Friday, June 12, 2020

Heat Love

Where I grew up in Maryland, the summers can get hot. And it's not even just the temperature,but the humidity. The average temperature in July is usually close to 90 degrees and the humidity can be stifling.  On plenty of summer days, there would be warnings from the Weather Service about not going outside because of the combination of high temperature and humidity. 

For some reason, I have always loved the heat, and I mean very high heat and humidity, and I absolutely love to train in the heat. Cold temperatures are fine to train in, but I only do it to prove to myself that I am not a coward. It's definitely not as enjoyable for me as training in the heat.I don't see any reason for cold except for going hunting when the birds migrate at that time. Other than that, I'd rather it be hot, extra hot. 

When I trained for football in high school, I’d always run in the heat of the day, usually around 2 pm. I always felt that if I trained during that time, then the heat of practice would be nothing for me. Much of that running was done in the woods across the street from my house. There was some shade, but it was still smoking hot. And then I’d run down the hill to the house and turn on the hose and spray it all over my head and gulp some of the cold water. Or my Dad would squirt me with the hose if he was out watering the garden. It was probably a mile run, sometimes more, sometimes less.

When I got to college, I’d run twice a day, at 10 am and 2 pm in the offseason. I divided the days up: The morning was for cross country (again, never more than a mile. More like jog-sprint up a hill-jog), the evening for sprints. I had three different trails that I ran that had hills and straightaways and more hills. And then in the evening, I'd go to a football field and run sprints or I had a hill that I'd run that was way back in the woods that I affectionately named “Throw Up Hill” because most of the time when I ran it , I'd end up puking my guts out. What a hill! I guess it was like 60 yards, and it had some fallen limbs across the path and sand and lots of rocks. And at the bottom of it was this little brook that I'd leap over at the start and the finish. My own self made rule was that as soon as I leapt across the brook and turned around, I had to go right away. 

The football field sprints were usually 5, 10 yard sprints, 5, 20 yard sprints and 5, 40 yard sprints. I'd walk back and go right away. 

I remember running so much that my squat weights went down and I didn’t care. I figured that was part of it. I had to get ready for three- a -day practices.

 In later years, if my football players worried about not maxing as much weight before camp as they did in the spring, I explained the stress involved with the amount of running , especially in the last month before camp. These days, football players can stay strong all the way through the season. I had players gain weight during the season and get stronger the last few years that I coached. There are no two -a- days and practices are relatively easy compared to the old days. Lots of rules because of players dying and head trauma , which I get. But up until just a few years ago, if you were in camp and not in running shape , you were doomed. Of course strength is important, and as a strength coach, I loved the new rules! The players stayed strong and got less injured. And these kids are big, very big. There's a lot of beef banging into each other out there and you need to be strong as hell to survive. Plus everyone has the tv timeouts to rest. It's like BAM! Walk back to the huddle, rest, tv timeout, rest, BAM! Just a different game. Not worse or better , just different.

Back to the heat and training. When I was done with playing football in college, I still lifted, did some bodybuilding and powerlifting and stuff. At one point, I got really into Muay thai and Boxing and fell in love with the training (except jump rope. I hate jump rope. Jump rope is stupid) especially on a hot summer day. Try going a few rounds on the Thai pads in oppressive heat and you will learn a whole new level of fighting to survive. 

When I moved to New Jersey years ago, I found a killer hill that was a bitch to run in the heat, but my favorite work out to perform, and still is, is to go in my shed on a hot summer day and hit BOB, that rubber punching bag that looks like a man. It's hot as hell in there, especially with the door shut. Sometimes I'll do just 5 rounds of 30 seconds of punches with a 30 seconds rest, sometimes I will do 10, 1 minute rounds with a minute rest.Just throwing punches the whole time, different combinations. It's been 112 degrees in there and I don't care at all. It's so much fun, just dripping sweat and not being able to breath. You feel so damn alive, like you are a surviving son of a bitch. And you don't care if your neighbors hear you grunting when you are hitting the bag because you are picturing some face that you hate, taunting you, and hell, you are in another place in your head. You have blocked it all out, all of it. You have blocked out life and are totally present. 

I am not trying to be a tough guy by training in the heat. I should probably talk about taking in water and minerals and such.I know that's the right, the smart thing to do.  But I really don’t do that stuff. I just go over to the hose and drink a bunch of water.

I can see how cold would be trying to train in and I get the toughness factor about it. But give me a suffocatingly hot, humid day and I am a happy camper.

Friday, May 29, 2020

A Prick from the Past

The problem with this quarantine bullshit is that it’s given me way too much time to reflect on stuff in the past and when I do reflect, its usually about playing football or lifting or today, my high school football coach. And I remember every word, every slight, every compliment that a coach ever gave me. Coaches have a huge influence on their athletes, good or bad. Hell, it was 1982-1984, and it seems like yesterday. 

My high school football coach, Coach Voight, was a real prick. In fact, I don’t remember one person on my team who liked the guy. Just a nasty old fat dude who was some kind of athlete like 100 years ago who sat there during gym class or weight training class, sort of watching us, but usually just sitting there, being useless. He'd roll out the ball and tell us to play or he’d give us some fake ass lifting program, but he never lifted a weight in his life.  

As a football coach? During  games, he would walk out to the numbers and yell, “SAME PLAY” to our quarterback. Brilliant.

To say that I despised the man would be an understatement. 

After everyone’s senior football season, he would take all seniors and put them on one side of the weight  room, and they weren’t allowed to intermingle with the other players, so they wouldn’t “infect them” with….well, I’m not sure what the seniors could do to the younger guys except lift with them, advise them and push them. But the coach wasn’t into that at all. 

So, when he tried to do that to me, I rebelled, and I refused to lift weights at all in his weight room. I would go to my friend’s house after school to train. Mr. Voight got tired of me and he put me out in the hallway. I’d go to class, grab a chair out of the weight room and sit in the hallway. I’d do that every day. I’d be out there in the hallway, and my girlfriend would come visit me, my friends would come visit me. What a joke. Even as a 16-year-old, I knew more about lifting than that bitch.  

I think that he gave me a “B” in weight training during that time. I think about this guy every so often and I try to figure this asshole out. Like what was he thinking? Why was he such a prick? What made him tick? Sometimes I think too much. But it infuriates me that this guy had a chance to have such an influence on kids when they needed him the most and he fucking failed. He failed miserably. 

Where I grew up in Maryland was a blue collar place with a lot of tough guys who worked their ass off all week and then convened at the Golden Bull Bar or Phil’s Bar and Grill after work to drink Budweiser or National Bohemian and argue about the Baltimore Colt’s or Redskins chances for a good year. I had one little league coach,  Coach Miller, Marine badass, perhaps my favorite coach ever, who would line up beer bottles on a table at Phil’s Bar and Grill with one of my future junior college coaches and figure out plays and the defenses to stop them. They loved football. And drinking beer. In my area, football was for real men and baseball and pretty much everything else were titty pulling sports that you played when it wasn’t football season. 

I’d drive up with my Dad for little league practice when I was just a kid and the coaches of the team would be leaning against their pick-up trucks, smoking cigarettes and bullshitting.

 And the kids were tough. We’d play “maul ball” before practice where whoever has the ball gets slaughtered by everyone until he gives the ball to someone else to get slaughtered. 

It was a tough area. Not crime and stuff, there was never that very much at all. It was just tough dudes who took zero shit from anyone. 

One of my friends’ uncles played in the early 70’s for Mr. Voight and got in a fight with a local college football player and bit the guys ear off. Folks had a chip on their shoulder, they worked and worked, and no fancy college boy was going to leave a fight without remembering that he had gotten into a real fight.

So, this high school coach couldn’t handle these kids who came from tough backgrounds and their values were different, I guess. But all he had to do to harness these kids was to treat them with respect, understand them , talk to them, relate to them or at least try. You see, he could have been an asshole like he was if the players knew that he cared. He was in a great position to have a huge influence on all of us and he failed , he failed. Chance of a lifetime. And instead of everyone remembering  him as a MAN, we all remember him as a nobody. We knew he didn’t give a damn about any of us, I really don’t know what he gave a shit about.  And we would have won a state championship every year or come pretty damn close. You wouldn’t believe the athletes that came through this high school. We had huge kids, and nobody was huge back then and we had fast kids and we had kids who would give their left nut to just win some games and be great. 

I tell my son all the time when they say that they dislike this coach or that coach that I had some lousy coaches who we just ignored, and we knew they were lousy, and we just played for ourselves. If the coach sucks? Screw him, we will band together and do it in spite of him. See, nobody had any money back then, so there wasn’t all this, “ I don’t like the coach so I’m gonna transfer to this school or that school.” That was unheard of back then. Now it’s just the way it is  when it comes to athletics.

We made the best of it.  I guess that what pisses me off, still to this day, is how much influence this prick could have had on all these kids. Kids with broken homes, kids with dads who beat the shit out of them, kids with divorced families who were dying for a father figure. Damn, man. Don’t you see those kids with hope in their eyes?

So dammit, if you are a coach, that the players may not look like they are listening, but they are listening, I promise. They want you to be there for them , to understand them, or at least try to understand them.

You don’t want one of your athletes, 37 years later, writing a column about what a prick you were back then. 

Saturday, May 9, 2020


This shit has to end. 

This quarantine or whatever it is. 

It seems like it goes like this: The powers that be decide what is essential and what isn't essential. 

And the arrests? Seriously? A guy alone on a beach is arrested. 

Hey, here is the deal: If you want to live where you can have a little home, ,with a little garden, with a little family (the government will tell you how many kids you can have ) and go in your yard and walk around and panic when the police come by because you are wondering if you DID something, said something or WENT somewhere they didn’t like, go for it. 

That’s not AMERICA, it's China or Russia or wherever.

Seriously, why do we need the government, anyway? Our roads suck, it's like pothole heaven around where I live, the playground is closed, you cant do a damn thing.


 Our freedoms are dwindling away. Taxes? C’mon, man. Where does all that money go?  I want it itemized. If I am paying “Adam the alleged child trafficker Schiff's” salary, I want out. Do Nancy Pelosi and Biden get paid by ME and the American people? Why? What the hell do they DO? Lots of worthless folks, treasonous folks in our government. Especially, the Democrats, the party of slavery. Oh, yes, they were/are. It’s okay, there is a feeling in this country that Communism /Socialism is the way to go. If that happens, I’ll be in Idaho. So far out there….

What if everyone fended for themselves? And your neighbor realized that you are entitled to your space and then his neighbor realized the same thing and we lived happily ever after?  Is that a pipe dream? Maybe. But before all that could happen, the government will do whatever they can do to show that they are in control of your life. IN CONTROL. Oh my gosh, put your mask on, here comes the police! 

It seems to me like it’s a lot of:

The people aren’t smart enough to think for themselves

Congress-We make decisions on what’s best for us

Billionaires are now health experts. (Screw Mark Cuban, screw Bill Gates. Just because you have money, we should listen to you? And lebron whatever? Just play and take 3 steps and shut up.) 

 Of course, Epstein didn’t kill himself. 

Canada’s Prime Whatever is a hopeless pussy who thinks that the world is a kind place with wonderful little rainbows and unicorns all dancing around. Bet he is protected by the guns that he outlawed. Stand up for yourselves, CANADIANS! What the hell? Y'all just bend over and take it? I hope not.

Trudeau in black face

Church is bad, Walmart is good


Thursday, May 7, 2020


How about that coward Trudeau in Canada? Outlawing 1500 weapons with a pen held in his non calloused little hand? Another pussy in the world who needs to spend about 10 years chained to a power rack, squatting. And that's why we have the SECOND AMENDMENT. And you can like it or not, but why should the government be the only people with weapons? Ah, so you can be helpless against them and be ruled and have zero freedoms. Our freedom has already been compromised enough. And a motivated populous can't fight a government when that government has superior fire power? Of course they can.  Just ask the Vietcong if that works. 

Remember World Gym in California where they had the outside deck for training? That's what every gym needs. Training outside is so freaking cool, it gives you some type of visceral, primal feeling. It would be great to have a squat rack between some trees like Joe Kinney, the first guy to close the number 4 gripper. He built a bar and put some big old cement plates on there and got two trees and put some hooks on the trees and there ya go, a squat rack. Every time he passed the squat rack he would do a few squats.Before breakfast. I think it was like 335 pounds. He was a little guy, too, like 170 pounds. He was getting that tonnage in, wasn't he? Going to the shed to get out the lawnmower? Get some squats in. Going to the machine shop? Five reps of squats. Pay the toll, my man. I think it's great. 

I just like when someone's out there just getting it done. No gym? No problem, I have a couple of trees and a shop to make a bar and hell, what does a gym have that Joe Kinney doesn't have? He has what he needs. I have his grip DVD around here somewhere. He could explode beer cans with his bare hands. I seen it myself.  

Then he could go grab his buddy from down the mountain some and do stuff like this:

So you do a few squats as you are going back and forth to the shed or garage getting all the fishing stuff ready in the morning and then you have EARNED the right to have fun with your friend and go fishing and have some beers and build a big old fire and cook some steaks on a fire and eat them with your hands and feel satisfied that you had a great day.

All of it goes together, the lifting outside, the fishing, the fire, the camaraderie. It just appeals to me, that type of day. If you haven't done that in your life, do it. Even if it's with a kettlebell. Do 300 total swings, run up a hill or something and then shoot some skeet or hunt or fish and then build an amazing, roaring fire and toast the day. I remember when my son James was 8, we went on a fishing trip way out in the country in Maryland. I brought a 55 pound kettlebell and had to do 300 swings before we could fish every day. My son didn't "get it" at that age. He was always saying, "HURRY UP DAD! THE FISH ARE BITING!" 

But you have to earn it. I love that stuff.

Wednesday, April 15, 2020

Dog Days

I just walked in from watching my 8-year-old hit the punching bag in my shed. It's quarantine work, you know how it is. While he was punching, I was having a few Budweiser’s. I had already done my work out for today, I did bent over rows and rode the exercise bike early this morning. My Black Labrador, Rebel who is a year old,  joined us in the shed. 

I have to tell you something about Rebel. He loves beer, Budweiser in particular. Now, relax, he just licks the top of the beer can a little after I take a sip. The problem is, he loves beer. Listen, I train my dog. He heals without a leash, can sit on a whistle at 50 yards, listens to me almost all of the time, hangs on my every word. Except when it comes to beer. All good behavior goes out the window when the prospect of licking the top of a Budweiser is present. My son was hitting the bag and I was sitting on a compound bow target and having a few beers and Rebel was jumping around, licking me all over, circling me. Nudging me to take another sip so he can have his lick. He was going crazy. He does this all of the time.

But that’s okay, I can overlook it. Because I love my dog. 

I did not grow up with dogs, but I have had black Labradors since 1990. In fact, I can't imagine life without a black Labrador. I'm sure that other dogs are fine and all, little white fluffy dogs and long hot dog looking dogs and Huskies and Chihuahuas and I'm sure that yellow Labs and chocolate Labs are fine, too. I do have a soft spot for Malinois, after being around a Special Forces buddy who had one. Awesome dogs. But I am a black Lab guy and I reckon that I always will be.

Back to Rebel. This whole quarantine thing has made him into a mess. No, what has happened is that he has made my life a mess. 

He demands attention from me all of the time. Let me give some examples.

I end up sleeping on the couch in the living room every night, because my 8-year-old kicks me out of my own bed and he gives off so much heat and punches me in his sleep that I head to the couch in the living room. The problem is that Rebel’s kennel is in the living room. This means that daddy is here, and now he can demand something from me. And let me tell you, he would demand to eat or be taken outside, but I fool him. I purposely don't look at Rebel as I pass by at 1:30 in the morning. If I look at him, his tail would begin to wag, and he'd wake out of his slumber. But I'm smart, see. I ignore him. In fact, I cover my face with a pillow sometimes or put up a laundry basket to block his view of me while I sleep. I can FEEL his eyes on me while I am lying there. And around 530 am, whether I am blocking his view or not, he begins pacing in the kennel. I hear him and I open my eyes and I say to myself, self, he's not going to quit until you get up. And he doesn't whine, he just paces and then stops and looks at me. I can feel those brown eyes burning into my soul. So, I get up and let him outside. Then I get dressed and after I shake the cobwebs off of my brain, I go outside and retrieve with him. He's my hunting dog , so we have drills that we work on. At 530 in the morning, my enthusiasm for all of this is not quite there yet, so we get the drills done but what I'm really trying to do is make him tired. These dogs have unlimited energy. Then after ten minutes or so, we go in and I feed him. I put his food down and he sits until I tell him that it's ok to eat. Sometimes, he just stands about five feet away from me and looks at me. We have been doing this forever, I say, you have to sit to be fed. He looks at me like he doesn't get it. Mind you, we do this every meal. Then I say, SIT! And his butt hits the ground like it was his first time. Then I tell him OK and he rushes over and eats like a madman. 

I wash some dishes and wait for him to eat and then I actually make the mistake some days of trying to lie back down again, but NOOOO, Rebel wants to sit on the couch with me and be petted and to be told how wonderful he is. So, I get up and he lies across my lap and acts like I am the most important thing in the world. But he can’t help himself; he will jump off of my lap after about 10 minutes and grab a sock or a pen or a pillowcase or sometimes a whole blanket and start chewing on it, or sometimes just bring some of that stuff to me. Hunting Labs and most Labs have to have something in their mouths all of the time. I had a  45-pound barbell delivered to me the other day in a cardboard sleeve. He tried to pick it up and carry it around the yard. Yes, he did. He’s a retrieving fool. 

I realize that you are probably saying to yourself, Just how old is this guy? How can he let a dog run his life? 

Dammit! Rebel is looking at me right now.

I’m not taking him out again, I’m not taking him out again. 

And it continues throughout the day. I'll try to write and there he is, nudging my hand or he is in the kennel groaning. Yes, groaning. He knows that I hate whining, so he sort of does this groan/moan thing. And sometimes he gets the hiccups when he is staring a hole through me and I point at him and say, you have the hiccups! I like to make fun of him sometimes because he busts my chops so much. 

As the day continues, I take Rebel out and retrieve with him numerous times. I'm embarrassed to say , but it's like fifteen times a day. Yes, fifteen. He's nuts, I already told you that he's nuts. By 8 o'clock at night, he's pretty exhausted. Or is it that he exhausted me and now he is satisfied? Either way, I like watching him sleep and dream and bark in his sleep with his mouth closed and kick his little legs like he is running while he's dreaming. I get him back by telling him that he looks silly while he is dreaming. 

But I say it in my head, of course. I don't want him to wake up and make me do something else for him. 

It just occurred to me. Maybe I am the one who is trained. Damn.

Thursday, April 9, 2020

Old Man at the Pond

I drove down to Salem County, New Jersey the other day to take the family fishing. We drove by farms and desolate roads and empty strip malls, and it felt like there was a pall hanging over the land, like after something really bad happened or maybe it was thirty years ago when there weren't so many people living around there. 

I was looking for a place where nobody else was, a place where I didn’t have to be around other humans that may just be sick or hell, just folks in general. I have had enough of folks in general. It’s mostly like that for me. 

We found a state game land pond where we could fish. I fished for a while, but we ran out of line after I had to cut mine one too many times, so I worked on some boxing stuff with my 8-year-old and enjoyed being out in the country.

An old Chevrolet truck pulled up , and of course I was dreading it, somebody pulling up and me having to tell them to stay away. But I still waved, it’s what you do in the country and then I saw it was an older gentleman getting out. He pulled up, but he was still far away enough that he wasn't gonna get any of us sick if he had the dreaded virus that has paralyzed the world.

How’s it going?

Oh, it’s going ok. 

I asked him if he had fished here before and if there were any fish in the pond and what baits he usually used. My older son was fishing with a spinner bait and the old man offered him some minnows out of his bucket that he had on the bed of his truck. Ah, that’s ok, I said, thinking that my son would get sick if he went over there. And the old man said, look, I will open the bucket and stand over here away from you if you want some minnows. And my son got a minnow and said thank you and started fishing with it.

And I thought what a shame that it has come to this, where you can’t shake another man's hand or get a few minnows out of a bucket without worrying about catching the plague. 

And we kept talking. About dogs and training dogs and just how great dogs where to have in the family. He talked about when he was young and how he'd been in the Marines in the 1970's during  the Vietnam era but didn’t have to go over there, and how lucky he was that he didn’t. But he talked about his friends coming back from Vietnam and getting spit on and how messed up it all was back then, just a bunch of kids doing what they needed to do for their country and not understanding why folks hated them for doing what they were called to do.

He started talking about he and his wife just getting back from Mexico and not being able to find weed anywhere in Mexico but that he could find plenty when he and his wife went to Jamaica and that hell, he wasn't ashamed to admit that he smoked weed. And he told me that dammit, he couldn't find Miller High Life anywhere in any foreign place that he visited. 

He really liked beer, he said.

And he asked if I wanted a beer.

I said no because you may have the virus and then you’d  give it to me and then I'll be really sorry that I got everyone sick just over the fact that I had to have a beer.

But I really wanted one, because there is something about sharing a beer with a stranger , like breaking bread of sorts , and everyone sort of relaxes and starts talking about everything.

I didn’t get a beer from him.

But I searched around the back seat of the truck and found an old semi warm Budweiser and drank that while we talked some more.

He talked about his son being a county police officer in Maryland and how his daughter had all the smarts in the world but she had never really applied herself and now she had a job that she really didn’t like and he seemed disappointed about his daughter but plenty proud of his son , who just made Sergeant down in Maryland.

We agreed about the gun grabbers not understanding just what it was like to shoot and to have a tradition of the hunting and the outdoors and why New Jersey laws are straight out of some communist manifesto , and just why are the laws made by know-nothing politicians up north in Newark and Jersey City. Damn you, North Jersey.

After a while, I felt like it was time to go. I knew we were in his favorite fishing spot and we had been there long enough. It was his turn.

We wished each other luck with this whole thing, and I was not quite sure what the feeling was that I had inside of me as we pulled away and waved to the old man. 

Maybe I was feeling that things that I really loved to do, like talking to someone that I just met and telling stories over a beer or two or casting a line into a pond with a stranger would just always feel a little different to me. Like there would always be this hesitancy about getting too close to someone.

 I  guess that I was feeling closed in, and  I know that I was feeling a little lost and plenty sad. There was something foreboding about this day and there was something that just felt off. The ride home was pretty quiet, maybe my family was feeling it also. It was just different, just very different. 

Steel Reflections Podcast with Chuck Miller

Steel Reflections Podcast!

Friday, April 3, 2020

Brandon and the Bees

When I was coaching college football in NAIA Division I years ago during the late 80's and early 90's, and I was the strength coach, defensive line coach, practice and game field supervisor, and laundry technician (I washed the uniforms), there was no separate budget for anything. I never heard the word budget. I guess the head coach just bought some stuff when he wanted it, or if we needed something for the weight room, I guess that I  would beg for a new bar or some dum bells . But I didn't know any better, so I didn't worry about it. It never occurred to me that we should have a strength and conditioning budget.

So, when we wanted something for the players, we had to get imaginative.

I was massively into Muay Thai training for the football players, courtesy of the Dallas Cowboys and Randy White and their amazing strength coach, Dr. Bob Ward. Ward and White came out with a VHS tape called, "Creating Big Plays", that detailed their unique Muay Thai and hand fighting techniques. Problem was, we needed some Thai pads for our players. At that time in America, there were no Thai pads around. Muay Thai was new to this country, MMA wasn't around and the only Thai pads that I ever saw were on the video that Ward and White produced. We could kick the football shields, they were cool, but way too big.  I needed pads small enough for each hand and they needed to be big enough to kick, punch, knee and elbow.

Back then, I had a black Labrador named Dutch. There were a bunch of fields where I took him so that I could work on his retrieving drills for hunting. I rotated places. I had the Broad River when I wanted to take him swimming, I had the fire trails for some straight in the woods training and I had a big high school field with lots of room for all kinds of drills. 

I noticed one day when Dutch and I were at the big high school field working on retrieving that there was a bunch of old football hand shields sort of in a pile on the edge of a wooded area, and they were just the right size for Muay Thai! So, the next day when I went back to the office, I called the head coach at the high school to see if they still used these hand shields or if I could have them to use.  He said, "Sure, Coach, you can have them, but I gotta warn you, there's a bunch of bees back there." 

I was like, "Oh great!" And then I called a few of my defensive linemen. I think it was Brandon and Brewer, both defensive tackles. Told them we had a mission, and we had to get this done. Back then, you could go pick up your players in your truck, hang out with them, get to know them. They were my friends. Yeah, shit has changed. So, I loaded up two of my players and we headed to the field. I explained the situation. I think, looking back, that Brandon volunteered for the job to go in, get the pads and beat the bees out of there. He'd volunteer for anything. He was one tough son of a gun, hunted wild boar with a knife. In fact, he once presented me with a VHS copy of one of his hunts in slow motion where he jumps in there and takes care of the boar. "Country Boy" from Hank Jr. was played over top of it. Badass.

So, he goes into the woods and he grabs the shields and I'm like, "Do you have them? YES! C'MON!" And he's like, "There ain't no bees, Coach!"

And then he goes, "OH SHIT!" and he starts running really fast. I mean, real fast. Herschel Walker would've been like- who is that guy who just ran past me?-Brandon was yelling, BEEEEEEEES!!! and I started running and laughing and he was running and laughing, and he only got stung a few times. He didn’t even complain about it. And we were so excited to get those pads and then he handed them to me (as I was rolling up the window as fast as I could just in case some bees were coming) and the pads looked great on the outside , but they were all rotten on the inside. 

We counted it as mission accomplished, with light injuries. It was worth it because of the mission. And seeing Brandon run so damn fast.

It would be years before I could get a real set of Thai pads.

Sunday, March 22, 2020


So this virus is no fun, is it?

Makes you feel a little vulnerable, doesn't it?

Makes you ask yourself just what the hell is going on, doesn't it?

Makes you ask yourself, am I ready if something really does happen where I need to SURVIVE?

I saw that background checks for guns are up 300% recently.  I wonder how many of those folks trying to buy guns are the same people that agree with all of the bullshit laws that the Bloomberg/Biden/Killary faction are trying to pass to further limit our constitutional rights? I bet there's a bunch of them. You see, that's what gun owners have been trying to tell you pukes all along: It's about protecting yourself and your family. But thats okay, keep listening to the politicians that think that you can't be trusted with guns but they can be protected by them 24 hours a day.  Don't you see that's wrong? Hypocrites and losers. They can't hunt or fish or shoot a gun or fight because they never had to. Bring those cowards out on the streets or in the woods and let them fend for themselves. Bet they ain't waiting in line for groceries. I wish Biden would call me or my friends (or even my 8 year old) out to fight like he did to the worker the other day. My 8 year old would whip his punk ass. I guess that all of this makes me pretty frustrated because I see it as a common sense thing and it irks me that people don't have common sense. 

Reminds me of a columnist from the Washington Post years ago, Carl Rowan, who was all about gun control this and gun control that but ended up shooting a teenager that trespassed into his yard illegally with a gun that he received from his son, an FBI agent.  It was okay for him, but dammit, not for you, you lowly peasant! His defense? This is what he said:

"I am for gun control," Rowan said, "but I am not for unilateral gun control, in which I leave my family naked to the druggies and the crooks out there."

NO SHIT!?!?!!

Reminds me of all the politicians who agreed with forced busing in the 1970's but then sent their kids to private schools. Not so fast, you regular, common person! Pass me the Grey Poupon!

The good thing is that now with all of the cameras on phones and social media is that these hypocrites are being exposed more than ever. Politicians  wanna tell us about morals and how to live but they get their kids jobs using influence and dump stocks using insider info and make millions while regular people lose everything.

But it's fine. I'll stick with my kind and they can stick with theirs. Keep trusting the folks who want to rule your lives and who say that they have your best interests at heart all the while denying you your rights as a human as they stay above it all, getting richer, protected by men with guns, making up laws that benefit them and hurt you. Keep taking it and taking it until all of everything that you have is gone. It'll happen. Stay tuned.

All About Being a Lifer

What's a Lifer? Someone who isn't in to something for just a day, a month, a's for life. Whether its training or your family or your doesn't matter. You work at it, you build on it, you see the big picture . You don't miss workouts because it means something to you. You are like a Shakespearean actor- no matter what is going on in your life, you block it out when it's time to train. You walk into the weight room and all else disappears. Worry about it later.