Golfer Fred Funk's caddy, Mark Long, does a dead-on impersonation of 5-time major champion and dashing Spaniard Seve Ballesteros. One of Long's best routines is of Seve recounting a disagreement with his brother, Vicente, who was carrying his bag during one particular round at The Masters. Mark-as-Seve says, "We were on de 15nce hole. My broder, Vicente, say, You hit 5-iron. I say, No is a 4. He say, 5. I say, 4. Finally, I say, Okay. I hit 5-iron straight into de water. I make a 10. Vicente? He no longer my broder."
I feel a little like Seve today as I digest these disturbing results of a survey by the Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life, as reported by USA Today.
*64% of white evangelicals agreed with the statement, "Immigrants today are a burden on our country because they take our jobs, housing and health care."
*51% of white mainline Protestants agreed with this: "The growing number of newcomers from other countries threatens traditional American customs and values."
If these results are accurate, all I can say is Pew. And I hereby renounce my whitehood, as well as my association with anything mainline or remotely evangelical. In the true spirit of a Protestant, I protest.
Although I'm not particularly loco about aligning myself with Rev. Sam Rodriguez either, the president of the National Hispanic Christian Leadership Conference, who wants amnesty for immigrants. He said his constituency supports traditional family values such as heterosexual marriage and a ban on abortion, so he expects reciprocal support - that traditional political value - in this case from white evangelicals.
Since when did entitlement, protectionism, and back-scratching become Beatitudes? I don't care where you stand on this very complex issue, please quit identifying yourself as a God-follower if you're primary concern is shooing away the pests trying to infest your big honkin' slice of American pie.
---
Another poll shows President Bush's approval rating having plummeted to historic lows. According to the latest numbers, it's now at only 32 percent, down from 50 percent just last December.
But before you Bush bashers rub it in, keep in mind that the margin of error in that poll is 3.1 percent. That means his approval rating could be as high as 35.1. So there.
---
Nicholas (7) is now the proud owner of his first protective cup, having discovered the hard way the necessity of said apparatus during his first stint as catcher for his Little League baseball team (The Thunder). Cup acquisition is one of those time-honored rites of passage that young boys have experienced for centuries, right up there with reaching the final level in Star Wars Battlefront on Xbox.
The other day, Nicholas was having trouble putting his cup and the attendant slingshot-style holster on before his game, and Amy wasn't able to provide much in the way of experiential advice. This conversation ensued:
Amy: Keep in mind, I really don't have any idea how those things fit.
Nicholas: Didn't you ever play softball?
Amy: Yes, but I never wore a cup.
Nicholas: Why not?
Amy: I don't have a penis.
Nicholas: Oh. Right.
Considering how, um, "self-aware" Nicholas has been getting in and out of the bathtub all his life, I'm not exactly sure whether the cup will prove more protective against outside forces or from himself. We'll see.
---
The Academy Awards needs to add an Oscar for Best Grimace in a Movie Preview. Harrison Ford and Denzel Washington would be the only nominees each year.
---
There's a guy I've known off and on for nearly 20 years who's asked me for money every time I've been with him. It's very annoying. And a good reminder of how people feel when I ask them to give to Continent of Great Cities.
---
I don't know anyone under 50 who uses a handkerchief.
---
I made a New Year's Resolution to make sure I didn't agree with Don Wildmon, head of the American Family Association, on a single societal issue. But, alas, we came down on the same side on the utterly ephemeral TV show, Book of Daniel, which was cancelled after just a couple of episodes. Albeit for different reasons.
Wildmon was livid about the program's portrayal of a priest who didn't seem to care that his kids were either gay, horny, and/or selling pot. I, meanwhile, was furious over the show's suggestion that Christians are such bad actors.
---
I'm concerned at some of the recent reports I've seen of Saddam Hussein screaming incoherently and going on a hunger strike. This could really damage his credibility.
---
The other day, my friend, Bill, said, "You know those black and white billboards that are supposedly God talking to us, like 'They're commandments, not suggestions?' I'd like to put up one of those signs and have it read, 'Hey, Abilene. Why so many churches?'"
Good question. The answer? You can only put so many white, mainline, evangelicals in one building.
---
Finally, I take my equally-enormous size 8 hat off to Kevin Mench, the Texas Rangers slugger, who Friday night became the first right-handed batter in Major League history to homer in 7 consecutive games. The streak began last Friday after a specialist suggested the foot problems he'd been experiencing were due to the fact that he needed to wear a size 12 1/2 shoe instead of a 12.
Some guys might want to consider getting their cups resized. Seeing as how approximately 112 percent of all baseball players on television still get caught in the act of "adjusting themselves," it appears Nicholas wasn't the only one who learned how to strap it on from Mom.
Saturday, April 29, 2006
Friday, April 7, 2006
Halfway Home
The first two rounds of The Masters are in the books, and I'm in my underwear. But perhaps even more important to golf fans, Chad Campbell is in the lead by three with each of the top five players in the world under par and on his heels. Tiger Woods, who'll begin the weekend five shots in arrears, couldn't be happier that my arrears are here and not there.
I've attended four of the previous 10 Masters "tunamints." Tiger's 0-for-4 with me standing on the premises and 4-for-6 when I'm not. That's a stat exclusive to premium subscribers to the boone box, which is currently defined as any organism which - however unwittingly - stumbles onto this site and/or isn't force-fed my columns via e-mail. So my money's on Tiger, despite the fact that it looks like he's putting with a fly swatter these days. The only thing worse than the pace of his putts right now is his inability to read greens. It's like his caddie isn't Stevie Williams but another Stevie...Wonder who?
But nobody's perfect. Take my in-laws. Please! (rimshot) Seriously, these people are Godly, brilliant, witty, and productive. It's their reproductive skills I'm questioning. And not their capability of progeneration - even the O.J. jury couldn't ignore the existence of three children - but their carelessness. Sure, they had the prescience to beget their firstborn (and my beloved) in Boone County, Missouri. Very clever. But conceiving a child nine months before Masters week is, well, inconceivable.
But, alas, a lass they delivered, Amy, on April 7, 1970, the Monday preceding that year's Masters. It's fitting the Green Jacket went to Billy Casper that week 'cause I haven't had a ghost of a chance - friendly or otherwise - of reconciling these two events ever since.
For me to make The Masters is to miss Amy's birthday, and vice-versa. I know what you're thinking, This is no contest! Any numbskull knows there's only one place to be! But you have to understand how much Amy enjoys having me home for her birthday.
(Yes, that was a joke. No, Amy didn't laugh.)
My first Masters was 10 years ago, the year Greg Norman went in to the final round with a 6-shot lead and came out with a 5-shot loss. But no one blew a bigger advantage that weekend than I did. Told of a lottery conducted by Augusta National that would select about 50 media members to play the fabled course the Monday morning after the tournament, I threw my name into the hat. Sure enough, the hat spit me back out as one of the lucky winners.
Never mind the fact that I didn't have my clubs with me. Or shoes. Or even a single tee. (Someone told me later that I did have balls, but I'll get to that in a moment.) About the only thing I knew I had for sure was a job interview at CNN. On Monday afternoon at 2 p.m. In Atlanta. Not to mention a flight back to Dallas where we lived at 6.
My winner's envelope included specific instructions to arrive at the club at 6:45 a.m., sharp and ready to play. Perfect! I'd rented some clubs from a nearby golf shop and bought the rest of the stuff I needed Sunday night. And with a 6:45 a.m. appointment, I could play all 18 holes and still have plenty of time to drive the two hours to Atlanta for my interview.
That's when my Master plan began to fall apart as completely as Norman the day before. Apparently, I wasn't the only one with a tee time that morning. When 8 a.m. came and went without my name being called, I got a sneaking suspicion this wasn't going to end well. I called the head of CNN Sports - back when they had both a head and a sports department - to ask if I could push the interview time back a couple of hours. He said 2 was his last open appointment of the day and asked why. When I told him I had a chance to play Augusta National, he told me to forget about the interview and take the golf. I told him I appreciated the offer but that I'd keep the appointment. Looking back, that's probably when I lost the job.
I still had hopes of a quick 18...until the clock struck 9. By 9:30, I figured the best I could do was squeeze in nine holes. They were sending groups off the 10th, but at 9:30, they said I could go right away off 1 or keep waiting to play the "second nine" as it's known at the National. I took the former and let it rip. It was everything you would imagine a dream round to be. Except for the rental clubs. And the cheap shoes, fresh out of the box just 3 hours earlier. And the otherwise makeshift assortment of necessities.
I played pretty well. Hit a bunch of good shots. Soaked it in. And, after nine holes, walked away. Ran, actually. I high-tailed it to Atlanta, only to have my interviewer at CNN greet me with a handshake and this, "Great to meet you. Thanks for coming by. We'll call you if we need you." (Apparently, they never did.)
I left his office with my high-tail between my legs. After stumbling around CNN Center for a couple of hours, I made my way to the airport and finally home.
Hindsight is 20/20 - for example, my in-laws learned from their poor judgment and had their remaining progeny in August and September - and love is blind. Had I known that my interview would consist of a handshake and a validated parking sticker, and/or that CNN wouldn't even have a sports department five years later, of course I would've stayed and played. But I owed it to my wife (who, after all, during her birthday week had given me the present of my absence) to keep that interview and hopefully get a better job.
Eight years later, the day after the PGA Championship at Whistling Straits in Wisconsin, I skipped the back nine of media day to catch the only flight that would get me home on my second son's first day of school. With that, I moved halfway toward, yes, a "Walkoff Grand Slam." (I can't wait to stiff the U.S. and British Opens.)
As crazy as it sounds, I'd make those same decisions again, regardless of whether such small sacrifices were ever rewarded. (And one of them was in October 2004 when a magnanimous friend and Augusta National member hosted my Uncle Pat and me for 45 unforgettable holes. If you're keeping score, that was two full rounds plus an extra tour of the second nine...perhaps the one I left behind so many years before.)
My greatest reward isn't being home with my beloved on the day we celebrate her birth and life but having the privilege of simply sharing my life with her every day.
Happy Birthday, my dear. I'll get dressed now.
I've attended four of the previous 10 Masters "tunamints." Tiger's 0-for-4 with me standing on the premises and 4-for-6 when I'm not. That's a stat exclusive to premium subscribers to the boone box, which is currently defined as any organism which - however unwittingly - stumbles onto this site and/or isn't force-fed my columns via e-mail. So my money's on Tiger, despite the fact that it looks like he's putting with a fly swatter these days. The only thing worse than the pace of his putts right now is his inability to read greens. It's like his caddie isn't Stevie Williams but another Stevie...Wonder who?
But nobody's perfect. Take my in-laws. Please! (rimshot) Seriously, these people are Godly, brilliant, witty, and productive. It's their reproductive skills I'm questioning. And not their capability of progeneration - even the O.J. jury couldn't ignore the existence of three children - but their carelessness. Sure, they had the prescience to beget their firstborn (and my beloved) in Boone County, Missouri. Very clever. But conceiving a child nine months before Masters week is, well, inconceivable.
But, alas, a lass they delivered, Amy, on April 7, 1970, the Monday preceding that year's Masters. It's fitting the Green Jacket went to Billy Casper that week 'cause I haven't had a ghost of a chance - friendly or otherwise - of reconciling these two events ever since.
For me to make The Masters is to miss Amy's birthday, and vice-versa. I know what you're thinking, This is no contest! Any numbskull knows there's only one place to be! But you have to understand how much Amy enjoys having me home for her birthday.
(Yes, that was a joke. No, Amy didn't laugh.)
My first Masters was 10 years ago, the year Greg Norman went in to the final round with a 6-shot lead and came out with a 5-shot loss. But no one blew a bigger advantage that weekend than I did. Told of a lottery conducted by Augusta National that would select about 50 media members to play the fabled course the Monday morning after the tournament, I threw my name into the hat. Sure enough, the hat spit me back out as one of the lucky winners.
Never mind the fact that I didn't have my clubs with me. Or shoes. Or even a single tee. (Someone told me later that I did have balls, but I'll get to that in a moment.) About the only thing I knew I had for sure was a job interview at CNN. On Monday afternoon at 2 p.m. In Atlanta. Not to mention a flight back to Dallas where we lived at 6.
My winner's envelope included specific instructions to arrive at the club at 6:45 a.m., sharp and ready to play. Perfect! I'd rented some clubs from a nearby golf shop and bought the rest of the stuff I needed Sunday night. And with a 6:45 a.m. appointment, I could play all 18 holes and still have plenty of time to drive the two hours to Atlanta for my interview.
That's when my Master plan began to fall apart as completely as Norman the day before. Apparently, I wasn't the only one with a tee time that morning. When 8 a.m. came and went without my name being called, I got a sneaking suspicion this wasn't going to end well. I called the head of CNN Sports - back when they had both a head and a sports department - to ask if I could push the interview time back a couple of hours. He said 2 was his last open appointment of the day and asked why. When I told him I had a chance to play Augusta National, he told me to forget about the interview and take the golf. I told him I appreciated the offer but that I'd keep the appointment. Looking back, that's probably when I lost the job.
I still had hopes of a quick 18...until the clock struck 9. By 9:30, I figured the best I could do was squeeze in nine holes. They were sending groups off the 10th, but at 9:30, they said I could go right away off 1 or keep waiting to play the "second nine" as it's known at the National. I took the former and let it rip. It was everything you would imagine a dream round to be. Except for the rental clubs. And the cheap shoes, fresh out of the box just 3 hours earlier. And the otherwise makeshift assortment of necessities.
I played pretty well. Hit a bunch of good shots. Soaked it in. And, after nine holes, walked away. Ran, actually. I high-tailed it to Atlanta, only to have my interviewer at CNN greet me with a handshake and this, "Great to meet you. Thanks for coming by. We'll call you if we need you." (Apparently, they never did.)
I left his office with my high-tail between my legs. After stumbling around CNN Center for a couple of hours, I made my way to the airport and finally home.
Hindsight is 20/20 - for example, my in-laws learned from their poor judgment and had their remaining progeny in August and September - and love is blind. Had I known that my interview would consist of a handshake and a validated parking sticker, and/or that CNN wouldn't even have a sports department five years later, of course I would've stayed and played. But I owed it to my wife (who, after all, during her birthday week had given me the present of my absence) to keep that interview and hopefully get a better job.
Eight years later, the day after the PGA Championship at Whistling Straits in Wisconsin, I skipped the back nine of media day to catch the only flight that would get me home on my second son's first day of school. With that, I moved halfway toward, yes, a "Walkoff Grand Slam." (I can't wait to stiff the U.S. and British Opens.)
As crazy as it sounds, I'd make those same decisions again, regardless of whether such small sacrifices were ever rewarded. (And one of them was in October 2004 when a magnanimous friend and Augusta National member hosted my Uncle Pat and me for 45 unforgettable holes. If you're keeping score, that was two full rounds plus an extra tour of the second nine...perhaps the one I left behind so many years before.)
My greatest reward isn't being home with my beloved on the day we celebrate her birth and life but having the privilege of simply sharing my life with her every day.
Happy Birthday, my dear. I'll get dressed now.
Friday, March 31, 2006
From Nancy...
This arrived a few hours after I e-mailed Nancy Grace the letter you read in the previous post. I was touched. This is how honest dialogue happens. It's about two sides sharing their hearts, then trusting one another to receive those feelings in the spirit in which they were intended.
I think Nancy and I made a little breakthrough, and I'm sure neither of us will be the same. What do you think?
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I think Nancy and I made a little breakthrough, and I'm sure neither of us will be the same. What do you think?
Thank you for your email to the Nancy Grace show. This auto reply is your notification that we have received it.
While we are unable to personally reply to every e-mail, your comments are important to us, and we do read each and every one. Comments become part of the viewer response report that is prepared and made available each day to our producers and senior management. If you have submitted a story idea that we would like to discuss in more detail, you may hear from us via email within the next day or so (please note: the volume of story ideas we receive makes it impossible for us to feature all of them, so please wait for a reply).
If you submitted a question related to the show, please allow time for it to be tagged as such and routed to the appropriate persons for handling.
For your convenience, we are providing links to other areas of our Web site that may be helpful to you. Please visit the attached links for more information on our news segments, bios on our anchors and reporters, and information on our programs and schedules:
Would you like to visit the HLN Web page?
Please visit us at http://www.cnn.com/HLN/.
Would you like to review transcripts of our new Prime Time HLN shows?
Please visit our transcript at http://www.cnn.com/transcripts
Are you looking to purchase a videotape of one of these shows?
You may order a video and/or transcript of a program or segment from any of the following sources:
Multivision can provide tapes or transcripts of CNN for the past year, and for CNNI, CNNfn or Headline News for the past two months. Call or write at (800-560-0111) (925-472-8880), http://www.multivisioninc.com/
Video Monitoring Service can provide tapes or transcripts of CNN, CNNl, CNNfn, or Headline News for the previous 2 months. Call or write them at (877-698-8007) (212-736-2010), http://www.vidmon.com
FDCH can provide tapes or transcripts of CNN programs (domestic only) from October 1996 to present. Call or write them at (800-266-6397) (301-883-2482), cnntranscript@fdch.com . Or visit their Web site at www.fdch.com and complete an order form. Their mailing address is 1100 Mercantile Lane, Landover, Maryland 20785.
Thanks again for being our valued viewer, and keep your browser pointed to www.cnn.com/HLN.
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Thursday, March 30, 2006
To Nancy...
Nancy,
Rubel Shelly is a personal friend of mine. He is a man of great intelligence, having taught courses at both Vanderbilt and Duke Universities on subjects I didn't even know existed. He is also one of the most gentle servants I've ever known.
I wish you could know him outside of the monitor in which he appeared on your show.
I think there could come a time in which you'll want to ask his forgiveness for the way in which you treated him in front of a national television audience.
What's great is that he not only will forgive you, he probably already has. When you follow Christ, how can you not forgive a fellow human being when you realize how much you've been forgiven by a holy God?
Those of us who're members of the churches of Christ now ask your forgiveness for not having made a powerful enough impact on our world that you would know us by our love, our mercy, and our service to others. On our best days, we mimic our Lord. On our worst, we fight over petty issues that really don't make much difference in people's lives.
My prayer is that you'll forgive those of us who may've responded to you in anger or bitterness for the way in which Rubel was treated. Our Lord compels us - by his words and by his actions - to return blessing to those who mistreat us.
So our final prayer is that the love of God and the peace of Christ will dwell richly in your heart today.
Grant Boone
Rubel Shelly is a personal friend of mine. He is a man of great intelligence, having taught courses at both Vanderbilt and Duke Universities on subjects I didn't even know existed. He is also one of the most gentle servants I've ever known.
I wish you could know him outside of the monitor in which he appeared on your show.
I think there could come a time in which you'll want to ask his forgiveness for the way in which you treated him in front of a national television audience.
What's great is that he not only will forgive you, he probably already has. When you follow Christ, how can you not forgive a fellow human being when you realize how much you've been forgiven by a holy God?
Those of us who're members of the churches of Christ now ask your forgiveness for not having made a powerful enough impact on our world that you would know us by our love, our mercy, and our service to others. On our best days, we mimic our Lord. On our worst, we fight over petty issues that really don't make much difference in people's lives.
My prayer is that you'll forgive those of us who may've responded to you in anger or bitterness for the way in which Rubel was treated. Our Lord compels us - by his words and by his actions - to return blessing to those who mistreat us.
So our final prayer is that the love of God and the peace of Christ will dwell richly in your heart today.
Grant Boone
Tuesday, February 28, 2006
4 Anna Claire, On Her Birthday
A special day calls for a special treat, so Anna Claire and I stopped at Starbucks this morning for a kids hot chocolate and some coffee cake en route to Stepping Stones, her preschool. Thankfully, the turning of the calendar hasn't untwisted her tongue...Can we thtop at Thtawbuckth on the way to Thtepping Thtoneth?
Looking at it in type, it might appear my daughter is Tweety Bird. It's actually much cuter. Especially when I'll say it like she says it,
Do you want to go to 'Thtawbuckth?'
And she'll say, Not 'Thtawbuckth,' THTAW-buckth. Like, Come on, Dad, you know that's not how you say it...
I hope we never quit having conversations like the one this morning:
AC: I'm four now.
Me: Yes you are.
AC: So you can't tell me I can't turn four anymore.
(That's our little game. I'll say, I may not let you turn four, you know, and she'll say, You have to; that's the way God made me! Except she doesn't use semicolons when she speaks...)
AC: Is this February 28th?
Me: Yes it is. This is the day you were born.
AC (in a funny voice but partially to double check): But I'm not borned today. Today, I'm four.
(Pause)
AC: Does 'A' make any other sounds?
Me: Well, 'A' makes the 'ay' sound, like 'Amy.' It also can make the 'a' sound like 'Anna Claire,' and it can make the 'ah' sound like 'father.' I am your father.
AC: That's what Darth Vader says when he's on the dark side - I am your father - to that man on the good side. Remember when he takes his helmet off and he can't breathe?
Me: Yes.
AC: He's good then, but then he dies.
Me: Right.
AC (pointing in excitement): Thtawbuckth!!!
Start getting your dowries together now, boys. Here's a girl with a sky high foo-foo quotient and a predilection for the pink and poofy who's also - thanks to her two older and beloved brothers - fluent in Star Wars, Power Rangers, army guys, and baseball (during Rangers games last year, Ith that Alfontho Thowiano?).
My favorite regular exchange between the two of us:
Me: Daddy looooooves that girl.
AC: That goll luuvth haw Daddy.
My favorite move of hers right now: how she's constantly hiking up the back of her drawers because they won't stay up on her little hiney.
My favorite daily routine: her giggly excitement before bedtime when she announces that she's going to sleep on her sleeping bag in the brothers' room. As if she hadn't done the same thing every night for the past year and a half. When we talk about the best and worst things about their day each night, she always says, Sweeping wif the bwutheth (sleeping with the brothers).
When Amy was pregnant with Nicholas, I had trouble imagining how I was going to find room in my heart to love another child besides Andrew. And then I did. When we were expecting Anna Claire, everyone said to prepare for a little girl to wrap me around her finger. And it's happened.
I think the main reason daddies love their girls - not more, but differently than their boys - is so simple that it's actually quite profound:
Guys like girls. And guys really dig it when girls like them back. That's why Anna Claire and I have worked for these four years.
Daddy loves that girl. And for now at least, that girl loves her Daddy.
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