Futball??

If "Seinfeld" was a show about nothing, the World Cup is a show about nothing-nothing.

Obligatory soccer jab aside, I have to admit that I will be paying attention to what goes on in South Africa over the next month.

Not that I'll be able to hear much of it pleasantly, not with those vuvuzelas blaring. Americans hate soccer because there's little scoring, build-up play can have a glacial pace, and 90 minutes can feel like 90 hours.

But, like with any sport, when it's played well it's a beautiful thing to watch. My interest in soccer blossomed after I met a few Englishmen who came to the Midwest for a tornado chasing tour, and it was a frequent topic of conversation via email once they returned to the UK. Fox Soccer Channel became part of my cable package, and I started watching matches more out of a curiosity to see how the sportscasters described the game than anything else.

It's been background noise for many a Saturday morning since then. Along the way, I began picking up the nuances of the game and learned to appreciate well-played soccer. Or football, as it's more properly called. And I've learned enough about it that my commentary is welcomed by English soccer correspondents. I rather enjoy that.

My picks for this World Cup? Spain, England, Brazil.....perhaps Holland in the semifinals as well. Germany could surprise, with its bevy of young talent and history of always doing well. Italy, the defending champions, strike me as being too old.

The U.S.? It will need to play well to get out of the group stages, but if the Americans meet Germany in the first round of the knock-out phase, I don't like their chances. The defense has been too wobbly, and I'm not seeing enough threat from their strikers - though Altidore does show the occasional flash of brilliance that has tempted European clubs for a while now.

With the World Cup, however, the pagentry and spectacle are every bit as much of the show as the match itself - not unlike the Super Bowl.

And I was looking forward to it enough to finally break down and get a DVR. No more "taping" shows for me.

In one way, at least, I guess it took the world's game to drag me kicking and screaming into the 21st Century.

Will Tebow be a big T-bust?

Sobering words to read for this Broncos fan, as a scout discusses 1st-round draft pick Tim Tebow:

What did you see from Tim Tebow on tape and were you surprised the Broncos made the bold move to get back into the first round to snag him?



"On film, there is very little in Tebow's game that projects well at this point to the NFL. I could never draft a quarterback in the first round who does not show on tape the skill set and physical attributes that are demanded in the NFL.

"Number one, he has questionable and limited arm strength with a slow and ponderous delivery. Number two, in college he did not throw with timing or anticipation because the offense that he was in did not require it. In the NFL, there are certain throws in certain situations that necessitate that the ball is delivered before his receiver makes his break. He wasn't asked to do that at Florida. Thirdly, pocket movement in the NFL is far more important than running. Pocket movement is the ability to move within the confines of an area about the size of a boxing ring while at the same time maintaining your downfield focus so you can deliver the football. Tebow did not exhibit that trait in college, probably because he was a runner. Nobody is a great NFL quarterback because of the way that they run."

The Longest Day

I'm sure it's because my father fought in World War II, but June 6 has first and foremost meant one thing to me: D-Day, the date Allied forces landed on the beaches of northern France, creating a second front that ultimately spelled the end for Nazi Germany.

Its importance can never be overstated. The courage shown by the soldiers of every nation that took part in the invasion force can only be fathomed by those who have faced the same kind of danger.

Of all the movies produced about war, my father said only one - "Saving Private Ryan" - captured the essence of combat, with its opening sequence about the beach landings at Normandy. Dad did not go ashore on D-Day; he landed at Marseille in January of '45.

But he saw enough combat in 3 months to have no illusions of grandeur about what it was like.

As he told me more than once over the years, once you've served your nation in battle, you never look at the Stars and Stripes the same way again.

You never listen to "The Star-Spangled Banner" in the same way again.

And you never sing "God Bless America" with anything but heart-felt conviction again.

To all those who stormed ashore on June 6 - especially those who never came home - I salute you.

A sad commentary on relationships....and society....today

Big shout out to all the women with 3 baby daddys and your man right now is the father of none of them

A posting on Twitter, the social media web site that allows folks to offer insight, wisdom, humor, inanity, or whatever else they wish to share in 140-character bites.

I'm back

It's been more than two months since I last blogged. The day after my last post appeared, I was rear-ended on my way to City Hall for a police briefing.

The man who hit me never touched his brakes. I was fortunate to end up with only a nasty case of whiplash to my neck, back and pelvis. No broken bones, no organ damage. It could so easily have been much worse.

My car was totaled, however, so while I was recovering at home I spent a lot of time perusing the Internet for research on cars.

I hate car shopping. A nagging fear chews on me that no matter what I get or how much I pay, I could have gotten a better car for less -- somewhere, somehow.

It took me  about 6 weeks to settle on a car - a used Honda Accord - and I'm pretty happy with it...so I guess the process was worthwhile.

I'm still doing rehab on my back and neck, and I'm still (as one friend put it this week) on "the dancing DL" -- that's baseball parlance for 'disabled list.'

But I'm making good progress, and, again, I feel most fortunate that it wasn't more serious.

I stayed away from blogging just to give my back a break from the keyboard, but I hope to resume regular posts now.

To all my friends who offered prayers and hands-on support, I am most grateful.

What will happen if newspapers cease to exist?

It will be devastating for a variety of social groups:

"Do you love me or hate me?"

I got my husband opening day tickets for his birthday. He said I don't know if that means you love or hate me.

- Words written by the wife of a Cleveland Indians fan earlier this year

As a fellow Tribe fan, I completely understand his reaction. That the Indians will be bad this year is a given. When you trade Cy Young Award winners in back-to-back seasons, when the "ace" of your pitching staff hasn't thrown a major league pitch in 18 months and half of the projected rotation features a collection of "junk" in its pitch arsenal that would make Fred Sanford ache with envy, "bad" is a foregone conclusion.

The only real question I and several of my fellow Tribe fans have is whether they'll lose more than 100 games. For those who don't follow baseball, 100 losses in a 162-game season is the benchmark for "epically bad."

Edsel bad. "Ishtar" bad. "Cannonball Run 3" bad. Detroit Lions bad.

Anyway, you get the point.

A couple of friends want to go see the Indians play this season - be it in Kansas City or even Cleveland. I find myself wondering if it's wise to spend real money to watch such bad baseball (the Royals could be even worse than Cleveland this year - just as they have been for the past several years).

Talk to me in a few months, and I may well change my mind.

But that husband's reaction to opening-day tickets? I get it. I really do.