NEWTOWN NIGHTMARE HITS CLOSE TO HOME

Not many people around the world had ever heard of Newtown, Ct. before Friday's
unimaginable tragedy. It's a small, sleepy town that is neatly tucked away in the
southwest part of the state and a good distance away from the bright lights of New
York City. The people there prefer it that way.

Bruce Jenner, the decathlon champion, put Newtown on the the map in 1976 when
he won a gold medal at the Olympic Games in Montreal. Jenner had moved to Newtown
when he was 16 years old and graduated from the high school there. Shortly after
the gold medal was draped around his neck, the football stadium at Newtown High
School was named in his honor. He brought national and worldwide attention to the
town, made it relevant, and gave its residents a reason to be proud.

But 24 years later, school officials  took Jenner's name on the stadium after they felt
slighted by Jenner during fundraising efforts for improvements to the field.

On December 14, 2012, Newtown became the focus of national and worldwide
attention again. But unlike Jenner's name on the football stadium, they will never
be able to make it go away. There is Columbine, Virginia Tech, Aurora, and now,
unfortunately, Newtown. 20 innocent children and six adults killed by a 20-year
old deranged gunman. Innocence lost forever and Newtown will never be the same.
Ever.

I went to high school in New Canaan, which is just 35 miles away from Newtown.
We played summer league baseball games there, but I never knew much about
Newtown until two years ago. I worked as a baseball instructor at the Newtown Youth
Academy which is an immaculate, 86,000 square foot facility, much like you'd see on
the campus of a major college with a great football program.

It became the centerpiece of the town and a place where kids from 6 to 18 came
to play baseball, basketball, lacrosse, football, and tennis. It's a source of great pride
for the people of Newtown as there is nothing like it in the state. The towns
along the gold coast of Connecticut such as Greenwich, Westport, New Canaan,
and Fairfield are envious of the magnificent facility.

There is a large, turf-covered surface than is much longer than the length of a football
field on one side. Tennis and basketball courts and a full-track on the other. I had
the chance to work with kids between the ages of 6 and 16 during winter sessions
and spring camps.

However, most of our campers were between the ages of 6 and 10. And anyone who
has ever coached and worked with kids, knows  these are the ages of true
innocence, when they play for the true love of the game, and the pure joy that comes
across their faces when they have just a little bit of success, is priceless.

I remember giving one-on-one instruction to a 6-year old boy who was just so
happy to be playing baseball. His demeanor would change when his dad would arrive.
A stage father through and through, he would ask me why his kid wasn't hitting
the ball the other way. I'd respond, "this is the time for your kid to have fun playing
the game. He's six-years old. He's not going to get a major league contract tomorrow.
I prefer to give the kid a lot of swings. Gain some confidence and have some fun.
If he doesn't have fun and gain some confidence, he will get frustrated and quit."

When I heard about the Newtown tragedy and the ages of the children killed in
the massacre, I got a pit in my stomach. This unspeakable tragedy happened so
close to where I once worked. We have yet to see the names or the faces of the
children who lost their lives. When we do, the pain of this entire nightmare, will
increase by 1,000. To see the faces of those innocent children, so happy, so carefree,
and so special---who are no longer with us for no good reason at all, will be gut-
wrenching.

I know there will be at least one face that I will recognize. I worked with so many
young kids in a town with not a lot of them. It will be sad. It will be heart-wrenching.
It is not fair.

The memory of that little kid I had worked with, walking out of the gym with his
father, glove in hand, bat over his shoulder, and the name, "Pedroia" stitched on a Red Sox
jersey with a number 15, is a memory that I took from my time working in Newtown.
I hope and pray, I don't see his face when the pictures of the victims are soon released.

DEREK JETER AND PICTURES THAT MAKE US LOOK FAT

We all know the feeling. Somebody takes a picture and you're feeling
pretty good about how you're going to look. Clothes, good. Hair, check.
Then you see the final product and you let out a big, OMG! I look like
I just ate Vince Wolfork.

You thought you had a body by P90x, except that you're diet said all
"Dunkin Donuts". Not very flattering. A lot of people were thinking that
when they saw the New York Post on Sunday with a picture and the
caption, "DEREK EATER". The Yankees captain was looking softer
than the Stay-Puff marshmellow man after Thanksgiving.

How could it be? Jeter out of shape? Yes, he's been in a boot since
undergoing surgery to repair a broken ankle suffered in the post-season,
but Jeter rarely let's himself go or allows himself to be photographed looking
like that.

Is Jeter really that out of shape or did the New York Post take liberties
with the picture and Photoshop. I mean, a Big Apple tabloid would NEVER
do that. (wink, wink). They would never misrepresent the body of the
Yankees captain just to create a buzz and sell a newspaper, would they?
(sarcasm noted). They wouldn't pull out the shirt a little and make it look
larger, would they? Nooooooooo.

Whatever the case, pictures do sometimes lie. A bad angle, bad lighting, and
slight touch up with Photoshop can make anybody look bigger than they appear.
I was none too please during my photo shoot for the cover of "Sports Ilustrated"
swimsuit issue.when the photographer showed me in a bad light with bad lighting
and an awkard camera angle. There was no way I looked this fat. But they
negated any chance of me making the issue by accentuating my belly instead
of my silky smooth chest hair.

Jeter went on the defensive on Monday, with belly sucked in and tongue
firmly planted in cheek. He even had a picture taken with MLB's Harold
Reynolds to show the world, he was still tight and not far off from being
in game shape. Jeter didn't get upset with the New York Post for having
"a little fun" with his picture. It sure did gain a lot of attention and sell a lot
of papers, that's for sure.

Jeter has plenty of reasons to be smiling with Reynolds. Unlike A-Rod, he
will be ready for opening day. And if he ever starts to fret over the picture
of him being overweight, he can just say, "Well, at least I wasn't pictured
like A-Rod doing this."

                                   
Now. THIS is bad.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DAD. YOU WERE THE BEST

December 2. My dad would've been 83 years old today. Whether it's the celebration
of his birth or the anniversary of his death, it never get easier. He is gone, and as
much as you hope and pray that he will walk through the door again, or be there to
give you some much needed advice, it's never going to happen. It's part of life and
one of the worst things about death.

Today, a lot of the smiles, laughs, and special moments I shared with my dad, came
to life. They seem so vivid, so real, but also so far away. I want to go back in time
and feel the happiness I always experienced when I was with my father. Unfortunately,
none of us can turn back the clock and make things right again.

Things sure felt right this morning when I turned on my computer and saw an e-mail
from a friend whom my father had mentored in the television business many years
ago. The subject line said: THINKING OF PATRICK J. The body of the letter was
very light, containing only a single sentence, but it carried a lot of weight to me:

                              "He was the best and heaven is lucky to have him."

I'm not embarrassed to say that a silo of tears welled up in my eyes and a lump the
size of Texas settled in my throat. Anyone who has lost a parent knows the feeling.
There is tremendous joy in knowing that others loved your dad, respected him, and
shared many great moments with him just as you did. But there is great sadness that
you can no longer look him in the eye and tell him how much you loved him.

I told everybody how much I loved him when I eulogized Patrick J. Devlin on May
24, 2008. We were best friends who shared an unbelievable bond. I made it through
the eulogy without bursting into tears and I think I did a good job in telling what he
meant to me and our family. But I did have one regret, omitting a story that I think
defined who my father was and the kind of person we lived with every day.

My father died with Alzheimer's disease. Nobody dies from Alzheimer's, they
eventually pass away with the brutal effects that come with the disease. Three weeks
before his death, I stopped home to spend some quality time with him. We were
in the kitchen and he was at the table circling items in the newspaper. I went over
to my dad, put my arm around, and discovered to find that he was checking out
the help wanted ads.

I said, "Dad, why are you looking for a job." He looked at me and said, "I have
to get a job to make sure that mom is taken care of after I'm gone." It was a
terrible time in his battle with Alzheimer's disease and he was thinking not of
himself, but rather, the welfare of my mother. My dad was very successful in his
career and made sure that my mother was taken care of long before this moment,
but he was thinking not of himself, but rather somebody else.

That's who my dad was. He was the most unselfish man I've ever met. He never
asked, "what can you do for me," but rather, "what can I do to make your life
better."

His friend who e-mailed me this morning was right. Heaven is lucky to have him.
He's probably trying to make someone's life better up there right now.

Happy Birthday, Dad. I love you.

TRUE LOVE FOR CHUCK PAGANO

It's easy to become cynical from a sports world that is littered with self-absorbed,
and self-promoting athletes, who in some cases, suffer major wounds to their careers
and reputations because of self-inflicted stupidity.

We see athletes kneel in post-game prayer, giving thanks to the Lord, only to be
arrested later that night for spousal abuse.

Tiger Woods gathers his loving family around the living room for pictures, but as
soon as the photographer says, "we're good," he's off to Perkins for the grand slam
breakfast and a side order of waitress.

And the one incident that pushed me into the cocoon of cynicism when it comes
to athletes, occurred several years ago when former NBA star, Latrell Sprewell said
he was "insulted" by the Minnesota Timberwolves offer of three-year, $21 million
contract because that wasn't enough to "feed his family." Good grief, Charlie Brown.

But for every hundred stories about selfish, out-of-touch athletes, who live in a
fantasy  world most of us never come close to experiencing, there is one that can
wipe the ugliness all away.

On September 26, Chuck Pagano was diagnosed with leukemia. He had spent 28
years of his life paying his dues as he cris-crossed the country as an assistant coach
for several college and professional teams.

Last January, he achieved his ultimate dream of being a head coach when the
Indianapolis Colts tapped him to be the man to lead them out of the Peyton Manning
Era and resurrect the franchise. However, after just three games, Pagano got
the news that changed the course of his life.

It didn't seem fair that a man who had worked so hard for something and finally
had secured it, that it could all be taken away so quickly. But we all know that life
has never been fair. Bad things happen to good people, and bad people often
achieve great things through their calculating and manipulative ways.  It's life,
it happens.

Pagano went off for weeks of intense chemotherapy, losing all of his hair and a
lot of weight. Doctors say his leukemia is now in remission, but as much as Pagano
wants to, he's not ready to return to the sidelines. There is more treatment to endure
and he's not yet strong enough to handle the every day grind of being an NFL coach,
which demands long hours and strong shoulders to handle all the stress that
comes with it.

Pagano, who is as well-liked and well-respected as any coach in the game,
has spoken to the team and attended a few games. While he is often out of
sight, he certainly isn't out of mind to the players on the Colts, who've dedicated
the season to their coach, playing inspired football at 7-4. Their remarkable
season could end up in a berth in the AFC playoffs.

In a show of solidarity and support for Pagano, 30 players, including star quarterback,
Andrew Luck, have shaved their heads. It was a heart-warming gesture, but it
certainly wasn't all that spectacular. Men shave their heads all their time, and unless
you're really follically challenged, the hair will grow back pretty quickly.

On Sunday, a pair of Colts cheerleaders took the support for Pagano to a entirely
different level. In between the third and fourth quarter, the two women who had
A LOT of hair, shaved it for Pagano and to raise money for cancer research. This
was bold and something to be admired. It was the biggest shave to a woman's
head since Demi Moore got clipped clean in "G.I. Jane". The cheerleaders raised
$22,000 for cancer research. It's not a big number in the grand scheme of things,
but the gesture and commitment to Pagano is priceless.

Pagano might never make it back to the sidelines, that's just the harsh reality
of it. Cancer doesn't lose very often and anyone who has suffered from it or
has seen a friend or family member try to beat it, knows there are never any
guarantees. Never.

The support for Pagano is a real feel good story and it could grow as the
Colts continue their amazing run to the the playoffs. Nobody expected to
see the team rise to contenders so quickly. But they are proving to be fighters
Chuck Pagano has been during the biggest battle of his life. Everyone
is hoping that the Pagano story has a great ending, whether he coaches again
or not.

JIM DUQUETTE: THE REAL MVP OF BASEBALL

When Jim Duquette was the general manager of the New York Mets, he always looked for ways to improve his ballclub. He'd sign a player through free-agency or secure one via trade. Some of them worked out, others didn't. That's just the risk inherent with acquisitions.

On June 4, the longtime resident of Ridgefield, made the biggest trade of his career, one that came with high-risk, but more importantly, high-reward. But Duquette wasn't looking to improve his team, but rather, the life of his 10-year old daughter. Lindsey Duquette suffered from a rare kidney disorder (focal segmental glomerulosclerosis) and was in need of a new one. Her father stepped up to the plate and gave her one of his.

"It was excruciating and heartbreaking to see what she was going through," said Duquette. "Lindsey had no energy and would be on dialysis for 14 hours a day. She couldn't do all the things most girls her age were doing. After seeing all that suffering, it becomes an easy decision and to know that you can make a huge difference in the quality of your daughter's life, it's a no-brainer."

The procedure that gave Lindsey a new kidney took nine long hours. She's been back to the hospital with minor complications from the surgery and there is still a waiting period to see if her body accepts the new kidney. However, the trade of a kidney for hope and comfort already seems to be paying off.

"She said to me the other day, 'I feel great dad. I have a lot more energy," recalled Duquette. "That was one of the cool moments. To see progress like that makes it all worthwhile."

Duquette, who was also the general manager of the Baltimore Orioles during his career, says he's received a great deal of support from people in baseball and many throughout the country who've been touched by his story. Duquette doesn't feel that he's a hero in any kind of way, though, that title, he says, belongs to his daughter.

"She's so tough and resilent, we're really proud of her," said Duquette, who has two other children. "Lindsey doesn't complain about anything and she's actually helped other children in the hospital. This one girl was going to have a procedure done and Lindsay was telling her what to expect and that it wouldn't hurt that much. For a 10-year old girl whose been through so much to do that, is really special to us."

After recovering from surgery and making sure that Lindsey is healthy and in good hands, Duquette returned to his job as a baseball analyst with MLB Network radio just last week. When asked if this was the best trade of his of his career, Duquette laughed and said, "It's certainly the most important one I've ever made. If definitely puts things in perspective."

A TRIBUTE TO COLONEL TROUP

One of the great things about Facebook is that it can connect us, if we so choose,
to virtually anyone who has passed through our lives. It gives us the opportunity
to keep up with friends, family, and our friends' families. Memories that have long
been dormant, can suddenly come to life with a picture or a funny comment from
a friend.  In an instant, we can see a picture of a baby come into the world and
learn about an old friend who has left it.

On Monday, while reading a post from Robert Troup, I discovered that a person
who had touched my life in a very special way, had moved onto a much better place.
Troup's father, with the same name, died at the age of 92. To the people of New
Canaan, CT, he was known as "Papa Blue", "The Colonel" and, of course, "Colonel
Troup".

In a town of bankers, brokers, and a boatload of  millionaires, Troup stood out
from the crowd and there was nobody quite like him. "Papa Blue" was a true original.
If there was a food label attached to him, it would've read, "100 percent all-natural,
no ingredients added." He was so bright, so down to earth, and so personable,
that after meeting him for the first time, one got the feeling they had known
"The Colonel" their entire life.

I never knew what Troup did for a living, nor did I care. He put a smile on my
face and made me laugh every time I saw him. He'd often zoom around town
in a convertabile, his long white-grey hair flowing in the wind, a scarf often
snuggled around his neck. "The Colonel" was tall, good-looking, and extremely
dapper. He looked like as if he was created in Hollywood and refined by the world's
most courteous parents. I wish I can tell you there was movie star, a politician
or even an athlete than he reminded me of,  but I can't. Troup was incredibly
unique in every way. There wasn't an ounce of a mean in his body and talking
bad about another person wasn't in his DNA. Quite simply, he was a beautiful
human being.

Troup had a plethora of nicknames and he seemingly tagged everyone with one
of their own. "He used to call me 'Haystack Martin', who was a professional wrestler",
said Mark Rearick, a legendary coach in New Canaan, who is a mountain of a man
at 6'4 and a svelte 300lbs. "We'd go into a restaurant and he'd have the waitresses
calling me, 'Haystack Martin'. He'd get kids to ask me for my autograph. It was
hilarious. The Colonel was the greatest. He'll be missed."\

Every time I ran into Troup in New Canaan, he'd always greet me the same way.
"Hey, Devils, what's going on?" He didn't really have to ask because he always
seemed to know what was going on in my life, as well as my friends' lives, and
even the friends of my friends lives. He had his pulse on everything and everyone
in New Canaan. He was a huge supporter of the athletic programs in town and
if there was a game being played, there was bound to be Troup hanging out in the
stands or on the sidelines.

Troup had the look and temperament of someone who had seen it all, and he
probably did. He was in World War II, suffering a significant injury that he had
to live with, but never really let anyone notice/. He managed to convince Jimmy
Carter to come to New Canaan and Waveny Park during the presidential campaign
in 1976. Nobody in town had the power to get that done, nobody except "The Colonel."
Everybody knew Troup from politicians, movie stars, to athletes and coaches. If
you met Troup, you never forgot him.

You have to search this country far and wide to find someone to say a bad
thing about Robert Troup. If they did, they were lying. It certainly wasn't because
they had an axe to grind because nobody, and I mean nobody, had an axe to
grind with Troup. He was that well-liked.

Colonel Troup, I love you. You were one of a kind and you will be missed.

WALT WEISS: WE KNEW HIM WHEN...

On Friday afternoon, Walt Weiss will be introduced as the sixth manager in the brief
history of the Colorado Rockies. His ascent from high school coach to skipper of a
major league franchise is quite shocking, even to a sports nation that has built up a
strong immunity to surprises, thanks to all the scandals that have reared their ugly heads
over the past five years. But to everyone who was a teammate of Weiss at UNC, including
myself, the new position for Weiss is close to mind-boggling.

There's no question Weiss has a tremendous baseball IQ,  his work ethic at UNC was
legendary, and he was respected by everyone who played with and against him in the ACC.
The same things were said about Weiss during a 12-year career in the big leagues that
saw him win a Rookie of the Year award and become a World Series champion.You'd
have to search far and  wide to find anyone to say a bad thing about Weiss. He is just a
solid, solid guy. But when he was working his craft in Chapel Hill, there was nobody,
and I mean nobody, who ever  thought Weiss would be a manager in the big leagues
some day. Nobody.

I thought Michael Jordan would have a better chance of becoming a basketball executive
that knew what he was doing than Weiss did of becoming a manager, especially without any experience at the professional or collegiate level. I was clearly wrong. I'm still shocked
as I type this article.

When Weiss was at UNC, his life was pretty much baseball, blue jean jackets, and Bruce
Springsteen. He and the other half of the brilliant double-play combo at UNC, Mike Jedziniak,
worshipped Springsteen and knew every word to every song that the Boss had ever played.
He probably still does.  That was his hobby, but baseball was Weiss' passion. He was such
a great shortstop, he made everything seem so routine. He was so smooth that he rarely made a mistake. He was so quiet, you sometimes didn't even know he was there.

Everybody on the UNC baseball team had a nickname. Everyone. Weiss became known
as "The Peanut Man".  His head was so small it looked like a peanut and the name fit--and
stuck. The plastic adjustable strap on the baseball hat wasn't enough to keep Weiss' lid on,
so he had to tape it to make it tighter.

Weiss was tagged with a great nickname and also gifted with a powerful arm that could
pump out 93-mile an hour fastballs and it led to a few of the most memorable moments in
UNC history. Our coach, Mike Roberts, was Bobby Valentine with a southern twang. Like
Valentine,  he always wanted people to believe he was the smartest man in the game.
During Weiss' sophomore year, he tried to turn Weiss into a shutdown closer. And he tried
to do it without any practice or preparation.

In the final week of the 1984 season, Roberts summoned Weiss in from shortstop to pitch
the 9th inning against Virginia Commonwealth. Weiss drilled the first and only batter
he faced in the ear hole with a 93-year mile an hour fastball. It was the first time
I saw the helmet of a batter actually pop off. It was frightening. We all thought
the guy was dead. We also thought it would be the last time we'd ever see Weiss on the
mound again. We were wrong.

A week later, during the ACC tournament at Durham Athletic Park which was later made
famous by "Bull Durham", we were playing North Carolina State, a longtime fierce rival
with loyal, but vicious fans. In front of nearly 8,000 people, we built a five-run lead
on the Wolfpack heading into the later innings. Instead of going with an established
reliever, and there were many talented ones on the UNC staff, Roberts brought in Weiss
to help close the game out. Seriously, he really did. Weiss was so amped up, he was hitting
95-miles hour on the radar gun. Trouble was, he had the accuracy of Nuke LaLoosh.
Weiss couldn't hit water if he fell out of a boat, but he did nearly hit the mascot, which
would've resulted in an instant death.

With every ball and subsequent walk, the decibel level  generated by the Wolfpack fans,
rose so high, it felt like the roof of the stands was about to blow off. It was a surreal scene
and Roberts did nothing to end it quickly. The five-run lead vanished as Weiss continued
to walk the entire free world. Dominant relievers sat in bullpen in utter astonishment until
Roberts finally went out to save Weiss, a fan from NC State screamed, "Hey Roberts,
who you going to bring in next, BJ Surhoff?" Weiss went back to shortstop and his
pitching career was over. Weiss did a lot of great things at UNC, but that moment is the
one that a lot of Tar Heels remember the most.

Walt Weiss is a great man. If he fails as a manager, it won't be because of a lack of preparation
or hard work. The man is dedicated to his profession and I guarantee that he will be the first
one to the park and the last one to leave. I'm also pretty confident in saying that the Rockies
new manager will be, pound-for-pound, the strongest man in the clubhouse. He's a fitness
freak who loves to be challenged.

Managing the Rockies will be a tough challenge for Weiss and the critics are sure to pounce
on his inexperience as soon as one of his moves backfire. But Colorado has a manager who
will lead by example, and one thing is certain, he will have the respect of his players and
he will always have their backs. Weiss is the anti-Bobby Valentine and a man who every
Tar Heel is rooting for.

Good luck, Peanut Man.