DAD LOVED HIS DOGS---ALL 4 OF THEM

My Dad was like most Americans in that he was a big dog lover. He wasn't obsessed and
didn't oufit them in funny costumes and take pictures to put on a Christmas card, but my
Dad treated them like most of us do: like a great friend and family member.

The only difference between my Dad's love for dogs and that of most people's was that he
had four of them to take care of at one time. He didn't plan it that way, but because he could
never  say "no", that's how things turned out.

After my sister, Kara, returned from a summer in Colorado after graduating from college,
she brought home a snow white American Eskimo she had rescued in the Rocky Mountains.
Kara moved into New York City and her apartment complex didn't allow dogs. Knowing
that my Dad never said "no" to her in her life, Kara asked Dad if she could take care of her
dog, Kirby.  "Sure, why not," he said. "What's another dog?' My Dad, who had big German  Shepperd's when we were growing up, downsized later in life, going with a lhasa apso
and a shih tzu. With the addition of Kirby, Dad had three dogs. For a while.

A few years later, Kara got married and had a kid with her husband, who also brought
a dog into the relationship. After moving from the city out to the Connecticut suburbs, they
were concerned about having a good sized dog around a new born baby.

"Dad, do you think you could take the dog? Please?", she asked. And, of course, my Dad
said yes. So, here was my Dad, just about in retirement with four Dogs to take care. Mom
helped out, of course, but Dad felt it was his job to feed 'em, walk 'em, and do whatever else
needed to be done for them. Caring for one dog is hard enough, not to mention expensive,
try doing it times four. But he loved it. Boy, how did he ever love it.

The sight of seeing my Dad walking four dogs was pretty comical. In the stuffy, pretentious
town of New Canaan, I'm sure there were some people who saw him walking in the street
twisting and turning with four dogs and figured he probably became a professional walker
to pick up a few extra bucks.

That's funny and so were Sunday mornings. My Dad would go to 7 a.m. Mass and would
always take his four buddies with him. He'd stand at the door leading into the garage and
yell, "Let's go! Time to go to church." And it became like a Sunday morning jail break.
Four dogs from different parts of the house would bolt for the garage door. They'd go
slip-sliding into walls and wipe out in an effort to get to the car first. Dad would open
the hatch to his SUV and the dogs that could, would leap into the back. The two that
couldn't, got a lift from my Dad. It was a small thing, but my Dad got one helluva kick
out of it.

Once he got to church, he'd roll down the windows and leave the dogs with some water
before going in to praise the Lord. When he returned home, he'd always stop at the beginning
of the long driveway leading to the house. The dogs would start barking wildly until Dad
let Kirby out. Kirby, the white American Eskimo, would do 360's in front of my Dad's
SUV until he started to move forward. Then she would go in a full-sprint to the house
as if she was leading my Dad home.

I found a picture of my Dad with his dogs this morning and it brought back a lot of memories.
He treated those Dogs the same way he treated the rest of the family: like gold. Man, did
he love those dogs.

I GOT DUSTED BY A 63-YEAR OLD MAN

           

             Every day, thousands of tiny events happen and if you're not watching, if you're
            not careful, if you don't capture them and make them COUNT, you could miss it.
                                                                                                      -Toni Jordan Novelist-

    Sometimes life's greatest lessons are right in front of us, yet we fail to see them. We are
    often consumed by what we don't have instead of focusing on the great things we do. We
    keep looking back into the past so much, we become blind to all the great things that lie
    ahead of us.

    On Sunday, I got a great lesson, not to mention a great source of inspiration, because I
    was watching what was in front of me, rather than being consumed by the things that were
    behind me.

    I was in a road race on Sunday, and over the course of 18.6 miles a lot of things went
    through my mind and most of them were tagged with a question mark. Why they heck did
    I get up at 5:30 a.m. for all this pain and punishment? I hate to run, so why am I running
    so much? What's the point? What does it matter? Aren't I getting a little too old for this?

    All those questions when zooming through my head as I pounded the pavement on a perfect
    first day of fall with more than 200 other runners. I had been in the zone with my iPod
    blasting the best of Captain & Taneal and the Carpenters to try to muffle the pain
    that came with each and every stride. I couldn't hear the sound of footsteps coming up
    me from behind, so I was startled when a frailish-looking, gray-haired man passed me by
    on mile 15 of the run.

    I had seen this man running long before the race had even started, his oversized pale-yellow
    T-shirt was not enough to cover his elbows that seemed to be thrashing in the wind. I hate to
    run and damn if I'm going to run an inch more than I have to, especially, on a day
    when I'm running close to 20 miles. This guy ran as if every step was a painful one, his
    running form anything but perfect. He had a distinct look that one could not easily forget.

    I never could catch the man. He was right in front of me for nearly all of the last three miles
    of the race. I wondered what his story was, from what he did to how often he ran. He seemed
    to be laboring through every inch of the run, but didn't appear to be breaking a sweat. The
    man in the yellow shirt finished 25 seconds in front of me, and just like that, he disappeared.
    I wanted to congratulate him and hear his story, but like the phantom, the man vanished.

    I didn't stick around very long, either. I stuffed as many apples, oranges, and bottled waters
    into my pockets and I was off. I got my time and didn't need to see any other results. But I
    was extremely curious about the guy in the pale yellow shirt.

    Late Monday night, the results of the race were posted on-line and I quickly searched for
    the guy in the yellow shirt who finished just in front of me. BRUCE GOULART, 63,
    NEWTOWN, CT. A 63-year old man had dusted me. Blew by me at mile 15. But an average
    runner just doesn't do that, especially one in his 60's. I had to know more about him.

    I did a search of Athlinks.com, which is a website that banks official results. I found
    Goulart's chart and I almost fell out of my chair after seeing what I saw. There is an icon
    on the chart that announces to the world how many races a person has done. It said, "See
    all 600 races." Here is the link. It's mind-boggling.  http://athlinks.com/racer/results/14673720

    600 races?!! Are you kidding me. Goulart is addicted to endurance events. He has done
    33 marathons, 41 half-marathon, and five Ironman events. During a stretch from 2008 to
    2011, he averaged 57 events a year, which is insane!

    Goulart, even at age 63, is doing something really tough, yet really loves. He is passionate,
    determined, and is proving that the road ahead is still pretty awesome. The journey truly is
    just as important as the destination. Like Diana Nyad said, you're never too old to do
    anything that you want.

    No matter how old you are, there is still a lot left to accomplish in  life. You might not
    look pretty doing it, but doing it is all that really matters.

   





KERI CHAISSON-HARDEN: 100% IRON

Boyd Harden is an ex-Marine who was trained to fly high-powered helicopters. At
UNC, he was an All-American defenseman in lacrosse and while at New Canaan High
School, Harden earned All-State honors in hockey. I'm not sure if he even knew those
sports used a hard-rubber object to pass and score with because Harden was a heat-seeking
missile who would much rather destroy an opponent than celebrate a goal.

 

But in his household, Boyd takes a backseat in the sheer mental toughness department, to
his wife, Keri Chaisson, a graduate of New Canaan High School. Chaisson-Harden, 42, and
a mother of three, is an avid endurance triathlete. This past July, she completed the Lake
Placid Ironman for the third time in her brief career. For those scoring at home, the Ironman
consists of a 2.4 mile swim, a 112-mile bike, followed by a 26.2 mile run. Yep, just a 140.6
mile journey that she usually completes in less than 13 hours.

I've attempted to interview her several times over the last few years, but she respectfully
declines. She is not interested in any attention, which in this "look at me, aren't I great, post everything to Facebook world", is certainly refreshing.

Me: "Keri, I want to do an article on you about your triathlons."
Keri: "No way."
Me: "Come on, it'll make for a great piece."
Keri: "Not in a million years."

I've known Keri, Boyd, and their families for quite some time and was really interested in
seeing what the Ironman experience for them was all about. I've done several half-Ironman
and have an idea about the preparation, pain, and punishment a triathlete endures over a long
period of time. But the Ironman is a beast on steroids and dwarfs the 70.3 mile event not just
in the distance of it, but the mind-numbing pain one has to endure, as well.

I traveled to Lake Placid in the final weekend of July to experience the event as a spectator
and watch Chaisson-Harden prepare and compete in the small, picturesque village that
somehow managed to host a gargantuan international event like the Olympics not once,
but twice.

On race day, Chaisson-Harden woke at 4 a.m. to fuel her body for the grueling day ahead
of her. Imagine knowing that you're going to be exercising for nearly 13 hours straight,
burning calories at a lightning quick rate and realizing you can't just go to the fridge or
stop off at a convenient store to load up on things to replenish your body? Taking care of
your body during the race is an event in itself.

Phase I of the Ironman is a 2.4 mile swim in beautiful Mirror Lake, which sits less than
a half-mile away from the Olympic hockey arena where the United States completed the
"Miracle on Ice" in the 1980. Open water swimming is not like swimming in the pool
at your health club. With the mass of humanity, it's like swimming in a blender with elbows,
feet, hands, heads, furiously trying to find open space to swim. Chaisson-Harden, who is
a strong and gifted swimmer, finished the course in just over one hour.

Next up, the 112-mile bike ride. Lake Placid is not Florida or Chicago, where the landscapes
are completely flat and easy to ride. This is the Adirondacks, meaning there are challenging,
steep inclines and rolling hills. Over the course of the ride, your lungs burn, your legs bark,
and your mind goes off into a million different places, with you questioning why the hell
you decided to do this event in the firs place.

This is the third time Chaisson-Harden has competed in the event, her fourth Ironman overall.
I can only imagine what goes through her mind when she does it again and again and again.
After I completed my half-Ironmans, I said there was no way in hell I'd ever even consider
doing a full Ironman. The pain is ridiculous in a 70.3 mile event, forget about doubling up
on it.

But for Chaisson-Harden, pain must certainly be her good friend by now. She seems to be
addicted to it. One has to be to put in all the hours of preparation for the event. It's not like
going to the health club to take a couple of spinning classes and a few swims in the pool.
There are days when you have to ride the bike for eight hours and go on long runs that last
as long as a Red Sox-Yankees baseball game. The training for an Ironman is mind-blowing
and body destroying.

Chaisson-Harden finished her bike ride in just over six and half hours, or about 90 minutes
longer than a tennis match between Novak Djokavic and Rafeal Nadal. At the end of the ride,
your legs are cramping, your mind is screaming at you, and you still have a 26.2 mile run
ahead of you. I'd like to see the Kenyan marathon runners do a 112-mile bike ride before
they crush everyone competing in New York and Boston. Now, that would be interesting.

I watched hundreds of runners pass me by twice on the two loop course. I saw the pain,
the blank looks, and focus on the faces of those driven to completing this challenging event.
I don't think it's about winning for most of them because five seconds into the race, they
have no shot at staying with the professionals who are an entirely different breed,
almost superhuman. This is about testing your will and inner drive. This is about not quitting
or giving in to the challenge.

Chaisson-Harden injured her back during the grueling final leg of the event. But she didn't
stop, complain, or pack it in because of it. It would've been easy to say, "I can't do it anymore"
and everybody would've understood. But that's not in her DNA. She battled through the
injury and just kept going, trying to find a way to finish off a 26.2 mile run. Good, Lord,
that sounds so painful as I type away on the computer.

I positioned myself near the finish of the event, located at the Olympic Oval, the same place
where Eric Heiden made history by winning five gold medals in speedskating. I didn't want
to intrude on Keri's moment with her family as she crossed the finish line, ending nearly
13 hours of pain and punishment. I stationed myself near the entrance to the Oval and a spot
just about 500 yards from the finish. On a drizzling and overcast day, near perfect conditions
for the athletes, Chaisson-Harden entered the Oval determined to finish strong in the event.
I yelled out to her and she took the time to give me a fist pump, although the look on her
face said, "Please, just let me finish the event."

Chaisson-Harden did just that, completing her hat trick of Ironmans in Lake Placid less than
1,000 yards from where Team USA complete its run to the Olympic gold medal in hockey.
There were no miracles in Lake Placid to Chaisson-Harden, after all, this was the third time
she had completed this event. It had become old hat to her. But to me, seeing her complete
the event with a bad back and never, never giving up, was pretty impressive.

Chaisson-Harden spent the next five hours in the medical tent hooked up to an IV. Five
hours! As long as that epic tennis match between Djokovic and Nadal.....Amazing.

Keri Chaisson-Harden is an Ironman four times over and that is a tremendous accomplishment.

JOHNNY MANZIEL:TEXAS A & M's GOLDEN GOOSE.

 

Hello? Anybody home? I'm hearing nothing but crickets.

Amazing how the McMansion of Johnny Manziel haters has suddenly gone silent. Before
Saturday game against Alabama, they had such disdain for the Heisman Trophy-winning
quarterback because this 20-year old kid didn't have the moral fiber of the Pope, the politeness
of Tim Tebow,  intelligence of Mark Zuckerberg, and polish of George Clooney.

They called him a punk, thug, and a disrespectful, entitled brat. But after he torched Nick
Saban's defense for more than 550 yards of total offense, most are back to calling Manziel
what he truly is: the best player in college football---by far. There isn't a person who knows
a lick about football and sports that's not filled with venom, that wasn't in awe of what he did
against the Crimson Tide. Five touchdowns and 98 rushing against Alabama, are you kidding
me? The kid has some serious magic, and barring injury, he will win the Heisman Trophy
award again.

There will still be those who can't see Manziel through all their hate and continue to call him
a punk. But one thing is certain, to the people of Texas A & M, Johnny Football is their golden
goose. On Wednesday, the school announced it had raised $740 million for the fiscal year, a
whopping 70 percent over the previous year, and more than $400 million more than the
University of Texas raised.

I'm sure all the haterS will say that Manziel had nothing to do with it, when in reality, he
had everything to do with it. Without Manziel, Texas A & M is, well, Texas A & M, a school
that had absolutely no presence on the national landscape. Most people in the country don't
know a thing about it, much less know where the heck it is (College Station). Oh, sure, they
have the 12th man tradition and that kissing thing after touchdowns, but other than that, A & M
was irrelevant before Manziel came along and won the Heisman Trophy.

The football team is nationally ranked and are a ratings magnet thanks to Manziel, who is
a special player  you just can't keep your eyes off of. He's that good. He's an escape artist
along the lines of Houdini and is as electric as Michael Vick used to be.

Yeah, but....

I know, they say he has "character issues". Earlier this summer, I heard an alumnus say he
weren't sure if he wanted a guy like Manziel representing the school. I wonder if he somehow
got Manziel and Aaron Hernandez mixed up. I got a good laugh at that one as I was reading
the school raised $740 million, which is insane. I wonder if that same guy is feeling the same
way Manziel today, as he did a few months ago.

The athletic program generated more than $100 million in revenues in 2012, turning a
profit of $39 million. Oh, that's right, it must have been because of the leading scorer on
the field hockey team and had nothing to do with Manziel.

Haters will continue to hate on Manziel because that is what they do. I heard a guy say
that Manziel should be a better role model to kids because they see what he does. If you
are relying on a 20-year old kid to be a role model to your children, you have failed
miserably as a parent.

Johnny Manziel is what he is. An unbelievably gifted athlete who is a once-in-a-generation
college football player. He's far from perfect, but there has never been anyone like him.
Ever. As just a sophomore, he's the greatest player in the history of the school, and certainly
the most influential.

Manziel is not just Johnny Football to Texas A & M, he's there golden goose.

THE GREATEST JOB IN SPORTS

HELP WANTED

 

One of the most powerful brands in the world seeks person to

work 20 weeks per year outdoors. Travel to beautiful places around

the world and wear shorts to the office. Appear on television occasionally

and say, "great shot, boss" quite often. No degree required, seven figures possible.

  

          Without even knowing what the job was, most of us would say, "that sounds like the

          greatest job in the world. Where do I apply?!"

 

          Well, it might not be the greatest job in the world, but it certainly could be the best
          one in professional sports and Joe LaCava has it. The Newtown, CT. native is a caddie
          for a guy named Tiger who doubles as his golden goose.

          After Monday's eleventh place finish in the BWM Championship, Tiger Woods has made
          just over $8.4 million in prize money, meaning that LaCava has raked in about $840,000,
          give or take a few Benjamins. That would put LaCava 98th on the PGA Tour money
          list without swinging a club or tapping in a two-foot putt under pressure. On the
          PGA Tour, caddies usually get 10 percent of their bosses winnings, and as we
          know, Tiger wins a lot.
     

          If Tiger captures the final leg of the FedEx Championship, he'll earn a whopping $10
          million,which would mean another million for LaCava. All for carrying a bag
          around a meticulously groomed patch of real estate in some of the most beautiful places,
          not only in the country, but in the world. Man, that is a great job if you can get it.

         There is no real pressure on the caddie in his job, even if your boss demands perfection.
         You might have to clean his balls, count the clubs in his bag, and pick up a divot the
         size of Rhode Island during the round, but seriously, there is no heaving lifting. Give
         Tiger the right yarder and get the hell out of the way. Pump him up once in a while and
         don't air his dirty laundry, and you're golden.
        

         Oh, sure, there are some drawbacks. You don't get a 401K plan, insurance benefits, or
         take part in a company Christmas party. But if you make almost a million a year for
         working about 20 weeks out of it, you can't really complain and probably won't have
         any problem with those expenses.

         If you tell someone you caddie for a living, you probably get a lot of's: "Um, that's nice.
         I'm sure it's good to be outside all day." But if you tell somebody you caddie for Tiger
         Woods, the "Um, that's nice," quickly turns into "No friggin' way!"
         

         And let's face it, Tiger reads greens better than anyone on the planet. Have you ever
         seen him ask for a caddie's advice on a double-breaker from 30 feet out? Never. He's
         his own man on the course and he'll embarrass himself with a tantrum before he ever
         shows you up on the course.

         I caddied for the first time on the day I turned 13. I got to the course early hoping to
         get out early, but being the new guy, I was the last guy to get a loop. When my
         name was called, I had a screaming headache because I hadn't eaten anything since
         breakfast. The guy I caddied for was much worse than Charles Barkley. He must've
         shot 125 on a piping-hot summer day in the same town Tiger played the last round of
         the BMW Championship on Monday. I didn't caddie much after that.

         I don't know what I was thinking. With a little luck, I could've had the greatest job
         in sports.

 

 



ERIC LeGRAND: BEST PLAYER IN COLLEGE FOOTBALL SATURDAY

The best moment in college football didn't take place in College Station, Texas or Ann Arbor,
Michigan. It didn't happen in Tallahassee, Florida or Eugene, Oregon. There wasn't a play by
Johnny Manziel or Devin Garnder that produced a goose-bump, make-you-think moment like
the one that occurred in Piscataway, New Jersey on Saturday.

Yeah, I said Piscataway. Home of Rutgers, the school still rinsing itself off of the Mike Rice
scandal and the not-so-smart decisions that were made after it. Send in the clowns has been
the school's theme song since last spring.

But the state university of New Jersey made all the right moves on Saturday when they retired
number 52, the first one ever put away for good in the 144-year history of the program. In an
emotional ceremony, Eric LeGrand, saw his number unveiled at the stadium. LeGrand was
paralyzed from the neck down three years ago. There have been much better players than
LeGrand, a few of them like Ray Rice, are deserving of Rutgers immortality. But nobody
in the history of the program has ever had a better attitude than LeGrand. Ever.

His life was changed forever when he tried to make a tackle on a kick-off three years ago
against Army. One moment, he's a Division I college football player with a big future ahead
of him. The next moment, he's a paraplegic with virtually no chance of ever walking again.
Medical personnel would put that number at zero.

LeGrand doesn't care what anybody says. He, and probably he alone, believes he will
get out of his wheelchair and walk again. I've seldom seen a picture of LeGrand without
that mega-watt grin on his face. He is always happy. It's not an act for the cameras or the
fans around him. LeGrand is truly a happy man. One who laughs in the face of adversity,
while giving others like him real hope.

LeGrand is living his life the way he wants to live it now. He's a motivational speaker,
a football analyst on the radio, and the voice of the 1.5 million people in the United States
who are paralyzed in some way.

He won't quit. He knows he can't. LeGrand is not just a hero to people in wheelchairs,
but to those who often feel sorry for themselves. Hey, life can be hard. We all now that.
But how can anybody feel sorry for themselves when they see the attitude of a man who
has lost so much and keeps on pushing?

Eric LeGrand was the best player on the field on Saturday. It was his day, his moment, and
one that he deserved to have.

TOM BRADY IS A WICKED LOSAH!

Boston is the greatest sports town in the country, but its fans can sometimes be the worst.
They overreact so badly, it's almost comical. Their knee-jerk reaction could send a football
through the uprights from 80 yards out. Want proof? All you have to do is listen to sports talk
radio in Boston or read all the threads about Tom Brady and his performance against
the New York Jets on Thursday night.

The Patriots quarterback pretty much came unglued as his receivers dropped passes, ran the
wrong routes, and looked at his wife Gisele the wrong way. OK, so the last one didn't happen,
but Brady looked like he was going to go all Mike Rice on his teammates and hurl footballs
at them from close range on the sideline.

In his 14-year career, Brady has dressed down his receivers for blown assignments and dropping
passes before, but nothing like we saw on Thursday night. There were eye-rolls, head shakes, gestures with his hands, and screams at the top of his lungs. His favorite cuddly security blanket,
Wes  Welker is gone. The Gronk is still recovering from injury, Aaron Hernandez is sitting in
prison with all his tattoos, and Danny "China Doll" Amendola is hurt for the 238th time in his
career. It's as if Brady knows that Reche Caldwell, David Terrell, and Bethel Johnson are not
walking through that door, and he's a little pissed.

Brady re-structured his contract to free up money to re-sign Wes Welker and a few other stud
receivers and this is what Belichick gives him? Aaron Dobson and Kenbrell Thompkins? You'd
be rather pissed off, too. I almost thought Brady was going to bolt a GPS device to the helmet
of Dobson to give him an idea of where to go. If Dobson wasn't a second-round pick, which is
a miracle in itself, he'd be on the unemployment line today keeping Ochocinco company.

Patriots fans are blasting Brady for his pouting, ranting, and for showing up nearly everyone
outside of Robert Kraft. He was far from perfect, they say, overshooting Julian Edelman for
a sure touchdown pass.

Patriots fans: calm the heck down! Brady had a bad game all-around. His throwing, his
demeanor, all of his actions were un-Brady-like. It happens and yes, even to Mr. Wonderful,
Tom Brady. The Patriots have won a ridiculous 77 percent of its games with Brady as the
starting quarterback. He's driven to win, driven to be perfect. It's why the Patriots have won
10 or more games for 10 consecutive games which is incredible.

The Patriots are 2-0 with two division wins. They will be fine. Amendola and the Gronk will
be back soon and the offense will return to normal soon enough. If Brady could win while
throwing to Caldwell and a bunch of misfits seven years ago, he can surely win with this cast
of characters.

Relax, Boston, the Patriots are 2-0, not 0-2. You don't live in Jacksonville, where the Jaguars
have a guy named Blaine Gabbert at quarterback and that makes you already mathematically
eliminated. Things are going to be just fine, Boston. In your city, they usually are.