PRAYING FOR BOBBY TROUP

Everybody who has met Bobby Troup, loves Bobby Troup. Void of ego, malice, pettiness, and
greed, Troup is the salt and the earth in the phrase, "He's a salt-of-the-earth type of a guy." Those
who truly know him would tell others that don't that Bobby is simply. "the best."

Troup lives in Boulder, Colorado, which is truly his element. He is care-free and a true
outdoorsmen, one who appreciates nature and everything the  Rocky Mountains have
to offer. Yes, he is far, far away from New Canaan, Connecticut, a place where he grew
up and made too many great friends to count.

Troup is old-school New Canaan and part of a well-known family that is simply wonderful.
Bob Sr., passed away several years ago. He was the patriarch of the family and forever woven
into the fabric of the tonie little town 40 miles outside of New York City. He was that guy with
the giant and colorful personality, known as "the colonel" who was often seen zipping around
town in a convertible with his long white hair and scarf flowing in the wind. There was mom
and daughter, Kristen, both bright lights in the community, as well

Bobby Troup is as kind, gentle, and likable of a person as you will ever meet. He has no
enemies and you'd have to search long and hard to find someone to say a bad thing about
him. He is so pure, unaffected, and genuine. Bobby and my brother, Patrick, were friends
in high school, but lost touch with time and distance. But every time I'd see Bobby, the first
thing he'd always ask about was my brother, which put a smile on my face.

Unfortunately, bad things sometimes happen to great people. It's life. It is not fair, and sometimes,
it can be downright cruel. Near the end of April, Bobby was diagnosed with stage 3 colon cancer.
According to his family, doctors say the cancer likely has spread into his lymph nodes. He is
scheduled to have surgery May 2.

There are tough times ahead.

New Canaan is a lot different today than the town a lot of us grew up in. One thing I am certain
of, is that all those who helped make it great, will rally for Bobby Troup. He is old-school New
Canaan through and through. He also has a heart of gold, helping out many people in
need.

Bobby Troup needs our help now and it's time to step up for a great guy from a wonderful
family. Follow the link and donate. No donation is too small. It all adds up and goes a long
way to helping the Troup beat this insidious disease.

https://www.youcaring.com/bobbytroup-812937

Go Trouper!

BRYAN BRENNAN: STILL THE SELFIE KING

It's a selfie-obsessed world and I'm just living in it. Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter have
become a haven for the self-absorbed who can't refrain from posting multiple self-portraits every
single day. The astonishing number of car selfies I see on my daily news feed makes me wonder
if a lot of people bought vehicles equipped with a mechanism that won't allow you to start it unless you take a selfie and post it.

Boring. Bland. Nauseating.

If you're going to take self-portraits, you may want to check out Bryan Brennan, who in my
mind, is still the undisputed selfie king. Brennan is a sports videographer for NESN, although
few at the  mother of all regional networks have ever seen him really work.

That was a joke. Kind of.

Brennan, like many of us in this social media-driven world, takes a ton of selfies. That's cool, I reckon, but everybody needs to take a few pointers from Brennan. He doesn't take himself too
seriously and according sources close to SportsRip, isn't obsessed with the almighty 'likes'.

The kid just has the uncanny touch of taking selfies that are unique, funny, and very creative.
When I see Brennan in his furry ear-flap hat, I can't help but be reminded of Peter Stormare's   character in the movie, "Fargo."

Brennan isn't as sinister as Stormare but he is a showman. Many, including myself, wonder

why executives at NESN haven't given him his own show yet. The guy has style, creativity, and

is a ratings magnet with women between the ages of 54-72 in New England. Dear Sean McGrail:

Please give Bryan his own show. Now!

Brennan travels with the Bruins and Red Sox throughout the season and, remarkably, none

of the players have beaten him up or thrown him in a trash can. They've actually grown to

like his free spirit and entertaining nature. I have little doubt that if Brennan covered the Patriots,

he'd become the first member of the media to ever snap daily selfies with Bill Belichick--he

is just that good.

With all the political experts obsessed with bashing and trashing Donald Trump combined with

the tsunami of selfies, deactivating my Facebook account seems like the thing to do---until I

see another selfie from Brennan and get a good chuckle. Laughing is healthy. Brennan's selfies

make that happen.

Yeah, that's Brennan with Barry Bonds in the background. And yes, that's Brennan with a guy

whose pot belly is as big as Barry's head used to be when Bonds was on the bean. Does Brennan make light of others? Sure, but not as much as he makes fun of himself. He's an entertainer. The guy has to do what he has to do.

Keep it up, Bry-Guy, you are the undisputed selfie king. You keep it fun, real, maybe not always

so clean, but you are one helluva funny guy.

LUKE MAYE AND A PICTURE WORTH MORE THAN 1,000 WORDS

Watching Luke Maye on television hit the shot that sent North Carolina to the Final Four
is one thing, seeing a picture of the former walk-on practicing jumpers with his father, Mark,
is quite another.

The photograph was captured by Andrew Carter of the News & Observer last year in late
February after a regular-season game. The clock said it was close to midnight. The empty seats
tell you everybody's long gone and probably resting comfortably in bed. A little used player,
craving meaningful minutes, knows he has to get better. A father who knows about sacrifice, commitment, and the fine line between success and failure in big-time college sports, is going
to help him get there.

Yes, the picture is worth far more than 1,000 words.

Oh, I reckon the conversation on the floor that night didn't add up to 10 words, much less 1,000.
There were maybe a few, "good shots", or "keep your elbow up", but nothing else really needed
to be said between father and son. They knew. They both knew what it was going to take to be
more than an end-of-the-bench type of player at Carolina.

Hard work.

Luke Maye didn't go from reserve forward to an important player in the NCAA tournament by
accident. He put in the hard work and earned it.

Roy Williams didn't put his trust in a player in the biggest game of the year just because that
player's father used to be the quarterback of the football team. Luke invested a lot of sweat
equity when nobody was watching and secured it.

It wasn't by a stroke of luck that Luke hit the biggest shot of his life and one of the biggest in
the storied history of North Carolina basketball.

He was ready for it.

Thanks to his father who was feeding Luke ball after ball on that February night a year ago,
Luke made the most of his opportunity. Mark didn't need to push or pressure a kid who bet on himself to walk-on at North Carolina team after bypassing scholarship offers to other schools,
but he knew.

He knew that behind every great shot there are usually thousands of others that clanked
off the rim, backboard, or missed everything, altogether. But he kept feeding Luke and fueling
his desire to get better.

He knew about the doubts, lonely moments, and failures that would cause many athletes to
pack it in and quit. But he encouraged Luke to keep believing in himself as he sat on the
bench.

Luke Maye's jersey may not go up in the rafter alongside Michael Jordan, James Worthy,
Sam Perkins, and countless other North Carolina All-Americans, but he is a basketball legend
throughout the state. No Tar Heel will ever forget him or his shot that beat Kentucky.

Hard work, persistence, and a father who knew better, helped make it happen.

MAYE CAROLINA CONNECTIONS LAST FOREVER

Just over a year ago, I ran into Mark Maye, one of my old roommates at UNC during a
football game. We hadn't seen each other since I left Chapel Hill after graduating in 1987, but
we had reconnected recently, thanks to one of our other roommates, Brett Rudolph, who was a standout linebacker on the football team.

Coming out of high school in 1983, Maye was North Carolina royalty. He was the top-rated
quarterback in the country after a spectacular career at Charlotte's Independence High School.
Maye was a 6'5" pro-style quarterback who threw lightning bolts. He was Peyton Manning before Peyton Manning.

Maye was also pretty darn smart, too.

After getting the full-court press by every coach in the country, Maye told everyone to keep
the full-ride they were offering. He was going to UNC on the prestigious Morehead Scholarship,
the highest-academic award given by the university.

Maye was also one of the nicest guys on the planet, void of ego, full of manners, and very
genuine If you didn't know better, you'd have thought he was the last walk-on allowed to dress
on Saturdays instead of a quarterback who was the object of every college coaches desire.

On a spectacular football Saturday in 2015 at Kenan Stadium, the same place Mark
called signals for the Tar Heels, we connected in person for the first time in more than three
decades. I had talked to him on the phone, trying to prank him by saying I was a fundraiser
for North Carolina and asked him if he could donate $50,000.  The conversation went on for
about five minutes before he figured out he'd been had.

We made small talk and I asked about his kids. Someone in the Carolina network told me
he had a son who was a pretty good basketball player in Charlotte. Mark was about as perfect
as a guy could get, but he did have a slight stutter going all the way back to his Carolina days.
He said, "Paul, he, he, he, he's a pretty good player. He, he, he got some scholarship offers but
he wanted to walk-on at Carolina."

6'8" white kids have as much of a chance of walking-on at Carolina as Donald Trump does. It
just doesn't happen very often, and if it does, they will get limited seconds of playing time
and a start on senior day. That's about it.

Mark and I shook hands, wished each other luck, and went our separate ways. A blast from the
past vaporized into the Carolina blue sky.

I am not a Carolina die-hard fan these days. I don't wave the pom-poms or get emotionally
involved in games anymore. Well, that was before Sunday's game against Kentucky. This was
for the chance to go to the Final Four. I missed the entire first half as I was traveling from out of town.  Basketball games don't really get going until the last 12 minutes, so I wasn't too upset
about joining the game in progress.

As the game went into crunch time, a player named Luke Maye stepped up for Carolina. Yes,
this was the son of my old roommate. Damn, I was feeling old. Like his father, Luke is tall,
very tall. He stands 6'8".  He is a spitting image of the old man: dark hair, sleepy eyes, great
posture.

Mark's career at Carolina never lived  up to the huge expectations thrust upon him. He had
rotator cuff surgery as a sophomore and was never quite  the same. One of the most sought
after players in the country out of high school, he blended in with so many other football
players in college.

It happens.

Sunday, I was watching his clone, a player who fits in perfectly to the system of Roy Williams.
He is a smart player and one who hustles his ass off. When Luke went to the foul line, I saw
his father, Mark, talking to me at the dinner table in our old apartment. When Luke dove for
a loose ball near the end of the game, I imagined Mark giving his son a big fist pump from the
stands and then recoiling, hoping no one saw his emotion. And when Luke hit the shot that beat Kentucky and sent UNC to the Final Four, a huge huge smile washed over my face.

How great was that? A walk-on, playing on the same floor with a slew of NBA lottery picks,
hitting a game-winning shot to send the school he grew up rooting for, to the Final Four.

Luke Maye, an unheralded player unlike his father, etches his name in the annals of Carolina basketball. Everyone who ever went to UNC and even those in North Carolina who didn't, will  remember that shot forever.

I will remember that shot forever, not because my school is still alive and has a chance to
win the national championship. I will remember it because my old roommate, Mark Maye, who
battled through injury and unfulfilled expectations at North Carolina, enjoyed his greatest
moment as part of the Tar Heels family.

Any top-rated recruit in the country who gets injured and has to live with unfulfilled
expectations, may always wonder, "what if?" It can eat at a person for a long, long time.

Mark Maye waited a long time to experience a moment like Sunday. His son, Luke, a walk-on,
nailing a basketball that is now part of Carolina history. How sweet is that?

That was so awesome. That's what makes sports so great.

THE COURAGE OF JOHN MARTIN

"I was waking up at 4 a.m. every single day asking myself if all this was real."

John Martin's near-perfect life was shattered in early October when he was diagnosed with ALS.

Sleepless nights and questions to himself were returned with brutal answers. One minute, Martin

was living the dream as a father of two beautiful girls while firmly entrenched in a job he truly

loved. The next minute, a doctor gave him the news that's altered the course of his life.

"It blew me away," Martins said of the diagnosis. "It still blows me away. I can't believe it.

But I am staying positive and doing everything I can to stay that way. That is the biggest part

in all of this. I'm maintaining a positive attitude daily."

Upon learning he had ALS, Martin left his job as a videographer at NESN, his employer of 19

years. Martin has made it clear he's handling the disease  his own way, creating a path that

suits him and only him. Martin recently spent two weeks at a wellness facility in West Palm
Beach, Florida.

"It was a lot of green drinks, wheat grass, salads, and sprouts." Martin said from his home
in Newton, Massachusetts. "It was a type of mental and physical cleansing thing. No caffeine,
no alcohol, and some meditation."

Martin says he is embracing both the Western and Eastern approach to dealing with the
disease which includes acupuncture, meditation, and an energy trainer. He says he's also
working out daily with a stretching routine and a lot of swimming.

"I feel great," he said. "Just like I did before. But sometimes when I look down, there

is a little less muscle than there was before. I'm not expecting to wake up and everything

will be OK. I know that's not going to happen, but I'm dealing with it the best way I can."

Martin also credits his great team at Massachusetts General Hospital for helping in his battle
against Lou Gerhig's disease.

Perhaps, the best medicine has come from his friends back in Boston. Martin is one of

the most beloved members of the media and you'd have to search far and wide to find

someone to say a bad thing about him. If they did, they either never met John Martin or were

flat out lying.

The support for Martin has been heartwarming. A GoFundMe page was set up for Martin

shortly after his diagnosis and in the first two weeks of it going on-line, more than $80,000

was raised.

Red Sox manager John Farrell chipped in with a $1,000 and sent Martin, who covered

the team for many years, a text he will always cherish:

"Throughout all the dealings with media- your positivity and being real  has
always been a strength! That strength will always be present."

"That meant a lot to me," Martin said. "He also invited me to visit his office and watch a

game. I've always liked John. He is a class act."

Martin said he's been overwhelmed by the donations that have come in from all over New

England and beyond. Longtime friends have shown their love and generosity. People Martin

has never even met contributed to his cause.

"This college kid sent me five dollars and wrote, 'I don't know you personally, but you sound

like a great person. I don't have much money, but wanted to help out.' "That means as much

to me as the donations that have come in from the big hitters."

Many of Martin's good friends have stepped up in a big way to put a smile on the face of

their buddy. Bryan Brennan, a former colleague of Martin's at NESN, bought a beautiful Stetson

hat during a trip to Nashville while covering the Bruins. Brennan did a little something extra

for Martin. He went into the Bruins locker room and asked them all to sign the hat for Martin.

Every player on the B's did.

Martin with cowboy hat signed by Bruins

"That was awesome of Bryan and the Bruins." he said. "For the Bruins to take time out and

sign that hat. That was really cool."

Martin's love for his work had cooled since his diagnosis. He had covered the Red Sox for

so many years, shooting interviews while making the talent look really good. You can

forgive him if the job took a backseat to what was going on in his life.  But his love for

the Sox and his job was re-ignited in early February.

"When I started to see all the reports from Fort Myers while sitting at home, I started

to get the itch a little bit. I missed it."

Martin missed a lot of his former colleagues at NESN and when he stopped in Fort Myers before

his trip to the wellness facility in West Palm Beach, Martin enjoyed a night out with his buddies

from NESN.

Martin with his NESN buddies in Fort Myers

"That was great. Tom Caron and Steve Lyons were there. So was Mike Narracci, longtime

director for NESN and Bill Titus," Martin said. "It was great catching up with them.
It was like I never left."

Martin is back in Boston now with his two girls and wife, whom Martin calls his "rock."
"Adrienne has been really amazing. Always has been. She's taking care of me. She's taking
care of the kids. She's taking care of everything."

Martin was dealt a terrible blow. His fate has been revealed and far sooner than he ever
expected. But in true John Martin fashion, he's looking on the bright side and trying to power
through a difficult time.

"I truly am George Bailey," Martin said, referring to the fictional character played by James
Stewart in 'It's a Wonderful Life.' "I still can't believe it. But I'm going to be OK."

As for those sleepless nights? Martin reports he is back to getting seven plus hours of sleep a
night.

Please continue to love and support John Martin. Donate to his GoFundMe page.

https://www.gofundme.com/jmartinfund

NEW CANAAN STEPS UP FOR GRAHAM HARDEN

There aren't many families who've passed through New Canaan like the Hardens. Boyd,
Shea, Graham, and Holmes---siblings who define and embody what integrity, class, honor,
and respect is all about,  were raised by Lucy Gail, the sweetest of mothers, and Holmes,
the strong patriarch, who passed away far too young, suffering a heart attack at the age of
50.

Lucy Gail and the kids persevered through the tragedy of losing a father to thrive in the
community, making an everlasting impact in New Canaan through their great accomplishments
in sports and in the classroom. Shea was the smartest of the bunch. She went on to Dartmouth
and earned her MBA at Stanford. Boyd, Graham, and Holmes were great athletes, all three
going on to play lacrosse at UNC. Boyd was an All-America but Graham was All-World.
He was National Defenseman of the Year and named to the ACC's Top 50 players of All-Time.

In August. the Hardens, who overcame the tragic loss of their father, received another dose
of unthinkable heartbreaking news. Graham was diagnosed with ALS. Even in a world that
seems to yield tragedy every day, this just seemed so unfair. A great family man who has
given so much back to his community in Cincinnati as a volunteer firefighter, coach, and
through his charitable endeavors, is ridden with an insidious disease that has never lost.

However, the community where the Hardens cemented their legacy, is rallying around
Graham to see that his life is a made a little bit better and all of his medical bills are paid
for. On Friday March 3, more than 200 people gathered at Grace Farms in New Canaan
to show their  support for Graham and his entire family. It was supposed to be a fundraiser
for Graham, but turned into a remarkable show of love, admiration, and respect for
someone who  was not only one of New Canaan's greatest athletes, but greatest of men,
as well.

The love was real. The admiration, genuine. The respect, undeniable. Friends who grew
up with Graham in New Canaan, came from all over to honor a person whose had a great
impact on their lives and community. It was truly heartwarming to see New Canaan step
up and support one of its favorite sons.

Graham is taking on ALS just as he battled opponents in football, hockey, and lacrosse:
with an unmatched competitive fire and the same iron will that helped him become one
of the best lacrosse players in NCAA history.

The former All-American has started a blog http://gforcegameon.org/welcome-to-my-blog/
to keep his friends and supporters apprised of what lies ahead for him and answers questions
that many people are afraid, or too uncomfortable to ask.

Friday night was a great showing by New Canaan in its support of Graham. He is a great
father, husband, brother, son, and friend to so many from New Canaan, North Carolina, and
Cincinnati, where he currently resides.

Keep it up, New Canaan. Graham Harden deserves our love and support.

THE INSANITY OF A 112-MILE RIDE

112 miles.

112 miles is a little more than a nice ride in the car. It's not exactly a hop-skip-and an easy train
ride, either. Trying to cover that distance using two wheels and your own two legs, two lungs, and
heart, well, it can flat-out be a bit of challenge.  Throw in a 2.4 swim before it and a 26.2 mile
run after it, and that challenge has a way of turning into misery.

Completing the middle stage of an Ironman is, arguably, the hardest one for many endurance athletes who seem to have an extremely close relationship with mind-numbing pain.

112 miles on a bike. On a hard seat. On a two-loop 56-mile course that takes you through the Adirondack region. No, not one on a flat-as-an-ironing board course one like those in Florida
or Texas. This bear of a course goes through and around Lake Placid, consisting of rolling  hills, lung-searing inclines, and a 12-mile finish that goes up, but never down.

Yeah, it's a bitch. And a long one.

A lot of riders have gone further than 112 miles and many of them do it a lot faster than
this 50-something, slow-twitch, 220-lb, boy-in-a-man's body can. Nobody gets a medal for
completing it and I'm not bragging because I've done it three times over. I'm just a guy
who wants to share my experience because there's a lot of things that go through your mind
during a stage that can least nearly seven hours without stopping even once. Not even to go
to the bathroom.

That 112-mile bike ride doesn't begin until after a 2.4 mile swim and a 600-yard run from
the water to the transition area where the man boobs flop with every stride and the brain tries
to reset itself after an hour of swimming in what seems like a blender, with arms, legs, and
elbows flying all over the lake at 6:30 in the morning. Once you slip out of the wetsuit into
cycling shoes, shorts, shirt, and a helmet, reality hits you in the face like a sledgehammer: Now
I have to bike 112-miles. That is a lot of time on the bike and a lot of time to think.

There are only two things that are really important to me when I begin the journey: avoid a
flat tire and hydrate myself enough so I can go the distance. Truth to be told, I really spend
most of my time on two wheels praying to God about one thing. It usually goes something like
this, "Please, God, don't let me get a flat tire." Flat tires suck. They are worse than being forced
to watch a season-long series of the Kardashian's. If  you get a flat tire during a race, it'll cost
about 30-45 minutes to repair it---that's if everything goes right.

In the first Ironman I did in 2014, the bike ride started out in a monsoon. The rain pelted my
face like brass needles into a dark board as thunder and lightning lit up the sky. My feeling at
the time was, "Well, if you're going to take me now, Lord, I won't have a problem with it.
There can be worse ways to go than during an Ironman event." I seriously didn't care about
the lightning crackling above me. I had trained for more than six months. There was no way
I was going to quit now.

The downpour went on for the entire first loop of the race. Then the skies opened and the sun
came. So did a litany of thoughts. "What the hell am I doing this for anyway? I paid $750 to
put myself through absolute torture more 12 hours? Seriously?" Yeah, when you have to sit
on a bike for almost as long as an average work day, some crazy things go through your mind.

Another one for me was, "What the hell am I going to do when I have to go to the bathroom?"
I mean, I didn't want to stop and get off the bike. If that happened, I feared  my legs would
cramp up and I'd have no desire to finish the race. But during a race where you consume more
than 20 16-ounce bottles of Gatorades, countless gels, goos, bananas, and orange slices, you
have to go to the bathroom, right?

Wrong.

For some reason, I had the urge to go to the bathroom, but never could. I'd see riders ahead of
me standing up on their bikes to relieve themselves and others squatting in the woods, but I
could never go. Ever.

The 112-mile bike ride wasn't completely filled with pain. Riding in the Adirondacks offered
some amazing scenery with rivers, mountains, and beautiful trees. It was easy to lose yourself
in the scenic ride.

But the pain was never far way--nor were the prayers about making it through without
blowing a tire. That would be a total buzz kill.

I've been lucky in all three Ironman events I completed. I never blew a tire. Thank you, Lord.
When I approached the end of the 112-mile stage knowing I wouldn't have to fix a flat tire,
I always let out a big yell, celebrating my luck and ability to avoid jagged edges, potholes. or
anything else that could've ruined my ride.

And after I changed into my running shoes, visor, and sunglasses, it was finally time to relieve
myself after six and-a-half hours on the bike. Yep, almost four minutes standing up next to
a trough-like, make-shift urinal in the transition tent. I'm not going to lie. It felt amazing.

A little relief before a 26.2 mile run does the body and mind good.