The finer things in life, baloney! Seriously!

Here I sit eating pieces of beef jerky. I have often wondered why is it that I do not find myself in a position in which someone will ask me: “How is beef jerky made?” To which I would answer: “Well, first you start with a very, old cow.”

I couldn’t say if I ate jerky as a kid. I can long remember eating Slim Jims, which are the same as jerky only different.

In many cases there are numerous foods today which were not available to the general public when I was growing up. A major reason for that was or is geography. I grew up in a town of about 2,000 people which was some 60 miles from a “metropolitan area.”

The first Mexican food I remember eating was actually what is identified today as Tex-Mex. That makes sense geographically since I grew up and live in Texas as well as Texas standing next door to Mexico. My mother would buy these enchilada and tamale TV dinners with frijoles y arroz, which we knew, of course, as beans and rice. Although I had eaten at a few Mexican restaurants in Texas and the South, I was never exposed to honesto a dios Mexican food until the time I spent in the El Paso-Juarez area and in Southern California. The first “authentic” Mexican food that I found in a restaurant outside of the Southwest was in Lufkin, Texas, of all places.

First of all, I went to college in Nacogdoches, which was just across the river from Lufkin. Casa Morales was the name of the restaurant. Located in downtown Lufkin, the place had great food and an ambiance to match. As well as a good plate of chile rellenos, one might search through the racks near the cashier for historietas, the graphic novellas which were more lurid and even pornographic than comic. Casa Morales later built another restaurant in Redland, a community closer to the Angelina River that separates Angelina and Nacogdoches counties.

Growing up, pizza was something my mother made with a Chef Boyardee Pizza Kits. I probably first had pizza in a pizza place in high school when I traveled to the Beaumont area, where I now live. Since that time I have eaten pizzas in the northeast U.S., Chicago, the West Coast as well as Australia and New Zealand. I must note, I have never visited New York, though I have had so-called “New York-Style” pizza.

There was some standard fare growing up. My mother made wonderful fried chicken. I remember her fried tripe was excellent although some people I know might gag at the sound of the entree. By the way, I had some really good menudo the last time I stayed in El Paso with my friends. Menudo is known, of course, for its magical powers as a hangover cure though I didn’t eat it for that reason on that particular occasion and it was still delicious.

Other dishes from my mother’s hands included, probably my best-loved dish that she made, her pigs-in-a-blanket. This was long before I heard the term kolache, but this was very near what her pigs were.

We were country folks and as such we would eat some dishes not-so-mainstream growing up. One of my sisters-in-law told of her being stunned to see on one of her initial visits, served on my family dinner table, a cooked baloney. Of course, that is considered soul food in some parts of the country today. My Dad, himself a good cook having served as a merchant marine steward in WWII, would buy a billy goat for the 4th of July that he would barbecue. The meal, especially using meat of a kid goat, today is known more by the Mexican method as cabrito.

I would be remiss not to mention a concoction my dad would make that he called “Son of a Gun.” Now my brothers and I have discussed this many times although I am not sure we arrived at a collective agreement as to what this meal was and what all it contained. Some of my siblings said it was my Dad’s version of “Sonofabitch Stew,” the old cattle drive fare that included just about any ingredient of a cow or other edible meat and lots and lots of hot sauce. But this stew my Pops whipped up was more like a Slum Gullion Stew, which is a watery stew of practically any ingredient handy.

In my Dad’s case, this thin stew consisted of potted meat and some type of canned tomato product such as tomato sauce or tomato soup or perhaps canned tomatoes. I surmise he added hot sauce, salt and pepper and he would often bake up some homemade corn bread as a side. It was truly some righteous stuff.

I have eaten barbecued monkey meat on a stick in the Philippines. I added an egg to a hamburger in Australia but turned down the “beet root.” Today you can get just about any kind of meat or vegetable depending on how much you want to pay and how far you want to travel. But sometimes the simplest meals one may find are the things no farther than one’s pantry or local grocer store. It is all the better when you know the food is made at home, and for love just as it is prepared for sustenance.

Today’s ‘entertainment’ news: We’re not dicking around, Mr. Johnson.

Here is some truly bizarre news. A rapper affiliated with the group the Wu Tang Clan reportedly severed his penis and leaped from his second-floor apartment in what was described as a suicide attempt, CNN reports. Christ Bearer, whose real name is Andre Johnson, performs with the group Northstar. Neither Johnson, nor Johnson’s severed Johnson should be confused with All-Pro Houston wide receiver Andre Johnson. The rapper survived the fall and was taken to a Los Angeles-area hospital in critical condition.

Apparently, it has yet to be reported if known whether Johnson and Johnson jumped together or separately. However, Johnson’s severed Johnson, or penis if you will, was taken along with the rapper Johnson to the hospital.

The hip-hop Wu Tang Clan emerged in 1993, according to is website. Among its original members were Method Man, Raekwon, RZA and the late Ol’ Dirty Bastard.

In other penis-related news … I just can’t bear to write about this. If you desire go ahead …

You can check out anytime you like, but be sure to rehearse

Another trip to the knee surgeon this morning means another month of little doing. After surgery last week I now am prescribed a knee brace to wear while doing relatively nothing until yet the next doctor’s appointment in about another month. I can start light duty again at work next week, so at least I will have some people with whom to speak.

Days like today make me wish there was a decent pub nearby. Actually, there is a decent hotel bar not far away but one can rack up quite a tab even at happy hour. I don’t know what the price of a bar beer was back in the day in which I drank beer in a bar. It doesn’t seem draft beer was all that expensive but you definitely got what you paid for drinking draft.

These days I drink beer vary sparingly, to the point that a brew tastes pretty good after you’ve not had one in awhile. Just as when I would go a week or two at sea without a cold one.

Marines shift American colors to Philippine as Subic Bay Naval Station is handed over back to its host country in 1992.

Marines shift American colors to Philippine as Subic Bay Naval Station is handed over back to its host country in 1992.

Talks about bars and drinking kind of go hand-in-hand, I suppose, since I feel somewhat melancholy about life in general. I started listening to the Eagles on the computer but I realized how blue some of the birds’ songs can be. “After The Thrill Is Gone,” for example.

 “What can you do when your dreams come true and it’s not quite like you planned?/What have you done to be losing the one/You held it so tight in your hand./Time passes and you must move on, half the distance takes you twice as long/So you keep on singing for the sake of the song/After the thrill is gone. 

Who cares if one doesn’t hear iambic pentameter in the lyrics? The harmonious vocals and e-lec-tric-i-cal guitars all seem to work.

If you keep listening to the Eagles you may hear something more sad and pensive or perhaps you might even run into something funny whether it’s meant to be or not. The late 1970s hit and title track of the album “Hotel California” spawns several funny thoughts that have less to do with the song so much as it does the title.

Several hit songs from “Hotel California,” including the title track were hitting the airwaves in Southern California in July 1977, just as I got there to board my old destroyer for a year of Western and Southern Pacific duty. “Life In The Fast Lane,” a particularly fitting song for driving the freeways from L.A. to San Diego, was popular just as I arrived in San Pedro/Long Beach, where my ship was in drydock. A month or two later we sailed down to our homeport of San Diego. I stored my car in Long Beach because we were only to stay in San Diego for a couple of weeks. An aside, I was worried my Corolla would be a solid rust bucket upon returning because the car was in a gated, but exposed, area seaward on Terminal Island. Luckily, all the then-3-year-old Toyota needed upon returning was a jump from some battery cables.

One thing that could definitely be said for “Hotel California” is that it travels well. It seemed as if hardly a day went by when you couldn’t hear the song played on a juke box or by a local Filipino band in one of the clubs fronting Magsaysay Drive in beautiful downtown Olangapo, Republic of the Philippines. Olangapo is the city that was outside the main gate to the then Subic Bay Naval Station. The U.S. relinquished control of the large naval station and adjacent Cubi Point Naval Air Station in 1992 due to a call among the Filipino people to close it. The control by the Philippines was hastened, as was nearby Clark Air Force Base in Manilla, when the area was engulfed in volcanic dust from the eruption of Mt. Pinatubo in 1991.

In the days I visited Olangapo on and off from September 1977 to April 1978, I had learned of the intensity and dedication Filipino musical groups gave to their work. It was not unheard of for bands to practice eight hours in the day only to go on and perform just afterwards in the evenings. Sometimes, one might think the bands that recorded the popular rock tunes heard in the U.S. were the original bands. But it seemed many groups in Olangapo had one small flaw when it came to playing the Eagles’ hit, “Hotel California.” That would be the pronunciation of “California” itself. The local bands to a man (mostly) sang: “Welcome to the Hotel Cal-i-porn-ya.”

Some afternoons when were let go from work with early liberty, one might sit in a bar alone with his thoughts, with no “Calipornia.” One might then enjoy a cold San Miguel, and wonder what life was to bring. I never thought I would still ponder those times 36 years later, still with a bit of melancholy even though I’ve seen enough to make probably dozens of people happy.

Such is life. Those Filipino dudes sounded great, whether they mispronounced “California”or not. Nothing or no one is perfect. Life would be pretty damned dull if it was.

Here is a toast to imperfection and its restorative powers!

The state seizes Beaumont school control. The circus has left town.

The state board that oversees public education in Texas announced today that an appointed board of managers will rule the troubled Beaumont school district.

A letter from Texas Education Commissioner Michael Williams to the Beaumont Independent School District superintendent and school board said the managers along with an appointed conservator and superintendent will run district functions effective June 15. This means the current elected board and its appointed superintendent, Dr. Timothy Chargois, will cease supervision of the largest district in Southeast Texas. A copy of that letter is here.

The announcement comes in the wake of years-long controversy, often based along racial lines, over financial and other mismanagement. Some of the former has resulted in the alleged disappearance of  millions in public dollars. A few pleas by district officials made in federal court may result in prison time as well as financial reimbursement and fines. A deal was also worked out by federal prosecutors and the district’s electrician in which the latter will receive no prison time for allegedly bilking the district for more than $4 million.

A Texas Education Agency report released earlier this month noted ” … a severe breakdown in the management of the district’s finances both by the board of trustees and the superintendent.”

Additional criminal investigations by local law enforcement and the FBI are currently under way.

Not addressed in these official reports are the racial overtones that pervade the controversy. Some of the racial discord dates back more than two decades in which the school district incorporated predominantly black schools and marked the beginning of a “white flight” that has today left Beaumont as a city with a black majority in population. Population estimates for 2012 by the U.S. Census show Beaumont with a population of 118,228. Of that population, 47 percent is black and 40 percent white.

Much of the racial-driver controversy concerning Beaumont schools teetered in the shadows until recent years under the district’s predominantly black school board and its black former superintendent Dr. Carroll “Butch” Thomas. Before Thomas retired in 2012, his salary of more than $360,000 was the highest in Texas. This despite Beaumont ISD was not even in the top 20 Texas schools in enrollment size.

The zenith of the BISD controversy came about after voters in 2007 passed a more than $380 million bond issue. Some of the most vocal critics say Thomas and cohorts mishandled funds in the bond issue. The large “Carroll A. “Butch” Thomas Educational Support Center, with a 10,600-seat football stadium at its center, is perhaps the monument for the BISD storm that either saw its peak today with the state takeover or whatever else is to follow.

Within the fight against the school board has been a vocal minority led by white residents of the district’s more affluent neighborhoods as well local Tea Party activists. The opposition leaders include one of the few white school board members and one local attorney who serves on the Beaumont City Council. Many who are among the most vocal, and often the most racial, can be found at the board meetings and on the comment sections of local media stories. Often the most vocal make their thoughts known pseudonymous online, such as adopting racist names for Beaumont school leaders as well as making sure minorities in other stories are likewise not given the benefit of doubt for their actions.

I must admit, it was once fun watching the squabbling on both sides. But no longer is that the case. Many of the opposition to the school board and its appointed leaders Thomas and Chargois, will feel vindicated and perhaps even giddy upon the actions taken today by the Texas Education Agency and its distinguished commissioner, Mr. Williams. It is pertinent to point out that Williams, who is a Republican former Texas Railroad Commissioner, is also black. I fear though that if the white BISD opposition does not get out of those appointees what they want, the vocal minority will likely point at the black TEA commissioner and probably at any African-Americans he appointed to the board of managers. Perhaps even, the loyal opposition may show its ire at the whole group.

If such takes place, it can only result in more discord and more white flight.

A word for the media here. I am sure all the local TV stations will claim their role in this hoped-for correction of the district. The TV stations are already doing their annoying “It was first reported here … ” The local newspapers took a very, very slow start into covering problems in the district as did the TV stations. Were it not for several of the aforementioned ringleaders of opposition, the media coverage of the district problems would have been nil. Had these media outlets been competently led, they might have seen Pulitzer or Peabody prizes in their future. While I would be willing to bet the TV and newspapers may win some prizes, the awards will be nothing near what they might have been had the local media been on the ball. It’s even possible these problems would have never even come this far.

So much for the fun and games. The circus has long stopped being fun. The clean-up crew now has to try and sweep away all the crap that the clowns, rather than the elephants, left behind.


Quick and woozy

My concentration is pretty much shot after taking two Vicodin a short while ago. I have taken a couple of other such Hydrocodone and Acetaminophen tablets today in efforts to relieve my post-operative knee pain.

The surgery went well, as far as I can tell. I can still walk. Yea! Although, my knee — all wrapped up in an Velcro-elastic bandage — is awful sore today. This isn’t unexpected although the knee felt pretty good all of yesterday. I replaced the bloody dressing from yesterday with band aids over the the three little punctures in the skin, two of which showed tiny stitches. It was certainly a quick operation. I remember myself nodding out just after my brother Billy,  who drove me to the clinic and home, left for the waiting room. I have to say I was glad my brother was there to help keep my mind occupied instead of worrying whether some kind of mishap might befall me while I lay in a very brief medically-induced coma.

I woke and I remember a flash view of the nurse taking the breathing tube away. That isn’t to say I remember the tube being removed from my throat, just taken. Each time I have had surgery, the recovery always seems to remind me of Dorothy waking up in her on bed after her wild haloucinogenic trip to Oz. And you were there, and you were there too Toto!

The doctor said the surgery took only 10 minutes or so. I kind of find that hard to believe from what I have read about an arthroscopic meniscetomy. Maybe 15-to-30 minutes but 10? Nevertheless, I am a bit lethargic with somewhat of a wooze factor. So, I’ll keep it short, shorty.

A word before that cold ass operating table …

Tomorrow morning at 8:15 I will undergo surgery to have my torn knee meniscus cartilage repaired. I have been through an ordeal over the past two or three months dealing with some significant pain as well as experiencing some unwelcome foot-dragging between my surgery clinic and worker’s compensation folks.

I, for one, am happy to get this done. Well, not really happy. But you know what I mean.

Today has been a total pain in the ass dealing with my work’s computer help desk in Washington. Those people are just unbelievable. I know most computer call centers are a blight on all mankind — whoa, I guess that’s a bit harsh. Need I just say I am glad my workday is now over.

Hopefully, all will go well with the surgery. I always worry a little, and I think it is prudent to have a little concern, to undergo general anesthesia. I suppose as long  as I wake up with no major problems then everything will be cool.

So until later, ta.

What’s wrong with Ferguson and Geoff replacing Letterman?

It looks like Wednesday, April 9, may finally be the day my torn knee meniscus cartilage is fixed. What a freaking ordeal that’s been.

The world of late night TV is also having its own freaking ordeal now that David Letterman announced his retirement last night. Some say he retired years ago. I just think the time has come. I have liked Letterman over the years but his show is difficult to remain with through a night. It’s definitely lost a lot of its freshness.

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised Jimmy Fallon has become successful, off to a fast beginning in replacing Jay Leon. I suppose the people who like Saturday Night Live over the last 15 or so years would like Fallon. Of the two Jimmies, I overwhelming say Kimmel is the better. But I don’t really like to stay with his show the entire episode either. Automatically, many think of Craig Ferguson on the CBS Late Late Show which follows Dave as a likely replacement, but I supposed those who like the two Jimmies shows don’t particularly get Ferguson. Not so, me.

Only over the past year or so have I begun watching Ferguson and his very different style of humor. I really suppose I should start taping it so I can get to sleep at a better time. Oh, and I stay with his show, wishing it was just a bit longer.

Ferguson reminds me of the early days of Letterman who, while seeming appearing stable on the outside seems possessing a zany personalaity with deep intellect. Not that Letterman seemed all that brainy, although many times he ends up looking crazy as a fox. Ferguson, a naturalized Scot who shows an abiding love for America with all it warts (most often a difficult task these days), has no band and no real human sidekicks. He has an robotic skeleton, Geoff Peterson, whose fingers seem to be falling off and two people in a horse suit known collectively as “Secretariat.” The latter only dance around and nod their heads at something to indicate an affirmative or negative. Geoff is hilarious as is Ferguson.

Ferguson likewise has great guests and, I don’t know if they rehearse, but they all seem to come off as if they had been sitting around talking all day. A limbo contest between Ferguson and guest Ashton Kutcher last night was a hoot. The Late, Late Show  follows a legacy of another “out there” host whom I really enjoyed, Tom Snyder.

One must admit that there are some intriguing names circulating as potential candidates to replace Letterman. Among them, Chelsea Handler, Ellen DeGeneres, Arsenio Hall, Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert. All could revitalize that first late show time spot. Then so could Ferguson and others.

Maybe I just should lighten up and accept what passes for comedy of the more recent Saturday Night Live variety. Maybe I am just stuck in the Belushi, Murray, Ackroyd days. Or maybe not. Too much to ponder.

Happy Weekend.

Start with a microbe, you end up with a redneck pondering speech

Here is a story from Canadian TV that helps put one back in their place: Ah, yes, tales of the “Methane-spewing microbe blamed in worst mass extinction.”

Speaking of methane-spewing, I am still laughing today at a particular scene from last night’s episode “Starvation” on the great FX series Justified. Yeah, I know some may have still not watched it so avert your eyes.

The wonderful redneck criminal character Dewey Crowe, played by Down Under-er Damon Herriman, is caught siphoning gas from a little old lady’s car. Asked if he wants some snack or such she trots off while Dewey hollers: “If you’re gonna be a minute, you mind if I run in and take a shit?”

Not surprisingly, the old woman returns with a double-barrel shotgun. Well, it isn’t surprising she returns with a gun, not that it isn’t surprising she comes back with a “side-by-side.” Or isn’t it?

I’m not all that good in character minutiae, especially with a fast-moving, Elmore Leonard-inspired TV series. But the show’s executive producer Graham Yost tells Entertainment Weekly that another comic exchange, this time between Dewey and lead Timothy Olyphant, has ties to the series’ beginning. Olyphant, who exquisitely plays U.S. Deputy Marshal Raylyn Givens, manages to arrest Dewey after he, figuratively, blew up a chance for the marshals to trap Dewey’s meaner brother Darryl. As Dewey is led away Raylyn gives the hapless criminal some advice that he might ” … stop referring to himself in the third person.”

“What? This guy?” Dewey asks, nodding toward the cop about to drive him to jail.

“Man, sometimes I don’t understand you.”

The last phrase, as it turns out, Dewey uttered in the pilot episode. I don’t know if I even saw the pilot. I’m sure I must’ve. I haven’t missed many of the episodes Justified‘s five season. This is one of the few golden nuggets in TV these days. It is a reminder that the show must’ve had a writer. And it did and it does.

Too bad it wasn’t me.


Man calls in sick. Sees his boss from 250 miles away.

This morning I called in sick for work, telling my supervisor that I didn’t sleep well because of my knee pain. Then, I later took in a Jason’s Deli “build your own” half-portion ham and cheddar on Telera with stone-ground mustard, lettuce, red onions and pickles. Well, I actually ordered Italian peppers but I got pickles instead. While I ate, who is the one person in all of Beaumont, Texas, in the Original Jason’s Deli in the Gateway shopping center, whom I would not expect to see? Ex squeeze? Like mistakes, I’ve made a few. Well, that one person was my supervisor who works in Dallas.

“You gotta eat,” said Brian. Yeah. That’s the thing about my job, part-time as it is, you never know where your supervisor will turn up. One week in Costa Rica, the next Dallas, the next … Brian was showing the new guy around on one of our collection tasks — not collection of taxes or monies owed. It’s all top secret, you see? Hush, hush. On the QT. WTF?

I joked when meeting that the new guy that I called in sick this morning and here I go running into the boss, except, I failed to make my point. I wasn’t running either. Bad knee. I stopped and pulled up a spare chair for a few minutes. It really doesn’t matter whether I am sick or not. That’s the beauty of having a CBA (collective bargaining agreement.) I usually tell Brian what’s wrong with me. I’m not the type to say “Nunya,” as in “Nunya f***ing business.” That would be rude and Brian is a genuinely nice guy. I might feel differently at some point in time. In fact, I have felt differently at points in time. I was definitely glad to see TNG (The New Guy.) I will also be happy to see TNG-ette (The New Guy-ette.)

The work situation here has been dismal at best for quite some times. Talk about revolving doors! People above my pay grade have been “down here” doing work of three people, formerly done most often by one.

Oh for those interested, or not, I finally yelled and screamed enough to the worker’s comp people who finally gave in and finally approved my knee arthroscopy. Leave it up to the surgical clinic to find a glitch to delay the surgery once more. Perhaps, the surgeon’s person said, Wednesday. She meant a week from tomorrow. Only, this all took place yesterday so, technically, my surgery to repair a medial and lateral meniscus tear in my right knee would come the earliest a week from Wednesday. Which is actually tomorrow.  Yes, I am purposely fragging sentences. Boom went the basketball filled with dynamite! Rim shot. What the hell ever.

Are you unhappy with How I Met Your Mother  ended? Ted’s wife died and his kids were all hot for their Dad to go out with Aunt Robin. Like we didn’t see that coming, Aunt Robin or no Aunt Robin. !Spoiler Alert! ¿Como se dice Spoiler Alert? I suppose this is an awkward place to place “Spoiler Alert.”

Did you know The Zombies hit “She’s Not There” was released in 1964? Actually, it was released in July 1964 so it is not quite 50 years old. Can you believe that? Colin Blunstone, cool as a dry martini on vocals. Rod Argent, who wrote the song, was barely visible on electronic keyboards. Electronic keyboards? 1964? Baroque rock or pop.

Colin Blunstone is one of my favorite singers of all time. Cool as a dry martini, like I said. He was the notable voice of The Zombies hits including “Time of the Season.” He has had a solo career and contributed to a number of popular works including several Alan Parsons Project records. What a great voice, that Blunstone bloke!

It’s kind of like rap, you see. You just throw down the words and they go rap, rap, rap. I’m talking about this post, not Colin Blunstone.

–30 –


Crime and medicine: Duo subjects for budding sports journalists

The role of a sports writer has seemed to widen each year. The media, and I would say rightly so, has reported in recent years on criminal escapades of athletes at all levels. Depending on how forthcoming the sports media are about developing stories on “student-athlete-criminals” the consumers of said media may be delivered crime stories ranging from jocks at the junior high to professional levels.

As is the case with most crime stories a person need not be arrested, tried or convicted  to have one’s name end up on the pages or on television in relation to some criminal misdeed. And if one is a prominent athlete, or just an athlete in some cases, or a celebrity a conviction is not always needed to rate coverage. Take the example today of Philadelphia Eagles wide receiver DeSean Jackson. Jackson has been shopped as of late by Philly front-office types. Reasons range from work ethic, or lack thereof, to temperament. The latest rap is that Jackson allegedly has ties with gang members. One such alleged gangsta, a rapper named “T-Ron,” has supposed connections to the notorious L.A. “Crips” gang. Such thin allegations involving Jackson says little as for his involvement, innocence or guilt. What does give rise to suspicions is that the Eagles have so intensely shopped Jackson who came off the previous season with big numbers and a big salary to boot.

Writing about such allegations takes no specific training as a journalist or sports writer. Perhaps these scribes would study their libel courses very well before engaging in publishing stories heavy with accusations and light on facts. To do hard-nose reporting on criminal escapades committed by a ball player and his friends requires a bit of training, if only OJT.

A second type of specialty reporting in sports news falls into the field of medicine. I thought of this having heard earlier on the radio that Houston Rockets guard Patrick Beverley was supposedly diagnosed with a torn meniscus in his right knee after an injury during the Rockets-76-ers game last night. Always sunny in Philadelphia, huh?

Deeper reading will probably find some journalist with a knowledge about such an injury, what it means, and how surgery might impact Beverley and his team on the Rocket’s path to the playoffs. I first heard this story earlier in the afternoon on Houston ESPN 97.5 “The Blitz” program. Hosts Dave Tepper and Houston Chronicle columnist Jerome Solomon ran down the Beverley story and how it could result in Jeremy Lin starting in place of the injured Rocket. These radio hosts made an interesting observation that former Knicks phenom Lin has as his strength these days playing from the bench. Whether this means  Lin can step up, of course, is a good question. Where Tepper and Solomon could have used help is in having someone with even the slightest bit of medical knowledge concerning the injury suffered by Beverley.

I know I could provide a little information about that injury. As a result of a medial and lateral tear of the meniscus cartilage, I have been ordered by my doctor to stand no more than 2 hours per day. This has gone on for a bit more than a month and a half due to a reexamination into my worker’s compensation case. I just learned today that surgery for my torn meniscus has been authorized so there is the possibility I might have an arthroscopic meniscus repair sometime next week. I have been and am ready to get it over with and hope it will help. Perhaps I can become an expert on such injuries. At least I might have more knowledge than I was given today on the radio. That isn’t slamming Tepper or Solomon. Such journalist or commentators aren’t expected to be lawyers nor doctors. They just need to know where to find one. And that’s my point.

If one has a dream of becoming a sports reporter, then legal and medical issues are the types of subjects which sports journalists are expected to encounter these days. My piece of advice is, if such subjects aren’t approached at some point in the first couple of years in J school, then I would suggest you find courses into which one may learn these issues. Basic criminal justice of the kind reporters require should be taught in news writing intro courses. If not, then sign up for an actual criminal justice class. You will likely find in those classes some would-be cops or actual LEOs who might add to your knowledge, that, in addition to what one learns in class. Medical classes are something of which I am not so sure. I learned my medical knowledge through EMT training in which I was certified for 10 years. I also dated a couple of nurses. (Pause.)

At the very least, talk to an adviser in your school’s nursing program. No telling what you might find there. Anything is better than nada, someone — I think Doug Sahm — once said.