An interesting discussion: Are O.J.’s problems all in his head?

Last evening I had an interesting conversation over dinner with a pathologist whom I had never met before. One topic on which we discussed was a news item that we discovered we both had recently seen on television concerning. O.J. Simpson. “The Juice” as he was known is, of course, the ex-professional football running back, who was acquitted of murdering his wife and her friend in what was called “The Trial of the Century.” Simpson, also an actor and car rental pitchman, is serving a prison sentence in Nevada for armed robbery.

I ate dinner at a place called BJ’s Restaurant and Brewhouse, a chain that started out as a pizza place in the Bay Area of California and has spread nationwide. This one is in Pearland, a suburb of Houston. Dinner was several blocks from my hotel in a nice little, walkable, shopping center. I was by myself and so I sat at a table for two,  which was joined by about three other tables for two. It was a subdued place despite the three large TV screens in the bar. It had equal, extensive menus for both food and drink, which as expected, offers many different labeled and crafted beers.

This fellow walked in and asked if anyone was sitting at the next table and we struck up a talk that lasted for more than half an hour. It turned out this guy is a pathologist. I think the profession has become widely known for the forensic pathologists you see on the CSI and NCIS television franchises. Actual pathologists are either specialized medical or osteopathic doctors. This gentleman said that while he had done autopsies in the past his time is spent nowadays at the Texas Medical Center, as he called it, taking “whatever body parts a doctor removes.” His specialization are the ones who examine the cell tissues and other items taken in biopsies and surgeries to determine if they are benign or malignant. Since I learned a little about medicine from the time I spent as an EMT and now that I feel as if I spend so much of my time going to doctors, it seemed he enjoyed talking to someone who appreciated the man’s job. He had no airs like people sometimes think doctors may have when, many times, the physician is trying to compartmentalize to determine what’s wrong with you.

I don’t know what we were talking about when the doctor mentioned the story about O.J. Simpson. I told him yes, I had heard it too and thought how the subject of O.J. Simpson seemed like a bad penny that wouldn’t go away. The most recent O.J. installment is that a renown neuropatholgist has perhaps staked his career on the possibility Simpson might be suffering from a disease known as “CTE,” which stands for chronic traumatic encephalopathy.

Dr. Bennet Omalu first published research about CTE while he worked as a forensic pathologist in Allegheny County, Pa. The Nigerian-American physician found this disease in football players who had sustained multiple concussions. The disease can only be diagnosed for now on dead people, thus Omalu has made a pretty bold pronouncement.

The research on CTE touched off numerous lawsuits filed by families of NFL players and has led to a nationwide discussion on the dangers of concussions, from Pop Warner leagues to the pros.

Omalu said in an interview with ESPN that he would “bet my medical license” that Simpson has the disease. Different personality changes such as violence and poor impulse control are signs that one might have CTE as are other factors, according to Omalu. The former medical examiner has said he had not spoken with Simpson.

My “dinner companion” said that he was just as shocked as anyone else that the disease has led to as many lawsuits as it has. And he raised an eyebrow on Omalu’s contention concerning Simpson. I think we both concluded that most people realize, or should, that having a blow to the head isn’t a good thing. I suppose that for so long people thought that helmets and other protective gears worn by football players would keep players from more serious injuries. That may have led to a false sense of security. In reality, a number of factors are cited why that is so, Among the reasons is the fact that players are bigger and stronger than before. Weight training for football players isn’t just for college and pros anymore. It’s like the reverse of the saw, “the bigger they are, the harder they fall.” In reality, the bigger the are, the harder they hit.

I enjoyed my conversation with the doctor. It was an interesting way to spend a little time out of town, not to mention the pale lager and bison burger I consumed, “served with a side of tangy slaw tossed with Baja vinaigrette and topped with green onions,” according to the menu.

No more dollar menu from McGreedy. But maybe Santa will bring the Texans a Super Bowl and the world some peace.

 

So much sadness seems to surround our world these days. And I am not just talking about the Paris terrorist attack. For instance, fast food giant McDonald’s has announced it is parting ways with its dollar value menu. It is instead offering a choice of two items from a choice of the McDouble, McChicken, small fry and Mozzarella sticks. This comes after McDonald’s belittled the tamale in Mexico. Really, have you no shame ¿damas y señores?

Well while we are speaking of such a sad state of affairs, there was one brightened light last evening. I speak of the Houston Texans keeping their shirts together long enough to upset the Cincinnati Bengals. The Bengals were one of an unprecedented three NFL teams that were undefeated. Those 9-0 teams are the New England (Cheating Scum) Patriots and the Carolina (Where the hell is that?) Panthers. Texans quarterback Brian Hoyer left the Monday evening game with a possible concussion shortly before the fourth quarter began. The Bengals led by two field goals in those waning seconds of the third period. But then as the fourth quarter began, in the sky, no on the field it’s … not Superman. But close enough for the Texans. Out of seemingly nowhere, came T.J. Yates — who is that? — lobbing a 22-yard touchdown pass at the end of his first drive. The catch by Houston WR DeAndre Hopkins sealed the deal.

Actually, anyone who even remotely has followed Houston Texans games should know who is this Yates — not Shelly, not Keats, nor Dickens — person. It was this T.J. Yates who substituted for first string QB Matt Schaub, and second-stringer Matt Leinart, during the 2011 Texans season. Yates chunked a short pass in the last two seconds of a match with — you guessed it — the Bengals. That resulted in the first round of playoffs, ever, in the Texans’ history during that 2011 season.

So now the Texans share an AFL South lead with Indianapolis. Both sport a very unspectacular 4-5 standing. Yes Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. Just wait for the jolly old fat man with white hair and beard. I believe he will make it from the South Pole in December, or is it from the North Pole in January? Maybe St. Nicky will deliver the long-suffering Texans’ fans a playoff berth. And perhaps even a Super Bowl. If you are going to wish, you might as well go big.

While he is at it Santa might as well bring some comfort to our Parisian brethren, and serve it with some world peace on the side.

Thoughts of disgust from an unrepentant band-wagoner

HOUSTON — Damned Astros! I hadn’t intended to watch the Astros this year. When the team changed from the National League where they had been for, forever, to the American I said that is it. I will no longer watch them or like them. I like the Texas Rangers okay. They are American League with their designated hitters. That’s fine. But the Houston of Mike Scott and Nolan Ryan and Larry Dierker and the Killer Bs. They were born National League – the National League of the slugging pitchers and no DLs.

But alas, I fell into the bandwagon. The Astros were contenders for most of the year and they got into the playoffs the hard way, with a wild card berth.

As of this morning the Houston team was leading the series and could have finished off Kansas City this afternoon. And it looked as if that would happen with the Astros leading 6-to-2 at the bottom of the seventh inning. Oh, but the Royals came back in the final two innings to ensure no joy was to be seen in Mudville. The mighty Astros had struck out. KC lived to play another game as they whipped Houston like a rented mule 9-to-6.

It seems most Houston sports teams cannot finish the deal. Maybe some of the Rockets round ball teams are excepted. Maybe it’s this damned humidity that Houston gets from its sub-tropical geography. But it seems those teams always play like hell, only to have themselves passed up at the end and left bloody — in this case on the diamond of Minute Maid Park.

Game 5 starts after 7 p.m. Central Wednesday, Oct. 14, at Ewing M. Kauffman Stadium in KC. The temperatures will be mild with mostly clear skies says the Weather Bureau. Maybe the Astros will remember why they are there. It is for something called “winner take all.”

Let’s not even talk about the American League Championship Series, or, heaven forbid the World “Freakin'” Series. Not yet. But if the Astros get as far as either one, yes, I will be band-standing with the best of them.

Some thoughts on feet n’ football

Welcome back. I suppose that is a correct expression. I welcome myself back. I am trying very hard to stay off my left foot. That is where I have a toe wound and it is linked to diabetes. The wound became infected and my podiatrist was like “Holy shit!” He didn’t say that. But his expression said it for him.

I have the inclination to ask him why he wanted to study podiatry. One immediately thinks — at least those of us with somewhat perverted minds — “foot fetish.” But feet stank. Yes I know that isn’t the right word but to get a little OG into it. I’m talking “Original Gangster” but some of you, perhaps it is just I, probably think I was recalling that dirty little short ditty sang by Dr. Hook called “Monterrey Jack.” You know:

“You mean OD/No OG/That’s when you OD and you say Oh gee … ”

I tell you what, for the acclaimed writer of children’s books and poems that Shel Silverstein was, he sure wrote some bawdy songs full of sex and drugs and rock and roll, such as this song. The guy was a f***ing genius.

Where was I any way? Oh yeah, my cousin just emailed me about a Facebook post where I explained a little of what’s going on with my left, second toe. You see, it has a wound partially started via diabetes and the adjacent hammer toes I have. Fortunately, X-rays found no infection in the bone. So if I stay off the foot for awhile in order to heal, perhaps I want have to worry about amputation. As it is, I say a better than even chances. I hate thinking about it. Best not to think about it. So keep it clean, unlike what Shelly did when he wasn’t writing enchanting literature like “I’m being swallowed by a boa constrictor, a boa constrictor, a boa constrictor … ” And even PG tunes such as “A Boy Named Sue.” Yes, yes, I know Johnny Cash sang it, or whatever he did with it, but he didn’t write it. Neither did Cash write Kris Kristofferson’s “Sunday Morning Coming Down.” Johnny made other folks’ songs breathe more feeling.

You know something, people tend to overlook the poetry with music of people like Kristofferson, Billy Joe Shaver, Willie Nelson and others of their ilk. They are all Texans, of course. Kristofferson was a Texan by virtue of Army bratdom. I’m just saying.

And also I’m just saying, what’s up with that Marshawn Lynch? These pro football players, some of them, are just trying to be cute. Of course, that wouldn’t be how they would describe it.

Some folks will chalk it up to disadvantaged youths with no father figure at home and 24/7 rap music and drugs and so forth. Do that if you will. But there are people who turn out just fine. I know a couple of former pro football players these days. Then I also was acquainted with a couple of other former pros, both Dallas Cowboys from the early 60s, but I didn’t hold that against them. One was an Episcopal priest and the other married to a Methodist minister. Both nice guys.

Really, if there is blame to go around for people like Lynch acting like buttholes then a share goes to you and me. Well, the literal me not the figurative me. We make these young men big heroes and like to watch them dance in the end zone and make fools of themselves. We buy their crap and like to see them stick it to the man. That’d be the rich ol’ white man.

Over the last few years the Super Bowl has been pretty uninteresting to me. Even the commercials I usually value more than the game itself. So it is likely to be this year. I don’t give a damn who wins. If there was some way both teams could lose, that would be a great outcome in my mind.

Cheating bastards versus arrogant a**holes. Katie Perry “Roars” in between. Come one, come all!

Go out to the parking and get in your car and drive real far … it all makes sense

In my research of commercial spots for the upcoming Super Bowl XLIX — which of this weekend will be Seattle Seahawks facing the New England Patriots — did I find no mention of the hilarious Acura RDX commercial. I won’t give much away except it features an attractive woman who goes on speaker phone in her car without knowing, or apparently caring, that her bosses are listening. The woman is rocking out and singing along to, especially the rap portion, of the 1980 Blondie hit “Rapture.”

The sing-a-long may not be one of the $4.5 million spots seen on the Super football game but surely it will make it at least once in the hours-long hype leading up to the 4:30 p.m. Mountain Time game on Sunday, Feb. 1.

Of course, we all know the Super Bowl is all about the TV commercials. Well, mostly. I am not a big fan of the Seahawks although a local boy, Earl Thomas, the ‘Hawks Pro Bowl defensive back, from nearby Orange, Texas, is about the biggest thing in Southeast Texas right now since the Valero Refinery. Fellow Seattle DB and Pro Bowler Richard Sherman and Thomas were both injured in their come-from-behind win against Green Bay yesterday for the NFC Championship. Sherman sprained an elbow yesterday though continued playing despite that even I could see him wincing on TV and not using that left hand. Thomas had a dislocated shoulder. Both are expected to play in the world championship in two weeks.

Thomas is, understandably a hometown hero, he apparently spends a lot of time back home in Orange during the off season, doing good works for the community. So, if even half of what I hear about Thomas is true, it certainly speaks well of the young man. Sherman, obviously loves his mother and Campbell Soup. That, and being one of the best cornerbacks in the game, doesn’t prevent his generally being regarded as one who regularly engages in dirty play.

I didn’t intend to spend so much time writing about the upcoming Super Bowl. I just found the Acura ad amusing and liked that it used what is probably the only “rap” song I like even though it isn’t totally rap. I just have not liked rap or hip hop all that much. I suppose the major difference between “Rapture” and the rest of rap is Blondie vocalist Debbie Harry’s sexy voice — now 30-something years later —  as well as the rock and funk that underlies the tune. A couple of hip-hop pioneers, Fab Five Freddy and Grandmaster Flash, are also name-dropped in the song.

All I’m saying is that it’s a cool song though saddled as both rap and disco tunes. “Rapture” is pretty fly, my man. I gotta figure, that’s a good thing.