On my second birthday — that would be Oct. 12, 1968 — Ohio State opened its Big Ten season in Columbus against Purdue, a team that had held the No. 1 ranking since the start of the season and that had destroyed the Buckeyes in a visit to Ohio Stadium the previous year. Ohio State was ranked 4th in the country, but were 13-point underdogs at home.
The Boilermakers were loaded — Mike Phipps was having an All-America year at quarterback, and Leroy Keyes, the team’s halfback, would finish second in the Heisman Trophy voting to some guy from Southern Cal named Simpson.
Ohio State had some talent too, although people were still figuring out just how good its sophomore class would be. Rex Kern, John Brockington, Jim Stillwagon, Mike Sensibaugh were all part of a recruiting class that was still just seeing its first few weeks of playing time — freshmen were ineligible to play back then — and it appeared they would turn out to be pretty good.
Another member of that class, a defensive back from Passaic, N.J., named Jack Tatum, would figure to be a pretty big part of the Purdue game. The legend says Woody Hayes gave Tatum, who was already proving to be a standout cover man and a fearsome hitter, one assignment — follow Leroy Keyes everywhere he goes.
Ohio State won that game 13-0, and Tatum largely shut down Keyes. That game was a springboard to an undefeated season and a national title after beating USC and the aforementioned Simpson in the Rose Bowl.
There are plenty of reasons to remember Jack Tatum — They Call Me Assassin, Sammy White, the Immaculate Reception, Darryl Stingley — and if you look around Deadspin or other sports blogs this week, you’ll see that there are plenty of people who think Tatum, who died earlier this week, is a dirtbag, especially for the paralyzing hit on Stingley.
Dispatch sports columnist Michael Arace makes an excellent point in his column about Tatum. He said everyone remembers a portion of the quote from the book — “I like to believe my best hits border on felonious assault…” — but they rarely remember the rest: “…but at the same time everything I do is by the rule book. My style of play is mean and nasty, and I am going to beat people physically and mentally, but in no way am I going down in the record books as a cheap-shot artist.” The rules were different then; Tatum’s hits were vicious, but legal.
He probably won’t go down in the record books as a philanthropist either, even though he raised a ton of money to help fight diabetes, a disease that forced the amputation of one of his legs and left him hobbling whenever he made appearances at recent games in Columbus. He’ll be remembered as the Assassin and not as the Reverend, a nickname given to him by teammates for his quiet, soft-spoken nature.
That’s OK. As was the case with Woody, the folks in Columbus know the story. And we know Jack Tatum was one of the best ever.
Filed under: I Have No Idea,Pittsburgh,Social Media | Tags: internet fun, pixburke
For the second time this year, Mrs. Crappy and I have appeared in a WPXI See and Be Seen slide show.
The first time was back in the spring, when they showed up to cover my Craft Beer School session downtown. And the above photo was taken from their coverage of Secret Agent L’s Laura’s reveal party at the Firehouse Lounge.
1) That the Crappys have appeared — twice — in any form of society pages in the space of one year strikes me as absolutely hysterical.
2) And when I’m done laughing, I’ll probably find some genuine concern for the state of Pittsburgh Society.
Filed under: Food and Drink,Home,Pittsburgh,Social Media,Sports | Tags: internet fun, pixburke, beeeeer, music (other), yum, yet another dreaded bullet update, woo-hoo, even more sports, yinzteam
Last week was an odd one, and it left me sort of unmotivated to write about all the cool stuff that was going on while I was in a funk. My cousin’s death had something to do with it; the fact that I changed my normal Sunday-through-Thursday schedule to accommodate some vacations at work probably threw me off a little too.
* But damn, it was an excellent week, starting with the Bucco Tailgate Tweetup on Saturday. We had a good turnout, and I cooked approximately 127 pounds of meat for everyone, a task that actually led me to melt the asphalt under the four Patented Family Tailgating Grills. Just a few of us went into the game, and those who stayed behind missed a Pirates’ comeback win and a kickass fireworks show. Jennie did a great job of putting it together once again.
* I was melted into a puddle of goo on Tuesday night at the Flaming Lips show at the Trib IC Total Chevy Media Light Amphitheater at Station Square. Fred has been telling me for a couple of years that it’s impossible to walk away from a Flips show without “just feeling … happy.” And he is exactly right, despite the fact that much of the stuff the band played from Embryonic is considerably darker than their other recent albums. But with the balloons, the confetti guns, the lights — AND THE MICS THE BAND PLACED ALONG THE RAILROAD TRACKS HOLYCRAPLOUDTRAINNOISES — it was a stunning aural and visual feast. And, yes, I came home grinning like an idiot.
* I also made a double batch of crab cakes on Tuesday. They were to be for Mrs. Crappy’s aunt, but our plans got kinda messed up, so we ate crab cakes for dinner two nights in a row. Excessive? Sure. Good? Oh, yeah…
* We had missed the last two YinzTeam softball games, so even in Friday’s heat — which turned out to be tolerable with the breeze — getting a chance to play was a welcome break. Getting beer, burgers, nachos and these ungodly little garlic rolls at North Park Lounge after the game was a great bonus.
Looking appropriately mysterious.
* Saturday. Fell down the basement stairs. Had pho with a bunch of good friends. Annnnd went to HelloSAL, the reveal party for Secret Agent L, whom we can safely refer to as Laura. I hadn’t yet discussed SAL here — OK, I had indirectly, as she was one of the people involved with Burgh Baby’s Do Good Day — but she got a great turnout at the Firehouse Lounge and a ton of support for the random acts of kindness she’s perpetrated on Pittsburgh for the last year. I was one of the folks who was lucky enough to be in on the secret for a while — I was flabbergasted that she wanted to meet me when she showed up at Jamie’s margarita party back in May — and I can’t wait until everyone else gets to see first hand what a genuinely great person she is.
* As I found a day or two before the party — and was able to confirm as I listened to the playlist she put together for the party — Laura is a Wilco fan. I think she’s going to get along with the Crappys just fine.
* I was — along with everyone else — turned into a puddle again Saturday night, as it was, uh, a bit warm in the upstairs room at the Firehouse Lounge. We did our best to say, uh, hydrated, but come Sunday morning, all Mrs. Crappy and I wanted was breakfast and a nap, both of which we got. The nasty hot weather broke a little bit on Sunday; my funk, I think, broke a little bit Saturday night.
* Other than the fact that I didn’t get a ton of sleep Sunday night, I’m feeling much better, thanks. A great weekend with great friends will do that.
Filed under: I Have No Idea | Tags: fair-skinned boy, now i'm reeeeaallly mad, uh-oh
The next one to go.
The news about Kaye Cowher’s death started circulating among my Pittsburgh friends Friday night. I might have missed it then, but I heard it loud and clear this morning — it was skin cancer that ended her life at age 54.
I hate that.
I hate it because I’ve had skin cancer tumors removed already, on my arm, on my shoulder, and I’ve had a pre-cancerous lesion taken off my forehead. I hate it because I have two more spots on my arms that I need to be taken off as well.
And, as I’ve said before, I hate it because it’s preventable. And because we — yes, including me, the one who’s had tumors removed and will likely have to do so for the rest of his life — still don’t take it seriously.
Guys? Wear sunscreen. Put on a hat. If you can, stay out of the sun in the late morning and early afternoon. It’s really that easy.
And. If you notice a spot on your skin that you haven’t noticed before. If you have a little sore that doesn’t want to heal. If a mole or a birthmark you’ve grown up with starts to change size or color. Please — the next time you see your doctor, point it out. Make sure your doc sees it. Ask if it’s something that a dermatologist should check.
Because that little spot can kill you.
We’ll return to regularly scheduled programming shortly. In the meantime, I need this:
(Television tastes funny.)
A cousin of mine died this week.
Reading the email my mom sent Monday morning was a shock — but not a huge surprise.
She was the daughter of one of my mom’s cousins, a couple years younger than me. I don’t see enough of that side of my family — I haven’t since my grandmother died more than two decades ago. But everyone got together two years ago when my parents hosted a reunion at their house; at that point, she was in pretty good shape.
And it might have been the last time. For years, she struggled with more demons than anyone should have to contend with; it made it tough for the people who were close to her, including her ex-husbands, her partner, her daughters, her brother and the family friends who became surrogate parents after her own folks passed away.
There were years when we were really close, exchanging visits in Athens, where I was in school, and Oxford, when she was a student at Miami. There was erratic behavior even then, but not to the degree I thought it was a problem.
(Note: I didn’t think it was much of a problem for me, either, which led to the necessity of me interrupting my scholastic career for a couple years in the Army.)
Somewhere along the line — after we lost touch — what had been partying became a problem, one that kept her from holding a job, maintaining a relationship and, eventually, from simply staying alive. There were some hospitalizations related to drinking and others, like a bout with breast cancer, that had to add to whatever stress she was already feeling.
And so she drank. A lot.
I’ve had other friends face the same struggles. So far, they’ve all come out the other side in good shape, and it seems they’re doing what they need to do to stay that way. I couldn’t be more proud of those folks and what they’ve done to help themselves. I can’t say I know for sure how hard it’s been for them, but I’ve seen them go to the brink and then come back. And they’ve stayed there.
I’m not saying my cousin didn’t try. She knew the problems she had. When things were going well, she worked hard to keep herself out of situations she knew would be risky. But when things weren’t going well, there wasn’t much she could do to keep herself out of trouble.
She seemed to be in good shape when we saw her at the reunion. We laughed and chatted as we looked at old pictures stacked atop the kitchen table. When I asked how she was doing, she turned serious, saying she felt like she had one more chance and that she didn’t want to lose it. She seemed determined to make it this time.
I got her email address and sent her a couple of messages after the reunion. I didn’t hear anything back, at least not directly. We did get an email from her brother a few months later, saying she had relapsed, and that we should probably be prepared to get the news we finally got on Monday.
She was a good person. I don’t know her first daughter but I can say with certainty she loved her second daughter completely, and she was really good with her, as I saw at the reunion at my parents’ house. She was smart, and she had a great spirit, open to music and reading and fun. We had long discussions about Vonnegut and Hemingway through the mail, and we saw a couple Dead shows together back in the mid-80s.
That’s the part of her that’s still alive, and that’s who I’m going to remember. The things that made her drink, that made her body break down … those chains and weights are all gone. That’s a relief to me, and I hope it’s a relief to her brother and the others who did their best to watch out for her in the last couple decades.
She is finally free.
—
I posted a brief message about this Monday afternoon; and heard from literally dozens of you through the rest of the day. Thanks to each one of you — it means a lot.
