bit of uneasiness. After 43 years, a guy gets used to having a wife around reminding him to do stuff like comb his hair. Some of those functions are fulfilled by the cats, but they are mostly concerned with making sure I get up in the morning and feed them, and don't much care if I'm presentable when I go out in public. I don't ever remember a cat reminding me to comb my hair.

For that matter, I've never had a cat remind me to feed myself, but then, I've never needed anybody to remind me of that. I do, however, require my wife's guidance and her knowledge of kitchen lore to make sure I eat the right stuff.

Back in the old days, like 2008, I never worried that much about my diet while the good woman was off visiting. I had an action plan for such occasions and implemented it as soon as the taillights disappeared around the corner.

First, I ordered a large pepperoni pizza. On the way to pick it up, I stopped off to buy a package of Lorna Doone cookies (those were for breakfast), a box of fudge-covered Oreos (formerly known as Mystic Mints), and some ice cream. That generally comprised my diet for the weekend, although if I was feeling ambitious or ran out of Lorna Doones, I'd bake up a batch of oatmeal cookies to boost my diet with some whole grains.

If I was alone beyond the weekend, I'd survive on what was in the refrigerator or take advantage of the supermarket deli or whatever fast food was available.

Unfortunately, this regimen won't work any more. Age has caught up with my digestive system and nutrition has become more critical. I am now obligated to eat my breakfast oatmeal from a bowl, not in the form of cookies. Lorna Doones are definitely out, and fudge-covered Oreos are unthinkable. Moreover, the recommended ration of ice cream, if one is to remain healthy, appears to be one teaspoon every six weeks or so, not half a gallon every three days.

Then there's that pizza thing, which involves a number of negatives, namely, too much cheese and too many carbohydrates.

In addition, I've been told that nobody should ever eat pepperoni. In nutrition circles, the stuff is considered lethal, suitable only for poisoning in your enemies. That alone eliminates pizza because frankly, a pizza without pepperoni isn't really a pizza, so why bother.

Besides, this time I have pledged, both to my wife and my image in the bathroom mirror, to eat healthy stuff while she is with the grandkids.

This does present a problem. My culinary skills are limited, and my ambition to actually perform them is even more limited.

During my real bachelorhood, I survived pretty much on frying stuff, opening cans and boiling stuff in boxes, all of which raise nutritional issues, like grease and salt content.

But, as I said, this stretch of single living is different from those in the past, and I'm approaching it fearlessly. There's a lot vegetables in the refrigerator and some really healthy leftovers in the freezer that will stave off starvation, and recently we acquired a George Foreman Grill, which, at least theoretically, is supposed to be a healthier way to cook a pork chop than frying it.

The main difference though, is that I've become somewhat obsessed with healthy eating over the past few months, so I think I can make it through my temporary bachelorhood without gaining 10 pounds and raising my cholesterol levels to Himalayan heights.

Sometime during the next 10 days, though, I'll no doubt be making that pizza call, and the word pepperoni will definitely be part of the discussion.

A bachelor, after all, has to assuage his loneliness somehow.

SPORTS GUY: Here we go again

It isn't quite like Superman and a telephone booth, but The Sports Guy has dashed through the revolving door and changed from baseball season to fall sports season. One of these years someone's going to qualify for a World Series and really make my month of August interesting.

And that's just fine by me.

Gazing into my crystal ball, I have to confess that I find the fall sports calendar on the local level to be extremely captivating.

Most years, you have a feel for how certain teams and certain players will do. This year, I find myself with more questions than answers — and there's nothng wrong with that.

Powell High School is coming off a strong two-year run on the volleyball court, but the time has come for a few new faces to rotate into the starting lineup and perform. Dynasties reload rather than rebuild, so I'm anxious to see what transpires inside the PHS gymnasium.

Last year's football season had to be one of the craziest gridiron seasons I've covered in all my years as a sports writer. After opening with a four-game win streak that saw the Panthers shoot as high as No. 2 in the state's football polls, Powell crashed back to earth during conference play.

Was that fade a statement of where the Panthers rank compared to the other members of the 3A West conference? Or was it courtesy of a mid-season rash of injuries combined with a widespread mugging at the hands of the state's swine flu outbreak, which by week 8 had left the team too depleted to run a scout team prior to the Lander game?

I don't know. But I do know that there's a lot of athleticism standing out on the Panthers' practice fields when I drive by.

The list could go on. The Panthers' tennis team is again blessed with an abundance of bodies. How will that translate to results once the meet scores start rolling it? Powell cross country has brought home four team trophies, including two state titles on the girls' side —will they do so again? Will the boys' team take its turn on the team podium?

How about Coach Hilde-brand's golfers, who were a close fifth last season at state? Who will be the first member of the Powell High School swim team to bring home a state medal to the new aquatic center?

At Northwest College, the story lines are equally interesting. Trapper volleyball got some national attention with a No. 25 ranking, but are also ranked behind the Casper and Laramie County teams they had to beat in order to reach the national tournament. They're also ranked well in back of the Temple College team they swept 3-0 at nationals last fall.

Can Coach Siqueira's crew go back-to-back with post-season appearances? If so, is that a sign that the balance of Region IX North volleyball power has officially wandered from Casper to Powell?

And how about those fledgling soccer programs at NWC? Traditionally, expansion seasons aren't always the prettiest of things to behold. But if you listen softly to some of the talk around town and look at the interesting collection of credentials held by some of the Trappers' first recruiting class, you can't help but wonder if this might not be the exception to that rule.

We've come full circle, faithful reader. We're back at the beginning. A new sports calendar is staring us in the face, so put on your school colors and cheer on the teams of your choice with pride.

Here we go again.

Page 60 of 64


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