Let's Get Physical

I’ve always been very good at keeping with the schedule.

I get my teeth cleaned every six months.

I get my bills paid on time.

And I get my oil changed every 5,000 miles.

In fact, I’m writing this blog in the waiting room while that oil is being changed.

I’m also very regular at getting an annual physical.

That’s what I did yesterday.

Can you tell I have a lot of time on my hands?

Before I turned 40 the annual physical was little more than a cough here.

Say aaahhh there.

Oh how times have changed.

I can only hope the car people check under the hood as well as my doctor did.

She started with the usual.

The urine test.

A test I didn’t need to study for.

And like most of my exams in college, I passed.

But barely.

“You need to drink more water,” she said.

Check.

They checked my height.

Still the same.

And my weight.

Down ten pounds from the start of my diet.

Boo-yeah.

Then she asked if anything hurt.

Talk about opening a can of worms.

But somehow I resisted.

She then went through her series of tests.

Temp.   Good.

Ears and throat.  Good.

Blood pressure.   Low.

Amazing.

Then, that sound.

The snap of the rubber gloves.

The sound that says “you are not as young as you used to be.” 

At home those rubber gloves mean cleaning the dishes.

Or the garden.

At the doctor’s office, the snap of the rubber gloves means it is time to check the pipes.

So much for 40 being the new 30.

Like my car mechanic, the good doctor checked everything from front to back.

In that order.

When I got home I told my kids about “those” tests.

They thought it was funny.

“Oh, you just wait,” I thought.

They really liked the part where I told them the doctor said, “ok, you are going to feel some pressure.”

When I screamed the word PRESSURE, they doubled over.

The same position I was in for the exam.

Ironic.

The doctor did a couple of quick tests for cancer.

A little too quick for a “Cancer Test”, but maybe that’s just me.

The positive is that they were both negative.

Then came the next exam on the menu.

The EKG.

The doctor said she wanted to check my heart because of my father’s history.

He passed away from a massive heart attack at age 75.

“No problem”, I said.

Her assistant came in and got things set up.

“Please remove anything with metal.”

I joked that it was a good thing I left my belly button ring at home.

She smirked.

Out of courtesy.

Then she asked me to do something that hurt me more than that prostate exam.

“Please turn off your phone.”

WHAT!

“And put it on the other side of the room.”

WHAT!

“Are you kidding?”, I thought to myself.

Don’t you know the NBA Trade Deadline is coming up?

What if I miss something in the next six minutes?

But as painful as it was, I did it.

As she requested.

And as soon as I moved the phone, she started putting these sticky pieces of something all over me.

Ten of them.

She counted.

All over my body.

From my chest to my calf to my arm.

They were used to register my heart rate.

The test took all of a minute.

Then came the real pain.

The removal of those sticky things.

Not quite the Steve Carell scene from 40-Year Old Virgin.

But close.

Now I’m not the hairiest guy of all-time.

But I can guarantee you I had less body hair after the EKG than I had before.

A small price to pay for a good result.

The doctor said was my heart beat was good.

A little slow.

But she said I must’ve been really relaxed during the test.

Hmmm.

Maybe I should shut off my phone more often.

All-in-all, it was a good day in the doctor’s office.

Everything checked out just fine.

I hope my car has the same result.

A Barker's Dozen

You may find this hard to believe.

But not everything you see in the movies is true.

For example...

Indiana Jones, scared of snakes.

Harrison Ford, not scared of snakes.

Gary Sinise, has both his legs.

Lieutenant Dan, not so much.

Sandy, hot.

Olivia Newton-John, hot.

Ok, that one was true.

Now I’ve worked in TV for all of my adult life, so I know a couple tricks of the trade.

But I certainly don’t know it all.

I was reminded of that nearly 14 years ago.

That’s when my wife went into labor for the first time, with our first child.

Now my mom and dad had no brothers and no sisters.

So I grew up with no real nieces or nephews.

And that meant no babies.

And no experience with pregnancy.

Sure my wife and I took all of the classes.

Hee Hee.  Ha Ha.

But I had no idea what really happens when labor kicks in.

Dr. Huxtable can only teach you so much.

So through the magic of real life, I learned that unlike General Hospital, labor actually takes longer than 12 minutes.

And there is no commercial break in the middle of it.

Who knew?

In the case of my daughter it took more than 12 hours.

Of course it was all worth it in the end when the good doctor handed us our little girl.

Then again, I wasn’t the one in serious pain for more than half a day.

I did a quick google search to see how long the longest labor has been.

And I wasn’t able to get an official answer.

But I did see that one very unfortunate woman said she was in labor for 52 hours.

Ouch.

Of course, I have absolutely no idea how she felt.

But Bella does.

We just got word from the in-laws that after months of waiting.

And days of pacing.

Bella is finally a mom.

She and Dino decided to start a family a few months ago.

Well, it was probably Dino’s decision.

I’m not sure if they are legally married.

But these days, does it really matter?

My father-in-law has been anxiously awaiting the arrival of Bella’s babies for several days.

And Sunday she delivered.

The first call informed us that Bella and Dino were proud parents.

Of four puppies.

Bella and Dino are German Shepherds.

We were all excited.

But selfishly, I was thrilled.

You see, I’ve been hoping to get a second dog for quite a while.

And since my in-laws have three children, including my wife.

And since they now had four puppies.

I liked our chances of getting one of the dogs.

But Bella, that little overachiever, wasn’t done there.

A few hours later, the phone rang again.

Puppy #7 had just arrived.

All black.  All adorable.

Just last week they had taken Bella to the vet to make sure she was doing alright.

The doggie doctor said there were at least four puppies on the way.

Possibly more.

At last check, seven is more than four.

By this point, Bella was about 12 hours into the process.

She had to be beat.

I know my in-laws were.

In fact, they had switched to the zone defense so that at least one person could get some shut eye.

1000 miles away, I slept just fine.

When we woke up the next morning, the news had changed.

Again.

Bella had reached double digits.

Ten puppies.

This cute little thing had taken on an entirely different level.

By this point, I had a pretty good feeling one of those pups would be making the trek to my house.

Maybe more.

Those feelings got even stronger when puppy #11 was born.

Then #12.

And finally #13.

13 PUPPIES.

That’s not a litter.

That’s a kennel.  

My son found the record for a litter is 24 puppies.

24 Mastiff Puppies, born in the United Kingdom in 2005.

That poor Momma.

Our poor Bella.

Thankfully, she is doing great.

Dino too.

The plan is to keep the babies with mom and dad for the next six weeks or so.

Then our immediate family will increase by one.

Maybe more.

Hardtbreaking

I have been beyond lucky to attend pretty much every sporting event I could've ever hoped for.

Ok, I have not been to Wimbledon.

Or the Kentucky Derby.

Or the Masters.

But aside from that I am good.

Very good, thanks.

Olympics.

Super Bowls.

World Series.

All-Star Games.

Been there.

Done that.

And I would gladly do that again.

More than anything, the thing I love about sports is that fact that you never know.

And to see it in person.

There is nothing like it.

I’ve been asked several times to name THE favorite event I’ve been to as a spectator.

And that’s not an easy question.

But for me it is a pretty easy answer.

It’s the Daytona 500.

Actually, the 1998 Daytona 500.

To be exact.

Now I didn’t grow up a big racing fan.

Not a racing fan at all.

Sure I knew who Richard Petty was.

And I went to college with a great guy named Jeff Gordon.

Not the racer.

And I always thought Lake Speed was a cool name for a driver.

But in 1995, when I was assigned to cover motor sports, full-time, I knew pretty much nothing about cars.

After all, I’m a Jewish guy from LA.

Who can’t change his own oil.

But since that’s what my boss wanted me to do.

Dag-gummit, that’s what I’m going to do.

I’m good like dat.

Seven years later, I was still covering NASCAR.

And loving it.

Really.

By that point, I had been to about 20 tracks around the country.

Darlington to Dover.

Rockingham to Talladega.

Of course, I didn’t tell them I was Jewish.

Duh.

But getting back to the Daytona 500.

In 1996, I attended the event for the first time.

With about 200,000 others.

That’s nearly five times the population of Kannapolis, North Carolina.

I went back again the next year.

Actually the next five years.

But 1998 was something special.

It was the 50th season of NASCAR.

The 40th Daytona 500.

And the 20th attempt by The Great Dale Earnhardt to win The Great American Race.

The Kannapolis native entered that year 0-for-19.

Now Dale Earnhardt was no ordinary race car driver.

He was “The Intimidator.”

He could see the air move around him.

Or so they said.

By 1998, he had seven NASCAR Championships.

Tied for the most with Petty, “The King.”

But unlike “The King”, who had seven Daytona 500 victories.

“The Intimidator” had never won the sport’s biggest race.

Sure Earnhardt had enjoyed plenty of success in Daytona.

With an amazing 30 wins on that track.

But exactly none of them came in the Daytona 500.

NASCAR’s Super Bowl.

So when Earnhardt, driving his #3 car, crossed the finish line before anyone in 1998, it was a big deal.

A big deal for him.

And his team.

And his millions of fans.

And the millions of racing fans who couldn’t stand him.

But most of all, it was a big deal for the sport.

And as he drove down pit road, heading towards victory lane for the first time as a Daytona 500 champ, he was greeted.

Greeted by the fans who loved him.

Greeted by the fans who hated him.

And greeted by every single member of every single pit crew.

That’s something that just doesn’t happen.

The people, who had been trying to intimidate the Intimidator, were paying their respects.

To a man who had changed their sport.

And their life.

Now I’ve always loved the exchange of handshakes at the end of a hockey playoff series.

But even that has become a little cliche.

And somewhat forced.

But in 1998, when hundreds of men, representing 43 teams, created a human red carpet.

For a man they had always battled.

And sometimes didn’t like.

It was really special.

And really unexpected.

It’s why we watch sports.

And to be standing on that asphalt road, as it was happening, was a moment I will never forget.

As I will never forget being on that same asphalt road exactly three years and three days later.

The 2001 Daytona 500.

That is a race nobody in NASCAR will ever forget.

That is the day the music died.

The day Dale Earnhardt died.

It happened on the last turn of the last lap of what turned out to be his last race.

Everyone watching knew right away that it was bad.

But it wasn’t until a couple of hours later that we knew how bad.

Plenty of people tried to sum it up by saying that the man died doing what he loved.

And maybe that’s true.

But for me, the bottom line is that the man had died.

It was an event I will never forget.

The same track.

The same race.

Two completely different results.

I guess that’s why we watch sports.

You never know.