No More Cinderella

Holy cow, what a week. Last week I was tasked with giving a presentation to by far the largest audience of my adult life. Somewhere between 500 and 600 folks in the energy industry had the riveting pleasure of listening to 20 minutes from yours truly on how a large retail company approaches energy efficiency at its stores. Yes, a raucous time was had by all. As I mentioned in a blog post last summer, I’m no great fan of public speaking. The pressure was further ramped up on me, as the conference inconveniently scheduled a speaker who appears regularly on CNBC shortly before me. This guy was channeling Tony Robbins, while I was hoping my suit jacket would be enough to protect the masses from my panicked sweating. I’m happy to report that I ultimately managed to hold my own on stage. At least that’s what they tell me. I think I went blackout ala Will Ferrell in the Old School debate scene about halfway through my presentation.

Anyway, the speech was part of an industry conference that started on the first Sunday of the NCAA tournament. Now that would normally irritate me, but it actually served the purpose of preventing me from having to witness my brackets go up in smoke for yet another year. More importantly than the demise of my dreams of winning some cash, though, are the implications for college basketball as we move forward. And while many are cheering the unlikely presence of VCU and Butler in the Final Four, I don’t think those implications are good.

College basketball is struggling these days. I watched fewer games this year than I ever have in my life. Now there are a number of reasons for that, one of which is certainly the fact that my Mississippi State Bulldogs were a train wreck both on and off the court. Watching two members of your team throwing haymakers at each other in the stands after a December game is not a great motivator to buy the ESPN Full Court package.

Mississippi State basketball 2010-2011...good seats still available in the bench area.

Still, I’ve watched my share of college basketball in years past even when my alma mater struggled. But back then it was easy to make sense of the general landscape of the sport. The “Big Six” conferences each had two or three perennial powers that could be found in the top 25 every year. Then there were another two or three programs in each league that were typically solid and trying to claw their way to elite status. Then in any given year you might have another few squads across the country that would be having a great year by their standards and therefore be in the mix. Occasionally a UNLV or Memphis might come out of left field and interject themselves, and that was it. Lengthy debates about the relative strength of conferences would be had. In most years, you could count on the ACC coming out on top in those discussions, but all the major conferences could hold their collective heads high. Also, you could watch the progression of a team over two or three years. Sure, Kentucky might have taken an early exit from the tournament one year, but you knew that their freshmen-laden team would be back and even better the following season.

Fast forward to today. Who exactly is in the Final Four again? And who are their players? Without looking it up, I can name exactly three players on Final Four teams- Kemba Walker, Brandon Knight, and DeAndre Liggins. That’s a poor statement about me for sure, but it also says something about college hoops. Honestly, if you exclude Mississippi State and North Carolina, I don’t think I could name more than 10 players if you let me choose from every team in the country. I think the NBA rule mandating players wait one year after high school before being eligible for the draft has made the college game even worse than it was when the best players bypassed it entirely and opted to go straight to the league. At least back then there was a bit more stability.

There has to be something else going on as well, though. How have we ended up with a world where Wake Forest goes 8-24 in freaking college basketball? Meanwhile we have San Diego State and BYU camped out in the top 10 for the entire season. The second round of this year’s tournament (I mean the round with 32 teams, don’t get me started on the “First Four”) featured the following teams- George Mason, Temple, San Diego St, Richmond, Morehead St, Virginia Commonwealth, Butler, Gonzaga, and BYU. That’s eight of the 32 teams! The second round used to be the exciting chance to watch the one or two little guy Cinderella schools that had fought through somebody from a power conference and now had their shot at an improbable run at the Sweet Sixteen. Now half of those teams are favored in their second round games. Back in 1999 when Gus Johnson went bonkers on the mic for one of the first times as Gonzaga upset Florida to reach the Elite Eight, it was a legitimately moving moment because it was something that we hadn't seen before. Take a look and see if you can remember what it was like, lo those many years ago, when there was still such a thing as a Cinderella story in the NCAA tournament...


"The slipper still fits!"- A classic call from the not-too-distant past


As exciting as the ending of many of this year's games have been, there's just no longer this kind of shock factor when a big name program falls. When the little guy wins this often, there's no such thing as Cinderella.

Announcement

Allow me to take a brief pause from the in depth analysis you have come to expect from this site on matters as disparate as the proper technique for stealing rotisserie chicken to my decision to download a Bruce Hornsby album on iTunes. For whatever reason, I’ve been wheel spinning on how exactly to incorporate this announcement into my posts for awhile now. In general, I have attempted to spare my legions of blog readers from any sort of emoting on my part. At some point, though, it only makes sense to get the word out there.

The announcement, for those who don’t already know, is that my wife is pregnant and we are expecting a baby girl here in the near future. I wrestled with whether to make this the focus of one of these posts, but I couldn’t figure out a subtle way to slyly tuck the news into another post so there it is. As much as anything I just wanted to forewarn everyone so that no one is caught unaware the first time I devote a few paragraphs to detailed analysis of baby poo or my anger at a lactation consultant. Perhaps I will even log in and unleash some sort of William Faulkner stream-of-consciousness rant after a few sleepless nights. We still have a few months of preparation before we get there, but consider yourself warned.

For now, we are readying ourselves for the big day. My wife has read three-and-a-half of the 10 books she either bought or was given. I believe she has the first 365 days already planned out in 15 minute increments. Meanwhile, I'm about 60 pages into my first book on fatherhood for your baby's first year. I knew I liked the book after reading the second chapter, which asked you to identify where you wanted to be on the scale of kinds of fathers. The first type of father was one who essentially hated his baby and didn't want to see it until he/she was old enough to drive him to a bar. The second kind of father didn't hate his baby, but was dumb enough to think you could leave them in a parked car for five or six hours. Of course, the descriptions climbed the ladder from there. But even on autopilot, I'm pretty sure I can get myself about two thirds of the way up the fatherhood scale according to this book.

In all seriousness, we are truly excited and looking forward to expanding the ranks of the D’Arcy clan. We are gratefully accepting all advice. Oh, and free baby gear.

A Little Anxiety on My Vacation

Greetings! I'm just getting home from a nice mini-vacation that was, for the most part, extremely relaxing. We spent a few days in a rented condo on the beach in Seabrook Island, SC. We were looking for something quiet and extremely chill, and our condo at Seabrook delivered perfectly. Unfortunately, I did not make it through this getaway without a couple of jarring moments.

The first one came while getting caught up on the collection of magazines that had slowly piled up at the house over the past couple of months. I kicked it off with a Golf Digest, a magazine I was certain I could skim through in 10 to 15 minutes. Sadly, I came face to face with a site for which I was ill-prepared.

One thing you learn as you get older is that nothing is sacred. You recoil in horror as the sports you loved as a child are trashed by self absorbed, overpaid players. Your blissful ignorance is shattered when you realize that neither law nor common decency prevents a wretched rehashing of an all time classic like The Karate Kid by the likes of Jackie Chan and Jaden Smith. Still, you figure some things and some people are beyond compromise. And then you flip past the editor's column in Golf Digest and run into this ad...

I'll have that frozen daiquiri shaken, not stirred.

Are you kidding me?! James freaking Bond posing with a Louis Vuitton man-purse? Unacceptable. Don't you get your status as knight revoked for this kind of abomination? This may just tip the scales in Roger Moore's favor when ranking those who have portrayed Bond. Truthfully, if Connery shows up in any more of these he might just find himself below the enchanting Timothy Dalton as well.

Following that incident, the trip sailed along smoothly until our return drive home earlier today. We brought our dogs along for the festivities, knowing that they would enjoy running around on an otherwise empty beach. Traveling with the dogs did cause some alterations to our general road trip routine, though. Chief among the changes was that one stop along the way needed to occur at a rest area to afford the dogs the chance to stretch the old legs and handle their business. Now perhaps some of you are big fans of the state run rest stops that dot our interstates, but I personally haven't stopped in at one in many a year.

I do harbor a generally low opinion of them and, as such, was on the lookout for unseemly characters and activities. It was with this mindset that I entered the men's restroom at the rest stop at the Georgia-South Carolina border. My initial impression was good enough, I've certainly been in worse looking restrooms. I surveyed the scene and noted one fellow bathroom patron as I slid into the end urinal. That's where things took a turn for the worse. Over the next 30 seconds three additional gentlemen joined us, all of them selecting the urinals closest to me. Not good.

"Stay calm, Craig. These are probably just well meaning travelers not familiar with the etiquette that dictates they select urinals with as much spacing between men as possible."

And so I focused my attention on the sink, avoiding all eye contact and trying to escape as quickly as possible without appearing rattled. After a quick hand washing session, I speed walked over to the door without looking up. I reached for the handle and my escape to civilization...the door was locked. Uh oh. Panic quickly settled in as I more violently attacked the door handle. It was definitely locked, and now I was sweating it. There was now no choice but to lift up the head and fully assess my situation. It was at this moment that it quickly became clear that I had spent the last 30 seconds trying to storm my way into the janitor's closet, with the actual exit door about five feet to my right. Good times on the open road!

Is That a Chicken in Your Pants?

This is just wrong on so many levels...

Report: Man tries to hide rotisserie chicken in his pants

A northwest Georgia man was arrested for allegedly trying to steal a rotisserie chicken and some wings from Walmart by placing the items in his pants.

Joseph Lee Stringer, 27, also put a toothbrush and a mouth guard down his pants before trying to leave the store through the garden center, the Rome News-Tribune reported.

Stringer, of Kingston, was charged with misdemeanor shoplifting and released on $1,350 bond, according to the report.

Now I don't believe in negativity without trying to find some good at the same time. So let's start off applauding Joseph Lee Stringer for his recognition that, indeed, the consumption of rotisserie chicken and wings should be followed by a good tooth brushing session. But, dude, if you are going to participate in the food smuggling trade, you have got to be willing to adjust your dinner menu. Hey, I like wings and mushy Wal-Mart rotisserie chicken as much as the next guy, but if it's going in your pants it needs packaging. That's just how it is, brother. Pilfer some of those frozen burritos or perhaps some tasty soup. Not only are they a better fit, but they won't ass up your sweat pants with stains and what not.

The $1,350 bond does seem a bit excessive, though. I can only hope at least a portion of that goes to the employee that had to restock the wings and rotisserie chicken in the deli section.

Thanks to heady Wal-Mart security, Joseph Lee Stringer never made it this far.

Crappy Tails

It’s been just over a week, and the D’Arcy family is still reeling from the events of the morning of Feb. 19th. On that fateful day, my wife and I headed out with our dog Charlie in tow. We were headed to an evaluation session with Happy Tails to get him approved so that we could go with him to senior centers and other places where less fortunate folks of all stripes could enjoy spending some time hanging out with a dog.

We knew Charlie would be perfect for this for a number of reasons. First, he loves interacting with people and is basically good to go as long as he is getting attention from people. In addition, we took him to an eight week training class last Spring which he passed with flying colors. Finally, Charlie is not what you would call an, uhhh, intimidating dog.

Charlie (center) striking fear in nearby dogs at the dog park

Granted, we did have a bit of concern as to how things might play out that morning given our initial impression of Happy Tails. We had already been to an orientation session. That session was the first, and easiest, of five steps required to join Happy Tails (bad sign number one). During the session, the representative was EXTREMELY serious about the rules and regulations of Happy Tails (bad sign number two). She described the pet/handler evaluation process and noted that "the evaluation starts the moment you knock on the door". Uhhh, okay. Take it easy, hon, we're here to sign up for a volunteer organization, not to try to crack into the Omega Theta Pi pledge class. Now don't get me wrong, I certainly appreciate the need for an evaluation process. As this dog owner in Portland can certainly attest, not all dogs are cut out for extensive human interaction...

ROSEBURG, Ore. — A diabetic Oregon man with no feeling in his feet woke up to find his dog had eaten part of his right foot, including three toes...

I just assumed she was exaggerating the whole thing to make sure interested parties didn't show up with Snots from Christmas Vacation. I was sadly mistaken.

The morning of the evaluation I saddled up to the computer to get driving directions. That's when I discovered that they we were headed to a place in Woodstock called Ironclad Obedience (bad sign number three). I did take Charlie for a quick walk around the block before we left to try to get rid of some of his nerves. Unfortunately, he was still super-charged when I knocked on the door to begin the fun. I was ushered to a sitting area to wait on the beginning of the official evaluation. It took me all of about 60 seconds sitting there to know that I was on the front end of a train wreck. Several of the dogs in our vicinity looked like their owners had popped them with a tranquilizer dart right before entering the Ironclad Obedience premises. Meanwhile, the collection of dogs and crotchety blue-haired ladies patrolling the room with clipboards had Charlie doing a combination of jogging in circles at my feet and barking at me.


This dart is apparently needed to get your pet into the Happy Tails inner circle.

Soon enough I was waved over to station number one. Yes, there was somewhere in the neighborhood of 10 stations we would have to navigate. The first lady checked his grooming. Good enough so far. But then we moved on to attempting to have Charlie stay laying down while I walked 20 yards away. I found this rather amusing, since they were adamant at several points in the process that I not let go of his leash at any time during the evaluation or during actual visits. So unless I'm keeping him on a 60 foot leash, why are we ever going to encounter this situation? Next was an intense review of me walking Charlie, which we also failed due to our leash not drooping into a proper J shape while we navigated the straightaway. Next, one of the bitter evaluators started at one end of a walkway with a dog while Charlie and I started at the other end. Charlie made the fateful mistake of crossing from my right to my left to check out the other dog's nose. Fail.

And on and on it went. I looked over at one point and saw roughly 10 "X"s on the fail side. I think there were two or three on the pass side, but I can't say for certain. The real bummer is that in every portion that actually mattered, he was a rock star. He happily licked the grill of a lady in a wheelchair, laid compliantly on the ground while four people simultaneously petted and grabbed him, and stayed by my side as evaluators dropped pans and books on the ground in front of us. But his fate was already sealed. Happy Tails was looking for comatose dogs, and Charlie didn't fit the bill. Finally I was instructed to wait outside the front door where all the fun began. I stepped out there just as a heartbroken lady was told to hit the road because her extremely well behaved dog had apparently not passed one of the 10-12 stations. For Charlie, it was not nearly so close of a call, and the woman who was dispatched to inform me of the results seemed to take some pleasure in chastising me and my dog. For her finishing move, she took the leash from me and proceeded to jerk Charlie's leash and collar to get his attention. She stared at him and bitterly stated "I have a Brittany Spaniel, so you can't fool me." Something in that lady's voice made me fairly certain that the Brittany Spaniel in question spends most of its time chained to a radiator.

A disappointed Charlie attempts to come to grips with rejection.