Eggheads

Tonight we performed our annual ritual of hard boiling and dyeing 60 eggs that we have no intention of eating. Not that I don’t like hard boiled eggs. It’s just that you can only eat them so many different ways before they get really old. Anyway, the kids had a great time coloring the eggs, and we managed to get through it without a single spilled dye. And as a bonus, we won’t have to go to church on Easter Sunday with someone’s whole hand colored green.

I asked Kate to demonstrate a trick she learned from 'Cool Hand Luke', but she politely declined...

A Real Pain in the Rear

Warning: Some of the following images are graphic and are not meant for children and the squeamish.

By now most everyone knows that Kate has had some strange happenings going on with her body. Several people have said it to me, so let me just put one thing to bed: It has nothing to do with all of the weight she’s lost.

We have started playing a game called ‘count the bruises’. My personal record is 33. Some of the contusions are minor, while others are pretty nasty. Some can be explained, like the one on her forearm that she smacked against the dresser. Others cannot, like the one on her ring finger. We are not sure what is causing the easy bruising, but I can say that the jokes about me beating my wife are starting to get stale.



We spent the day at the Huntsman Cancer Hospital running the gamut of tests. Her platelets are still low, and have gone down since the last tests. The hematologist is pretty sure that she has ITP, or Idiopathic Thrombocytopenic Purpura. But he is concerned about the excessive bruising and her swollen lymph nodes. So there will be more tests to come.

The highlight of the day was the bone marrow biopsy. The NP who performed the biopsy insulted me by telling me that I could stay and watch, but that I had to stay seated with my head near my knees, ‘just in case.’ I explained to her that I had practically delivered two of my children and didn’t get squeamish. She wasn’t impressed.

The NP told Kate to find a happy place, because it might hurt a bit. Apparently Kate’s happy place is in a comedy club, because she cracked dirty jokes all the way through it. We wondered if the topical lidocaine had gone to her brain.

To get the marrow, the NP had to go through the flat on the top of the rear pelvic bone. She had to force the needle into the bone, which prompted Kate’s joke about her ‘hard bone’, and her request that I not get one too. Ba-doom-boom! I don’t know what gauge needle she used to take the sample, but I have seen garden hoses that were smaller than that needle. It was huge. The marrow looks like Dr. Pepper. Though if it came from Kate, Diet Coke would be more appropriate. She also took a cross section of the bone. It was fascinating to watch.




We appreciate all those who have been concerned and keeping her in their prayers through all of this. IT has been strange and stressful. The support helps. It also helps that Kate’s glass is always half full. And if you haven’t noticed, Kate and deal with situations through humor. Everything will work out as it always does. And we’ll keep you posted.

Monsters and Monsters

Saturday night Kate got called off. The kids had been in the house all day and were restless. I had been doing homework all day, and my plan for the evening was to sit around and watch the Jazz/Suns game. When Kate suggested that we take the kids to see Monsters Versus Aliens, I thought it was a great idea. We rarely have a night out with the whole family. Plus, the Jazz were going to crush the Suns anyway, after getting embarrassed down in Phoenix, right?

The way I judge the quality of a kiddie show is how well it keeps the adults entertained. This show did a great job. The kids didn’t get the references to Close Encounters of the Third Kind or Dr. Strangelove, but they made me laugh.

With 20 minutes left in the show Samantha announced that she had to go potty. I took her out, and waited in the lobby while she attended to her business. I could see in the main lobby a group of people standing together and looking up. They were all cheering and groaning at the same time, so I figured the Jazz game must be getting interesting. When Samantha came out we ran over to see what the commotion was all about. The Jazz were down by 2 with 23.5 seconds left and had the ball. I looked at Samantha, then back at the screen. It was a time out. I looked back at her, then again at the screen. I couldn’t make her miss the end of the show so I could see the end of the game, so we went back in to finish the movie.

After the show we came out to find the crowd still standing around. So I was able to see the last 43 seconds of the Jazz’ overtime victory.

After the movie Samantha and Whitney had to go to the bathroom again, so we pulled up a bench while waiting. Soon Bean declared that she had to go too. I took her to the restroom door, opened it, and shooed her in with instructions to find Whitney. I waited. And waited. And waited. Eventually I heard a soft whimpering behind the door. I pushed it open to find Bean crying, her little Levis soaked.

“I peed!” She cried.

“Where’s Whitney?” I asked.

“I don’t knooooooooow!”

As it turns out, Jordan Commons has 50 restrooms. Samantha and Whitney had picked a different one. But overall everyone had a great time and I have been told that we had better buy that movie the second it comes out on DVD. I am happy to comply. It will be a lot cheaper than taking them to see it in the theater again.

Clockwise from top: Whitney, Patrick, Lauren, Samantha, Papa...

Toothless People

Those who have children know that when a child discovers his or her first loose tooth, it is a major milestone. You also know that you are not allowed to touch the tooth. Samantha got her first loose tooth a few weeks ago. The tooth was barely attached, but still she wouldn’t let us yank it. One night I was at the mall with all the kids and had to take Bean into the potty. Whit was in charge of the kids while Bean and I were taking care of business. Whit explained to Samantha that the best way to get the tooth out was a karate chop to the face. While demonstrating the move, Whit actually hit Samanth in the face on accident. I came out of the restroom to find Samantha’s face smeared with blood and a smile as she proudly showed me the tooth.

This past week Samantha got her second loose tooth. Again she protected it, not letting anyone even look closely at it. Monday afternoon she was at dance class, and the teacher was showing the girls a new move when the turned and accidentally back-handed my kid. Kate arrived to pick up Samantha to find her holding her latest prize. So she’s lost two teeth, and both times they have been knocked out by other people.

Patrick also lost a tooth today. Samantha was stunned that he just pulled it out without help…

Buncha Savages in This Town

My little Toyota Yaris is not a high class automobile. It was purchased because I needed a commuter car, and it gets nearly 40 mpg. But even though it is not a stylish car we have taken care of it and worked to keep it nice. So I was dismayed when I walked out to the parking lot on Thursday to find that someone had stolen the two driver’s side hubcaps. Honestly, who steals hub caps anymore? I know that they were ripped and not just lost during driving because I went to the car during lunch to get some things, and the car was whole at that time.

‘Ghetto’ is the term Kate used to describe how the car looks now, and I have to agree. I know it is simple vanity to want to get them replaced, but it will have to be done. I called the dealer to see how much it would run me, to find that they are nearly $80 a piece! I may just have to scope out the parking lot to see who else has caps that match mine, park next to them and steal a couple of theirs. They’re probably mine anyway. Then I’ll find a new parking lot…

A Raw (Sewage) Deal

Last night was pretty crappy. Literally. I was looking forward to a nice relaxing evening. There is a 3 hour gap on Thursdays between when Kate has to leave for work and when I get home. Our usual Thursday babysitter was unavailable, so I took a half day off from work. My plan was maybe to get a run in before dinner and take it easy. My last midterm was Wednesday, and I have ten days of Spring Break, so I have no homework.

While sitting in a training session I got a text from Kate: We have a situation. My first assumption was that one of the kids had broken something or needed stitches. I called her and found out that she had started a load of laundry before leaving for yoga, and returned home to find that the wash room and the basement bathtub had been flooded with raw sewage.

My first thought was to call Roto-Rooter, because poop is something I didn’t want any part of. But I was asked to be cost conscious, so went down and rented a 100 foot sewage snake. I opened the floor drain in the laundry room, but couldn’t get the snake bit to make the sharp turn down the drain. Nor could I get it down the washout behind the washer.

Mike came over to help and suggested that we take the toilet off and go that route. This was a good idea. After a couple of passes with the cable we stumbled across a whole roll of toilet paper that had been flushed, but hadn’t quite made it to the street. No one has fessed up to it, but I have my suspicions. I won’t name and names but her name starts with Lauren.

I learned a lot about sewage snakes. Because the motor is twisting to increase tension on the cable, if you pull too much out of the cage, it will bind up and crush your fingers. Also, if it binds, a loop can form, which, when is smacks you on the wrist, it hurts. Bad. I also discovered that as you feed the cable out, the cage turns to feed out. The cage also turns when you are feeding the cable back in. Since the cable has been down in the pipes, it is covered with all of the goodness that is found down there. So when it is winding back in the cage, it sprays all of that joy all over creation. It is a messy, stinky, nasty affair.

I had called my dad a couple of times with questions, so he decided to drop by and offer assistance. I think he was relieved that we were about done by the time he got there. Mike and I looked like the Keystone Cops working that machine. Sorry, Mike. The truth hurts. You, me, Drew, we’re all in the same boat. Usually Patrick likes to have his hands in whatever home improvement project is currently being worked on. Her came down, asked a few questions, gagged, and we didn’t see him again.

Those who frequent my blog will recall a post I made a few weeks ago wherein I spoke of the need to have the house clean before Kate gets home from work. Never was that more the case than last nights. When you have little kids, and you neglect them in favor of a project like this, they find ways to amuse themselves, and those ways are always messy. Especially when Whitney makes dinner. So once we had the drain clear, I had to put the toilet back in place, bleach and Pine Sol every square inch of the bathroom, clean the laundry room floor, and then clean the rest of the house, which looked as though a bomb had exploded. Eventually order was restored and all is right with the world.

Usually when I make blog posts without pictures I am chastised. I don’t think anyone will mind this time though.

Keeping it Clean

Whitney and Patrick came home from school today with posters they made. The school has been running the annual anti-drug program. Both of them did a great job.

Whitney covered all of the vices.

Patrick campaigned against cigarettes...

...Beer...

...and...uh...something else...

Tickets to the Gun Show

Last night I was chastised by my evil mother-in-law and told that I need to ‘get on the stick’ and update my blog. I never realized that I was off the stick, or even where the stick is. But I am back on the stick, and updating the blog.

The reason I haven’t posted a lot lately is that there has been relatively little to report. Life in suburbia has been relatively quiet. No one has been sick or injured, and no major events have come to pass. Other than Bean and Samantha being constantly at each others’ throats all the time, no one has been in any trouble. Well, that’s not entirely true.

Shortly after the start of the year Kate started working full time. This means that I am in school Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday nights, and then she works Thursday, Friday and Saturday nights. To make the transition easier, and to be able to spend some time with her, I started visiting her when she works. The ritual is that I stop at the 7-11 to pick up some nachos, a doughnut and a piña colada Slurpee, which we share while we visit. No big deal, right? Well apparently the ‘health food’ from 7-11 doesn’t fit into the tight nutrition regimen that Kate’s trainer has her on. I probably wouldn’t be concerned with what the trainer thinks. However, Kate showed me some pictures of the trainer, and she’s buff. I wouldn’t mess with her. So from now on when I run to St. Mark’s for a rendezvous, I will bring soy nuts, celery and craisins to be washed down with whey protein shakes. I will have to choke them down, but that’s okay. It’s all about the company for me. And I don’t want to get beat up by a woman.

My intent was to post some pictures of Kate, because she is developing great muscle tone and looking amazing. But she won’t let me take any pictures. She has been killing it at the gym, and is in great shape. She is considering running the half marathon next month instead of the whole marathon, and I think I might do the same. That way she will only beat me by half an hour, instead of a whole hour. We’ll see.

Don't get the wrong idea. I will stop her well before she gets to looking like this!!!

Bless this mess

I try really hard to always have the house clean when Kate gets home from work. She has never given me grief when I have failed to do so, but I know that she sleeps better when the house is tidy, and after a 12 hour graveyard shift I want her to be able to relax and not worry about it. She works hard during the week, tending to the kids’ every need, so I want to make sure that on weekends that when she’s not working, she is resting. It goes better some days than others. Some days I feel Tom Cruise in Risky Business (no, I don’t dance to Bob Seger in my underpants). At the end of the film he races around getting the house put back together before his parents get home, just finishing immediately before they pull up.

Since my kids are normal, they are also messy. Whitney and Patrick are getting old enough that they are pretty good about cleaning up after themselves, though they still need to be prodded. But even when the kids do clean their rooms, they don’t get things quite right at times, and I have to come behind them to redo it and make sure things are up to snuff.

Tonight as I cleaned gum off of the balusters I wondered why I care so much. I think part of it was drilled into me as a kid. Once my mother vacuumed the front room we weren’t able to use the front door, because our footprints would disturb the vacuum pattern in the carpet. Another reason is that I worry that on the off chance that someone would drop in to see us they might see that my house dirty. How embarrassing it would be if people found out that humans live here…

I really need to worry less about whether or not there are crayon marks on the walls, and more about spending some time reading to the kids. I am reminded of an axiom that to this day hangs on the laundry room wall of my father’s house. It reads thus:

Although you’ll find our house a mess,
Come in, sit down, converse.
It doesn’t always look like this.
Some days it’s even worse.

Straighten up and Chomp Right

Yesterday was a momentous day. After two long years I parted ways with my braces. My teeth feel like they are huge. I have been looking forward to all of the things that I haven't been able to eat while I had my braces. Corn on the cob, peaches, pears, baby back ribs, chewing gum. I came home from work today to find that Kate had made a bowl of the best carmel corn I have ever tasted. That woman is so good to me...

Unfortunately the orthodontist couldn't do anything about the rest of my face, but I will take what I can get...

Sports Exploits

Today I attended the last regular season game of Patrick's rookie year. The team went winless, so there will be no post season for them. However, since none of the teams will participate in an post season I don't feel too bad about it.

I have also been intending to post this picture of Samantha and her amazing soccer coach for quite some time.

And not to be outdone by the kiddies, here is a picture I found of me back in the day when I actually played a little soccer myself.

Even in his youth…

While sifting through a slew of old papers that my Dad gave me, I stumbled across a couple of dusty old gems. The first one is my Duty to God certificate, which I received in 1992. I am very proud to say that I am an eagle scout. It is one of the few things I did in my youth that I am proud of. But I am equally proud of my Duty to God award. And I know that Boy Scout purists will say that this is sacrilege, but I’ve always thought that the Duty to God Award was a better looking medal than the Eagle Scout medal.

I also found a ‘book’ that I wrote. It was not dated, but I know that I was in elementary school. One indication that the story was written in the 80s is the character who employs the phrase ‘rad’. As you look at the story you will see that I had my knack for drama at a very young age.



I don’t know why the story was not finished, but I am sure that in the end the team went out and won one for the Gipper. I compared this story with something that I wrote recently and found that my story telling skills have not improved.

A Poor Impression

Yesterday my orthodontist told me that my hand was on the plug. He is ready to sever the nearly two year relationship I have had with my braces. There is only one thing that still needs to be done. Many years ago I broke a tooth on the bottom and had it pulled. I never did anything about it, but when I got my braces I decided that I would get an implant when all of this was over. Before the braces come off, the orthodontist wants to know if my dentist feels that there is enough space in the gap for an implant.

This morning I went to visit my dentist for a regular cleaning and asked about the spacing. He told me that he thinks there is enough space there, but he would feel better if he took some impressions, made a mold, and tested it out. The hygienist told me that she would use a special mold that is just for people who have braces. Because they don’t use it often, she had to step into the other room to mix it up.

After a brief time she rushed into the room with a tray full of purple goop. She jammed it into my lower jaw and started poking around to make sure she got all the air bubbles. Now I don’t know why, but for some reason she had a hard time getting the tray back out. I didn’t think it was a big deal until she stopped making jokes about it and got serious. She then left the room and reappeared with the dentist in tow. Then it was serious.

The dentist leaned his hip into my shoulder so he could get better leverage, and after a while he was sweating. He wasn’t the only one. As he tugged and pried at the tray I started to have visions of hearing about myself on some strange news story.

I tried to tough it out, but it was hard. The hygienist’s assistant kept dabbing the sweat from my forehead and massaging my jaw. She even dabbed the tears from my eyes when the pain was the worst. She was probably afraid to hold my hand because she saw the death grip I had on the chair. At first I was afraid that they were going to pull off some of my brace brackets. Then I was afraid that I was going to lose some teeth.

After I sat in the chair for an hour with my jaw pried open the mold was removed, but not before it was twisted so badly that it was of no use to anyone. In the process of tearing the plastic out of my mouth the dentist also ripped the wire out of my back bracket, and had to clip it and a spring out. So I get the pleasure of visiting the orthodontist twice this week, so I can get a new lower wire. The orthodontist’s office agreed that when I go in tomorrow that they will take some molds and send them over to my dentist. Something tells me that the orthodontist has done that before. I can’t say as much about the dentist…

A Heart Felt Gratitude

One of my many responsibilities at the hospital is the creation of a video for the quarterly staff meetings, which are coming up next week. My goal for the day was to get the filming completed by early afternoon, then get home to get the editing done tonight so that I could enjoy the weekend. As the day wore on and people took more and more of my time I felt myself getting antsy, with some pressing need to get home. Finally at 2:30 I called it a day and hurried home. When I got here I was glad I had.

I entered the house to find Kate in the living room, doubled over in pain and unable to stand. She had been having severe chest pain for a couple of hours and sweating profusely. Kate handles pain better than anyone I know (as evidenced when she delivered Bean naturally without complaint). So I knew that something was really wrong. I suggested that we go to the ER, but she refused, pointing out that she had to be to work by 7:00.

She called her mom, who told her to go to the ER, as did Beth, when she arrived at our house to pick up her child. Eventually the nurses convinced her to go. Beth packed up the Shirley kids and took them to her house while Kate and I headed to St. Mark’s. Upon arrival I found that when a person presents in the ED with chest pain, she doesn’t have to wait. She walks past the people who have been in the waiting room for days.

I also found that when a post-partum nurse calls in sick from the ED that is just 100 yards away, they don’t question it. And the house supervisor at St. Mark’s is not HIPAA compliant…

First they shot Kate with more narcotics than I have ever seen, in order to control pain. In less than 10 minutes she was sacked. They had to wake her up for the EKG and chest X-Ray. In between I kept watching the monitors. It was scary to see her heart rate, which is usually in the low 40s stay up near 70. And her blood pressure was out of control.

Mike stopped by and he and I visited while we waited for news. Finally they were able to rule out my worst nightmares and declare that she was suffering from pleurisy. All I really know about pleurisy is two things: It is an inflammation of the lining that surrounds the lung cavity and that Ben Franklin died from it. Fortunately we have better healthcare nowadays, and Kate was allowed to go home with some scripts and an order to ‘take two and call me in the morning’.

There was some humor in all of this, though. The gown that the ED nurse gave my wife could have wrapped around her three times. Kate was upset that it was so huge. Then when it was time to go we asked for a wheelchair so I could get her to the car. They brought a bariatric chair, in which I could have sat next to her and had Mike push us both out. The irony of all of this is that Kate has been killing it at the gym over the past few months and is thin and fit.

When we arrived at home I had to carry my bride up the stairs because she couldn’t make it. Once I got her and the kids home I had to run through the fog to get her scripts filled. While I was gone the kids crept around the house, getting their pajamas on and quietly doing story time in Whitney’s room so they wouldn’t disturb their mom. The kids were great. They even made some get-well cards for her.

It was a stressful night, hearing words like pneumonia, endocarditis and pulmonary embolism being thrown around while seeing my young wife holding her chest and doubled over in pain. I am incredibly relieved and grateful that she was able to come home tonight and is sleeping comfortably. However, I don’t think that she will be very grateful when I tell her she can’t go to the gym tomorrow…

Made Whole

I should have known that before we could put 1,000 miles on our new van that something would happen. Two weeks ago while we were in the midst of some heavy snow, Kate came out from the gym to find that some gutless piece of crap had smashed the front bumper of the van and ditched out. So who gets to pay the insurance deductible? We do! Anyway, I picked the van up from the body shop tonight, good as new. Hopefully we can keep the thing looking nice for at least a year before it starts to look like, well, a van.

All grown up

I guess it is time for us to feel old. Our youngest child started pre-school this week. Lauren now attends a school for children with special needs. The bus picks her up in front of the house and delivers her to class. She is the only child on the route, so it is just her, the bus driver and the driver’s assistant. And she loves every minute of it. And I already know what kinds of comments I am going to get, so let me save you the trouble: Yes, it is a 'short bus'.

Parade of Champions

Coach of the Year Kyle Whittingham and quarterback Brian Johnson

Yesterday afternoon the best college football team in the nation had a victory parade in downtown Salt Lake City. Since I was working right around the corner I decided to duck out and check out the festivities. It was awesome.

Swoop was there (He and I are friends on Facebook)

Aiona Key

Normally I would never even mention a kicker, but Louie Sakoda was awesome this year.

Matt Asiata

Even Patrick's friend the pirate was there.

Improvement

At this week’s Junior Jazz game Patrick showed some signs of progress. Not only did he touch the ball, he took two shots. One rolled off the rim, the other was rejected by a kid on the other team. I think the kid who blocked him stood over him and said ‘Man’s game, bitch!” The things they teach kids these days…

Two highlights from this week’s game: First, you know how there is always one kid who is twice the size of any other kid in the game? Well this kid was playing for the other team. He was huge and he just bowled the other boys over and brutalized them. At one point a kid from our team stole the ball and started down the court on a fast break. The big boy ran with him, reaching in for the steal. Being tired of being pushed around, the kid with the ball gave the bruiser a stiff-arm to the chest that would make any football player proud. The oversized child was on his heels and back pedaled his way to the floor while Patrick’s teammate finished the lay-up. But don’t feel bad for the fat kid. A few minutes later a kid from P’s team put up a shot that clanged off the rim. The big kid wasn’t paying attention and the ball bounced right off his head and into the hands of Patrick’s teammate, who scored on the play. So at least the bruiser gave our team an assist. I love watching ‘herd ball’. It’s highly entertaining…

Taking in a Game

I took Patrick to his Junior Jazz game yesterday, and decided to take the video camera. I wish that I had taken shots of him during warm-ups so you could see his shot form. I didn’t know that during the game he would never touch the ball.



You might have noticed during the video that I was sitting next to Josh’s dad. Who is Josh? Some kids from the other team. Fortunately Josh is on another team, so I won’t have to listen to him each week. Junior Jazz is using the motto “Coaches coach, Players play, referees ref and parents cheer.” Apparently Josh’s dad got the ‘coaches coach’ and ‘parents cheer’ part mixed up. Josh’s dad is ‘that guy’. You know the guy? There’s one at every youth sporting event. He criticizes the refs for allowing 6 year olds to travel and double dribble. He yells at his kid for taking bad shots. He makes fun of kids when they do something wrong. He pulls the 15 year old volunteer ref aside during time outs to ‘give him some pointers’. He gets upset with the coach if his kid doesn’t start and close the game. He strolls out onto the court between quarters with his other son to give the other son some pointers on proper form and makes a show of it in front of all the other parents. You know the guy. He probably also brags to his kids about how he played defensive end for a major university, while forgetting to tell them that he never started, and never made a play on the field. He kind of reminds me of Rome’s ’softball guy’. As I make my way through the world of my kids’ sporting and dance events, that guy is going to be my biggest challenge. He’s an a-hole. And he teaches his kids to be a-holes.

He’s too smart for my own good

Disclaimer: The following post contains foul language. If you are offended by dirty words, please come back next week. Otherwise, enjoy.

On New Year’s Eve we usually gather at Alley’s house for food and games, and this year was no different. The only game we got to was the Quiddler. For those who haven’t heard of this game, the point is to use cards that you are dealt to create words. Each card has a letter, and a point associated with that letter, and a player gets credit for each letter used, and penalized for each letter they can’t use. The first round starts with each player getting three cards, then four, all the way up to ten cards in the final round.

In the second round I was dealt 4 cards: K, U, N and T. Players aren’t supposed to show other players their cards until the end of the round, but I couldn’t help it. I held the cards out to Jeff and asked if I could use those 4 letters for my word. Everyone had a good laugh, and I was told that I could not use them for that word, as it was misspelled.

My mother had been busy trying to make a word with her cards and didn’t see what I held up. “What was the word?” She asked. It was then that I realized that Patrick had been looking over my shoulder. “He spelled ‘cunt’” Patrick said. Sometimes I am really proud of the fact that Patrick can spell and sound out words as well as he can. Other times I wish he couldn’t spell at all…

Rolled Tide

I am a Utah Man, sir,

and I live across the green,

Our gang it is the jolliest that you have ever seen.

Our coeds are the fairest

and each one's a shining star,

Our yell, you'll hear it ringing

through the mountains near and far!
Who am I, sir?

A Utah Man am I!

A Utah Man, sir,Will be 'til I die.

Ki-yi!

We're up to snuff, we never bluff,

we're game for any fuss.

No other gang of college men dare meet us in a muss.

So fill your lungs and sing it out

and shout it to the sky,

We'll fight for dear old crimson

for a Utah Man am I!

Go Utes!

Last night we sat down to watch the Utes take on Alabama in the Sugar Bowl. For a month now we have been hearing from all the prognosticators about how the Utes were going to get crushed by the Tide, how Utah was too small to keep up with ‘Bama’s front line, how teams from the Mountain West don’t stack up against ‘real’ BCS teams from the SEC, about how the Utes had no business being in this game, blah blah, woof woof.

The Utes answered the critics by punching Saban’s team in the mouth right from the get go, going up 21-0 and winning by two touchdowns, 31-17. It was awesome. The best play of the game from Alabama was a 73 yard touchdown run, which we all missed. You see, we were watching the game in the meager confines of Pat’s house, and when the winter storm rolled in during the second quarter, she lost her signal. So we had to pack up and move the party to the Shirley house.




It was a great win, and I am really happy for the players, the school and coach Whittingham.