Pigskin Points: Week One

The moment has passed, the day has dawned and gone.
Football season has officially begun, and what an opening week it was. Handshakes and brawls, underdogs and upsets, week one had it all. Here are some of my observations from the first weekend of meaningful football.
1. Greg Paulus is a freak of nature.
The former Duke point guard traded sneakers for shoulder pads Saturday, and nearly did something remarkable.
If not for a heartbreaking interception in overtime, Paulus would have led the Syracuse Orange to a victory in his first football game since he won the New York state title in 2004.
That's right, Paulus nearly led a team that finished a paltry 3-9 a year ago to a win over the Minnesota Golden Gophers, who will make a serious run for a Big Ten title thanks to the seemingly deadly combination of quarterback Adam Webber and wideout Eric Dekker.
Syracuse may have lost Saturday, but something else happened, too.
As Paulus and the rest of the Orange walked into the locker room, fans applauded their efforts.
The paper bags have come off their heads, and they have begun to see the light at the end of the Syracuse Dark Ages.
The mixture of a new coach and a new quarterback who plays like a point guard has ignited a spark in the once-proud program.
Sure, it was only one game, and we are talking about Syracuse.
Sure, it was apparent Paulus had grown used to facing defenses comprised of five men waving their arms in his face instead of 11 men trying to plow him into the ground and leave cleat marks on his chest.
Paulus was rusty, but who wouldn't be?
The fact he can return to football and play at such a competitive level after four years away from the game is commendable, and it will be an interesting storyline in an already interesting season.

2. Sportsmanship handshakes will not be tolerated.
I'll start this point by saying I am 100 percent in favor of anything having to do with sportsmanship in any area of athletic competition.
That said, there are certain things -- like the new mandated pre-game handshake -- that begin with good intentions, but end with an astonishing example of irony.
Thursday night, in just the second game of the 2009 season -- and the second one showcasing the sportsmanship handshake -- Boise State bested Oregon and removed what was probably its biggest obstacle to another undefeated season and perhaps a berth in the BCS.
The win was an important one for the Broncos, but it was overshadowed by some unfortunate post-game actions.
Boise State defensive end Byron Hout was sent buckling to his knees after Oregon tailback LeGarrette Blount landed a punishing right cross to his jaw.
Blount then unleashed a flurry of punches upon his own teammates, who were trying to restrain him.
The scuffle got worse after the play was repeatedly showed on the jumbotron in Boise, angering fans.
The fans began to taunt Blount as he headed toward the locker room, and Blount suddenly vaulted toward the stands before being dragged away by an Oregon assistant and a policeman.
Blount apologized after the game, and later called Boise State to apologize to Hout and Boise State head coach Chris Petersen.
Oregon head coach Chip Kelly suspended Blount for the rest of the season, but allowed him to practice with the team.
Petersen said the team dealt with Hout privately, but he was not suspended.
I think Hout should have been suspended for at least a game, because there's no room for the particular type of talk on the football field or anywhere else for that matter.
However, his actions did not warrant the punch he took.
Being a sore winner is forgivable.
What Blount did was inexcusable.
He embarrassed himself, his school, his team and his coach, who was making his collegiate coaching debut after serving several years as the Ducks' offensive coordinator.
Some have said the incident will overshadow anything Kelly is able to accomplish at Oregon, but I applaud the way he handled the situation.
He acted swiftly and severely, but refused to "kick (Blount) out on the street."
Blount was allowed to keep his scholarship and continue to practice with the Ducks.
Kelly said his decision not to remove the running back from the program completely was an effort to help Blount turn his life around and be part of something structured.
I have nothing but respect for Kelly after hearing him say those words, and I wish him nothing but the best as the Duck's coach.
I wish Blount the best as well, but it is possible Thursday's incident might generate even more consequences for the Oregon running back.
An NFL scout told Todd McShay, an ESPN draft expert, Blount's actions may have rendered him undraftable.
Blount is an obvious talent on the field, but I hope he can get his act together off of it.
After all, as he has surely found out, there's more to life than football.

3. The SEC is on fire, the ACC is melting.
This weekend once again proves what everybody already knew.
The SEC once again is one of the best, if not the best, conferences in football.
SEC teams went 11-1 in the first week.
Georgia suffered the lone setback, a 24-10 loss at the hands of the Oklahoma State Cowboys in Stillwater.
The Bulldogs offense appeared to be in a weakened state, much like the immune system of senior quarterback Joe Cox, who battled flu-like symptoms all week before making his first start.
The Cowboys were strong on both sides of the ball, and look like they might be a force in the Big XII this year.
Alabama racked up 498 yards of offense and looked good in the final quarter of its 34-24 win Virginia Tech, although it will have to block better and stop shooting itself in the foot, or it might to be a long year in Tuscaloosa once the Tide reaches conference play.
Auburn had little trouble beating Louisiana Tech 37-13 in the opening game of the Gene Chizik era, and Lane Kiffin enjoyed a 63-7 thumping of Western Kentucky in his first game on Rocky Top.
The ACC, on the other hand, enjoyed very little about the first week of the 2009 season.
The conference had a dismal 4-6 record last week, and two of those losses came at the hands of FCS teams.
Virginia was upended by William and Mary, and Duke was bitten by the Richmond Spiders.
Virginia head coach Al Grough's seat is hotter than a desert in July, and Duke is well on its way to fulfilling everybody's expectations.
Even the football players are counting down the days until basketball season begins.
Virgina Tech turned in a gutsy performance against Alabama, despite giving up 498 yards of offense to the Tide.
If you asked me to size up the ACC following the first week of the season, I'd have to say it appears to be a three-horse race.

Here are the bests and worsts of college football week one:

WORST UPSET

VIRGINIA loses to WILLIAM & MARY 26-14
I picked this game as the worst upset not to offend the Tribe, they gave great effort and deserved the victory.
However, no one saw this one coming.
Duke was also upset by an FCS team, but that's not nearly as unexpected.
One game into the 2009 season, the Cavilers are on the way to a disappointing year.
Let's hope they can rebound, or they'll be rebuilding in no time.

WORST GAME TO WATCH
FLORIDA vs. CHARLESTON SOUTHERN

The Gators were a 73-point favorite going into the contest, and yet someone chose to air it on television.
This was, as expected, a beatdown of epic proportions, and I believe another game, a closer game, would have been more interesting to see than a huge blowout.
I understand the Gators are number one, and TV time comes with the lofty ranking.
I also understand the desire to watch a former Heisman winner and arguably one of the best players to ever play the college game throw touchdown passes like he was tossing beanbags and run over linebackers and safeties like they were cardboard cutouts, but that's what SportsCenter is for.
Tim Tebow left the game after the first quarter, and the Gators squeaked by the Buccaneers 62-3.

BEST REBOUNDING JOB

This one's a tie.
Notre Dame and Charlie Weiss needed a good performance to kick off the season, and that's exactly what they got against Nevada.
The Irish won 35-0, and may be a little better than last year.
We'll find out in a hurry, when they play Michigan in week two.
The Wolverines were probably anxious to take the field following a drama-filled off-season complete with investigations into how head coach Rich Rodriguez runs his program.
Maybe it was the chance to wipe the slate clean and forget last year's abysmal 3-9 record, the worst in school history.
Whatever the reason, Michigan got off to a good start this season, thumping Western Michigan 31-7.
These two teams will tangle in Ann Arbor Saturday, so something's gotta give.

BEST NEAR-UPSET
NAVY FALLS TO OHIO STATE 31-27
This was a great one throughout, and the finish didn't disappoint either.
However, I have a question for the Navy coaching staff.
Why in the world would you, Navy, attempt a pass on a two-point conversion to tie a game in the waning seconds?
You boast one of the best option offenses since the straight wishbone, and you threw a pass on that play?
Sure, everybody in the stadium knows what you're doing when you run, but they sure have a heck of a time stopping it.
Your quarterback, Ricky Dobbs, can throw, that's for sure, but you have a running offense.
Please use it from now on, especially when you need two yards to tie a game in the Horseshoe.
My heart sunk when Dobbs lofted that pass toward what he thought was a waiting Midshipman in the end-zone, but turned out to be two Buckeyes, one of which picked the ball off and took it to the house to seal your fate.
Close, but no cigar.

BEST UPSET

BYU EDGES OKLAHOMA 14-13

When it rains, it pours.
Oklahoma lost its first game and its Heisman-winning quarterback on the same day last week, and now comes the news the Sooners must do without go-to tight end Jermaine Gresham.
Gresham's season is done before it started.
He underwent season-ending surgery before he could attempt to win the championship he wanted.
Bradford, on the other hand, should return from his sprained shoulder within two to four weeks, and that return couldnt come soon enough for the Sooners.
BYU vaulted to number nine after the upset, and has a chip on its shoulder.
The Cougars are looking for respect, and if they keep playing like they did Saturday they just might get it.
The Cougars are a strong football team, and they are on the prowl for a much-coveted spot in the BCS.

BEST GAME

MIAMI RALLIES TO TOP FLORIDA STATE 38-34

The last game of Kickoff Week 2009 was a classic rivalry game, and one that will be talked about and remembered for some time.
The game see-sawed back and forth several times, and was not decided until the final play.
This game was so good I recommend you watch the highlights for yourself.
Wow.
What a finish.
The one thing I didn't understand -- and this wasn't included in the highlight reel, so you'll have to take my word for it -- is why FSU tried to shuffle players in and out of the game with forty-nine seconds left without taking a timeout.
When Seminole quarterback Christian Ponder finally took the next snap, there were just nineteen seconds remaining.
That's thirty seconds of wasted time, and it turned out Florida State really needed that time.
It was not to be for them Monday, but watch out for the Seminoles later on this year.
Earlier I said the ACC looked like a three-horse race.
Here are the other two thoroughbreds, and they're leading the way out of the gates.

BEST GAME TO WATCH NEXT WEEK
USC AT OHIO STATE SATURDAY 8ET/7C ON ESPN

They're calling it the Collision in Columbus, and here are some reasons you won't want to miss it.
1. Ohio State will be fueled by the revenge factor.

The Buckeyes took a 35-3 thrashing in L.A. Colosseum last season, and they didn't like it.
Look for them to be fired up as they go for a win in the Horseshoe.

2. USC's Matt Barkley makes his road debut.

For the first time in history, the Trojans starting quarterback is a freshman.
He looked sharp in USC's season-opening win over San Jose State last week, but they're not Ohio State.
It's going to be loud and hostile, and it'll be interesting to see if Barkley can maintain the poise he showed last week.
Welcome to big-time college football, kid.


BEST COLLEGE FOOTBALL READ WEEK 1

The best college football article I have read this week is ESPN.com columnist Pat Forde's "Forde Yard Dash."
Better known as The Dash, Forde goes through the 40 biggest headlines in college football.
This week's Dash has an interesting breakdown of conferences, plus Forde's latest Dashette.


Enjoy the games this week, and stop by later for next week's Pigskin Points.


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Football Fever: Diagnosis and case number one

I'm sick -- and I'm not just talking about the cold I've had for a week(The one that attacked me in the night with enough ferocity to kill a lesser man and slightly harm Chuck Norris).
I'm talking about Football Fever.
Football Fever is a condition I have suffered from since childhood.
It's main symptom is an uncontrollable desire for any and all information relating to football, and it usually lasts from the time recruiting information starts pouring in in January until toe meets leather sometime in late August or early September.
At the moment I sit here typing this post, there happens to be 16 days, eight hours and 12 minutes until Alabama kicks off its 2009 season against Virginia Tech in the Georgia Dome.
I've got it bad.
I've got such a bad case this year I've started keeping up with the NFL preseason to pass the time until the college season starts, which leads me to my first issue.
Brett is back.
It's gotten so out of hand I'm pretty sure that's all I need to say, but, in case it isn't, I'll explain what I mean.
Brett Favre is one of the greatest quarterbacks ever.
He's tough as nails, and the fact he has started 269 consecutive games proves it.
He is the league's all-time leader in touchdown passes, and he has one Super Bowl victory to his credit.
Favre turns 40 this year, though, and is coming off one of the toughest injuries of his career -- a torn bicep in his throwing arm -- which he had repaired in the off-season.
He also has been known to develop football fever.
Unlike me, Favre can actually do something about it, and he has -- twice.
He played 17 years in the NFL -- 16 for the Green Bay Packers -- before retiring.
Then the fever struck, and, after a tumultuous off season, Favre piloted the New York Jets last year before retiring again.
Then, while helping high school players in his home state of Mississippi, the fever struck once more.
Now Favre is a Viking, and everyone from Chris Carter to Fran Tarkenton has an opinion about it.
I have an opinion, too.
Let the man play, and stop complaining about it.
The only people who have semi-legitimate gripes with Favre wearing purple this season are the two quarterbacks he pushed farther down the depth chart when he stepped on the practice field.
Obviously both Favre and the Vikings feel he can compete, or he wouldn't be there.
Minnesota has a good chance to go far this season.
They have a good defense, a solid offensive line that will keep Favre on his feet for the most part while opening gaping holes for a guy named Adrian Peterson, and we all know what that means.
Favre has the luxury of a good running game to take the pressure off of his arm, and the Vikings have the luxury of a sure-fire Hall-of-Famer under center.
They won with Tavaris Jackson last year, and they'll do it again this year with Favre.
Then we'll see who's complaining.
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Mid-summer mail

I just finished watching the All-Star game, and while I wait for the second half the ridiculously long baseball season to begin I came across some letters expressing several concerns with some questionable aspects of the game.

Dear Braves Front Office,
I have been a Braves fan all my life, and as such I feel it is my duty to express my displeasure with some things that have happened in and around the organization lately.
I realize you had a few shake-ups not too long ago.
I also realize I have absolutely no idea how to run a baseball team, but I ask you to hear me out.
Y'all have hurt my feelings one too many times, and I can no longer sit idly by while my team continues its decent toward the bottom of the division -- a place once reserved exclusively for the Nationals.
I am highly perturbed at the trading of Jeff Francoeur.
The issue I have is not with the fact he was traded, but where he was dealt.
Why, for Pete's sake, did y'all trade him to the Mets?
Did the fact one of our mascots looks like Mr. Met make y'all think we owed them something?
Think about this for half a second, and I'm sure you'll see why I'm a little upset.
That's right, the Mets are a division rival, for cryin' out loud!
We have to play them a whole heck of a lot, and if y'all haven't noticed, he's blistering the ball, and will most likely blister our butts when he pays us a visit.
Thanks a lot.
One more thing, what in the world is going on with the bullpen?
We could have gotten a solid arm in there, so maybe we'd stop blowing leads like a lotto winner blows cash, but nope, y'all had to go and get a man who's had his share of bad luck with the Braves.
No offense to Ryan Church -- I'm glad he's on board -- I just think we could have traded for a guy who can hold a lead.
I say put John Smoltz back in the pen -- oh wait, we can't.
Anybody seen Mark Wohlers?
Signed,
Tired of Terrible Trades

Dear Tim Lincecum,
As you well know, a 98 mile-per-hour fastball can get you a lot, even if you weigh 170 pounds and your nickname is Tiny Tim.
It can secure a second All-Star selection in as many years.
It can also get you a stint as Sports Illustrated's cover boy.
It can get you a cool statue.
It can get you a very large sum of money.
However, there is apparently one thing an excellent heater cannot get you -- a haircut.
Sincerely,
Your Barber

Dear Justin Upton,
We'd like to take this opportunity to thank you for helping us carry on what has become a tradition.
You see, when you turned the wrong way on that fly ball in the eighth inning, hit the wall and watched Curtis Granderson run like somebody was chasing him, you allowed the go-ahead run to reach third base.
It was promptly brought home on a sac-fly, and the All-Star game was over.
We would have probably been better off not coming out of the dugout again, seeing as they had what's-his-name on the mound.
He's so good, they let him wear Jackie Robinson's number.
We didn't have a chance.
So what if we still don't know what it's like to win an All-Star game that counts, at least some of us will get room service for most of the World Series.
Thanks again for helping preserve our 13-year losing streak!
Sincerely Yours,
The National League

Dear Congress,
Find something better to do, like fixing the economy or reducing our dependence on foreign oil, and stay out of my sport.
You do your job, I'll try to do mine,
Bud Selig

Dear Dodgers,
How was I supposed to know those pills and patches that made me shop a lot and sob uncontrollably while watching "The Notebook" over and over were on the banned substances list?
I was just me being me.
Love,
Manny Ramirez

Dear Hall of Fame Committee,
My bloody sock will probably end up in Cooperstown, so you might as well let me in too.
Pretty please?
Waiting by the phone,
Curt Shilling

Dear Major League Baseball,
Thank you for letting me show what an awesome man I am Monday night in your little Legends-Celebrity softball game.
You should make me manager next year.
Obviously, I do a heck of a lot better job than that skinny Mike from the radio.
It was my heroic, motivational speech that got the team going and brought them back from the jaws of certain defeat, when it appeared we would lose to the other Mike who lost all that weight on NutriSystem.
Also, have one of your teams take a look at that rapper, I believe his name is Nelly.
Holy crap, did you see that catch he made?
You should really sign him up.
He might even be able to help that team that can't even spell its own name.
Oh yeah, and put that little dancing Olympian on my team.
I'm so proud of her, she makes me want to do cartwheels.
If you don't put her on my team I really will pick one of those chairs up and throw it, but I promise I won't hit the umpire.
Regards,
Robert (Bob) Knight
General. Motivatior. Hero.





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Fireworks and fire ants

Since I'm sure nobody wants to hear about the time I ate cabbage soup, or the time my buddy flipped my golf cart or the time I got broadsided at 65 miles-an-hour, rolled my truck three times and landed upside-down in a ditch, I won't tell you about those just yet.
I will tell you about something a little less life-threatening, but almost as memorable.
I learned yet another valuable lesson recently.
Most of the time change is good, but some things are better left alone.
July Fourth is a big deal in my family. Like most of you probably do, we have certain traditions. I have been taking part in said traditions since six months before I was born, (Yes, I said six. I got tired of being curled up in a belly all day, so I jumped the gun a little) and I look forward to them every year.
If you could see me, you'd probably guess right off the bat that one of our traditions involves eating, and you'd be right. Every year, our family and friends gather at Nana and Paw-paw's pool house and enjoy an Independence Day meal. Then we hit the pool just long enough to require a whole bottle of Aloe Vera to put out the fire on our skin before the annual Freedom Fest fireworks show at Fort Rucker starts.
You can set your watch to my family perched on a hillside in the backyard, looking up at the sky and unleashing a veritable chorus of "Ooohh"s and "Aaahh"s every time there's a big, smiley-faced firecracker.
This happens every year, without fail. Once we even had bleachers.
This year, however, was different.
For the first time in my twenty-three years, somebody at Fort Rucker decided to throw America's birthday party a day early, and Freedom Fest was held on the third of July instead of the Fourth. For the life of me I still can't figure out why they did that, but I should have known it wouldn't lead to anything good.
Friday rolled around, and, like proud Americans filled with unbridled patriotism, we all pretended it was the Fourth while we ate hamburgers, hot dogs, chicken and sausage and tried to forget it was only the third.
I was so upset at Fort Rucker for moving the Fourth to the third, I elected not to swim and sat inside the pool house with the women, who were busily cleaning out the refrigerator.
Normally, any time the refrigerator is open and stuff is being taken from it, I am a happy man. When the barbecue sauce is sharing a shelf with a batch of penicillin, some mold that resembles a small Chia Pet and mayonnaise with hair longer than Lily Munster's, even I draw the line.
I did see a jar of chocolate chips sitting on the table, and it cheered me up a little -- until I tasted the chips and realized they came out of the same refrigerator and were, in fact, older than Lily Munster.
I bolted out the door faster than a scalded jackrabbit, spat out the tainted chocolate chips and sat by the pool and listened to Daddy try to read a hilarious e-mail about a guy who got his wife a pocket-taser for their anniversary until it was announced we would say the blessing and eat.
After I had my fill, I went back out by the pool. It wasn't long before I grew tired of watching everyone else have fun and decided to go home and get my bathing suit.
This seemingly insignificant task turned out to be more than I bargained for because someone cleaned the house and moved my bathing suit from it's ordained spot on the floor of the bathroom. When I finally finished ransacking the house in search of a suitable replacement for my bathing suit, thirty minutes had passed and Mama's laundry room looked like the Tasmanian Devil had taken up residence in it.
I shut the door and hoped she wouldn't notice until I had successfully acquired a passport and left the country, then put on my swimming shoes and returned to my grandparents' house.
I swam for all of ten minutes before everyone went to grab a seat on the hill, despite the fact the fireworks could have been easily viewed from the deep end of the pool.
I sat my chair up on the left end of the front row and prepared to watch the show, which -- per usual manner -- started ten minutes late.
I was just beginning to "Oooohh" and "Aaahhh" on key when half the fire ants in Southeast Alabama decided to crawl into a hole in my swimming shoe and make a meal out of my left big toe.
Now, I know God has a reason, purpose and plan for everything, but I sure wish He'd clue me in on what He was thinking when He made fire ants. I hate fire ants, and I'm pretty sure they'd be an effective form of torture if we ever come across Bin-Laden.
I danced a jig trying to get those ants out of my shoe. I even hit them with my cane once or twice, but all I did was hurt myself while they gnawed my big toe until they eventually exploded, at which time the remaining half of the fire-ant population entered my shoe. The second wave finished off my toe and half my foot before I finally cleared them out in time for the grand finale.
I enjoyed the fireworks as much as one can when he's got ants in his shoes, but I didn't get to enjoy the finale.
Nobody did.
The finale was supposed to be a barrage of fireworks so colorfully amazing they would be almost impossible to top next year.
We all heard the booms, but nobody saw what happened until we picked up the paper the next morning.
Apparently the fireworks, which were supposed to ascend halfway to Heaven before bursting forth in all their colorful-finale glory, went sideways into a parking lot across the street.
Amazingly, only seven people were hurt, and only three of them needed a band-aid.
For my sake -- and for the sake of those poor, unfortunate souls who may choose to watch from the celebration from the parking lot -- I hope the folks at Fort Rucker move America's birthday party back to America's birthday.
If not, I hope they get a shoe full of fire ants.


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Books with no pages

I'm doing this so Mama Kat doesn't yell at me for not doing my homework for fun.
Here are some book titles that were scrapped seconds after I thought of them and realized somebody will make real reality TV and Brussels sprouts that taste good before I'd be able to come up with the first page.

Skinny Fat Man
This one came about early one morning when, somehow, despite being awake before the roosters, I was in a good mood. The premise revolved around a main character who, by sudden epiphany, came to the realization that his image could be manipulated with his own mind, and was not dependent upon the way others viewed him - as he previously thought. He was at once a six-foot-two specimen of a man with a money tree in his back yard and a stomach upon which he could, and sometimes did, wash his clothes.
Women everywhere fell at his feet, and they did so because of his rugged charm and irresistible personality, not because of the money tree in his yard. He was walking on air, and nothing could bring him down.
Suddenly, without warning, something happened that caused both his journey to the top of the world and my journey to the top of the best-seller list to come to an abrupt end.
I went and walked by the mirror.

How to Understand a Yankee
I was recently thinking about a vacation my family took to Pennsylvania when I was in the fifth grade.
One particular conversation I remember having with a lady I'll call Yankee Waitress inspired me to write a guide to help Southerners overcome the language barrier they're sure to encounter once they cross the Mason-Dixon line.
This very same conversation, which I have included below, served to remind me the reason such a helpful book has not yet been written is the fact it simply cannot be done.
Yankee Waitress:" Whatwouldyouliketodrink?"
Fifth-Grade Me: "Ma'am?"
(At this point, Yankee Waitress appeared slightly offended and shocked that Fifth-Grade Me had called her ma'am. Apparently, she thought I was calling her old.)
YW: "Whatwouldyouliketodrinksir?"
FGM: "Ma'am?"
(Now Yankee Waitress was losing patience. Fifth-Grade Me knew this because Mama had lost her patience with him before. He also new such circumstances rarely turned out good for him, so he panicked. Straining to remember the standard order of questions asked every time he sat down at a restaurant in Alabama, Fifth-Grade Me took a shot in the dark.)
FGM: "Do y'all have sweet tea?"
YW: "BAHAHAHAHAHA. Whatisthat? Wehavesodapop."
FGM:"Ma'am?"
YW: "Isaidwehavesodapop."
(Having never heard of a drink called Sodapop before, Fifth-Grade Me said the only thing he could think of.)
FGM: "No thank you, ma'am. Can you please bring me a Coke?"

Front Row Baptist
It is a well-known fact in Baptist churches that nobody is allowed to sit on the front pew.
Years ago, somebody on the Committee Formed on Behalf of the Pews Committee made a motion in business meeting that sitting on the front pew should be outlawed.
After much arguing discussion about having always sat on the front pews before, the motion finally carried.
It was put into the doctrine and by-laws at the next National Baptist Convention of America meeting, and nobody has sat on front pew since, for fear they would incur Heaven's wrath and fire and brimstone would rain down upon them.
In fact, we no longer sit on the first three pews.
Those are now roped off as a splash zone, you know, in case the preacher gets riled.
If you accidentally sit on one of them, you'd better move back fast - or grab an umbrella.
We have become so accustomed to the back row we even go to sleep during the sermon sometimes, usually at the moment the preacher stops holding our attention and starts sounding like Charlie Brown's teacher.
Heck, we might not even come without the promise of dinner on the grounds, complete with fried chicken and biscuits.
We back-row Baptists go ballistic if we're not out of there by noon so we can beat the Methodists to the buffet and still get home in time to catch the race and the Braves' game.
Hey, somebody should put that in the by-laws.




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BamaJam: Day One

Time for another weekly assignment from Mama Kat. I've been away from the blog for a while, but I'm gonna bend the rules a little and explain what's kept me away for the past few days.
Last weekend, for three long, fun-filled days, my sleepy, map-dot hometown became a music Mecca -- a destination sought after by thousands upon thousands of people from 47 states and several countries -- and I was right in the middle of it.
I love country music. I love other kinds of music as well, but country music strikes a special chord because it's easy for me to relate to the messages in a lot of the songs.
When I heard the lineup for this year's BamaJam Music and Arts Festival, I knew I wouldn't be able to pass it up. I went to the inaugural BamaJam last year, so I knew a good bit about what to expect, but this year's outing surpassed my expectations by a country mile or two.
I had a hard time forking over the money for a three-day pass at first, but rationalized the purchase by reminding myself this would be the only time in my life talents like Taylor Swift, Brooks and Dunn, Kid Rock and Alan Jackson would be on stage a mere 15 minutes from my front porch.
I purchased the ticket, which coincidentally came with 10 dollars worth of free gas, and my excitement began to build as Thursday rapidly approached.
When the first day of BamaJam finally dawned, I went to the bank, rubbed half a bottle of sunscreen on my arms and face, put on the polarized sunglasses I bought from the Bass Pro Shop, threw a folding chair for me and one for my cousin in the back of my truck, and headed out as fast my four-cylinder engine would allow.
I was forced to slow down when we got to town, however, and by the time we turned on highway 167, traffic slowed to a crawl. Some time later, we reached the gravel road that marked the entrance to the 800-acre festival site. When we finally pulled into the field that served as the parking lot, my spirits were almost as high as the black cloud that loomed overhead. The threat of rain wasn't enough to deter the massive crowd that was already there, and it sure wasn't enough to dampen my mood.
We reached the main stage -- which was at the bottom of sloping hills that acted like a bowl for stadium seating -- and, since we were thirty minutes early for the first concert, we were able to stake claim to a prime spot about fifty yards away and just a little left of center stage. I became rather acquainted with our little spot, because I stayed right there for the next eight hours or so.
The weather wasn't bad, but my cousin figured we should wet our whistles anyway to keep from having to make an unscheduled visit to the medical tent, and I was glad when she returned with two eight-ounce glasses of lemonade. I drank mine sparingly to prevent an unscheduled visit to the Porta-Potty.
Forty-five minutes after we arrived, the opening act, Alabama's own Jamey Johnson hit the stage.
If you've never heard of Johnson or his music, you're missing out.
Sure, he looks a little like Grizzly Adams, but the man can sing.
He's got a voice deeper than a well, and his last album's got more hits than Google.
He stood on that stage, easily won the crowd over with his raw, unpolished sound and had us singing along to every song, even after he broke a string on his favorite guitar, Old Maple, and was forced to switch to another anonymous one before he continued belting out his hour-long set.
Luke Bryan took the stage next and the crowd, which continued to grow in anticipation of Taylor Swift's show later that night, swayed along to several of his catchy songs about what his friends told him when he couldn't remember how he got home from the club last night, the vehicles he created memories in growing up and his ability to grow his own groceries.
Then we got to see John Anderson, and he was amazing.
His unique voice was as good last Thursday as it has ever been, and the 55-year-old legend put on a top-notch show. He sang crowd-pleasing number-one hits like Swingin', Black Sheep and Straight Tequila Night, and his performance was as good as Money in the Bank.
Near the end of his show he was joined onstage by Johnson and George Jones, who crooned He Stopped Loving Her Today, much to the crowd's delight.
Night was beginning to fall, and, by the time Blake Shelton took the stage, so was the rain.
I had seen Shelton before, and I knew a rainstorm wouldn't slow him down.
I was right.
Maybe he had a little less Bud Light sweet tea to drink before the show or maybe it was the fact that, like Johnson, his latest album is full of great songs, but Thursday night was the best Blake Shelton concert I've been to, and I've been to three.
One thing that makes a Blake Shelton show enjoyable (besides the songs) is the amount of time he interacts with the fans. He tells stories and jokes, regularly converses with the audience. For example, he saw someone waving a flag with a picture of Hank Williams, Jr. on it and said, "Hey, that gives me an idea." Then he launched into his version of If Heaven Ain't a lot Like Dixie.
Then, pretending to draw a blank on what song came next, jumped right into a much less annoying more entertaining version of the FreeCreditReport.com jingle.
Thankfully, the rain let up soon after Shelton was finished, and everyone waited on pins and needles for Taylor Swift to close out the night.
Say what you want about her, but Taylor Swift deserves respect as a songwriter and a performer. She is extremely talented, and she proved it Thursday night.
Not only did she sing like there was no tomorrow, but she put on one heck of a show.
She danced and sang her way around an elaborate set like a seasoned veteran twice her age, and the only pauses were the six times she changed clothes while we watched transitional video packages.
The show was more than a concert, it was a production.
She took elements from her videos and incorporated them into her stage performance using multiple set backgrounds, background dancers and costumes.
For example, the video for her song Love Story is set mostly in medieval times, so she came out in a long dress, the background was a castle like the one in the video and the dancers were dressed like court jesters and people at a ball.
It was about this time I realized my attempts to woo Taylor were bound to fail.
I swear we made eye contact once, but I was unable to get to her because of the mass of pre-teen girls in "Hey Taylor" tee-shirts screaming her name and singing along.
We stayed through the first song of the encore, just to make absolutely sure she hadn't noticed me and, as a result, was now uncontrollably and irrevocably smitten.
Unfortunately for her me she had not, so we made our way toward the exits.
I would like to take this opportunity say if you're ever at one of Swift's shows, whatever you do, don't leave early.
Apparently, I missed her performance of Should've Said No, which involves falling water that spells a word while she stands in the middle of it.
I have been kicking myself for days for that, and I am simply trying to save you the pain and regret, because I care.
Aside from my missing that last song and the fact that my failure to reach her might have cost Taylor Swift the chance at another love story, day one of BamaJam was an unforgettable one, but it wasn't the last.
Day two held more surprises, and a situation I almost didn't get out of, but you'll have to come back tomorrow (or the next day) to read about them.







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The Teller of Dreams

I am a teller of visions and dreams.
Sometimes what you see means more than it seems.


From the time I was a lad,
It was clear that Yahweh had
A special plan in store for me
Though I knew not what it would be.
The people of Judah angered Him
With pagan worship and idle whims
Despite His warnings through the prophets’ shouts
His chosen people chose to tune Him out.
Over a score three battles waged
And Yahweh’s anger against us raged.
The walls of our city tumbled down
And Solomon’s Temple burned to the ground.
I, along with Judah’s throng,
Was exiled off to Babylon.
For 70 years they worked and slaved,
And prayed for the day they would be saved.
But Yahweh’s favor shone on me,
And a certain other three.
We were given cups and rings
And asked to dine with the King.
The Lord’s commands we strove to keep
And the King’s food we would not eat.
Ten days passed and of the guests
My friends and I were nourished best.
Just for keeping His commands
The Lord led me to understand
Visions and dreams that other men
Simply could not comprehend.
Two years later the King called on me
To describe for him a troubling dream.
A statue with a head of gold
And parts of other metals told
Of kingdoms that would rule the land
Until the end of the age of man.
Without a hand a stone broke way
And crushed the feet of iron and clay.
The statue crumbled and was then
Carried afar upon the wind.
When it was gone the stone spread out,
And all at once became a mount.
The mount was large and all its girth
Was big enough to fill the Earth.
Yaweh placed the King over the entire world,
Every man, woman, young boy and girl.
One day, The Lord said his kingdom would fall
And the arrogant King did not like that at all.
He made his own statue, entirely of gold,
To show off his power and riches untold.
The people were told when they heard music play,
To fall down and worship, whether night or day.
One day my friends heard the trumpet sound,
But to the gold statue they would not bow down.
Their outright defiance drew the King’s ire,
And he had them thrown into the furnace and fire.
The King thought the fire would burn up the three,
But when he looked in four men he did see.
When the King saw the fourth in with them,
He quickly pulled the men out again.
The King then exclaimed, “At first there were but three,
Surely your God has delivered thee.”
Some years later, a new King did rise,
And his kingdom was also great in its size.
“I shall have a feast,” he said with a nod,
And he drank from the cups of the house of God.
At that moment, in the presence of all,
A Man’s hand appeared and wrote on the wall.
Then the King began shaking, and his face turned pale,
For what the words said he could not tell.
I was called in, to see what they saw,
And I calmly read the words on the wall.
“The words of the message that Yahweh did send,
Mean that your reign has come to an end.
Your kingdom will split on this very night,
And your great disregard,
Will cost you your life.”
Many more visions were given to me,
Many great things for my eyes to see.
Once again I saw the empires of man,
And watched them all crumble as if they were sand.
In one great vision I saw four beasts,
Which stood for the empires of West and East.
My eyes did watch them rise and fall,
But the fifth one I saw surpassed them all.
There, with all of the world in His gaze,
On a great throne sat Yahweh, the Ancient of Days.
The world stood to meet Him, one after one,
And there before Yahweh the books were undone.
Then I saw the Son of Man,
Coming in clouds, with scars on his hands.
He ruled the kingdom forever more,
And the lips of all people sang praise to the Lord.
The kingdom that Yahweh sets up on that day
Is the one that shall never pass away.

Take careful heed of the words you read here,
Surely the time of my vision draws near.
For life in this world is riddled with strife,
A child kills his father, and a man leaves his wife.
It is puzzling to me how can it be,
That a man kills a baby,
But dies for a tree?
The Earth is torn apart by war
Floods and tornadoes occur by the score.
Through all of the pain there is one thing that is true,
The great voice of Yahweh still calls to you.
In His infinite wisdom, God made a way
For you to be with Him on that final day.
The One I saw as the Son of Man,
The One you call Jesus, with scars on his hands,
When the time was right He hung on a tree,
And died in your place, so you could be free.
He rose again and ascended on High,
Where He sits on His throne by Yahweh’s side.
Live your life for Him and trust Him today,
For He is the Life, the Truth and the Way.

Now you have read and looked on my words,
The message of them your heart has heard.
Do you still wonder just who I am?
I am but an ordinary man.
True, I was an advisor to Kings,
But you know me as Daniel, the teller of dreams.
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