Joel Frey

BTHO 49ers!

Have you recovered from the National Week of Suck? Thanks to Heather's home cookin' over the weekend and a Saints wildcard victory versus the Lions, I feel like the wanderlust of the holidays has lifted. Now, with the divisional round of the NFL play-offs looming, my thoughts have turned to the Saints match up against the 49ers of San Francisco on Saturday afternoon.

As a young boy growing up in Louisiana, I was almost without fail twice annually subjected to the Joe Montana and Jerry Rice led 49ers absolutely pummeling the hapless Saints. On rare occasion, the Saints scored an upset, but overall the rivalry was decidedly one-sided.

One game, pre-dating the 49ers dynasty years, stands out. It was during the Saints unforgettable 1-15 season in 1980 and though I was only six-years-old, I still recall it. The Saints, led by Archie Manning, traveled to Candlestick Park late in the year sporting an 0-13 record. By then, the locals had notoriously dubbed the team the "Aints" and thousands of fans had taken to sporting brown paper bags over their heads on sojourns to the Superdome. The team had become a punchline and as the losses mounted from week-to-week, it seemed likely that the Saints were destined for the infamy of a winless season.

So imagine the delight of Saints fans young and old alike when on December 7, 1980 the team raced out to a 35-0 halftime lead over the 49ers. The streak was about to end! The revelers in the French Quarter could roam the streets with glasses held high! The Aints were about to win a game! But then the second half commenced and, unbelievably, the 49ers mounted a comeback, tying the game at 35 by the end of regulation.  I no longer recall the details of the overtime period, but the 49ers kicked a field goal, won the game 38-35 and sent the Saints back to New Orleans 0-14. (note: the next week the Saints squeaked out a 21-20 win over the Jets and finished the season 1-15)

Cast into separate divisions when the NFL realigned prior to the 2002 season, the frequency of Saints-49ers match-ups have decreased. The teams fortunes have as well. The Saints are just two years removed from a Super Bowl win while this is the first time San Francisco has even made the play-offs in a number of years. In fact, ESPN just informed me that the Saints have won the last six times the two teams have played.

My gut tells me that they will make it seven on Saturday though it will be tough. Between now and kick-off, the skeptical pundits will tell you that the Saints vaunted offense led by Drew Brees isn't as prolific away from the Superdome. Those same talking heads will also remind you on the Saturday morning pre-game shows that the Saints' three losses this year all came on the road, two against the hapless Bucs and Rams. At some point, they'll also mention that they've never won a play-off game on the road and that they were upset just a year ago by the 7-9 Seattle Seahawks. The ones who have really done their homework might even mention that the last time the two teams played early in the 2010 season on Monday Night Football, the Saints barely eked out a 25-22 win on the 49ers home turf.

I will tell you that all of these points are with merit. But I'll also say when it comes to the NFL play-offs, it's never wise to bet against the hottest team playing. The Saints, riding a nine game winning streak and a quarterback in Drew Brees who is playing in his prime, are that team right now. Yes, the 49ers defense is formidable, but I firmly believe the Saints will win on Saturday, once and for all vanquishing the memories of that aforementioned Sunday afternoon 31 years ago.

Final score: Saints 31, 49ers 16

 

Hotdish, Potluck, Smorgasbord

We're having potluck for today's 300 words. I hope it fills you up!

• Heather and I are slightly dumbfounded that Megan, whose great-grandparents have called the state of Wisconsin home for almost 90 years, rooted for the Steelers. It was almost as perplexing as when she painted a horseshoe on her cheek last year while we sported the fleur-de-lis during Super Bowl 44.
• Last year, we started a new Super Bowl tradition: jambalaya during halftime. Heather made a scrumptious batch on Sunday and I appreciated having a taste of the Crescent City during the game even if the Saints didn't make it back to the promised land.
• As a lifelong Star Wars fan, the VW commercial featuring a mini-Darth Vader futilely attempting to harness the Force cracked me up. On Facebook I wrote that it was "amazing that Star Wars is still relevant 30+ years after its debut," to which my friend and fellow Star Wars buff Shea replied, "Much like us."
• El Paso hasn't quite fully recovered from last week's plunge into the deep freeze.  Schools just reopened yesterday and the city finally confirmed this afternoon that it was okay to drink the water sans boiling.  Unbelievably, some homes and businesses are still without water.
• We submitted Meg's FAFSA application last night. For those of you unfamiliar with college application process that stands for "Free Application for Federal Student Aid." As I was writing this I asked Meg to recite the acronym and she rattled it off. A few seconds later she then passed the "What is your social security number?" quiz.

Like most Lutherans, I'm an ambassador of potlucks involving pots. We're having one at Trinity (3800 Hondo Pass) on Sunday. If you're on the Northeast side of town, stop by around 11:30 and fill up a plate. And should your soul need refreshing, the service starts at 10:15.

One degree

Heather can attest to my impatience with local broadcast news. Generally, I find the reporting light on substance, heavy on hyperbole and I enjoy mocking it endlessly. This is especially true when it comes to coverage of weather events. Here in El Paso, the slightest trace of rain is newsworthy given how sensitive the desert landscape is to flooding. Still, in my humble opinion, this does not excuse a news director from running a segment with a shot of a few drops of precipitation striking a shallow puddle accompanied by breathless commentary from the reporter speculating on what could happen next "if."

Over the last 48 hours, however, as Sun City has experienced some of its coldest days on record, including a low of one (ONE!) degree before the sun rose this morning,  I've been willing to cut these ladies and gentlemen a bit of slack. Watching them deliver their live shots street side shuddering in these freezing temperatures has been painful. Once they confirmed that Meg would get to sleep in, we turned the channel and tracked the thermometer on our phones.

Hanging out with Meg this week has brought back memories of snow days past in Bartlett, TN. In 1988, eight inches blanketed the streets of our home in the Hillshire neighborhood. My sister and I were out of school for five days and made several trips to the video store for the likes of "Summer School" and "Dirty Dancing." While Meg, Heather and I have not spent hours camped in front of our Vizio, we will always have the rolling blackouts in our living room midst candlelight.

"Let's sing a song," Heather suggested, enthusiastically, during one 30 minute stretch of darkness last night.

"Let's not," Meg countered.

After a brief round of "My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean," we carried on in a more post-modern manner: keeping our friends and family updated on Facebook and Twitter using our mobile devices. Late this afternoon, we learned that Meg will have one more day off. Let the memory making continue.

 

 

Suffering and editing take two

Yesterday, I attempted to make the point that modern-day filmmaking suffers from insufferable story lines and poor editing. Though my opinion has not changed over the last 24 hours, I did want to offer up an example of a movie that I strongly feel defies these notions.

On March 31, 1981 Robert Redford's "Ordinary People," based on the novel of the same name by Judith Guest, won Oscars for Best Picture, Best Direction, Best Adapted Screenplay and Best Supporting Actor (Timothy Hutton). I mention it briefly in Cypress Walls, writing "I am not sure if I have ever screened a movie so simultaneously powerful, delicate, and unequivocally sad." Given the tough subject matter - a teen's accidental death, his sibling's attempted suicide afterward and the seeming end to their parent's storybook marriage - one could argue that "Ordinary People" is as insufferable as, say, "Leaving Las Vegas."

But it's not for me mainly because the characters in "Ordinary People" are relatable and likable, despite the heartbreaking circumstances engulfing them. It's been a couple of years since I watched it, but I can't think of one scene that I could do without over the course of the two hour runtime. The suburban Chicago setting, a yuppie dinner party, a family Christmas and everyday scenes from high school all have aged gracefully, giving "Ordinary People" timeless qualities that hopefully will appeal to future generations of moviegoers seeking provocative fare with substance to accompany their ten dollar bucket of popcorn and five dollar soda.

While other writers and filmmakers have mimicked the framework of "Ordinary People" with success - think "Good Will Hunting," "American Beauty," and "In the Bedroom" - I maintain that pound-for-pound no other work of character-driven cinema over the last three decades measures up. I am, however, open to suggestions.

 

For Saints Fan Everywhere

A week before the Saints began their Super Bowl run, we were in Tucson celebrating Megan's Sweet 16. During the weekend, we visited the Tucson Mall, which, to Meg's delight, houses a super-sized Forever 21. While the ladies checked out the teen fashions, I killed time at a sporting goods store, where a simple gray t-shirt, sporting a large fleur de lis across the chest caught my eye. I showed it to Heather and she urged me to bring it home to El Paso, which I did.

Part of the reason why I bought the shirt had to do with the excitement I felt about the upcoming NFL season. I liked the Saints' chances even though they finished 7-9 and 8-8 in 2007 and 2008, respectively. The previous year had been oh-so-close with the team losing six games by five points or less. They would show flashes of brilliance one week, pummeling the Green Bay Packers 51-29 on Monday Night Football, only to follow it up the next with a gut-wrenching three-point loss to the Tampa Bay Bucs. Despite most of the experts predicting that the Saints would remain inconsistent this year, I knew that with Drew Brees at quarterback the offense was set and, hopefully, the breaks that went against them in 2008 would take different turns in 2009.

The first one occurred when the schedule was announced. It was far kinder. For starters, the Saints would not have to travel to London in the middle of the season to play a "home" game as they did in 2008. Not only did the trans-Atlantic sojourn cost the citizens of New Orleans a chance to scream "Who Dat?" for an afternoon, it helped create a six week-long gap between contests at the Superdome. In the end, I doubt this prevented the Saints from making a run deep into the play-offs, but it certainly did not help.

Perhaps the NFL thought about that when they scheduled the Saints to kick-off the 2009 campaign at home against the Detroit Lions, who in 2008 became the first team in NFL history to go 0-16. The Saints took advantage and won the game 45-27. And though they endured one stretch where they played four out of five games away from the Superdome, they were against the St. Louis Rams, the Bucs, the Washington Redskins, and the Atlanta Falcons, none of whom made the post-season. The Saints beat each of those teams on their way to a 13-0 start.

Granted, a few of those victories were not without anxious moments. The Redskins, for example, missed a chip shot field goal that would have put them up by 10 points late in the game. Following the choke, Drew Brees promptly hit Robert Meachem on a 53-yard pass to tie the game, which the Saints went on to win in overtime. In 2008, I doubt they would have pulled one like that out.

As the season progressed, I wore the shirt purchased in Tucson just about every Sunday. But heading into the play-offs - amidst a three-game losing streak - I changed my routine. The shirt remained in my closet on January 16 during the divisional round win versus the Arizona Cardinals. A week later for the NFC Championship Game, I decided not to wear it myself, instead asking Heather to don it. She cheerfully complied and was a pillar of encouragement for me during the swings of that heart thumping win against the Vikings. Afterward, we decided she needed her own shirt for the Super Bowl.

Last night, I returned to the Tucson tee and hung a string of mini-football beads caught at Mardi Gras around my neck. Heather made a batch of jambalaya and we had a few friends from our church over, all of whom were warned by my lovely wife that they would likely see a side of Mr. Frey that they had never seen before. And though I yelled and pumped my fist throughout, I wasn't as edgy as I had been two weeks prior. Even after the Colts went up 10-0 in the first quarter, I didn't panic. "Manning is going to get his," I explained to my sister via text message. "We just have to keep stepping up."

Amazingly, the Saints did so in a way I doubt longtime members of the Who Dat Nation thought possible. The onside kick to start the second half is already legendary, but that was only one of many plays that led to the Saints outscoring the Colts 25-7 in quarters three and four. Admittedly, even with a 14 point lead, I had flashbacks to a couple of the losses snagged from the clutches of victory that I had witnessed in my 30 years of Saints fandom. I figured we would at least have to endure one more Colts touchdown followed by an onside kick attempt. But then the Saints 'D' stymied Peyton at the goal line and all of those negative vibes I had been harboring in the last three minutes of the game evaporated. The Saints were Super Bowl Champions. Heather never doubted it for a minute.

"Not in a million years..."

If I had any friends on Facebook who didn't realize that I am a lifelong Saints fan, they are now fully aware of this fact. Beginning in the second half of Sunday night's NFC Championship game, I began a running commentary on my profile page that ranged from optimistic, to encouraging, to frustrated, to forlorn and, finally, exhilarated. As Garrett Hartley lined up for his Super Bowl clinching kick, I was certain he would miss it. "Not in a million years," I proclaimed to Heather and Megan.

All I could think about was the field goal he shanked on the afternoon of December 27 against the lowly Tampa Bay Bucs that would have clinched home field advantage for the Saints in the play-offs. After the Bucs won the game in overtime, my Dad and I both realized we had witnessed a Saints game reminiscent of those we watched when we lived in St. Charles Parish 25 years ago. The template for those contests were along these lines: Saints grab an early lead, make a few boneheaded plays and then, eventually, choke away what seemed a certain win. Heading into the play-offs, it was an ominous reminder that even after a 13 game winning streak, we were still pulling for a team that does not have any of its former players in the Hall of Fame. Thankfully, the following evening, Hartley's miss proved irrelevant when the Chicago Bears pulled out a gritty overtime win against the Vikings, ensuring that the road to Miami would go through the Dome. After the Bears victory, I thought that maybe all of the voodoo hexes that the Saints have endured over the years were finally lifting.

When Hartley's kick sailed through the uprights, I did my best impersonation of Phil Mickelson after he sunk a clutch putt on the 18th hole at Augusta National to win the Master's. We called Mom and Dad. "That was exhausting," Dad said. "I kept telling Dad that I wouldn't want to be Heather and Megan right now," Mom said, remembering a bunch of Saints-inspired tantrums I threw as a youngster. After we hung up with them, we surfed the Web for a new Saints tee for Heather.

I won't rehash all of the commentary from the people who get paid to do it. I am, however, dumbfounded by how much the talking heads love #4, especially Chris Berman and Tom Jackson at ESPN. Even last night, a full 24 hours after "the gunslinger" threw the crucial interception that essentially lost the game for the Vikings, Jackson was still, literally, professing his love for him. But that's okay. Those guys are suckers for good quotes and colorful characters and Mr. Courageous has always fit the bill.

Thanks for indulging my allegiance to the Black and Gold over the past few days. Hopefully, I'll have something meaningful to say as it relates to my writing soon. In the meantime, the countdown to Super Bowl 44 continues. Enjoy the ride my fellow Saints fans. We've definitely earned a little time in the spotlight. Cheers.

P.S. I've enjoyed this clip way too much. And this one too.

Let's go Aints!

I used to be a big fan of nostalgia. Over the years, however, my opinion has shifted and I wrote in Cypress Walls that "I doubted that such longing for the past is healthy." I was reminded of this as I read Truck: A Love Story on a business trip to Toronto this week. The book's author, Michael Perry, loves nostalgia and it's a theme that prevails throughout his memoir as he writes about his relationships, his hobbies and his quirks as a single man in his late 30's, wondering if he'll ever find a lifelong partner.

It's not that I don't savor good memories and appreciate what I've learned from the bad ones. Plus, it's impossible not to look back at times, but at this point in my life, I don't want to get bogged down watching "I Love the 80s" reruns on VH-1. There's too much on the horizon...like tomorrow evening's NFC Championship game between the New Orleans Saints and the Minnesota Vikings.

Perhaps being a lifelong Saints fan subliminally factored into me rethinking this notion. As anyone who shares my affection for the team understands, there really isn't much over the last 43 years that we would want to cherish. Sure, there have been a few good seasons, but generally, the "Aints" have notoriously been the most snake-bitten franchise in the NFL. This, of course, culminated four and half years ago when Hurricane Katrina devastated New Orleans and the Superdome. After being farmed out to Baton Rouge and San Antonio for the 2005 season, I thought the Saints would move to a bigger city far from the Gulf of Mexico.

Thankfully, that didn't happen. With a new coach and a new quarterback the team almost made it to the Super Bowl in 2006. Tomorrow, they will have another shot though this time they will play before 70,000 people screaming "Who Dat?! Who Dat say Gonna Beat dem Saints? Who Dat?!" all night long. We'll be tuned in from El Paso. Heather is going to wear my t-shirt with the big fleur de lis and make a batch of jambalaya for good luck. I'll give Mom and Dad a call in Memphis and, fingers crossed, we will celebrate a Saints victory. Dad and I even might talk about the Monday night game versus the Jets he took me to in 1983 when the Saints blew a 28-17 lead in the last four minutes and he led me out of the Dome, heartbroken. We'll be careful not to let the memories sweep us away. After all, the Super Bowl is only two weeks away.

Final thoughts on Tiger

It took some digging, but I found an old Cypress Walls manuscript with the entry dedicated to Tiger and his win at the 1997 Masters that didn't make the final draft. Given recent headlines, I thought I'd share it with ya'll. I wonder how he'll mark the passing of his 34th birthday next week...

Sunday, the 13th of April

There's a 21-year-old kid from California who made more money this afternoon than I'll most likely make in my lifetime. His name? Tiger Woods. His occupation? Professional golfer. And it wasn't any old tournament he laid claim to. No, his coming out party rocked the hallowed grounds of Augusta National during spring's rite of passage, the Masters. Furthermore, he annihilated the field on his way to slipping on the green jacket, winning with a record breaking score of 18 strokes under par, his nearest competitor 12 strokes off his scintillating pace. Even more amazing about his romp was that he shot a rocky 40 on the front nine on the first day of competition before rallying with a 30 on the back, fighting through adversity and keeping himself in contention for the remaining three days of play. I've never been a big fan of watching golf on TV, but tracking Tiger's round this afternoon was riveting. Despite his huge lead and the outcome a foregone conclusion, his intensity was laser-focused, his concentration and poise unflappable as he adroitly negotiated one hole after the next. It was impossible not to root for him, knowing that he was on the cusp of fulfilling a dream that he's unquestionably sought to achieve from the first time he had enough strength to swing a club. Once that final putt was holed and he pumped his fist mightily into the Georgia night, it was nothing short of spine tingling to watch him stride through the gallery, remove his cap and wrap his arms around his father, overcome with emotion. Clearly the conquest of Augusta was not Tiger's alone. Generation X may have uncovered a legend, one capable of truly inspiring others. It's about time.

Personally, what is sadder than all of Tiger's foibles coming to light is that I can't think of a single person in our generation who embodies discipline the way he did. In a small way, Tiger helped dispel the notion that we are nothing more than a group of self-absorbed slackers as defined long ago in movies like "Singles" and "Reality Bites." Now that we know that his focus and determination were exclusive to his sport, these perceptions of Gen X will persist in my humble opinion. Collectively, all we have mastered over the last decade are the arts of shameless self-promotion, undying vanity and whining. As 2010 fast approaches, I pray that we get our act together because less than 20 years from now, one of us will be running for president and his name will not be Tiger Woods.

Heather and I are headed to Memphis in the morning to celebrate Christmas. May you find peace in the New Year!  

Tiger, revisited

Yesterday my cousin Chris sent me a text: "U should update your 11/30 tiger woods blog to douche status."

My response: "Ya, I will. I admit I gave him the benefit of the doubt."

Chris: "Ditto."

Millions of people are having similar conversations about Tiger. Certainly, just about every columnist and talking head has had something to say in the last 48 hours. In my opinion, most of the commentary has been drivel with the exception of this piece in today's Washington Post. I think it mirrors what many of us are feeling on the whole saga.

I've also been reminded of Jesus' words from the book of Matthew: "For whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted." Many have asked the question "How could Tiger be so stupid?" But it's not a matter of one man's stupidity. Rather, it's one man's pride impeding upon his own good judgement.

Most of us place ourselves in sticky situations at some point in our lives - albeit without helicopters hovering over our homes and the paparazzi camped out on our doorsteps. Several moments from my early twenties captured in Cypress Walls exemplify this notion. Did I know my behavior from that time in my life was sinful? Sure I did. Yet, I kept choosing to go down the wrong path day after day, night after night thinking that I had everyone fooled. I now realize, of course, that I was the fool. Thankfully, when I woke up one morning and comprehended this, my name wasn't Tiger Woods.

Have a great weekend! Remember, Cypress Walls makes a lovely gift for the college graduate in your life!