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

 

Missing the news cycle

As a PR professional, my cohorts and I are constantly assessing the "news cycle." As it ebbs and flows from important and not-s0-important happenings and events, it factors into our discussions and planning everyday. Weather, politics, war, terrorism, and the economy are just a few of the topics that we compete against in our never-ending efforts to get journalists, news producers, bloggers and social media mavens to consider Travelocity for inclusion in a story, segment, post or Tweet.

As you read the rest of this, note that I've decidedly missed the news cycle on the 10th anniversary of 9/11. My plan was to follow the status quo and share my observations on that Sunday, but other priorities at work, home and church won out. Now, 10 days later,  the seasons are set to change and we have moved on to more pressing matters: taxing millionaires, airshow safety, the 2012 election, conference realignment and the latest iteration of everyone's favorite social network, to name a few. Though in the grand scheme, we likely won't reflect upon any of these topics 10 years from now.

As Sept. 11, 2011 came and went, I was surprised by own memories that surfaced. For example,  I vividly recalled the tennis match I played the evening before the tragedy. It was a long three setter against a guy named Sam who I had never beaten. We played to a third set tiebreak and I had a match point, but couldn't cash it in. When I woke up on 9/11/01, my defeat was the first thought that popped into my head.

I remembered the fall boots my colleague Judy Haveson wore to work and how she paced nervously up and down the hallway as the tragedy unfolded, anxiety covering her face. She was only days away from moving from Texas to New York and, suddenly, all of her plans were in doubt. But a month later, as the nation healed, Judy was in the stands at Yankee Stadium cheering on the Bronx Bombers as they valiantly tried to win the World Series. Today, she's still a proud New Yorker and mother to Jack, her own little Yankee fan.

I thought about Pastor John Koelpin and the special service I attended at Calvary Lutheran Church. For a few weeks after the towers collapsed, worship and prayer were in vogue. Then, predictably, our post modern sensibilites awoke from their slumber and carried on as before.  Today I live in El Paso, a married man. On the 10th anniversary, Heather and I sat in a pew at Trinity Lutheran Lutheran Church while Pastor Koelpin still preached from the pulpit of Calvary. His oldest son, Philip and our daughter Megan are now classmates at Texas A&M. In the fall of 2001, they were innocent kids, probably wondering what their parents were so worried about.

I remembered the first flight I took post 9/11, an hourlong hop from Dallas to Memphis on American Airlines. Not only was I nervous, I found myself sizing up my fellow passengers before we boarded.  After safely arriving to my hometown and having breakfast with my parents, I drove to Oxford, MS and cheered on Middle Tennessee State, my alma mater, as they took the field against the University of Mississippi, led by their All-American quarterback, Eli Manning. Fast forward to the present and he is the quarterback for the New York Giants and commercial airlines have taken me to countless places near and far, including LaGuardia, Newark and JFK.

Thanks for indulging my utter disregard for the 9/11 news cycle. I look forward to writing about more subjects that were yesterday's news as soon as the opportunity presents itself. If you have any thoughts, please share.  Cheers, ya'll.

 

 

Basketball for Breakfast

One of El Paso's lesser known oddities is that it is the only slice of Texas located in the Mountain Time Zone.  Generally, this factoid has no impact on how El Pasoans conduct their business, but now and then the rest of the country is reminded of this wrinkle. For instance, last Saturday the Conference USA championship game tipped off at 9:35 a.m. local time. The CBS commentators mentioned the early start several times and how it felt strange for a big game to be tipping off during the breakfast hour.

Heather and I woke up a few minutes before tip-off, brewed a pot of coffee and tuned in, pleasantly surprised to see a packed Don Haskins Center. During the early rounds of the tourney, I had tweeted several times about the plethora of empty seats. "Looks like crickets can be heard chirping," I said in one. But that wasn't the case on Saturday. More than 11,000 of the UTEP faithful had woken up early and were ready to rumble.

The game, pitting a senior-laden UTEP team versus an upstart Tiger squad, featured all of the elements of a classic. With an NCAA bid at stake, there was desperation hanging with every shot and constant shifts in momentum. Late in the second half, after a three-pointer put the Miners up by 12, I thought they had finally put away the young Tigers.

By then, I was on my way to play tennis, listening to the game on the radio. By the time I parked, the Miner lead had been whittled down to five. After checking in, I found a TV in the clubhouse. A Tiger three pointer had just tied the game. My thoughts shifted. "What a heartbreaker this would be for the Miners," I said to myself.

Down one with time winding down, Tiger guard Joe Jackson drew a foul in the lane and sunk two free throws. With 7.8 seconds left, Memphis had its first lead of the day, 67-66. The Miner fans who had gathered around the set looked anxious. A minute later after the potential game-winning shot came up short, their anxiety was replaced with dejection. The Tigers were on their way to the Big Dance and the Miners would most likely have to settle for an NIT bid.

And that's how it played out. The Tigers get Arizona later this week, while tonight the Miners battled New Mexico at the Pit in Albuquerque in the first round of the consolation bracket. Unfortunately, they lost and the team's season is officially over. But I think everyone in El Paso who had basketball for breakfast on Saturday knows deep down when it really drew to a close.

 

Movie Review: The Tillman Story

For months, I'd wanted to see The Tillman Story. After reading several reviews last summer,  I figured the documentary about the NFL star turned Army Ranger would eventually find its way to El Paso, home of Fort Bliss, the massive U.S. Army post that straddles the Texas-New Mexico border.

I began constantly checking the Flixster app on my Blackberry for local show times, but to no avail. At first, I guessed that El Paso was not big enough to warrant a run of screenings. But then, I wondered if the city's proximity to Fort Bliss was actually a deterrent given the film's unflattering portrayal of one of the U.S. military's most forgettable moments during the War on Terror.

Recently, I was perusing Netflix and The Tillman Story crossed my mind. While it wasn't available until February 1, I added it to our queue, satisfied that I'd finally get the opportunity to watch it.

The Tillman Story is well done and the footage and interviews are compelling, but if you've read Jon Krakauer's "Where Men Win Glory: The Odyssey of Pat Tillman," as I had, I don't think you'll take away much new information.

That said, there is one unforgettable sequence from Tillman's memorial service that I didn't remember from the book. At some point, his younger brother, Richard, climbed the stage to say a few words about his fallen brother. With a beer in hand, he called out the previous speakers, including John McCain, who eulogized Pat as one would expect at a religious service.

"He's not religious," he countered. "Thanks for your thoughts, but he's (expletive) dead."

There is so much about Pat Tillman's military career that saddens and disappoints me: his inglorious death, the U.S. government then using the tragedy to market an unpopular war and finally the shameless lies that were told by some of the highest ranking leaders in our country as his family tried to sort through the facts.  As a Christian, however, that scene embodies the most haunting and most hopeless part of all.

 

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.

Defenseless in Seattle

Late yesterday afternoon when Drew Brees lined the Saints offense up deep in their own territory with about five minutes to play, down by four, my mind flashed back to the Atlanta game on 12/27. The circumstances were similar and, as I contemplated the pending outcome, I thought the Saints would squeeze out a close three-point win as they did against the Falcons. "Finish strong," I muttered as thousands of fans expressed the same sentiment on Twitter.

Though the Seahawks defense had stymied the Saints  after they had grabbed two early ten-point leads, Brees and Co. had regained their stride in the fourth quarter. The crowd was anxious. The annoying commentators giddily speculated that the first NFL team to win their division with a losing record could fold under the pressure being applied by the reigning Super Bowl Champs.

But unlike that Monday night in the Georgia Dome, Brees and his teammates were not up to the task. After a listless drive, the Saints punted and with only one timeout remaining, I knew that it wasn't Who Dat Nation's day. Marshawn Lynch's stupifying 67-yard TD run a few minutes later only solidified the notion and was an embarrassing capper to the worst defensive showing the Saints displayed in a long time.  As a I noted in one of my mid-game tweets, it was so bad that Sports Illustrated football writer Peter King was mocking Saints defensive coordinator Gregg Williams during the game.

I'm sure it was a painful flight home last night.  I wonder if any fans showed up at 2:00 a.m. to greet them at the airport. My only guess is not as many as when they returned from Miami last February after beating the Colts.  That's one difference between winning the Super Bowl and losing in the Wild Card round.

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!