Thursday, May 28, 2009

Rolling the cheese...


Dang it. It is content like this that makes the Intertubes so valuable.

Forget science, knowledge, social justice, politics, families and friends, space, derailing global warming, h3ll ...even forget about porn ...forget about all that. The Intertubes is not about doing it smarter, faster, better, with more connections...

No, the intertubes is all about seeing grown men (and women) falling down a steep hill while chasing wheels of cheese.

As noted in the accompanying article at The Big Picture, for more than 200 years now, once a year peeps have been chasing 8 pound wheels of Double Gloucester Cheese down a steep hillside.

Here, from the official website at Cheese Rollin In Gloucestershire is a view looking down from the top of the hill.

Why this does not rank right up there with the festival of San Fermin, the running of the bulls at Pamplona, I have no idea. Perhaps it just needs a mention in a Hemingway novel...


Monday, May 25, 2009

A Day for Memories and Thanks, 2009

Memorial Day was once much more than just the cap to another three-day weekend. It once was a day of solemn remembrance of those who gave their "last full measure of devotion" that these United States and this "government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth."

Perhaps hearing the story of one such soldier, plucked from the middle of Texas and thrust into the great global conflict that was World War II ...perhaps hearing the story of Captain Henry Waskow who gave his last full measure in the mountains of Italy will remind us of the sacrifice of many.

Image source: via flickr dot com

What follows is a battlefield report by famed WWII war correspondent Ernie Pyle. His story reminds us that war is about individual sacrifice for the common good.

To honor all those who have laid down their lives so that we might sit here today and type, or picnic with the family, or watch a ball game truly honor these men and women is no small debt owed, one we should solemnly observe each Memorial Day.

The Death of Captain Waskow


In this war I have known a lot of officers who were loved and respected by the soldiers under them. But never have I crossed the trail of any man as beloved as Capt. Henry T. Waskow of Belton, Texas.

Capt. Waskow was a company commander in the 36th Division. He had led his company since long before it left the States. He was very young, only in his middle twenties, but he carried in him a sincerity and gentleness that made people want to be guided by him.

"After my own father, he came next," a sergeant told me.

"He always looked after us," a soldier said. "He'd go to bat for us every time."

"I've never knowed him to do anything unfair," another one said.

I was at the foot of the mule trail the night they brought Capt. Waskow's body down. The moon was nearly full at the time, and you could see far up the trail, and even part way across the valley below. Soldiers made shadows in the moonlight as they walked.

Dead men had been coming down the mountain all evening, lashed onto the backs of mules. They came lying belly-down across the wooden pack-saddles, their heads hanging down on the left side of the mule, their stiffened legs sticking out awkwardly from the other side, bobbing up and down as the mule walked.

The Italian mule-skinners were afraid to walk beside dead men, so Americans had to lead the mules down that night. Even the Americans were reluctant to unlash and lift off the bodies at the bottom, so an officer had to do it himself, and ask others to help.

The first one came early in the morning. They slid him down from the mule and stood him on his feet for a moment, while they got a new grip. In the half light he might have been merely a sick man standing there, leaning on the others. Then they laid him on the ground in the shadow of the low stone wall alongside the road.

I don't know who that first one was. You feel small in the presence of dead men, and ashamed at being alive, and you don't ask silly questions.

We left him there beside the road, that first one, and we all went back into the cowshed and sat on water cans or lay on the straw, waiting for the next batch of mules.

Somebody said the dead soldier had been dead for four days, and then nobody said anything more about it. We talked soldier talk for an hour or more. The dead man lay all alone outside in the shadow of the low stone wall.

Then a soldier came into the cowshed and said there were some more bodies outside. We went out into the road. Four mules stood there, in the moonlight, in the road where the trail came down off the mountain. The soldiers who led them stood there waiting. "This one is Captain Waskow," one of them said quietly.

Two men unlashed his body from the mule and lifted it off and laid it in the shadow beside the low stone wall. Other men took the other bodies off. Finally there were five lying end to end in a long row, alongside the road. You don't cover up dead men in the combat zone. They just lie there in the shadows until somebody else comes after them.

The unburdened mules moved off to their olive orchard. The men in the road seemed reluctant to leave. They stood around, and gradually one by one I could sense them moving close to Capt. Waskow's body. Not so much to look, I think, as to say something in finality to him, and to themselves. I stood close by and I could hear.

One soldier came and looked down, and he said out loud, "God damn it." That's all he said, and then he walked away. Another one came. He said, "God damn it to hell anyway." He looked down for a few last moments, and then he turned and left.

Another man came; I think he was an officer. It was hard to tell officers from men in the half light, for all were bearded and grimy dirty. The man looked down into the dead captain's face, and then he spoke directly to him, as though he were alive. He said: "I'm sorry, old man."

Then a soldier came and stood beside the officer, and bent over, and he too spoke to his dead captain, not in a whisper but awfully tenderly, and he said:

"I sure am sorry, sir."

Then the first man squatted down, and he reached down and took the dead hand, and he sat there for a full five minutes, holding the dead hand in his own and looking intently into the dead face, and he never uttered a sound all the time he sat there.

And finally he put the hand down, and then reached up and gently straightened the points of the captain's shirt collar, and then he sort of rearranged the tattered edges of his uniform around the wound. And then he got up and walked away down the road in the moonlight, all alone.

After that the rest of us went back into the cowshed, leaving the five dead men lying in a line, end to end, in the shadow of the low stone wall. We lay down on the straw in the cowshed, and pretty soon we were all asleep.

Original reprint with permission of the Scripps Howard Foundation.

Friday, May 15, 2009

RIP Wayman...


Yet another great human being passes too soon due to cancer.

Image source:

Wayman Tisdale, first team All-American in basketball at the University of Oklahoma. Olympic gold medalist in 1984. NBA player for a dozen years. Public Servant. Prolific smooth jazz bass guitarist.

You will be missed.


Thursday, May 7, 2009

The hyperbole of LeBron...


" James nearly averaged a triple-double -- 32 points, 11.3 rebounds and 7.5 assists -- as the top-seeded Cavaliers breezed through the first round of the playoffs, ... "

OK, we can agree LeBron James is the class of the NBA this season. Just named MVP of this 2008-2009 season and having already finished second in the race for defensive player of the year, no one is the equal of Lebron right now.

Image source: Craig Hatfield via flickr dot com

So is the hyperbole of Associated Press writer Tom Withers quoted above really necessary..?? 'Nearly averaged a triple-double'..?!? Uhmm ...7.5 assists per game is a long way from the 10 assists per game that would earn that 'triple double' note.

If a NBA player scored 30 points, would you say he nearly scored 40 points..?? I do not think so. If a horse lost the Belmont Stakes by twenty lengths, would you say he nearly won the Triple Crown..?? Even if the horse had won the first two races..?? I do not think so.

No matter how you want to look at it, 7.5 is a long way from 10.

LeBron is good enough to not need overblown hyperbole to note his level of performance. Tell us what he did, not what he almost 'but really did not come close' did.

That said, I am looking forward to watching him continue at a high level through the Cleveland Cavalier's playoff run.