Thoughts of a Common Man

Back in the summer we headed off to Yankee Stadium to wave goodbye to Derek Jeter as we watched the 27-Time World Champion Greatest Franchise in the History of Organized American Sports. It was a great trip. My nephew Johnny was along for the ride and a couple of great conversations that prompted him into sending me the photo that is included. As you will note, Johnny wrote about my 'Green Car' and he signed my name as 'Clifford Clifford'. Both funny items. Johnny had been standing next to me when the confused hotel clerk looked at my I.D. but somehow came to this conclusion: "So," she asked, "Do I have this right? Is your name 'Clifford Clifford?'" Johnny laughed straight in her face. Which caused me to laugh straight in her face. Which caused Sam to laugh straight in her face. Which eventually caused my beautiful wife to step in and take over because we were laughing in the face of the poor, confused clerk. Johnny has

Life is hard. I'm actually working on a book with that title. I've often tried to tell my kids that just when you think things are breaking your way... ...life interferes. This past weekend was fairly typical. I finished up paperwork for the week on Saturday and then actually wrote a few pages in Life Is Hard and then I set out to take it easy a little. Dinner with Kathy and the boys. Spread some ice melt. A couple of movies. Touch base with other family members. Easy. When I woke on Sunday morning, however, I had a pain in my right ankle. "What the hell is going on?" I wondered. Still, Matt was home for the weekend. The boys were watching sports and bantering back and forth. I really wanted lasagna. I put the sauce on. The ankle felt worse. I stayed off it. It swelled up. By 7 p.m., I was crawling. I literally could not stand up. Sam retrieved my crutches. "What happened?" My beautiful wife asked. I didn't have

Penn State students tweeted out a photo showing that they raised $13 million for pediatric cancer research. In their tweet they wrote: WE ARE!!!! As is their custom of doing so...As in WE ARE PENN STATE! Did anyone know that Penn State had some trouble a few years back because one of their former coaches was molesting boys on campus and their beloved coach Joe Pa may or may not have tried to cover it up? (I crushed them here as a University. I wasn't happy with the perceived idea that football was bigger than what was going on. To shove it under the carpet was just about unforgivable to me). But life moves on. And the kids who tweeted out their fundraising efforts were proud of the work they did. And they should be. Except where there are good deeds there are D.B.'s. Keith Olbermann, the know-it-all-moral-compass-of-the-world, who got outraged because people were dressed as Ray Rice for Halloween and made a video about how wrong that was because he's s

During the Super Bowl a commercial came on with This Land Is Your Land playing as the background music. My beautiful wife sang along. (You haven't lived until you've heard my wife sing along - think, Edith Bunker). Anywhoha... I said: "Beautiful commercial, but this is actually a protest song." My wife looked at me strangely. Obviously the lyrics and the beautiful photos they were showing don't bring up thoughts of protest, but that certainly was the inspiration for the song written by Woody Guthrie. Can someone love the country and yet speak critically of something that we, as a country, have done? You don't actually believe that the United States has never done anything questionable, do you? I guess that the answer to those two questions kind of brings a whole lot about this past week to light. How do you love America? Exactly like Rudy Guiliani does? Or more like Woody Guthrie did? Does a rock star, a folk star, or a Hollywood sta

Every February I get a little excited watching professional baseball players have a catch in Florida and Arizona. The garbage of football is behind us until they promote their draft endlessly in April. (Will someone tell ESPN that they won't play another down of football for 7 months?) By the way, what ever happened to the deflated football, or the NFL fixing their domestic violence problems? They'll get back to us. It's baseball's turn!! Yet my excitement is tempered a bit this year. First...because I'm frozen. Second...Jeter isn't there playing catch. I keep trying to imagine the Yankees taking the field without him coming to the plate. Time waits for no one. Ruth, DiMaggio, Mantle, Ford, Reggie, Guidry, Mattingly, Rivera, O'Neill, Pettite, Posada, Bernie... ...they all left. Now Derek is gone. Also, the Yankees are underdogs again. That's what happens when your core of players gets old. It's tough to replace them on t

What the hell is going on? Swung by the grocery store on Saturday morning and my heart was set on improving our meat inventory at home so that we can make decent dinners on the fly. Every single piece of meat that I picked up made me say something like this: "Holy shit!" The hamburger was expensive. The chicken breasts were outrageous. I saw a woman digging around in an area where they keep the hams. "Anything you don't have to re-mortgage the house to get?" I asked. "These are less than a dollar a pound," she said. "What???" We both dug through the bin, looking for a good one. I grabbed a size-able one...less than $8 bucks!...B-I-N-G-O!! "Oh," the woman said. "Best if used by February 18." What was the date? "That's three days ago," she said. "But it might be all right." Might??? And still, with the price of everything else, I thought about it! I could make it for

A story made the rounds on Saturday. There was video, on social media, of a dog roaming around a back yard. The German Shepherd was on a chain, tied to his dog house. Outside all day. Less than zero degrees. So. A whole bunch of concerned folks reached out...to the police...and made a huge stink about what they considered to be abuse. The cops eventually responded. Now, people live how they want to live. After 50 years on this planet I'm painfully aware of that. But, man, don't mess with dogs! I get out of bed nice and early every morning. Before I even hit the shower I turn back to the electric blanket. I turn it on again so that my dog gets a burst of warmth before staring her day. I'm on the side of Bring the $%Cing dog in the house!!! The cops had a look around. They decided that the dog had a big coat and the freaking dog house was insulated. Never mind that the dog can't turn around in it to get comfortable. They figured that the dog wasn

Seems like the only story these days is the weather. "How cold is it gonna' be? What's the wind chill? Weather storm warning or advisory?" Relentless. But there has been some news. Like the mother of four shot to death in Vegas by a teenager who was supposedly part of a road rage incident. The story goes: Incident Mom goes home and gets son and his gun. They look for the guy, find him, retreat. Guy comes after her and there's a gunfight. She's killed. That's just an awful story, and one that sort of illustrates what happens these days. People don't fistfight. People just don't flip others off. It goes straight to a gunfight. Sad. Speaking of sad, what's up with Rudy Guliani? He goes off on the current sitting president and really says something that is nasty and sort of arbitrary. He 'doesn't think Obama loves America'? He should've stopped his sentence with 'doesn't think.' And whatev

People will post the following: "Don't be a hater." I don't care what the subject is, there are haters everywhere who want to chime in and... ...spread hate. Check out this little exchange: That's an exchange between a professional football player and a hater. (Some people may even refer to Mr. Batten as a troll. Kapernick was trying to share part of his day with the fans and the guy jumped on him. Check the number of re-tweets and favorites the guy received for making a snarky comment. Fairly disgusting. It pissed off the quarterback. He didn't ignore it. Quite a response. In fact, you can almost see how he was seething...one tweet after another...written in absolute rage. It's the new version of road rage. To be truthful, I wasn't really thrilled with Kapernick's response. He didn't take the high road. He bashed the guy. Demeaned him. The line that sort of bothered me was: Get Better at life! Now some

That bitch! I can't think of anyone other than Mother Nature to give the award of D.B. of the Week... ...and like all past winners... She really deserves it. I had a trip to Kansas City planned for early in the week and I'm not gonna' lie to you... ...as the dates got closer I was looking at the weather report. Buffalo has been frozen solid for months now. I just wanted a few degrees more. "Would you check the Kansas City weather," I asked Sam. "36 degrees," he said. "It was as high as 50 just a few days ago." Ahh... Sweet warmth! I flew out Sunday night. The walk from the car to the terminal was mind-numbing. " You Bitch !" I yelled. But I made it. I boarded the plane. I would get a little more warmth. I was listening to the i-pod as we approached. Bob Dylan was in my ear. "Prepare for landing," the pilot said. I looked out the side window. Landing???? It was pure white. "Silly

Back when Counting On A Miracle came out I was invited to BookExpo America in Chicago. I will remember those two days for a number of reasons: 1). The publisher had a wall-length shot of the cover of the book - my son Jake is the cover art - and when I saw that shot, I sat down in a chair and just stared at it. I'd written something that was a wall-length poster in a hall in Chicago! 2). I sold every copy of the book on the first day of the event. I was then able to head out early on Sunday and make my way to Wrigley Field where I watched the Cubs beat the Pirates 2-1. and 3). I met Jon Stewart. Let me set the scene. I had just finished selling all the books on Saturday. I was exhausted from telling the story and I was extremely sick of the suit and especially the shoes I was wearing. I ducked down a hallway in the massive place and I sat with my back against the wall. I took the damn shoes off and closed my eyes for a minute. I'm not sure if I sensed the movemen

At the start of the year Sam was watching a college basketball game. I was in the room, watching a little, and reading a little from the paperback I'd brought along. "You read a lot," he said. "How many books do you read a year?" He asked. "A lot," I said. "Watch the game." Because it's hard to read when someone is talking directly at you and the book was getting good. "You should count 'em," Sam said. So I have. Ten in January. On numbers five and six in February. (Paperback and on the phone). And the numbers are high so far because of the garbage weather and because I've been on stupid airplanes and in friggin' airports. But I did a real good thing along the way. I threw a classic in here and there. I re-read Travels With Charley by Steinbeck and then, spurred by the fact that there is gonna' be a follow-up, To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee. And that's the thing about books,

It's like putting on your favorite pair of old shoes. The characters slip right on. Saul still makes you laugh. The bad guys make you cringe. "The writing is so good," Sam said to me. "How do they do that?" Certainly there's no short answer to that question. I debated telling him about character development and the hours and hours it takes after you begin asking: 'What if?' The show starts at 10 p.m. - last week it was on Sunday and Monday nights. Sam and Jake watched the show first. I made sure they taped it for me. When I woke up on Monday morning there was a text there from Sam. "Wait until you see who's there at the end!" He wrote. I smiled. When I got home from work Sam sat beside me as I watched the first show. He told me when the good lines were coming up. He stared at me as the episode went to black to gauge my surprise at the ending. "Oh boy." We talked about the possibilities. The batt

I suppose that we all have the urge to call something the absolute worst or the greatest ever. People do it all the time. Kids say G.O.A.T. The Greatest of All Time. I hear it about Michael Jordan and it makes my skin crawl a little. I say it to my dogs all the time: "Who's the greatest dog in the whole wide world? You have to emphasize 'whole wide' to make it even more effective. Order a pizza sometime...the box that it comes in will proclaim it...the 'best pizza in town'. So I don't throw around the labels lightly. My dogs are the greatest in the 'whole wide' world. Mariano Rivera was the G.O.A.T. of relief pitchers. Springsteen is the greatest entertainer in the history of the world. Chamberlin was the greatest basketball player ever. So... ...I rarely do it. "This is the worst winter I've ever been a part of," I said to my beautiful wife. "Pretty bad," she said. She wasn't quite

Everyone goes through it. A week in the barrel. Sometimes it seems as if God is up there saying, "I'm gonna' see how much this dork can handle." The flu is not a big deal. I've grown up a little and I whine about it now only because I want to aggravate people about whining about it. I got that on Monday. I was still feeling lousy on Thursday, but the work was already scheduled out. I had planned a busy day. To Jamestown for a couple of meetings and then a quick stop home to write reports and pick up my bag for a trip to Syracuse. "Tough trip in this weather," the all-knowing Pops texted me. He jinxed me. The bastard jinxed me! I visited the sites as the mind-numbing cold kicked in. I got back into my car and answered my ringing cell phone. I was blowing into my hands as I tried to answer. It was someone sitting in an office somewhere, probably too warm from the little portable heater under her desk. "Wow! You sound awful.&

So in case you haven't heard... ...I've had the flu. Yeah, I'm a wimp. I tell everyone I know. Suffering in silence is stupid. Yet, make no mistake, I've suffered. It's one thing to have the flu and rest until it's gone. It's a whole 'nother thing to dress up in layers and go out to the Artic that exists outside my front freaking door. Whatever. I was complaining a little to a guy on one of the job sites...I was also mentioning the heavy work load... (A real whinefest). Heavy is the head that wears the crown, he said. We both laughed for a long while. Great comeback to a whiner! What is wrong with people? I know we're closing in on Valentine's Day so I thought I'd give you a love story. Can you imagine? The poor guy has lived 60 years...and he ends up getting his scrotum twisted off because he broke up with his girl? She got two years in jail. A year for each testy. The thing about it is that there are

The D.B. of the week award has taken on a life of it's own. I often get nominations. People make suggestions all week long. Usually I just wait... ...and the no-doubt D.B. of the Week emerges. Brian Williams won it easily this week. And every single time I write the recap I think to myself: "This is the D.B. of the year!" Yet there will be another. Brian Williams is actually probably begging for the next D.B. to step up. Like many others, I listened to Brian Williams on the talk shows. He would show up on Letterman or Howard and he'd tell his stories. He seemed like a honest dude! There were often funny quips in all of his stories. So what the hell happened? Well, it appears he got caught up in something that made him look better, stronger, braver and smarter than he actually is... ...and he just went with it. Like a whole bunch of others who think they're above reproach, Williams figured he could tell that story forever, and the

Bob's Scrotum The best story of the year doesn't give the proper praise and credit for this painful, but understandable story as told by a loving wife... The pastor asked if anyone in the congregation would like to express praise for answered prayers. Suzie Smith stood and walked to the podium. She said, "I have a praise. Two months ago, my husband, Bob, had a terrible bicycle wreck and his scrotum was completely crushed. The pain was excruciating and the doctors didn't know if they could help him." You could hear a muffled gasp from the men in the congregation as they imagine the pain that poor Bob must have experienced. "Bob was unable to hold me or the children," she went on, "and every move caused him terrible pain. We prayed as the doctors performed a delicate operation, and it turned out they were able to piece together the crushed remnants of Bob's scrotum, and wrap wire around it to hold it in place."

It all started way back in the 2nd grade for me. Sister: The Fifth Commandment is 'Thou Shalt Not Kill'. 2nd Grade Me: (hand raised high) What about during war? Is that a sin? Sister: That's different. 2nd Grade Me: God says it's okay? Sister: (staring) We'll talk about it later. I haven't seen the movie American Sniper . Not sure I will. I know that folks are jumping in line to see it, but I really do not enjoy war movies. I've never seen Saving Private Ryan , or Apocalypse Now , or on and on and on and on. And it's not just an anti-war rant of a peace-loving, bleeding heart. I'm not all that calculated about it. I just can't fathom the exercise. Kill or be killed. I ask too many questions to just buy into such a scenario. I always have. I don't think of an entire country of people as _____________ (insert ethnic slur here). I'm not of the mind that we need to blow them off the map! Or make a parkin

February is the shortest month. Here in Buffalo it feels as if it's 400 days long. Winter Weather Advisory! The walk to the car results in three separate slips that nearly bring you to the turf. Scrape the freaking windshield. Clean off the roof. I really know why the older folk get the hell out from November until April. Yet the other cruel thing about February is that we are still a couple of months away from baseball starting. I don't care that pitchers and catchers are reporting in a couple of weeks. I won't be watching them practice. I want the games to start! And stupid football is over with. The NCAA's don't have their tournament until March. Grey. Cold. Snowy. Oh, I know! I will start gathering my tax information...that'll be fun! Someone will eventually ask me today about how the weekend went. "I moved the car twice. I picked up milk and bread and pop from the store! I watched 48 Hours, the last Gandolfini movie and re

I have a confession. I really loved Whitney Houston back in the day. You see I was in college when she broke through. Listening to Springsteen, of course, but my best female buddies - Lisa and Lorraine - were huge Whitney Houston fans. I'd pretend that I hated it... ...but man, she had such a great voice. And she was beautiful. We all watched that train slowly crash. Her death, three years ago, was met with a huge shake of our collective heads. The media kept saying: If only someone knew the depths of her struggles. Of course, her death brought her entire family into the light. Everyone kept talking about her poor daughter, Bobbi. How could the kid go on? Would she make the same sort of mistakes that her mother made? Could Bobby Brown somehow save his own daughter? The news that broke last week was just too preposterous to even digest. Bobbi was face down in a tub? She had suffered the exact same fate? At 21 years old? Twitter exploded. There

The most surprising thing about Bruce Jenner's transformation to Belinda Jenner is that he once was an Olympic athlete who was more of a man than every other man from every other country everywhere. He was on the Wheaties box. Every guy wished they were as strong, as quick, as durable as him. And now, at 65 years of age... ...Bruce Jenner appears intent on becoming a woman. It's not my business to care, of course, and I suppose that he is free to live her life any way that he wants to, but did she always have these sort of feelings back when he was competing? That's a confusing sentence, right? I'm wondering what the kids might think. Bruce/Belinda has six children, or so, right? A couple of marriages. That whole sordid existence with the Kardashians. What in the hell is going on? I didn't follow much of it. I probably wouldn't know Bruce Jenner if he knocked on our front door. I never followed the Olympics much. I sure as hell nev

It's been 6 years since the 27-Time World Champion Greatest Franchise in the history of organized sports, the Yankees, won the World Series. Back then, during the middle of the summer, I ran into a crew of workers on a job site. We started talking baseball and I guaranteed one guy from Boston that the Yankees would win it all. "If they don't you have to do our training in a dress," Mr. Boston said. "And if they do, you're wearing one," I answered. We even shook on it. Of course, the Yankees beat the hapless Phillies, but I certainly forgot about the bet. Come February I stood before the room and looked out at the crowd. There he was. Bright red dress, pearls, eye liner and lipstick... ...with a full beard. I believe I said: "What the $%C&?" The crowd roared. So, I rather enjoy the guys I hang around with at that early February training. But this year the guy who once wore the gown will pay. He put that Boston

Lance Armstrong is the original D.B. We all remember, right? I believed he was a loser 10 years before the rest of the world caught on. I remember watching him speak on a tape about all the great things he'd done and in the middle of a room where everyone was inspired by his greatness I remember thinking: He's a lying D.B. Well. He was, is and always will be, evidently. Seems Lance was out drinking with his new girlfriend (He captured another, despite the fact that he demolished all the others he claimed to love) and they left the party with Lance behind the wheel. There were a couple of cars side-swiped by the bike driver (apparently cars are more difficult to navigate) and the girl (Anna Hansen) went to the home of one of the victims and claimed to have been driving. Then her and D.B. (still behind the wheel) fled the scene before the cops could get there. Lying. There's been a lot of questions about lies and deception in the last few weeks. New En

Monday morning was rough. The football game kept me up an hour past my usual bed time. The snow was flying as I tucked myself in on Sunday night and the weather report wasn't good. I opened the door at about 5:45 to let the dogs out and Melky didn't want to go, and Paris was covered in snow as she darted towards the backyard. The cold was numbing. This sucks , I thought. But what is to be done? Howl at the moon? I cleared my car, started it and ran back to the house. The school closing list was running across the bottom of the television. The boys school wasn't listed. I heard them moving around. I turned the small heater on (thanks Renaldo) and shoveled a little away from the door. I took Melky and Paris out to get the paper and when I returned the boys were standing in the Yankee room...preparing for the bus ride. "Did you come back to tell us we don't have to go if we don't want to?" Sam asked. "No! Why would I do that?&qu

Katy Perry is hot ...but she lip-synched it all. Doesn't that take a little away from it? And what about actually playing music and being a true musical act? Sorry, when the palm trees sing, that isn't music. And what was that noise in the middle when the special surprise guest was announced? But she is good-looking. As for the game: Here are some observations. 1). Russell Wilson said God won the game against the Packers. Did he lose the one against the Pats this week? I don't mind spiritual belief. I have plenty myself, but saying that God made you throw 4 picks in one half so He could lift you in the 2nd half is kinda' silly. Right? 2). And isn't Wilson's class sort of diminished by the antics of the idiots he plays with? Sorry, Marshawn isn't funny. He's a turd. Sherman is taunting the opponent in the middle of a game? Brady should've pointed at the scoreboard at the end. And Baldwin pretends to crap on the ball after

There's a real tendency, when one is attending a wake, to review things. The feelings of nostalgia sweep in quickly. Over the weekend we attended two wakes. One for a lifelong friend who was almost a family member. The other for a beloved aunt who played a huge part in the formative years. At the wake there were remembrances of lives well lived, of course, but the conversation drifted to the old North Collins days. Life was certainly different. The entire town was like home to me and a whole bunch of other kids. "I could walk into your home and open the fridge, without question," I said to Tracy (A beautiful friend who I've known since she was about a year old). "We always knew who was making sauce on Sunday. I'd stand at the big pot of sauce with your brother and we'd dip bread in and eat it for about an hour." My siblings would join me at Grandma and Grandpa's. "Grandma is making marinara!" Would ring through o

Here's a thought to all the people I don't know: Stop running into me at red lights! I was waiting for Dan Patrick to enlighten me with his Super Bowl pick. I had just glanced up to see if the damn light was still red...I had been waiting for a while...and bam! I eased the car to the side of the road, put my hazard lights on, and got out. A woman was making her way towards me. We each asked a question. "Are you all right?" She asked. "What the %$C* are you doing?" I asked. Then I saw that she was shaking a little. "I'm fine," I said. We both looked at our cars. Hers was hammered. Mine showed a few marks on the bumper. I calmed down extremely quickly and she explained that she was sliding on the icy road. "I'm so sick of driving in this weather," she said. Well I'm kinda' tired of getting smashed while sitting in a vehicle I'm not even moving, I thought. We exchanged info and we talked a mom