SIDE-BY-SIDE FOR A SPECIAL HONOR

Shortly after informing me I was going to be honored by the New Canaan Old-Timers
association, historian Terry Dinan started waxing poetic on what a great event it
was going to be.

"We are going to have a big crowd, continental breakfast, a luncheon...." he said.
It all sounded great, but I was hoping to hear something else. "And Paul, it's going to
be an awesome time." No that wasn't it.

"That's great, Terry," I said. As I finished that sentence, I realized it wasn't going
to be all that great because I didn't hear what I was hoping for. As I was about to
say good-bye, Terry interjected with excitement in his voice. "And Paul, you're sister,
Kara, is going in with the you."

Strike up the band and pop the champagne! Those 11 words were the sweetest
ones I've heard in a long time. They brought a mile-wide grin to my face as a shot
of adrenaline rushed through my entire body. My sister, Kara, a 3-time All-American
swimmer at New Canaan High School would be joining me on Sunday, September
18 for a celebration I can promise you I will never forget.

To be able to share a day, the stage, and a wonderful honor with my sister is so
special, not to mention really cool. I knew we were going to be on this list of New
Canaan athletes, but to be on it as "Kara and Paul Devlin", is one of the highlights
of my life.

Let's face it. I'm on the back nine of life. Honors and awards at the age of 52 are
few and far between. Unless, I beat Mick Jagger's record for having a kid past the
age of 73, there probably won't be any more honors coming my way.

And that's ok, because this is just awesome.

I realize it's not like we are going into  Cooperstown together, but it's a great honor
and something both of us are extremely happy about it. Devlin & Devlin. That's
pretty damn cool

Kara is one of my heroes. In the pool, she was as fierce a competitor as I've ever
come across in sports. I used to joke with my friends that Kara was so tough, she
eats nails for breakfast. She was driven and had the heart the size of Texas. As a
16-year-old  sophomore, Kara posted a time in the 200-meter butterfly that earned
her a world  ranking of 16th. No, not in town, county, state, or even the country, but
the entire friggin' world. I was so proud of that.

I'm not sure Kara was, though. She was so humble and never talked about her
many impressive accomplishments. Being boastful wasn't part of her DNA.
Chuck Warner, her longtime swim coach, was quoted in a local paper saying,
"Kara is like a country club swimmer. She dives in the water. Beats the hell out of
everybody. And then just goes home."

In this country, swimmers really only get appreciated once every four years with
the Olympics. I appreciated, admired, and respected my sister every single day after
seeing how dedicated and committed she was. She'd rise at 4:45 every morning,
eat breakfast, and then get driven by our mother 30 minutes away to swim practice.

She'd pound out a 5,000 meter workout in the morning, eat a snack on the way to
school, then do it again after the final bell sounded. I'd pick her up after  evening
practice and seemed never seemed to be exhausted and never complained about
being tired. That was my kid sister.

After earning two consecutive Connecticut swimmer of the year honors, Kara was
recruited by nearly every major swimming program in the country. I was at the
University of North Carolina playing baseball when she came down on a recruiting
trip with the Tar Heels. Selfishly, I wanted my kid sister to join me in Chapel Hill.

That would've been an awesome experience. However, my parents and I wanted
it to be her decision. It was her life, her career. We wanted her to do what she
wanted to do and not be influenced by us.

Kara chose to go to the University of Florida, which at the time, was the top-ranked
program in the country. She wanted to be pushed hard by the coaches to see how just
how great she could be. Part of me was upset that we couldn't support and be there
for each other in Chapel Hill, but that's just life, I guess. I was happy she made
the choice on her own and was following her dream.

Kara earned All-America honors at Florida during her freshman year before
transferring to USC where she duplicated the feat. That was a great accomplishment.

I'm even more proud of my sister for the person she became after her swimming
career ended. Kara is a wonderful mother to four great children and a wonderful wife
to her husband, Chad. She is so loving, giving, and unselfish. Blessed with our late
father's sense of humor and our mother's heart of gold, Kara has always been a
magnet, drawing people to her in a very special way.

Even though we live about as far about as you possibly can in the United States (Kara
in Santa Barbara, CA., brother Paul in Norwalk, CT.) she has been a rock for me and
one my biggest supporters. She was always there for me during some times in life
and, of course. when I attempted to become an Ironman. Kara was always sending
me articles and videos for  motivation, while getting me on a diet and training plan
so I'd be at my the best for the grueling 140.6 mile race.

A day didn't go by where I didn't have an email from her on my computer. There
would always be some words of encouragement, a motivational speech, or a "get-
your-ass-pumped-for the race" music video.

That is Kara. So thoughtful, so inspirational, and really so wonderful.  I have been lucky
to experience a lot of great things in my athletic career. I had the chance to represent my
country on a baseball tour of Taiwan. I got to fulfill my dream of signing a professional
contract. And, oh yeah, there was that "Bull Durham" thing.

However, my greatest honor comes Sunday when my great sister, Kara , and I will
be honored together in New Canaan.  That is going to be special---really, really special.

WHY KAEPERNICK'S PROTEST IS A GOOD THING

Someone on Facebook responded to a post I made concerning Colin Kaepernick and
his decision to sit during the national anthem before NFL games with the San Francisco 49ers:

"When it's all said and done, Kaepernick's protest will accomplish nothing."

My response was simple: It already has.

The veteran quarterback ignited a firestorm that mushroomed into a towering inferno,
causing heated debates about the American flag, national anthem, patriotism, oppression,
freedom, racism, and law enforcement.

And you know what? That's a damn good thing for a lot of different reasons.

Oh, sure, when news first broke of Kaepernick dissing the national anthem, America
did what it does best: it went bat shit-crazy, overreacting, and talking stupid. That
can happen when the knee-jerk reaction is strong enough to split the uprights with
a football from 95 yards away.

My goodness. Some people act like Kaepernick committed mass murder, jeopardized
national security, or bilked the country out of its lifetime savings.

Many people wondered how Kaepernick can cry about oppression when he lives
in a country that's afforded him the opportunity to make 19 million dollars a year
slinging a football around. I believe they got that part wrong because Kaepernick
made it clear he is standing up for others who are being oppressed, not him.

Kaepernick was blistered for disrespecting every person who fought for this
country and protecting our freedom, which actually gives everybody the right to
protest and criticize those who do.

Stan VanDriver, a 12-year Navy veteran, told USA Today, "I and other veterans
fought so he could have his freedom of speech rights, so that all Americans can
have the right to free speech, the right to protest."

This from a person that actually fought for the country, the flag, for you and me.
Do you respect his opinion?

All of these issues needed be talked about and discussed. And everyone's
talking about them from legends and social activists Jim Brown and Kareem
Abdul-Jabbar to military veterans, law enforcement officials, and just about
every athlete in the sports world has weighed in on the subject, as well.

And that is truly a great thing.

Many people think Kaepernick snubbed his nose at the American flag, national
anthem, and patriotism when he chose to stay on the bench while everyone else
saluted them. Kareem Abdul-Jabbar said the protest was actually very patriotic.
People have different views on it, which again, is their right.

The outrage touched off by Kaepernick has actually shed more light on what
many African-Americans have had to endure in their lives and that flag and song,
no matter how beautiful and sacred it is to most, represents something completely
different to others, including Jackie Robinson, who faced more obstacles than
any athlete in the history of sports.

In his autobiography, Robinson wrote:

"I cannot stand and sing the anthem. I cannot salute the flag; I know that I am
a black man in a white world."

Whoa! I had never heard that before. That's from the immortal Jackie Robinson and
a history lesson right there. So, if you hate Colin Kaepernick then you must also hate
Jackie Robinson, right? I don't think many are willing to crush the legacy of 42, that's
for sure.

If you despise Kaepernick, then shouldn't you also despise the late Muhammad Ali
for refusing to fight for the country after being drafted? Just about everybody admired
Ali for "taking a stand", albeit years after Ali became a true legend. So, why are we
vilifying Kaepernick for what he did?

I am quite certain that for all their love Americans have for the national anthem, flag,
and country, most do not know all the lyrics to the song or understand what the 13 stripes
on Old Glory represent.

After Kaeperick's protest, I am thinking most Americans will become more attentive
when the national anthem is being played and that flag is unfurled. They will make
damn sure they know all the words and become better educated on what every stripe,
star, and color of the flag represents. Going to the bathroom  while the Star
Spangled Banner plays at a sporting event will no longer be considered.

On Memorial Day weekend next year, perhaps, people will stick around for a
parade and honor those who made the ultimate sacrifice, even thanking a veteran
for their service, instead of bolting to the Hamptons for a barbeque.

And that would be a great thing.

Some people had a problem with the method by which Kaepernick tried to send
his message. But what was he supposed to do to get everybody's attention? Tweet
something out? Post it on Facebook? Give me a break. He went big and bold and
got the world talking.

Perhaps, with Kaepernick's protest and the debates that follow, we will get a better
idea of what comes with all the rights the founding fathers crafted and every
member of the military fought so hard to maintain. And what true freedom actually
means.

Freedom of speech is a powerful thing. So is the freedom to protest. I have the right
to put my thoughts down in a blog, you have the right to bash them. Whatever the
case, we have been given the right to do both.

Kaepernick may have cost himself friends, a fistful of dollars, and eventually, a
football career, but he may have done something positive that most of us may not
understand for quite a while.

He has forced us to think, debate, and perhaps, even sympathize. It may have
come at a great cost, but I believe this country really needed it.

JULES ALEXANDER AND HIS GREATEST GIFT

Jules Alexander's career was defined by the iconic photographs he took of golf
legend, Ben Hogan. They helped him become a bit of a rock star in the golf industry
where he cultivated friendships with Jack Nicklaus, Arnold Palmer, Gary Player, and
even Hogan himself.

While his photographs of Hogan earned him a name in the sport, it was Alexander's
generosity with his wonderful gift that revealed a large part of his character. The
Bronx native, who died on August 19, was Santa Claus with a camera, showering
his friends with family photographs capturing moments that were both magical and
unforgettable.

Alexander never asked for a thing in a return, nor would he charge his friends for
photographs. And he and his family had many friends--more than you could possibly
know or even count. If you were lucky enough to have caught the keen and creative
eye of Alexander, then you probably received something that could only be categorized
as "priceless."

I was luckier than most.

I grew up as a childhood friend to Alexander's sons, Paul and Carl. We did everything
together, playing Little League, Pee Wee football, golf, and just about anything else
little kids did back then. Our families became best friends and Jules was always there
to capture moments the Devlin's will never forget.

I am so grateful to have known Jules.

Jules Alexander documented a big part of my life with his signature photographs,
always rich in black and white, capturing the raw emotion in a way that only Jules
could. I have posted many of those photographs on Facebook for all to see and I often
get comments like, "Wow, it must've been nice to have your parents pay for a
photographer to be at all your games."

My parents never paid anyone to take pictures of me playing a game. Ever. Jules
did it because he loved doing it and was so good at it, none of us ever knew he was at
the games taking photographs. Jules Alexander was just that good.

In the fall of 2002, I was home from Atlanta visiting my father, who started to have
some health issues. We were playing a round of golf with Jules like we did so many
times over the years. When we got to the 12th hole at Westchester County Club,
Jules took out his camera and said, "I have the perfect shot that I want to take."

There was another foursome finishing the previous hole and there wasn't exactly
enough time to do a full-fledged photo shoot. Jules didn't need it because he had
picture the shot in his mind long before we arrived at the tee box.

That was the greatness of Jules as a photographer.

When he presented the photograph to us several months later, we were speechless,
breathless, and forever grateful. It was amazing.

No one could possibly have captured the love between and a father and son like
Jules. The picture is worth far more than 1,000 words and one I will cherish forever.

When I attended the 90th birthday party of Jules in early June, I shared a moment
with him in his studio which was lined with some of the most beautiful photographs
man has ever laid eyes on.

I said to Jules, "That photograph you took of my Dad and I is the greatest gift that
I've ever received."  That wasn't hyperbole, but fact. No material thing or amount of
money is worth more to me than that photo of my father and I. It captured the total
essence of the relationship and friendship I had with my father, perfectly. 

Jules Alexander died less than two months later. I am so glad I got the chance to
tell him that how much that photograph meant to me. It is truly special.

That was the beauty and greatness of Jules Alexander. Nobody could do with a
camera what he did. Nobody. And he shared his wonderful gift with all his friends,
never charging a cent for photographs that were so special.

JULES ALEXANDER AND A LIFE WELL-LIVED

Jules Alexander passed away peacefully Friday morning August 19, 2016.

It marked the end of an truly incredible life that was rich with an amazing family, 
countless friends, and almost universal love and respect.

Simply put, Jules Alexander lived a life well-lived. One with few regrets, incredible
times, and a legacy fortified by the keen eye of a photographer who captured moments
that became indelible ones in the lives of so many, including my own.

Alexander had a personality as unique as his first name. He was thoughtful, measured,
loyal, honorable, and blessed with a gift for not only taking pictures, but telling stories
in a way that not only made people laugh, but left them feeling better about themselves.

The Bronx native photographed everyone from John F. Kennedy to Muhammad Ali.
In between there was Frank Sinatra,  Christie Brinkley, and a young Mike Tyson.
However, it was his spectacular pictures of golf legend Ben Hogan that helped
Alexander gain fame within both the photography and golf industries.

In 1959, Alexander, made the short journey to the Winged Foot Golf Club to
photograph  Hogan. Alexander was fascinated with just about everything the legendary
golfer did.

He studied his swing, how Hogan stood, the way he dressed, and even the way he
took a drag off his cigarette. Alexander would build a collection of Hogan photos
like the tradition of the Masters: unlike any other.

It was pure gold and nearly every golfer on the PGA Tour would flock to
Alexander's home which sat at the end of the driving range of the Westchester
Country Club. They wanted to see the perfect pictures of the golf legend who
possessed a near perfect swing.

He became friends with Nicklaus, Palmer, Trevino, Player, Mickelson, and
just about every other big name in the game of golf. But Alexander's named carried
a lot of weight, as well. Say the name, "Jules" and everyone in the industry
knew who you were talking about.

Alexander's first name was Jules, but to nearly everyone at his home course
at the Westchester Country Club, he was the "Hawk", which was the nickname
of his hero, Ben Hogan. When he played, Alexander dressed a lot like Hogan,
right down to the white hat Hogan used to wear.

Jules played the game with style, a little flair, and the laser-like focus of Hogan.
He loved the game dearly, had fun with it, and was damn good, always
carrying a handicap in the single digits. And anybody who played a round with
Jules was always a little disappointed that it had to end after 18 holes.

Alexander also got paid to travel the world to shoot amazing holes on the
best golf courses ever built. They would be turned into spectacular calendars that
always seemed to show up in the hands of all of his friends.

His best friends in life were his wife, Danna, a former model, who could deftly
handle Jules and his big personality like no one else. She is brilliant, kind, and
magnificent. She was the perfect partner for Jules during their more than 50 years
of marriage.

Then there is Paul and Carl, the sons who made golf into careers as professionals,
presiding over two of the most prestigious country clubs in New York, located
within a Bubba Watson drive of where they grew up.

Jules, Paul, and Carl were as close as any father and sons could possibly be. The
kids worshipped Jules, who got to see, play with, and photograph them as they
grew into spectacular golfers known by just about everyone in the industry along
the Eastern seaboard.

I was best friends with Paul and Carl growing up. We spent countless days playing
baseball, golf, and just about everything else kids did to pass the time. Jules was
seemingly always there with camera in hand. From Little League, Pop Warner
football, to the golf course, Jules took incredible pictures and gave them to
the family, never asking for, or expecting anything in return.

In June, many of Jules' good friends gathered at his home to celebrate his 90th
birthday. There were great pictures, even better stories, and that laugh from Jules
that we all loved and could never forget.

Sadly, it turned out to be a good-bye for many people, the last time they would
see or talk to Jules. I have known Jules since I was 7-years-old. He was family
and a big part of my life as well as the rest of the Devlin clan.

Jules took his last breath Friday morning, putting the period on the story of an
incredible life well-lived.

I will miss Jules. Countless other people will, too. There was nobody like him. Nobody.

Rest in peace, Jules, everybody loved you.

PAUL DEVLIN IRONMAN LAKE PLACID 2016

July 24, 2016

Lake Placid, New York

Completed 3rd Ironman

13:01:13

Never quit. Never give up

MIND GAMES OF AN IRONMAN

From the 4:30 a.m. wake-call through the finish line more than half-a-day later,
there are many things that go through an athlete's mind during a grueling 140.6 mile
race. This event requires a swim of 2.4 miles, a 112-mile bike, and a marathon run
to top it off. I completed this type of race for the third straight year on July 24 and,
yes, a million different things circulated  my cranium in the 13 hours it took me to
finish this endurance race in Lake Placid.

Here are a few of them:

"Wait a minute, I paid $725 to punish myself for more than 12 hours and 140.6 miles
on  a hot day in the Adirondack mountains?! They should re-name this event, Stupidman,
rather than the Ironman."

"Um, maybe, I should've done more bricks."

"I wonder what kind of food they are going to have at the post-race spread."

"This lake is a half-a-mile wide! Why the hell does every swimmer act like they
have to swim through a door that's three feet wide and 2.4 miles long?"

"Why am I doing this race again?"

"You mean I have to run 600 yards from the end of the swim to the bike transition
half-naked with hundreds of people within arms length of me?! Good, grief."

"Why the hell do I want to try to endure so much pain?"

"Dude, you paid $1,000 for that aerodynamic helmet that's going to knock
two minutes off your time? What a great deal!"

"Please, God. Let me get through the race without popping a tire."

"What's more painful to all these people. Trying to finish this race or being
off their cell phones for more than 12 hours?

Oh, sh&t! Did I park my car in a tow-zone?!

"PR? Seriously, does it really matter? You could tell your family, co-workers,
and fellow church-goers you took 23 hours to complete the course and they'd still
say, "Wow, that's amazing!"

"Don't they have anything other than gels, goos, Cliff Bars, and two-inch cuts of
 bananas that have been sitting in a cardboard box for five hours? I want a steak.
Is that too much to ask for? I want a big fat steak and I'd like it medium rare."

"I'm 52-years-old and have already completed this twice already. This makes no
sense."

"Why didn't I just enter a Wednesday night bowling league? Now, that's what you call
fun. And it's far less expensive and painful.

"My ass is going to hate me after this ride."

"Who invented this damn race anyway?"

"That kid who just risked his life crossing the street in front a pack of riders must
have been playing Pokémon Go. I don't get it. Idiot."

"I've been on this bike for six hours, had 47 Gatorades, 25 gels, and energy shots
and still can't take a pee. What's up with that?

"Please don't pop a tire. Please don't pop a tire. Anything but a flat tire."

"I wonder what normal-thinking people are doing right about now."

"I'm NEVER doing this race again!"

"That's right junior. I'm 30 years older than you. Don't let me beat you now."

"Damn. That lady is 20 years older than me and she's kickin' my ass."

"Whew. That was awesome. I think I'll do it again next year."

TAPPEN ZEE BRIDGE DRIVE-BY

Over the last year and a half, I have been in one of the 130,000 vehicles that cross the

Tappen Zee Bridge in New York nearly every day. I was familiar with the bridge having
grown up in Rye, which is about 12 miles away. It became a small part of my life
recently as I used it to get to work in Rockland County.

But there's not just one Tappen Zee Bridge anymore. There is almost two. State officials
made the decision in 2010 to build a new one after studies showed the original one had
enough wear and tear that might lead to a major catastrophe.

Watching the construction process over the last 16 months has been a jaw-dropping
experience. Seriously, how many times in our lifetime do we get to see a major bridge
rise up right before our very eyes.

I have been so fascinated by the process, I've documented the process nearly every time
I pass over the bridge. Yeah, I know. Taking out the cell phone on a scary ass ride over
a bridge and attempting to take pictures is pretty downright stupid, but the building of a
bridge this size is an engineering marvel that has gripped me.

To see the size of the cranes, cement structures, and metal for the spans that will be
used is absolutely incredibly. I drive on the bridge and look at these workers
high in the sky and they appear to be as tiny as mosquitoes, seemingly tip-toeing
up and down stairs to get to their next project.

The project is both spectacular and as we found out on Tuesday, downright precarious.
A crane toppled down on the bridge, coming apart like a leggo set smashing the ground.
Amazingly, only three motorists were injured and none of the injuries were considered
life-threatening.

As with any project this mammoth, there are consequences. There is collateral damage.
In May, a tug boat rammed into a pillar of the bridge just before sunrise, leaving three
crewmen dead. Today, it was the crane accident. Completion of the $6 billion project
is expected to be finished sometime in 2017, but in New York, nothing is ever completed
on time.

Rest assured, there will be a few more mishaps. I know it sounds morbid, negative, and
dark, but when a three-mile bridge is being built with tons of concrete and steel. Bad
things sometime happen. They just do.

Every time I cross the old bridge which opened in 1955 and was designed to last only
50 years, I am astounded by the engineering that goes into the construction of a new one.
I am amazed at just how precise engineers have to be in planting and stabilizing structures
deep into the Hudson River.  There are no do-overs, mulligans, or room for any type
of error. The slightest misstep or miscalculation results in a near-catastrophe like Tuesday's
crane collapse.

I marvel at the exact science of a project like this. Every bolt, every piece of steel, metal,
and aluminum have to be perfectly placed the first time. The precision that goes into
making eight-lanes over a three-mile span is just mind-boggling to me.

Like most everything else we do on a daily basis, most of us take going over a bridge
for granted. I'll never take going over a bridge for granted, that's for sure. In 1983, I
was over in Taiwan and heard on the news that a section of the Mianus Bridge in
Greenwich, CT. fell into the water. I was shocked more than half-a-world away.

When I saw the crane go down on the Tappen Zee Bridge Tuesday afternoon. I was
stunned. Timing is everything in life. I'm just thankful I wasn't on that bridge during
that time of day.

Bridges are amazing. The construction of them are truly an engineering marvel.

MR. MOSLEY: GREAT MAN AND GREAT AMERICAN

Mr. Mosley. Social Studies. Room 221. 8am.

Those were the first words I scanned over as I picked up my schedule for the first
day of classes at New Canaan High School in 1979. I was one of the "new kids" to
arrive on-campus that fall. I loved change, challenges, meeting  new people, and
experienced all of them after our family moved into town from Lake Forest, Illinois
earlier that summer.

Mr. Mosley was the first teacher I met at New Canaan High School. He seemed to be
a New Englander through and through. A bit stand off-ish, weary of outsiders, and a
confidence that bordered on arrogance. That was my take as a self-assured sophomore,
an "outsider" trying to find his way in a new town and new high school.

His classroom was meticulous just as he was, and there was no mistaking as to who
was in charge of it. Mosley commanded respect and always got it. As a person who
served the country at 18-years-old, fighting in the Korean War, there was no way Mosley
would've stood for today's dress code and obsession with cell phones, Twitter, and Facebook.

He was the type of guy who would've held out a cardboard box as his students entered
the  classroom, demanding they place their cell phones in it until class was over. Mosley
was a no nonsense guy and when it came to teaching, he was all business.

Mr. Mosley and I hit it off from day one. He was also a referee in football, not surprising,
given his attention to detail and rules. Mosley did everything by the book. As the
quarterback on JV football team, Mosley and I would trade stories about my games
and the ones he officiated over the weekends.

Mosley was much more than a teacher and football referee. He was a legendary coach,
overseeing the track and field teams for more than 30 years. He guided the Rams to nine
FCIAC titles and four state championships. Mosley took his rightful place in the NCHS
hall of fame in 2012.

With his build and military background, he seemed more suited for blowing his whistle
and barking out orders to football players than cross-country runners, but that is where
he made his name and became a New Canaan legend. There is a spot in Waveny Park
where track and field meets are still held today. It's called "Mosley's Hill", a tough
stretch of land that challenges runners and demands their respect---just like Mosley.

Mosley was a tough man, but very fair. And behind a tough exterior was a man with
a giant heart. He cared for his students, his athletes, his school,  his family, and loved
our country. Oh, some people say all the right things about the good 'ole U.S. of A, but
Mosley fought for it and took great pride in it.

Bob Mosley was genuine. He was real. And he was a great American.

On Sunday, July 10, Mosley died peacefully in Danbury. He was 81-years old.
Everybody who met Bob Mosley didn't always love Bob Mosley, but they sure as
hell respected him.

He was a great man and he will be missed.

RIP Bob Mosley.

GORDIE HOWE: MR. HOCKEY AND GREATEST OF ALL-TIME

On a day when the world honored and said good-bye to Muhammad Ali, arguably the
greatest athlete of all-time, another legend, who like Ali, transcended his sport and
seemed much bigger than life, passed away.

Gordie Howe, known throughout the sport as "Mr. Hockey", died at the age of 88. Howe
played a quarter-century for the Detroit Red Wings, putting his name on four Stanley Cups,
six Hart trophies and six Art Ross trophies. He was an NHL All-Star 23 times.

Wayne Gretzky came along and broke all of his records and earned the nickname,
"The Great One," but it's Howe who is still considered by many to be the greatest hockey
player ever.

Howe was more than a scorer, netting 801 goals in his career. He was quite possibly the
toughest man in NHL history. Nobody messed with Gordie Howe. He didn't need an
enforcer like Gretzky had in Marty McSorely in Edmonton and Los Angeles.

Howe was "old-school" long before the phrase became fashionable. If you have an
old dictionary and needed to learn the definition of it, chances are Gordie Howe's
picture would be under it.

Howe took  matters into his own hands, racking up more than 1,400 penalty minutes
which weren't accumulated with the help of tripping and elbowing infractions. Howe
fought and he fought often.

Over the last decade of his life, Howe fought just as hard as he did on the ice. He overcame
two debilitating strokes, ones that would've ended the lives of a normal person.

Howe wasn't normal. He was freakishly strong and had an iron will. Few were surprised
that Howe battled back from the strokes, after all, the guy played almost 30 years of
professional hockey before retiring at the age of 52.

Like Ali,, Howe touched and effected the lives of so many people. He may have been
a tough SOB on the ice, but once he took off the skates, Howe was the nicest and most
humble of human beings. He was a true gentleman.

I didn't see Howe play much with the Detroit Red Wings but I had his hockey cards
and knew of his greatness. I'll never forget him playing with his sons, Mark and Marty,
for the Houston Aeroes of the WHA.

I'll never forget what a Gordie Howe hat trick is: a goal, an assist, and a fight.

I'll never forget Gordie Howie and what he meant to hockey and those around him.

Like Ali, Gordie Howe is the greatest and will never be forgotten.

TONY GWYNN, ICHIRO, AND THE LEGEND OF COLON

The family of Tony Gwynn filed a wrongful death lawsuit against the tobacco industry
Monday. The Hall of Famer died in 2014 at the age of 54 because of salivary gland cancer
which was most likely caused by Gwynn's 31 years of dipping smokeless tobacco.

Every day for 31 years he put poison in his mouth.

Gwynn knew the dangers of tobacco. Knew it could cause cancer. Knew it could kill him.
It did. Now his family wants someone pay for his death.

I respected Gwynn as a player and person. He was a good guy and "Mr. Padre". But I'm
not a fan of his family going for the money grab.

Bartolo Colon of the New York Mets turned 43 years old Tuesday, one day after shutting
down the Washington Nationals on one run over seven innings. Colon has become a cult
hero around baseball, especially after hitting his first career home run in early May against
the San Diego Padres. 

Colon has 222 career wins, which is more than Hall of Famer Pedro Martinez. The big fella
was busted for PED use a few years ago when he was with the Oakland A's, but people
seem to have given him a pass because he is far more likable than say a Roger Clemens or
Barry Bonds who never failed a test but have always been under the jet black cloud of
suspicion since the Steroid Era.

I guess it all depends on who you are.

Ichiro has been seemingly lost in the large shadow cast by Colon, the oldest player in
baseball. However, the Japanese superstar who is 42-year-old and just five months younger
than Colon, is starting to make people take notice. Ichiro had four hits for the Marlins
Monday night, raising his average to .417 for the season.

Ichiro is now just 40 hits shy of reaching 3,000 in his MLB career. Ichiro, unlike Colon,
is a fitness fanatic who keeps himself in terrific shape and it's paying off.

MY DAD'S BEST FRIEND, JACK GRAHAM

May 17, 2016.

Today marks the eighth anniversary of my father's death. Anyone who has lost a parent
knows the tsunami of emotions that flood one of life's most difficult, yet enjoyable days.

The memories of my time with my father blitz through my mind like a slickly-edited
highlight package on ESPN. The smiles, laughs, and cherished moments come to life and
there is there is that hope my dad will come around the corner with that big smile
on his face and give me a big hug, which he did almost every day of my life.

It feels like that dream that is so good, and so real, but then you wake up and realize that
wonderful moment that weaved through your mind in a deep sleep, will never happen
again.

However, nobody can take away those moments and times I shared with my dad. They
are etched in my mind and soul forever.

One thing that will never get washed away are the great acts of kindness by the many
people who helped my father during the last five years of his life when he was suffering
from Alzheimer's disease, the wicked thing that robs a person of his mind and memory.

Alzheimer's disease not only changes a person inflicted with it, but often changes the
way people treat them. I spent a lot of time with my father during his last few years,
taking him to his golf club where he was loved and well-respected. My dad was a
funny man with a big personality. He loved life and the Westchester Country Club was
one of his favorite places to be.

However, I noticed after my father was in the grips of Alzheimer's, some of his friends
really didn't know how to react to him. I reckon some of them just wanted to remember
him for who was during all the great times and shied away, which stung me a lot more
than it hurt my dad.

I understand. There is no manual on how to treat someone with Alzheimer's. Some people
can be uncomfortable, others can be shallow, some can act like nothing ever happened.

But there was nobody like Jack Graham, my dad's best friend. He treated my dad not
only like who he had been, but who he was at the time. They had been golfing buddies
and friends for almost 40 years. Graham, who is still going strong at 94-years-old today,
is a man of impeccable character, integrity, and honor. He had Hollywood good-looks and
the most down-to-earth, humble personality few men have ever been blessed with.

My dad had a lot of friends at the club, but none like Jack Graham. My dad knew
he could always count on Graham in the best of times on the course and found out,
Graham would be there through the worst of times, off it. When dad was suffering
from Alzheimer's, Graham was always there for my him.  He would often come over
and pick my dad up and take him out for lunch, putting a big smile on his face.

At that point, Alzheimer's didn't always allow my dad's speech to be in sync with
his mind and flowing conversations were often difficult. But Graham was incredibly
patient and made my dad feel comfortable and loved.

That is Jack Graham.

His friendship is  unconditional and his care for my dad was unforgettable. He is the
definition of a "best friend".

In many ways, I grew up with Jack Graham. When our family was in the process
of moving from Chicago to New Canaan, CT. before my sophomore year, Graham
welcomed me into his home so I could have a place to stay during summer football
camp.

When I tagged along with my dad during his rounds of golf at WCC, I'd often
ride in the cart in-between my dad and Graham. He was as humble on the course as
he was off it. A great athlete who starred on the football field for Boston College,
Graham was an excellent golfer. I'd ask him what he shot after a round and he'd
often say, "I'm not sure. But I hit some good shots." I'd look on his scorecard and
the number of shots would always be in the 70's.

As great a golfer Graham was, he is a better man and person. You'd have to search long
and hard to find anyone to say a single bad thing about Graham. He is beyond reproach
and as pure as they come.

I will never, ever forget how Jack Graham treated my dad through the tough times.
He was so kind, so caring, and such a great friend to my father.

My dad loved Jack Graham.

So do I.

Thank you, Jack Graham. You are the best friend my dad ever had.

MAT OREFICE IS A STAND-UP GUY

''It's never too late to be what you might've been."

                                                          George Eliot

 



 

On March 20, Mat Orefice walked onto the stage at the Ridgefield Playhouse to make
his comedic debut. He had taken a eight-week course to prepare for this moment, but in
reality, it was more like 47 years in the making.

 

"I have been a stand-up comedy junkie since I was seven," said the 1979 graduate of

New Canaan High School. "I always scoured the TV Guide looking to see when Steve

Martin, George Carlin, or Flip Wilson would appear on Merv, Johnny, or the Michael

Douglas show.

 

The TV Guide? That went out long before the Rubik's Cube, acid-washed jeans, and the

Sony Walkman. At 54-years-old, Orefice knew he wasn't getting any younger, so in

January he decided to go after his dream.

 

"I just never had the guts to try it myself," said Orefice. "But I made a resolution

to toughen up and go for it. That, and I was waiting for my parents to die to avoid

disgracing their good names," he said jokingly.

 

If Orefice was nervous, he certainly didn't show it. He was relaxed, confident, and

downright funny as he entertained the lively crowd. At 6'6", Orefice is an imposing figure

and with a last name like his, there is enough material to bring down the house.

 

"Yeah, my dad's name really is Dick," he said. "Some things just write themselves."

 

Everyone who saw Orefice's stand-up debut posted on Facebook wrote complimentary

things about their friend's performance. They weren't just being nice, they were being

honest because Orefice has some real talent to make his own mark in the industry even
if he is just a rookie.

"The best time to plant a tree is 20 years ago," the Fairfield resident said. "The second-best
time is today." Orefice added. "I try to put fear in the backseat so I get to drive the car.
And I'm a notorious late-bloomer, so this stuff isn't totally out of character."

No, it most definitely is not.

Orefice had another obsession growing up: punting a football. His hero was Ray Guy,
the Hall of Fame punter of the Oakland Raiders. In middle school, Orefice competed in
the annual Punt, Pass, and Kick competition and spent hour after hour booting footballs.

He never punted a single one for New Canaan High School because as Orefice puts it,
then-coach Harry Shay didn't want anyone on the team "who would just stand around
to kick and punt."

After graduation, Orefice headed to SMU, which was on the cusp of building a national
contender, thanks to a lot of $1,000 handshakes, flashy sports cars, and two spectacular
running backs named Eric Dickerson and Craig James. Without punting a single football
in high school, Orefice thought it was time to chase a dream.

"I tracked down the special-teams coach (Jeff Kohlberg) in the fall of ’80 to ask for
a tryout," he said. "I punted barefoot, but stopped and put on cleats soon after it got cold."

Orefice got to walk-on, but the coaches would often try to make him walk-off with
killer workouts that were not meant for the faint of heart.

"I had never lifted weights or done sprints before and I would be so sore and barely be
able to walk for two weeks, but I stuck it out," Orefice said.

 

Orefice ended up sticking it out for three years and there were perks that came with
his perseverance. The Mustangs won bowl games, competed for conference titles, and
while he didn't receive any $100 handshakes from boosters, because after all, he was
just a punter, Orefice got an all-access pass to one of the country's best football
venues.

"Coaches gave us the keys to Texas Stadium where the Cowboys played because they
figured if we were going to punt footballs around, we might as well do it where we played,"
he said. "We'd do pretty much whatever we wanted at Texas Stadium."

Even in today's game, kickers and punters aren't thought of as 'real' football players
who get their craniums busted up every day in nutcracker and Oklahoma drills designed
to 'toughen' players up, and back in the early 80's, the punter from New Canaan
didn't get special treatment from one the team's most special players.

"My locker was right next to Eric Dickerson's for three years and he always used to
say to me, 'Man, you are NEVER sweaty,' recalled Orefice.

The NCAA eventually caught up to the "cash-and carry" scandal and put the program
on probation during Orefice's junior year. A few years after Orefice graduated, the
NCAA gave SMU the 'death penalty', shutting down the football program.

"Was it deserved? Yes. But it was devastating and the program is still feeling the effects
of it today," he said.

Today, Orefice is the founder and president of Wordplay Inc. He is married with
two children and still plays drums and writes songs for a band called, "The Zamboni's."

Orefice is also a stand-up guy, one with unlimited potential and enough time to
be who he still wants to be.